The End of a Journey

by Grace Thompson

  Lottie held his arm. ‘They’d spent hours on the lake with the boat and the raft as safe as anyone could be, but the sea was different. They had no idea how strong the waves were, used to the calm water of the lake. They learned how different on that day but dear Peter paid for the lesson with his life.’

  Through the window they saw Jake coming back carrying a box from which straw stuck out, obviously holding the eggs. ‘Look,’ Sam said apologetically, ‘can you come this afternoon and have tea with us? Mabs sent us some pasties and a fruitcake, Dad cooked some sausages. and we’d love to share them with you.’

  As Jake knocked on the door, they opened it and, calling goodbye to Sam and waving to his father down in the yard they set off back to Llyn Hir. Jake made no comment about the lack of welcome, just chatted about the chickens and the donkey that was in the field as company for the retired horse. It was only what he’d expected.

  When she knew the three friends had set off back to London. Zena gave a sigh of relief. She had avoided a heart to heart with Jake. The days had passed and left her unscathed.

  Susie met Greg before starting a shift and they sat in a café and dissected Christmas. Susie didn’t mention Rose, whom she hadn’t met but about whom she was achingly curious. She was also curious about Jake and Madeleine. Greg explained a little about the long standing friendship and engagement of his sister and Jake, and her recent change of heart about marrying him.

  ‘It was a very strange Christmas, so many cross currents and uneasy moments. Without Dad being there it was bound to be different from the usual but apart from that, the mix was wrong. We were all glad that you were there, Susie. You made it bearable with your bright, happy personality.’

  ‘Nonsense, I was an intruder and you were all being very kind to me. I was made to feel welcome mind, and I love your Aunty Mabs.’

  They kissed briefly as they parted and went to begin their shifts, stopping at the doorway for a final wave.

  It was a week later, having belatedly celebrated the New Year with friends, that Susie passed the night café and saw Greg going in. She began to follow him, puzzled by finding a café open at such a late hour, but at the door she stopped. Looking through a gap in the blind, she saw Aunty Mabs greeting him affectionately then handing him a pack of sliced bread and a wedge of cheese. She watched, curious about his presence there as he disappeared into what was obviously a kitchen, coming back wiping his hands on a clean white towel. He opened the bread and began making sandwiches. She was afraid of being seen and hurried towards the taxi rank on the corner, but as she did so, a small, bright-eyed man approached and said, ‘It’s all right to go in, miss, anyone who’s lonely or can’t sleep is welcome at Frankie’s café.’ Then he recognized the uniform only half hidden by an overcoat. ‘Oh, sorry, miss. Excuse me,’ he added as he pushed past and slid his small frame around the door, ‘my mate is waiting for a game of draughts. Trying to teach me chess, he is. Fat chance of me learning that!’ He smiled and closed the door.

  Later as the place was closing, Sid told Greg and Mabs about the curious young woman. ‘I thought she was looking for a bit of warmth and company like the rest of us, see, and then I saw that she was a bus conductress.’

  Greg asked for a description, and Sid’s response was vague but it convinced him it had been Susie when Sid said she had long hair tied back in a bundle and she smiled ‘like an angel’.

  ‘I might have to tell her about the café to stop her telling others,’ Greg explained to Mabs. ‘Also, I don’t want there to be secrets between Susie and me.’

  ‘It’s hardly a secret any more,’ Mabs said. ‘Just as well too, or lonely people wouldn’t get to know about it either. I didn’t want it talked about too soon or it might have attracted the wrong people. Or too many for the idea to work.’

  In London, the atmosphere in the office and at Madeleine’s flat was subdued. Rose was depressed by Madeleine’s half-joking, half-unkind description of what she called, ‘The horrors of Christmas en famille.’ She was convinced that the occasion had been ruined by her being there. She thought of the happy moments with Greg and the many, many more unhappy times throughout her life and wondered if she would ever go again to Cold Brook Vale.

  Madeleine guessed that something had happened between Jake and Rose but neither could be persuaded to talk. She planned theatre visits and meals at the flat and in restaurants but the heart had gone from their friendship. It was time for things to change.

  Jake increased his journeys and was making a success of his new career. He phoned to talk to Zena several times, to share his news, but she refused to come to the phone. He wrote to her but the letters were thrown away by Madeleine.

  Rose was tearful at times, refusing to repeat the things she had told Jake. On other occasions she was angry and then too she offered no explanation. Madeleine was becoming bored and tried to think of a way to liven things up. They were all looking for something but unable to find it.

  Although Zena didn’t want extra clients for her cleaning list, there were a few who approached her with a request for a weekly visit. She regretfully turned them down. The shop and the typing services kept her busy and she still called on Roy Roberts and Nelda. Then a most surprising request came from someone who introduced herself as Karen Rogers, housekeeper to the tenant of the place locally known as the haunted house.

  Memories of her and Greg’s late night visit made her want to refuse, embarrassed by her nosiness. She remembered the voice calling for someone to find a Bing Crosby record and the man running as though in fear of his life as she and Greg had hidden in the darkness.

  They had played in its grounds as children and dared each other to approach the grimy windows and look inside, before running away screaming, insisting they had seen ghosts. Zena smiled at the memories. Those memories were still strong: even the recent visit hadn’t changed them.

  She was tempted to make an appointment, just to go inside and see what the place was actually like, although, she told her brother, it might be a disappointment to find ordinary rooms, filled with ordinary things. It would be a pity to lose the magical memories of their childhood fears and imaginings. She thanked Mrs Rogers but declined.

  A few weeks later, when the weather was bleak and snow was threatening, Karen Rogers called at the shop and asked again. ‘I do what I can, but there is too much for me to manage,’ she explained, ‘with shopping and cooking and the laundry as well.’

  Zena still looked doubtful and she added quickly, ‘Don’t worry about the size of the house, we only use a part of it. Most is closed off, furniture covered and all I have to do is open the windows occasionally. But if you could come to help me for as many hours as you can spare, I would be so grateful.’

  ‘How many people live there?’ Zena asked, the expression on the woman’s face melting her resolve to refuse. ‘Will there be cooking involved? Or shopping? If I agree to help I won’t have time for more than a couple of brief weekly visits.’ Aware of the size of the place, she knew that wouldn’t be enough to make it liveable.

  ‘None of those things. I want help to keep the parts in use clean and all the rest, that has dropped to the bottom of my list,’ Mrs Rogers admitted.

  Zena agreed to think about it. A week later the request was repeated and finally, accepting that there was time between her shifts at the shop and the irregular typing she was given, she agreed.

  On her fist visit, she arranged to go very early and spend a few hours deciding what was most needed. Her journey there was very entertaining. She was cycling just a short distance from home along the narrow road which led only the house that was her destination, when she saw a small boy, dressed warmly in a heavy overcoat, that almost hid him completely, a too large, knitted hat and scarf and carrying a paperboy’s delivery bag. He was standing pulling withered leaves from the hedge and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Zena stopped and asked him if he was all right.

  ‘Yes, miss. I’ll go home in a while.’ She noticed he wa
s shivering with the cold despite his layers of clothing. ‘I just have to stand here for a while, just a little while, miss, then I can go home.’

  Something about the way he was glancing along the lane made her suspect the reason for his hesitation. ‘Do you have to deliver a newspaper to the big house?’

  ‘Yes, miss, and I’m not going!’

  She smiled. ‘We used to pretend the place was haunted when I was about your age. It isn’t, of course. That was just a silly game that we invented to frighten ourselves. It’s just an ordinary house. Bigger than most, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Then I’ll take it for you, shall I?’ She offered her hand for the paper but then changed her mind. ‘Better than that. I’ll walk with you and we’ll see that there’s nothing to be frightened of.’

  ‘I’m not frightened, miss.’

  ‘I am! So, shall we walk together?’ She reached for his canvas bag and put it across the handlebars.

  They talked as they walked and the boy told her his name was Geraint and he lived with his mam and had no dad. ‘He was a soldier and he died,’ he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I’m delivering papers to earn money to buy Mam a birthday present, see.’

  As they turned the curve in the road that would give them the first sight of the house, he went quiet and held the handlebar of the bike for reassurance. She talked to him about the trees, giving their names and describing the beauty to come when the leaves and spring blossoms appeared. His feet were dragging but he walked on until they faced the wide and impressive front door. She waited until he had pushed the papers through the letter box then knocked loudly. She held his hand tightly as he began to leave. ‘Stay and meet Mrs Rogers,’ she said. ‘You’ll like her.’

  The door opened and the smiling face of Mrs Rogers appeared. She spoke firstly to the boy. ‘You must be Geraint. Thank you for coming all this way with our papers. Would you like a drink of milk before going back?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll be late for school.’ He turned and ran and was quickly out of sight.

  ‘Knock on my door tomorrow and we’ll walk together,’ Zena shouted.

  Mrs Rogers took Zena into the kitchen which was huge. Windows were large and should have let in plenty of light, but the glass was covered in grime and in places it was impossible to see anything beyond them. A light burned from the ceiling and from sconces on the wall near what must have once been the preparation table but which was now completely covered with pots and pans of indeterminate age.

  ‘These should have gone for scrap ages ago,’ Mrs Rogers apologized. ‘I just can’t find time to attend to these things.’

  After discussion, Zena agreed to come each morning for a week, then settle to regular visits. It would take a week to dispose of the rubbish, and scrubbing would be her main occupation. She smiled when she thought that for a week, Geraint would have company on his uneasy walk. Between them by telephone, she and Mrs Rogers arranged for a scrap merchant to dispose of the unwanted and ancient pans and for a gardener to start tidying the entrance. A laundry service was contacted and weekly collections organized.

  ‘I haven’t coped very well, have I? I’ve done nothing like this before and so much of my time is taken just looking after my employer,’ Karen explained.

  ‘When will I meet him?’ Zena asked, but Karen shook her head. ‘No hurry,’ Zena said quickly, waving hands to dismiss the idea. ‘Whenever it’s convenient, but if I could look at the house, at least the parts of it for which I will be responsible?’

  She was shown up a wide, intricately carved staircase and doors were opened on three of the bedrooms. All were furnished with items hidden by dust sheets. There was one door she wasn’t shown. ‘Sorry to sound mysterious, but that room is out of bounds,’ Karen told her. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s just there are things that are important and not for public display.’

  ‘Valuable?’

  ‘Yes, sort of valuable.’ A cough was heard coming from the out-of-bounds room. Zena looked at her companion but no explanation was forthcoming and they moved on, back down the stairs to the living room that was beautifully but sparsely furnished and to a small library lined with books and where a cheerful fire blazed. ‘This is my sitting room,’ Karen explained. She gestured with a thumb towards a partially opened door disguised as part of the shelves. ‘My bedroom is in there.’

  Before she left, Zena had a few more suggestions to make the house more pleasant. They arranged for a window cleaning firm to come and deal with the grime built up over years of neglect. Rubbish removal, professional cleaners followed by decorators, were needed in the kitchen, obviously the priority. The rest, Zena decided, she would gradually deal with herself.

  The next morning she was pleased to see Geraint waiting for her and they walked down the lane, Zena pushing her bike loaded with his bag, and the boy showing more confidence. This time he accepted the glass of milk and ran off with slightly less haste.

  By the end of that first week, the house had changed a great deal. The walls of the kitchen had been thoroughly cleaned and would soon be a cheerful buttercup yellow, the windows shone like jewels bringing more light into every room and Karen was delighted with the changes.

  Geraint had changed too, his forays into the dangerous ‘haunted’ house had given him almost hero status at school and he even hurried ahead of Zena on Saturday. When Zena asked if he would like her to walk with him on Sunday, he said there was no need. Rather self-consciously he thanked her and added that he had some tips to add to his wages and would be able to buy his Mam something ‘Real good’.

  Working at the house, she was amused to learn it was called SunnyBank, which seemed more relevant now compared to a week ago. It was very tiring work and she went home after several hours of heavy cleaning, content with the way her days were filled. Greg came with her one morning to look at the trees that had been allowed to become too large for the garden and he went with Karen Rogers to talk to some professional tree surgeons about their disposal. Trees came down and the wood put in a store to dry and be used on the fire. The unwanted small branches were built into a bonfire and Geraint and two friends came with Greg and Susie to watch the fun as it burned.

  ‘It’s like seeing the house coming to life,’ Zena said, and Greg agreed glumly. ‘But it’s lost the magic of creepy nights frightening ourselves silly.’

  The third bedroom was never opened and although Zena occasionally heard movements inside, she didn’t ask; Mrs Rogers didn’t explain and clearly preferred she didn’t admit her curiosity.

  Chapter Nine

  After breakfast on Sunday morning, Lottie showed the latest bank statement to Greg and Zena. ‘The amount I owe has gone down remarkably thanks to you, Zena and your help with the business, but there’s still a very long way to go, isn’t there?’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘It’s always slow at first, but once it starts to come down you’ll feel better about it. Why don’t you take my offer of using my savings?’ Greg asked. ‘I have a useful amount, rent from the cottage which has needed little maintenance since Gran left it to me. With Rose gone, I can’t see me needing it for a long time. Better to use it to get rid of this debt.’

  Lottie shook her head. ‘No, dear. This is my problem and you’re helping just by being here and helping with your weekly contribution.’

  ‘I don’t imagine I’ll be getting married very soon either,’ Zena added. ‘Isn’t it strange how things have all fallen apart? Losing Dad, then Rose leaving Greg, and Jake and I ending something that we both thought would last a lifetime.’

  They both pleaded for their mother to accept their help but Lottie refused. She reached for her coat and wellingtons announcing that she needed a walk. Zena and Greg sat for a while discussing the financial situation, puzzling as always about the unexplained loss of the money and the loan on the house. Hesitantly Zena asked Greg if he thought there might have been some serious quarrel between their parents to account for it. ‘The sus
picions raised by Aunty Mabs haven’t really gone away,’ she admitted.

  ‘There has never been a sign of Mam and Dad being less thanhappy. I’m sure we’d have noticed.’ He grinned then. ‘What if it was Dad who was the guilty one? After all, the mystery of the missing money lies with him, not Mam.’

  They amused themselves for a few moments, imagining what their father might be guilty of. ‘A master criminal, a thief maybe?

  ‘Or a blackmailer who became a victim of a blackmailer?’

  ‘Or the murderer of Mam’s secret lover?’ They were laughing as their ideas became more and more preposterous.

  ‘The mystery is, even if there is some guilty secret in Mam’s past, or Dad’s, that doesn’t explain what happened to their savings. Where did the money go?’

  ‘And it wasn’t Dad’s to dispose of, it was their savings. Some came from Gran, and Mam has worked for most of her marriage. It wasn’t solely Dad’s money to part with.’

  ‘But it’s gone and no one knows where it is. Stashed in a bank vault, or hidden under the floorboards of some mysterious cottage on the wilds of the mountains.’

  ‘That’s a thought! What an exciting family we have.’

  It was an hour when Zena was walking through the wood, gathering branches of the sticky horse chestnut branches to put in water and enjoy seeing the new leaves unfurling, that she stepped out from behind the trees above the Edwards’s farm. Walking towards her she saw her mother arm in arm with Uncle Sam. Something about the way they walked, close and slow, stopping occasionally to talk, made her hesitate to call or wave a greeting. It was as she stopped at the edge of the wood and was about to disappear among the leafless branches that she glanced back and saw them kissing.

  She froze with shock and immediately convinced herself that Uncle Sam and her mother were more than the friends they declared themselves to be. It was a subject she had never seriously considered; never seeing her mother in any role other than caring for herself and Greg, providing love and security, making them feel utterly safe throughout their lives. To imagine her mother as a lover was impossible, alien to the picture she held of her. It was very unsettling, unacceptable, frightening; even though she reminded herself that her mother was still a young woman and Sam had been a widower for many years.