Second Time Around

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Wait!’ cried Bea. ‘Stay! Sit! Come back. Please.’

  The dog paused, looking back enquiringly and already barely visible as the mist washed over him, and Bea ran to him and grasped his collar. Holding on to it tightly she stroked his head with her free hand, feeling a measure of comfort at the feel of his warm hairy body against her leg.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said. ‘Now then, go slowly. Good boy, then.’

  The dog was puzzled but his tail wagged once or twice as he watched her with bright intelligent eyes.

  ‘Come on then,’ she encouraged him. ‘Good boy. Come on.’

  He set off again, Bea almost running at his side, but he did not keep to the short turf or the well-worn path. He was heading for the farm and he took her across country; her feet stumbling into shallow holes, her ankles scratched by gorse and heather. By now the mist was all-enveloping and she could see nothing. The dog, however, trotted confidently forward and she clutched at his collar, grateful for his presence. Suddenly he paused and braced himself. Bea, grasping even more tightly at his collar, sensed that he was about to jump.

  ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘Wait a minute.’

  She thrust her hand forward and cracked her knuckles on the wooden bar of a farm gate. Pulling him with her she felt for the bolt, praying that it wasn’t lashed up with binder twine as was so often the case. Her fingers encountered the smooth clammy iron of a thick hook and she lifted it up and pushed the gate open, shutting it carefully after they had passed through. On they went, across the cropped grass of a field laid down to permanent pasture. The going was easier now but Bea was panting as she hurried along with him. The next gate stood open and Bea found herself splashing through mud and water where the cattle had poached the path into the farmyard.

  She caught back a cry of alarm as a tractor loomed from the mist beside her and she shook her head at her fear. She saw the shapes of the farm-buildings and knew that she was safely at the farm in the lane. The track down to the cove was a few hundred yards away. The dog had stopped politely, clearly anxious to find warmth and food. Bea patted him as she released him, flexing her stiff fingers.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Good boy.’

  He disappeared towards the outbuildings and Bea picked her way carefully out into the lane, watching for the entrance to the track. She turned into it, her heart beating fast with relief, her feet slithering on the loose stones. She realised that she was trembling, and tried to pull herself together. Near the bottom of the path she heard voices calling to her. She recognised Will’s deeper voice chiming with Isobel’s anxious one and, with an answering cry, she went to meet them.

  WILL AND ISOBEL HAD been in the kitchen when the mist rolled in. Tessa had just telephoned and Will was discussing this call with Isobel.

  ‘I’m a bit confused,’ he admitted. ‘Apparently Giles is staying with her. Do you know this Giles?’

  Isobel, perched on a kitchen chair, feet on the rung, shook her head. ‘Sure it’s not Sebastian?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ Will sat in Mathilda’s chair by the Rayburn, frowning. ‘He phoned us for her number, d’you see? This Giles. He’s on the list she gave me so I could give it to him. It seems he went straight down to her when he heard the terrible news.’

  ‘It’s awful.’ Isobel shivered. ‘Poor Tessa.’

  ‘Quite. So this Giles goes haring down. Nice chap, by the sound of it.’ He glanced at Isobel. ‘What did you think of Sebastian?’

  She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘He’s nice. Good-looking. It’s just … I felt he wasn’t quite right for her. And she was … nervous. Or something.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. What did you think?’

  ‘It’s difficult,’ said Will. ‘I’m not sure I can judge. I’m so fond of her that I’m afraid I might feel that no one was quite good enough for her. Anyway, they’re coming home together. With Sidney.’

  ‘Sidney? Who’s Sidney?’

  Will sighed. ‘He’s the dog. The other woman turned up to collect her dog, d’you see, and she told Tessa that it will be some time before anyone will be thinking about what to do with Sidney. The mother lives in a flat in London and the children will be going to their father.’

  ‘Can’t he have the dog?’ asked Isobel, faintly confused. ‘What’s the problem? Surely Sidney would be a comfort if they’ve just lost their mother?’

  ‘Tessa explained it to me,’ said Will, ‘but it was all the least bit confusing. The father has remarried and his new wife won’t have Sidney in the house. I told Tessa to bring him here for the time being.’

  Their eyes met; Will’s guilty, Isobel’s alarmed.

  ‘What will Bea say?’ asked Isobel. ‘She’s not too keen on dogs, is she? Oh hell!’

  ‘I know,’ said Will miserably. ‘But what could I do? Poor Tessa is in a frightful state.’

  ‘Perhaps it’ll be OK. I could have him in the cottage. Where is Bea? Is she still out? There’s a mist rolling in.’

  They both glanced involuntarily at the window. ‘Heavens!’ said Will. ‘It’s come down a bit, hasn’t it?’ He stood up and went to the back door.

  ‘Is she up on the cliff?’ Isobel followed him. ‘God! It’s really thick! She’ll be frightened. Oh, Will! I hope she’s OK. Let’s go and meet her.’

  She was pulling on her coat, awful visions of Bea alone on the cliff, and worse. Will was already out of the door, much the same thoughts in his head.

  ‘She might have gone up the track,’ he said. ‘She often walks in the lane.’

  ‘Shall we separate?’ asked Isobel anxiously. ‘I’ll go up the cliff path. You go up the track.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Will sharply. ‘Then I’d have both of you lost up there.’

  ‘Oh, Will.’ Isobel sounded frightened. ‘People fall off the cliff sometimes and the coastguard gets called out. Well, it’s usually dogs, actually, or people cut off by the tide. Should we telephone the coastguard? ’

  ‘Wait,’ said Will. ‘Just wait a minute before we get panicky. We’ll go a little way up the track and, if there’s no sign of her, we’ll try the cliffs.’

  ‘But if she’s on the track she’ll be OK,’ argued Isobel. ‘It’s the cliffs I’m worried about.’

  ‘I see that,’ said Will, more calmly than he felt, ‘but if she’s on her way home it’s pointless for us to go crashing about on the cliffs. Let’s just check.’

  Isobel took his arm, thinking about Mathilda and imagining Bea stuck on a ledge—or …

  Will squeezed her arm beneath his own. ‘Let’s shout,’ he suggested. ‘Ready?’

  Their voices sounded reedy and Isobel shivered. ‘Bea!’ she shouted again, with more energy, and Will joined in with her. They stopped abruptly, each clutching the other, as an answering hail came from the mist ahead.

  ‘Oh, Will!’ cried Isobel, nearly weeping in her relief. ‘It’s her. She’s on the track. Oh, thank God!’

  WHEN THEY DREW THE shivering Bea into the warmth of the kitchen, they both exclaimed at the state of her hands and feet.

  ‘What’s happened to you, Bea?’ asked Isobel. ‘All those cuts on your hands—and it looks as if you’ve been paddling in mud. Your trousers are soaked.’

  ‘It’s nothing serious,’ said Bea, kicking off her shoes, and finding that she was still trembling incontrollably. ‘Honestly. Please don’t fuss.’

  ‘Tea,’ said Will, getting busy, ‘and then a hot bath and clean warm clothes. You’ll soon be right.’

  ‘Were you worrying?’ asked Bea, with an attempt at lightness.

  ‘We were when we saw that the mist had come down,’ said Isobel. ‘Before that we were engrossed in Tessa’s problems.’

  ‘What’s happened now?’ Bea was glad to have the attention taken away from her own plight. She was not quite ready yet to admit to her fear or that she hadn’t been keeping an eye on the weather.

  ‘Well,’ began Isobel—and paused as Will shot her a warning glance. ‘Well, someone called G
iles telephoned for her number and when he heard about this terrible tragedy he went rushing down from London to see her.’

  Bea frowned a little. ‘Giles?’ she repeated. ‘I thought his name was Sebastian?’

  ‘Another chap,’ said Will succinctly. ‘Old friend. Nice chap. Tessa’s on her way home and he’s coming with her. They’re driving in tandem. Tessa’s a bit overwrought so he’s coming along to keep an eye, as it were.’

  Bea raised her eyebrows as she accepted a large mug of hot tea. ‘Thank you, Will. It sounds a very philanthropic gesture to me. Old friend or not.’

  ‘That’s what we thought,’ said Isobel eagerly. ‘Why isn’t Sebastian there?’

  ‘Be fair,’ said Will. ‘Can’t just jump ship like that. The Navy has responsibilities. There would be chaos if every sailor thought he could dash off each time some drama occurred on the home front.’

  Isobel looked sceptical; Bea sipped her tea thoughtfully. Will passed a mug of tea to Isobel, wondering how to approach the next part of the story.

  ‘She’s got a bit of a problem,’ he began carefully. ‘Woman dead, two children to worry about, not to mention the dog. Woman’s mother still out in France. Terrible thing! Tessa’s bringing Sidney with her, just until things are sorted out, d’you see?’

  ‘Sidney?’ Bea looked at him enquiringly. ‘Sidney? Is he one of the children? How are we going to cope with a child here?’

  Will sighed. He had a sense of déjà vu. ‘Sidney’s the dog,’ he explained. ‘He’s a clumber spaniel. Tessa can’t just leave him alone in the house until they all come back from France. I said she could bring him but I know that I should have checked with you first. Trouble was, it was all a bit sudden, d’you see? You weren’t here and Tessa was naturally very upset …’

  He stopped, aware that he was gabbling. He and Isobel watched her anxiously, waiting for her usual criticism on the unsuitability of names given to the modern dog. Bea sat quietly sipping her tea, remembering the collie’s patient intelligence and bright eye; the feel of his soft hair under her hand; the comfort of his warm body against her cold legs; the way he had unerringly led her to safety. She smiled a little, catching the worried glance that slipped between the two of them.

  ‘I’m sure that we can manage,’ she said serenely. ‘He’ll find it strange in a new place. I hope Tessa’s remembered to bring his bed.’ She finished her tea and stood up, a little shakily. ‘I’ll go and have that bath,’ she said, ‘and then we must think about what to give Tessa and Giles for supper.’

  Twenty-five

  GILES DROVE CAREFULLY ALONG the A303, his eyes on the tailgate of Tessa’s car. From the back window Sidney watched him mournfully, cocking his head occasionally when Tessa spoke to him but turning back again to watch Giles in the car behind. He had made a great hit with Sidney. Giles felt a tiny surge of triumph and elation as he remembered Tessa’s greeting. She had been waiting for him, the front door open the moment he pulled in outside the gate, hurrying down the path with Sidney at her heels. She had hesitated momentarily and then flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Oh, Giles, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.’

  He had held her without fuss, taking no advantage of this warm greeting, merely comforting her.

  ‘It’s a beastly thing to have happened,’ he said. Still holding her in one arm, he bent to pat Sidney who was sniffing cautiously at his jeans.

  ‘That’s Sidney.’ Tessa released herself, ashamed of her outburst. ‘He’s feeling it a bit. He’s one of these dogs who can’t cope with a bad atmosphere. The other family came and took Harry and there was a bit of drama, obviously. The poor woman is completely gob-smacked by it all.’

  By this time they were inside the cottage. Tessa took him into the kitchen and began to heat some soup, already prepared and waiting in a saucepan on the electric cooker. Giles looked about him and sat down by the table. Immediately Sidney came to sit beside him, head on Giles’s knee.

  ‘He slobbers a lot,’ warned Tessa.

  She sounded more cheerful now and Giles looked at her, taking in her leggings and big sweatshirt and rumpled hair. She’d smiled at him and his heart had crashed about in his breast making him feel breathless. He bent down to stroke Sidney’s head, hiding his expression. He was determined to abide by his plan.

  ‘I don’t mind a bit of slobber, do I, old chap?’ he’d asked. ‘Used to that with Felix, aren’t I?’

  ‘He’s even worse,’ said Tessa, taking relief in light chatter. ‘His mouth is so loose and soft. But he’s a sweetie, if somewhat neurotic.’

  ‘So tell me all about it.’ Giles rested an elbow on the table, his feelings for her under control. ‘Mr Rainbird told me a bit but I’m not exactly sure what’s happened.’

  Whilst she explained, serving up the soup and taking hot rolls out of the oven, he watched her intently and presently they sat down together to eat their supper.

  Now, as he drove behind her, he marvelled at the strangeness of his feelings. All his life he had been diffident, cautious of change, wary of any alteration to the status quo. He knew that it was a fault in him, to be so unwilling to commit himself, and it worried him as much as it worried his mother. He knew that Kate suffered on his behalf; encouraging and pushing him, yet fearful lest she should be misjudging him. He also knew that she blamed herself for the problems that he had inherited from her unhappy marriage.

  He had told her that, from his point of view, the divorce was far from being responsible for his dilatory and unconfident character; on the contrary, he had been relieved when his parents had parted and especially when his father, Mark Webster, had emigrated to Canada when he had not gained his promotion in the Navy. From his earliest days his father’s inconsistent approach—now indifferent, now stern and bitingly sarcastic—had unsettled Giles and he was always much happier when Mark returned to sea. Guy, his twin, had been able to cope better and had tried to protect Giles from tongue-lashings and other subtle psychological forms of cruelty when they had visited their father after the divorce. Guy had been more successful in his dealings with Mark and had done his best to stand between his father and his twin.

  Giles wondered how he would have coped without the steady kindness of his uncle Chris, his mother’s brother, and, later, David Porteous. Seeing David with Kate had restored some of Giles’s confidence in the married state but the thought of committing himself to a long-term relationship still filled him with anxiety. He had seen, both with his parents and with his friends, how extraordinarily fragile these structures were. He thought of the responsibility involved and felt a faintness of heart. This, he told himself, was nothing to do with his dilatoriness. It was simply a fear that he would be unable to sustain what was required when the time came.

  He was old enough to realise that, once you became a husband or a father, expectations followed close behind. Your wife and children made demands, had requirements, and how were you suddenly to know the right answers? Being a husband or a father did not automatically invest you with knowledge, patience, understanding. Supposing you were unable to supply these quite reasonable demands? If you could not, then you let down your wife and children—and what then?

  When his father was Giles’s present age, he and Guy had been seven years old. Giles shuddered at the thought. Would he be able to deal with a seven-year-old son? He wondered whether his father’s behaviour had been a mask for his own inadequacies; his weakness and fear had taken the form of verbal bullying and psychological arm-twisting. Might not he—his father’s son and the recipient of his genes—react in the same way with his own children? He had read that abused children often became abusers and he felt horrified at the idea of being cruel in his turn to a vulnerable child.

  He had been amazed when Guy—more like Mark and less social than Giles—had married Gemma Wivenhoe. That Guy, who found most women a bore, should marry the light-hearted Gemma—who was, moreover, nearly nine years younger-had come as a shock.

  ‘What happene
d?’ he’d asked his twin bluntly. ‘Gemma’s a sweet kid but you’ve known her all your life. Why suddenly?’

  ‘Probably because I’ve known her all my life,’ replied Guy honestly. ‘I feel safe with her. We know each other. Or, more to the point, she knows me. She knows how to deal with me.’

  It was typical that he hadn’t mentioned the word ‘love’. Giles could see, however, that Gemma adored his brother.

  ‘How does she do it?’ he’d asked Kate later. ‘She teases him and makes fun of him and simply won’t let him bark and bite. What’s even more amazing, I don’t think he wants to!’

  Kate had laughed, shaking her head. ‘She’s just like her mum,’ she’d answered. ‘Cass is so good-natured that it’s almost impossible to be grumpy when you’re with her. You forgive her anything. Gemma’s just the same. Guy is very lucky but, thank God, he knows it and he’s working at it, too. He’ll need to. He’s very like Mark. So like him that sometimes I feel ill with terror. I couldn’t bear it if he were to hurt Gemma.’

  It was then that Giles had told her how he felt about himself and marriage; that his indecisiveness was something apart from a natural fear of committing himself to another human being. She had remained silent for some time.