by A. B. King
“What university is that?”
“The University of Sussex, it’s on the outskirts of Brighton; I’m head of entomology, by the way.”
“That is the study of insects I believe?”
“That’s right, and my specialist field is Lepidoptary. Frankly, these specimens excited me, betraying as they do previously unknown variant characteristics. So much so that I determined to make a field trip down here to discover for myself exactly what is happening.”
“And your trip has been successful?” Martin asked, still wondering where this odd conversation was leading.
“Well, I have found one or two additional specimens in the general area close to your property, and the interesting thing is that they consistently betray these same fundamental variations currently unknown to science. I don’t know if you appreciate how important this is?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Well, in layman’s terms, I strongly suspect that the specimens I have obtained so far that consistently display the variations matching the earlier examples that were originally brought to my attention must have common origin. I grant you that this may possibly be just a local variant currently unknown to science, yet my hope is that it is an entirely new sub-species. If I can only establish the facts with suitable specimens, together with details of habitat etc., well, it will be the crowning achievement of my life’s work!”
The man sounded is if he was on the verge of discovering the Holy Grail or something similar, and how anyone could get so worked up about a butterfly was beyond Martin, although he forbore to say as much. “So, how can I help you to do this?” he asked.
“I would take it as the greatest possible favour if you would permit me call upon you tomorrow with view to obtaining permission to look through your gardens to see if in fact, as I now so strongly suspect following extensive research in the surrounding area, that this species are breeding there. All the evidence I have been able to gather so far appears to indicate strongly that this is indeed the case, yet I do need to prove it. I need to establish just exactly why the garden of your home should be the focal point of this startling variation; what it is that is so vital to the very existence of these unique specimens? If, as I most sincerely hope, my hypothesis concerning the origin and propagation of this variant can be proven, well, as I said, it will be the pinnacle of my life’s work!”
The man sounded almost speechless with suppressed enthusiasm.
“That shouldn’t be any problem with you roaming over the grounds here if that is what you wish to do,” Martin responded. “What time will you call?”
“Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that; I am so very, very grateful. Will ten o’clock be convenient?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Then I am indeed most terribly grateful to you for being so public spirited Mr Isherwood, you have absolutely no idea how difficult some people can be about such matters! I promise not to intrude upon your privacy in any way, and I assure you that I will not damage your plants, shrubs or property in any way, nor abuse your generosity. However, with your permission I would like to take samples, photographs and specimens if I am fortunate in my search?”
“I am happy to oblige. I shall see you at ten in the morning.”
“Thank you so much, I shall look forward to it. Goodbye, and thank you again.”
Martin hung up the receiver and wandered back to the kitchen. June was busying herself with the last of clearing things away.
“I think I will be off home now,” she announced as soon as he entered the room. “I will be back in good time to get everything organised.”
“Would you mind if I walked with you?” he asked. “I sort of fancy a short stroll before retiring.”
He thought that it was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, the same wary look sprang into her eyes, but then it quickly subsided.
“If you wish,” she said lightly.
“The phone call was from a Mr Edwards,” he explained as they exited the front door and locked it. They stepped out onto the driveway that led to the garage block, enjoying the cool freshness of the late evening air. “I gather he is some sort of butterfly man,” he continued, falling in beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. “He’s coming here at ten tomorrow to hunt for some rare moth or other. He sounds like a real old fusspot on the phone; beats me how people can get so worked up about insects, but there it is. I expect he is perfectly genuine, only it will not hurt to keep an eye on him.”
“I’ll do that,” she responded. “George Dawkins is in tomorrow; no doubt he will also keep a bit of a watch on him.”
“Good, I don't suppose there's any harm in the fellow, it’s just that in this day and age you never know.”
She didn't reply, and they walked on a few paces in silence.
“I thought I might take the girls into Wellworthy in the morning,” he said, more to break the silence than anything else. “I might get them a bicycle each to use while they are here. Beverley is a mad keen cyclist, and I think her friend is too. From what I have seen so far, there seems to be lots of little bye-ways round here they could explore.”
She passed no comment on this, and the silence continued as they strolled at a slow pace towards the garage block. She kept a safe distance from him as if anxious to preserve what psychologists like to refer to as a person’s private space. Given what she had told him earlier he was not greatly surprised at that and took care to maintain a respectable distance from her. Raised in a secure family unit, it was hard for him to imagine what her early existence must have been like. Although he had lost his father very early in life, he had always enjoyed a stable background with a loving mother and a secure home. If June was to be believed and, after all, why would she lie, her background had been the complete opposite.
“Do you remember you real parents?” he asked at last. “I mean, you told me that you were about five when you were orphaned. I wasn’t much older than that when my own father died; although my mother only passed away recently.”
By this time they had reached the garage block, and she came to a halt as she leaned her back against the angle of the wall and looked at him.
“Yes,” she answered in a sort of far away voice. “I still remember them. To me they seemed to be the most wonderful people in the world.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged and looked away from him. “I don’t really know,” she finally admitted. “I was so young. My dad seemed to disappear one day. I don’t know how or why, he just wasn’t there anymore. All I can remember was that my mum got more and more worried, and then she cried a lot, and then she took ill, and then one day someone told me that she had died.” The stark simplicity of her words failed to hide the pain that recalling the event still caused her, and he could see it in her eyes.
“It must have been terrible,” he said at last. “Did you have no relatives that could take care of you?”
“No, there weren’t any,” she said wistfully. “Both sets of grandparents were dead and there were no aunts, uncles, cousins, or anything like that. There wasn’t anyone.” She fell silent, and looked down at her feet.
“What happened to your home?” he asked after another period of silence.
She shrugged again. “I don’t really know that either; I found out later that our home was a council house. We didn’t have a lot of stuff, just a few sticks of old furniture and a few odds and ends, but nothing special. I expect it was either sold or taken away to the local tip.”
The more he heard, the sorrier he felt for her. No wonder she had an outsize chip on her shoulder. To lose one’s parents was bad enough, but to lose everything, to be reduced to a complete nobody was, in his opinion, appalling.
“Are you telling me that you have nothing left at all as a memento of your parents?”
“I have an old photograph.”
It was the way she said it that struck a chord deep within him. All that was left to link her to her pa
st was one solitary photograph! His heart went out to her, yet he knew he couldn’t even begin to comfort her as he instinctively wanted to; with her background she would inevitably place the worst possible construction on anything he said or did.
“Perhaps, if you would like to, you could bring it with you tomorrow and show me?” he said at last.
It was hard to tell just what was passing in her mind, but in watching her eyes he thought he saw that same conflict he had detected before, the conflict between natural wariness, and the very real human need to have a true friend, someone with whom to share the burden she had been carrying for so long. The hard shell she exhibited to the world was a necessary protection against the harshness with which life had so far treated her, and at the same time it was a barrier between her and the rest of the human race. He had heard that she didn’t have a friend in the world, and he could readily believe it.
“If you like, you may come up to see it now,” she said at last.
Not wishing to intrude upon anything so sensitive, it was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, and then he realised just exactly what was implied by the briefly worded offer. It was a tacit acknowledgement of trust and friendship. If he threw it in her face by a refusal it would never be offered again. He had a good idea of what it must have cost her to make the gesture, and he knew he could not refuse.
“Well, if you are quite sure,” he replied “Yes, I would like to.”
She turned without a word and led the way to the rear where the stairs led up to the entrance to her flat. The door was illuminated by a porch-light, and she preceded him up the stairs without a further word. At the top she put her key into the lock and opened the door, switching on the light as she entered.
There was a small entrance lobby with doors leading off from it. She opened one of these and led the way into a small but comfortable lounge. It was carpeted and modestly furnished with modern-style furniture. The walls were emulsioned, with a few modern prints hanging at eye-level on each of the walls that served to break up the essential starkness of the decor. They rejoiced in such titles as ‘Sunrise on Dartmoor’, ‘The Weald in Spring’, ‘Autumn Leaves’ and ‘The Victorian Farmyard’. All of them by so-so artists he had never heard of. There was a small television set on one side of the room, complete with a video and DVD player. In a recess on the far side of the room was a computer. Everything was spotlessly clean, with nothing out of place. In a way, her home was just like its tenant; neat precise, orderly, and controlled.
June walked across the room, dropping the light coat she had been carrying onto a chair, and then picked up a framed picture from its place on top of a small bookcase. She held it up, gazed at it for a moment, and then walked back to where Martin was standing, passing it to him without a word. It was a rather faded photograph of a young man and woman standing in a park or recreation ground of some description. There was a sort of roguish look about the man, and the woman was smiling happily. Looking at that picture, Martin could see at once that there was a likeness to both of them in June.
“I remember them as always being very happy,” she said. “I suppose they must have been very much in love; I just never thought about it like that. I don’t remember any cross words passing between them. I remember that Dad played with me an awful lot; he was always full of fun. He never seemed to have much money but he was always happy. And then one day he wasn’t there anymore.”
“So you don’t know what happened to him then?”
She shook her head, and took the picture from him to carefully replace it on the bookcase. “After a while, I came to accept that my mother had died,” she said “Only somehow, I couldn’t believe that my dad was dead as well. As a child I always imagined that one day he would come and save me, and that we would be together again. I don’t know if the authorities ever made any effort to find him; certainly nothing was ever said to me about it. It was the one thing that kept me going; the thought that he was out there somewhere, looking for me, and that one-day he would find me. Even when things were really bad, I still thought he would come. He never did of course, yet I never gave up hoping that we would be together again one day. Even now, I still haven’t entirely given up, even though my common sense tells me it is just a hopeless dream.”
She paused, and then came back to where he was standing.
“Look, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all this,” she started to say.
“On the contrary, I do,” he assured her earnestly. “I really do need to understand how you feel.”
There were a brief silence as she stood there looking at him, her face betraying that same mix of emotions; the need to confide in someone, and the natural guarded reactions of a person who has been hurt too many times in life to take a risk.
“You are not just saying that, are you?”
“Look June, I, too, have been through a lot of pain. Unfortunately I never found anyone I felt I could share it with, maybe if I had I would have come to terms with it quicker; but that's my problem. I fully respect your privacy, so you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, yet just for the record, I do sympathise, and I honestly believe if only you can allow yourself to talk about it, matters will get easier to bear. Tell me to mind my own damn business if you like, I won't take offence.”
She seemed to be searching his face, looking deep into his eyes as she balanced the all too obvious need to talk, and the natural reluctance that her life had bred into her. He waited, watching her, hoping she would speak, yet fearing in a way that he had already pushed her too far
“Very well, if you are sure?” she said at last, and turned to pace slowly down the room and back again before coming to an abrupt halt directly in front of him, looking deep into his eyes once more.
“Call it an obsession,” she said suddenly, “call it anything you like, being re-united with my father became the one driving force that kept me going All through that terrible time in the children’s home it was the one thought that helped me to survive. Somewhere, I believed that he still existed, and to this day I still have this feeling that my father is out there if only I knew where. There are all sorts of reasons that may explain why he vanished from my life. Maybe he didn’t have the idyllic marriage I always imagined, maybe he left my mother, maybe he married again, maybe I have lots of half brothers and sisters I don't know anything about. They are all possibilities. Maybe he was taken ill, maybe he has suffered from amnesia, or maybe he has been kidnapped? As I grew older I thought of all these things, yet it didn’t matter; I just wanted to find him. When I finally escaped from the care system it was all I wanted to do. I didn’t know how to start, but I never stopped looking.”
She stopped speaking as suddenly as she had started, looking at him searchingly to see how he was reacting to what she was saying.
“Go on,” he said softly.
“I eventually tracked down the couple that used to live next door to my parents,” she said, looking back towards the picture as it reposed on the small bookcase. “They were surprised to see me, and from them I learned that shortly before he disappeared, my father told them that he had had a real stroke of luck; he had been offered a job with enough money to enable him to get his family out of our existing home and into a much better place. He was full of this job, and really excited about his prospects.”
“Did they know what it was?”
She shrugged again, her eyes straying from the picture and looking at nothing in particular as her mind travelled back over the years. “I asked of course, even if they ever knew, they had long since forgotten. But that one snippet of news really excited me; it provided me with a reason why he had gone away. He always wanted something better for my mother and myself, and going after a much better paid job was something he wouldn’t hesitate to do.”
“Did you discover where he had to go to get this job?”
She shrugged eloquently. “All they could tell me was that it was in Wellworthy.”
“And that is why you ca
me to this part of the world?” he exclaimed as a tiny part of the enigma his housekeeper presented slipped into place, “You thought he might still be here?”
“It was the only hope I had,” she said defensively, “and of course there was no proof that he really did come here. When I was told about it, the ex-neighbours were thinking back over a good many years, and just thought that it was Wellworthy. Common sense told me that I was probably on a wild goose chase, only somehow I just felt that he really did come here. With nothing to lose, and with nobody else in this world who gave a damn about me, I set out to come to Wellworthy. I’ve been here ever since, and spent the last few years trying to look at everyone I could see, just in case I should recognise him. I thought that he might have worked here, maybe settled down here. Or maybe the job he had come here for had taken him somewhere else in the country. Maybe somebody knew him, or could tell me where he had gone. Logic says he may never have come anywhere near the place, that I’m wasting my life chasing shadows, yet something seems to tell me that he did come here.”
“And in all that time you haven’t uncovered anything that makes you hope?”
“No, not a thing,” she admitted with a small hopeless sigh. “I’ve come close more than once to accepting that I was completely wrong and just clutching at straws. Maybe the neighbours didn’t hear the name of the place right, maybe he never got here; there are a million things that may have happened. Any yet, somehow, I still feel in my bones he is here somewhere. Can you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“I shall never give up looking.” she said, as if defying him to try to convince her otherwise.
“Of course you won’t,” he agreed, “and I have a feeling that one day you will be successful.”
She looked at him dubiously, as if suspecting him of being patronising.
“No, I’m not just saying that to be polite,” he added quickly. “Nor am I saying that you will find him tomorrow, or next week, any more than I’m saying you will find him alive and well in the arms of another woman. I’m just saying that I know instinctively that you are the sort of person who will never give up on anything you have set your heart on. Even if you discover that, in the intervening years he has passed away, you will find him eventually, and then you will find closure.”