The Lives She Left Behind

by James Long

  By the time they reached Totnes, Lucy had mostly got the hang of steering and was learning about braking, but she hadn’t thought of looking in the rear-view mirror. The GPS was the same as the one in Ali’s parents’ car so she had put in their destination and everything seemed to be going quite well. Gally was lying out of sight, curled up on the back seat.

  ‘How far is it now?’

  Ali played with the GPS. ‘Twenty-six minutes.’

  ‘I don’t know what difference you think this will make,’ Fleur said in the car behind. She was breathing in deep gasps and her face was flushed. ‘As soon as we get to wherever we’re going you can’t stop me phoning, and then you are all going to be in such deep shit. You think you’re looking after her, do you? No one’s going to believe your crackpot story.’

  ‘I can see why you would think that,’ Rachel said calmly, ‘but maybe you should suspend your disbelief just for a short time. I had to.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be sensible, you are,’ Fleur retorted. ‘What do you think the Law Society is going to have to say about all this when I get on to them, eh? They’ll have you banned or whatever in no time flat and as for you, Mr Teacher, I reckon your teaching days are over.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ said Mike. ‘Please don’t raise my hopes unless you mean it.’ Rachel giggled and Fleur sank back into a brief and frustrated silence.

  ‘Let your daughter explain to you,’ Rachel suggested after a while. They had reached the narrow lanes and Fleur was gazing ahead, wincing at Lucy’s near-misses with the hedgerows and oncoming traffic.

  ‘Oh, she’s done that. She’s full of moonshine about Saxons and battles and this, that and the other. As for you, young man, don’t you go thinking I’m going to let the two of you get together. No way. I’ll get a court order if I have to. I can stop all this, just like that. Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re making it worse for her. The minute I get her back, they’ll have her inside and put away and you’re all going to have a lot of questions to answer.’

  ‘That’s a good way of dealing with her, is it?’ Ferney asked quietly.

  ‘It’s worked so far.’

  ‘Oh yes. She told me. You’ve had her on tablets for a long time, haven’t you?’

  ‘Best thing for her,’ said Fleur defiantly. ‘She used to babble nonsense all the time when she was tiny. I couldn’t stand it. Her and her daft friend.’

  ‘What did she call her friend?’

  ‘Girly.’

  ‘No, not Girly. Gally,’ said Ferney. ‘Her real name.’

  ‘Don’t give me that Gally crap. She’s made all that up, just to fit,’ and Fleur saw three heads shaking in unison.

  The car in front slowed down as they drove into Slapton. ‘Here’s the deal,’ said Rachel. ‘I can’t stop you calling the police and I won’t try, but you had better understand this. I will represent your daughter and I will fight my very hardest to stop her being sectioned. If you want to avoid that, this is my offer. Sit down with us now, for one hour only, with a mind as open as you can manage, and if you’re still determined to do it your way – well then, so be it.’

  Fleur only grunted, which might or might not have been acceptance. As the chantry tower came into sight, they saw a third head lift up from the back seat and peer out.

  ‘She’s responding,’ said Ferney. ‘I knew she would.’

  They could see her gesturing emphatically as the tower came closer and then the BMW came to a complete stop, its driver oblivious to the car behind. The reversing light came on as it backed uncertainly for a few yards, and turned left into the narrow alley to the pub, leaving silver paint on the corner of the wall.

  Rachel parked out on the road. ‘Why the hell are we here again?’ said Fleur.

  ‘Because she knows this is where she needs to be,’ Ferney answered calmly.

  They got out and walked into the pub yard, Fleur following unwillingly. The three girls were standing there, staring at the tower. Lucy and Ali turned round, astonished. ‘Jo?’ said Fleur, but her daughter took no notice. ‘Jo, I want you to tell these people to go away. I’m taking you home. And as for you, Miss Lucy, I’ll have my keys back right now.’

  ‘Gally? I’m here,’ said Ferney, and the girl turned with a cry of utter delight, rushed to him and wrapped her arms round him. Ferney held her tightly, stroking her hair with one hand.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘I’m not leaving you now. Rachel’s here to help you, as your lawyer.’

  ‘Don’t you do that,’ Fleur shouted.

  ‘That is what you want, isn’t it?’ said Ferney urgently. ‘Just say yes,’ and Gally whispered the word.

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Rachel. ‘Now, do we have a deal? One hour, that’s all.’

  Fleur looked at her watch. ‘One hour then I call them. I don’t know why you’re bothering.’ She stared, speechless, at the boy and girl in front of them, hugging each other close.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ said Mike. ‘We can’t get in the way of this.’

  Ferney released Gally, keeping her hand in his.

  ‘Sit down, everybody,’ said Rachel and they all sat down around a table. Gally was smiling through tears.

  ‘We’ve been here before,’ Ferney said calmly. ‘Would you like to know when?’

  Fleur didn’t respond.

  ‘December,’ said Ferney. ‘A week before Christmas.’

  ‘We were in Exeter for Christmas.’

  ‘Christmas in the year thirteen hundred and seventy-two – that’s when we were here. It was brand new. We came for the consecration of the Chantry. He invited us himself – Sir Guy.’ He looked up at the tower and turned to Gally. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen it since. It’s taken a bit of a battering, hasn’t it?’ She gave him an uncertain smile but said nothing.

  Mike looked at Fleur. ‘Would you like a brandy?’ he asked and she stared at him wildly, then nodded. ‘Coffee for me, please, Mike,’ said Rachel. ‘This is going to be a good day for staying alert.’

  He brought the drinks back and found them sitting in silence, Ferney and Gally leaning together with an arm round each other and Fleur staring at them as if they might bite her. She took the glass from him and looked at him equally warily.

  ‘We came here together,’ said Ferney, ‘because the man who built it was a friend. Do you remember where we stayed?’ Gally pointed at the pub. ‘That’s right,’ he said encouragingly. ‘That was the guest house and over there was the chapel and the monks’ quarters and kitchens. Poor Guy.’

  Gally looked down and mumbled something.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ferney. ‘That’s right. He was terrified and there was no need.’ He turned to Mike. ‘He held King Edward’s standard at the battle of Crécy, held it through thick and thin, the bravest of men – but he had been tricked into killing his own son and then the priests got him. They told him he was bound for purgatory – a million years of torment, worse than hell. He built this place and hired teams of priests to sing for his soul every hour of the day and night. He thought it was his only chance.’

  Mike looked at Fleur as she took a swig of brandy. Her eyes were fixed on the boy, glaring from a tight face.

  ‘Your daughter was in torment too,’ Ferney told Fleur. ‘She had been trapped in a choice which killed one of our sons, but it was no choice really because in the end both our sons died and it filled her head for years and years. Guy listened to her, helped her shape her feelings into ideas that healed both of them.’ He looked at Gally. ‘You gave him his purpose back. What you told him, saved him.’

  She was trying to speak and they all watched her in silence until it became unbearable.

  ‘You told him what you thought about war and death and life. Do you remember that?’ He held her shoulders, gently urging her, but she still didn’t answer. ‘Think about being here that day. You and me, in the clothes he gave us – the finest clothes we had ever worn. Red and green.’

  There was still no res
ponse.

  ‘He asked you to read out the words you gave him at the consecration ceremony. He wanted you to be the one to read them out. He begged you to and you said no.’ Ferney was looking intently at her face. ‘Then think about our sorrow,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you have to remember our loss,’ and her face began to crumple.

  ‘They mustn’t hurt him,’ Gally said, and they all froze. ‘I’m not losing him. Edgar, my son. My beautiful Edgar. My Edgar and my Sebbi.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Ferney. ‘Don’t let go of them. Where did Edgar die?’

  ‘In a field by a river,’ she said. ‘You took me there. A river by a bridge.’

  ‘Do you remember what they called it?’

  ‘Stamford,’ she said, ‘Stamford Bridge,’ and they all looked at Fleur as she was unable to suppress a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘They made Sebbi build the castle,’ she said in a voice that grew in strength with every word, ‘and they killed him when he could not.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then they killed you.’ Her face was stricken.

  ‘Gally, listen,’ said Ferney. ‘That was long ago. You turned your mourning into words. You told Guy there is a life force and we’re all part of it and when we damage that we damage our chance of getting anywhere worth being. You said every army thinks it has God on its side and he winced at that.’

  ‘Taking life,’ she said. ‘Rosie. I took Rosie’s life.’

  ‘That was different. It doesn’t count when it’s us. I’m back. You’re back. You did nothing wrong.’

  ‘I did.’ She looked at Mike, pointed at him. ‘I hurt him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mike, ‘but I’m trying to understand.’

  The girl’s face changed, eased a little. She got to her feet, gazed up at the old tower above them and held out her hands, turning to face each of them one after the other as if to bless them with quietness. ‘Old men, who stay behind,’ she said.

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Lucy. She reached into her pocket, unfolded a piece of paper and thrust it at Fleur. ‘I bought this yesterday when we stopped at the shop,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t shown it to her, I promise.’

  ‘Old men who stay behind,’ said Gally again, and her voice took on a rich depth that was entirely unfamiliar to them, ‘do not inflame the young with words of war. The ruin that you risk should be your own, not theirs. Young men take care. To make you fight they first must make you fear, then out of that shape hate.’ She paused, wiped a tear away. Fleur was staring down at the printed sheet.

  Gally began again. ‘Take arms when all else fails, but mark you this: before the battle starts remember what it is to see friends bleed. In the battle’s midst, remember peace is both behind you and ahead. When the battle’s done, remember how it is that wars begin.’ She turned back towards the tower and her voice rose. ‘Kings and captains, you who order war, know that your people, left alone, would choose to eat not fight, would choose to love not hate, would chose to sleep not die. Be careful what you say to turn them to your will. Tell them that you fight for God not gain, and know your enemy has preached the same. You who read this, pray for me. I have heard blind fury roar and sow the seeds of future war and I have wept as heroes died.’

  Fleur was looking down at the sheet of paper, then back at her. ‘So when did you learn that?’ she asked.

  ‘When we wrote it, the two of us.’ She drew in a long breath and looked hard at Ferney. ‘I’m back,’ she said. ‘I think I’m all right.’

  Fleur read the description on the piece of paper, shaking her head. ‘This is just a trick,’ she said. ‘It’s no proof of anything. You’re all in this together. I’m not buying this.’

  ‘You want proof?’ asked Ferney. ‘I can give you proof.’

  ‘Oh really? This I have to hear,’ said Fleur.

  ‘Before this week, when were you last in Pen?’

  ‘He means Pen Selwood,’ Mike put in.

  ‘Never,’ said Fleur. ‘Not once. So how does your proof look now?’

  ‘What about close by? Driving down on the main road?’

  ‘Sometimes. Me and ten million others.’

  ‘The tower,’ Gally said so quietly that they almost missed it.

  ‘The tower? This tower? How does that help?’ Ferney said.

  She shook her head, ‘Alfred’s Tower.’

  ‘What about it?’ He turned back to Fleur. ‘Have you been there?’

  ‘We went there after we left the village,’ said Fleur.

  ‘Not before?’

  ‘Once. We climbed right up to the top.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Ferney. ‘You’d never been to Pen before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you had been to the tower? Just the once?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I can prove it. If I can tell you the exact date you went to the tower, will you start believing me?’

  ‘You could tell me any date you like. How would I know if you were right? I know the year and the month but I have no idea which day it was. I can’t remember things like that.’

  ‘Your diary,’ said Gally.

  Ferney looked at her and back at Fleur. ‘Have you got your old diaries?’

  Fleur didn’t answer. She had turned her head away. There was a long silence.

  ‘Who was with you?’ Ferney asked. ‘You said “we”?’

  Fleur’s shoulders shook. She got to her feet and walked away, down the narrow entrance towards the road, leaving her car keys on the table.

  Ferney turned to Gally. ‘What happened there?’ he asked.

  Gally was frowning, ‘She was with . . . with my father.’

  ‘What happened to your father?’ Mike asked.

  ‘He . . . he died when I was born.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. She never talked about him.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  Gally frowned again as if she might not know even that.

  ‘Toby,’ she said in the end. ‘I think it was Toby.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mike. ‘You stay here, all of you. I’m going to talk to her.’

  He found her in the graveyard, standing looking at the gravestones. He stood outside for a while and she didn’t move so he walked in.

  She turned sharply when she heard his footsteps and he saw she was crying.

  ‘I don’t want to intrude,’ he said.

  ‘Go away then.’

  ‘I think I know how this feels for you,’ he said. ‘In fact I’m probably the only other person who does.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about you that makes me want to listen,’ she said.

  ‘I’m just me and I’m harmless and I’ve lost Gally too, twice really. I know you lost someone.’

  ‘What do you mean, twice?’

  ‘Once when she killed herself and once when she came back.’

  ‘And you really believe all that stuff?’

  ‘Not by choice. Yes, I have to. I’ve lived it.’ He waited. ‘What was he like?’ he asked gently in the end.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Toby.’

  ‘She told you his name? What else did she say?’

  ‘Only that you never talk about him.’

  She looked away again.

  ‘How did he die?’ he asked.

  ‘In a crash,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘How old was Jo?’

  ‘She was . . . she was just being born. We were in the hospital. He went back to get something that I . . .’ she faltered.

  Then somehow he understood. ‘You think he died because of you,’ he said, and she swung round, erupting in fury, punching him on the chest and the arms, screaming at him, ‘It’s got nothing to do with you. Shut up, just shut up!’

  He did nothing to stop her but she stopped herself, put her hands to her face and began to cry with the force of a sixteen-year-old dam breaking. He
stood and watched her, then opened his arms and she crept into their comfort, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing.

  At the end, when she quietened enough, they sat down next to each other on a grave slab.

  ‘You didn’t kill him,’ he said. ‘Accidents happen. So, what was he like?’

  ‘He would have believed this. He was a softie really. He would have been just what she needed.’

  ‘You can still be what she needs now.’

  ‘Can I really?’ Fleur said. ‘I never have been. Anyway, is that Jo, that girl? Is there anything much of Jo left, I wonder?’

  ‘I think there’s probably most of her left,’ Mike replied. ‘When I first met my Gally, before we ever came to the village, before she ever remembered anything about their past, she was pretty much the same person as she was later.’

  Fleur shook her head. ‘This isn’t the Jo I know.’

  ‘If you can trust in this and bring her back to the village, you’ll see Jo again. You’ll see quite a special version of her. Tell her all about Toby. She will understand, you know. She’s got so much wisdom.’

  ‘This is impossible,’ Fleur said. ‘Look at all these dead people.’ She swept a hand round the wide graveyard. ‘Do they stay dead, or have I got to change the whole way I think about the world?’

  ‘I think they’re all safely dead.’

  ‘I don’t get you. I mean, as I understand it, my daughter married you then turned out to have been in love with somebody else for ever and a day, then, if I understand this right, she did away with herself and your daughter at the same time. How can you stand that?’

  ‘Sometimes I can’t.’

  ‘Don’t you hate them?’

  ‘I pity them. It never ends for them. All they’ve got to make it bearable is each other.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m going to try going along with this but I need the proof.’

  ‘Then let’s go and look for it. Will the diary thing help?’

  ‘It might, and you had better do what I say because I’ve just realised I’m your mother-in-law,’ she said and made a noise that was almost a laugh.

  Back at the Exeter flat, Fleur delved in a cupboard and brought out a green desk diary. She held it in both hands, hiding the year marking on the cover, and stared at Ferney.