Lost Innocence

by Susan Lewis

  Craig hadn’t come to the funeral, either. He and Alicia had agreed it would be for the best if he stayed away. Alicia knew that Nat was still baffled by the decisions his parents had taken, but to explain them would have hurt and confused him even further, and no one, least of all Alicia, wanted to do that.

  So this was the first time since her mother’s funeral that she was going to set foot in the village where she and Robert had grown up, her mother had organised all the charity events and her father, and grandfather before him, had been the local GP. As children they’d been devoted to their father, who’d had the magical knack of making everything all right when the end of the world was closing in fast, and turning small achievements into the greatest triumphs with his booming laughter and ready praise. Losing him when they were still in their teens had opened Robert’s and Alicia’s eyes to how randomly cruel life could be. Robert’s realisation of this was particularly acute, as their father had drowned trying to save his son from a freak riptide on holiday in Spain. Though more than twenty years had passed since that terrible time, still hardly a day went by when Alicia didn’t think about her father, and she knew Robert did too. During the past couple of years she’d often found herself wondering how he might have reacted to the events that had torn his family apart. How different their world might be now if he were still with them.

  The strangeness inside her began sharpening and softening as the lazy sprawl of the village came into view. It was painful to see, yet wonderful too. Beside it the new estate sat basking in the sunshine, seeming too gaudy and polished next to the crumbling old cluster of buildings, like a hopeful tart on the doorstep of a stately pile, as Craig had once described it.

  The high street was deserted as she drove in, no sign of anyone even in the pub garden, as far as she could make out. News of her return would spread soon enough though, since her decision to call into the shop to pick up the milk she’d forgotten to get at Sainsbury’s on her way out of London would be bound to speed things along.

  The quaint little store hadn’t changed much – the same tinkling bell over the door, the familiar smell of liquorice and tobacco, and shelves crammed full of jars, boxes and cans dating back to the 1970s. The cold counter was in its usual place, stuffed with Wiltshire hams, sides of country-cured bacon, pressed loaves of locally made corned beef, and succulent rounds of cheese from Cheddar. The till had clearly been updated, but the newspapers were still displayed on a rack in front of the ice-cream freezer, and an oval island in the middle of the shop remained home to everything from Tetley’s tea bags, to tubes of Germolene, to disposable barbecues in silver-foil trays. What used to be the post office was now a large cold store offering freshly made baps, Cornish pasties, quiches, Scotch eggs and an impressive selection of soft drinks. There was even, Alicia noticed, a separate fridge for wine, and two bistro tables sporting tea menus chalked on little blackboards propped up between the sugar bowl and the condiments: Holly Wood’s answer to café society.

  As Mrs Neeve came bustling through from the back, Alicia helped herself to a half-litre carton of milk and took out her purse to pay.

  ‘That’ll be sixty p,’ Mrs Neeve announced, clearly not recognising her right away.

  Alicia handed over the money and smiled as Mrs Neeve’s expression turned from bland to curious to outright astonishment and pleasure. ‘Alicia?’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘Yes, it is. Well, I’ll be damned. There’s a surprise. Never knew you was coming. How are you, my dear?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Alicia assured her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know, mustn’t grumble, but it’s been that hot these last few days…On a visit, are you? How long are you staying?’ Her voice darkened. ‘I’m really sorry about your loss. I know how close you were, so it must have been hard for you these past…’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alicia said softly. ‘I see the post office is gone. I expect you miss running it.’

  ‘Oh, I do, that’s true, but there was nothing we could do. Not that we didn’t fight to hang on to it, mind you. You might even have seen us on the news. You know what Sabrina’s like when she starts up one of her campaigns. She nearly always wins, God bless her, whether she’s sorting out something for the old folk, or protecting the wildlife, or trying to save our little-biddy old post office. She kept us going a lot longer than some, though, because this was the second battle we fought. You might remember how we won the first one a few years ago. There was no winning this one, though. Their minds was made up, they had to make cuts and we was for the chop no matter what. I think Sabrina took it hard. She doesn’t like losing, and what with her not really being herself at the time… She seems a lot better now, I’m glad to say. Or she did the last time I saw her, but you know what it’s like, one day up, the next down. I don’t think they ever found out what was wrong with her, did they? I was only saying to Mimi the other day, she takes on too much in one go, that’s her trouble. She should pace herself a bit more. Mind you, I don’t know where half of us would be without her. We got in a right pickle when we was left to organise the summer fete ourselves thanks to her problem, and the harvest festival, and she still wasn’t up to much come Christmas.’

  Alicia was smiling politely, knowing she’d have to get used to hearing Sabrina’s name, but wanting only to think of a suitable exit line without seeming rude.

  ‘Listen to me rambling on,’ Mrs Neeve clucked, ‘and I haven’t even asked about the children. They here too, are they? Be lovely to see them. I expect they’ve really grown up since the last time I saw them.’

  ‘Probably too much,’ Alicia told her wryly. ‘I’ll be sure to send them in when they arrive. I’d better go now, thanks for the milk,’ and before the gossipy old soul could draw breath to lavish any more praise on the redoubtable Sabrina, or ask again how long she, Alicia, was staying, she beat a hasty retreat. She knew that by the time she reached her mother’s house news of the surprise visit would be buzzing through the Holly Wood phone lines like currents of electricity, perking up everyone’s interest. They’d probably all have an idea as to why she’d turned up now, some would even speak with the kind of authority that suggested they had inside info, but they didn’t, because she hadn’t contacted anyone before coming. For a while she’d toyed with the idea of getting in touch with her oldest and dearest friend, Rachel Herrington, but had decided in the end to wait until she was installed before letting Rachel know she was back. Rachel would feel obliged to take time off to greet her, and as the only vet for miles around, it was time her friend could ill afford.

  Alicia steered the car around the village green, as the locals called it, in spite of its narrowness and lack of grass, and felt a lump starting to form in her throat. Would she be able to face driving into The Close, then going into her mother’s house without her mother being there? She had done this once, after the funeral, but the place had been so crowded with mourners that the emptiness had had no real chance to register.

  Now, after avoiding it for a year, she was dreading what she might find; broken windows, mice, mould, a hopelessly overgrown garden? She wondered how she could have allowed her mother’s pride and joy to go to rack and ruin. She felt so much shame that she almost braked to stop herself going any further.

  A few minutes later she was still sitting in the car outside the Old Coach House, staring at the recently mown lawn and baskets of fresh flowers hanging either side of the black front door. In days gone by this was where the carriages of travellers used to be stored while their gentrified owners rested at the local hostelry. Her great-grandparents had turned it into a home which had undergone several internal changes down the years, but the outside, being listed, had never been altered, only restored. Now, its honey-coloured Hamstone walls, arched leaded windows and black slate roof were glistening wetly after a summer downpour a few minutes ago. It made the place look slick and new. The ornamental carriage wheel beside the door appeared as polished as the brass knocker, and the yellow flowering clematis roamin
g its way over the climbing trellis was as healthily abundant as it had ever been in her mother’s day.

  It was as though someone was living there, or expecting her, but that couldn’t be. The only explanation she could think of was that Robert had decided to take care of the place, or perhaps paid someone else to do it.

  Feeling more tension building inside her, she reached for her bag and got out of the car. In the warmth of the July day the scent of damp earth mingling with roses immediately assailed her. Some of it was coming from the hybrid teas that lined the garden path, the rest was wafting over from next door, where Jerry Bright’s prize blooms were as exquisite as any rose could be. He’d installed a new pergola over his front gate, Alicia noticed, which was covered in a vivid pink climber, and next to it was a fancy little free-standing mailbox that his sister, Emily, who lived in one of the waterfront bungalows, had no doubt chosen for him, and probably came to buff up every day.

  Alicia walked around the car and went to push open her own gate. Though its hinges creaked, it wasn’t in need of a lick of paint, nor did the paving stones of the path seem particularly troubled by weeds. She gazed up at the old cedar tree that dominated one side of the garden and immediately caught flashes of long-ago picnics in its mighty shade, and daredevil climbs into its lofty limbs. She could hear echoes of her and Robert laughing as she approached the front door, and her father calling out for them to take care.

  She rummaged in her bag for the key. She didn’t really think her mother was inside, but her heart was thumping so hard that her hands were shaking, and in spite of coming this far she still wasn’t entirely sure she had the courage to go in.

  ‘Alicia! Is that you?’

  Starting, she turned round. Across the road, where the stables used to be, was a gaily painted terrace of Victorian cottages, rose pink, sea-foam green, sky blue, primrose yellow, with a row of garages further along towards the river, each one coloured to match the house it belonged to. Coming out of the rose-pink cottage was a plump, curly-haired woman of Alicia’s age, with a cheery smile and noticeable limp.

  ‘It is you,’ she cried happily. ‘How lovely to see you.’

  Alicia started back down the path to greet her. ‘Cathy,’ she said affectionately. ‘It’s lovely to see you too.’

  ‘I wondered if you might come,’ Cathy said, taking Alicia’s hands and gazing directly into her eyes. ‘When I heard about Craig… I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alicia whispered. Six months on and it still felt like yesterday. She swallowed and tried to sound bright as she said, ‘How are you?’

  Cathy’s dark eyes remained mournful pools of compassion. ‘More to the point, how are you?’ she insisted. ‘It must have been a terrible shock. In your shoes, I don’t know what I’d have done.’

  Alicia shook her head.

  ‘How have the children taken it?’

  ‘Hard, but we’re getting there.’

  ‘Are they with you? How long are you staying? You know, if there’s anything I can do… Dad’s always at home these days, and I’m only a couple of miles away.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alicia said again.

  ‘Alicia!’ This time the voice was coming from up the street. It was Maggie Cox, landlady of the Traveller’s Rest, and one of her mother’s oldest friends. ‘As soon as I heard you were here,’ Maggie said, enveloping Alicia in an affectionate hug, ‘I said to Andy, I have to go and see how she is. You know we’re all here for you, don’t you, sweetie? It’s how your mum would want it, so it’s how it’ll be.’

  Alicia’s defences were starting to fold. They didn’t know the real truth, they couldn’t, and because they were so kind and loyal she wished she didn’t have to deceive them. ‘How is Andy?’ she asked. ‘The last I heard you two were going to open up a bar in Spain.’

  ‘Oh, it’ll happen one of these days,’ Maggie assured her, ‘when we have time to get round to it. Cathy, is that your Matthew I can hear crying?’

  Cathy cocked an ear. ‘Blimey, it is and all,’ she replied, ‘I’m getting as deaf as our dad,’ and with a hasty squeeze of Alicia’s hands and a reminder of where to find her, she took off back to her father’s rose-pink cottage.

  Chuckling, Maggie said, ‘She’s a good girl, that one. Too many kids by half, but her heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘How many does she have now?’ Alicia asked.

  ‘Little Matthew’s her fourth. But what about your two? How are they? Bet your Nathan’s turning into a handsome young fellow. How old is he now?’

  ‘Seventeen.’ The mention of her son softened her, seeming to remove the barbs from her tension.

  Putting a hand to Alicia’s cheek, Maggie said, ‘It must have been terrible for you, coming out of the blue like that. When I heard, I said to Andy right then, I wonder if Alicia might come back here. I’m glad you did, my love. We can take care of you, the way your mother would want. I pop over to her grave, you know, every second Sunday, with flowers. Robert does too, when he’s here, but I expect you know that. I said to Andy, they’re probably from all of you, but Robert’s here more, so it makes sense for him to take them on your behalf.’

  Realising Maggie was making excuses for her failure to visit her mother’s grave, Alicia felt her cheeks start to burn. ‘I’ll go myself in the next couple of days,’ she assured her.

  ‘Of course you will. I’ll come with you if you like.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alicia said, wondering how many times she had said this since she’d arrived.

  At the sound of a car turning into the street they both looked round, and realising who it was, Alicia’s heart gave a beat of pure joy.

  Maggie’s eyes were playful. ‘Should have known she’d be here any second,’ she commented. ‘Always were inseparable, you two. Where one was, the other was sure to be found.’

  Alicia’s emotions were close to spilling over as a racy-looking Honda pulled up behind her battered Renault. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she chided, as Rachel came round the car to embrace her, all flushed cheeks, dark shiny bob and crystalline green eyes. ‘How did you know …?’

  ‘I know everything,’ Rachel informed her, ‘no thanks to you. I’d have been here sooner, but I’m afraid I had to resuscitate a hamster.’

  ‘Sooner?’ Alicia laughed. ‘Your practice is at least twenty minutes away, and I haven’t been here more than ten. Even the Holly Wood grapevine’s not that good.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. I had no fewer than five calls on my way here letting me know you’d hit town, but they weren’t even close to stealing a lead on the one I got an hour ago telling me you were on your way.’

  Alicia’s expression turned knowing. ‘Unless Holly Wood has installed its own watchtower,’ she said, ‘I’m guessing you were tipped off by one of my offspring.’

  ‘Correct,’ Rachel grinned. ‘Hi Mags, sorry to ignore you…’

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ Maggie interrupted. ‘I’m on my way now. Pop in later, the two of you. Drinks on me.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me yourself you were coming?’ Rachel demanded, treating Alicia to a frank once-over as Maggie trotted back to the pub. ‘You’ve lost weight,’ she told her, ‘and you’re looking a bit peaky, but I guess that’s hardly surprising. I’m sorry I haven’t made it up to London since…’

  ‘It’s OK. I know how busy you are and I’ve coped.’

  Rachel’s eyes were showing her concern. ‘You always do,’ she said, ‘but this time…’

  ‘This time has been harder, it’s true. There’s more that I haven’t told you about yet. The house …’ As her voice faltered she pressed a hand to her mouth, and Rachel slipped an arm around her.

  ‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ Rachel said softly. ‘I guess you still have a key.’

  Taking a breath, Alicia forced a smile and held it up. ‘I think Robert must have been coming in,’ she said, as they started along the path. ‘The garden’s in such good shape that someone must have been tending it.
I feel terrible now that I haven’t been for so long.’

  Taking the key from her, Rachel inserted it in the lock and pushed the door wide. ‘Welcome home,’ she said gently.

  Swallowing hard on more rising emotion, Alicia braced herself and stepped over the threshold into the spacious, flagstoned hall, where a wide wooden staircase with an intricately carved banister and rails mounted one exposed stone wall, and a large gilt-framed mirror covered the other. The coat rail, telephone table and shoe rack were exactly where they’d always been, as was the burgundy velveteen armchair, the hand-painted oriental vase with long stems of fake bamboo, and the small Victorian chest where the family had always deposited their keys when they came in. What hit her most forcefully, however, was the scent of sandalwood mingled with polish and something citrusy that was indefinably her mother. As the sense of loss welled up in her she closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip. She knew very well that her mother wasn’t going to rush out of the sitting room to greet her, but she longed for it so much she could almost believe it might happen.

  ‘Someone’s obviously been coming to clean the place,’ she finally commented.

  ‘And air it,’ Rachel added.

  Alicia continued to look around the hall, hearing echoes of voices, feet thundering on the stairs, music blaring from a bedroom, her mother banging about in the kitchen. All three doors opening off the hall were closed, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to go through any of them. The one at the foot of the stairs led into the small waiting room that used to serve her father’s surgery beyond. After his death it had remained that way for several years until her mother had finally found the heart to turn the wing into a small study for herself, and a large playroom for the grandchildren.

  The door at the end of the hall led into the kitchen, but it was the one to the right that Rachel was already opening. Alicia followed her into the sitting room where the low oak beams, inglenook fireplace with wood-burner, window seats, capacious dusky pink sofas and mismatched armchairs were like ghosts from the past simply biding their time, awaiting her return. It felt like a dream, a bizarrely timeless illusion. If she shut her eyes and opened them again she might see her mother kneeling at the hearth polishing her brasses, or plumping up a cushion, or standing at the window tidying the fold of a curtain. The unexpectedness of finding it like this was almost too much to bear. It was as though no time had passed since the awful day she and Robert had taken their mother to the hospice, but it had, and so much else had changed that it was hard to make sense of anything right now.