Full Circle

by Connie Monk

  Those were the thoughts in her head as she got ready for her trip. Yesterday’s casserole would stay just where it was until it was heated this evening, for all she would have time for would be a sandwich and a cup of coffee. The last thing she needed was to waste time eating; she meant to make herself as attractive as possible (which in fact was very attractive indeed, but she was far too used to her appearance to appreciate it). Her make-up must be applied with extra care, her hair perfect, her oatmeal-coloured dress and jacket set off by her red neckerchief, shoes and handbag. All this was done to her satisfaction, all thoughts of Bella and deceit pushed to the back of her mind as, just when the clock on the tower of St John’s Church at the far end of the High Street struck midday, she came out of the front door, remembering to carry her briefcase lest the neighbours were on watching duty. Another minute and she was in the car, reversing into the lane when she heard the front gate slam shut and Hamish was waving to attract her attention.

  ‘This is unexpected. What a shame, Hamish. I’m just off to keep an appointment.’

  ‘Look, Louisa. I mean, well, I mustn’t keep you if you’re in a rush. Um …’ Clearly, something was wrong. She switched off the engine and wound the window right down.

  ‘Is something wrong? You look bothered. What’s up, Hamish?’

  ‘Now I’ve got here it’s hard to find the right words. And you’re off working somewhere. Perhaps I should wait for a better time.’

  ‘A better time for what? I can wait five minutes. Tell me what’s troubling you.’ She had grown so fond of him and hated to see him upset about something. He was usually sure of himself. Whatever could have thrown him like this?

  ‘It’s not trouble, Lou. It’s finding the right words.’

  ‘Right or wrong, just tell me what it is. Is it something to do with Margaret? Or are things bad at the nursery? You always seem busy.’

  ‘No Mags is fine and trade’s pretty good too. What sort of a man must you think me, stammering and stuttering like some kid. Lou, you’re not blind, you must have seen how I feel about you. You and me, we get along so well. What I’m trying to say is that I love you and I reckon we’d make a good couple. Say you’ll agree for us to get married. We’re fine together; all the times we’ve been together we’ve always got on. We could build happy lives.’ He hadn’t been able to form the first words, but once he’d started he sounded set to talk uninterrupted. ‘Think of all the good times we’ve had; it’d work. If you wanted to set aside a bit of time each day to the work you do, then I wouldn’t stop you. But I’m old fashioned and I’d expect to pay the bills. If you earned anything then that would be extra pocket money for you. I’ve been wanting to say this for so long …’

  ‘I had no idea,’ she interrupted. ‘Hamish, I’m truly so fond of you, but I had no idea. I’ve never thought of us in that way.’

  ‘I’ve made a mess of it. I did it badly.’

  ‘I can’t say yes, Hamish. I’ve never thought of you as anything but a friend, a very, very special friend.’

  ‘That’ll do to be going on with. But think now, Lou, darling Lou.’ There! He’d said it; he’d called her his darling.

  ‘Friendship isn’t enough to marry on. You are very dear to me, honestly you are. Marriage needs friendship, but it’s so much more.’

  ‘I know and so it could be. I’d always be good to you; I hold you on such a high pedestal I promise I’d always cherish you.’ Then, with a grin that was so much part of his character, his and Margaret’s too, ‘Imagine what perfect children we could have – pure pedigree.’

  Despite herself she laughed, but all she said was, ‘Hamish, I’m dreadfully late. I must go.’

  ‘Think about it, Louisa. Promise me you’ll think about it.’

  ‘I promise. But Hamish, you promise me something too. Don’t let any of this spoil what we have.’

  ‘I promise that easily enough. Better half a slice of bread than none at all. May I call round this evening and give you a hand weeding the bed?’

  ‘Thanks, friend.’ And she let out the clutch and reversed out on to the lane.

  Seven

  The afternoon at the cottage cleared Louisa’s mind of any thought of Hamish, any thought at all except the need to fill the time she and Leo had with the joy of living and loving. From the first moments they both knew what the culmination of their brief hours together would be, yet something held them back from rushing. It was as if into one afternoon they had to cram every aspect of how their shared lives could be. She made coffee, he twiddled with the knobs of the radio until he found music, they talked, yet all the while their imagination was drawing them forward. Perhaps something in Louisa’s nature still clung to her hidebound past and prevented her letting him know where her imagination had been as she had driven from Lexleigh; in truth where it still was as she sipped her coffee and tried to give the appearance of relaxing while they smoked and talked. But he understood her better than she realized and, stubbing out his cigarette, he looked at her with that teasing light in his eyes.

  ‘I think we’ve paid our dues to convention.’ Holding out his hand as she came towards him, he pulled her to lie across his lap where he sat on the settee. She felt the warmth of his hand through the silk of her blouse.

  ‘To hell with convention,’ she muttered. ‘Some people have all their lives, we have just these hours.’

  ‘Methinks the lady is tempting me,’ he said softly and she heard his voice as a caress.

  ‘Your lady is wanting you,’ she answered, scarcely moving her lips as she lay across him with her eyes closed and felt his hands move on her, ‘every day and every night.’ Her eyes suddenly opened and she looked very directly at him. ‘What’s the matter with me that I can say these things to you?’

  ‘The same as is the matter with me, Lou, my beautiful Lou, every day and every night.’

  By now her blouse was unfastened, then her bra; his tie was off and she unbuttoned his shirt; his shirt was off and easing her on to the settee he unfastened his trousers and wriggled out of them just as she did with her skirt. That was just the beginning: in seconds they were stripped, their excitement mounting by the second for never before had they faced each other unclothed anywhere except the bedroom.

  The cottage was far off the road down a narrow lane, but even so they pulled down the blinds and shut themselves off from the world. They wanted the afternoon never to end – this was what they had imagined each day and each night since they’d last been to the cottage nearly a fortnight before. Of course, Leo had a dutiful wife who had no idea where his imagination was carrying him as she held him tenderly and sent up a prayer of thanks that he seemed to have forgotten ‘all that nasty nonsense’ and hoped he wouldn’t need to take too long. How different were Louisa’s thoughts as she gloried in every act, every caress, wanting these moments never to end, even though at the same time she strained towards the climax she knew she would attain. And when that moment came she was driven by ecstasy, triumph and relief, hardly aware of her cry which expressed all three.

  They dressed without speaking then, in her methodical way, she cleared away the coffee cups, plumped up the cushions and restored order to the room as if no one had been there while Leo lay back in an armchair with his eyes closed. It was Friday afternoon – the weekend lay ahead when they seldom saw each other. Why it was that the weekend should make any difference to their days made no sense – except that from Friday teatime until Monday morning the cottage was out of bounds – but because the routine at the farm was different and the village shops closed it affected all their lives. That was how it had come about that Louisa often saw Hamish and Margaret on Sunday, for on that day the nursery gate stayed shut to the public.

  ‘I’d better start first.’ Her voice brought Leo out of his exhausted half-sleep. ‘Everything is cleared up; all you have to do is lock up when you leave. And don’t forget that you haven’t put your tie back on.’

  ‘Where do you get your energy from? You seem to h
ave more get-up-and-go than you arrived with. As for me, I’m shattered beyond belief.’

  Gazing in the mirror above the mantelpiece, she touched up her make-up. ‘When shall we see each other?’

  ‘I’ll call and suggest you come to the pub this evening. Probably I’ll bring Dad with me – he’d like that.’

  ‘I’ll be appropriately surprised when I open the door.’ She bent over him and kissed his forehead. ‘It was wonderful,’ she said softly, the matter-of-fact Louisa overtaken by the woman who would live on memories of these hours until the next time. ‘Each time is better than the last.’

  His Adam’s apple seemed too large for his throat as he recovered from his exhaustion.

  ‘No use looking at me like that,’ she told him, her voice light but with an underlying note of seriousness. ‘I’m off. You know your friend Gerald often comes early on Fridays and I’d feel at a disadvantage to meet him for the first time after rollicking on his rug.’

  ‘Tut tut, woman, where’s your decorum?’ he teased, wide awake by this time.

  ‘I’ll make sure I find it ready for when you and your father call for me.’ And with one more fleetingly light kiss that missed his forehead and landed above his hairline, she was gone.

  All the way back to Lexleigh she sang, something for which she had no talent. But alone in the car there was no one to hear when she slipped out of tune. It was simply an expression of her inner contentment. Life was good. She and Leo may never live together as any ordinary couple but, with days like today, as if that mattered! Wasn’t what they had more exciting than love that might become part of habit and routine? Like Violet and Harold they would be lovers as long as they lived – lovers who found supreme joy in what surely in the average marriage became comfortable routine. No wonder she sang.

  She took a detour a mile or two from Lexleigh, bringing her in beyond the village so that she had to drive down the High Street. It was unlikely that anyone was out shopping by that hour, for it was almost time to close, but the fact that she hadn’t come via the direct route added to her feeling of mystery and excitement. And, when one of her opposite neighbours looked round from clipping the front hedge, she made a point of waving as she turned first into the lane and then her garage. Ten minutes later and approaching from the opposite direction, she heard Leo’s car drive up the lane on his way to the farm. Harold and Bella would listen with pride as he regaled them with a description of his day and what a successful order he had been given.

  Half an hour later she was lying in the bath, freshening up after that ‘rollick on the rug’. After a warm day the evening was turning chilly as the sun sank and she dressed in slacks and a jumper. Where so many women would have looked as though they hadn’t bothered, this could never be said of Louisa. Her lilac-coloured slacks and jumper were an exact match, and with them she wore a neckerchief of lilac, fawn and deep violet. Her only ornamentation was a pair of small pearl earrings. With her face freshly made up she was satisfied with her appearance when there was a knock at her front door. That’s when she remembered Hamish for the first time since she had set out for Leominster and, as so often, she was ashamed. Dear Hamish. She was truly fond of him and yet, even after his visit that morning she hadn’t cared enough, even at the back of her mind, to hang on to the memory of his visit. When Leo had said he would pick her up on the way to the Pig and Whistle nothing had triggered the memory that she had agreed to spend the evening in the garden with Hamish.

  When she opened the front door there was nothing in her expression to hint that his arrival hadn’t been expected.

  ‘You’ll think me a rotten friend. If you want to let the weeds have their own way until another day, of course I shall understand. But something has cropped up and it would have been unkind to refuse.’

  ‘Och, but I can see from your get-up that gardening won’t be for you this evening.’

  ‘You know my friend Bella, of course, but I’m not sure whether you’ve met her husband, Leo Carter? You may have. He often pops in.’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ Hamish answered, his tone giving nothing away. ‘Is he the lucky man who has merited this casual elegance?’

  ‘Yes and no. He popped round to say that he was walking to the Pig and Whistle for a drink this evening and taking his father. Poor Mr Carter, his memory is failing and he’s losing his grip, but Leo thinks it’s good for him to get amongst people sometimes. Bella couldn’t go, of course, because of the baby, so Mr Carter suggested they call here on the way and take me with them.’

  ‘The old lad has a shine for you?’

  She laughed at the unexpectedness of the question. ‘Most unlikely, I should think. But Bella often brings him here, so he is used to me. Going into a crowded pub might be a strain on him. Leo is very social, he’ll chat to all the locals, but I can see that Mr Carter is OK.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Louisa. Rumour has it that he used to be a pretty frequent visitor here.’

  ‘Yes, my aunt was very fond of him. It would sadden her to see him now.’

  Hamish nodded. ‘Shall we make it another evening or shall I spend an hour or so scratching around out here?’

  ‘That seems an awful cheek. When they arrive, why don’t you come with us to the pub? We can garden together another evening.’

  It was said on the spur of the moment and with no thought as to what Leo might make of the idea. But as it worked out, it was at just that moment that Carter father and son arrived. If she’d expected Leo to resent her having invited Hamish to join them she had misjudged him.

  ‘I saw the van outside,’ he said as they came up the path. ‘Are you the miracle man who transformed this wilderness into a garden?’

  ‘Och, but I am no more than the in-between man.’

  ‘You aren’t McLaren?’

  ‘Indeed I am.’ Louisa noticed that his sometimes hardly noticeable Scottish dialect was more pronounced than usual. ‘I put in the plants but the miracle comes after that; it is the rain and the light, the sunshine too, that gives us what we see. Mr Carter, sir,’ addressing Harold, ‘you have been a grower for many years; you know how dependent anyone working the land is upon the weather.’

  Harold seemed to grow an inch or two. It was a long time since anyone had referred to him in that way; indeed, as regards his experience on the land it was more than a long time – more likely it was the first time.

  ‘You’re right, my boy,’ his answered in a strong voice, smiling at the three of them as if he were the founder of all knowledge. ‘We’re off to the Pig and Whistle for a wee dram of something. How about you coming with us, eh?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Some other time I should enjoy it, but this evening I have my work lined up. The hedge is to be trimmed. You agree that is no job for a lady.’

  Harold looked at the long hedge, memories alive in his mind.

  ‘Like painting the Forth Bridge, by the time you reach the end the beginning is waiting for you to start again. Many an hour – and day – I’ve spent with the shears on that hedge. We never did much to make it a garden, but Violet loved a neat hedge.’ As he spoke his voice changed – he seemed to be speaking just to himself as he recalled how his life used to be. Pulling himself out of his reverie, he looked at the three of them and said, ‘It all goes too quickly. Where does time go? Before you know it you’ll all be looking back … too late by then … now, now has to be what matters.’

  ‘Come on, Dad, we’d better get to that pub or Bella will think we’re lost. Are you in the mood for a drink, Louisa, or do you want to watch the hedge cutting?’

  ‘Of course she’s coming,’ Hamish answered for her, ‘she’d already told me you were picking her up. I must get my trimmer out of the van. Can you leave the door unlocked so that I can plug it in? Or the garage, that will do.’

  Louisa noticed Leo’s quick frown and had a feeling of satisfaction. At least he must have had a twinge of resentment that another man had access to her house.

  ‘You can plug it in in
the kitchen if you’re sure you don’t want to come.’

  ‘Indeed, I am sure. I’ll start on the hedge; the weeds can live another day.’

  They left him to his labours and set off towards the Pig and Whistle, but they’d not gone many steps before Leo told her, ‘You ought to be careful who you let have the run of the house like that.’

  ‘Hamish is a friend, a very dear friend.’

  Harold was walking between the two of them and Louisa was aware that he smiled to himself as he looked from one to the other.

  ‘A very nice young man,’ was his opinion, ‘as trustworthy as they come. And if you want my opinion, I’d say his pleasure in doing that garden comes from seeing the delight Louisa gets from it. Different with Violet. No, gardens didn’t appeal to her. She liked the size of it, though, and the hedge. A good hedge keeps you private. I planted it, you know. Then I used to keep it trimmed – not cut right back, but clipping it helps to thicken it up. Long time ago.’ Once again, and only momentarily, he was back in all his yesterdays. But they’d reached the Pig and Whistle, so the past gave way to the present.

  On that evening, Harold was good company. He might have been a different man from the one who had invaded Louisa’s (previously Violet’s) bedroom all those months ago. She wondered if they were mistaken in watching over him so carefully, for perhaps it was that which took away his confidence. If he were treated as he was this evening where it was clear most of the drinkers had known him for years and were glad to see him, then she believed he would respond. She would talk to Bella about him after the weekend and suggest that none of them would be normal if they were watched continually and looked on as being incapable. But as they were walking home along the ill-lit village street she realized it was she who had misjudged the situation.

  ‘What is it, Dad? Are we walking too fast?’ Leo’s question alerted her to the fact that something was different about Harold. Instead of walking in step he was shuffling and his breathing was different, each breath like a suppressed moan. ‘You take one arm, Lou, and I’ll take the other.’