Stranger at the Wedding

by Jack G. Hills

  “Donald! If you’re hiding and this is some kind of joke, you’ll be sorry when I find you.” She declared threateningly, as she spun around looking and waiting for his unexpected entrance.

  Feeling let down by the anti-climax of her own making, it was only as she yanked open the door that she’d noticed the old weather-worn postcard that had been pinned to the shed’s wall next to the door. It looked old and tattered enough to have been there some years and the rusty brass drawing pin merely confirmed her suspicion.

  The photograph had been taken in a wood, which had at its centre a large oak tree that over the years had been entangled with ivy from its roots all the way up to its canopy. Stood on either side of the massive trunk, hugging the ivy clad arboreal monster was a young woman and a man. The couple could have been anyone, but Martha thought the woman resembled her mother who at the time of the photograph couldn’t have been any older than she was now. Across the top of picture she could just make out the faded words…

  ‘Friendship, like ivy on a tree, clings to you… forever.’

  As she lovingly touched and caressed it, Martha wondered if Donald had left it there out of respect for her mother or because it reminded him of the ivy, which had been knotted around everything in the garden and which had given him his first inkling of a memory.

  Whatever the reason, she was suddenly engulfed by an urge to pull it off the wall and read the message on the reverse, but as her hand hovered near the pin, she suddenly and inexplicably had a terrible feeling of despondency and loss. In the warm, close interior of the shed, a cold sensation swept through the inside, making her shiver uncontrollably and at that moment she knew that something had happened to Donald.

  With a heavy heart and legs that felt burdened by lead shoes, she shut the shed door behind her and sought out the solace of the house … she’d not considered the possibility that Donald might merely have been upstairs having a shower or getting changed but the bout of optimism lightened her heavy legs momentarily and allowed her to rush headlong through the back door and straight into Mrs Henderson.

  “Och mah! 'N' whaur ur we gaun in sic a rush young lassie?” The housekeeper admonished in as kind a manner as she could manage.

  “I was looking for Donald. I want to tell him what Mr Fitzgerald said.” Martha said breathlessly.

  “He’s packed his bags ‘n’ gaen.” Mrs Henderson’s reply was as cold, as her appearance was harsh. Better, she’d decided, that the girl be told quickly without her father present, that way she’d get over it more easily and Dr Monroe wouldn’t be around to muddy the waters. She’d suggested, when she’d dropped Donald’s bag off at the surgery that he might like to have a drink at the Fisherman’s Arms after surgery had finished. Then, by the time he pushed his key into the front door, with his sorrows drowned and his senses numbed, she’d hoped Martha would have put Donald behind her and be fast asleep in her bed.

  “Gone! What do you mean gone… gone where and why? Where’s father? What has he said about all this?” The questions came so fast that Mrs Henderson didn’t know which one to answer first and so took the diplomatic approach and ignored them all.

  “Noo Ah thought as a treat we micht hae a fish supper tonight… Ah ken ye aye lik' that.”

  She said instead.

  “A fish supper? Mrs Monroe I’m sure you mean well but I’m twenty one next month, not eleven. Where’s Donald… what have you done?” Martha condemned the guilty party without hearing the case for the defence.

  “Ainlie whit shuid hae bin dane months ago. Noo gang tae yer room 'n' bade thare, I’ll bring yer supper…” Martha’s open hand caught the smaller woman unexpectedly full square on her cheek and sent her spinning across the kitchen.

  “Don’t…! Never tell me what to do in this house again. Because, whatever hold you may think you have over my father, it will be nothing compared to the story I’ll spin him, you sour faced old spinster. Now get out of here before I do something I’ve wanted to do for years.” Martha looked around and saw the large serrated carving knife lying on the draining board of the enamelled sink. With a deadly glint to her eye, she picked up the weapon and turned back to face the woman who she hated more than anyone else in the world.

  “I said get OUT!” She screamed so loud that even the cat, who spent most of his time basking in the radiant heat of the Aga, sprang to his feet and shot through the open back door to find someplace to sleep that wasn’t as noisy as the kitchen.

  Defiant in her demise, Mrs Henderson slowly unfastened her apron and threw it onto the floor.

  “Let’s see howfur lang ye lest wi'oot me, young lady… 'n' if yi'll waant yer faither I’ve na doubt you’ll fin' him at th' bahookie o' a cratur gless in th' Fisherman’s Arms. Whin ye come tae yer senses I’ll be at mah sisters.”

  “When I come to my senses, I’ll come looking for you… but it won’t be to ask you back here, remember that and sleep well.” Martha lunged forward with the knife outstretched before her and feinted an attack that would have turned most people’s legs to jelly, but seemed to cure Mrs Henderson’s bout of rheumatism in an instant.

  Martha had waited for the front door to slam shut behind the woman before she sat down and burst into tears. She’d had such a lovely day at work and the woman… the prospective client had been so kind to her, just like a big sister and had listened to her go on and on about Donald until finally she’d said:

  “It’s love Martha… that’s you’re problem, you’re in love with the man… and heaven help you because they’re all cheats and louses. They only want one thing and then it’s ‘Hasta la vista’ baby.” The woman had finished her succinct summing up of the male race with a flurry of her right hand and a click of her fingers.

  “Love?” Martha had replied wide-eyed and innocently. She’d heard others talk about it and had read the hotel’s old magazines but she’d never thought it would happen to her… Martha Monroe fall in love?

  “No you don’t understand he’s just a friend. He came here by accident and …” But woman had heard the sorry story too many times before and had been party to the one act tragedy on more than one occasion herself. Women always trotted out the same old excuses, lied to themselves and tried to convince everyone around them that this time, they’d found the right man. Christ, she thought, as she looked at the poor pathetic girl, she ought to write a series of books… ‘What Women want from a Man’ followed by its sequel… ‘The Delusional Woman’… she’d make a fortune.

  “I’ve no doubt he did Martha, but I bet you anything that he was running away from some responsibility… somewhere there will be a woman who is right now still wondering what she did wrong or what she could have done better. Because it’s always the woman’s fault Martha… when it all goes belly up and sour, it will be your fault. He won’t be bothered, this … what was his name again?”

  “Donald.” Martha said lovingly.

  “Right this Donald, I bet if I saw him right now I’d see the betrayal in his eyes… there’s probably a child as well. They always leave the woman holding the baby.” There was a bitterness in her voice that upset Martha and made her regret ever mentioning Donald.

  “Is that what happened to you?” Martha dared to ask, whilst not wishing to pry too deeply into the private life of a possible client.

  “Me? No… well there was no child but he cheated on me and walked out on me. Just up and went one night, never to be seen again. After that night I vowed it would never happen to me again… in future if anyone was going to get hurt, they’d have a dick and wear trousers.” The woman saw the look of shock and horror on Martha’s face. Suddenly it dawned on her that the girl had probably never heard talk like that before… she might even still be a virgin, she thought jealously. She burst out laughing and drew the attention of the guests and staff who were passing through the lobby.

  “Sorry.” She apologised, as her laughing subsided. “Did I shock you?” Martha smiled back.

  “My father’s a doctor and whilst
my mother was alive all that was talked about at the dinner table was patient’s problems… so no I shouldn’t be shocked. It’s just that I’ve not thought about Donald in that way before. For one thing he is so much older than I am.”

  “And that matters how? Look forget what I’ve said, not everyone has my bad experiences, there are happily married couples out there and there’s no reason that you and Donald shouldn’t be one of them.” Rachel in her new guise of Patrick’s supposed client, patted Martha’s knee and longed to feel like she did right at that moment… free of experiences and hopeful that Nirvana was just round the next bend in the road of life.

  “Is Mr Fitzgerald happy do you think?” It was a strange question for Martha to ask a complete stranger and she wasn’t totally sure why she had but he seemed a kind man and she’d always thought kind men would make good husbands.

  “Mr Fitzgerald? Well as happy as anyone. I’ve met his wife Helen and she is very pleasant but I’d say she’s more a man’s woman than a woman’s woman if you know what I mean.” She’d said it before realising the imprudence of discussing the boss’s private life with one of his employees. “Oops I don’t think I should say anymore. You won’t tell him I said that will you?”

  “Oh no, of course not.”

  “By the way, do you have a photograph of Donald? I can usually tell from a man’s eyes if they are going to be a good catch.” Rachel thought it was the least she could do to make up for her bitching on about how bad men were.

  “No… I haven’t. But I’ll take one tonight on my phone and show it to you tomorrow before you leave.”

  Now she thought, as she sat alone at the kitchen table, she’d never be able to take Donald’s photograph. Perhaps the woman had been right, perhaps all men were no good… No, Donald wasn’t like the rest, if he’d been able to, he’d have left her a note or said goodbye himself… anyway she’d get his address from her father and then write to him every day until he came back to her.

  “Martha! Martha are you there?” Her father’s voice sounded weak and apprehensive. “Martha there you are.” He said slurring his words ever so slightly, as the whisky took a hold of his brain. “Martha where’s Mrs Henderson?” He asked hesitantly.

  “She’s gone away father… like Donald, but she won’t be coming back… from now on I’m the lady of the house and I’ll be looking after you. So come on, up to bed and I’ll bring you up a nice cup of cocoa and two paracetamol. Then in the morning I’ll cook you you’re favourite breakfast before I go to work and hand my notice in.”

  “Stop work… but you love your work.” He said sadly.

  “I know but there’s so much to do here and I have to have the garden prepared and ready for Donald’s return.” She lovingly stroked her father’s stubbly face. “He will be coming back… won’t he father?”

  PART THREE

  THE RESURRECTION

  Spring 2010

  “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind”

  William Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  The sign simply said;

  The Ambleside Clinic

  PRIVATE

  “Thank you Mr McHendry. I’m sorry but I can’t give you any money for the fare.” Donald said with a heavy heart.

  He’d slept for most of the journey and had awoken in the darkness with only the amber glow of the odd street light to give him any clues as to where they were. Looking at his watch… It was ten o’clock and they’d been travelling for just short of nine hours. Finally the car drew to a halt outside a large pair of impressive looking gates.

  “Ah away with ye, don’t worry aboot anything like that Donald. Dr Monroe haes seen me right. He’s even booked me intae some hotel nearby fur the night. Noo, I don’t know aboot ye but I can’t wait tae pat ma heid on a pillow… I’m fair knackered after all that driving. Noo, yer bag is in the boot. Tae' care noo, won’t you?”

  After Mrs Henderson’s strong dialect, Mr McHendry was much easier to follow. It was a funny thing about not having a past, he’d grown to love Cromarty and the people who lived there, just as much as if he’d been born in the town… it felt as much like home as any place could and Donald knew he was going to miss it all terribly.

  “I will Mr McHendry and have a safe trip back.” Donald was just about to ring the bell to the side of the gate, when a sudden thought flashed into his head. “Mr McHendry… would you do something for me?”

  “Sure if I kin laddie.”

  “When you get back will you give Martha the address of the clinic and tell her that if she wants to write to me, it would make me very happy. Also could you say that none of this was my idea but she shouldn’t blame her father, he was only trying to help me.”

  “Aye, I think I could dae that. In fact, I kin think o' nothin’ I’d like mair than tae rub that miserable auld hag up the wrong way… she’s bin a pain in mah side ever since I bolted ower her foot with mah car.” Mr McHendry explained with just a hint of glee.

  “Well accidents will happen, I guess.”

  “Accident…Och it were nay accident Donald. I was aiming mah motor directly at her but I didn’t hae mah glasses with me, sae I missed her 'n' broke her foot instead.” The elderly man explained with a cheeky wink.

  Donald watched the car drive down the country lane until the pair of red brake lights blinked, rounded the bend and promptly disappeared. Feeling disconsolate, alone and isolated, he turned his back on the blackness and like a moth drawn to a light his eyes followed the length of the high fortified wall, which was topped with a triple layer of razor wire, back to the heavy set gates that were brightly illuminated by a pair of powerful spotlights positioned high above the wall.

  “I wonder if all this is to keep the patient’s in or the locals out.” He said without thinking, staring up at the gates, which suddenly and miraculously began to open.

  “Everything is designed for your protection, Donald.” The mysterious ethereal voice announced.

  “Wow!” Donald shrieked like a startled night owl. Fearing he’d ignored his reception committee, he spun round like a drunken ballet dancer on stilts, but could see no one.

  “Sorry Donald I didn’t mean to surprise you like that.” The anonymous voice added through the night air. “Welcome to the Ambleside Clinic. If you’d like to step through the gates and continue up the drive, you should reach the main building in about fifteen minutes. Normally, we’d have sent a car to pick you up but because of the late hour I afraid that’s not possible. Dr Monroe was unsure of your arrival time so all the staff, with the exception of myself, have retired for the night and unfortunately I don’t drive.” Donald tried to recover his composure, whilst at the same time hoped he’d retained at least a fingernail grip on reality.

  “Thank you… that’s fine… I’ll walk.” He stuttered to the inert brass intercom that had been set into the slate pillar. Bending closer to the gatepost, he could feel his face start to flush with embarrassment… what he wondered, would Dr Monroe make of his state of mind now, if he caught him talking to a gatepost.

  As he started the long walk up to the clinic’s main building, the gates slowly and inexorably closed behind him until with a final and definitive clunk, they locked shut. The steely noise echoed around the darkness and stopped Donald dead in his tracks. At that moment, with Mr McHendry gone, the gates locked shut behind him and the night swallowing his every step, Donald felt more lost than at any time since waking from his coma.

  With his way back blocked by the gates and the way ahead clothed in blackness, Donald tentatively took another step, followed by another, until after a few moments he was striding resolutely ahead. The only doubt that lingered in his mind was the thought that with each step he was leaving Martha further and further behind.

  The drive, which was wide enough for two cars to pass with ease, cut a winding path through the dense woodland that cloaked the side of the hill and ran all the way down to the north eastern shore of
Lake Windermere.

  In the darkness it was impossible for Donald to see anything of his new surroundings other than the veil of beech trees that stood tall and erect on either side of the drive. Occasionally from somewhere under the cover of the encroaching woods, he heard the screech of a pair of Tawny Owls, as they warned one another of their presence.

  After what seemed an eternity, he rounded yet another kink in the seemingly endless drive and finally saw the bright lights of the clinic’s main entrance peeping out through the surrounding vegetation. Two minutes later, as he cleared the last stand of trees, the expanse of the building was revealed in all its dimly lit glory.

  Formerly a Victorian mansion built in the Gothic style, the front elevation appeared to rise from the ground and disappear into the night’s sky. Whilst light flooded out from the grand doorway and entrance hall, the upper floors were black and featureless in the darkness. He stopped and looked at the building with the awe that the original architect had hoped his masterpiece would elicit from any person casting their eyes upon the house for the first time.

  But Donald’s initial reaction lasted only as long as it took for the first shiver to strike him like a bolt of lightning and shoot down his back making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand upright. For no rational reason, Donald suddenly felt afraid and wary of all that the building represented.

  “Donald, please you must be very tired after such a long journey. You’ll be pleased to know that we have your room ready and whilst we would normally go straight to the office and complete your registration, I think we’ll forego that particular pleasure until the morning.”