“No… yes, I’m local, I… I was going to town. On the bus; that’s why I was walking. Normally I’d go in the car but,” she sighed, “I was walking.”
“Yes, but don’t you want to go home and change; maybe have a cup of tea? Perhaps you should take it easy for a while eh?” The woman knelt before her and took hold of Pauline’s hand. She peered into her hazel eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? If you like we could take you down to the hospital, let the doctor have a look at you. You’ve had a nasty shock. Should I give your husband a call?”
“No, I don’t want that. I’m not married. It’s just that… I have a train to catch, in town. I was going to the bus stop and then on the train. I’m going away. It’s all booked and everything.”
“Oh I see. You’re wearing rings so I assumed… well, you know?”
“No, they were my mum’s. It’s easier sometimes if people think you’re married.” Pauline twisted at the bands of gold and diamonds. It had never occurred to her to remove them. They were so much a part of her that she barely noticed them.
“Well, is there anyone we can call for you? Maybe someone to give you a lift? Someone to come to your house and help you to sort things out?”
“No, I’m not going back. I don’t want to go home. I…” She knew she was beginning to gabble, felt the panic rise making her heart pump. She took a deep breath and gulped audibly.
“Hey, hey take it easy now Pauline. Don’t get upset. Look if you really feel that you’re well enough to carry on I can take you to the station. How about that?”
“Oh would you? Yes, please yes. The train goes at half past five and I think that I still have time don’t I?”
“Well, it’s only just after three now so I don’t see why not. Have you got some dry clothes in your bag? Mind you I have to say that I still think you might really be better going home. Could you not re-schedule and leave tomorrow.”
“No. I really don’t want to go home. I have a superstition about it. It’s silly I know but I think that once you’ve left you know, you shouldn’t go back – it’s from miners in the old days. My mum’s to blame.” She managed a small laugh as she dragged the old wife’s tale from the back of her memory. “Really I would so much rather keep on and go to the station.”
The whap whap of the helicopter sounded overhead and all heads turned to the west where they could see the dragonfly shape skimming the tree tops.
“Come on Pauline, grab your bag and climb in the back of my car. I’ll stand guard and make sure nobody comes too near. You change into some dry clothes and then I’ll take you to the station. We can get a cup of tea and you can give me your statement then. How would that be?”
“Brilliant. Let’s do that.” She reached for the outstretched hand and allowed the young woman to pull her up from the roadside.
Her mouth had dried and her hands shook and she knew it was nothing to do with the accident. She would need to be careful now, very careful indeed. They were going to ask questions and she must have her wits about her. How had the bright hope come to this – already she had lied and she never lied. Not until now.
The helicopter landed in the field behind her. She grabbed her bag and clambered into the back of the police car ducking her head to hide the tears of panic.
Chapter 4
Pauline let her head fall back against the hard cushion. As the train slid forward and picked up speed she struggled not to cry, to bite back the sadness. For countless months, years now, when in deep despair, when she had felt so alone and afraid, it had been just like this. For all the weeks since her resolve had stiffened and she had found hope. All the nights when hope seemed lost and she believed her present would be her future and there was no way to go on it had been this. Through all of it she had fantasised about dreamed of this journey, or at least a version of it. She had held it close to her heart and it sustained her and yet now, now that it had come to be, it was a sharp and bitter disappointment.
When she had left the house just a few hours ago the joy, the sense of freedom and achievement had bubbled inside her. Now the overwhelming emotions were worry and shame. She had lied, over and over while they told her what a good Samaritan she was, a responsible citizen and a caring person. She had fed them untruths and subterfuge and scrambled facts.
She replayed the conversation in her mind as the scene swam across the inside of her eyelids. A steaming cup of coffee on the Formica table in the police station. The police woman sitting opposite with a glass of coke, “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat Pauline?” “No, this is great.” She had sipped at the hot drink and felt her physical self strengthen and then, as her nerves settled, she had begun to lie.
The surname of a friend from school, the phone number with three of the digits transposed. The address which was her mother and father’s old one, though the house had been demolished and a pair of semis stood on the plot. The story that hackers had made it necessary to close all her internet accounts and so no, she was sorry but she didn’t have an email address. So it went, on and on.
“You probably won’t hear from us again. The farmer will very likely have insurance for his sheep and the biker will claim on his. The insurance companies may get in touch though it’s not certain and that would be by post. If the unthinkable happens and he doesn’t pull through then it may be necessary for you to attend an inquest, but let’s hope for the best, eh? Let’s hope that won’t happen.”
She nodded and smiled and then felt her spirit shrivel.
The police woman took her to the station and offered to help her find the platform, help her to find a seat. “No, it's fine. You've been so kind already.” She couldn't let them know her destination. They shook hands and parted and she felt traitorous and dishonest.
Now, hurtling through the pretty countryside in her comfortable seat on the train, she fought to recapture some of her earlier calm and happiness. Without doubt she had done the right thing, for there had been no other option. The man needed her help and she had given it. The rest of it; the contact with the police and the possibility of further involvement was a worry. Potentially it threatened everything. On the other hand, maybe she was simply being hysterical and paranoid? Perhaps the police were no threat at all, and didn’t that make it all so much worse, for she had lied unnecessarily. What a mess.
She had planned so carefully. This was but a small part of the whole plan; a break in the UK, in a part of the country they had never visited as a couple and would not immediately suggest itself as a place to search for her.
Once he realised she had left him then George would no doubt look for her passport. When it wasn't there he would guess she had travelled abroad. If he involved the police and they feared for her safety then they would check channel crossings and airports, wouldn’t they? So, she would wait, give it time before she left the country. She had been seen in the village on Monday and Tuesday and so the search would be timed from after that. She had never been afraid of the police; she'd had no reason to be, not until today, until the lying. Her fear had always been simply of her husband: the idea that he might come looking for her. George would be angry and peevish and so she must cover her tracks.
The house in France wouldn’t be hers for a few weeks yet and so there was no rush to be there. Though the sale had included some basic furniture a lot more would be needed. Until she owned property it wasn’t possible to buy a car so one would have to be hired. She would need to find where to buy essentials for her new home. Though the prospect was thrilling it was also challenging. She would have to manage things she had never done before on her own and she had thought it might be overwhelming right on top of her escape. So, a break in Cornwall, an out of the way village and a chance to stop and take stock and breathe had seemed a gentle way to start and it was a gift to herself, a reward for her bravery. A hidey hole and a refuge.
As the train rushed through the sunlit fields and sleepy villages she tried to regain control. Though things had gone awry i
n a totally unlooked-for way she must get back on track. It just was not possible for everything to fail so quickly and so she took a deep breath. She straightened her shoulders and from somewhere deep inside dragged back her strength and resolve.
She would make it work and make it right. She turned to the window and watched the green fields fly past, a glimpse of a fox, the still life image of a herd of deer, and the constant flash of cars on the roads running alongside the railway. She dredged up a watery smile. It was okay. Lying was wrong, but at the end of the day the good that she had done surely outweighed the subterfuge and dishonesty.
No matter, it was all too late now and it was over. They couldn’t find her, not even if they needed to, and so she would put it behind her and move along. There was no other option.
Chapter 5
The smell of fish and chips, petrol fumes. Rush and dash and noise. This wasn’t it; the place that she was looking for should be sea smell and tar and landed fish and the cry of gulls. Pauline shook her head. She wasn’t a fool and so had expected it to be a little this way but it was a disappointment nonetheless. What she wanted was the feel of new summer sandals, cotton shorts and a soft blouse. She wanted to clasp Granddad’s hardened, gardener’s hands as he shepherded her across the road and lifted her to the sea wall so she could walk high above the damp sand and the deck chairs and other golden children. She wanted Nana’s gentle smile and her wad of tissues from her shopping bag to wipe away the sticky drool of ice cream. She was craving the safety and sureness and the feeling of being special, of being beloved.
Throughout her childhood Mum and Dad suffered guilt because they couldn’t leave their business in the summer but Pauline had never minded. She was the special one, the reason for the holiday and the light in the life of her grandparents. They spoiled her and filled her days with laughter and the beach and boat rides and coach trips and made such memories that now, in this scary time she had come to find it again. It wasn’t here today but it was enough that it had been once and so she hefted her bag and made her way to the taxi rank.
“Porthelland please, Gull’s Rest… do you know it?”
“Aye – I do. Nice day again.”
“Hmm, lovely.”
“Having a break are ya? Before the hordes arrive.”
“The hordes?”
“Oh aye, another month you won’t be able to move for tourists. Nothing wrong with it of course; my best season. But it’s nice now, just before it all goes ballistic.”
“Ah I see… yes it’s lovely now, but busier than I remember. How far is it to Gull’s Rest?”
“Oh it’s about half an hour, you sit back and enjoy the ride my dear. It’ll be twenty five pounds, is that okay?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine. I knew it was a little way out of town.”
“Aye, it is that, but beautiful if you want some peace.”
The taxi pulled out of the rank and joined the melee. Now and then a tantalising glimpse of sun on water twinkled between the buildings and there was the cry of gulls and the feeling of holiday so it wasn’t all lost to burgers and booze. Pauline settled back and tried to relax…
“Here we are lovey. Gull’s Rest. You’ve been fast asleep. You must ‘ave ‘ad a long day. It’s tiring is travellin’; one of the reasons I stays at home.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No need lovey, no need. You’re on your holidays after all. Now is Jim meeting you ‘ere or is it to be Dolly?”
“I’m not sure, but I think someone is. Thanks so much.”
“Oh well best hope for Dolly!” With a little chuckle the driver helped her out and passed Pauline her bag. “Do you want to book for the return?”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”
“’Ere you go, ‘ere’s my card. You just give me a ring and it’ll be cheaper if you pre-book.” With a wink and a little smile the taxi driver turned his face away and rumbled out of the small cobbled yard.
Pauline took a deep breath. Yes, there it was now; what she had come here for. The salt tang and the smell of warm dust and new cut grass and behind that the farm smells… and at last she felt a knot inside begin to unwind.
The sky was losing brightness and colouring down through a fading blue to the magic shades of a sun kissed evening. Swifts and swallows looped and bent above her and she could hear the buzz of a motor boat out on the water. This was close to heaven, surely.
The old door on the little cottage swung open and a round man of indeterminate age stepped across the narrow patch of grass. Pauline smiled at him and held out her hand.
“Oh so, you’re ‘ere at last. I don’t normally ‘spect to be this late. Past dinner and me still waiting ‘ere. Could you not get an earlier train?”
“Oh, erm… sorry. I didn’t think there was a schedule.”
“No, no, probl’y not. Nobody thinks I might ‘ave something else to do. Holiday for one ‘bain’t be ‘oliday for all. I ‘ave cows to see to and me sittin’ waiting. Well, you’re ‘ere now. Come in if you’re comin’.”
It was pretty funny; she bit back the urge to chuckle. The booking online had given the impression that this was a sleek modern organisation, and yet here was this curmudgeonly farmer stomping back towards the beautiful little house and ducking under the low lintel. Oh well, onward and upward Pauline.
“Right. ‘Ere be the livin’ room. Upstairs, beds. Kitchen through ‘ere.”
She dropped her bag in the small, dim hallway and hurried through to the bright little kitchen. It was spotless. The worktops were white tile and the wooden cupboard units and Belfast sink obviously part of a new refurbishment that had been done with care and love. Yellow curtains shifted in the evening air and beyond the small back garden and stone wall there was a rough meadow and then there was the sea. Diamantes danced and twinkled as the great body of water heaved and shifted under the orange ball of the sun sliding towards the horizon. It literally took her breath away.
“You’ve plenty time to stare at water. I need to get on.” She turned and Jim was stood behind her holding a sheaf of papers. “’Ere be instructions. Washer, dish machine, cooker. Try not to break ‘em. Should be no problem with drains and stuff: all redone last winter. Sick to death of dashin’ up ‘ere all hours for blockages. The stuff people think they can flush away! Makes my blood boil.
“You’ve ordered a welcome pack.” She felt the laughter welling again at the word from this dour old farmer’s lips but she held her peace and painted a smile on her face. “There’s bacon ‘n eggs, there’s bread ‘n butter and a bit o’ cheese. There’s tea and suchlike. I ‘spect you’ll want wine. Every bugger wants wine. Well there ‘bain’t be wine but there’s a bottle o’ beer and a pub down the road. They’ll sell you bottles of wine if you’ve money to burn on such stuff.
“Now then. Do you want cleanin’?”
“Sorry?”
“Cleanin’. Do ya want cleanin’? Every other mornin’ Dolly can come in.”
“Oh, yes please. That would be lovely.”
“Aye’ well, maybe. You’re booked for a week so this time next Wednesday you need to be gone.”
“Is it booked up after that?”
“What?”
“The cottage… is it booked for the week after? If I wanted to stay longer would it be possible?”
“Aye, I daresay. I’ll send Dolly in the mornin’. Cows be waitin’. ‘Ere be keys.”
And that was it. He pulled the door closed behind him and she could hear him calling as he stomped off down the road. “’Ere Barney, Get ‘ere ya bugger.” She could only assume Barney was a dog that she hadn’t seen.
It started deep inside. Some of it was relief and a hint of hysteria but a great part was simply confounded amusement at the strange welcome. Each time she ran through the greetings the giggle caused her to catch her breath until in the end she was chuckling loudly. In the fading light of the Cornish evening she recaptured the pleasure of the morning when she had slammed the door on her past. It ha
d been a long and difficult day but see now; she had coped and she was here and yes, she felt happier than she had for a long, long time. She didn’t need wine because the joy in her heart was now so intoxicating.
Chapter 6
Whether it was the long sleep in the taxi, residual tension, or the unfamiliar surroundings, Pauline didn’t float into the dreamless sleep that she had hoped for.
After a supper of omelette, fresh bread and a glass of beer, she felt nicely drowsy. With the windows and doors of the little cottage closed the lullaby of the ocean was a gentle whisper. The house was comfortably warm and as she slipped between fresh smelling sheets in the double bedroom she felt relaxed and ready for bed.
There were no bumps or lumps in the mattress and the pillows were soft. Moonlight slid through a tiny gap in the curtain and drew a line across the bed and up the wall. The tiny spear of silver was a comfort in the otherwise total darkness. She stretched her legs full length. She curled into a ball on her side. She lay on her back, then turned onto her stomach and still sleep she so wanted refused to come. After almost an hour the sheets were wrinkled and creased and the nerves in her legs were jumping and twitching.
The house creaked and popped as old wood and warm stone cooled but she wasn’t afraid, not at all. She was simply sleepless. Out on the tiny landing there was a night light plugged into a wall socket, it was enough to find her way downstairs without the need for the overhead lamp. Although she would rather have been asleep the realisation had come that in fact it didn’t matter. She had no-one to answer to and no responsibilities the next day. For the first time in many years her life was her own to do with as she pleased.
She could spend the whole night gazing from the window across the dark meadow to the ocean where breaking waves shone in the moonlight. If she chose to curl up in the window seat sipping tea and listening to the owl and night jar and cows, which would low occasionally from nearby, it didn’t matter to anyone but her. For at long last she was free. After sitting in the living room for a while eating chocolate biscuits and drinking tea and relishing the feeling of guilty pleasure she made her way into the kitchen to rinse her cup. The garden was now all dappled grey shapes with just one blaze of white where a rose climbed on a trellis beside the wall.
Leaving George Page 2