Season Of Mists

‘I do appreciate the situation, Doctor,’ said Abby unhappily, ‘but I don’t see what I can do.’

‘Contact her,’ he begged. ‘Try and persuade her that my efforts are for her own good. She might listen to you.’

Abby shook her head. ‘And she might not.’

‘But you will try?’

‘Of course.’ Abby hesitated. ‘She’s not in any danger, is she?’

‘Only from her own stubbornness,’ retorted Dr Willis shortly. ‘I’ll leave it with you, Mrs Roth. Do your best.’

The problem of what to do about Aunt Hannah occupied the rest of the day, but by the evening Abby had come to a tentative conclusion. She would have to go to Rothside. She could not trust this to a letter, and perhaps it was time she stopped running away from the past.

A telephone call to British Rail solicited the information that there were frequent inter-city services between King’s Cross and Newcastle, and from there it should be possible to take a bus to Alnbury. It was a long way to go, just for a weekend, and there was always the chance of hold-ups, but it would have to be done. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Aunt Hannah, and she had done nothing to help.

She refused to consider what she would do if she met Piers. There was no earthly reason why they should meet. She was only going to be in Rothside for forty-eight hours. And besides, why should she be apprehensive? The divorce was only a formality, as he had said. They had had no communication for almost twelve years. They were strangers. She doubted he would even recognise her.

She arrived back at the flat, mentally planning what she ought to take with her. Matthew was in from school, she saw with relief, watching television in the living room. Her words of greeting were answered by a grunt, and she unloaded her shopping in the kitchen before telling him of her arrangements.

‘You remember what I was telling you about Aunt Hannah?’ she ventured, when the fish fingers she had brought in for their tea were browning under the grill. ‘About her having a heart attack?’

‘Hmm.’ Matthew was engrossed in the antics of the latest group of cartoon detectives, and was only paying her scant attention.

‘Matthew!’ Abby spoke his name a little impatiently, and he glanced round.

‘I’m listening.’

‘Well——’ She paused a moment to marshall her words. ‘I thought we might go up to Rothside this weekend to see her.’

‘Hmm—what?’ At last she had his interest. ‘You mean—go to Northumberland?’

‘To Rothside, yes.’

‘Blimey!’ Matthew gazed up at her with the first trace of genuine enthusiasm she had seen for ages. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Yes,’ Abby nodded, a little surprised at his reaction. She had half expected him to complain because it meant he would miss the first home game of the new football season.

‘Hey!’ Matthew actually grinned. ‘Terrific!’

Abby shook her head. ‘You don’t mind.’

‘Mind?’ He snorted. ‘Will we get one of those high-speed trains? You know, the ones that do over a hundred miles an hour?’

‘Perhaps.’ Abby was relieved. ‘Then we have to take a bus from Newcastle to Alnbury.’

‘Alnbury? Where’s that?’

‘Oh, it’s about five miles from the village. It’s where I used to go to school.’ She broke off abruptly. ‘Set the table, will you, Matt? The fish fingers smell as if they’re burning.’

Abby booked seats on the five-forty p.m. train to Newcastle on Friday evening. She arranged to pick Matthew up from school at four o’clock, which gave them plenty of time to get from Greenwich, across London to King’s Cross.

‘Try and keep yourself clean,’ she requested urgently, when he went off to school on Friday morning in his best trousers and school blazer, and Matthew grimaced goodnaturedly, content for once to wear his uniform. He really had been remarkably good since he learned about the trip, Abby reflected, as she rode the bus to work. Perhaps he had decided to turn over a new leaf, she thought, but she wasn’t optimistic.

Her own boss, Trevor Bourne, had agreed to her leaving early without objection. ‘I just wish it was a job interview you were attending, Abby,’ he declared ruefully. ‘I know how much your independence means to you, don’t I?’

Abby smiled. ‘If you mean what I think you mean, then yes, my independence is important to me,’ she averred firmly. ‘It wouldn’t work, Trevor. You’ve been a bachelor too long.’

To her relief, Trevor let it go at that. Periodically, he tried to introduce a more personal note to their relationship, but so far Abby had resisted his attempts. She liked him. She liked working for him. But anything else was totally unacceptable. It wasn’t that she was frigid. On the contrary, there were times when the underlying needs of her own body drove her to consider any alternative. But there was always Matthew to apply the brake, Matthew’s opinion of her to care about, and the reluctant betrayal of her own self-respect if she indulged in a merely physical assuagement.

Matthew was waiting for her when she arrived at his comprehensive school a few minutes after four. His blazer was a little dusty, as if it had suffered from contact with the tarmaced playground, but at least the day was fine, and there was no mud to worry about. His boots she was less impressed with. But the only shoes he possessed were track shoes, and as he had refused to consider regular schoolwear, she had been obliged to humour him.

Now he took the suitcase she was carrying from her as they hurried to catch the bus, and Abby knew an unexpected feeling of being cared for. Matthew could be so sweet when he chose, she thought, giving him a warm smile as he took his seat beside her. If only he chose more often, how much easier her life would be.

The train left on time. It was full of business men, returning to the north after a day’s outing in London. Briefcases were the order of the day, and there was plenty of room for their bags and belongings between the seats.

Dinner was served on the train, but Abby had brought sandwiches, and Matthew munched happily as they plunged through the rolling downs surrounding London, and on to the flatter countryside bordering East Anglia. It was still light as they swept through Peterborough and Grantham, but by the time they reached their first stopping place at York, lights were springing up around the train, and dusk had deepened the shadows.

Matthew was growing restless now. With their meal over, and over an hour still ahead of them, he asked if he could go for a walk along the train, and realising she was as nervous as he was, she let him go.

In his absence, she pulled out her compact and examined her pale features with some trepidation. Had she changed so much? she asked herself anxiously. Twelve years was a long time. She was no longer eighteen, she was almost thirty, and the innocence of youth had given way to a guarded experience. She was different in ways that a mirror could not reveal. Although her eyes were still green between smoky lashes, they seemed to have lost their sparkle, and she was probably lucky her hair was that streaky shade of ash blonde. At least no one could see the grey hairs that must be there among the silver strands. Her skin was still good, and she seldom wore a lot of make-up, but nothing could alter the fact that she was a woman now, not a girl, and certainly not the girl who had married Piers Roth.

Matthew came back, his lean face glowing in the dim light. On occasions like this, she thought he did resemble his father, but mostly he took after her, with his fair hair and pale colouring. ‘I opened the window on the door and looked out for a bit,’ he explained, appalling her anew by his casual announcement. They could have passed a signal box, a bridge, anything, and the terrifying pictures these images created caused her to shake her head in horror. ‘It’s okay,’ he added, noticing her reaction. ‘I didn’t do anything dangerous. I just wanted to see the engine, but the door into the driver’s section was locked.’

‘Oh, Matt!’ Abby gazed at him in helpless fascination, and he shrugged his wide shoulders.

‘Well …’ he grimaced, ‘I’ve never been on a diesel train before, and I wanted to get to know all about it, so I could tell the guys.’

‘The guys!’ Abby shook her head. ‘Don’t you mean—the boys?’

Matthew grinned. ‘Okay, the boys,’ he mimicked her humorously, and she thought again how likeable he was when he wasn’t continually trying to score points.

‘You look pale,’ he continued, surveying her with steady consideration. ‘You’re not still worrying about Aunt Hannah, are you?’

‘Well, I am worried, of course, but I didn’t realise it showed so badly,’ she responded dryly. ‘What’s the matter? Do I look a hag? I must admit, I’ve been wondering if she’ll recognise me.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Abby shook her head. ‘It is ten years since she’s seen me, Matt.’

‘So what? You don’t look old.’

‘Thank you.’

‘As a matter of fact, one of the fifth-formers asked if you were my sister the other day,’ he told her, with some reluctance. ‘I said you were my mother, and he said you must have been a schoolgirl when you had me. I socked him!’

‘Oh, Matt!’ Abby was disturbed, but touched that he should care what people said of her.

‘Well…’ Matt hunched his shoulders, ‘he was implying I didn’t have a father. Rotten bastard!’