Distant Voices

‘I’m sorry, Graham. Forgive me. It was all such a shock.’

‘Of course it was, honey.’ He took my hands and held them gently. ‘The guy sounds no good to me at all. You’re well out. Do you want to go back to London with me, Thursday?’

I nodded dumbly. I never wanted to see Steve again or our beautiful cottage which I couldn’t even think of as home any more. All I wanted – was out.

Later, much later, I crawled into bed. Graham’s bed. He turned off the lamps one by one, then he climbed in beside me. I was exhausted and still very tense and when he rolled over towards me and reached out I shrank away suddenly.

‘Okay honey. No hurry.’ He turned onto his back and lay staring up at the ceiling and after a few moments I heard his breathing grow deep and regular and I knew he was asleep.

I barely slept that night. Every time I dozed off I awoke with a start, clinging to the edge of the bed. As dawn broke I crept from the blankets, my eyes heavy with lack of sleep, and drew back the curtain to gaze out into the garden.

We breakfasted in the room, then as soon as I was sure that Steve would have gone to work I let Graham drive me back to the end of the lane. He had a day of appointments he couldn’t break so he persuaded me that I may as well go home and collect some things.

Quietly I let myself in and not letting myself stop to think I ran up the stairs.

Steve was lying face down on the bed. I stopped dead when I saw him and turned to run downstairs again but he had heard me and he raised his head. His face was strangely red and swollen and it struck me suddenly that he too had been crying.

‘Where have you been?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’

‘With a man of course.’ I wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt me.

‘Oh Lyn.’ He bit his lip, painfully sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor. ‘What has happened to us?’

‘Nothing happened to me,’ I retorted. ‘I trusted you; I was working hard, for us, and look what happened.’ It didn’t cross my mind that perhaps if I had been less preoccupied with Graham over the last few weeks, things might never have gone so far.

I stamped across to the window and looked out. Ian Johnson was cutting roses next door. I could see the curl of blue smoke rising from his pipe.

I heard Steve coming across the room behind me. Then his hand was on my shoulder. ‘Linda, my love. Can you ever forgive me?’

I shrugged off his hand, and shook my head.

‘I’m leaving you, Steve. Even if I wanted to stay, it seems to me you’ve got commitments elsewhere now.’ I was so weary by now that my voice was quite unemotional and flat. I hardly cared what was going to happen.

We stood in silence for a moment, then Steve said, ‘Who is this man?’

I felt suddenly dreadfully guilty. ‘He was just a friend. Someone I met at the teashop.’ I turned and nearly spat at him, ‘He was just a friend to me, but I knew he loved me. He cares. I’m going to London with him. There’s nothing for me to stay for, is there?’

As I felt the tears welling up in my eyes again I turned back to the window. ‘Go away Steven, please.’

I held my breath. Would he go? I desperately wanted him to stay suddenly, but I heard his soft footsteps on the rug and then the sound of the door shutting behind him. Then I let the tears run down my face unchecked.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Perhaps it was hours. Slowly my tears stopped and dried in streaks on my cheeks. I felt completely drained and empty.

I nearly didn’t answer the knock on the front door. But then I slowly dragged myself down the stairs. There was a young woman on the doorstep. Instinctively I knew it must be Lauren. She was tall and slim with auburn hair. There were great dark circles beneath her eyes too.

‘Are you Linda?’ she asked bluntly.

I nodded, still clutching the door-handle.

She swallowed. ‘Will you tell Steve I’m going back to London. I don’t want to see him again.’

‘But the baby!’ I blurted out.

She blushed crimson. ‘There isn’t any baby, Linda. I made it up. I knew that was the only way I would get Steve, make him divorce you. But I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry.’

She paused as though she was going to say something else, and then she turned and ran down the path.

I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there for a while, looking after her, then I went slowly into the kitchen and made myself a cup of black coffee. It made me feel rather sick, but I hoped it might help me to think straight.

What was I to do? My brain raced in circles. Steve, Graham, the cottage, my beautiful little home. Steve, Graham, Steve … oh Steve.

I hardly know to this day what made me do it, drag a comb through my hair, collect my purse, and take the bus into Minster. The old people’s home was near the bus station, set in a lovely garden.

Aunt Irene was sitting on the porch, gazing out at the rose beds when I arrived. She smiled at me when she saw me and gestured at the chair near her. Her poor hand was still paralysed but she looked much better than when Steve and I had last seen her.

I felt her looking at me closely as I sat there not knowing what to say. I didn’t want to tell her anything; I just wanted the comfort of being near her, I think because she was Steve’s aunt.

‘It’s good of you to come, my dear,’ she commented at last. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about you and Steve.’

I felt myself blushing and I looked at my hands. Me and Steve. It seemed strange that she could still refer to us together like that, as if nothing had happened.

I looked up and smiled wanly, and I was quite embarrassed to find her looking at me so shrewdly. I felt it was almost as if she knew exactly why I was there. I suppose it can’t have been difficult to guess that we had had a row.

‘You know, Linda, I often think of my life in that cottage when I was young. I’m so happy to think that you two live there now, to fill it with happiness and laughter. I never told Steve this, but when I was a girl,’ she paused and there was such a long silence I thought she had forgotten what she was talking about, the way old people do, but then she went on, ‘I was engaged once, you know. To such a nice boy.’ Her faded blue eyes twinkled at the memory. ‘We nearly got married, then I found out that he’d done something very bad – he’d stolen some money. I told him I couldn’t marry him. He went away to the war of course, in 1914, and he was killed in the first month.’ There was a long silence. I could see that even now, after so many years, it still hurt her to think about it. At last she went on, ‘If I’d stood by him, in spite of what he’d done, I often think perhaps he might not have been killed. I might have had children of my own …’ Her voice tailed away again, and I felt my eyes fill with tears.

She smiled suddenly. ‘You won’t wait too long, will you Linda, you and Steve? I would so like to see your babies before I die, my dear.’ Then she became suddenly brisk. ‘Why not go and find the housekeeper and ask her if you can stay and have lunch with me. I’d like that. Don’t look so sad, dear. Take no notice of an old woman’s ramblings. After all, you do have Steve; and I know you love each other so much, that nothing could come between you the way it did between Robert and me. Nothing, however bad, should come between lovers. They must forgive.’

I got up and dropped a kiss on her head. ‘I’ll go and see about lunch,’ I said, my voice catching in my throat.

Of course it was very hard to forgive and I could never forget, but somehow we managed to get through that summer, Steve and I. When Graham came for me that afternoon I told him I couldn’t go to London after all and he shrugged philosophically. ‘I’m sorry, honey; if you change your mind you know where to find me …’ I think he was secretly rather relieved. After all, he was happily married in Wisconsin.

And I didn’t change my mind. I loved Steve and I realised that whatever he had done I was prepared to give him another chance. I knew I had been lucky too. Graham understood and he had not taken advantage of me when I had, I now realised, been playing with fire. I might so easily have found myself in the same situation as Lauren.

And now, the leaves are blowing from the trees and I’ve lit a fire in the grate and the room is filled with the scent of burning apple logs. I’ve given up my job; somehow we’ll get by on the money we’ve saved already, and by the time spring comes I shall have a baby and if it’s a girl I shall call her Irene. Steve doesn’t know the real reason I chose the name, but of course he’s pleased, and he’s thrilled about the baby. And I love him so very much.

The Duck Shoot Man (#ulink_9bc60608-0159-5b63-aa87-7d399bfb2a97)

Although the sun was setting in a blaze of livid gold behind the distant hills Harriet Cummins had her back resolutely towards the sight. Instead she was peering doubtfully through the windscreen of her stationary car at the retreating ripples of water on the road in front of her.

‘Extraordinary,’ she murmured to her friend, Cathie Hamden, who was seated apprehensively beside her. ‘You wouldn’t expect that the last bit to be uncovered would be the nearest bit to us. The land must be lower than the sea or something.’

‘I still think we ought to wait, dear.’ Cathie was looking at the shining mudflats and the road which snaked across them. A flock of ducks was wading happily across the causeway, not pausing to discriminate between mud base and thin mud scum.

‘Rubbish. I’m going now.’ Harriet reached purposefully for the handbrake before she switched on the ignition. That way the car already had a little impetus before the engine spluttered into life. ‘I wonder,’ she went on, gently malicious, ‘if there’s enough petrol to see us across. Wouldn’t it be awful to be caught by the tide and have to climb into one of those baskets!’

Cathie let out a squeak of fear as Harriet knew she would. She smiled to herself, but even she cast a slightly apprehensive glance upwards as they passed the first post with its plaited straw refuge.

She noticed that Cathie was sitting upright, clutching the top of the dashboard – the way she usually sat, in fact, when Harriet urged their old car over forty, which she was constantly trying to do, even in the short High Street at home – and spitefully she jabbed the accelerator. ‘Silly old woman,’ she murmured scornfully to herself. She always thought of Cathie, with her fresh pink face and still-blonde hair as old, although at sixty-five Harriet’s companion was three years her junior.