SPOILER ALERT
This is the final chapter of a novel of mine that I've been posting on my blog Mad Englishwoman and Dog. I'm putting it here to stop people coming across it by accident before they've read the rest of the novel.
If you'd like to read the rest of the novel, click here.
If you'd like to read the rest of the novel, click here.
Jane
realises she hasn’t seen a car or a person since leaving the village. She’s not
wearing a watch and she doesn’t have her phone switched on so she doesn’t know
how long she’s been walking but she guesses about three-quarters of an hour,
which would make the time elevenish. Certainly the sun is beating down on her,
and when a concrete platform appears in the hedge beside the road she hoists
herself on to it and retrieves her water bottle from her backpack.
Handy things these concrete platform.
According to Lauren (as she’s wont to say), they were built for milk churns,
which the farmers would leave out in the mornings full of milk for the tankers
to collect. She can’t say that she’s ever seen milk churns, except decorative ones, on any of them.
She hasn’t seen Lauren since the party and
hasn’t dared phone because she knows she won’t simply be able to apologise for
her behaviour. Lauren – like most women – will want to know the ins and outs of
a duck’s arse (as a certain person she used to know would say). She hopes
however that she’s done enough to be forgiven.
She did think about Rose’s suggestion for all of three days, before
realising she had no choice, not if she wanted to stay alive, and staying alive
was the least she owed everyone who’d ever been kind to her - and that included
Rose.
It took her a few sessions to trust her
counsellor. She was convinced at first that Theresa was going to classify her,
give her turmoil some medical name, make out that Jane was sick. But she came
to realise that wasn’t the case at all. Theresa wasn’t a doctor; she was more
like a friend, an impartial friend. Or like Sharon, only less bossy.
Now she wonders how she ever managed without
counselling and why she didn’t start earlier and whether there’ll ever come a
time when she doesn’t need it. It’s the biggest luxury of her life to know that
twice a week she will be somewhere safe, somewhere she can talk about
everything instead of keeping it to herself and somewhere she can cry as much
as she likes.
With Theresa’s support, she’s begun to sort out
not only the mess in her head but also the mess she’s made of her life.
She started with Henry, not because he was the
most important of the people on her conscience but because he was, strangely,
the easiest to deal with.
She went to see him in his office one morning
and apologised for storming out of work.
‘You had your reasons,’ said Henry gruffly,
obviously schooled now in the correct thing to say but not finding it easy.
'I could have handled it better,' she said.
Jane waited in case Henry wanted to apologise
for his behaviour too but nothing was forthcoming. Oh well, she couldn’t expect
miracles.
‘But the point is,’ he said, reverting to
his old self, ‘not what has happened but what will happen.’
This time she was prepared. She raised her hand.
‘I’ve got some suggestions. Let me know what you think of them.’
The first was Lauren. Why not
promote her to editorial assistant. She was more than capable, already knew the
basics thanks to Jane, and could help Sam while Henry looked for someone to
replace Jane. He might even find it wasn’t necessary.
Henry nodded sagely, without
saying anything, which Jane took as a good sign.
‘Can I also say’, she hurried
on, ‘that if we could agree that my departure was by mutual agreement – however
heated – we might in the future be able to work together in a different way. I
have for instance some book projects in mind that I might, when they’re clearer, offer to Courtney Press with a view to publication.’
Henry looked startled, not to say flabbergasted,
but nodded again.
She was slightly premature perhaps in mentioning
books, since writing for publication is only the glimmer of an idea, another
result of counselling. When Jane told Theresa about the secret notebooks she
kept as a child, Theresa became excited and suggested Jane do something similar
now, which she does. She also, again at Theresa’s instigation, keeps a dream
diary. Neither the notes nor the dreams make much sense when she reads them
back but she enjoys doing them, and because of them she's started to feel that
what goes on in her psyche is important. That she’s important. And that’s new.
And exciting.
She takes her fleece off and ties it round her waist. As usual the Devon
weather has confounded her. It’s summer now and she wishes she’d brought a hat.
She puts her water bottle back in her pack and as she does so she notices
Chris’s map. She takes it out and studies it. It’s confusing. She should be
there by now, but where’s the turning?
‘Be very careful,’ Chris said.
‘It’s easy to miss.’
Jane looks around. Of course. How
stupid she’s been. Where there’s a concrete platform, there has to be a turning
to a farm, but where is it?
And then she spots it: a
rutted concrete track camouflaged by a central strip of grass and weeds; trees
leaning over from both sides, framing the entrance and making it look as if it
leads only to a secret bower.
Her heart speeds up. This is
it. This is her last chance.
She hasn’t been to see Rick in hospital. It was the wrong place. She
wasn’t ready. Listening to the memory stick was more than enough - Rick talking to her, the songs they used to play.
On the other hand, she’s been
to see Chris several times at the community and met her new friend Becca.
‘I’ve finally decided that I
prefer women,’ Chris confided to her.
‘I’m pleased for you,’ Jane
said.
At least with Chris settled the
complications are reduced.
Two days ago Chris gave her
the news she was dreading.
‘He’s home from hospital now,’
she said. ‘Now would be a good time to visit.’
The sun beats down. Bees scurry from flower to flower. Their drone vibrates
in her head like the start of a migraine.
A blackbird flutters to the
ground in front of her and looks at her with his head on one side.
‘Tell me what to do,’ she
pleads.
January 1978
The tidal wave recedes and numbness takes over. She lies down and waits
for the usual but Rick rears backwards.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he says.
‘I can’t.’
‘It’s all right, it’s all
right,’ she says.
She starts to cry and finds
herself telling him all about London and Kelvin.
Rick doesn’t say anything but
every time she looks up from her pillow he’s watching her.
She falls asleep and when she wakes it’s
morning and her pillow’s still wet and Rick's bringing her a bowl of muesli and
a mug of tea. Cat saunters in after him.
‘I didn’t know whether you
took sugar in your tea,’ he says, ‘but I put one spoonful in just in case.’
Cat jumps on to the bed and
starts purring.
Jane retrieves her shoes from the
debris on the floor and they drive together to the university. Rick sings and
drums the steering wheel to a cassette of Rumours
by Fleetwood Mac.
She
broke down and let me in
Made
me see where I’ve been.
Been
down one time
Been
down two times
Never going back again.*
He sounds happy, and if he’s happy she’s happy too.
The blackbird gives Jane another look and hops down the track.
She slides off the concrete
platform and follows him.
At first the track is dark and
wooded but round a corner she’s in full sun again and he’s standing by a gate.
He’s filled out from when she
knew him but it suits him. It makes him look stronger. And he’s lost the angry
stoop in his shoulders. His hair is short and grey and she’s pleased about
that. She couldn’t have borne it if he’d had straggly dyed hair like some
superannuated Rolling Stone. Like the bees he's in black and yellow - black jeans and a yellow t-shirt.
Beyond the gate, through a
brick archway, she glimpses a cobbled courtyard, a cat snoozing in the sun, darting
swallows.
He smiles and holds out his
hand as if he knew she was arriving today, even though she hasn't told anyone about her expedition.
‘Come on in,’ he says, ‘and
I’ll show you around.’
She takes his hand, so warm,
so familiar.
Yes, she thinks. We can be happy here.
*The song is called 'Never going back again'
Yes, she thinks. We can be happy here.
*The song is called 'Never going back again'
