Vicky thanked her and they parted company.
‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ Like Lucy, Adam was concerned.
‘She’s a strong woman,’ Lucy assured him. ‘She’ll be fine. But she’ll want to be on her own for a while.’ Lucy knew, more than anyone else, what Vicky must be going through, and her heart went out to her.
From the car, they
could see Vicky go down on her knees; they watched her set the flowers before the marble headstone, and they saw her lean forward and read the words:
BARNEY DAVIDSON
1890–1933
A MAN OF COURAGE.
HE MADE THE GREATEST
SACRIFICE OF ALL.
She seemed to be talking, then she bowed her head and clambered to her feet. For what seemed an age she stood still as a statue, her eyes downcast and her hands
folded before her.
After a few more moments, she suddenly turned and walked away. She did not look back, nor did she look down. Instead she walked with her head high, dignified in her grief, and calmer of heart for having come here to speak with her beloved Barney.
As she came nearer, the two onlookers could only guess at the turmoil inside her.
‘Are you all right?’ Lucy hurried to meet her.
‘I am now,’ Vicky smiled; it was a quiet, serene smile that spoke volumes. ‘When I saw the inscription on my Barney’s tomb, I felt a great sense of peace and understanding come over me.’
Lucy was amazed at the change in her old friend. Where before she had been nervous and worried, Vicky now seemed to have found a degree of calm, almost as though she really had been talking with Barney, as though
all these years she had wanted to tell him how much she loved him, and only now was she able to.
‘Come home now,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a nice cup of tea and some of Elsie’s shortbread.’
‘That would be just what the doctor ordered,’ Vicky replied. She gave a long, heartfelt sigh, and told Lucy, ‘I came to Bedford with a purpose: to see you and hear your story, to come here to Barney, and to
meet the daughter you bore him. I’ve got through them all, and now I’m ready to get on with the rest of my life.’
As Adam watched them approach, arm-in-arm and talking in earnest, he thought, This is how it should be. Old friends too long parted, back together at last.
It did his heart good to see it.
A day later, in brilliant sunshine, Vicky set off for Liverpool. Ben and Mary said goodbye.
‘Don’t forget I want you all at the wedding,’ Mary reminded her. And Vicky promised only that she would be there.
Lucy and Adam saw her onto the train. How different it seemed from the night when she had arrived. ‘Take care of yourself,’ Lucy said as they clung on to each other.
‘I will,’ Vicky promised.
‘Let me know how you are, and when you’re likely to go back to the family. And remember,
you’re always welcome here at any time.’
‘I will.’
‘And please, Vicky, will you think about Leonard? He does love you so.’
Vicky merely smiled, a dismissive smile that told Lucy she was not yet ready to forgive her husband, or her children, for siding against her.
The train arrived, and in minutes she was lost to them, her face looking sad as she waved out of the window.
‘TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!’
Lucy’s voice rose above the engine noise.
‘You too.’
Then she was gone.
‘There goes a sad and lonely woman,’ Adam remarked as they walked back to the car.
Lucy made no reply. She knew how much in love Barney and Vicky had been, and she could see how that love still burned in Vicky.
It must have been hard, she thought, when instead of sharing her sorrow and compassion for Barney, the others
had become angry and bitter, altogether losing sight of what he had lost and they had gained.
In the event, Vicky could not accept what she considered to be a deeply selfish attitude.
‘How do you think it will all turn out, with Vicky and the family?’ she asked Adam.
‘I think it will turn out all right in the end,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t like to say so before, but I believe they
were wrong to blame Barney for doing what he did. God only knows, it was a hard enough decision for him to make! When I remember the state he was in, poor chap. Like Vicky said, they should go down on their knees and be grateful for a man like that! And to you, for taking him in and caring for him as you did.’
Lucy glanced at the man beside her and, not for the first time, she felt the stirrings
of real love. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said, and let him escort her to the car, where she took the liberty of sitting in the front. ‘What?’ she demanded when he stared at her. ‘What are you wearing that expression for?’
‘You’re sitting in the front!’
‘What’s wrong with that, might I ask?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then will you kindly start the car and take me home?’
‘Right away, madam.’ In a feigned subservient
gesture, he tipped his forehead. ‘Whatever madam wants.’
As they drove along, the smile got wider.
And though she pretended to be looking out of the window, there was an answering twinkle in Lucy’s eye.
She might be more of a tortoise than a hare these days and she had long forgotten what a kiss was. But life wasn’t over yet, she thought merrily.
Not by a long chalk!
February, 1955
Old Loves and Evil
T
HE PRISONERS CALLED
out as Edward Trent walked to freedom. ‘Have a drink on me, Carter!’ shouted an old lag in for arson. Cocking a deaf ear, the prison officer escorted Trent along the white-washed corridor towards the huge main gate where he had entered such a long time ago.
‘Give the pretty gals a kiss from old Simon,’ laughed another. ‘And if yer come across Martha Clayton on
yer way, tell her she needn’t wait for me, ’cause I’m on the lookout for summat fresher and younger, who knows ’ow to treat a fella!’
Edward Trent ignored them all. He had spent years, dodging and diving to keep out of trouble in this godforsaken place, and many was the time when he could easily have sliced off their gormless heads, but he didn’t. He had only one thing on his mind, and that was
to get out into the big wide world, sooner rather than later.
Somewhere out there was Lucy Baker, and he had to see her. Try as he might, he could not get her out of his mind. As far as he knew, she could be six feet under the turf. But assuming she was still alive, he had to look her in the eyes and find out if he still had the same feelings for her as he did when they were younger. After all,
she had been the mother of his only child. He drew heavily on his cigarette, cursing savagely as it stuck to his lip.
Apart from that, he had a score to settle with her. Lucy Baker was the only woman who had ever sent him away –
him
! Edward Trent, who only had to click his fingers and the women would come running.
But then as he recalled, Lucy was different from the others. She had spirit, and
wasn’t afraid of anything – except maybe losing her precious kid. Oh yes! She was afraid of that; it was the one weakness in her, and like a fool he had thought he could use it against her. How was he to know she would come after him like a she-wolf after her cub; pursuing him until he went crazy.
It was
her
fault that his only son had been killed. Bitch! He gasped as a sudden pain seized his
chest. Savagely stubbing out the cigarette beneath his shoe, he pushed onwards to freedom at last.
As the years went on and he grew older and more lonely, Edward Trent had begun to regret so many things. All his life he had pursued women for pleasure, nothing more. He had never experienced the urge to settle down and start a family, had never truly loved a woman – until Lucy came along.
She
was the only woman he had ever warmed to; the only one to win his wicked heart, and through arrogance and spite he had foolishly lost her. Then, when he believed he had a chance to make it up and start afresh, he played it all wrong, and managed to turn her against him for good.
All these years she had haunted him, filled his dreams and beckoned to him.
He had to find her.
Even if he was repulsed
by how the years might have worn her. Was she haggard and bent, or was she still the same Lucy that he had carried with him all these years? He could see her now, laughing with abandon, running barefoot and free like a wild spirit … ‘catch me if you can’ – that was the Lucy he remembered. Like a butterfly on the breeze, with amazing colour and beauty. To his everlasting regret, he had caught
her, had her in the brutal palm of his hand, then let her fly away.
Had time stood still for her like it had for him? Would she still hate him for what he had done? Was she even alive, and if so, how would she feel when he turned up? Was it not possible that somehow, the years had mellowed her, and that she might regret having turned him away that night?
Edward Trent raked a shaking hand through
his prison haircut. After all, wasn’t she as much to blame for the boy’s drowning? At least, that was what he had convinced himself of over the years. Jamie … James Trent as should have been.
Growling under his breath, he turned to wave at the prison officers. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ he jeered. The loathing he felt was lit in his eyes.
‘The devil go with you, Carter!’ The larger of the two stared
him out.
‘You’ll be back,’ said his colleague. ‘Your sort are never free for long.’
Making an obscene gesture, Trent deliberately sauntered away, and soon lost sight of them. ‘Bastards!’ Quickening his step he made for the bus that was pulling in at the end of the street.
As he climbed aboard, he had only one thing in mind. I’m on my way, sweetheart, he thought darkly. Who knows, she might
even have been waiting for me all this time, just as I’ve been waiting for her. The thought was unbearably tantalising.
‘Where to, mate?’ The bus conductor had his hand on the ticket machine.
‘The railway station.’
With a turn of the handle, the conductor rolled a ticket and tore it off. ‘That’ll be tuppence halfpenny.’
Fishing in his pocket, Trent found the coppers and thrust them into the
man’s palm.
As he walked away, the conductor stole a glimpse back at him. He observed the brooding eyes, the bull-like neck and he felt decidedly uncomfortable. Many times he had picked up exconvicts newly released. Mostly, they were penitent and easy to talk with. You kind of got an instinct for their real character, and this one was bad. Real bad.
When they arrived at the railway station,
Trent made his way straight to the ticket-desk. ‘What time’s the next train to Liverpool?’
The clerk checked his timetable. ‘Hour and a half … platform four.’
‘How much?’
‘Single or return?’
‘Single.’
The clerk checked his listings. ‘Two shillings.’
Trent scowled. ‘Is there nothing cheaper?’
‘Nope! Not unless you want to ride in the guard’s van, along with the bicycles and chickens.’
‘And what will that cost me?’
The clerk patiently checked his listings. ‘Sixpence halfpenny should do it.’
When his place was bought and the money paid over, Trent asked, ‘Where can a man get a drink round these parts?’
‘Across the street, turn left … you’ll find the George and Dragon on your right.’ He glanced up at the master clock. ‘Eleven thirty. You should find them open and if he isn’t,
you could always knock on the side door. Tell him Arthur sent you.’ Thinking he deserved to be rewarded for such information, he held out his hand.
‘Next time,’ Trent promised. ‘I’ll see you right next time.’ He went away grinning. The world was still full of fools, he thought.
An hour later, he left the pub and made his way back to the station, where he had to wait another half hour for his
train. When it arrived, he climbed aboard and sat himself down in a second-class carriage.
Ten minutes later, the ticket inspector made his rounds. ‘Tickets, please.’ He tapped his fingers on the back of the seat, while his surly passenger rooted about in his pockets for the ticket.
‘There you go, I knew it was there.’ Trent held the grubby ticket aloft.
The inspector took one look at it and
told the passenger gruffly, ‘Are you trying to pull a fast one, chum, because if so, you’re out of luck.’ He made a gesture with his thumb. ‘You’ll find the guard’s van back there.’
‘Eh? What are you talking about?’ Claiming ignorance, Trent told the inspector, ‘I paid my money and there’s my ticket to prove it.’ He made a fairly good job of pretending not to know the value of the ticket.
‘Don’t
give me that!’ The inspector had dealt with worse passengers than this one, and he was standing for no nonsense. ‘You bought a ride in the guard’s van and that’s where you’re headed now,’ he said. ‘Either by the cuff of your collar, or on your own two feet – which is it to be?’
Under normal circumstances, Trent would have landed him one, but he had no intention of ending up back inside. So, rather
than cause a fuss and have the police waiting for him at the other end, he went back to the guard’s van, where he crouched on the floor amongst all manner of paraphernalia.
After a torrent of abuse and cursing, he laid out full stretch, and let the dulling effects of his two pints of booze take over.
If it hadn’t been for the guard, who was in the process of taking out a passenger’s bicycle,
Trent might well have slept all the way to Scotland. ‘Hey, you!’ Giving Trent a gentle push, the man woke him up. ‘You’re getting off here, aren’t you?’
‘What?’ Bleary-eyed and irritable, Trent glared up at him. ‘What’s that you say? Speak up, man!’
Instinctively backing off, the guard picked up the bicycle and hoisted it out on to the platform. ‘We’re at Liverpool Central, sir. If this is your
stop, you’d best get yourself off the train right now!’
Panicking, Trent scrambled up. ‘Liverpool, you say?’ Throwing the baggage out of his way, he grabbed his kitbag and jumped off, pushing and shoving his way through, ignoring the irate passengers disembarking from the carriages around him.