The Journey (7 page)

“No. I’d rather be here, cooking for you and earning double time, than listening to my old man snoring his head off.”

“All right then,” Mary conceded, “but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Put a plateful out for yourself. There’ll be more than enough, and if there’s any left over, take it home to Charlie.”

“I will, thank you.”

Mary gave her a hug. “Thank
you,
Elsie. I won’t forget this.” Washing her hands and patting her hair, she asked the woman shyly, “Do I look respectable?”

“You look lovely.” Elsie had always thought Lucy’s daughter had something special. Though she wasn’t beautiful, she had a spark about her … soft, shining eyes of the loveliest shade, and a kind of warmth that endeared you to her. “Go on, miss … go and rescue your young man. I’ll have supper on the table in twenty minutes.”

Mary found Ben in the summerhouse. All the lights were on, and he was sitting in one of the easy chairs, deep in thought. “Hiding from my mother, are you?” Her smile lit up the evening.

Having been miles away, reflecting on his disastrous marriage and the years he’d wasted, Ben was mortified. “What must you both think of me?” he said. “I’m invited to supper and here I am, lounging in the summerhouse. I only meant to be a few minutes but lost track of time.” On his feet now, he smiled down on her. “It’s your fault, you know.”

“Oh, and why’s that?” It was strange, Mary thought, how she felt as though she’d known him all her life.

He gestured toward the garden. “Your mother’s right. You’ve done wonders with the garden … it’s just beautiful. So many lovely hidden places.” It wasn’t hard to imagine what a feast of life and color it would be in the height of summer. “If you wanted to, you could lose yourself forever here.”

“And do you want to lose yourself?” Just now when she came upon him unexpectedly, she had seen the sadness in his eyes, and it touched her deeply.

It took a few seconds for him to answer. There was so much he could have told her, but that was all gone now, water under the bridge as they say. Besides, if he didn’t let go of the past, how could he ever have a future? Turning to her, he recalled, “It was you who said there are times when we all need to hide from the world.”

Her blue eyes shone with mischief. “And here was I, thinking you were hiding from Mother!”

He chuckled heartily. For a moment he studied her upturned face, the full plumpness of her lips, the small straight nose and smiling eyes, and he felt a rush of contentment. If he let himself go, he could love this woman, he thought. But
if
he let himself go, he could lose his heart and be hurt,
again.

He looked toward the house. “Have you come to fetch me?”

She nodded her head. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Do we still have a few minutes?”

She nodded her head again.

Taking her by the hand, he asked light-heartedly, “Would you care to join me?” Leading her to the bench, he sat her down. “Welcome to Paradise.”

For a little while they sat and talked and laughed, and when she gave a long, trembling shiver, he dared to put his arm round her shoulders, and like Ben, she was afraid, of her feelings, and of the future.

Suddenly their private idyll was shattered, when a homely figure came rushing round the corner, calling out: “Supper’s ready. Your mammy says you’re to come in out of the cold.” Elsie chuckled merrily. “I’m to tell you, she doesn’t mind you canoodling out here, but she doesn’t want you catching pneumonia, and if I can’t persuade you back into the house, she’ll be out here and she’ll chase you both inside with her walking stick. What’s more, I’ve made a big jug of creamy custard, and I’d like Mr. Morgan to enjoy my apple-pie while it’s hot. It’s a deep-dish pie, stuffed with best cooking apples and covered in pastry that’ll melt in your mouth. It’s only reheated, mind, but I made it fresh yesterday.”

Ben’s stomach rumbled. “Sounds wonderful.”

“I’m not one for singing my own praises,” Elsie declared self-righteously, “but I do make the best apple-pie in the whole of Bedfordshire, and woe betide them as says any different.”

The evening was a great success.

The pork chops were succulent, and the vegetables done to a turn, and just as she’d promised, Elsie’s apple-pie was the best Ben had ever tasted. Lucy had produced a bottle of wine and drank more than the others put together. She also did most of the talking. She told Ben about her hometown of Liverpool and got carried away with the memories—
though there was one particular memory she did not divulge.

“What did you love most about Liverpool?” Ben asked, intrigued by her stories.

“Oh, the docks, and the Mersey of course!” Taking another sip of her red wine, Lucy savored it for a moment, rolling it round her tongue and smacking her lips, like a dog after a bone.

Ben was ashamed to admit it, but he’d never seen the Mersey.

“Maybe you’d think she was nothing out of the ordinary—just another river flowing away to the sea,” Lucy speculated, “but to the ones who’ve lived and worked alongside her for most of their lives, she’s very special. She changes, y’see—from day to day she’s never the same. She has moods just like us … dark moods, quiet moods … and after a while you get to know her, and you can’t help but be affected, in a kind of magical way.”

She gave a long, nostalgic sigh. “If you’ve never seen the early morning Mersey when she’s covered in mist, or stood beside her when the moonlight dances on the water and brings it alive, then your life is sadly lacking.”

“I can see I’ll have to take myself up there at the first opportunity,” he said obediently.

“Quite right!” Lucy applauded. “Make sure you do!”

While Lucy and Ben chatted, Mary thought it amazing how well they got on together. But then, right from the start, she had felt comfortable with him. Maybe it was because he was older than her? Ben was so easy and natural, it would be hard not to feel at home in his company.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” With her engaging manner and interesting tales, Lucy had commandeered him, though he hoped that he and Mary would make up for lost time together later.

“Go ahead, young man. Ask away.”

“Well, I was just thinking … if you were so happy in Liverpool, why would you ever want to leave?”

Suddenly the air was thick with silence, and Ben immediately wished he had never asked. But then his hostess answered and her manner was curiously somber. “Life sometimes gives us problems that we aren’t equipped to deal with. So we run away … like the cowards we are.”

Ben was mortified. “Oh look, I’m sorry. I seem to have opened up old wounds.” She had that same look about her that he had seen in the churchyard; a look of resignation, a sadness that was almost tangible.

Lucy too, was mortified, for she had let them both see through her armor, and now she was afraid. “It’s all right,” she assured him hurriedly. “I did love Liverpool. I still do, but I can’t go back.” Her voice stiffened. “I could never go back.”

Mary had never heard her mother talk in that way, and it worried her. From a child, she had known there was something in her mother’s past that played strongly on her mind. Her own memories were unreliable; her early childhood often seemed tantalizingly out of reach. With Ben having opened a door to which she herself had never had access, secrets might come out and at last she would know what it was that haunted her mother so.

Turning to Ben she confessed, “You’re not the only one never to have seen the Mersey. I was born in Liverpool yet I can’t recall anything about it.” She glanced at Lucy. “Time and again, I’ve offered to go back with Mother, but we never have, and now I’m beginning to think we never will.”

Lucy smiled. “Oh, you’ll see Liverpool,” she promised. “Maybe not with me, but you’ll go down the Mersey and know the wonder that I knew as a young woman. Curiosity will get the better of you and one day, you will go back, I’m sure of it.”

Mary asked her outright. “And if I really wanted you to come with me, would you?”

Lucy shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?” In spite of her mother’s emphatic answer, Mary felt she might yet uncover the truth; until her hopes were dashed with Lucy’s firm reply.

“Because I’m too old now. Travelling tires me, as you well know.” She laughed as she told Ben, “We went to London on the train. Dear me! What a trial. All that climbing in and out, up and down. You wouldn’t believe the traffic in the streets there, and folks rushing about as though it was the end of the world … It was all too much for me.” Sighing, she finished, “No, my travelling days are well and truly at an end.”

With dinner over, they retired to the cozy sitting room. Here, although the hour was growing late, they chatted on; among other things they talked of the introduction in America of the first color television. “The mind boggles!” Lucy declared. “Color television, indeed! Whatever next?” She herself thought the wireless was sufficient—why would you need one of those big, ugly television sets?

Mostly they talked about the passing of King George. “He was a good King,” Ben said. “He’ll be sadly missed.”

Mary had her say and it was this. “You’re right. He will be missed, but his daughter Elizabeth will make a wonderful Queen.” And without hesitation, the other two readily agreed.

“Right!” After tapping on the door, Elsie showed her face. “I’ll be off now. I’ve washed the dinner things and cleared them away. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Elsie.” Lucy was fond of that dear woman. “Off you go and put your feet up.”

Elsie chuckled. “Hmh! Chance would be a fine thing.”

Mary excused herself and saw Elsie out. When she returned to the sitting room, she saw how tired her mother seemed. “I think it’s time you went to bed,” she said affectionately.

“Nonsense!” Lucy was bone-tired, though she would never admit it. “I’m getting to know our new friend,” she said. “The more I learn about him, the more I like him.”

Ben laughed. “I’m flattered,” he told her, “but I have to agree with your daughter, and then there’s that business of you falling and hurting yourself in the churchyard. It’s been a long, heavy day and no one would blame you if you wanted to rest now.”

He had noticed how every now and then she would close her eyes and relax into the chair, and occasionally she would fitfully rub her hands together, as though fighting some inner demon.

“I see!” Looking from one to the other, Lucy smiled wickedly. “Trying to get rid of the old biddy so the two of you can be alone—is that it?” Mary smiled, but in fact, she had been concerned about her mother these past months. She seemed to have grown frail, and less mobile, though she would not hear of seeing a specialist.

Changing the subject completely, Lucy told Mary, “I think I’m ready for a nice cup of tea. What about you, Ben?”

“Sounds good to me, thank you,” he said, swallowing a yawn. It was high time he was in bed, too. The animals would be waiting to be fed at dawn.

“Go on, then! Get the kettle on, Mary, before we all die of thirst, and don’t bring the teapot, there’s a good girl … too much fuss and ceremony. Just pour three cups, that’ll do.”

Frustrated at her mother’s insistence on referring to her as “child” or “girl,” Mary groaned. “All right, Mother, I’m on my way.” Turning to Ben she confirmed, “One sugar and a little milk, isn’t it?” She had remembered when Elsie brought him tea earlier.

“That’s it, yes. Thank you.” He was surprised and pleased that she’d remembered.

“There you are!” Lucy chipped in. “Already she knows how you like your tea. That’s the sign of a good wife, wouldn’t you say, Ben?”

“I’d say you daughter has a good memory,” he answered, and that was as far as he would go.

No sooner had Mary departed for the kitchen than Lucy was quizzing him again. “You do like her, don’t you?”

He had got used to her directness and thought it refreshing, but now and then she would ask a question that took him offguard. “I do like her, yes.” What else could he say, when he had been drawn to Mary as to no other woman since his divorce.

Lucy seemed to be reading his thoughts. “I know I can be impertinent, and I know what you must think of me, but I do worry for my daughter, and when I see how well the two of you get on, I can’t help but wonder if she’s found her man at last …” Her voice trailed away and her eyes slowly closed.

For a moment Ben thought she had fallen asleep, but then she suddenly straightened herself up in the chair and asked him another question. “Do you think you’ll ever get back with your ex-wife?”

Ben shook his head. “It was a long and messy business, and now it’s over, and so is our relationship.”

“And the girl?”

“You mean Abbie, my daughter?”

“Yes. How does she feel about you and her mother splitting up?”

To Ben, the question was like a stab below the belt, but he answered it all the same. “It was hard for her—hard for all of us. In the end it was all for the best.”

“And is she an only child?”

“She is, yes.”

“Would you like more children?”

Ben smiled, a long, lazy smile. “You mean, if I ever got married again?”

Lucy nodded. “Of course! When you and Mary get married, I want a whole horde of grandchildren.” She grew wistful. “A boy, especially. It would be wonderful to cuddle a little boy.”