Full Circle (7 page)

She raised her face to the sun, then she unbuttoned her thin, sleeveless blouse. She was working behind the house and the field beyond the wire fence was empty so it felt natural to pull the garment off and return to her gardening, feeling the summer heat like a caress. But her thoughts were restless, from Jess and Matt in their marriage, to Harold and Violet in a love that defied the world, to the delicate and glamorous lingerie she had inherited. A few minutes teasing out the dandelions while her thoughts carried her into the lives of others, then again she put down her fork and turned to the sun. Hardly conscious of what she did, she let her hands move on the smooth satin of her bra. Her mood changed. Was this what her life would always be like, dreaming, imagining, thinking of people who had each other, who had the love she yearned for? Oh, God, make it happen for me too, she pleaded silently, let me find someone to love and someone to love me, a companion – more than that, someone who will make a proper woman of me. Look at me, thirty years old – women are married and have children years younger than I am and I've found no one. It must be so wonderful … Oh, God, what's the matter with me? In the middle of the day is it natural to feel like this? Not enough to think about, that's the trouble. But this is all I want to think about. All by myself; no one to see me … While her mind raced on she had forgotten her weeding and, carrying her blouse, gone back into the house, quite unnecessarily locking the back door behind her as she went in. Then like a thief in the night she went up the stairs into her bedroom, where the rays of the sun warmed the counterpane invitingly. With a feeling of relief she closed the door. No one could see her; nothing could stop her. She kicked off her sandals and with her eyes closed and her imagination running ahead of her, hurried towards what was leading her.

She felt a sense of shame for what she was doing, yet stronger than shame was the need that drove her. Only afterwards, lying naked and alone while the sun streamed down on her, was she assailed by a feeling of emptiness followed by self-disgust. Three o'clock in the afternoon, an afternoon which had started with her happily working on the uncared-for plot, determined to transform it into a garden, and look at her! Getting off the bed she picked up the garments she had torn off so unceremoniously and left on the floor, and went to the bathroom. A tepid bath and then some repairs to the damage to her make-up and she would go back to the patch she was determined to transform into a lawn worthy of the name.

Her mission completed, she was halfway down the stairs when there was knock on the front door. She knew no one except the tradespeople. Who would come calling? She felt that what she had been doing must be plain to the world. With her head held high it was no-nonsense Miss Harding, career woman as capable as any male, who opened the door to her visitor.

‘Good afternoon?' Her tone questioned why this stranger was at her door.

‘I hope you don't mind me popping by like this, but I know you don't grow veg and we've got so many runners. Oh, sorry, I ought to tell you who I am. My Ted has been in a couple of times, making sure you were OK.'

‘Mrs Johnson? Won't you come in?'

‘Seems a shame to be inside on a day like this. Can't we sit a minute on that old bench? Could do with a coat of paint, couldn't it? I'll give Ted a hint about it when I get home. And I'm Eva. I bundled up some runners for you. Grow like weeds, don't they? When they start to get old and the seeds are big I'll give you some to dry off to plant out next year if you like, Miss Harding. Your aunt, she wasn't keen on the garden.' Then, as if she realized it sounded like a criticism, ‘Well, we can't all like the same things or it'd be a dull old world.'

‘I'd like to plant some next year, and perhaps some salad stuff. We used to have a vegetable garden when I was a child. Raw peas, they were my downfall. It really is kind of you to bring these for me. I love them and they never seem as good from the shop.'

‘Can't be, can they? These were only picked half an hour ago. Cook them for your supper and have a knob of butter on them. You're getting on OK here in the village, are you? You don't find it dull after a town like Reading?'

‘Not a bit. I've been working and then there is plenty to sort out in the garden.'

‘I read about you in the
Western
. Fancy you doing work like that.' She chuckled as she added, ‘I said to Ted, well I never. I always pictured men in black suits with pinstripe trousers and half-moon glasses doing work like that. And look at you, a pretty young lady smart as paint.'

Louisa found Eva Johnson an easy companion, even though they were two such different personalities, and the minutes slipped by. It wasn't until she was leaving that Louisa casually mentioned Harold.

‘When are they bringing Mr Carter home, have you heard?'

‘No,' Eva answered with a worried frown. ‘I had a letter from Bella a week or so ago. She says they are glad to have him where they can keep an eye on him, so forgetful he's been getting. It won't be young Leo who keeps an eye on him, be sure of that, fond as he always has been of his dad. But little Bella, she's a treasure if ever there was one. She's as fond of the guv'nor as if he were her own father and we can all rest easy as long as she is taking care of him. Well, I must scoot – my Ted looks in for a cuppa and a slice of cake round about four o'clock. That keeps him going until supper. Now, mind you remember – anything you want you just come up and bang on my door; the middle one of the cottages, the one with the well. And I'll have a word with Ted, see if he hasn't got a bit of that green paint left from when he did our back door. He'll soon spruce that bench up for you.'

And spruce it up he did, arriving with his tin of paint two days after Eva's visit. For Louisa it was a heart-warming experience to have people ‘watching that she was all right' as Ted put it when she thanked him.

‘The guv'nor would like to know we were keeping an eye on you, you being Miss Harding's niece. You know, I wouldn't wonder if Leo keeps him till after the nipper is born. Can't be more than a few weeks now and Bella needs to have someone at hand if the baby gives notice of coming while Leo's at that factory. They haven't been this last month or so. It wouldn't be right to leave her on her own and she was never keen on car journeys. Still, one of these days they'll turn up, all four of them I shouldn't wonder; the proud parents will want us all to see the bairn.'

After he'd left her Louisa shut herself in her office and spent the rest of the day on the accounts of a garden centre a few miles distant. She had the ability to shut everything else out of her mind when she was working and the hours slipped by until, when she finally closed the ledger and looked at her watch, she found she had missed tea. In fact, it was already nearly eight o'clock. Two poached eggs on toast and a cup of strong coffee, then a cigarette and a second cup and it was quarter to nine. She'd watch the nine o'clock news and then have a bath and go to bed with a book. As she made her plans she chuckled aloud: what had the solitude of this place done to her that she could look forward to an early night with a book? The news over, in her usual way she plumped up the cushions on the sofa and made sure she was leaving the room tidy (as she always did, nothing to do with her changed way of life), then she ran the water for her bath. Tonight would see the end of Violet's delicately scented bath salts and such was the change wrought on Louisa that she made a mental note to buy more the next time she was in Gloucester.

The bedroom window faced the empty field so, knowing she couldn't be overlooked, she happily drew back the curtains and opened the window before getting into bed and settling down to read. The warm bath had been relaxing but, despite the glowing reviews that had prompted her to buy the book, she found it disappointingly dull and before many minutes her eyelids were getting heavy and her concentration drifting. There was no conscious moment when she gave up the battle and turned off the light; the literary critics must know more about it than she did and she was determined to carry on until she discovered whatever it was that had impressed them so favourably. But by the time she reached page ten her eyes were closed, the book fallen from her hand and the light still on.

She had been in a deep sleep for about ten minutes when she was woken by someone touching her.

‘What …!' Shock and fright left her speechless. Then, as she collected her wits and recognized who it was, ‘Get out! Don't touch me.' She was at a disadvantage, only regaining consciousness as Harold Carter knelt above her as she lay.

‘You've come back! They took me away. I knew you'd be here when I came home. Vi, Vi … Thank God. I've found you.' He was beside himself, kneeling astride her prone body and getting increasingly excited as he slid the straps of her nightdress from her shoulder and then pushed the bedcovers down as far as his own body would allow so that his hands moved from her shoulders to just beneath the covers so that he could touch her breasts. With every ounce of her strength she tried to free herself but he was anchoring her with his full weight. ‘Together again, my love, my blessed love. Say something, Vi. I've been so frightened. Tried to get home to you but they watch me; they never let me free. Home again. Prayed I'd find you here. You're so warm, real, alive. They lied to me – they said you'd gone. I wanted to die.' He talked incessantly, seeming unaware that beneath his weight she was struggling to get free. His face was only inches from hers as, with his knees imprisoning her, he pulled her towards him. She could feel his hot breath and then his mouth on hers, moving as though he were eating her, then his tongue probing.

‘Get off me, blast you,' she tried to say but it was hard to breathe, let alone shout. ‘Take your hands off me!'

‘Not that game,' he panted, and she imagined she heard laughter in his voice as if he was remembering times when Violet's playful mock-refusal had excited his passion and possibly hers too. ‘Tomorrow, that game, and all the others, eh? Can't play games tonight, my angel, not tonight. Say something – say you've missed me. Tell me you were looking for me.'

Louisa heard the change in his voice and suspected reality was coming through the mist of his troubled mind. But she was too revolted by what he was doing to feel pity for him.

‘Get off me now!' and, pulling her hands free, she again tried to force him away from her.

When he'd followed the beam of light shining from her window and hurried to the house, instinct had made him creep up the stairs. But with the sight of her lying asleep every other thought had gone from him. The young woman lying in the bed was the Violet he had fallen in love with so many years ago, so for him those years had ceased to exist. He had felt young, strong – joy and relief had pushed the last shadow of reason away. For him it had been as if the only thing that had kept him from the glory he and his beloved Violet had known was that he had been taken away, taken away and watched to make sure he couldn't get back to her. Now, as Louisa struggled beneath him, his mind started to clear. Still confused, his paramount emotion was loss, almost immediately swallowed up by misery as a sob broke in his throat. Then the whole scene changed.

He hadn't closed the bedroom door and neither he nor Louisa had heard the second intruder mounting the stairs two at a time. Taken completely by surprise, he found himself lifted off her as if he'd been a rag doll.

‘For Christ's sake, Dad, what the hell do you think you're doing?'

‘I thought … I thought …'

‘Well, you thought wrong. I told you I wouldn't be out for long.'

Louisa's mind jumped back to the day she had met Bella and heard the wonders of the perfect Leo. Surely, though, she had said how close he was to his father. Well, this certainly wasn't
her
idea of care and affection. And how dare he come marching into her bedroom as if he owned the place, treating her as though she didn't exist. She heard the sound of Harold crying – not tears of anguish, but the almost silent weeping of helplessness. If she were dressed she would get up and try to comfort him, for with the advent of this arrogant intruder her initial anger towards poor, confused Harold had melted away.

‘Come along, it's no use sitting there snivelling. The car's outside.' Then, as he ushered his father towards the door, he turned briefly to Louisa with the parting words, ‘I'll get him home and make sure the door is locked and bolted. You'd better do the same when we've gone. He'll be about the place tomorrow, so you should keep the bolt across.'

‘I shall speak to the locksmith first thing in the morning and enquire about new locks.' It was most certainly Miss Louisa Harding who replied with not an ounce of emotion in her voice. Then, more kindly, ‘Goodnight, Mr Carter.'

Harold turned to look at her, and now that the struggle to throw him off her was over she was aware of how he'd altered since she'd last seen him. He looked lost.

For a moment he resisted being pushed out of the door as he turned to her, shaking his head helplessly. ‘Louisa,' he murmured. ‘I remember now. I'm sorry, so sorry.'

‘Try not to think about it,' she answered. Then, with a conspiratorial smile, ‘Let's both forget all about it.'

‘I thought—'

‘For goodness' sake, do come on. Eva Johnson wants to get home but she won't go until she knows you're safely indoors.'

She listened as they went down the stairs, then she heard the front door slam, the click of the latch on the gate, the slam of two doors on the car and then the motor, growing quieter. And here she lay in Violet's bed, Violet who had loved him sufficiently to lose her family for him. Did Violet know what his misery was doing to him? And, if she did, couldn't she find a way to bring him comfort and let him know she loved him still? Louisa had never given much thought to death or the emptiness of separation, but on that night it was brought very close. Surely there must be more to a relationship – a loving, united relationship – than something physical? Surely when two caring people talked and laughed together that must be a joining of spirits as surely as any bodily union? She didn't know. How could she when she had never experienced that sort of love?