So Long At the Fair (47 page)

She looked down into her cup. She had not spoken the complete truth. Boredom and neglect were not the real reasons for her dissatisfaction, the causes of the failings in her marriage. The fundamental reasons went far deeper – and she herself was not sure that she knew the true nature of them. And trying to identify them and pin them down was like trying to catch shadows. All she could be sure of was that the hope with which she had begun her married life had faded and died, like a flower deprived of sunlight and rain.

Eddie’s voice cut through her thoughts: ‘What about taking more interest in Louis’s work? A practical interest, I mean. Wouldn’t that be possible?’

‘Go calling on his patients, you mean? Dishing out soup and comfort? I don’t think that’s the answer.’

‘How does Louis feel about all this? Is he happy?’

Abbie shook her head. ‘Of course he isn’t. And I don’t see how he could be.’ She stirred her coffee. ‘Sometimes now we – we’re like two strangers. Sometimes I think it’s only Oliver who keeps us together. I don’t know what to do any more.’

‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘you’ve just got to try and make the best of it.’

‘That kind of talk is no kind of comfort,’ she said.

‘Oh, it’s comfort you want, is it?’ He studied her. ‘What do you want, Abbie?’

‘Not much. And yet everything. Just to be happy.’ She shrugged. ‘I know. It’s all everyone wants, isn’t it? – from the richest to the poorest. And it’s the thing that’s most difficult to achieve.’ She paused. ‘I think I had a chance of it once.’

‘With Gilmore, you mean?’

She did not answer.

‘You do mean Gilmore, don’t you?’

‘Well, everything was fine until Mother came back and put an end to it all.’ She sighed. ‘Arthur loved me, you know. He really did.’ She turned, looked at Eddie. ‘I’m sure he still does.’

‘Abbie, what are you talking about?’ Eddie said. ‘It’s time you faced the faced and stopped livin’ in the past. He’s married to somebody else now. And so are you.’

‘I’m perfectly aware of that,’ she said sharply. ‘But it doesn’t change anything.’

‘You sound mighty sure.’

‘I
am
sure.’

‘You’re still ’ankerin’ after ’im, ain’t you? Arthur Gilmore.’

‘Eddie,’ she said, trying to hold her patience, ‘you have a very – a rather blunt way of speaking at times.’

‘I’m just telling the truth, as I see it. Pity you can’t admit it to yourself. Far as I can see, it’s crystal clear.’

‘Oh, yes? And what exactly do you see?’

‘Well – to give you your due, I suppose you wed Louis with the best of intentions, some of which were to forget all about your Mr Gilmore. But ’e won’t be forgotten, is that it?’

When she said nothing in response to his words, he gave a little nod. ‘Ah, I thought I was right.’

‘Oh, Eddie, you’ll never understand.’

‘No, maybe I won’t. All I know is that you’ve got a good ’usband, yet ’ere you are ‘ankerin’ after a man who belongs to somebody else. Excuse me for sayin’ so, but he can’t ’ave loved you that much, can ’e?’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘He chose to wed another. I don’t need to know any more.’

‘For your information, he didn’t exactly choose to.’

‘Oh, ’e was dragged to the church in chains, was ’e? Abbie, it don’t make sense what you’re saying. The man’s married to Jane.’

‘Yes, he got himself into a – a situation with her and he couldn’t back out.’

‘You think that’s the way it was?’

‘Absolutely. Jane was determined to have him.’

‘You make her sound like some – I don’t know. But however she got ’im, she’ve got ’im. And they’ve got a little kiddie too – so you better get used to the idea, and make the best of what you’ve got.’

Abbie drank the last of the coffee. ‘When I think how close Jane and I used to be – what good friends we were . . .’ She paused. ‘I don’t think I can ever forgive her for what she did.’

Eddie stared at her. Catching his gaze she said, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Strong words, Abbie.’ He put down his empty mug. ‘I reckon we’d best go and see if Barton’s back.’

They got up and left the pub. On arriving at the stable, they found that the fly proprietor had still not returned. They hung around in the yard for some minutes while Abbie’s impatience grew, then she said, ‘Eddie, I can’t just stand here getting cold feet. I’m going to walk. It’s not far. Only three miles.’

‘As you like. I’ll walk a little ways with you.’

They left the stable yard and set off through the village in the direction of the road leading to Frome. After a while Eddie said, ‘You’re gunna ’ave to give this up, Abbie.’

She came to a halt and they stood facing one another. ‘Give what up?’ she said.

‘Tormenting yourself the way you are. Over Jane and Arthur and Louis.’

‘I’m not tormenting myself,’ she said. ‘Besides, you don’t understand.’

‘So you keep tellin’ me. After all, I’m just a dull-witted farmworker. Who am I to understand the way clever people go on.’

‘Eddie, you’re determined to quarrel, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not. I just don’t understand ’ow a woman who’s got everything can carry on like she’s got nothin’ at all.’

‘I’m tired of all this talk,’ she said. ‘And in any case, it’s none of your business.’

‘I know it’s not – except that you’re my sister . . .’

‘And I’m also a grown woman. I don’t need a big brother to look out for me.’

‘In that case,’ he said, ‘for God’s sake start actin’ like one. You don’t know when you’re well off. You don’t ’ear me complainin’. And why should you? I got a nice wife and two grand little girls. And I’ll tell you summat: you got a lot more. Not only ’ave you got a lovely little boy and a kind ’usband who’s well thought of, but you got a fine ’ouse, an ’orse and carriage, and enough money so you don’t ever need to worry about anything. And still none of it’s enough. You don’t know what the ‘ell you do want, do you? Just like our mother.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Well, reality was never good enough for her, was it? She was always after what she couldn’t have, wanting what wasn’t real. It blinded her to everything else, I reckon – everything that could have made her ’appy.’ He looked at Abbie and gave a slow nod. ‘Yeh, you remind me more and more of our mother every time I see you.’

It was the final insult. Abbie glared at him for a moment, then turned and strode away along the street.

The last house of the village was behind her now; before her stretched the winding road. She looked up at the pale, dull sky. In another half-hour or so the light would begin to fail. But she would be well along the road towards home by then. Home. Well, a home of sorts. At least Oliver would be there, sweet and dear and welcoming. If no one else did, Oliver made it all worthwhile.

A wave of hopelessness came over her and she almost groaned aloud into the cold air. Why could she and Louis not make it work? For most of the time at the beginning of their marriage she had pretended that everything was all right between them. But it was not so. It had never been right. Not truly right. At the start she had put on an act – and it had got them a certain distance. But it had not been strong enough or convincing enough to carry them for long. She was aware that the failure of their relationship showed in everything. It was as if she could no longer truly relax with Louis. She recalled how it had been on the first night when they had lain together – the tension she had felt when he touched her, the feel of his hands on her naked body, the feel of his own nakedness, the feel of him inside her.

But why should it be like that? She had entered into the marriage knowing that she did not love him. Though she had liked him so much, added to which she had enormous respect for him – not only for his work but for the kind of person he was. In addition he was so fine-looking. But all of this had not been enough. Her liking and respect for him had driven her to try harder to accept him in other ways, but she had not succeeded, at least not for very long.

And so, sadly, it had continued. And had become worse. And of course it had not been long before he had become affected by her lack of warmth. And with the seeds of their failure having been sown, the pair had carefully nurtured them over the years with feelings of resentment, bitterness and guilt. For most of the time now they got by on politeness, generally managing to give to their marriage a satisfactory image, an appearance that all was well. But it was a mere patina. They both knew that not far beneath the surface the waters were far from smooth.

As she thought of Louis there came into her mind a picture of him as he had been on that day of their first meeting. How young they had been then. Once again she saw him bent over the rifle, taking aim at the target. She saw him too as they had sat together by the stream, and again as she and Beatie had turned and seen him standing against the lights of the fairground, his hand raised in farewell. Not long after that had come the men, the attack . . .

Such memories did no good. Putting them from her mind, she quickened her pace on the road.

A hundred yards further on she felt the discomfort of a stone under her heel and at the next field gate she stopped, took off her boot and shook the small pebble out. She had just finished fastening her boot when, on the periphery of her vision, she caught sight of an approaching solitary figure. A second later she saw to her astonishment that it was Arthur.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Arthur was coming from the same direction, from the village. And seconds later she could see that he had recognized her. He half smiled as he came to a stop a couple of yards before her, his head inclining, his hand rising to touch his hat. He was wearing a chesterfield coat with a dark-blue muffler around his neck. They stood looking at one another, awkward and uncertain.

‘Hello, Arthur.’

‘Abbie . . . Well, this is a surprise.’

‘Indeed it is.’

‘I’ve been sent to do business in the area,’ he said. ‘So we’re staying with Jane’s mother for a few days.’ He gestured ahead along the road. ‘Right now I’m off to Keyford to enquire about the hire of a carriage for four or five days. Are you here visiting your family?’

‘My brother, yes. I’m on my way home to Frome now.’

A little silence between them, then he said, ‘Well – shall we walk together?’

‘I see no reason why not.’

A hundred yards down the road they drew near a stile with a footpath leading across a field. It formed the first part of a short cut to Keyford and Frome.

‘Would it help your journey if we took the footpath?’ Arthur asked. ‘Or would it be too hard on your boots?’

‘Indeed it would help,’ Abbie said. ‘As for my boots, they’ll have to look out for themselves. Besides, the earth’s like iron today; they won’t come to any harm.’

Without further hesitation Arthur climbed over the stile and helped her across to the other side, remarking as he did so, with a glance up at the heavens, that there was snow in the offing. The sky had taken on a heavy, dull yellow tinge that seemed to grow darker by the moment. Briskly the pair set off along the footpath that dissected the arable field.

‘I must say, Abbie,’ Arthur said, ‘you’re looking remarkably well.’

‘Thank you. You also.’

‘Oh, I’m tolerably well.’

‘And your family?’ She could not bring herself to ask after Jane. ‘Your little girl?’ Arthur and Jane’s daughter, Emma, had been born some few months before Oliver.

‘Oh, Emma’s blooming. And your little boy? Oliver, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. He’s very well, thank you.’

‘How old is he?’

‘He’s just over two and a half.’

‘Ah, yes.’

The whole thing was almost farcical, she thought. With all that had happened between them, here they were indulging in small talk as if they were mere acquaintances.

They came to another stile and, as before, Arthur climbed over and then assisted her onto the other side.

They walked on, moving downhill now, a distance of a yard between them. In the well of the valley before them nestled a farmhouse, smoke rising from its chimney. In the fading light one could see that its lamps had already been lit.

Looking up once more at the sky, Abbie said, ‘It’s getting so dark.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a clever move of yours, Arthur, coming out on your errand at this time. You’ll be wishing you’d stayed indoors.’

As they walked the sky grew darker still and now a keen wind sprang up at their backs. ‘Arthur,’ Abbie said, coming to a stop and glancing up again, ‘it’s looking very bleak. If you want to turn back, please do so. I shan’t be in the least offended.’

‘And leave you to go on alone?’

‘I shall be all right. Anyway, I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to get to Frome.’

‘Then come on,’ he said. ‘While we stand here we’re wasting time.’

They were nearing the far edge of the field when the first snow came drifting down, and very soon large flakes were falling thick and fast, so that the two were swiftly enveloped in a swirling white haze. As the wind strengthened to a furious pace Abbie halted in her tracks and turned to look back, but found she could barely open her eyes against the fury of the blizzard. With the cold flakes of snow melting on her tongue she cried out, her voice small and muffled in the fury of the wind-driven snow, ‘We can’t keep going in this.’

Arthur pointed to the cluster of farm buildings further down in the valley, now barely visible beyond the curtain of driving snow. His voice raised, he replied, ‘We could go on down there and try to find some shelter. I’m sure no one would begrudge us a roof in weather like this.’

‘I’m afraid you don’t know Cassin, the farmer,’ she said. ‘He has no reputation for neighbourliness. By all accounts he’d sooner see a person freeze than trespass on his property.’

‘Are you afraid of him?’