Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection. Josephine Cox
find the others beside her. ‘It’s beautiful here.’ Sliding her hand into Lucy’s Mary admitted, ‘The descriptions you gave were so lovely, I thought you might have exaggerated. But you didn’t, because it’s everything you said.’ In her distant memory she felt a part of it, too, yet not in any detail. It was more a deep-down feeling of belonging.
And so they stayed awhile. Drenching her mind with images she had never forgotten, Lucy told them stories of how it was. Adam also had a few comical tales to tell.
‘I remember when me and Barney were painting the outside walls of the big barn. We ended up with more paint on us than on the walls … and another time he hosed out the pig-pen and didn’t see me in the corner. Talk about a drowned rat!’ Everyone roared, and then he added, ‘It’s a wonder I didn’t go down with pneumonia!’
So many memories, alive as though they had happened only yesterday. ‘Another time, he nearly killed me when he felled a big old tree that was rotting from the roots up. If Vicky hadn’t called out, I’d have been flattened like a pancake on the ground.’
They talked and smiled and laughed out loud, and Lucy felt the anguish draining away. People often said that anticipating an event could sometimes be worse than the doing, and so far it seemed they were right, she thought. Instead of pain, the visit had brought a measure of joy.
After a while they walked on down to the river.
On the night they lost little Jamie, the river had been a raging torrent, but now it was unusually quiet, with the shimmering waters gently rolling over the boulders before leaping and dancing on their way down to the valley below.
In her mind, Lucy relived that awful night for the ten-thousandth time, right up to the sight of Barney walking towards her through the water, the tiny lifeless body in his arms and his desolate face preparing her for the worst. Dear God Almighty, how had she lived with it since? How could she go on living with it?
‘Come away, my dear.’ Lucy was startled by the touch of Adam’s fingers as they closed gently round her arm. ‘You’ve lingered enough,’ he told her. ‘Please, Lucy … come away now.’
Turning away from the waters, Lucy assured him she was fine, though at that moment, she wished she could be anywhere but here, in this particular place. It was not over yet, she thought. The next stage of her journey would be the worst.
The flowers that Bridget had taken to Jamie on Saturday morning were still fresh and colourful. Even from a distance, the yellow and white spring blooms brightened the little boy’s grave.
As she walked through the churchyard, Lucy kept a steely determination not to break down.
In truth, it was Mary who broke down.
Having learned only a year or so ago about her baby brother, she was very emotional. ‘You did wrong,’ she said, rounding on Lucy, her voice shaking. ‘You should have told me long ago. I had a right to know,’ she sobbed. Though this trip had been an ordeal for her mother, it had proven difficult for her, too.
Before she could run away, Lucy took hold of her. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘You’re right, I should have told you about him – our little Jamie. But it was so hard. I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. I thought if I shut it all out it wouldn’t hurt, but it did, and now you’re hurting, and I won’t forgive myself for that.’
For what seemed an age, Lucy held her daughter, as the scent of narcissi rose in the air and surrounded them like a prayer. She let her cry and cried with her, and afterwards, Ben came and took Mary away, while Lucy stayed with Jamie for a while longer. ‘I’ll always love you,’ she murmured. ‘As long as I live, I will never forget you. I had to come back, to see you one last time.’ Wiping away a solitary tear, she then stroked her fingers tenderly over the name on the granite stone. ‘My darling little boy, thank you for the joy you brought me.’
After a while she walked away; leaving the car and the others far behind she went to the edge of the churchyard, where she leaned on the fence and let her mind wander over the fields, as though drawing every memory to her, so that when she left this place it would come with her.
She didn’t hear his footsteps as he came to stand beside her, nor at first did she realise he was there, until he spoke softly. ‘I can’t help you, Lucy, my darling. I want to help you … but I don’t know how.’
His words touched her deeply. Turning to him, she smiled with all her heart. ‘You have helped me, Adam,’ she said. ‘All these years you’ve been there for me.’
He was leaning on the fence, with his hands clasped before him, when suddenly she reached out and slid her hand into his. ‘You’re a remarkable man, Adam; kind and caring, always backing me up, always there for me.’ She paused, searching for the right words, wanting to convey her feelings. ‘The truth is, you mean far more to me than you could ever know.’
When it seemed he might speak, she put her finger over his lips. ‘No, Adam, I need to tell you how I feel.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Coming here, seeing everything again, things I tried so hard to shut out for so long, has made me realise what a fortunate woman I’ve been, and still am. There have been two men in my life – Barney and you. Both good, unselfish men.’
After faltering a moment, she regained her composure. ‘You know I could never love you in the same way I loved Barney, but lately I’ve come to realise just how much I do love you.’ Her eyes told him all he needed to hear. ‘Dear Adam, I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.’
‘You’ll never lose me,’ he promised. ‘Because wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.’ He saw the tears shining in her eyes and he felt the honesty of her words, and he was the happiest man on God’s earth. He ached for her to be his wife; he needed to know that she loved him that much. But his instincts told him that this was not the time nor the place. And so he kept his silence, slid a protective arm round her shoulders, and together they made their way back to the car.
Mary and Ben saw them coming. ‘Look at the pair of them, like two sweethearts,’ Ben remarked. ‘Who knows? We might be having a double wedding, eh?’
Calmer now, Mary was thrilled to see how easy they were, talking and smiling and so comfortable in each other’s company. ‘Coming here must have made them realise how quickly time flies away and that we must take whatever chances life brings us. Those two were always meant for each other. At one time when I was small, I even thought Adam was my father. He was always around, always looking out for us.’
She paused. ‘But there was always Barney. Mother made sure I knew my father, she spoke of him all the time, until I could see him clearly in my mind’s eye; I felt as though I knew him as well as she did. There was never any other man for her. But Adam is special. He knew Barney like a brother. Then afterwards, when Mother was left alone, Adam was there; he has grown old with her, and with every year his love for her has become stronger. I know, because I saw it, every day of my life.’
Ben was intrigued. ‘And now they’re together here, putting the past to rest.’
Their story was amazing, he thought. And now, he too was a part of it, and proud to be so.
THAT EVENING THEY paid a visit to Dr Raymond Lucas, their former local doctor of twenty years ago. He knew all of them – Barney and his family, Lucy and Adam. The old man was delighted to see them. ‘Still the same pretty girl that went away,’ he said, kissing Lucy on the cheek.
She laughed. ‘You old flatterer, you. That girl is long gone. What you see before you is a woman past her prime, carrying a stick and aching from top to toe. I feel as if I’ve climbed mountains today,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, but it’s so good to see you.’ She thought he had not aged too well. His skin was creased and leathery, his hair almost all gone, and his shoulders had sagged, but his smile and friendly manner were the