Born Bad (4 page)
‘We’ll treat your belongings with respect, sir.’ At the onset of this job, the driver had been acquainted with Harry’s circumstances, causing him to be grateful for his own happy marriage and five healthy children.
Harry thanked him before, with heavy heart, he turned away.
Having gone from room to room, satisfying himself that everything
was locked and secure, Harry got Tom and the suitcases into the car and drove straight to the churchyard.
The gardener, Roland Sparrow, was waiting in the porch; pencil-thin and whisky-faced, he gave a nervous cough as Harry approached. ‘I’ve not been waiting too long, Mr Blake,’ he preempted Harry’s question. ‘Five minutes at most.’
Taking off his flat cap, he then addressed him with a mood
of respect. ‘Might I say before we start, the boss informed me of your loss, and if you don’t mind, I would very much like to offer my condolences.’
Harry acknowledged his concern. ‘Thank you, Mr Sparrow, that’s very kind.’ Quickly changing the subject, he asked, ‘Did you bring the copy of instructions I left at your office?’
‘I have them here,’ came the answer. ‘Very thorough they are too.
Most folks either don’t know how, or don’t bother, to take the time and trouble drawing plans and naming flowers, but you’ve done it all, and it makes my job that much easier, if I may say so.’
‘And are you comfortable with everything?’ Harry had taken a long time, thinking about what Sara would have wanted.
‘I have, and what’s more I think it’ll turn out to be the prettiest little garden in
the churchyard. Keeping the place beautiful, it’s what I do.’
Looking down his glasses, which were precariously perched at the end of his narrow nose, he read from Harry’s list. ‘Let’s see now … the planting of different coloured heathers for autumn and winter; daffodil and tulip bulbs all around the border for spring, and a girdle of low-growing pink and blue perennials for the summertime.
‘By! It’ll be well pretty! Oh, and just think of the perfumes in the summertime!’ His voice adopted a reverent tone again. ‘I understand you’ve chosen a black marble cross, with two inbuilt flower vases?’
Harry confirmed it with a nod.
‘Well, I can tell you now, the vases will be filled every two weeks with seasonal flowers, and they’ll be regularly topped up with water ’cause that’s what I do.’
‘So, I can count on you, then?’ Harry needed reassuring.
Mr Sparrow beamed with pride. ‘I shall tend your lady’s garden with great care, you can depend on it.’
Harry concluded the discussion. ‘You’ll find all the names and telephone numbers you need on your list, and I will be in touch with your office with regards to everything. Also, I’ll be back as often as I can, so as to keep an eye on
things.’
‘That’s absolutely understood, Mr Blake. And I’m sure you’ll
find everything to your satisfaction.’ Sparrow glanced about the well-tended churchyard. ‘I’ve been doing this work for nigh on twenty years. It’s what I do, and though I say so meself … nobody does it better.’
‘I’m sure.’ With that, they parted company.
Harry watched the older man amble away. He did not particularly enjoy
the idea of someone else tending Sara’s grave plot, but for now it had to be that way, if he was to keep his promise to her.
‘Is the man getting yellow roses for Mammy?’ Cradling his precious raggedy dog, Tom had stood silent throughout the conversation. Now though, as he looked up at Harry, the tears were not far away.
Harry swung the boy into his arms. ‘That’s right, and because we’ll be nearly
two hundred miles away, Daddy’s paying him to take care of your mammy’s garden when we can’t be here.’ It hurt him to see how the boy was so hopelessly out of his depth. ‘Is that all right with you, young man?’
‘Will he put the yellow roses where Mammy can see them?’
‘I’m sure he will, yes. Mr Sparrow is a good, kind man. He would want Mammy to see her favourite flowers.’
He and Tom then went
to stand before Sara’s grave for what seemed an age. They talked of the past and spoke of the future, and they gave their heartfelt promise to come back whenever they could.
After a time, they made their way out of the churchyard in silence, lost in thoughts of that wonderful woman who had briefly touched their lives, and made them all the stronger for it.
Leaning back on his rickety wooden
bench, the gardener saw them leave; he saw how the little boy clung to his father, and he saw the grief in the latter’s face, and he shook his greying head.
‘Time will help,’ he muttered. ‘Wait and see if I’m not right.’ His own young wife had died of blood poisoning twenty years or more since, and at the time, he had thought he would never get over it. But he’d now been married to the excellent
second Mrs Sparrow for over fifteen years, and couldn’t be happier.
He then slid the whisky flask out of his back pocket and took a healthy swig. ‘Phew! Puts hairs on a man’s chest that does, and no mistake!’ he said to the gravestones.
Returning the flask to his back pocket, he began merrily whistling as he went about his work.
Roland Sparrow was used to seeing folks come and go. He tended
their graves and he drank to their health.
After all …
it was what he did
.
At the gate, Harry glanced back. In his mind’s eye he could see Sara as plain as day; laughing in that carefree way he loved, her long hair blown by the breeze while she chased Tom across the park. She was always so brimful of life and energy.
He smiled at her memory now, and through the rest of his life, that was the
way he would always remember her.
The final stop was the estate agent.
‘So the house is empty now, is it, sir?’ The agent was a fresh-faced young fellow with a blue and white spotted tie and a smile as wide as the Mersey Tunnel.
Harry handed over the keys.
‘We’ll be in touch.’ The young man’s smile was comforting. ‘Matter of fact, the gentleman who viewed your property a week ago has sold
his own place and now he’s arranged to view your house again.’
‘Sounds hopeful.’ Harry had agonised about selling their home, but it was all part of the promise he had made to Sara. ‘It’s best if you do it straight away.’ She had been insistent. ‘Before Tom starts school.’
‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’ The young man’s voice penetrated Harry’s thoughts. ‘Is that all right with you?’
Harry
apologised. ‘Sorry … er, yes. Yes, that’s absolutely fine. I’ll wait to hear from you.’
A few moments later, taking hold of Tom’s hand, Harry then embarked on the journey he never dreamed he would make. He would not be making it now, if Sara had not made him promise.
The memories of his youth had never really gone away; Sara knew that. When he first met her, he told her everything, and she was
a tower of strength to him.
The memories were suffocating, of the way it had been. Wonderful memories. Crippling memories.
After he lost his parents in a fire, there was the lovely Irish Kathleen, always there, wise and caring. She had been like a mother to him.
Sometimes tragedy frightens people away, like the mates he used to hang about with – Bob, Alan, and the unpredictable Phil Saunders,
who had always been his rival. Where were they now? What had become of them? Had they done well, or fallen by the wayside?
He smiled, despite his sombre mood. Wasn’t it strange how life swept you along, whether you wanted it or not. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, it was meant to be.
Without him even realising it, the girl grew strong in his mind
.
‘Judy.’ After all this time, her name came
softly to his lips. Back then when they were young, she had meant the world to him. When it all went wrong, he had moved away – to the mayhem of war and manhood. And then some turbulent years later he had met his darling Sara and moved to Weymouth to build a life with her. Warm and forgiving, she had been his saviour, giving him stability and a son.
Why though, had Sara desperately wanted him
to go back? Back to that place where he had grown up and found his first love? What woman would want that? But then, Sara was special.
In that moment, he wondered about his first love, and a great sadness filled his heart. Had Judy found happiness? Was she safe? Had she forgiven him? Or did she want to punish him for what had happened all those years ago?
Time would tell, he thought.
Truth
was, the prospect of seeing her again was deeply unsettling.
W
ITH ONLY A
short distance to go up the A418 from Aylesbury before they reached Leighton Buzzard, Harry found himself snarled up in traffic. ‘I think we’ll take a short break,’ he said. A quick glance at the boy and he decided it would do them both good to take another breather. It was a very long journey from Weymouth to Bedfordshire and they had been driving for hours. Besides,
the nearer he got to Fisher’s Hill, the more his nerves were getting the better of him.
Twenty minutes later, as Harry negotiated his way through the lanes and backways, Tom spotted a food van in a lay-by. ‘I’m hungry, Daddy,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ Harry conceded. ‘It’s been a while since we ate.’ Drawing into a little gravelled area, he got Tom out of the Hillman. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what
they’ve got.’ To tell the truth, he welcomed the stop. His back was aching, and he had a real thirst on him.
At the van Harry lifted Tom into his arms. ‘Right, big man. What d’you fancy?’ He pointed to the items arranged on glass shelves behind the counter. ‘And don’t get anything too messy,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t want it all over you … or the car!’
Tom chose a ham roll. Harry chose ham and
tomato; and each had a bag of potato crisps, a Wagon Wheel chocolate biscuit, and a bottle of orange juice. On the way back to the car, they chatted about this and that, the main topic being the little man who could hardly see over the counter to serve them.
With only a short distance to Fisher’s Hill, Harry was still questioning the situation. Was Kathleen only acting out of loyalty by writing
back in response to his letter, and saying they could stop with her? And would Judy’s life be turned upside down again, because of him?
He could not go home, and he had no other family, so if he didn’t go to Kathleen, where would he go? All the same, wouldn’t
it be better if he let sleeping dogs lie? He could take them to a hotel; maybe arrange to rent a house until he found something more permanent.
‘I think we’ll pull off the road for a while, Tom,’ he told the boy. ‘After all, we’re in no hurry.’ He felt the need to slow everything down.
Taking a left turn, he found himself in what looked like a lane to nowhere. ‘I remember this place.’ He and Judy had been here many times on their bikes. ‘I used to go fishing in the stream at the bottom,’ he said. ‘Me and … my friends.’ The pictures were
so alive in his mind – of him and his mates – climbing trees, chasing rabbits, and doing all the usual stuff that growing boys do.
And then, later on, there were the quieter, more memorable times, when he and Judy came walking hand-in-hand down this very lane, wide-eyed and starstruck; hopelessly in love.
Now, when the guilt poured in, he deliberately pushed the memories to the back of his mind.
Parking the car, he collected Tom and the food, and the two of them meandered down the bank, to follow the splashing sound of water.
Overhung with ancient willows, the stream was magical. The frothy white water tumbled over the boulders and wound its way down to the valley, and all around the birds could be heard singing.
Mesmerised, the two of them stood for a moment, just watching, and listening.
The graceful willows swayed ever so gently in the teasing breeze, and the sound of water against stone was uniquely soothing.
Harry allowed the memories to flood back. ‘Shall I tell you something?’ he murmured to Tom.
Intent on the little bird hopping from boulder to boulder, the boy nodded. ‘Mmm.’
‘When we were your age, me and my friends used to leap across this stream.’
Wide-eyed and open-mouthed,
Tom gave his father his full attention. ‘Did you?’
‘We did.’
‘And did you get a smack for being naughty?’
Harry laughed out loud. ‘We did, yes! Every time we fell in and got wet, our mams got cross and our dads gave us a clip round the ear.’
Deep in thought, he grew quiet for a while. ‘We still came down
here though.’ He pointed to an old oak tree on the other side. ‘We even made a den in
the branches of that tree.’
Stretching his neck, Tom strained to look into the tree branches. ‘I can’t see it.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’ Harry felt a pang of sadness. ‘It was a long time ago. It’s probably rotted away by now.’
‘Can we see?’ Having caught the excitement in his father’s voice, Tom was curious.
Harry considered Tom’s request, and he too began to wonder. ‘Yes, why not?
Let’s go take a look.’
‘How can we get across?’
‘We’ll paddle – would you like that?’
Tom threw his two arms up in the air. ‘Yes, I would!’
So they kicked off their shoes, rolled up their trousers, and dipped their bare feet in the stream, with Tom screeching at the shockingly cold water which lapped over his ankles.
For the first time in an age, Harry laughed out loud. ‘Wow! That’s a good
feeling, don’t you think so, Tom?’
‘It’s freezing, Daddy!’
‘Do you want me to carry you?’
‘No! I want to paddle!’
So with Harry holding tight to Tom’s hand, the two of them paddled across the stream and clambered out on the other side, all wet and refreshed, and much lighter of heart. ‘D’you know what, Tom?’ Harry took a deep invigorating breath. ‘I’d forgotten what that felt like.’ It had
taken him right back to another time, one without responsibility or worries.
‘We might do that again some day?’ he suggested, and Tom was all for it.
After rummaging about in that big old tree, they found remnants of Harry’s childhood. Amazingly, the main plank which had forged the base of their den was still virtually intact. ‘Lift me up, Daddy!’ Tom was beside himself with excitement.
Warning
him to stay very still, because of the rotting wood, Harry lifted him up to stand on the plank, and when the boy looked down on what had been Harry’s kingdom, Harry felt deeply nostalgic. He could see himself up there, not much older than Tom was now, being master of all he surveyed.
The most surprising find of all, was when Harry lifted his boy down. He was not consciously thinking of it, so
it must have been a deeper instinct that brought his gaze to the widest girth of the trunk.
‘Good Lord!’ His heart soared in his chest when he saw the outline of two entwined shapes deeply engraved in the timber.
‘What is it, Daddy?’ Tom wanted to know.
Seeming not to have heard, Harry went forward, with Tom right behind, and there, crudely carved within the two entwined hearts, so faint he
could hardly read it, were the names of
Harry
and
Judy
.
An unexpected storm of emotion flooded Harry’s being; for a moment he had to turn away, so Tom would not see.
‘Daddy, show me! Show me, Daddy!’
Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Harry snatched the boy into his arms and strode away. ‘It’s nothing … just some old carvings, that’s all.’ But it wasn’t all. It was wonderful, and shocking,
and the strongest reminder yet, of how it had been between him and Judy.
He remembered it now, as if it was yesterday.
It was the summer after Judy’s family had moved into the street, when they were just childhood friends, riding their old bikes around the countryside, coming here and making their mark on the world.
As they hurried away from that place, Harry could hear his son chatting about
the tree and the stream, telling his dad how he wanted to come back again. Harry had nothing to say. He was being drawn back into another world, one from which he had flown long ago.
Having paddled back to the other side, Harry tried desperately to shut the images out of his mind. ‘Hungry now, are you?’ he asked Tom.
‘Starving!’
‘Right.’ They dried their feet on their socks, then put their
shoes back on, and Harry unwrapped the food.
‘There you go, son. Time to tuck in.’ He handed the boy his bread roll, relieved that Tom had got back his appetite. ‘Good, is it?’ These past few weeks, neither of them had felt much like eating.
With his mouth full, Tom nodded.
‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was,’ Harry commented, tearing off another chunk of his bread roll. ‘When we’ve finished,
we’ll get back on the road.’ He swallowed the last bite. ‘There’s a box of tissues in the back of the car. We can finish drying our feet on them.’
The boy looked up. ‘Daddy?’ he asked.
Harry didn’t hear. He was thinking of that carving, and Judy. Then he was thinking how much Sara would have loved this beautiful place.
‘
Daddy!
’ Tom repeated, more loudly this time.
Startled, Harry turned, his
glance softening as he gazed down on that small, innocent face, ‘Sorry, son. I was miles away.’
‘What town is that?’ The lad pointed across the bank, towards the swathe of houses.
‘It isn’t a town, son. It’s a village – name of Heath and Reach.’ This whole area had been his stamping ground. ‘The nearest town is Leighton Buzzard,’ he pointed towards the curve of the canal, ‘about four miles in
that direction.’
‘Leighton Buzzard? That’s a funny name. So, is that where we’re going?’
‘Nope.’ Harry shook his head.
‘Where are we going then?’
Again, Harry turned away, his mind filled with things belonging to the past. Things that had never really left him.
The boy tugged on Harry’s sleeve. ‘I’m tired.’
Smiling patiently, Harry slid an arm round his narrow shoulders. ‘I know,’ he conceded.
‘It’s been a long journey, but we’re not far off now.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Oh, Tom, I already told you three times on the way here. We’re going to a place called Fisher’s Hill. The place where I grew up.’
‘Oh yes.’ The boy dropped his quiet gaze to the water’s edge. He didn’t want to go somewhere strange. He wanted to go back to his own house. He wanted his mammy, and the garden where he
played at soldiers behind the trees.
But it was gone now. All gone, and the child’s heart was heavy.
‘Will I like it in our new place, Daddy?’ he asked tearfully.
‘I hope so, son.’ Harry was anxious, for both of them. ‘Yes, I believe you will like it. I
know
you’ll like Kathleen. She’s a lovely person. When I was growing up and something really bad happened, Kathleen was very good to me.’
‘Was that when your mammy and daddy got burned?’
Shocked, Harry swung round. ‘Tom! Who told you that?’
‘I heard you talking with Mammy,’ Tom answered candidly.
‘Oh, I see.’ In an odd way, Harry was strangely relieved, though he wondered how a small boy could have remembered something like that.
‘Mammy asked you to promise you would go back, and you said you didn’t want to, because you had those
bad memories.’
‘That’s right, son. I did say that.’ He was sorry that Tom had been living with those thoughts, and then felt the need to clarify
something. ‘Can you remember anything else – apart from the bit about the bad memories?’ he asked.
Tom shrugged his shoulders, but gave no answer.
‘Well, when I told Mammy that I didn’t want to go back to where I grew up, she reminded me that I shouldn’t
just remember the
bad
memories, because there were good memories as well. Memories of love, and friendship, and of that kind lady called Kathleen, who took me in after I lost my parents. That’s really why Mammy wanted us to go back.’
‘Because she was going away, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, son,’ Harry said in a choked voice, ‘because she was going away, and she did not want us to be without friends.’
Tom considered that, before, with the innocence of a child, he asked, ‘Will Kathleen really like me?’
Harry smiled at that. ‘Of course she’ll like you. She won’t be able to help herself.’
There followed a brief span of silence while each of them took stock of the situation, ‘Daddy?’
‘Yes, son?’
‘Kathleen won’t pretend to be my real mammy, will she?’
‘No. She would never do that.’
‘I wish
Mammy could be with us.’
‘I know, son.’ Harry’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘But she can’t. I’m sorry, Tom, but we have to get used to that.’
‘I miss her.’ The tears threatened.
‘I know you do, and so do I.’ He drew the boy close. ‘If there was any other way, you know I would make it right. But I can’t, so from now on, it’s just the two of us.’
‘Will Mammy be all right without us?’
‘Don’t worry.
She’ll be fine.’
‘Is she with the angels?’
‘I imagine so. Yes, that’s where she is … with the angels.’
The boy’s next question shook Harry to the roots, for it echoed his own deepest fears. ‘We’ll never see her again, will we? Not ever.’
For the moment, Harry could not bring himself to answer. The truth was, he still had not come to terms with her loss.
He looked down on that small, bewildered
face, and he felt helpless. ‘We have no way of knowing if we’ll ever see her again, Tom,’ he answered quietly. ‘But even if we can’t see her, I bet she can see us. Wherever we go, she’ll be keeping an eye on us; wanting us to be strong, wanting us to look after each other.’
Tom was amazed. ‘Does she know I got my feet wet in the stream?’
Harry smiled. ‘Maybe she does, yes.’
‘When we go back
to the car, will she come with us?’
‘I don’t know, son.’
Tears were inevitable as they tumbled down the boy’s face. ‘I want my Mammy … I want her
now
!’
Grabbing the boy into his arms, Harry pacified him. ‘Hush now. I want her too, but we can’t have her back, except in our hearts and minds. That’s something, isn’t it, Tom? That really is … something.’
Sensing his father’s desolation, the boy
wrapped his arms round his neck. ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’
‘I’m sorry too, son.’ Brushing back the boy’s brown hair, he put his hand under his chin and lifted Tom’s face to him. ‘I love you, Tom. I’ll take good care of you, just like Mammy wanted.’
After a while he led the boy by the hand and together they walked back across the field and over the bridge. ‘We’d best make tracks.’ He didn’t want it
to be dark when they got there. ‘Kathleen will be wondering where we are.’ It was so long since he’d seen that kindly soul, he had almost forgotten what she looked like.
