The Runaway Woman (14 page)

That was all gone, and Lucy knew that life would be bleaker now.

Her dad was still here, though, and Lucy vowed to keep him safe.

Before the grief took a hold of her
again, she hurried to her own bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, in case her dad might call out in the night.

This pretty little room was reassuringly familiar. Large enough for two single beds, it still contained the old wooden dressing table under the window, with the same heart-shaped scratching that she traced with a nail many years ago. Next to the heart was another scratching, made
by Paula. It was the head of a horse, with crossed eyes and a jolly little turban round its ears.

When Lucy now delicately traced the images with her finger, it took her back to a time when she had looked up to her younger sister. She thought she was the luckiest girl in the world to have been blessed with Paula as a sister, so pretty and talented.

Sickened, she turned away to look at the rest
of the room.

There was the same wooden wardrobe against the back wall, and the same paper on the walls, but though the wallpaper was exactly the same pink-and-cream striped pattern, this was new paper, pasted on just two years ago, after Mum said the original had to come down before it fell down of its own accord.

This comfortable little room brought back many memories for Lucy, and all of them
good.

In this very room she and Paula had shared their dreams and fears. Here they had lived their childhood and, when it was time to fly the nest, each was nervous and unsure; especially Lucy, who because of one weak moment as a schoolgirl, was carrying a child of her own.

Back then, even when Lucy’s few friends abandoned her, Paula had stood firm beside her.

Thinking of Paula now, Lucy found
it unbelievable that she had sunk so low as to sleep with Martin. But then, Martin was every bit as guilty.

‘I’m glad that our mum never got to learn what the two of you have been up to. I swear, hell will freeze over before I forgive either of you!’ Lucy vowed.

Deliberately thrusting them out of her mind, she set about unpacking her overnight bag, all the while keeping her ear cocked for the
slightest sound from her father’s room, just a few steps away. She made herself ready for bed and was grateful to slide between the beautifully white sheets, meticulously washed and starched by her mother’s hand. ‘You must always keep your house ready for visitors!’ she would tell her girls. ‘You never know when folks might turn up.’

In spite of feeling incredibly weary, Lucy found it difficult
to sleep.

Downstairs the clock struck eleven; then, all too soon, it was midnight and she was still wide awake. Now her father was coughing and muttering, shattering the silence of the small hours.

Lucy grew concerned.

Climbing out of bed, she went on tiptoe to peer through his bedroom door.

Relieved to find that he appeared to be sleeping, she returned to her own bed, all the while listening
in case her father woke, but it seemed that he must now be fast asleep.

Still Lucy’s troubled mind would not let her sleep.

Her thoughts were alive with memories of her mother and the stark images of her lying, so tiny, in that tall, narrow bed in a white-painted room, lost in the odour of medicines and acrid disinfectant.

Finally, Lucy succumbed to a troubled sleep.

In her haunting dreams,
she was still in that room, with her mother, who was smiling at her. ‘It’s all right, Lucy, my darling …’ Her gentle, reassuring voice was right there in the bedroom with Lucy.

Then she was no more, and Lucy was left alone, though cradled with such incredible love that she could hardly breathe.

Having woken with a start, she sat up, confused by what she had felt to be so real, but did not understand.
Presently, she thrust the dream from her mind, and lay down to sleep again.

While Lucy slept, her father lay awake in his bed, his face turned towards the window. Something had woken him, but he did not know what. His first thought was for his daughter. ‘Lucy!’ He instinctively called her name.

Quickly now, he scrambled out of bed and, slipping his feet into his frayed old slippers, he shuffled
his way to Lucy’s bedroom.

‘Lucy?’ He peered in through the door, but she gave no answer. ‘Lucy?’ Softly, he went closer and, just then, she turned her head slightly.

Relieved, he nodded his grey head. ‘Nightmares!’ he muttered. ‘Poor girl, she always was prone to having nightmares.’

He made his way downstairs. In the sitting room he stood by his and Susan’s wedding photo.

‘I can’t believe
you’ve left me,’ he said tearfully. ‘You should never have left me. You and me, we’re like day and night … we belong together. There are special things that were meant to be together: you and me, black and white, good and bad. Sunshine and rain. Me and my Susie. How can one be, without the other?’

In the whole of his life, he had never felt such pain.

Gently he cradled the picture frame in his
hands. Carrying it across the room, he went to his faithful old armchair, where he sat his weary body down.

Gazing down on his wife of so many long years, his old heart was broken. ‘I need you.’ He smiled on her face. ‘I love you so much …’ Over and over he professed his undying love for her.

After a while he grew silent. The pain began to ease, and his tears were stilled.

As he closed his
eyes to sleep, his grip on the picture frame tightened, as though he would never let it go.

‘My lovely Susie …’ Even in his sleep, he called her name.

Upstairs, Lucy woke with a start. ‘Dad!’ Momentarily disorientated, she scrambled out of bed and across the room, she ran down the landing and into his bedroom. She was shocked to find his bed empty, with no sign of her father.
‘Dad!’

No answer.

Thinking he must have gone to the bathroom, she ran down the stairs two steps at a time. ‘Dad!’ she continued to call, but still there was no answer.

She was making straight for the bathroom when she realised the light was on in the sitting room. And yes, there he was, in his favourite armchair. Taking a huge breath, she calmed herself, while chiding him gently.

‘Why didn’t
you wake me? Honestly, you gave me such a fright.’

Going to the fireplace, she collected the poker from the hearth and prodded the dying embers. ‘It needs more coal, but it’s not worth putting any on now.’ She meant to get him back to bed as soon as possible. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea … warm you up, eh?’

She went across the hallway to the kitchen, calling to him as she went, ‘If you want to
make your way back to bed, Dad, I’ll fetch your tea up.’

Crossing to the sink, she filled the kettle with fresh water, then she lit the gas hob and placed the kettle to boil. She collected the teapot and two cups from the cupboard, all the while calling back to him, ‘If you’d woken me, I would have brought the drink to your room.’ She shivered. ‘It’s freezing cold down here!’

When the kettle
began whistling, she scooped the tea into the pot and filled it two-thirds of the way up. Having made the tea, she set the tray and carried it through to the sitting room, where she fleetingly glanced at her father hunched in the chair. ‘See! You’ve got cold now, haven’t you? Honestly, Dad, you should have called me.’

Tutting, she set the tray on the side-table. ‘I’ll go get your dressing gown
while the tea settles. I’ll only be a minute!’

Noticing the wedding photo clutched in his two hands, she asked him tenderly, ‘Dad, would you like me to put the photo back for you?’

Making her way across the room, she told him lovingly, ‘Look, Dad, I’ve made us a hot drink. Let me put the photo back, eh?’

As she reached for the photo frame, it slid out of his hands and slithered to the carpet.
‘It’s all right,’ she assured him, ‘it’s not broken.’ Having collected it from the carpet, she held it up to show him. ‘There you are … not even a scratch …’ Her heart lurched. Something was wrong. ‘Dad?’ Suddenly disturbed, she looked closely at him, and her blood ran cold. ‘Dad?’

She began shaking him, gently at first, then harder, and all the while her brain was telling her what she refused
to believe. Then her screams echoed through the house. ‘No! Oh, dear Lord, no! Please … NO!’

Sobbing helplessly, she wound her arms about his neck and drew him to her. She rocked him back and forth, his head against her shoulder and her cries were pitiful to hear. ‘Wake up, Dad,’ she implored him. ‘I can’t lose you as well. Dad … please, wake up. Wake up! … Please, Dad …’ Then she stopped calling
for him to respond and instead, she held him tighter, her face pressed to his still-warm face, and sobbed as though she would never stop.

She whispered of her love for him and her mother, stroking his cheek, and praying that, even now, he might open his eyes and smile at her in that crooked, comical way she knew and loved.

When the finality of losing both her parents hit home, the pain was overwhelming.

Bereft and alone, she whispered to her father over and over, telling him how she would make sure her children never forgot him.

Pressing him to her, she continued to rock him like a child in arms, her tears dampening his cheeks, making them shine. ‘You and Mum are together now,’ she sobbed. ‘I know you’ll be watching over us. Oh, but I shall miss you both so very much … more than you could ever
imagine.’

Since discovering the truth about Martin and her sister, Lucy had fought hard to keep things together. She felt a desperate need to protect the family from learning the truth – Anne and Sam in particular.

Shattered by the deception of her husband and sister, she was now made utterly desolate at the loss of both her parents. There seemed nowhere to turn.

For what seemed an age, she
sat quietly holding her father’s hand, just as he had held hers as a child.

In the depths of her pain, Lucy decided that somewhere, at sometime in her life, she must have been bad, and these terrible events were her punishment.

As slowly, and ever so gently, the new day peeped shyly into the room, physically and emotionally exhausted, Lucy tenderly eased her father back into the chair.

She
gazed on him for a moment, before leaning forward to kiss his wrinkled forehead. Cradling his dear, familiar face, she could imagine his smile and the twinkle in his eye, and she could not hold back her tears.

‘Good night, God bless, Dad. I do love you so. I always will.’

One last hug, before she made him safe.

Her father was gone now. Gone to be with his Susie, the love of his life.

T
HE CHURCH WAS
filled to capacity with both close family and distant family members. There were also many friends, young and old.

April was gone, but a chilly breeze lingered through to early May, but that did not deter the mourners. The neighbours, too, had turned out in their numbers to pay respects to the well-known and kindly regarded couple.

Lucy, being the eldest, had been
asked to choose her parents’ favourite hymns, which she did with much thought and care.

She had wondered whether she should ask Paula to help choose, but after much agonising she decided it would not be proper in the light of what Paula had done. Once she had chosen what she believed her parents would have wanted, however, she felt obliged to run that final choice past the immediate family, Martin
and Paula included. Lucy’s choice was well received by all.

Now, after the prayers were said and the hymns sung, the priest offered his blessings and then more prayers followed.

After the service, everyone shuffled out. Some bent their heads in respect; some discreetly dabbed at their faces to wipe away tears, while others left their tears to flow.

Outside in the graveyard, this much-loved
couple were laid to rest. Together again.

The priest offered the final prayer, which was followed by a long moment of silence, after which everyone made their way down the path and out through the churchyard gates.

The family, however, lingered to speak with the priest, to thank him for everything.

Lucy told him the service was very beautiful; although she would have given anything for her
parents’ deaths never to have happened.

Father Patrick assured the family, ‘I know how very hard it must be to lose both your parents within such a short time of each other, but in my experience, it is not uncommon for the one left behind to pine for their loved one, and then to quickly follow him or her.’

When Lucy nodded, he smiled on her. ‘The hymns you chose were very beautiful, Lucy,’ he
said. Then he wished the family well, and bade them goodbye.

As Lucy turned and hurried down the path towards the gate, Paula caught up with her.

‘Lucy, we need to talk … about what you saw …’

Lucy quickened her pace. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said quietly. ‘This is not the time or place to be discussing such a thing. Moreover, I do not want to hear anything you have to say. Not today … not here.
Not ever.’

Quickening her steps, she went through the gate and caught up with her children.