Josephine Cox - Journey’s End

Lucy remembered the time when she could throw a pitchfork of hay on top of a wagon, or carry an injured lamb on her shoulders, but that was in another life. If she could bring it all back, she would. But it was gone, all but in her sorry heart.

A few moments later, after a thorough examination, the doctor put away his instruments and closed the bag. ‘It seems you’re no better and no worse, so you must be following my instructions after all.’

Lucy smiled triumphantly. ‘Isn’t that what I told you, Doctor?’

‘So it is,’ he replied. ‘So it is – but you need to remember you’re not the young woman you once were and your joints aren’t quite so flexible. I’m not saying you can’t do certain things – of course you can – but you must take care not to aggravate your condition. And that includes getting all hot and bothered about things.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Good.’ He wrote out a prescription. ‘Your blood pressure is slightly up. Take one of these each morning, and an hour’s rest in the afternoon. Right?’

‘Whatever you say. You’re the doctor.’

‘I’ll call again in a few days to check your blood pressure, just to be sure.’

Glad that the examination was over, Lucy relaxed. ‘Are you ready for tea and biscuits?’

‘Need you ask?’ It had become a ritual; a bit of a banter, then the examination, before tea and biscuits. He had come to look forward to it. ‘That’s the main reason I come to visit,’ the young man teased. He picked up his black bag. ‘A few quiet moments in that delightful kitchen of yours sets me up for the day.’

Inching herself off the bed, Lucy slipped her shoes on. ‘You haven’t forgotten how I like mine, have you?’

He shook his head. ‘Strong, with a little milk and two sugars.’

‘That’s it.’ She waved him away with a gesture. ‘Off you go then. You make your way down, and I’ll follow on.’

By the time Lucy arrived in the kitchen, the doctor was pouring out two cups of tea and had got out a plate of Elsie’s home-baked shortbread. ‘I can’t stay long,’ he told Lucy. ‘I must check on Maggie Craig; she’s not too far away from giving birth.’

Lucy tut-tutted. ‘That’s her eighth in as many years. If you ask me, it’s not Maggie as wants checking on, it’s her old man. Quickest way to help Maggie and cut your work down into the bargain, is to chop it off for him. That’ll give everyone a rest, won’t it?’

The doctor laughed. ‘It’s a bit drastic, don’t you think?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘He’s a selfish bugger, though. If it was him having the babies, he wouldn’t be so quick to make them.’

She thought of her dead son, little Jamie, drowned these past twenty years or more, and her heart was sore. ‘Mind you,’ she went on in a softer voice, ‘there is nothing more magical than holding a child in your arms.’

The doctor looked up to see the sadness in her eyes; he had seen it before and had been curious. Not for the first time, he sensed there was something in Lucy’s past that she was unable to let go. He might have asked, but the young man’s instinct told him Lucy would not thank him for it. So he waited until the sadness had passed, and she was smiling at him, as though everything was all right in her world.

‘I expect you have a busy day ahead of you, Doctor?’

‘I have, yes.’ Finishing his tea, he munched the last of his biscuit, and when he thought Lucy wasn’t looking, he tucked one into his jacket pocket. ‘I really must get on now,’ he excused himself. ‘Remember what I said, won’t you?’

Lucy nodded. ‘I will, yes. Thank you, Doctor, and mind you don’t crush that biscuit to crumbs in your pocket. Here.’ Taking a napkin from the drawer she gave it to him with a knowing little smile. ‘Best wrap it up in that, eh?’

Looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the sweetie jar, Dr Nolan did as he was told, and went sheepishly on his way.

Through the window Lucy watched him leave and when he was gone her gaze fell on Mary, who was walking with Ben towards the house.

‘We’re away now, Mother.’ Mary arrived to kiss Lucy cheerio. ‘Ben’s just washing the oil from his hands, then we’re off to organise the tractor.’

Lucy laughed. ‘And what do you know about tractors?’

Mary made a face. ‘Nothing,’ she admitted. ‘I know about cutting grass, about fertilising the soil, growing flowers and vegetables, plants from seed and collecting eggs from the chickens to sell at market, but that’s as far as my knowledge stretches.’ She gave her mother a curious glance. ‘What are you smiling at?’

Lucy’s memories had never jaded. She could remember Overhill Farm in the little Wirral village of Comberton by Weir as if it was yesterday, with Barney and his sons ploughing and seeding, and harvest-time, when the world was aglow with sunshine and the fields yielded their bounty. Somehow, without even knowing it, she had come to learn quite a bit about tractors and the way they worked. ‘I was just thinking,’ she said vaguely.

‘From the look on your face, they must be pleasant thoughts.’ Mary had often seen that look on her mother’s face, a look of yesteryear, sometimes sad, sometimes warm with joy, and not once had she ever felt a part of it. ‘What were you thinking about?’

‘Oh, things that happened before you were born.’

‘What things?’

Lucy was wary now. Even though Mary knew something about the secrets of the past, Lucy found it hard to discuss every little detail. ‘I was just remembering how much I seem to have learned about tractors, that’s all.’

Mary was intrigued. ‘You loved helping Daddy on the farm, didn’t you?’ How she wished she had been a part of it all. But not the heartache, not that.

Lucy didn’t get a chance to answer because now Ben was in the room, unrolling his sleeves and preparing to leave. ‘If you’re ready, we’d best be off now,’ he told Mary, and to Lucy he suggested, ‘Would you like to come with us?’

Lucy was tempted. ‘That’s very kind,’ she said, ‘but you don’t want me limping along, acting the wallflower. Besides, I’ve got things to do. You two get off and enjoy yourselves. You can tell me all about it when you get back.’

All too soon the two of them were climbing into Ben’s car, laughing and talking, and Lucy was thrilled to see them so happy and content. ‘See that, Barney?’ she murmured aloud. ‘That was you and me, in the short time we had together.’

Ravaged by emotions and memories she found difficult to cope with, Lucy went back to her room, slipped out of her shoes and lay down on the bed. Her gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes closed, bittersweet tears trickled down her face. ‘I want you back,’ she whispered. ‘Oh Barney, even now, after twenty years, I still miss you so much. I want you back – and I know it will never happen.’

For a time her heart was unbearably heavy. When she was quiet at last, she went to the bathroom and washed her face. Afterwards, feeling fresher and more able to face another day, she went downstairs, where Elsie was covering a large pie with pastry. ‘Steak and kidney pie and mash for dinner tonight,’ she advised Lucy. ‘I’ll cover it with greaseproof paper and set it on the shelf in the pantry. Oh, and there’s apple crumble for afterwards. Won’t take a second for Mary to heat up the spuds with a knob of butter, and to boil up some custard.’

Lucy was astonished. ‘Good grief!’ She stared at the pie and then at Elsie. ‘You’ve got your skates on this morning, haven’t you?’ She glanced about the kitchen, which by now was spick and span. ‘Are you in a hurry or what?’

For a minute it seemed as though Elsie had not heard Lucy’s question, because she continued cutting the edge of the pastry to a pattern, then carried the pie to the pantry. Now she was at the sink, slapping her hands together to rid them of the flour before washing them under the tap.