The Journey. Josephine Cox
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heard a noise – I’m sure it came from upstairs. Please, lass … will you check on your mother again? See if she’s all right?’
Mary didn’t need asking twice. She was on her feet and out of the room before he’d finished speaking. While she was running up the stairs, Ben grew concerned for Adam. Taking the little man by the shoulders, he sat him in the armchair. ‘Here, sit down … before you fall down.’ And when Adam was seated, head low in his hands and his whole body trembling, Ben dashed off to the kitchen and brought him back a glass of water. ‘Drink this … it’ll help calm you.’
By the time Adam had swilled down every last drop of the cool water, Mary had returned. ‘Mother is fast asleep,’ she told them. ‘She hasn’t moved, except to pull down the covers a little.’ Lucy never did like being too warm, even in her sleep.
Adam grabbed her hand. ‘Are you sure she’s all right?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Mary squeezed his hand comfortingly. ‘Like the doctor said … she’s sleeping soundly.’
And then Adam was weeping, quietly at first, until the sobs racked his body, and when he looked up at them he was like a man haunted. ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to your mam,’ he said brokenly. ‘I love her, d’you see? I have loved her for a long, long time … and always will till the day I die, and even after that.’
Mary sat on the edge of the sofa, opposite Adam and next to Ben, but she did not let go of Adam’s hand.
‘Do you think I don’t know how much you love her?’ she asked tenderly. ‘I’ve known it since I was very small. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I’ve heard you whisper her name … talking to her when you thought she couldn’t hear. But I heard, and I know how much you adore her.’
She had a question. ‘Why did she not love you back in the same way?’
Adam was curiously hurt by her question, though he understood it well enough. ‘She did love me … she still does!’
‘Yes, I know that, but why did she not love you in the same way?’
He smiled painfully at that, a sad, lonely smile that made her feel guilty. ‘We can’t always choose whom we love,’ he answered wisely. ‘I didn’t choose to fall head over heels in love with Lucy, any more than she chose to fall head over heels in love with your daddy.’
He gave a long, rippling sigh. ‘And who could blame her for that? Y’see, Barney Davidson was a very special man. Not because he was handsome or rich, or even because he was exceptional in ways we mere mortals might understand.’ His eyes shone with admiration. ‘No! He was more than that. He was deep, and kind …’ Hesitating, he gave a shrug. ‘Sometimes, words alone can never describe someone.’
‘Please, Adam, will you try to describe him for me? No one ever talks about him.’
Adam was shocked to see the tears running down her face and once again, was tempted to tell her everything. ‘You never knew him, did you, lass – not really?’ he murmured. ‘You were only a wee thing when we lost him. He was my dear, dear friend … the best pal a man could ever have, and I loved him for it.’
Afraid of losing the moment again, Mary persisted. ‘Please, tell me what you know, what you and Mother have always kept from me.’ Her voice broke. ‘I will never rest until I know what happened, and don’t tell me there was nothing untoward in my parents’ lives, because in here …’ she tapped the cradle of her heart ‘… I know there was.’
Deeply moved, he looked into those lovely, tearful eyes. ‘Your mother should never have kept it from you,’ he conceded gruffly. ‘I’ve always known she was wrong about that. I told her you had every right to know, that you were Barney’s child through and through. But she was afraid … always afraid.’
‘Afraid of what?’ Mary gave a sigh of relief. At last she was getting nearer to the truth.
‘I can’t tell.’ He looked from her to Ben. ‘I made a promise. NO!’ He shook his head. ‘I never did make that promise. I thought it would be wrong, d’you see? I told her, “Mary will have to know everything one day” …’ His words trailed away.
‘Adam?’ The girl’s voice penetrated his deeper thoughts. ‘That day is here and now. And you’re right: I have to know, so tell me … please.’
Snatching his hand from her grip, Adam scrambled out of the chair. He paced the floor awhile, then took a moment to stare out of the window at the night, but he said nothing for what seemed an age. Then he walked to the door, opened it and went out, and from the room they could see him standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. His lips were moving, but they could not hear what he was saying.
Mary went to get off the sofa, but Ben reached out and, with a gentle pressure of his hand, held her there. ‘Best to leave him,’ he whispered. ‘Give him time.’ And, knowing Ben was right, she remained still until the little fellow came back into the room.
Upstairs, Lucy thought she heard something. A voice. His voice. Half-asleep, her brain numbed by the sedative, she called out his name. ‘Barney!’ Her voice, and her heart broke, and she could speak no more.
Restless as always, she turned. Forcing open her eyes, and summoning every last ounce of strength, she stretched out her hand, and felt the hard edge of the bedside drawer … Inching it open, she took out a long metal biscuit-box and drew it to her chest, where it lay while she caught her breath and recovered her strength.
A moment later she had opened the lid and dipping her fingers inside, she lifted out a photograph and a long envelope, yellow with age and worn at the corners from where she had opened it many times over the years.
Holding the photograph close to the halo of light from the bedside lamp, Lucy could hardly see it for the tears that stung from her eyes and ran unheeded down her face. ‘Oh Barney, dear Barney!’ The sobbing was velvet-soft. No one heard. No one knew. No one ever knew.
For nearly twenty years, she had kept his face alive in her heart and soul, but now, as her senses swam from the effects of the sedative, when she saw him smiling up at her from the photograph, it was as though he was real: the slight film of moisture on his lips, the pinkness of his tongue, just visible behind those beautiful white teeth, and the eyes, soulfully blue, and so sad beneath the smile; yet the smile, and the eyes, were so alive they twinkled.
It was almost as though Barney was here in the room with her.
The sick woman took a moment to rest, before in a less emotional state, she studied the familiar and much-loved features: the shock of rich brown hair, those mesmerising blue eyes – not lavender-blue like Mary’s, but darkest blue, like the ocean depths. And the mouth, with its full bottom lip. The wonderful smile was a reflection of Barney’s naturally joyful soul; through good times and bad, his smile was like a ray of sunshine.
As he smiled at her now, Lucy could hear him singing; Barney loved to sing when he worked. She could hear him so clearly, his voice lifted in song and carried on the breeze from the fields to her kitchen. He never sang any song in particular. And when he wasn’t singing, he would whistle.
Barney was one of those rare people who, without realising it, could raise your spirits and make you feel good; even at your lowest ebb.
Lucy’s heart grew quiet. Times had come when Barney’s song was not so lilting nor his smile quite so convincing, and there had been other times, though they were few, when she had caught him sobbing his heart out. She knew then, that he was thinking of past events. And with every moment of anguish he suffered, she suffered it with him, and her love grew all the stronger.
Over their short time together, Barney became her very life. He was her and she was him. They were one. Together they would see it through, and nothing would ever tear them apart. But it did. Death claimed him much too soon!
And when she lost him, her own life, too, would have been over but for Mary, and Mary was a part of Barney. She