The Return {redux}22:05 Feb 08 2020
Times Read: 500
The Return
Chapter One
I had decided to get the bus to town, from New Brighton, after I’d had a rather frustrating interview at a small reprographics firm, specialising in tailored calendars, using a bespoke computer system, based in a small business estate in Moreton.
The fellow who had designed the system had left the firm and his partner up the Swanee, after a disagreement, over a payment as I recall. Well, instead of a straight interview the fellow had me checking the system out.
When it had been realised I could not know the system immediately, he’d decided to dispense with my services, offering me twenty pound for my ‘inconvenience.’
Needless to say, I’d accepted the money, shaken his hand then walked to the end of the estate and the road, which led to the station, or the shore-front. I’d thought for just a few seconds and then turned left and walked toward the promenade.
It had showered awhile, as I’d walked, but I hadn’t minded too much, as I had money in my pocket and, a destination in mind….
*
I walked down the road, passed a few houses on my left and, a chocolate factory over the road, to my right.
Then as my nose caught the sea-air, I passed an old fifties, old-style Café in blue and white, with sloped roof, ‘Café’ on the roof in red; and a few tables and chairs outside,
If I’d turned left several yards further on, I would’ve found myself at a four-hundred year old windmill, without sails and a roof; but still white-washed twice a year by the local historical society.
As it happens, I’d walked straight on, then crossed the road that led to a wide expanse of green to the right, common-land; used by many including travelling people, at least once a year.
Ahead, to the left and broaching the field was the car-park, a scattering of bushes broken by a surface of tarmac chips.
Amongst the bushes were six cars parked up, two to the left and four to the right of the small pathway leading up, to the break in the long wall of concrete leading onto the promenade on the other side.
I walked up the path, my shoes scuffing up a scattering of sand, blown on a breeze. And, taking a pace or so forward I took a right a moment to admire the vista, as a strong gust of wind suddenly whipped round me.
To the right there was seven or eight foot wall, with the field, car-park and then the smooth surface of cultivated grass, a golf course, on the other side.
But, on my side of the wall, there was concrete promenade, leading to New Brighton to the right and, West Kirby somewhere to the left and quite a walk. And, there ahead of me was the North Sea and the tide was in, covering at least two of the five or six spaced steps, interspersed with concrete blocks here and there, leading up to the prom.
I’d watched the sea a few moments, caught by its constancy and so had failed to notice the grey clouds forming overhead, as I began to walk onward, hands thrust deep into my jacket pockets.
Then as the rain fell drop upon drop, I found myself regretting not getting the train.
Chapter Two
The rain got heavier and in the murk, Blackpool in the distance was no longer visible, although somewhere ahead of me, I could see a small hunched figure.
Squinting I had peered into the rain and the grey of the sky that somehow seemed to blot out the sun and called out, “You alright?”
And, that’s when I’d seen her big with green eyes and wide, wide pupils, as the girl had turned to look at me, her wet long dark hair matted and plastered to her scalp.
Sitting on the top step, she had her arms tucked beneath knee that were drawn to her chin and, all she wore was a white cotton shift nightdress, which clung to her body.
“They left, without me…” she whimpered and, I found myself kneeling at her side, throwing my jacket over her shoulders, irregardless of the falling rain.
And the sea rolled in as the rain fell, I gathered the girl into my arm, momentarily panicking: ‘What to do?’ But, what was there to do? I’d been too far from home and the promenade was devoid of people.
So, I’d stood there looking down at the vulnerable-looking bundle in my arms and, finally decided what to do.
I began to walk back the way I’d come, back through the car-park and down the road, the chocolate factory on my left and, the girl’s eye’s were closed, with ne’er a sound coming from her.
“My name’s Kevin, Kevin Foster. I should’ve introduced myself earlier…” I told the girl, who seemed unaware of her surroundings, but somewhat comforted by the sound of my voice as I continued to talk, about my day.
And, I continued to talk on and on, in a soft voice, as we neared the cross and the police-station. I approached the double-doors, then turned and pushed them open with my back, as I entered.
The black and white square tiles beneath my feet were already smeared with the footprints of those who had entered before me.
For a moment I squinted against the bright light from the overhead striplights, the bundle in my arms suddenly getting very heavy.
And, blinking several times, as rain-water trickled down my face; I’d looked toward the big fellow behind the desk, a few feet away. The desk sergeant had been reading the paper as I entered. He had looked up with evident interest as I said, “I need help!”
“Aye,” he expressed with a light grin, on a friendly-looking face, “looks like you do.”
He’d opened a hatch in the counter and walked over to me tutting.
“My my, you look like a couple of drowned rats…” He muttered.
“She needs help,” I told him, adding, “I found her on the prom, all glassy-eyed and… well, I’ve done first-aid an, I’ll swear she’s in shock.”
Stepping nearer, the fellow in black and silver had looked at me, then peered at the large wet bundle in my arms and looked back to and shook his head, “You’ve walked from there?”
I had looked at him and tried to smile, as I asked the fellow; “Would you have left her?”
“Guess not,” he had answered, reaching out with his arms, to take my charge from me. And, that’s when she had showed signs of life, wrapping thin, clammy arms round my neck and opening those wide, wide eyes once more, she cried.
“Looks like I’m in the way,” the fellow had smirked.
As the girl had pressed her head to my chest, the sergeant smiled towards me.
“Do you want to take a seat over there…?” He had asked, pointing to a wood-slat bench-seat next to the wall opposite the desk: “You sit there and I’ll bring you a hot tea, a towel and some blankets, alright?”
“Uh-huh, thanks…” I had responded, concerned for the girl in my aching arms.
Chapter Three
It was five years to the day, since I had found the girl. They had called her Leanne, at first; when my little foundling would not speak. And then they called her other things, when they could not tame what they had awoken.
That was the time they had told me I would be a bad influence, the time when they moved her again and again, until eventually there had been nothing more I could do to find her; and so I have always’ marked off that day I found her, no matter how many calendars I go through.
Yet, something in me has always’ said I’d see her again, one day.
*
I rose groggily, the hammering on the front door way too loud for a quiet estate like that I now live on. Picking up my glasses I reach for my robe and, stumbling toward the door I call, “Okay okay, shut up… I’m coming.”
Too much whiskey in the early hours when you’re seeking the muse, is definitely not conducive to good rest I’ve found: and, I just wish I’d remember that lesson, every time I learn it. But, I never seem to.
I look at the clock, as I make my way through the lounge to the front door: ‘It’s seven! It’s seven in the morning.’ I curse.
There should never be two seven’s in the same day.
‘Just never should…’ I muse, opening one lock then another; then finally slide out, the bolts top and bottom. Much has happened since the recession hit and, I intended to keep what I have left: I am aware of what lies in my pocket and open it.
The morning is bright as I open the door and, the figure standing there before me is in silhouette: “I know you mister. You know me?”
That voice, the girl’s voice: it sounds uncertain, but also, very familiar.
Making sure the belt to my worn, blue terry-towel robe is fastened, I tell her, “Come in” and, I step aside, to allow her to do so, sliding the blade back inside the knives body, which I palm easily and, slip into my right pocket.
She enters my home, closing the door behind her.
“It’s taken a long time to find you,” she says, as she walks toward me.
‘The eyes, those green wide eyes…’ I knew her. Of course I know her.
She wears a black zip-up windcheater and combats, with eighteen-hole boots, a pack on her back and a black baseball-cap on her head; the little girl has grown, but I know her.
“Leanne?” I ask.
“I don’t use their name for me,” she snaps, eyes aflame with anger, as she begins to rain down blow after blow, on my chest, shoulders and gut. She is strong and sure it hurt. But this was… Leanne: she has to be…
Stepping forward and, ignoring the blows that continue to fall, I walk forward and wrap my arms around her small, powerful frame.
“So, what name do you go by then?” I whisper into her ear.
“Ariel…” she whispers, as she sags into my arms.
*
My little girl all-grown and I had breakfast and then talked. I’d made her an omelette, which she wolfed down in seconds; so I’d made her a second.
Finally she had finished eating and holding her mug of tea with two hands, she looked at me, with accusing eyes: “You left me… You…”
I did not interrupt her as she ranted and raved. Of course she was right; I had left her. Yet what other option did I have, back then?
“Do you know what it was like there?” She reproached, as she sat on the edge of the spare bed and I knelt down on one knee, to remove her boots.
“No,” I don’t…” I admitted, having accomplished a small miracle, by getting those boots off her small feet: feet that had toes with webbing between the toes.
“I remember now you know?” She told me. “My Mother got caught in a fisherman’s net and, my Father tried to help her…” And, Ariel put her face in her palms, as she wept, tears that seemed to wrack her body with pain.
“All I could do for you I did…” I tried to explain to this young woman… this young woman with baleful green eyes.
And she stared at me with that look of accusation, which tore at my heart.
“You did not have to leave me!” She suddenly shouted and began to hit me once more. And, though I’m not too old, or too small, her blows began to hurt, one after another. So I held her again and, slowly she calmed in my arms.
And, for a long moment I recalled the rain falling on us, that day I had met her and held her, for that very first time.
“Well,” I murmured in Ariel’s left ear, “you’re home now.”
The cap had fallen off as she held me and, now her long dark tresses fell to her shoulders and halfway down her back.
“Home?” She repeated softly.
“Yes, why not? This place is big enough for two…” I murmured, slipping away from her a moment….
And, with a smile I told Ariel, “Now, let me lock the front door properly and, I’ll pour you a hot bath, alright?”
She seemed to think over what I’d said for a long time, then looked up at me and smiled. Oh, how I rejoiced to see her smile.
“Cold water, please?” Ariel asked in a soft voice, “I prefer cold water…”
COMMENTS
-
Crowscat
11:42 Feb 29 2020
Whoa that is quite the time jump. I love it! I wonder what kinda chaos he will get into next hehehe:) As always, I love your writing. It draws me in and takes me to a place I can escape to:)