The Runaway Woman

Lucy shrugged. ‘No particular reason. I just need to think, that’s all.’

‘You’re not fretting about getting a warning, are you, Lucy? Because I’ve told you, if need be we can get the union onto it.’

But Lucy was adamant. ‘No, Kathleen, I don’t want that. Anyway, I won’t give her the chance to carpet me again … not if I can help it, anyway.’

‘All right, Lucy, no union,’ Kathleen conceded. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Mind how you go, eh?’

‘You too, and thanks, Kathleen.’

‘What for?’

‘Well … for siding with me, and listening to my troubles.’

‘You’re welcome. Ooh, there’s Barney!’ Kathleen spied the foreman, a handsome man some ten years older than Kathleen. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask him about my machine. It keeps playing up.’ She gave a naughty wink. ‘’Bye, Lucy … see you.’

Lucy had to chuckle. ‘Shame on you, Kathleen Riley, you brazen little hussy!’

She set off, leaving the effervescent Kathleen openly flirting with the foreman.

Turning the corner, Lucy crossed the street and headed for the park. A few quiet minutes there would be just lovely. She reminded herself of how often she used to walk home through that way, but she had not done so for some time, and anyway, the nights were only now drawing out after the harsh winter.

Lately, she seemed never to have the time to linger. Instead, she was forever chasing her tail, with no opportunity to relax.

Now, though, in spite of the teasing breeze, she was determined to follow her instinct. The closer she got to the park gates, the quicker she walked, and the lighter her weary heart felt. There was something magical about the park, with its secret, meandering pathways and majestic trees.

In spring, the park was a surprise and a delight, with its curving swathes of wild flowers, all mixed in with cultivated plants. The riot of colour and profusion could take one’s breath away.

Deep in thought, Lucy reflected on that meaningful little talk with Kathleen at lunchtime. It was right what Kathleen had said about never knowing what was round the corner.

Lucy recognised how her own world had become small and restricted. She suddenly recalled her mother’s prophetic words of many years ago, when she and Paula were schoolgirls. ‘I think Lucy will be the home-maker,’ their mother had remarked.

She also made a light-hearted prediction for her younger daughter. ‘As for our Paula, it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned out to be a home-breaker.’

It was no secret that while Lucy was her father’s favourite, Paula was close to their mother. However wayward Paula had been when growing up, and however much anguish she had brought her parents, that bond between mother and daughter had not changed over the years.

It was not in Lucy’s character to be jealous, for she loved all her family in equal measure. Knowing her sister’s penchant for trouble, Lucy was given the responsibility of looking out for Paula. As instructed by both her concerned parents, Lucy would walk her younger sister to and from school.

She was also expected to make sure that Paula actually went into her designated classroom because, being something of a rebel, Paula would not think twice about playing truant, but even though Lucy carried out her given responsibilities with much diligence, the truant officer was forever out and about, searching for Paula.

He once caught Paula playing in the park, and throwing stones at the ducks as they strutted about. Another time he found her playing football in one of the local backstreets with two boys truanting from a different school.

When the truant officer marched all three back to their schools, they giggled and sniggered as though it was all a great adventure.

Shepherded into the headmaster’s office, the boys each suffered the slicing heat of a wicker cane on their buttocks. The pain was such that it reduced them to tears, but not so great as to stop them from truanting again.

Paula suffered a severe lecture from her head teacher, who warned her of her wanton ways. She also received two strokes of the best on the palm of each hand, which she endured without even a flinch.

At his wits’ end, her father banned her from leaving the house after school for a period of two weeks.

To his younger, more defiant daughter, that was the worst punishment of all.

Having taken her little dog for a long walk around the far reaches of the park, Mary Taylor walked him back through the spinney, where she was immensely thankful to sit on a bench and get her breath back.

‘You’re a demanding little thing!’ She tickled Rascal’s hairy neck. ‘I would never part with you, though, because, hard work or not, I love the bones of you.’

Taking a moment to stretch her aching back, she took a deep, invigorating breath, while chatting to herself as she often did. ‘Well, Mary, you’ve enjoyed the fresh air, you’ve been dragged round the park by this bag of fur,’ she glanced at the dog, ‘and you’ve stretched your legs to breaking point, so now it’s time for home.’

When the dog yapped at her as though in disagreement, she told him firmly, ‘We’ve had enough excitement for one day. You might be ready for another round, but I’m well and truly done in!’ She wagged a bony finger at him. ‘I’m sure I don’t know whose bones must ache the most, yours or mine!’

Tightening the scarf round her neck and shoulders, she addressed the little dog as though he understood every word. ‘I never meant to stay out this long. What’s more, I’m thoroughly ashamed of you, chasing that poor moggy up a tree. I’ve a good mind to ban you from the park for a week. That should teach you some manners!’

Looking up, she was surprised to see Lucy making her way along the bottom pathway. ‘Lucy!’ Mary called out to her. ‘Lucy Lovejoy!’

Pleased to see her sister’s kindly neighbour, Lucy hurried towards her. ‘Hello, Mary. How are you?’

‘Hmm! You might well ask.’ Mary gave a little groan. ‘I should have been at home by now, sitting at the fire with a cup of soup to warm my bones. As it is, I’m late getting back, and all because this little devil has a thing for chasing cats up trees.’

She went on to describe the adventure in great detail. ‘The poor moggy was terrified, but your lordship here,’ she pointed to Rascal, ‘he thought it was great fun, yapping at her to come down. And when I did manage to persuade the poor thing down it swiped at me with its claws fully drawn before taking off. Like a bat out of hell, it was!’

Lucy wagged a finger at the scowling dog. ‘That wasn’t very nice, was it, trapping the poor thing up a tree?’

‘The cat wasn’t altogether innocent,’ Mary explained. ‘The moggy started it by chasing the birds round and round. When Rascal went after her, she fought back and Rascal got the worst of it. After licking his wounds, he went after the cat again, but she shot up to the highest branch, leaving him in a right frenzy.’

She slumped back on the bench. ‘We must have walked ten miles; round and round we went. We came back the longest way, past the gardens and on through the spinney. To tell you the truth, Lucy, I’m about done in!’

Lucy could see how tired Mary was. ‘You shouldn’t be rushing and chasing about. You’ll do yourself an injury.’

‘I know, but I do enjoy it, though I’m not sure whose feet ache the most, his or mine.’

Lucy changed the subject. ‘How’s Peter? I haven’t seen either of you, not since I paid my sister a visit. That must be, what, over a week back.’ She tutted. ‘Goodness! How time flies.’

‘Yes, and yes again. We’re both fine, thank you, Lucy.’

Mary was reminded of the bad fall Lucy’s mother had suffered at the market some time back. ‘How’s your mum, by the way, since she tumbled down the market steps?’

‘Oh, she’s getting there bit by bit. Her wounds are healed, but she’s really nervous of going out. Dad coaxed her back to the market the other day, to build her confidence. He walked her gently up and down the stairway where she fell and hurt herself.’

‘He did right, but it can’t have been easy for your mum,’ Mary sympathised.

‘That’s true. Dad said she was a bag of nerves, that he lost count of how many times she wanted to go home. We’re all so worried about her. She frets a lot more than she used to. She’s got a habit of pacing up and down all the time. It’s as if she can’t rest,’ Lucy confided. ‘And she’s got really forgetful of late. It’s not like her at all.’

‘Give her time, Lucy. She’s had a shock to the system, and that can often be worse than a physical injury.’

‘She’s started forgetting things, like putting food in the cooker and leaving it to burn. Last week she ran a bath and came downstairs, leaving the taps running. It was only when Dad saw the water dripping from the kitchen ceiling that he realised what she’d done. He phoned us, and Martin went round to check for any damage, but thankfully it wasn’t too bad once he’d dried it all out.’ Lucy went on, ‘I’m trying to persuade Mum to see the doctor, but she’s being difficult about it.’

‘You’re a good daughter,’ Mary told her, ‘and you’re right in persuading her to see a doctor. I’m sure it can be all sorted out.’

Lucy hoped so. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, Mary. Just lately, it’s one thing after another.’