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2 minute read
Down Memory Lane
By Colin Seager
Carlton sits with head pressed against the window; his mind as blurred as the distant moors rushing past. ‘Who am I kidding? I can’t go through with this. I’ll get off at the next stop and go back to London. No, no, no, I promised. I can’t give up now, she’ll be waiting for me. What will my son think? He won’t mind, he’ll be only too pleased that someone else could want to look after me in my doddery dotage.’
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The train arrives at Plymouth station ten minutes late. Deirdre is still waiting. At a distance, she has difficulty recognising him. Up close there is no doubt. Not surprisingly, he looks care-worn, with white hair and a slight stoop. But his ice-blue eyes reassure her that some things never change. There is a not-quite-touching attempt at a welcoming hug but enough for them both to feel a frisson of hope that their journeys may have been worthwhile.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a surprise Carlton I hope you’ll be pleased. I told you I believe we could make this work. In a half an hour or more, traffic permitting, all will be revealed.”
Despite both wanting to flood each other with questions, initially they chat inconsequentially as they head for the villages to the west of Dartmoor. Before long Deidre’s presence is enough to ease some of his fears and inhibitions.
“How have you done it Dee? You don’t look any different? Those exquisite dimples inherited from your mother are beginning to give me goose bumps.”
“You always knew how to make me feel good. The answer is simple: no kids and a soft life.”
“Hang on Dee, I know it’s been thirty years plus, but isn’t that The White Hart ahead. If I’m not mistaken that’s where we first met at that skittles evening where your friend was so drunk, she forgot to let go of the ball, nearly knocking over the pins herself. Cassie, wasn’t it?”
“Well spotted. Great memory, nearly right. It was Sally, close enough. Sadly, she died a year or so ago, felled by breast cancer. I’ll always miss her. Anyway, let’s talk about now: that’s where we’re stopping for lunch. Do you remember the lane opposite the pub that eventually leads to the other end of the village?”
“Of course. How could I forget? I’ve had too much time to go over every detail of my life. We took a short cut across a field and had to negotiate a broken kissing gate. Appropriately named. I fell for you there and then. You know it took me ages to recover after Laurence whisked you away and you became an attachment to his career in the diplomatic service.”
“I’m here now Carlton, complete, and totally unattached, the torch I hold for you never went out. Let’s eat and then I’ll take you down that lane again. As you’ll see, we won’t need to cross the field now.”
A long catch-up lunch is taken in a secluded corner. They leave and drive down the narrow, winding high-hedged lane, passing a cluster of ancient cottages that are content to lean on each other like old married couples. Soon they arrive at the village centre. Deirdre takes a cut next to the community store and after a couple of hundred yards pulls into the drive of a new barn conversion.
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“Here we are Carlton. What do you think?”
“Well, Dee, it’s amazing.”
“It’s mine. Larry left everything to me, I thought why not. This is where I want to be. I told you what I think. I don’t want to be alone; there’s still time for us to have a good life together. It’s up to you.”
“With my history? What about the neighbours, the shop, the pub?”
“Carlton, I meant what I said at lunch. I always believed in your innocence. You could never harm anyone, even someone like the woman that led you and your boy such a merry dance. That’s why your conviction was quashed, and you were released, and the real killer now rots in jail.”
He hugs Deidre. “Are you really sure?
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