It’s taken a year, but I have finally extracted chapter 2 of the story from my reluctant imagination. The story that started in the church continues here…
With any luck, subsequent chapters will be faster.
Sorrow and questions
(Or the importance of buttons)
The cold sluggish air seemed to part very reluctantly around her burning cheeks, and her trainers thudded softly on the muddy path. Emma lifted her face towards the icy blue sky showing between the branches overhead.
This was her favourite run.
In the days after Tim’s death so much advice, professional and otherwise, had come her way: talk to someone, join a support group, meditate, pray, try yoga, write a journal, write a book; but the only one which had stuck – because it seemed to work – was running. Hot or cold, torrential rain or howling wind, there was something in the rhythm, in the deliberate conscious act of keeping her feet striking the ground… her lungs pulling in oxygen, life from the cold universe around her. Running was visceral, real; a wilful rebellion against the entropy of the world which had let her down in so many ways.
With the clarity of thought she only really experienced while running, Emma was turning the previous night’s events over in her head. It seemed so unreal in the clean morning light – the whole evening set out like a series of tableaux in her memory. The backdrops familiar, but the plot odd. Out of place.
After a contemplative walk home, she and Lucy had stayed up late, clutching mugs of redbush tea, talking, staring into the glowing remains of the fire in the hearth. Lucy’s tears had broken the surface as they settled into the familiar surroundings of their small lounge. Emma was still learning how differently she and Lucy processed trauma – in many ways she admired her daughter’s strength but also worried at times that she carried too much around behind her serious brown eyes. Sometimes it was a relief to simply hold her as she cried out her grief in the safety of her mother’s arms. They had both fallen asleep on the sofa until, woken by a foot in her ear, Emma had dragged the two of them up the narrow staircase to bed in the early hours.
Emma’s thoughts returned to her more immediate surroundings as she headed into a rather slippery section of pathway. Having crossed an open stretch at the head of a large field, she zigzagged through a gate, crossed a small lane and followed the pathway as it started to curve around the foot of the massive hill on which the castle sat. Corfe owed its existence to the presence of this brooding hill-top fortress – in shattered ruins ever since its occupants picked the wrong side in the civil war. Rooted like an ancient tree stump, as if it grew out of its surroundings before being struck down, its shattered keep and walls still towered over the village. The village itself, nestled to the south of the castle, consisted of a mixture of stone houses, shops and pubs centred around the church of St Edwards – named for King Edward the Martyr, murdered inside the castle in 978 on the orders of his stepmother. All very real and gritty but, with the benefit of a few centuries of distance, it contributed to the fairytale atmosphere which had enticed Emma to move west from her roots in Essex to make a fresh start with Tim 9 years ago.
Emma’s gaze was fixed a few yards ahead, scanning the muddy path, instinctively measuring and feeling each footfall. The murmur of the little river at the base of the slippery bank on her right signalled that she was nearing the end of her Saturday morning run; just a bit more of the path ahead, then the rise up to the village and a welcome coffee and a chat before heading back to Kay and Lucy at the shop. She really needed to check on the stock of those home-made chutneys she’d bought at the market up in Wareham – they’d seemed like a great idea but she was wondering now if she’d overstocked a little. Some of them were nearing their expiry – it might be time to start popping them into some seasonal hampers. There would always be people looking for early gifts.
Apart from Lucy, the shop was the hub of Emma’s life. It had been the backbone of the dream that had brought her and Tim and Lucy to Corfe and it had grown to provide her with not just a living, but a life and an identity within the village. It was a challenge at times, but Emma had kept her head above water even in the difficult years. Kay had been working with her for a few years now and was easily the best employee she’d had. Quiet, friendly and efficient, she was the first shop assistant that Emma had completely trusted to run the shop in her absence, and that trust now allowed her to have a regular late start on Saturday mornings. Lucy joined Kay in the shop and the two of them held the fort while she went for a run. It was a ritual that Emma relished, whatever the season or weather.
She was approaching the final rise back into the village and her legs were anticipating the finish line at the cafe. As she thudded from the muddy path onto the quiet street leading up to the square, she wondered if she should splash out and take bacon rolls back to the guys at the shop instead of just grabbing her usual solo coffee. Somehow the little treats seemed more special, a bit decadent even, so feeling like she could afford to splash out on crunchy bacon rolls gave Emma a little lift. She was sure that she and Lucy would never be rich, but they had enough.
As she jogged the last little stretch, the scent of coffee and frying bacon enveloped her, an almost tangible foretaste of what lay ahead. As much as she enjoyed running, she enjoyed the spoils at the end of a run even more. Nothing felt more luxurious on a crisp morning than a coffee that had been earned.
“Hi Stu!” Emma burst, possibly a little too enthusiastically, into the small cafe. Suddenly aware that there were other customers already present and that she was probably a little anti-socially sweaty and more out of breath than she’d realised, she stopped abruptly just inside the door. “Sorry…”
“Come on in, crazy lady!” smiled Stu, “you’re a bit later than usual. Flat white?”
“I know – I went for a longer run – my favourite up to Norden. Yes please, but I’ll also take 3 bacon rolls. Oh, and a cappuccino for Kay and a tea for Lucy.”
Being a fellow retailer in Corfe, Emma had known Stu for several years. His cafe was also the closest source of flat whites to her shop. Emma perched herself a bit self-consciously on one of the high stools near the counter, trying not to sweat on anything. She looked around the cafe; the people she’d noticed just before were an older couple, sitting chatting at the corner table – rather furtively, Emma thought. She didn’t recognise them but Corfe attracted visitors all year round so that wasn’t unusual.
Her thoughts started to drift back to the previous night – it was seeming less-and-less real; someone shot, murdered, right in the middle of a normal evening. It almost felt like, if she could just get stuck into work and have a regular Saturday, the whole thing would fade away. By this evening, with a cosy supper and glass of wine, watching a movie (probably something she’d seen before) with Lucy, everything would be forgotten.
But her face.
The girl’s face – so still. Beautiful, forlorn… and lost, far from home.
Emma caught herself: why far from home? She had no idea where the girl was from; for all she knew, she might have lived down the road. And yet she couldn’t shake that impression… far from home.
“Here’s your drinks Em, ” Stu’s cheerful voice brought her back, “and the rolls are just coming.”
“Thanks Stu, can you put brown sauce in them please?”
“Of course – can’t have bacon without it!”, Stu looked over at her still-pensive face, “You ‘n’ Lucy were there last night weren’t you? I heard about it this morning. You OK?”
Emma smiled and nodded automatically, “Yeah. Fine.” And after a pause, “It just seems odd…”
“Odd?” Stu tilted his head as he looked at her, “Bloody sad I’d agree. Wouldn’t call it odd though – I’m afraid it’s how the world is nowadays. Even here…”
“Yeah, I guess…” Emma trailed off, primarily out of politeness but after a pause added, “But why that girl? And why here? She just didn’t look like she belonged here at all.” Stu had paused with the bottle of brown sauce hovering over a roll and was looking a bit stumped. Emma, not for the first time, felt rather awkward, not sure why she couldn’t have stopped talking a couple of sentences previously. “Hmm – that bacon smells awesome,” she swerved topic abruptly, “how much do I owe you?
Stu looked relieved that the conversation had shifted to something a bit less demanding. “That’ll be £17.75 Em.” Wriggling her phone out of her running leggings, Emma glanced in the direction of the only other customers, wondering where they were from. Just for a second she made eye contact with the old lady who immediately awkwardly looked away and began stirring her half-drunk coffee. Had they been listening to her babbling on? Emma felt even more embarrassed. Holding her phone over the machine, she waited for the confirming beep before grabbing the drinks and the brown paper bag Stu was holding out to her.
With a hurried, “Thanks Stu!” she turned and exited the cafe into the crisp morning. She glanced back as she strode across the quiet square in the direction of the shop. The old man and lady were both watching her through the cafe window. “O God” thought Emma “They must really think I’m a loon.” And yet there was something more to the look they were giving her. Unthreatening, and just slightly familiar.
She’d had enough of the whole topic of last night though and forced herself to think about something else. She rounded the end of the square and her little shop came into view. The shop made up the corner of a rather odd building, cobbled together probably over centuries, partly from the local stone and partly from rough red brick, but right now it was glowing in the liquid autumn morning light. There was a certain alchemy in the air on mornings like this – transforming base stone into a temporary gold. As Emma left the shadow of the church spire and felt the same light touch her face she felt connected to the fabric of her village – a familiar feeling which had, only just, kept her sane over the last few years.
“Hello lovely people!” Emma burst into the little shop – rescued from the memory of her awkward conversation by the enthusiastic ‘ping’ of the bell on the door, and the anticipation of the treat she was about to deliver.
Kay looked up from a book she was reading at the till, “Hi Em – oooh, you brought bacon!”
“And coffee; and here’s a tea for you Luce.“
Lucy’s face appeared over a rather precarious stack of tins and jars at the end of the aisle by the window, “Hey mum – look what we’ve done – special offers!”
“Wow – awesome my love! Are those the chutneys and things we were looking at? Good idea… um, though perhaps we should be careful how high we stack them?” Emma tried to keep enthusiasm foremost in her voice but was eyeing up the stack with more than a little concern. “Come down from your ladder for a minute and have your tea and bacon while they’re hot. Has it been busy Kay?”
Kay, who was already munching on her bacon roll, shook her head and replied between bites, “Not especially, although no quieter than usual. I expect it’ll get busier as the day goes on. At least we’ve had a chance to restock shelves. Lucy has been a super helper as usual. Oh, and I found the Halloween decorations!” She said the last bit with a certain mischief in her voice, knowing that Emma detested Halloween. “It was almost like someone had hidden them!”
“Hmm, great… so pleased you found them, ” Emma grimaced but couldn’t help a laugh slipping into her voice – Kay knew her well. As much as she was no fan of fake cobwebs and creepy clown masks, autumn was a season she loved. The drawing in of the evenings, cosiness of fireplaces: autumn was the quiet consummation of the blazing, busy fickle romance of the British summer. The tender closure to whatever the year had brought and, very importantly to her, a reminder that the seasons still turned. And within the massive cycles of the cosmos there remained a place for things as simple and melancholy as the falling of a leaf which no longer had the strength to cling to the branch which had borne it. Sadness had a special place in autumn and, if within that there needed to be place for plastic spiders and bats, she could live with that…
“Hey Luce – maybe you and Kay and I can put the Halloween stuff up one afternoon next week?” Enthusiastic noises emanated from a food-full mouth – Lucy, still invisible behind the stack of chutneys and tinned meats, seemed pleased about the idea. “Great – um? Are you going to live in your tin-can fort from now on?”
“Yes!” The still rather muffled voice replied.
The shop door interrupted with a cheerful ping and Emma turned to see one of her regular elderly customers struggling with the stack of wire shopping baskets. They did have a way of getting rather tangled so you ended up with four, instead of just the one. “Here Mrs Dunning, let me help you there.” She swung into shopkeeper mode, very aware of her sweaty running clothes and the half-eaten bacon roll she’d left on the counter.
The morning, and most of the afternoon, passed in pleasant busyness. Emma and Lucy even managed to pack a few early Christmas hampers, chatting and engrossed in the life of the shop – so much so that Emma found herself at 4pm rather peckish, and still wearing her running kit. “Kay, I’m just gonna go out back and change… Oh Luce, where did you put my sandwiches?”
“They’re on the table in the back room Mum!” Lucy called back, slightly distracted, from behind the book she was busily sketching in. Lucy was never separated from her ‘drawing book’ for long and Emma had learnt to keep a good stock of replacements in the cupboard at home, as Lucy was prolific and could fill a book with drawings and scribbled thoughts in just a few days. The pile of filled books was growing at home but was definitely off-limits for snooping in – Emma knew to enjoy what Lucy shared with her as she had made it clear that the rest of the content was private.
“Cool – thanks Luce,” Emma took advantage of the afternoon lull to finally change and freshen up and sit in the scruffy armchair in the back room enjoying the sandwiches she’d packed early in the morning. It was definitely chilling down and the sunshine had not really warmed her little corner – she reached over and flicked on the rattly fan heater, feeling the immediate blast of warm dusty air. She closed her eyes and stretched her feet towards the warmth, wondering, not for the first time, if she was perhaps part-cat…
‘Ping, ’ the bell on the door interrupted her brief reverie and Emma heard Kay saying “Of course Gwen, yes, I’ll just go see if she’s free.” It was Lucy though who’s face appeared around the door.
“Mum – Gwen wants to chat to you… I think it’s about last night.”
Emma’s heart sank a little. She didn’t want to talk about last night any more. And, as much as she loved Gwen, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to engage with her right now. Nevertheless, she pulled herself out of the chair, the tops of her legs registering their complaint at being pressed back into duty so soon.
“Hi Gwen,” Emma couldn’t help but greet her cheerfully as she came down the biscuit aisle.
Gwen beamed up at her from inside a huge woolly coat and scarf, “Hello my love, how are you and Lucy?”
Emma immediately regretted her reluctance: the greeting was soaked in genuine affection and concern. Gwen had a beautiful maternal manner with anyone younger than her. Which was most people in Corfe.
“We’re fine thanks Gwen – a bit of a run this morning to clear my head, and then bacon rolls and a wonderfully normal Saturday have helped. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m fine! Had a cup of tea and good old gossip with the ladies this morning and tidied the garden this afternoon. You have to make the most of sunshine like this in October. Although it is chilly now…” she patted her mittened hands together absent-mindedly. As she looked back at Emma there was a slightly childlike distance in her gaze – like her thoughts were suddenly far from the shop. “It’s so sad about the girl… “ she paused, ”but there’s something more to it. I wanted to ask you…” She stopped again and looked around the empty shop, “… Would you mind? I need to tell someone…”
“Of course Gwen, what is it?” Emma answered calmly, but her whole attention was now focused on Gwen and whatever she was going to say.
“Well, I know I’m an old lady… and you’re going to say I’m losing my marbles…” Emma hadn’t seen Gwen this unsure before, “… but there was something not right. In some ways it’s just a feeling, although there is something rather specific too.” Gwen was looking intently at Emma – gauging her response, almost nervously. “But the sort-of feeling, first of all… maybe you felt it too? I can’t explain it properly, but it’s like she…”
“Didn’t belong..?” Emma couldn’t help herself, but she saw the immediate light of agreement in Gwen’s eyes and she felt a flood of relief: someone else had given voice to the same feeling of unease she’d been harbouring all day.
Gwen evidently felt the same way, “You don’t think I’m being peculiar then? Thank goodness for that! She just seemed so lost.. so far from where she belonged… but I need to tell you the very specific thing I mentioned.” She paused a little dramatically, ”It’s her coat…”
Emma could picture it so clearly, the brass buttons glinting in the candlelight. The rich blue fabric, not much later, heavy and forlorn against the rain-soaked grass.
“You see, 70 years ago, I sold that coat… in my shop. Well, my mother’s shop really – I was only a teenager. We didn’t really call them teenagers back then…” She stopped herself, “… sorry. It’s just that I swear that’s the girl I sold it to. I know it can’t be though…”
Emma stared back at her – on one hand relieved that Gwen sensed the same ‘out-of-place-ness’ that she did, but now wrestling with this extra twist, “Surely it can’t be the exact same coat Gwen? I mean, it might just look like it?”
“I understand my love, but hear me out.” Gwen continued more confidently, “Just after the war we didn’t have Matalans and Tesco’s on every corner. We didn’t have much of anything… So things were made and fixed and bought and sold, sometimes lots of times. And that coat is etched in my mind because my mother found it, washed up on a beach somewhere, in a bit of a state obviously. It was such good fabric though, far better than anything she could afford, so she cleaned it up, replaced the lining, put those brass buttons on it. She had an old tin – you know everyone has one – full of all sorts of old buttons, and the 6 buttons she chose, they were the ‘special’ ones. When I was little, I used to root around in that tin and pull out the shiny brass buttons, make pretend jewellery out of them – you know, the things little girls do. Anyway, when my mother needed new buttons for this coat, those are the ones she used. They’re not actually a matching set. But the real giveaway for me – what got me staring at her coat in the first place – it’s a man’s coat. It buttons up the wrong way – my mother never bothered trying to switch it around because it was double-breasted so it would’ve been too much work. She loved it after she’d fixed it up and she wore it for one winter, but by the next autumn things were so tight that she put it in the window of our little shop with a price tag on it. By then I must have been 15 and I knew she desperately wanted to keep it but it was just the two of us – my father died in the war – and we needed the money more than a coat.”
Gwen’s eyes were bright with memories as she relived the events, “And then one day, a few months later, this girl, well young woman, but not much older than me, came into the shop asking to see the coat in the window. She tried it on and bought it straight away – didn’t even question the price. I’d never seen her before, and we didn’t get many visitors in Corfe back then, just after the war. In the middle of winter as well… so naturally, as she was leaving, I had to ask her what she was doing in Corfe.”
Emma felt a smile forming on her lips. Teenage Gwen didn’t sound very different to the Gwen she knew now.
“And she gave me the strangest look… ‘Sorrow…’ she said, ‘sorrow and questions.’ And then she left the shop, wearing the coat, and I never saw her again. Until last night… but it can’t have been her. I know… and yet…” Gwen slowly returned to the present and looked searchingly at Emma – measuring her response.
Emma didn’t know what to say, so she decided to be kind, “I believe you Gwen… have you mentioned any of this to Paul… I mean PC Browning?”
“Well, that’s why I told you first my love… I want to tell him but I thought perhaps telling you first might be easier. I hoped you’d be too polite to tell an old lady she was just plain barmy!”
Emma laughed, this was more the Gwen she knew: bubbly and cheeky, “I’m flattered you think so highly of me – I’m actually only being nice to you so you’ll buy something from my shop!”
“Tell you what, I’ll buy one of your frankly far-too-early Christmas hampers my love – if you’ll come with me to see PC Browning?” There was still a chuckle in her voice but the childlike nervousness was unmistakable.
“Of course Gwen…” Emma touched her arm, “You tell me when you want to meet him. But not before I’ve offloaded a hamper on you!”
The two of them continued chatting as Emma helped Gwen pick out a few items around the shop. Standing at the till a few moments later, the items all beeped through the till and packed into Gwen’s floral wheeled shopping bag, they both paused. Emma was the first to speak, “So… are you going to ring PC Browning? I’ve not seen him around the village today but I’m sure he’ll pop up to the Banks Arms to meet us if you give him a ring. I’m free after we shut the shop if you like.” She looked over to Lucy, “Luce, would you mind if we pop to the Banks after we shut the shop?” The question was entirely unnecessary – Lucy adored the little garden at the rear of the pub across the road from the shop and would happily explore and play while Emma sat at one of the bench seats enjoying an after-work drink.
“Yay! Can we have tea there too?” Lucy replied immediately and hopefully.
“Let’s see Luce…” Emma was now rather tempted herself. “Gwen, why don’t you ring PC Browning and see if he’d like to meet us there? If he’s free, I’ll sit with you two while you talk and perhaps you can join us for a bite to eat.”
Gwen fished in her handbag for a moment and her hand emerged with an ancient mobile phone, “You’re lovely Emma, are you sure that’s OK? I’ll call him now.”
“Use the little back room Gwen – you’ll be able hear better in there, and have a bit of privacy. I’ll keep your shopping here by the till.” Emma watched as Gwen made her way down the aisle to the back of the shop – a little nervous now: was PC Browning going to think they were both nuts? She was so relieved that someone else shared the feeling of ‘otherness’ that she had sensed about the young girl and Gwen’s story about the coat was fascinating. But really… were they both just perhaps romanticising what was simply a brutal and meaningless attack. Stu was right after all – that’s how the world was nowadays. Why should this be any different?
Gwen returned from the back a moment later, “He said he’ll meet us there on his way home – he’ll have Milly with him if that’s OK?”
“That’s lovely Gwen – well done for ringing him. Lucy will be chuffed about Milly – they can keep each other company while we chat.”
Gwen collected her shopping, gave Emma’s hand a squeeze and, with a smile, left the shop. Emma watched her little figure receding down the street, the late sunshine throwing long shadows across the buildings.
“Shall I start cashing-up Em?” Kay brought her back, “I reckon that’s nearly it for the day.”
“Sure Kay – thanks. I’ll grab the laptop, we might as well input the takings before we go.”
Once again, the ordinariness of shop life asserted itself, and not much later she was waving Kay goodbye and locking up the shop for the night. Standing on the pavement outside the shop, the evening seemed to be holding its breath – the autumn breeze that had been troubling the trees most of the afternoon had stopped and a heavy calm was settling over Corfe.
“Come on Mum – Milly might be waiting for us!” Lucy was already on the other side of the road waiting impatiently by the gate leading to the Banks Arms garden. Emma crossed over to join her and the two of them slipped through into the haven of the pub garden, the metal gate squeaking shut behind them as they descended the stone steps.
Don Lowe 