Burning Questions

There is a certain kind of calm which will descend upon and pervade an English village on a certain kind of summer's day; a stillness which creeps into peoples' thoughts and into their homes, under chairs and behind cupboards, and which affects the way that people go about their daily business; the way that they make coffee, the way that they make love, if they do, the way that they speak to each other. All of these things are different on these days. The passing traffic will sound muffled in the heavy air, the birds are silent once the dawn has passed and the sun has risen, hot, into the eastern sky. The people will not say that it is too hot; the memories of cold winter are still too new, and the chill of autumn is too near at hand. No, they will not speak of it, as they open windows in vain to catch any breeze which may come. They will not complain; they are English, and they will bear it as they have borne the vagaries of their climate for centuries. In these same, ancient houses a pauper will have died of the cold, a crop will have failed and the people will have gone hungry at harvest time. To keep what little grain there was for the next sowing or to make bread to eat; to feed the horses or let them take their chances in the cold, hard, winter fields. These are the questions which would have been asked. So why would they complain, these new people; the trials of their forebears have sunk deep into the collective psyche. For shame they will not complain. And yet they feel it; they feel the stillness and the sapping heat of noon in an English village on a certain kind of summer's day, and so it was on this day in the village of Middlewapping.

And there will perhaps be an exaggeration of temperament; those of withdrawn or quiet nature become still more withdrawn and quiet, whilst those of a more volatile disposition will tend towards greater volatility, for we are as we are, whatever has made us so.

* * *

'Bloody bugger it!'

'What's the matter, honey?'

'I can't get this bloody computer to do what I tell it.'

Emily was at home, working on an accounts program which she would need for her new job. She had been to the town the day before in search of clothes. She had made do hitherto, with the exception of occasional self-indulgence, with clothes from second-hand shops, or shops which sold clothes for an English pound, but now, although they could scarce afford it on the money which Will earned from his job at the Garden Centre, she needed to update and improve her wardrobe. If she was to become a working woman, she needed a working woman's attire. Will had agreed, of course. The hurricane which was Emily Cleves and which had blown through the young life of Will Tucker these past few months since their first kiss in the darkness of Jacob's Field was blowing strong again. She had been becalmed by circumstance; the wretchedness of the killing of the man from London had stopped her in her tracks, for a while. But that was over now. It had been over since she had thrown the flowers over the cliff, and Meadow had said the strong, sweet words as only she would know how; she who had brought calm with her calmness and understanding. And since then Will Tucker had been carried along in the new-found energy of his beloved Emily, and that energy had borne good fortune, as it sometimes will, and she had found a job.

'Well, it's sort of a job' she had said when she broke the good news to Will over a glass of cheap red wine one evening. 'It's kind of half a job, which will turn into a proper job later.'

'I see, so it's one of those kinds of job.' Will had said, understanding none of that which his beloved was saying.

'Yes' Emily had said 'It's one of those kinds of job.'

The good fortune had in fact been the result of conversations and circumstances which had their roots further back in time. Further back indeed than need be considered or written of here, but recent events had conspired to lead to an agreement between Emily and a certain other person, which had occurred some weeks previously.

* * *

On this sultry, summers' day, at the same time, another conversation was in process between Victoria Tillington, only daughter to Lord and Lady Tillington of Middlewapping Manor, and another young woman, who's name was Rebecca. The conversation was taking place in the back garden of a certain house very close to number seven, The Green, where Emily was attempting to bring her accounts program to heel. It was a conversation which, once again, could be traced back to its' vague and uncertain source during the time that these two women were about to be reunited; when their love was about to be reborn, or woken from its' long, enforced sleep. If the conversation at its' beginning was general and non-specific, it built to a subject and a point in time which neither had spoken of since it's occurrence, but which Victoria Tillington badly wanted to understand, indeed needed to understand. Had she known what the consequences of this need would be, or her attempted satiation of it, she would perhaps have left the words unspoken, but if hindsight is the companion to wisdom, then foresight can oft times be its' enemy.

'So how were you there?' she said

'What do you mean?' said Rebecca

'You came to find me in hospital when I was ... when I was still asleep.'

'Yes, you know I did; I told you.'

'Yes I know you were physically there, that much I understand, but you were with me; in my dreams, if that is what they were.'

'Was I?' said Rebecca 'It was only a dream, dear one.'

'Ohhh, you drive me crazy! You know what I'm talking about; you were there, on the cliff by the sea, not as you are now but as you used to be when we were younger, you sang to me when I was.... I can't remember everything, it's so frustrating, help me to understand.'

'Perhaps I don't understand either,' said Rebecca 'have you ever thought of that? How the hell do I know everything that goes on or was going on in your head? You were in a coma, for Christ's sake.'

'You know more than you're telling me; that much I know.' said Victoria.

'Then let it be so.' said Rebecca. 'You got better, we found each other again, just let it be.'

'I can't.' said Victoria. 'I want to understand how it was possible; how you could do what you did. I just know that without you.... without you I would never have made it back.'

Rebecca was silent. She smiled at her beloved Victoria, but said nothing...