Coming Home

It can happen over the course of a single day. The sun, which has been steadily rising a little higher in the sky each morning, making each day a few minutes longer than its' predecessor, reaches a critical point in its' yearly cycle. The light intensity and warmth become just enough, and a stark, dead winter landscape turns young green, and life and growth can begin again. The chemical processes thus made possible by photosynthesis, and which will, in time, mean flower, fruit, seed and reproduction, are understood well enough. What cannot be so well understood is the effect on the human soul when people witness the transformation. Perhaps it will be a casual glance across the fields from the usual motorway queue on the drive home from work, or a quick look out at the garden from the kitchen when preparing vegetables for the evening meal. And however it happens, it is not perhaps much thought of in a busy day; perhaps just a few seconds of contemplation, after all it has all been seen before, and it doesn't feel any warmer; the queue of cars is no less frustrating and the potatoes still have to be peeled. But these few seconds can begin different processes which travel deep into the subconscious. The cold and often depressing months are over; the days will get warmer, eventually. Officially spring may perhaps have begun some weeks ago, but this is the real spring; this is what really makes the difference, and a corner is turned in people's minds whether consciously or not. Usually there will be no ceremony; no official celebration to mark this most important of days. But perhaps the radio will be tuned from the news to a music channel, and the volume will be increased, or the person cutting the onions will begin humming gently to themselves without realizing that they have done so. The idea will come into somebody's head that they should 'phone a friend that they have not seen all winter. Perhaps nothing much happens at the surface, but the deep undercurrents are moving, and the collective and individual soul is smiling quietly to itself. This is the way of English people, and so it was on this day in the small, English village called Middlewapping.

The oak tree which has stood sentinel over the village Green for some two hundred years, a young remnant of a much more ancient forest, will not hurry into new growth; the world around it will turn a verdant green long before its' leaf-buds will burst; the old, gnarled tree amongst impatient young saplings will bide its' time, but its' time will come now, soon enough; the laws of nature will be obeyed by all.

And on this morning a young man whose name is Basil leans against the oak tree. He doesn't know why he came or what he is doing there, not really; young people can behave in an inappropriate manner, it is their right to do so; propriety takes a hold on their lives soon enough. And here at least he can feel close to her. Perhaps the tree, which has witnessed so much; new life, old death, happy summer parties and long, isolated winter nights, will impart some of its' ancient wisdom to help him make some sense of his young feelings. He knows that this is not so; his mother, Meadow, has talked often of the spirituality of things, but he doesn't really get it; sometimes he wonders what on earth she is talking about, but he knows equally well that it is to her that he will turn, when the moment feels right, or even if it does not. People as much as trees must obey the laws of nature.

But for now at least we must leave this young man to his contemplations, and leave this day, important though it is in the yearly cycle of dormancy and rebirth, for there are new things in the lives of the people who reside for now in the old houses around the village Green; new residents have moved in at number two, and the two women at number one, who had thus far only for a short time lived there together, are back once more, and we must learn how these things came to be.

* * *

On the evening that Percival had collected Rebecca from Queenswood railway station, he was late arriving there by about half an hour. In large part this was due to his being unable to locate the keys to Sally's Mini Cooper, which he eventually located in her jacket pocket. He had oft times considered buying a car of his own; money was not really the issue, he could well afford to pay cash for a decent, middle-range automobile without difficulty, but in truth he had absolutely no interest in cars, and considered owning one as something of an encumbrance, what with all the necessary insurance, road-tests and maintenance requirements, and had only for short periods in his life hitherto owned a motor vehicle.

It was such an ordinary thing; drive to the railway station, pick her up, and drive her home. And yet the last meeting of these two was a moment of such intensity that there was bound to be some anticipation about the matter by both parties. At their last meeting, both of them thought that it may indeed be their last, although the words had not been spoken. Percival, after all, had expressed his intention to go face to face with Rebecca's tormentor, and lie to him. Whether or not the lie was accepted, what Rebecca knew of this man made her believe that it was quite possible that he would have had Percival killed in any case, and she had told Percival so. Percival for his part had at their meeting gained some idea as to her state of mind; she had committed mass murder, and then killed again. When they had met at the dead of night on the bridge, at his instigation, she had seemed defeated; her sanity hanging in fine balance, and she could perhaps have fallen to the side of total ruin regardless of the outcome of his visit to the West Country. In the event neither had happened, both were still at least alive, but neither, and particularly Percival, knew what might follow. There had been times, even since his safe return to the village, when during his darkest moments he wondered whether he should perhaps have let the matter be and let there be an end to her tragic life, if that indeed would otherwise have been the outcome. But now he was to meet her again, and even now as he drove into the station car park his feelings were mixed.

She was waiting for him outside the entrance to the railway station; a young woman leaning against a wall with her head and face enveloped in the hood of her coat against the cold, and on first seeing her as he walked from the car, his heart went out to her once more, and he knew before they had even spoken that he...