Four
LIVERPOOL, SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1967
Emma Teasdale glanced at her watch as she left the Royal Philharmonic Hall and headed off along Hope Street on her way to Lime Street station. From years of enjoying Saturday afternoon concerts at the Phil she knew how to time it just right to have a cup of tea at the railway station buffet and then make the train and bus connections that would see her back home in Llanelen by about 8 P.M.
The sky had turned dark while she had been listening to Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem and now a hard, driving rain was drenching the grey city. By the time she reached Mount Pleasant Street her feet were soaked through and the uplifted mood in which she had left the concert hall was deteriorating into deflated grumpiness.
Finally, by now in a resentful funk, she entered the station concourse, shook the rain off her umbrella, folded it up, and tucked it under her arm. Not surprisingly, at four o’clock on a rainy afternoon, the station buffet was crowded and the room was filled with a fragrant, steamy warmth. She ordered and paid for tea and a Welsh cake at the counter and, holding her tray, turned around looking for a place to sit. She had hoped to have a table to herself, as she was not in the mood for polite small talk with a stranger, but there was no empty table to be had. Spotting a table for two at the side of the room with a woman occupying one of the chairs, she headed for it.
“Excuse me,” asked Emma, “would you mind terribly if I sat down?”
The woman looked up at her and smiled.
“No, no one’s sitting there. Please join me.” She closed what looked like a catalogue and helpfully pulled the vacant chair away from the table. Emma placed her cup and plate on the table, set the tray and umbrella beside her chair, sat down, and took a grateful sip of tea. She stole a glance at the woman, who had gone back to perusing the catalogue. She seemed about the same age as Emma, with short dark hair brushed back from her face and strong, well-defined features. Perhaps sensing Emma’s gaze, the woman looked up from her reading and picked up the glass of brandy she had been nursing.
“So,” she asked, peering coolly at Emma over the rim of her snifter, “what brings you to town on this dreary afternoon?”
“I’ve just been to a concert at the Phil,” Emma replied. “I’ve a subscription and come every month or so.”
A light silence hung between them in that defining instant when two strangers, for whatever reasons, decide in the first few words they exchange whether they wish to get to know the other person better.
“And you?”
“Just been to an exhibit at the Walker Gallery over the road,” she replied. And then after a moment, her face softened as her eyes explored Emma’s face, and she smiled. “My name’s Alys.”
“I’m Emma. Nice to meet you.”
“And where are you headed for now, Emma?”
“I live in Llanelen, but you’ve probably not even heard of it. Just a little town not too far from Llandudno.”
Alys laughed.
“Oh, I’ve heard of it,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. “This might be one of those small-world moments. I have family in Llanelen. My older brothers live and work there. Jones is my name.”
“I probably teach their children, then, in the primary school!”
The two continued to chat, easily and eagerly, until Emma realized, with reluctance, that it was time to leave to catch the train to Chester where she would change for Llandudno. She pushed back her chair and reached for her gloves.
“I must be going,” she said. “It was nice meeting you.”
“And you,” Alys replied. “I’ll be on my way as well.”
An intense attraction charged with longing crackled between them.
“You know,” said Alys, maintaining eye contact while she reached for the umbrella Emma had placed between the chairs and offered it to its owner, “The Sound of Music is playing at the Odeon and I wondered if you might like to see it with me next week. We could go to an early showing and perhaps have a meal afterward.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Emma smiled, hoping the relief in her voice wasn’t too obvious. “I’d like that very much.” As she took the umbrella, their hands touched and they looked at each other with complete understanding.
“Well, that’s settled then,” said Alys. “Give me your address and I’ll write you. Are you on the phone? I could ring you later in the week and we’ll sort things out. Shall I walk you to your platform?”
The things I must do, Alys thought cheerfully a few minutes later, as she made her way to the station exit. Two hours of Julie Andrews and the kids singing those bloody awful songs. Whiskers on kittens! And then, unable to stop herself, she started to hum.
And so it began. They met the following week, and this time Emma was not traveling on a same-day return ticket. Their relationship deepened in the anonymity of Liverpool, a culturally sophisticated city where they conducted their affair in the loving privacy of Alys’s small, north-facing flat in a redbrick Georgian house on Rodney Street, near the Liverpool School of Art, where she taught painting and drawing. Occasionally, Alys drove to Llanelen, but Emma was afraid to be seen with her in the small town, knowing that if their relationship became common knowledge, it would undoubtedly mean a scandalous end to the teaching job she loved so much and the livelihood it provided.
Three years flew by as they settled easily into a comfortable routine, sharing picnics under sunny skies, taking long drives in Alys’s MG convertible, and living together as a couple in quiet domesticity. They wrote to each other when circumstances prevented their getting together—letters that Emma tied in a purple ribbon and hid in the Welsh dresser.
But early one morning in December 1970 their relationship came to an unexpected, violent end.
“Well, try to be here on time for the start of Dad’s Army,” said Emma over the telephone. “You know I like to see the programme from the beginning.”
“I will,” promised Alys.
Emma puttered about the cottage that evening, doing a little dusting and straightening up shelves that didn’t really need tidying. She was always on edge when Alys visited. Although her cottage was fairly isolated, with only a few neighbours to worry about, and the wooded lot and fields behind it, she always felt they were being watched and that everyone must know about them.
That evening, a few moments before the familiar theme song began, Emma heard the back door open and seconds after that, wearing her green tweed coat, Alys was bounding into the room. “Who do you think you are kidding, Mr. Hitler, if you think we’re on the run?” she sang as she took Emma in her arms and kissed her.
Laughing, the two flopped down on the sofa.
“Our meal’s in the oven keeping warm until the programme’s over,” Emma said. “Here’s some cheese and biscuits to tide you over, you stupid boy!”
Laughing at the popular catchphrase from the programme that everyone in Britain was using, Alys took the plate Emma handed to her and bit hungrily into a piece of cheddar. “Oh, and a bunch of grapes, too! Lucky old me!”
“Take your coat off,” Emma commanded, “and I’ll hang it up for you.”
When the programme finished, Emma took their dinner from the oven and they sat together at the table. Emma glanced around to reassure herself that all the curtains were closed, while Alys poured them each a glass of wine.
“Relax,” she said. “Stop fussing; there’s nothing to worry about. Why are you so twitchy?”
“You know what the gossip machine is like around here,” Emma replied, “and if certain people knew you were stopping here, it’d be in overdrive. I daren’t even post my letters to you from the town post office—the post mistress is that nosey. I have to walk halfway to the next town and use the rural box outside the pub.”
Emma took a sip of wine, put her glass down, and looked at her companion.
“Look, it’s probably nothing, but I’ve had a feeling lately that I’m being watched. I noticed someone lounging about when I came out of the butcher’s, and then I saw the same man again a few days later near the school. I have no idea who he is—never seen him before.”
Alys pushed a bit of lamb chop around on her plate.
“Well, maybe he was a parent.”
“No,” said Emma. “I know all the parents and he’s not one of them.”
“What did he look like?”
“Rather tall, on the skinny side, and well, he looked a bit like a ferret. Had squinty eyes and a really mean look about him.”
“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know,” said Alys. “This lamb is delicious. How did you make it?”
“I fried it,” said Emma flatly, “same as I always do. Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Sorry, love,” said Alys. “But I think you’re worrying for nothing, just like you always do.” Seeing Emma’s downcast face, she reached for her. “I love your hands,” she said softly, kissing Emma’s fingers.
After dinner they tidied away the dishes and then cleared the table for a friendly game of Scrabble.
While Alys set up the board and turned the tiles facedown, Emma flipped through her collection of LPs.
Holding a black vinyl disc in her hand, she called through to Alys in the dining room. “How about Donovan? Are you in the mood for him?”
Alys nodded, poured herself a small glass of brandy, and as the opening guitar chords of “Catch the Wind” filled the two small rooms, the women selected their tiles and the match began.
About twenty minutes later Alys lit a small cigar, and smiled to herself as a look of triumph spread across Emma’s face.
“Watch this,” said Emma, as she laid down her tiles.
Q-U-E-E-N-L-Y
“And on a triple, too!” she exclaimed. “Let me add this up. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen . . .”
Alys laughed and then, sitting back in her chair, crossed her legs and stuck out her tongue a little, and with her thumb and middle finger removed a small piece of tobacco from the end of her tongue.
Emma stopped counting and glanced at her.
“That is so sexy,” she said.
“What is?” asked Alys.
“When you do that thing with your tongue and your fingers.”
Alys inclined her head slightly and tapped off the ash from her cigar.
“Only you would think something like that.”
“Damn! Now you’ve made me lose my place and I’ll have to start counting all over again. You’re just getting cross because I’m going to win.”
“No, I’m getting cross because you haven’t asked me how the work on the new exhibition’s coming along.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. How is it coming along?”
“Really well. It will be ready for the show in February. The curator is coming next week to look at the pieces to decide the order. I think we already know which ones will be included. But I haven’t shown any of the work to anyone yet. Keeping it under wraps.”
She looked anxiously at Emma.
“Of course you’ll come to the opening, won’t you?”
“Just try and keep me away.”
They finished the game, declared Emma the winner, and then watched the television news. With a small sigh, Emma got up from the sofa, switched off the television, and went through the kitchen to make sure the back door was locked for the night. Alys checked the front door, and together they made their way upstairs to Emma’s bedroom.
Alys removed a small box from the pocket of her trousers before hanging them over the back of a chair. She set the box on the bedside table, and when she and Emma were comfortably settled in bed, she put her arm around Emma, pulled her to her, and reached out to pick up the box.
“Look,” she whispered, handing it to Emma. “I’ve got a little gift for you. I hope you like it.”
She handed over the box and watched expectantly as Emma opened it. A slow smile spread across her face and she turned to Alys.
“Do you like it? Do you?” asked Alys eagerly. “I know it’s not much, but it means something to us.”
Nestled inside the box was a glass paperweight in which small purple flowers hung suspended.
“It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Emma. “Oh, thank you so much.”
“I’m glad you like it,” whispered Alys. “I hope it will always remind you of how much I love you.”
Emma set the globe on her bedside table. “I’ll treasure it.”
She switched off the bedside lamp, and the two slid down into the bed and wrapped their arms around each other.
“Alys?’
“Hm hmm.”
“Do you think the day will ever come when we’ll be able to live together openly? When we can really be who we are?”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Alys. “I hope so. At least that way I’d be allowed to sleep here until it was light and maybe I’d even get some breakfast. I hate having to leave while it’s dark just so no one will see me. All this creeping about—we haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Sorry, my darling, but you know how I feel about that. It makes me very nervous, you being here, but I wish you could stay forever.”
Alys turned over and was soon sound asleep. Emma listened to her soft, gentle breathing and then snuggled up behind her.
Shortly before dawn, Alys stirred and came awake. She put her arms around her sleeping companion and kissed her. She held her for a few minutes and then whispered to her.
“Tell me I have to get up.”
“You have to get up,” replied Emma sleepily.
Alys groaned and slid out of bed. She dressed quickly in the cold bedroom and then reached for Emma, wrapped in warmth.
“Bye, then, love,” she said. “See you soon. You will come to Liverpool for the weekend, won’t you?”
Emma murmured and retreated into sleep. Alys tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she pulled a coat off the hooks in the small entranceway, made her way through the dark, silent sitting and dining rooms to the back door. Patting her trouser pocket to make sure she had her keys, she unlocked the door and let herself out into the cold darkness, closing the door quietly behind her.
She picked her way carefully through the garden, and as she entered the small wooded lot that gave way to a field, its stubbled grasses frozen and stiff, she swung the coat over her shoulders. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she realized that she had picked up Emma’s new red woolen coat in the dark by mistake.
She checked the pockets and, finding only a handkerchief, walked on. We can switch the coats back at the weekend, she thought. Emma’ll figure out what’s happened. And anyway, it might be fun to wear her coat this week, even if it is a little big.
Because of Emma’s fear that the nature of their relationship might be discovered, she insisted that Alys park her car in the lane behind the field at the back of the cottage, never in front.
Alys made her way across the frozen field, came to the verge of the road, and reached in her pocket for her keys.
As she stepped out into the road, keys in hand, she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye and then was caught in the blinding glare of headlights. She felt, rather than saw, the car speeding toward her, and before she could react, it was upon her.
She caught a shadowy glimpse of the driver, hunched over the steering wheel, a dark cap pulled down over staring eyes.
Suspended in horrified disbelief at what was happening to her, she felt herself being lifted into the air and carried along on top of the car. It drove on for a few metres, for a few terrifying seconds, as it slowed and then came to a stop. She heard the sound of a car door opening and then felt rough, invisible hands pulling her off the bonnet and throwing her to the ground. Through the unreality she tried to see who was doing this to her, but it was too dark and happening too quickly. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The car door slammed shut as the vehicle sped off, leaving her in a crumpled heap by the side of the road.
She lay on her side, shaken and stunned, trying to remain calm. I’ve been hit, she told herself. Can I stand up?
She tried to pull her legs up toward her chest, but through the excruciating pain she realized that they wouldn’t move.
As a rising sense of fear enveloped her, she became aware of the sharp prick of tiny stones on her face. She placed her hand under her cheek and felt a sob escape her.
Oh God, she thought. Is this how I die? Alone, here, in the dark? I can’t. I can’t. If I can hang on until it’s light, someone will come by. It’s going to be fine. It will be all right. It’s almost morning. Someone will come. Someone will find me.
Emma stirred in her sleep. She swept her hand across the cool sheets where Alys had lain and moved over into the space. Waking slowly and remembering, she turned on the bedside lamp. She held Alys’s gift, feeling the weight and coolness of it. She looked at the clock. She’ll be well on her way by now, she thought. I’ll see her at the weekend. I’ll keep busy and the time will go quickly. It won’t be long.
Alys saw the light in the upstairs window and cried out. How long? How long have I been here? Is she getting up? Emma, come to the window. Oh, why doesn’t somebody help me? And then a welcome warmth surged through her as the crushing pain gave way to merciful darkness.