Silent, The Car Journey

Two Years Earlier, Lucy

'What would you like to do?' Arthur Harlesden said. ‘Coffee and a bite to eat at the Service Station.'

'Suppose so.'

Arthur started the engine and drove away into the night, past a gift shop and a mobile phone store and a guest house opposite a pub by a set of lights. He took the road further inland, by fields and rows of tiny aerials that resembled baby bulbs.  She vaguely remembered these from ten years ago. 'I was sorry to hear about Lily,' she said, to break the silence.

'Thank you,' Arthur said. 'Three years ago it was, my Lily's passing. A young woman too, relatively speaking.  She'd only just turned seventy. That's no age these days.'  A pause. Then:  'She was very fond of you, my Lily was. We both were.'

'Thank you,'she said, avoiding eye contact. They lapsed into silence again. Outside, the rain continued splattering against concrete. Arthur flicked on the car radio. Classic FM. Piano and violin fading away. She searched her mind for any memories of the elusive Lily Harlesden, but they refused to come. Lily Harlesden might well have never existed. It was scary not to remember a woman who'd taken on a grandmotherly role, a key figure for a child.  She wondered, as she often had over the years, if the fire had caused damage to her memory.  If so, did she really want the memories back?  Something terrifying might be waiting.  Like a man wearing a balaclava, slowly turning into Dad.

'Did you know I'd returned?' she said.

‘No, apart from thinking I recognised you from somewhere when you served me dinner at the House. Other than that, I had absolutely no idea that you were back in the area. Why the mystery?  It's a delight to see you.  I've often thought about you and wondered how you were doing.'

She stared out of the passenger window, watching the fields and the sea disappear, along with the final embers of sunset. The fading scenery made her sad, reminding her of another occasion when she and Dad had stood  on a different coast, watching the evening slip away, neither speaking, Dad subdued, sighing.

Arthur took a right and they passed a windmill, prompting another short tug of memory. The windmill with its associations of flour and bread and a dairy close by. How could she have forgotten the windmill?  She was in a different car, a two-door vehicle with seats warm from the sun, Dad driving, Mum in the front passenger seat, and they'd just driven past the same windmill after stopping off at a café for lunch. She was sitting in the back of that car with her face glued to the window, conscious of the tension in the front.  Mum and Dad silent, taut...an atmosphere, a violin string tightening and tightening until it finally snapped. That had happened to Dad sometimes...his neck tightening, a warning of growing anger.  

'None of my adoptive family know I'm here,' she blurted out to Arthur. 'My adoptive parents think I'm on a walking holiday with a group of friends. But I'm not a runaway, you know. I've got somewhere to stay and a job.'