Back from Holiday, Tom Isnt
So, your Tom still hasnt called or written a letter?
No, Vera, not by the ninth day, nor the fortieth, not even a postcard, chuckled Linda, tugging at her work apron, which always seemed a little too snug.
Gone off on the lash, has he? Or, well… you know, her neighbour nodded with sympathy. Well, just you wait. The police said nothing either?
Not a word, Vera. Everyones silent as goldfish at the seaside.
Thats fate for you.
Linda found these chats thoroughly exhausting. She swapped her broom to her other hand and carried on sweeping up the endless autumn leaves outside her house. It was a stubbornly lingering autumn, 1988. The tidy path shed just cleared was already littered again with leaves, and Linda found herself circling round, hustling them into piles.
It had been three years since Linda Gull had retired and was enjoying the luxury of a well-earned rest. But last month, funds ran dry and she had to take a job as the street sweeper for the council; no other job came up in time.
They had lived much like any regular British familynothing spectacular, nothing dreadful either. Work, raise a son, have your tea. Her husband didnt drink heavilyjust a tipple at Christmas or if the football was on. Colleagues respected him; he was a hard worker, never had half an eye on other women. Linda, for her part, had been a nurse in the NHS all her life and had a clutch of certificates to show for it.
Her husband, Tom, had gone off to Bournemouth on a package holiday and never came back. Linda hadnt suspected anything was wrong at first. If he wasnt calling, he must be enjoying himself, she reasoned. But when he failed to return on the planned day, she went the whole nine yardsphoning every local hospital, police officer, even the morgue, just in case.
She sent her son Peteon National Service at the timea telegram first, letting him know his father had vanished, then finally managed to call him. Together they pieced together the puzzle: Tom checked out of his guest house, but didnt board his train. Disappeared. So began the endless calls to hospitals, mortuaries, the lot.
At Toms job, they just shrugged: it was their business to give loyal old Tom a holiday, and beyond that, not their circus. If he didnt turn up, theyd sack him for absenteeism.
His mother wanted to go to Bournemouth in person, but Pete talked her down:
Mum, what are you going to do, go kicking in every beach hut? Ill have a week off soonif they grant itIll go. Ive got the uniform, look the part, people might actually speak to me.
Linda settled a bit, occupying herself constantly just to keep the panic at bay. She visited the police, dutifully and calmly as if it were her job. She even took up street sweeping for the distraction. At home shed cry in the evenings, cursing fate for sending her such a brutal test at this point in her life. It was the not knowing that ate at her the most.
Tom came back as suddenly as he’d vanished.
He was standing in the same navy-blue suit hed left in, no suitcase, no duffel, just hands in pockets, collar turned up, solemnly watching as Linda furiously swept the drive.
She didnt notice him at first and had no idea how long hed been there until Pete called out.
Tom! Pete! Linda dropped the broom and ran.
She flung her arms wide, like a homing pigeon, and hurled herself at her husbands chest. Eventually, Tom hugged her back.
Come inside, dont stand around cuddling out here! Pete grumbled, his voice sharp and his boots heavy on the drive.
Pete, come here, love, Ive not seen you since spring! Linda caught up to him for a peck on the cheek.
Alright, alright, its freezing, can we all please go inside?
Why didnt you phone? Id have tidied up, put the kettle on!
Mum, I didnt come home for the scones. I promised Id find him. So I did.
Linda glanced between her husband and son, still dazed by several months of fretting. The main thing now was that he was alive and in one piece. Interrogating him could wait: better to feed them first. Tom said nothing, just sat at the table.
Mum, can you sit, for goodness sake?
But Linda clattered in the kitchen, banging crockery as an outlet for her nerves.
Mum, I found Dad in another womans house.
Linda spun round to face Pete, then looked at Tom. He sat hunched over, hands knotted in his lap, head down, looking for all the world like a boy caught thieving biscuits.
With another woman? Tom, whats going on?
All Linda had worried about was that something had happened to him: robbed, lost his fare home, beaten up, now wandering the country half-starved.
He didnt just miss the train, Mum. He stayed on, living with an Olga Turner, in her cottage by the sea. Didnt want to leave.
Linda stared, oblivious to her twitching eyelids.
Didnt want to?
Didnt want to, Tom confirmed, raising his voice a bit, It hit me while I was theremy life just wasnt right. Factory-home, home-factory, weekends down the allotment. I realised I needed my freedom.
Oh, your freedom! Linda flushed, fighting back anger.
And you, Pete, what made you drag this specimen of freedom back home? Thought youd humble me, did you? If youd told me he was in the morgue, at least I could have felt closure. Ive been waiting here like a fool, cried my eyes out, and hes been shacked up in a cottage reading the *Times* and sipping tea!
Look, Linda… Maybe I wanted a fresh start.
No, Tom, it wasnt a fresh start you wanted, you were just sun-struck after too long on the pier. A decent man wouldve come home, divorced properly, and then started his fresh start. Be straight with people for once, and then with yourself. I dont want to see youjust go!
Tom got up and shuffled down the hall, detouring into the spare room.
No! Just leave, as if you never came at all! I want nothing to do with this! Linda was now on the verge of a classic Linda-meltdown.
Dad, just go, Pete joined him in the corridor, blocking the way back.
Linda didnt see Tom again for another two weeks.
Same routine: she was out sweeping off the drains after yet another downpour, when there he was, at the end of the garden, in a battered old overcoat and one of those flat caps youd think belonged to a sitcom character.
Linda! he called, a little louder when she didnt look up.
She gave him a blank stareafter all, hed snapped something in her she couldn’t forgive. Maybe she could have, but now she just didnt want to. Tom inched closer.
Im back. Got a job at the factory againcouldnt get my foremans spot back, just a regular labourer now. Will you have me?
She propped herself up on the broom, eyeing him.
Ill have you, alright. Lets march down to the registry office and get this divorce sorted, pronto.
So, forgiveness not on the table?
If you understand that, why are you here?
Olga said if I left, I couldnt return, so I left and, well, here I am.
Oh, brilliant! Not wanted by her, not really wanted hereguess thats how it goes for you. And the only reason you came back is because Pete insistedyoud never have managed it on your own. Now, go off, get on with your brand-new honest life, and kindly stop standing under my broom! And she swept her brush pointedly at his shoes, scattering water everywhere.
Linda turned and furiously swept the path again, with added petty determination. Five minutes later, she glanced backhe was gone. Even let out a sigh, as if a weight had lifted. Shed been afraid she might weaken, might forgive. But you dont turn your back on someone whod put a knife in it, and think a hug will fix it.
Some people, honestly.
