Nigel Didnt Return From His Holiday
Still no word from your fellow?
No, Vera, not a letter, not a callneither after nine days nor forty, Lydia quipped, tying her work apron tighter around her ample waist.
So hes gone on a bender, or worse, then Vera the neighbour nodded sympathetically. Just you wait. The police still silent?
Everyone is, Vera love, quieter than fishes in the English Channel.
Ah, well thats fate for you.
This talk made Lydia tired. She switched her broom to the other hand and began sweeping golden-brown leaves that had drifted about her doorstep. It was a long, slow autumn in 1988. Even when she swept them up, the path would soon be covered by another flurry. Turning, she chased the leaves before her, yellow and sodden.
Three years retired, Lydia Gulkin had taken pleasure in the lazy days at first. But last month, shed had to get herself a caretaking job at the local council, money growing a bit tight. Easy jobs werent so easy to find.
Theyd lived, Lydia and her husband, as any ordinary English family did. Not badly, not brilliantly. Much the same as their neighbours. Work, raising their only son. Her Nigel didnt drink to excess, just at holidays; colleagues respected himhe put effort into his work. Never had wandering eyes either. And shed spent years as a hospital nurse, with certificates and all.
Nigel had set off with a holiday voucher for a week by the sea and simply never returned. Lydia hadnt suspected anything at first. No calls? He must be enjoying himself, resting well. But as the date for his return came and went, she started searching every office she couldrang round hospitals, the police, even the mortuary.
She sent a telegram to her sons barracks firstDads missingthen managed to get him on the phone. Together they tracked some details: hed checked out of the seaside B&B, but had never boarded his train. Vanished. She started the cycle again, calling hospitals, morgues.
At Nigels workplace, they shruggeda holiday for our best lad is all we gave; family squabbles, thats not our business. If he skips work, well just have to let him go.
Lydia desperately wanted to go look for him herself, but her son persuaded her otherwise.
Where are you going to look, Mum? Ill get some leave soon, and if Im spared, Ill head to the coast. In uniform, I can get answers quicker.
So Lydia soothed herself with chores, keeping hands busy to keep out the dreadful thoughts. She visited the police almost as if clocking into a second job, calmly now, as if hope was rationed. The job as caretaker helped tooa broom in hand, she felt strong as a broom herself. Alone in the evenings, shed cry. Blamed herself and fate, wondered why heavy trials fell on her now, in her seasoned years. It was the not-knowing that weighed most.
Nigel reappeared before her as dreamlike as his disappearance.
He was in that same navy suit hed set off in, no bag or suitcase, his collar up, hands in pockets, watching Lydia brushing the leaves.
She didnt notice him, or how long hed been standing thereuntil her son called her.
Nigel! Peter, Lydia dropped her broom and ran.
Arms wide, as though a bird returning home, Lydia dashed into her husbands chest, embracing him.
Nigel, hesitant, hugged her back.
Come on, lets get home, enough hugging, their sons voice had a hard edge. Lydia noticed it in his clipped footsteps.
Peter, let me hug you too, havent seen you since spring she caught up to him.
Alright, alright. Its cold, lets get inside.
Why didnt you ring? Id have tidied up! Theres nothing to eat.
Mum, Im not here for pies. Promised, didnt I? Thats what counts.
She looked at her menone just home, the other so grown. After months of worry, shock left her in a mist. Alive, wholemore than shed allowed herself to hope. All Lydia wanted now was to feed and settle them; asking questions could wait. Nigel sat silent.
Mum, just sit down.
But Lydia spun about the kitchen, clattering plates and mugs.
Mum, I found Dad staying with another woman, Peter said quietly.
Lydia turned, staring at Nigel. He sat at the table, hands clasped tightly, head bowed, shoulders hunched and ungainlya guilty boy caught out.
What other woman, Nigel, whats going on?
All Lydia had imagined in her sleepless fear was disastermugged, broke, wandering lost, her poor man.
He never came back home because he stayed at Mrs Wilkinsons, her little seaside cottage. He didnt want to leave it.
Lydia stared, blinking.
Didnt want?
Didnt. I realised Id been living all wrong, Nigels voice rose. Factoryworkworkfactorygarden on Sundays. Nofreedom.
Freedom! Really? Lydia flushed red with anger.
You, Peter, why bring this bit of freedom back here? Wanted to spite me, did you? You couldve told me hed died and thatd be kinder. I cried myself dry, waiting, and all the while he was living it up in a seaside cottage
Lydia I just wanted to start over.
No, Nigel, it wasnt a new life you wanted! The southern sun fried your brain, so you ran off like some low, scheming fellow to live with another woman. A true man wouldve told the truth, divorced me, *then* gone wherever he pleased, living honestly with others and himself. I dont want to see yougo away
Nigel stood and, heading through the hall, ducked into a room.
No! Go, just go! Pretend you never came back! I cant do this! shrieked Lydia, fraught and frantic.
Dad, just leave, Peters voice snapped, barring him from the kitchen.
Nigel faded from Lydias life again. She swept paths, chivvied puddles off the pavement, heart hardening with each pass of the broom. Two weeks later, he reappeared.
He looked lost at the corner of the terrace, wearing some old brown coat and a laughable woolly hat.
Lydia, he called, a second time louder.
She raised her head, her gaze empty as the sky. Hed broken every part of her, and though a part of her might forgive, she couldnt move to greet him. Nigel came closer.
Im back. Got a job at the old factory. Not supervisoron the line. Any chance?
Lydia pressed her hands on the broom, staring.
Oh, you can have a chanceto file for divorce, straight away.
Not forgiven? Fair enough.
So whyd you come?
When I left, Mrs Wilkinson saidIf you go, dont come back. So I left, Lydia. Came back here.
Ha! No one needs you there, or here, Nigel. Men like you arent needed anywhere. You only returned because Peter made youhe wouldnt have left without you, so you followed. Go live your new life, the one you claimed to want. Dont get under my feet. And Lydia swept the broom sharply over his shoes.
She whirled away, brisk and angry, leaves scattering. Five minutes on, she glanced behind. No sign of Nigel. She breathed deepweight finally lifted. Shed feared he might linger and she might forgive Its strange how, so often, those who land the hardest blow are the ones people rush to shield.
