Youre my boy.
And do you have a hotel in town?
Nah no hotel here, they told him at the station. Just go straight over the market square and youll see the Guest House. You cant miss it.
The first impression of this little English town was, well, murky at best. It crouched between woods and brambles, bound by mist and silence rather than the usual humming connection to the county seata feeble train line crackling with every mile.
Here, Alec Simmons had been sent for a newspaper assignment. Local peatlands were thriving; drained fields delivered plump crops. The Home Farm collected a bumper cabbage harvest, all sung with a sort of marshland pride.
But Alec Simmons of London had always nosed into more than just acre and yield. Wherever he roamed, notebook in hand, he tried to uncover the odd undercurrent. And this time, too, he was hoping Sedgely might have something peculiar, a story worth the ink. Hed grown up not in Sedgely, but the next county town along the railsit was his patch. So hed agreed to the trip without fuss.
At the Guest House, a plump, jolly woman with a round face welcomed him, her presence a breath of warm baking.
Theres a room, my love, naturally. Only full up when it’s foxhunting season. At the moment, you could eat the rooms with a spoon.
She sent him to a narrow chamber with the familiar hospitality kit: kettle, mismatched mugs, a faded armchair. Alec unpacked food for a wanderers supper. Out the window, drizzle hung in the air. Low, wooden houses leaned together, sodden as a flock of shivering sparrows. To the right, blocky grey semis hunched gloomily, streaked with old damp. The road outside was warped, patched only where the worst craters insisted. Planks in place of pavements, shops and kiosks empty as if the wind owned them. Sheds and rickety shacks abounded.
Oh, he musedliving here would be a slog. Hed grown up somewhere similar, but after uni hed never looked backLondon suited him. Here, there was nothing to do.
He had a comfortable flat in the capital, styled with deliberate English eccentricity. For a rustic look, hed even ferried back birch shelves from Cornwall, a chest of drawers from a cottage auction, wooden rails whittled to look honest and weathered. Hed bought watercolours and brasswork from an artists co-op on the South Bank. Once a week, a cleaner came round. What more did an on-the-road journalist need?
Alec was divorced, with a twelve-year-old daughter whom he saw only rarely; her mother kept things chilly. Hed long since stopped fretting. Thats how things went. He didnt want to remarry; everything in life suited him fine.
His days were never dullnor poor. He drank socially, with clever, easy friends, holidayed well, indulged in brief little affairs. Tall, lean, with a sharply pointed beardhe looked every inch the thoughtful Englishman of legend. Women noticed. At home, hed lounge with the Times Literary Supplement or the Spectator.
Hed once read that happiness is just an ordinary state when neither soul nor body aches. He strove to keep it sonever too jubilant, never too despondent at career stumbles. That life suited him, and hed managed it well.
The morning after arrival, he visited the town hall. The chairmana fresh-faced young manwas delighted by Alecs presence; he enthusiastically recounted harvest targets, rousing plans, how theyd rallied volunteers, won county approval.
Noting Alecs interest in local history, the chairman suggested, Pop in to see Mr. Thomas, Jasper Thomas. History master. Proper chap, also a councillor. Has material for daysproper tales both. He lives just down Forest Road, handsome house, white lacework round the windowsyoull spot it. Go on, ask about, everyone knows him.
From the town office, Alec made for the farm instead, with a driver supplied. Truthfully, he later regretted itthere was precious little to snap: fields shorn, cabbages stacked. He chatted with the workers. They spoke no more willingly than the council chief, but with a little literary polish, their words would do.
After a heavy lunch at the caff, he marvelled at the prices. Life here was cheapjust as well, as were the wages. Or maybe the prices chased the wages. That evening, too weary for further tramping, Alec went back to nap at the Guest House, lulled by the moist country air, droned into yawns by the rain.
Later, he set out for Forest Road. He needed just one more articles worth of material. Forest Road felt magically homely, though it was only packed earth. Maples to the right, their leaves brick-red, poplars left, gold as sovereigns. Each little house crouched below the lane, shielded by bright cottage fences. Even now, late autumn, the garden plots glimmered with last foxgloves, rosehips red as jam jars, and a pink dusk was stepping beyond the trees. Nostalgia pricked the air as it had in Alecs boyhood.
He found the Thomas place with easethe lacey, ingenious woodwork marked it out, though Sedgely had a real fondness for such trim, and hed spent much of the afternoon photographing just that. In the garden, three apple treesfruit still clungbushes crowded with indigo berries. Those bright, solid signs of day-to-day comfort.
He found Mr. Thomas out back in a wooden shed, chisel in handnot on window frames but some sort of picket fence. Thomas greeted him with a flour-dusted palm.
Alec introduced himself, keeping it formal.
And your carving? All this brilliant trimfolk tradition?
Ha! Thomas grinned. Theres no ancient craft round here. You noticed, every window frame different? It all comes from wherever we found it. A bit here, a bit there. If anything, I started the whole lot. Thats the truth, he wiped his hands. Come in, do.
Thomas, short and sturdy with strong, practical hands, looked a few years Alecs senior, though his thatch was already silver. The sort of Englishman who never balds but greys undimmed. At home, he wore an ancient shirt, baggy trousers, woollen socks pulled over his ankles. Typical country teacher, at ease.
Sorry for my get-up. Fancy a splash of brandy?
Ill stick to tea, but thanks all the same.
So, you want the history of our backwater? Well, solid sources are thin. But from what I can deduce, the first settlement sprang up here in the fourteenth or fifteenth century. Back then, rich lands belonged to great lords and monasteries, while the peasants didnt have much of a time. Some legged it into the forests and marsh for a quieter lifeor to dodge servitude, really. Its those wanders who likely founded Sedgely.
He retrieved a fat ledger from the bookcase, blew the dust off, and set it between them. Sedgely: A Towns Story, written in neat, looping teachers hand.
Alec flicked through, finding it dotted with candid snapshots. An old photograph of a clear-eyed, slender boy, perhaps ten. Something twinged in Alec; the boy was posed with a battered chopper, pretending to chop wood, his eyes alive with laughterjust like Alec at that age.
Alec hesitated, inhaled.
And the boy herewhos he? he asked as he turned the page.
Oh, my eldestLuke. Must be years back, that picture.
Jasper Thomas told still more, of the town, the war, the harvests, of struggles and successes.
Do try that jam. My wifes a wizard with jam. And this helmet and gravemy lads found them. Thats gone in the county register, that has. Luke, the eldest, he leads the local digging club. Into history, keeps the family busy.
The ledger was a piece of luck for Alecs piece. He flicked through, snapping shots of pages, but his camera film ended abruptlywasted too much on window frames.
Blast. If only I knew how to reload this old thing. But my boys have a camera, if you like?
No, its fine. Ive extra film at the guesthouse. Ill pop in tomorrow, shall I? If youll be in?
They agreed. Next day, hed have to be back in London. The plan: snap the rest of Thomass book, see the new surgery and park on the old field, and the local crafters exhibition. All for copy. He was already shaping the articleplenty to write, especially with that magnificent ledger.
And that was more exciting than yet another piece on marsh drainage and cabbages.
In the morning, sun washed a delicate scarlet bar across Alecs wallthe first thing he saw when he woke. His mood sang. He drank tea, loaded the camera, and set out again for Forest Road.
The road, the houses, delighted him anew. That laceworkhed have to hunt some for his own mirrors.
The whole Thomas family was out there, spades and forks in hand. Alec recognised Mrs Thomas: a white headscarf, two boys, the air bustling. Jasper dropped his tools when he saw their guest.
Good morning! Am I in the way? Alec half-offered a handshake, Jasper just showed muddy gloves.
Not a bit! Just shifting last clods before the frost. Wont take long. Even Lukes at it. Shame you didnt come latertheyre off to the capital for a match soon. Up early, thats why. Their idea, not ours.
Jasper rinsed his hands, water trickling fast from the back tap.
Lovely spot, Alec murmured, eyeing an ornate bower with whorled benches. Proper craft there too.
Yes, but chilly out here now. Lets head in.
And your lot? Alec waved towards the family.
Luke will finishjust a strip to go. Youve work too. After, well all have breakfast together. Our routine.
Alec finished photographing the book. The air of the house was all clatter and warmthvoices, boots, the smell of toast. In the sunny corner, yellow chrysanthemums, fire-bright geraniums on the sill, and shelves groaning with books, albums, and files. On the wall, a painting in thick oil: three white birches by a woodland lake. Alec had seen that very painting beforehe was sure.
Make yourself at home, Alec, Jasper said as the family trickled in. A fat stack of crumpets, bowls of jam, a copper teapot, cheddar and cake. Alec grinned, instantly at ease.
This is Alice, my wife, Jasper introduced. Alecs up from London, writing about our town.
Alec noddedthen caught himself washing his hands, water streaming over his fingers in an endless loop, unable to feel the soap or the tap.
Alice Yes, Alice
It was her. Memory shuffled everything, old faces whirling, then, bit by bit, placing each back in its slot. So much came floodingyet barely a moment passed.
And the memory was sour. No pride in it. Heart stung. When nothing ached, neither soul nor body, that was happinessbut now…
Hed met Alice at universityshe was striking, almost Mediterranean in her loveliness. A cotton dress, a vivid scarf, sun-browned arms, dark lashes. Theyd travelled on a student work trip, hed spent the train ride making jokes, vying for her attention, and won it. That laughter, that summer on the coast, and afterwards, hed won her from a country lad on sports faculty.
It had all been bliss. Bewitching. Hed read her poems, shed asked for more, hed chased her through snow, shed hesitated, but then relented. They went skating, to student hostels, and she became his ownat least in his mind, for the future after university, for a settled, distant time.
But when she fell ill and he visited her in hospitalthin, tired, washed-out in whitehe shrank from the chemical smells and the staffs stares. She said it was bad morning sickness, he barely understood.
Get well, then, he muttered.
Im pregnant, Alec. Were going to have a baby.
We? He was stunned. She was ill, not him. He didnt want to be shackled. He longed to be a writer. He never visited her again. Her best friend tried to shame him, but he brushed her off.
Well sort it ourselves. Stay out of it.
Alice left hospital like a ghost. Alec busied himself, ignored her. One weekend he did visit, but mostly rambled about trips, publishing, other things. She set the table in silence.
He ended matters: Alice Nows not the time for marriage. Or a child, cant you see? Every man for himself in this world.
She nodded. Of course.
And so? He couldnt meet her gaze.
Nothing. More than anything, I just want you to be happy.
That was their last meeting. She didnt come back to universityshe raised her son quietly, at home. Alec moved on, ducked mutual friends and her faculty. The first love of youthso many have it. And a child? If you never think of itnot real.
Maybe that shock made him careful. Hed never risked such trouble again. Later, hed married, had a daughter. That didnt last, either. Family wasnt for him; now, the brief affairs didnt bother him.
All this tumbled by in the few seconds Alec washed his hands.
He dried them, face composed. Morning, he said politely. If Alice recognised him, she gave no sign. Wearing a grey tracksuit, broader now but still graceful, she moved with that same lightness, the very thing which had once set her apart. Her plait, now unruly, perhaps undone from last night, still hung over her shoulder. She smiled, laying the table, speaking lightly with her husband.
Mum, Ive put away the spades Ohhello! In strode a tall, lean youth, his face so much like hersand, Alec realised, achingly like his own.
Hello.
Breakfast was cheery chatter, Jasper sharing town tales, the family preparing for the London tripwhat to pack, how trains workAlec joined in with advice. Alice avoided his gaze, though she smiled easily.
Your wifes lovely, Alec commented to Jasper when they were alone.
Lucky, arent I? Brilliant, too. That he nodded at the painting, her work. Proper teacher, well-loved. Shes head of year at the school.
How did you two meet?
Both came here around the same time. Im five years older, but I took the scenic routearmy, factory, then history, finally teaching. Found my home Am fortunate.
Alec was sure Luke was his son. He had his build, not Jaspers, and was even named for him, in a way. Had Alice loved him so deeplynever even blamed him?
He meant to leave, but waited for Alice. He longed for a last look, to see if shed meet his eyes, to ask the question outright. But she was busy: gathering the boys, loading kit. He had to say goodbye. But it hurt to drag himself up, as though leaving the cosiest bed for a blizzard outside.
Youll see the boys off at the station? he asked Jasper.
Thats right, London train.
Then Ill see you there. Thank you for everything.
He cast one bittersweet glance toward the inner roomsAlice did not appear. Only Jaspers gentle apology: Sorrybusy day, they’re rushing.
Thats all right, all right. Till later.
Alec left down Forest Road, not watching the red dawn but his own feet. Leaving, as if from warmth into raw December.
The old song drifted round his mind, one from their youth, about rivers and choices, loss and return.
Was this the only true feeling? Did his soul remember Alice? And his sondid he have a son?
It felt more important than anything; he skipped the surgery, the craft fair even, simply lying in his room, reliving the images. How could he forget the birches? Theyd gone to that pond. She sketched, he read in the grass. She must rememberso she must have loved him. Perhaps she still did. He could call her to Londonteachers were needed everywhere. Hed even take Jaspers boy; love, surely, could spread. His flat felt fake now, styled as country but empty. It could be real, if Alice was there.
Clouds massed at the windowSedgely brooded. Still, he could ask her. The cottage, the window lace, the yellow flowers, apples, those berry-laden bushes, this familyhe could picture it all, a home as his parents once had.
And yethad he really built the better life hed always wanted?
He arrived at the train station early. A coach dumped children and grown-ups alike, all noisy, bag-laden. No hope for a private talk. Coaches, teachers, parentsall fuss.
He found Jasper.
Ah, there you are. All under control.
I could offer help in LondonIve contacts He trailed offit felt off, boasting here.
I think all is settledtheyll be with their coach, all arranged. This time Jasper included Alice.
She turned and smiled at Alec, then shrugged. In London? What do they need but a good game of football? Dont fret, all will be well.
And Alec realised Jasper was truly worried, wringing his hands, watching the crowd with fixed intensity. Called away, he went to the coach. Alec found himself beside Alice.
Alice…
She turned. Jeans, light jacket, hair in a heavy bunch, but her face
You recognised me?
Of course, Alec. Were not so changed.
So, you live here?
Here? Yes, she smiled, watching her family.
Are you happy? Dont you miss London?
Sometimes. Id leap into the train right now, run with them. Butchildren must learn independence. Theyre nearly grown. She frowned, but they were talking about different things.
I meanhavent you ever wanted to come back? Live there?
Not really. Perhaps Ive never thought. If Jasper called, Id go anywhere. But truly, were fine here. The boys will fly soon, I suppose… Sigh about it sometimes.
He wanted to ask about their son, but the PA system boomed: the London train, platform two. Fluster and hurrying. Alecs carriage was ten; the boys loaded up front. He knew he was an extrahelpers everywhereso left, stung and bruised by it all. A famous London journalist, after all. Shouldnt that mean something, here?
And yet, the boys would travel with him. Hed find Luke, confess, whisper offers of grand futures in the capital.
He timed his entrance to their carriagenow beds made, now supper cleareduntil nine oclock. The childrens wanderings were loud as ever.
Luke! Luke Thomas! Someones asking for you.
Alec leaned down from the bunk and saw him. They moved to the corridor, the carriage clacking through pitch fields and the lamplight flickering.
Its cramped here Sorry, but I had to. I A lot to say.
Luke cut him off. I know youre my father.
What? Alecs script fell apart. How do you know?
Mum told me long ago. Ive got your book, too. Read it already.
My book? ‘Mists of Home’?
Luke nodded.
Well, er and?
Its all right. Luke stared out the window.
So, you knew all along? I only came by accident, honestly…
Dad saidmost likely it was by chance. He didnt know at first. Mum only told us all today.
So your dad knows?
Course. We dont do secrets. Well, mostly.
Right Youve a good family, you know. I never knew you existed. Circumstances…
No one blames you. Mum never did. She said you were very talented. I had a proper dad since two. Lifes what you make it, isnt it.
That used to be Alecs favourite line.
The train roared over a bridge, ironwork flashing, river black below.
Alec had to shout, True! But youre fifteenyoull need schooling. In Londonwell, I have contacts, friends, a flat. And Im alone, truth be told
No, thanks. Sorted already. Weve planned it out.
Could always change plans. In London, everythings possible. And financially, I can
Luke shook his head. Dont need it. Ill make my own way. Gotta gocoach will wonder. Bye! He slipped back into the sleeper. The door closed. Alec remained behind, the clatter suddenly muted.
Alone in shadow, Alec found the word pounding: Stranger.
His own sona stranger. Once, hed wanted just that: forget, erase. Another man forged that happy cottage, with lace windows and scarlet geraniumshis fate, his love.
Alec staggered back to his carriage, limbs sodden, dreading his own imposter country flat. He collapsed onto the bunk, eyes wide, his old principlehappiness as the state when nothing hurtscrumbling under a lurching ache. Heart thudding, he wanted to pace, leap from the train.
Why had fate threaded him through Sedgely, this home, his son? Was it for a reason? A chance?
And he saw his silent, blonde daughterhad he lost her too, or could he find her still? Was there a chance?
Elsewhere, on an upper bunk, Luke Thomas watched the streaming night and thought only of howone dayhe would have a house just like his parents, a true task, and hearts around him as honest and kind as theirs. And he felt, just a little, sorry for the lonely writer passing through.
