Faith - Lesley Pearse [108]
But like most of the hideous things about prison, she’d eventually found a way of dealing with it. She just had to lie still, relax first her feet, then her legs, and gradually, bit by bit, make a conscious effort to work her way right up her body, relaxing it until the whole of her felt like a soft sponge. Then she could let good thoughts come to her.
The lovely dream she’d woken from was a good place to start tonight, for she understood the symbolism in it. She hadn’t exactly been pursued by anyone as she drove up to Scotland all those years ago, but she had the weight of all the unhappiness with Greg still in her head, and the anxiety that she needed to make a real home again for Barney.
She had broken her journey from Cornwall in Bristol, staying the night in a bed and breakfast. The following morning she bought food for a picnic and spent the day with Barney in a park. In the early evening when he was growing tired, she’d tucked him up on the back seat of the car and started off for Scotland.
It was an arduous journey. Her Beetle wasn’t fast and the headlights were dim. As it got dark she became worried that she was losing her way, and she had to stop every now and then to check her map by the light of a torch. She had never been further north than Leeds before, and then only by train, and it was a strange and nerve-racking experience to be bombing along in the dark with no idea what lay to the right or left of her or how far she was from a town or village.
She did turn off the main road when she found herself almost nodding off. She supposed she must have slept for an hour or so, for when she began driving again, the first rays of light were coming into the sky. Her spirits rose as she saw the beauty of the Lake District unfolding before her, and the fresh, warm air coming in through the window was as intoxicating as a glass of champagne.
On the last lap of the journey from Dumfries, where they had their breakfast in a transport café, on to Castle Douglas, Barney was happily singing nursery rhymes and pointing out cows, sheep and geese on farms. Although the small stone cottages, the hills covered in firs and the moorlike wide open spaces with not a house for miles seemed very stark after the lushness of the south-west of England, Laura had an odd feeling of coming home.
She was close to total exhaustion as she spotted a man on the roof of a house which was up a farm track. By then she was afraid she was never going to find the commune. When she’d asked for directions in Castle Douglas, she’d met a touch of hostility, and only vague instructions just to take the road to Dalbeattie.
Although she couldn’t see the man’s face as he came towards her car, because the sun was in her eyes, his long coppery-brown hair, bare chest and cut-down Levis all made her heart leap, for at least he was unlikely to be affronted when she asked where the commune was.
Her very first thought was that he was a bit simple, for he stared at her vacantly for some moments before answering her question. But when he did speak, his voice was like music and she realized he was a little stunned by her.
She ought to have been horrified by ‘the hoose’, as everyone called that place. A few days later she overheard a man in Castle Douglas call it ‘the hoose where all those dirty hippies stay’. It was almost falling down, with weeds growing up through the roof, no electricity or hot water, and precious little furniture. Yet she felt no horror, for the sun was dazzling, there were trees and lush long grass, and someone had fixed a gaily striped awning above a rough table and benches outside.
The man who introduced himself as Stuart told her it wasn’t a commune but a mere squat, without any other children there. The fact that everyone else in the place was still sleeping meant drugs and heaven knows what else, so any sensible mother would have got back in her car and driven off. But there was something about Stuart, with his kind grey eyes, strong chin and a gentlemanly quality that made her feel she