The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [3]
Only Julia knew the truth, though Tiggy guessed that her grandmother suspected something akin to it. Less than a year later, during which time Tiggy never stayed at the London flat unaccompanied, her father sold the London gallery, married his partner at the gallery in Paris and moved to France; six months later their son was born.
Now, Tiggy slams the side door of the van and climbs into the driving seat, hugging her long sheepskin coat around her. Tom bought the coal for her in the King's Road and its all-embracing warmth reminds her of him. Once she met Tom it seemed that her life had properly begun – even the simple act of breathing took on a deeper, fuller quality – whilst lovemaking, something to be avoided since her father's forced fumblings, became with Tom a joyful and fulfilling delight. Knowing Tom, travelling with him in the old orange camper, loving him, had given her exactly the same sensation as the warmth and light the sun bestows when it breaks out from behind dark, rain-heavy clouds. Her muscles relaxed at last, she grew supple and free and at peace. His love enabled her, encouraging without attempting to possess her; his friendship showed her unexplored paths of knowledge and discovery. Now she must learn to do without it.
The little Merlin stares resolutely forward, showing the way. Tiggy switches on the engine and drives up on to the road leading to Chepstow and the Severn Bridge: to the west.
It takes well over an hour to negotiate her way through Bristol and it is with relief that she picks up the A38 again, heading out of the city and wondering where to park up for a much-needed break. In the end, she stops twice to make tea and to stretch her legs; the first time in a little lane just north of Taunton and the second time beside the entrance to a bridle path between Whiddon Down and Sticklepath on the winding A30 west of Exeter. This time, after a walk, Tiggy makes toast on the grill while the ‘lurk continues to explore, her scimitar-curved tail waving excitedly. It's nearly four o'clock. The northern flanks of Dartmoor are powdered with fine snow, the sun has disappeared long since behind thickening cloud, and wet sleet hisses softly against the windscreen.
‘Pete said the journey might easily take you seven or eight hours,’ Julia told her rather anxiously. ‘Should you do it in two stabs, d'you think?’
‘I'll see how I get on,’ she answered. ‘If I make an early start I should be OK. I'd rather get it over with in one go if I can.’
Now, with her hands wrapped gratefully around the mug of hot tea, she wonders whether it would be sensible to stop for the night while it's still light enough to find a good camping site. Despite the fact that her back aches and she's very tired, she feels despondent at the prospect and is seized with new determination to press on. The Turk comes back and barks to be let in; Tiggy takes one last look at the map and then climbs into the driving seat.
‘Not far to Okehampton then straight on to Launceston. We should be with Julia in about an hour and a half,’ Tiggy says aloud, as much to comfort herself as to reassure the Turk. She is filled with an overwhelming longing to be at the end of her travelling; silting with Julia beside a fire recounting the long day's journey to the west.
‘You'll love it here,’ Julia told her. ‘Trescairn has been in Pete's family for ever, something to do with the mining, and you can see for miles. We're just about settled in, although it's a bit of a hike into the base. Still, Pete thinks it's worth it and the children just love the space. After that quarter in Gosport it's utter heaven.’
Tiggy touches the little Merlin for luck, pushes her foot down on the accelerator and switches on the windscreen wipers; when she stops for petrol just outside Sticklepath she notices a sharp