The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [77]
She drove on through Sticklepath and rejoined the A30: past Okehampton, over Dunheved Bridge with Launceston away to the right and its castle crouched on the hill. Julia remembered how the children had always cheered and clapped as they'd crossed the Tamar into Cornwall.
‘Hooray!’ they'd shout. ‘Nearly home.’
As she drove, Julia was unusually conscious of the route of the old A30, now merging with, now departing from, the big dual carriageway that carved its way across Bodmin Moor. No longer did the heavy traffic pass through Five Lanes but, as she crossed Hendra Downs, she could see the old road snaking away to the left, up past Jamaica Inn at Bolventor; and here at last was the signpost to St Breward. She pulled into the middle of the road, waited for a break in the traffic and turned right, jolting over the cattle grid and on to the open moor.
If she'd expected to feel some relief from her uneasiness now that she was so close to home she was disappointed. She knew that it was going to be one of those bad moments when she approached the turning at the bottom of the lane, where all those years ago the car had aquaplaned into the great granite boulder.
‘It wasn't your fault that Tiggy died,’ Pete had said, over and over. ‘The weather was appalling. You did the only thing you could have done. Oh, yes, I suppose you could have left her there while you went for help but she was in labour, dammit. Stop torturing yourself, love. We've simply got to put it behind us.’
Easy to say, thought Julia grimly now; almost impossible to do. The bad moments had occurred less often with the passing of the years but today the sense of horror and loss possessed her again and Julia knew that it would require all her willpower to overcome it. She drove into St Breward, parked outside the Stores and went in to buy milk and bread and a few other necessities, and then headed back out of the village to Trescairn. She turned down the drive, pulled up outside the house and groped in her bag for her keys. Frobisher was standing up now, his tail wagging at the prospect of freedom, and Julia climbed out and opened the tailgate.
‘Safely home,’ she said with relief. ‘Let's go and make a cup of tea.’
Forty minutes later, Liv arrived; bundling in, her blonde hair slipping down from the casually twisted top-knot, carrying a paper bag.
‘Hi,’ she cried, giving Julia a hug. ‘Are you OK? How are Charlie and Jo and the babes?’ She flourished the paper bag. ‘One of Debs’ cakes. I know you're always a bit miz when you've left Charlie and Jo so I thought we'd need something special.’
‘I'm fine,’ said Julia, her heart lifting at the sight of her daughter. ‘Everyone's fine. They send their love.’
‘Hello, old doggie.’ Liv embraced Frobisher. ‘Have you had a lovely time? Did everyone spoil you rotten?’ She continued to kneel, stroking Frobisher, but her eyes were on Julia, who was making a fresh pot of tea. ‘You're looking worried,’ she said. ‘Are you sure they're all OK?’
‘Quite sure. I'm tired, that's all. It's a long drive.’ Julia put the pot on the table. A new thought occurred to her, bringing with it a darting stab of fear. ‘I suppose Caroline's all right? Have you heard from her?’
‘She phoned last night to say that Zack's due back at the weekend, just in time for the baby, if all goes well.’ Liv took plates from the dresser, arranged the cake and sat down opposite her mother. ‘She's torn between longing to get it over with and wanting Zack to be there.’ She cut a piece of the coffee sponge and bit into it with relish. ‘Poor old Caroline. It's a bit hot for being very pregnant.’
Julia took a slice of cake and stared at it: how hot it had been, that summer of ‘76. It was the first time she'd ever let the Rayburn go out; they'd heated things up on a small camping stove. She looked up to see Liv staring at her curiously.
‘Do you remember Tiggy, Liv?’ she asked. ‘I mean, actually remember