first chapter of a novel in progress;childhood events are to have a far reaching effect on young Barbara Blandford...
1 BOUND FOR THE DARK SIDE
By Brian Cross
CHAPTER ONE
A Saturday morning in April 1959, and rain begins to sprinkle onto the pavements of a middle class residential street in Chelmsford, Essex. A pretty eight year old girl is pushing her model pram and burbling to herself as the droplets begin to fall on her long black curly hair. As she nears home, the precipitation begins to intensify and a concerned mother can be seen at the gate of a spacious detached property beckoning urgently to her daughter. Barbara Blandford does not know it yet, but as she hurries along, this overcast and wet day would mark a beginning - a formulation of an attitude and outlook which was to have far-reaching effects not only on her own existence but that of so many others…
‘Barbara - I told you not to stray…’
‘Sorry Mummy.’ Dark eyes widened appealingly within an angelic face, as she confronted her mother before turning away and pointing along the street, 'I was only playing with…’
'Yes well come inside, it's pouring.’ Dianne Blandford rushed her young child up the broadening path, 'Look at your hair it's soaking wet,' she chastised, 'you're asking for another cold - up to the bathroom with you my girl and dry it thoroughly.'
'Alright.’ A small hand stretched out for the bannister and running upstairs, she paused at the top, sneaking a glance back to ensure that mother had returned to her chores before enquiring eyes gazed to the left, to her parents' bedroom, where the door was ajar. Halting outside for a moment she knocked and pushed it cautiously open expecting to find her father who she'd not seen that morning.
Empty -
Perhaps after all he was downstairs. Though he always visited her room first thing in the morning, except that today he hadn't. She trudged through to the bathroom and duly obliged her mother by towelling her hair furiously. As she did so, Barbara heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by the recognition of her dad's voice, raised in greeting. Failing to hear a response from her mother the youngster flung herself hurriedly down the stairs and into his arms: 'Hey angel, steady on,' he hoisted her up, 'you'll be giving me a hernia the way you're growing.’
'What's a hernia Daddy - and where have you been - you always…’ the girl stopped in mid sentence as the scullery door opened and her mother appeared, the look on her face looked severe to say the least, putting it mildly, she
seemed cross, as cross as Barbara could remember.
‘I think you'd better run along to your play room angel,' her father who always appeared so in control, suddenly seemed worried. At that instant, glancing between them uncertainly, Barbara for the first time experienced an apprehensiveness, a curious anxiety was forming within and, though the sensation manifest itself in her dark eyes, Dianne and Martin Blandford were too enveloped in their own burdens to detect it.
Barbara slipped silently away, passing through the dining room and heading for the conservatory to which her play room was annexed. But she didn't complete the journey - at least not immediately - because on her passage through she began to make out her mother's agitated voice as she made for the scullery closely followed by father.
Barbara returned to the door she had just closed and hovered. She'd always been taught not to eavesdrop, but something was wrong in her organised and safe little world; she perceived it with all the keenness of her young mind. She could hear murmurings, but was unable to make them out. Her parents' voices weren't raised, she could never recall them being so, but nonetheless there seemed an intensity about the tones - mummy's voice sounded angry - Daddy's in contrast apologetic.
They were returning. Barbara hurried through the conservatory and into her play room, closing the door. She could hear nothing now, but as she gazed out onto the carefully cultivated lawns, with their array of daffodil, crocus and tulip swaying in the strengthening wind, creating a cascade of colour, a vision of a different kind came to her -
She could see - deep inside she could see - a vision that was to linger long after most childhood memories had faded. The landscape had been green and pretty - Barbara liked pretty things, but before her eyes the colours had seemed to begin changing - first to a parched brown as if every drop of moisture was being extracted from the ground as she watched. Then came the transformation into an all encompassing greyness which seemed to extend from the soil to the very heavens. The roadway that led between this landscape had been smooth but now it seemed to heave and contort like a stressed bridge in an earthquake, until it became the only discernible feature, very hilly and with its uneven surface meandering without apparent direction. She wanted to go back the way she'd come - to return to her comfortable terrain; to be away from this nasty new world which didn’t seem real, only something wouldn't let her.
*
Dinner that evening had been late - over an hour later than normal before her mother called them through, her
voice sounding soft and strained though Barbara had been alarmed at the strange hardness in her eyes.
Father sat opposite her at the table. In the eyes of an eight year old he was handsome. He always wore a jacket at dinner, normally a light coloured one that matched his fair hair, and never failed to have something funny to say. Today though he was not smiling, in fact his eyes seemed heavy, with bulges beneath she couldn't remember seeing before. And he was not wearing a jacket, but a dirty green jumper she'd often seen him gardening in.
There was a silence, mummy and daddy didn't seem to want to speak, and she'd hardly seen either of them all day. It had made her feel strangely lonely. Then mummy looked at her and the stony expression seemed to change - 'Are you alright Barbara dear - you seem - well - down -'
Barbara nodded, but there was no immediate reply. She was thinking how pretty her mother normally looked, her black hair cleverly tied with a braid and pony tail, though tonight it wasn't like that. Tonight it was scraggly and didn't seem to have been combed, more than that she seemed tired.
Suddenly though, the eyes widened and mummy's face seemed more lively -
'So this -this business meeting that kept you over - was it a success - I mean will it stimulate growth?'
‘Oh I should say so -' Martin Blandford pushed away his plate, the meat on which, he'd hardly touched.
He felt his wife's gaze on him, was not unaware of her accusing stare, then finally became conscious of the strange blend of earnestness and uncertainty on his daughter's face, 'Yes, yes, no doubts on that score, none at all.' He reached for his paper, gathered up his spectacles and scanned the pages, 'Now look, we all seem a little out of sorts - who wouldn't with this dismal weather. Why don't I take you two lovely ladies out to the theatre - there's a wonderful adaptation –‘
‘I think not, I've had a very trying day,' Dianne Blandford cut her husband short, lowering her eyes before glancing at Barbara with a slight smile, 'but if it's fun and enlightening please do take Barbara, though try not to keep her out too late Martin.'
The young girl's gaze swung between her parents. She did her best to appear enthusiastic about the unexpected evening out but too many things had traumatised her, and, looking up, she had a feeling the apathy she felt had not gone unnoticed by her mother.
Just what was taking place here - why didn't they simply come out in the open and tell her? She was a bright child and it was as plain as anything that something was very wrong.
'I'll go and get changed then mummy, what should I wear?'
Barbara looked back, there was no reply - both parents were engaged in stifled conversation…
A touching, loving and spirtual insight of the dying process, filled with peace, smiles and starting on their journey, taking me with them as far as I could go, returning back with something I didn't have before. Will be out early in 2010..on Kindle
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