Writing for Fun
September 2015
The Long and Winding Road - Maureen Rampersaud
For as long as Mary could remember, she had walked the mile long journey from the cottage to the village and back. Dad had walked with her on her first day of school, but after that she was on her own. Today, as she gazed at the road, flanked by trees clothed in their autumn gold and bathed in weak sunshine, she remembered the dark, dank evenings when she trudged home. It was strange, but she thought of these walks with fondness. It had given her time to think, imagine and dream. It was a blissful time.
She couldn't remember her mum at all; she had died when Mary was a baby, so there was only ever Dad. As a teenager, she couldn't wait to get away to University and she had only returned for Dad's funeral . . . until now. Mary had embraced city life and was always busy. She thought she had a wide circle of friends, then she was made redundant and she really needed them, but they faded away like spots of rain on a sunny day. Mary began to wonder if she had imagined them. She took a long, hard look at herself, thirty-one and alone.
She reproached herself for not looking after her dad as she should have. He was never demonstrative, but he loved and cared for her, she always felt cherished. A reoccurring dream of the long, winding road through the forest had brought her back here; the magnetic pull had been irresistible.
Mary walked towards the cottage, noting the freshly planted saplings and other small changes along the route. A man was chopping wood, the way dad used to. He looked up, seemingly not at all surprised to see her.
'Hello there, not many walkers venture as far as this.'
With obvious embarrassment, she explained about living in the cottage with her dad.
'Of course, you must be Ted Newman's girl, Mary. I'm Andrew. He's a legend in the Forestry Commission, kind and knowledgeable. I'm the unlucky bloke who is trying to fill his shoes. I never met him, but everybody round here has a good word to say about him. Come in and have a cup of tea.'
Mary entered her former home nervously, but Andrew was talkative and gradually she relaxed. She felt as if she had been frozen, and he was thawing her out. He was interested in her dad, and when she started talking about him, she couldn't stop. She did eventually stop and wondered where all this old, forgotten stuff had come from. It was dark and Andrew was gazing at her with rapt attention. She apologized profusely for taking up so much of his time, but she felt lighter . . . liberated.
'Mary, as you know, there is a bedsit part of this cottage at the back, with its own separate entrance. I need someone to help me with the kids, walk them to and from school, that sort of thing, now I'm on my own. I was going to advertise, but I think you were heaven-sent. What do you say?'
Mary smiled.
