Free Full Circle by Connie Monk

treating her as though she didn’t exist. She heard the sound of Harold crying – not tears of anguish, but the almost silent weeping of helplessness. If she were dressed she would get up and try to comfort him, for with the advent of this arrogant intruder her initial anger towards poor, confused Harold had melted away.
    â€˜Come along, it’s no use sitting there snivelling. The car’s outside.’ Then, as he ushered his father towards the door, he turned briefly to Louisa with the parting words, ‘I’ll get him home and make sure the door is locked and bolted. You’d better do the same when we’ve gone. He’ll be about the place tomorrow, so you should keep the bolt across.’
    â€˜I shall speak to the locksmith first thing in the morning and enquire about new locks.’ It was most certainly Miss Louisa Harding who replied with not an ounce of emotion in her voice. Then, more kindly, ‘Goodnight, Mr Carter.’
    Harold turned to look at her, and now that the struggle to throw him off her was over she was aware of how he’d altered since she’d last seen him. He looked lost.
    For a moment he resisted being pushed out of the door as he turned to her, shaking his head helplessly. ‘Louisa,’ he murmured. ‘I remember now. I’m sorry, so sorry.’
    â€˜Try not to think about it,’ she answered. Then, with a conspiratorial smile, ‘Let’s both forget all about it.’
    â€˜I thought—’
    â€˜For goodness’ sake, do come on. Eva Johnson wants to get home but she won’t go until she knows you’re safely indoors.’
    She listened as they went down the stairs, then she heard the front door slam, the click of the latch on the gate, the slam of two doors on the car and then the motor, growing quieter. And here she lay in Violet’s bed, Violet who had loved him sufficiently to lose her family for him. Did Violet know what his misery was doing to him? And, if she did, couldn’t she find a way to bring him comfort and let him know she loved him still? Louisa had never given much thought to death or the emptiness of separation, but on that night it was brought very close. Surely there must be more to a relationship – a loving, united relationship – than something physical? Surely when two caring people talked and laughed together that must be a joining of spirits as surely as any bodily union? She didn’t know. How could she when she had never experienced that sort of love?
    Less than an hour before, she had been too sleepy to concentrate on her book. But what had happened between then and now had left her wide awake. Her fury at Harold had gone, swept away by the sight of his desolation and grief. Her thoughts moved to his son. She remembered Bella’s adoration of her so-perfect husband again and tried to connect all that she’d heard about him with the man who had bundled his father away with no consideration for the older man’s confusion. Perfect husband be damned, she thought, he’s a big-headed pig and, if it hadn’t been that I didn’t want to make things even harder for his poor, muddled father, I would have enjoyed telling him so. I bet if I walk over to the farm tomorrow Mr Carter won’t so much as remember what happened just now.
    But in the morning events took another turn. It was too early to make her planned visit to the farm so just before ten o’clock she decided to have an hour working on the garden’s transformation. She was a determined novice and only time would tell her whether the herbaceous plants she had put in would make healthy roots, but so far they hadn’t had time to give up the ghost and, at least in front of the house, the garden began to look cared for. Pushing a wheelbarrow bearing her tools she was just emerging from the shed when she heard the garden gate slam shut. Oh, no, not Harold Carter again! That was her immediate