The Return

With full acknowledgements for the inspiration of this story, to Colleen Thomas, and her 'Irish Eyes'. My apologies if she is offended.

Prologue.

It was just turned three-thirty on a hot August summer afternoon, in 1982, and the very air itself was sleeping, one eye drowsily open. The occasional drawn-out protest from a whirling flock of blackbirds, as they were threatened by an imaginary foe, was the only thing to disturb the dozy quiet of the riverbank.

The river itself was called the 'Deben', and it ran along the eastern edge of the little country town of Woodbridge, in County Suffolk, not far from Felixtowe, a sea-side town on the east coast of England. This river was not one of your sparkling waterways, that are sometimes part of various commercials promoting tourism. Nevertheless it was a part of history, and history has a habit of showing it's age after a while.

Of course, human history depends on how it's perceived... or even needed, but rivers are a different kind of cat. They have been there since they were formed a millennia ago, and this sometimes rather muddy one, was still grumbling at it's luck in being tidal. Rather than being fed by fresh mountain streams, like some of it's distant cousins that the sea had hinted at from time to time, as it surged in slowly.

Right now, the quiet river was the only thing moving, it was hours past that delicious sublime high point that it reached twice a day - changing tides, and eager to join it's brethren in the nearby sea. The few tourists that were visiting the scenic area, fell easily into the spirit - or lack of it - of things. Sitting and lying in the shade of the trees, they languidly fanned themselves with various brochures that urged them to visit this, and do that.

One of the attractions was located at nearby Sutton Hoo.

It was a graveyard for the bones of a dinosaur, but a dinosaur without legs... this was an ancient wooden ship, and a burial site for an Anglo-Saxon king who had reigned here, fifteen hundred years ago. Somehow, the languid waters still conveyed the memories of when only yesterday, invaders had appeared from nowhere, carried in strange vessels that seemed to fly over the waters.

Then a movement disturbed the tranquil scene, and now another invader, a sleek car... a two-door 'Jaguar' saloon, eased its silent way into the parking lot overlooking the quiet river, and stopped. For a while, nothing happened, then the door opened on the driver's side, and a woman got out and stood looking around.

Then she took off her lightweight cotton windbreaker that she wore over her dress - the 'Jag.' was air-conditioned of course - and put it on the seat, picked up her purse and closed the door. She slowly made her way to an empty bench under the trees that overlooked the river, and sat herself down.

Her graceful movements would have spoken volumes to a keen observer, expressing as they did, her presence to the world around her.

She was very beautiful still... she was fifty-two, and time and genes had been very kind to her. She looked no older than in her thirties, and she thanked the fates every morning, when she looked into the mirror.

Her thick and lustrous pale golden hair, which normally hung loosely down to the small of her elegant back, was today pulled back in a lusciously fat pony-tail, bound in a colourful scarf. Several loose strands of hair were casually arranged on each side of her lovely face, framing it artistically.

She was fairly tall, and her short summer dress, though loose, couldn't hide the very shapely body, her thrusting breasts and her almost sinful bottom. Her legs were a sweet continuation of that sin; her calves and trim ankles were accentuated by the high-heeled wedged sandals, that she wore.

The keen observer might well have concluded, that here was a beautiful woman who knew her place, and how to keep it. In short, a woman who had it all, and sought nothing else out of life. And would have been right... and also wrong in just one respect.

Because Megan.. that was her name.. was on a pilgrimage. A trip to nostalgia, back through time to the golden years of her first lesbian love affair. An affair with her long time girl-friend... they had grown up together, gone to school together, worked together in the same office, then finally become lovers.

Her friend and lover had been named Chelsy, and the last time Megan had seen her was back in 1956, twenty-six years ago....

Chapter 1.

Megan had arrived yesterday in the late afternoon, and checked into the fondly remembered hotel at the main intersection. She had carefully parked the Jag. in the inner courtyard, easing it in between the lesser cars.

She had been pleasantly surprised, although she had mentioned it to her travel agent, when she found that she actually had the same room that she and Chelsy had occupied often, many years ago. She was to be pleasantly surprised even further, when she was taken up to the room, and found that it had been completely renovated.

It had been enlarged, it was now a suite, and a large full bathroom had been installed, all very modern. Everything looked new... except for the queen-sized bed, with it's old brass bedstead, and Megan had flopped out on it in pleasure. She chuckled to herself... Chelsy would have liked this!

Mind you, the old single room had seemed big enough to them thirty-odd years ago, big enough for their shenanigans.... even with the white porcelain pot under the bed, and the bathroom down the hall.

Then she smiled to herself, realizing that everything here seemed smaller to her assimilated North American standards, that she had lived with over the years. It had been the same in reverse, when she had first gone to Canada long ago.

The main street, now called the 'Thoroughfare' , had been changed to one-way traffic only. The sidewalks had been widened, but some quaint little stores still seemed to be tripping over each other. The town had obviously embraced the growing concept of tourism as a means to economic survival, and seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it, she thought.

She chuckled as she thought back to the old days, when traffic was both ways... you took your life in your hands on the narrow sidewalks at night, when cars piloted by inebriated drivers, roared recklessly past.

She had unpacked, hanging up her clothes in the large mirrored closet, and put her other stuff away in the lavender scented drawers. The windows of the second floor suite overlooked the main street, and she pulled up a chair to the window and people-watched for a while.

Finally she had run a bath, and piling her thick hair high on her head, and sticking a few clips in it, luxuriated in the faintly scented bubbles of the supplied sachet. Then she had drained the tub and quickly showered, being careful not to wet her hair. She dressed conservatively, 'twin-set and pearls', and went down to the dining room for dinner.

She was pleased to see that the big dark magnificent 'side-board' was still there. She ordered the "Lightly fried calves liver in herb sauce, with sautéed onions and tiny button mushrooms," and was delighted, when it came with a small chafing dish of broiled tender kidneys on the side.

And another small dish of "... gently mashed potatoes, with small baby cauliflower florets, very carefully blended in whole," and little golden nuggets of frozen butter here and there. She found she was hungry, and wolfed the lot down - to hell with watching the calories, she was on holiday... at least for the moment.

Afterwards, she wandered into the small lounge-bar, and perched on a stool at one end of the curved bar. The bartender was quite fascinated by her beauty, and when he found out from their sporadic conversation, that she was an 'old-timer' here, he introduced her to the regulars that gathered around the bar.

One of them, a man about her own age, stood quietly listening to their desultory conversation as the night wore on, and his handsome face triggered something in her memories. But she couldn't put a finger on it. Megan thought he had shown a sudden interest, when he had heard her tell the bartender her maiden name.

And that she had worked as a civilian secretary-typist, at a nearby one-time R.A.F. base, in the fifties. However he had said nothing, and she had forgotten about it, and she went on to become the hit of the evening, with the local crowd.

She had begged off fairly early, gone to bed, and slept like a log for fourteen hours straight, her 'jet-lag' finally catching up with her. She had woken up with a slight hangover, late this morning, and had finally rolled out of bed, and into the bathroom, where she did her thing.

Then she slipped a shower cap over her tousled golden mane, and stepped gratefully under the shower. Later, refreshed, she had called room service, and then relaxed in hedonistic pleasure, as she drank her tea, and ate her toasted buttered crumpets. She had lazed around in her room for a while, people-watching out of the windows again, then she went down for a late lunch.

She found when she got to the dining room, that she wasn't very hungry after all... must be the crumpets she thought, and chuckled to herself. So she ordered a small fruit salad, and 'toyed' with that as she thought out her next move. By now, she was the only customer left in the room, and she looked around her as she ate leisurely.

She looked at the side-board that had to be at least two hundred years old, and at the finely cracked glazing of the dish that held the salad, and she was suddenly caught up in the very 'Englishness' of everything.

Suddenly she laughed out aloud, and the waitress had looked at her, startled. Megan had just remembered some lines from Jerome K. Jerome's novel, 'Three Men in a Boat', where the heroes in the book had done exactly the same thing, before a sculling trip on the river Thames, that flowed through London.

Except that they had 'toyed' with steak and onions, followed by rhubarb tart. And also that the river Thames was a lot more pristine, at least up-river, than the Deben, she seemed to recall. All of a sudden, she was glad she had come back - no matter how the chips fell, this was nice!

Her mind went back to her earlier schooldays here, and her delight then at all things new. To when she had discovered the magic of books, and voraciously read everything that had been placed before her. She remembered that she had marvelled at the new worlds that were described, and brought to life in her thirsty mind. And the best part of it all, was that it was timeless.

She finished her lunch, and strolled into the lounge-bar for a glass of wine, she was still not sure what next. There were only a few customers left after the lunch hour, most had to go back to work, and she sat at the same stool she had held court in, last night.

Her friendly bartender had been replaced by a young woman, the day shift, Megan idly supposed. Her back was turned to Megan, and she was talking quietly to the man who had shown interest in her last night, and he stopped as he saw Megan come in and sit down. He quietly said something to the young woman, then she turned around, and Megan almost fell off her stool.

As she looked at the lovely young face, she could have sworn that it was Chelsy that stood there, smiling at her. She came over to take her order, and Megan looked helplessly into the young woman's eyes.... dear God, those eyes! They were river green with gold flecks around the iris, and they seemed to swim into Megan's own, just as Chelsy's had so long ago.

Megan had been unable to resist their opiate then... and now here they were back again. As Megan stared in disbelief at the smiling face before her, the man who had been talking to her came over, and asked if he could join her.

She nodded, in complete confusion, quite unable to take her eyes off the young woman. He sat down, then very casually, he asked her if she didn't remember him... his name was Paul Marais.

Megan reluctantly dragged her eyes away from this new Chelsy, and looked at him in even more confusion. 'Marais' had been Chelsy's married name, so this must be her husband, the one who had owned the pub... whose name had been on the telegram... she gulped.

He didn't give her time to answer, but with a big smile on his face, said: "Well I remember you! I especially remember that you and Chelsy always had so much fun, at the old 'Red Lion', when I was a waiter there!"

Megan felt as if she had been pole-axed. Now she could place him... he had been the waiter in the public bar of the 'Red Lion', where the R.A.F. servicemen from 'The Heath' congregated at nights.

They usually started off quietly enough, but as the night wore on, they would gather around the battered piano with their beer-mugs, singing away, their faces getting more flushed as the beer took it's toll.

And being servicemen, it wouldn't be long before some of the songs got a little bawdy, before Ted the landlord, told them to knock it off... "Please Gentlemen... Ladies present!" Megan even remembered the words of one of the songs, it had been called, of all things, 'They're Digging up Father's Grave'!

She and Chelsy had usually ended up in the adjacent 'Fireside Lounge' as the evening wore on and the noise grew. But now Megan could remember seeing Paul doing his thing, through the open door of the bar area that served both rooms. She stared at him as her mind flashed back over the years, then at the young woman, who was smiling broadly at her now ... of course, this had to be Kate!

Paul laughed at her, then said: "That's right, I'm Chelsy's husband, and this lovely young lady here, is Kate... she is our daughter!"

Now Megan had heard everything... and her brain started to whirl in mad confusion, as Kate smiled at her, and extended her hand. Megan took it, unconsciously marvelling at its soft elegance in her own, as she looked incredulously at the two smiling faces.

Chapter 2.

Flash-back thirty years.

The 'Red Lion' had been a well known hostelry, at the bottom of a steep hill on the road from Ipswich to points north-east, and was the local pub for 'R.A.F. Station, Martlesham Heath, Blind Landing Experimental Unit.' in 1952.

She and Chelsy had worked at the base as typists, in the administration offices, then she had been promoted, and finally ended up working as the secretary\typist to the Officer in charge of air operations, a rather dashing young Squadron Leader.

She remembered herself and Chelsy coming to the 'Lion' from Woodbridge, in the early days, usually on Friday nights. They would get a ride home in the R.A.F bus that stopped at the pub, then went on to Woodbridge late at night, to pick up the airmen, after they had spilled out of the various pubs.

She and Chelsy had been popular with the servicemen, going to the camp dances, and the dances here at the hotel, in the adjacent annex. But they had always left together by themselves, never with the horny airmen. The two girls had a secret... they were lovers.

In those days, one kept quiet about one's little foibles, and they observed the proprieties. People might suspect... but there was no 'coming out' and proclaiming it to the world... they didn't love each other any less, in fact there was a certain piquancy to it. After Megan's promotion, they had been part of the Officer's Mess scene, but nothing really changed for them.

Then completely out of the blue, Megan had fallen in love with her young Squadron Leader, and the two women had stopped their lesbian relationship. Chelsy had been happy for Megan, and been bridesmaid at her wedding in 1955. Megan's husband had completed his R.A.F. career in 1956, deciding not to sign up again, and the couple had gone to Canada, where he flew for the national airline, which ultimately became 'Air Canada'.

Shortly afterwards, Chelsy herself had got married to someone named Paul, who had a pub in Woodbridge, called the 'Old Sailor', or something similar. Megan didn't remember anyone named Paul, but did remember vividly, having some wild nights there in the quaint old pub with Chelsy.

Nights that usually ended up 'after hours' in the back room. This Paul must have bought the pub, after Megan had left England, she thought to herself.

Anyhow the two women had stayed in touch, writing often, telephone calls on their birthdays and at Christmas, that kind of stuff. Chelsy soon had a daughter, who she called Kate, and Megan had two of her own, twins yet!

Megan had sent for her parents, things were rather bleak in England then, and they had quickly settled in to the Canadian lifestyle, much to Megan's surprise. Her Mother couldn't get over the modern kitchen appliances, the indoor bathrooms, and the central heating in the houses.

They were a big help in helping Megan raise the twins, who had grown up and were now in their own wedded bliss, in sunny California and Florida respectively.

About ten years ago, she had been surprised and upset, when Chelsy's letters stopped coming. But she was absolutely devastated when a telegram had arrived, saying that Chelsy had passed away in hospital, after a short illness. Megan hadn't suspected a thing... Chelsy had never hinted at anything being wrong with her.

Then five years ago, Megan's husband had been killed... not in one of the airplanes he flew, but in a stupid accident in which he had been a passenger.

And she had pulled down the blinds of her life for a little while, mourning her losses. Finally, she had re-surfaced, and picked up the pieces of her life again with the help of her parents and friends. Her husband's life insurance had left her 'comfortable' as they say, and she had drifted rather aimlessly for a while.

She had never worked while she was married... bringing up two girls was handful enough. Then completely by accident, she had found that she had a talent for the real-estate business, and she had built up a small but very profitable company in Toronto.

Now she was here in England on business, her first meeting slated in London in four days time. Of course she had an ulterior motive when she had agreed to the trip, she could revisit some old stamping grounds of hers and Chelsy's!

All this had flashed through Megan's mind, as she looked at the faces of Chelsy's husband and daughter, both of whom were laughing in obvious pleasure, at her sweet confusion.

It was all too much for Megan, and she burst into tears...

Chapter 3.

Megan sat on the bench by the river, in the sun, thinking over the recent events, Paul and Kate had finally calmed her down, and brought her up to date on the last twenty-six years. Then Paul had left the two women alone, he had his own pub to run. Kate and Megan had instantly clicked... it was as if Chelsy had somehow left her presence on her daughter, and the two chatted it up as if they had known each other all their lives.

Then it had come time for the bar to close for the afternoon.. they did that in England then, re-opening again at five. Kate had hesitated, then asked Megan if she could meet her down by the river, in half an hour... she had something to give her, but it was at home. She could easily walk the short distances involved, she said, and refused Megan's offer to drive her.

Megan's thoughts were finally interrupted by Kate, when forty minutes later, she sat down next to her on the bench. She had changed her clothes, and was now wearing a loose t-shirt over a pair of rather tight jeans, and Megan thought she looked awfully cute, as she ran her eyes over her shapely body.

She smiled at Megan, then said seriously: "Mother never forgot you... and she asked me to give you this." and much to Megan's surprise, handed her a rumpled and faded envelope.