The Parting of the Ways

( For other pieces of creative writing by me, see Stories and Poems: an index to my blogs )

The Parting of the Ways

The track led steeply up the side of the South Downs towards a celebrated viewpoint at the top. Climbing the track were four people – the older couple were the parents of the female half of the younger married pair. The young marrieds did not have a car of their own, so when a parental weekend visit was made it was good to take advantage of the chance to visit a local beauty spot that would otherwise be difficult to reach.

It had been a fine summer’s day up till then, so they were dressed accordingly and had no protection against the sudden heavy shower that fell upon them as they plodded up the track. They were soon completely soaked to the skin, and a debate started as to what to do next.

“That’s it. We’re turning back” said the older man. However, the younger man was not so sure.

“Why?” he said. “What’s the point of sitting in a parked car, soaking wet and uncomfortable, when we might as well carry on up the hill and see what we came to see? We’re not going to get any wetter than we are already”.

“We’re turning back.” repeated the older man, and promptly did so.

The younger man carried on walking up the track, determined not to miss this rare opportunity to see a fine view and convinced that the shower would soon pass and they would not stay wet for long once the stiff warm breeze that blew over the Downs had got to work.

He was the only one of the four who continued to the top. His wife followed her parents back down the track.

As far as the view from the top was concerned, everything turned out just as he had expected. It was a wonderful view, enhanced by a splendid rainbow as the late afternoon Sun caught the retreating shower cloud passing into the distance above the ridge of the Downs. He stayed there for several minutes, completely dry as he had forecast, and he looked forward to telling the other three about what they had missed.

However, when he got back to where the car had been parked it was nowhere to be seen. They had not waited for him to return but had driven off, presumably as some sort of punishment for daring to contradict his in-laws.

He had no choice but to start walking the twelve miles back to his home, and it was therefore well into the evening before he reached his front door.

He had hardly stepped through it before the shouting started. How dare he be so stupid as not to follow the older man’s advice? He was clearly in the wrong, so why did he not accept this? If he was going to be so wrong about not knowing when to turn back in the rain, what other dangers would he attempt to lead their daughter into? Just what sort of husband was he?

He was too tired to argue, but not too tired to say a few things that, in retrospect, were probably better not said. Wounds were opened that were going to be very difficult to close.

As for his wife, she said absolutely nothing. Just like her mother, she faded into the background and let her father do all the talking.

And that was how the marriage proceeded during the months that followed. Whenever the young couple needed to make a decision, she never agreed anything with her husband if she thought that her parents would disapprove. Instead of talking things through with her husband she would get on the phone to see what they thought.

His in-laws were keen to give the young husband plenty of advice about how to put things right. “You need to work at your marriage” they said. But how could he, when every move he made had to be referred back to the court of Mum and Dad? Or - to be more accurate - the court of Dad?

The literal parting of the ways on the downland track was only one stage in the inevitable breakdown and the final parting. As long as the young woman saw herself as a daughter first and a wife second, what other conclusion could there be?

There was a final irony to their separation, when he came home one day to find that she had packed her bags and was ready to call a taxi to take her to the station. She would have gone already, but she didn’t know how to read the railway timetable. When it came down to it, she needed his help before she could leave him and go back to Mum and Dad.

( For other pieces of creative writing by me, see Stories and Poems: an index to my blogs )

© John Welford