Some Kind Of Path

I would like to express my huge gratitude and immense thanks to my fabulous friend

rosewoodtulip

who gave me the character of Maggie when we chatted... she inspired her and inhabits her being and I took her and ran away. Rosie also helped with THAT playlist and didn't think it an odd request when I asked for such songs, Basically, without @rosewoodtulip the character wouldn't have grown from a thought into a person into a story.

Thank you so much, Rosie. I hope you like what I did with her.

-----------

Prologue - The end of the beginning

According to studies, the three most stressful life events were: Divorce; The death of a family member or partner; and moving house.

It was just her luck that, like buses, two of these arrived at once to complete the set for her. The third, thankfully, having visited several years previously.

She had been expecting her dad to pass away, his health failing, her mother doting on him, feeding, cleaning and being a rock as he faltered. Her death had stunned her and the rest of the family, a needless accident robbing them of someone they had all thought was invincible and leaving her elderly dad bereft.

Chapter 1 - Autumn

There had been a brief trip home for the funeral and plans were made and now she stood, surveying the boxes that cluttered her small home, ready to be taken back to her old one, her life changed forever, again. The life she had escaped returning to haunt her and drag her back, not so much kicking and screaming, more sobbing and resigned, mood slumping as the noise of the removal van grew louder.

She didn't talk much to the men as they lugged the boxes out, just stood watching her life move in cardboard. She smiled and thanked them, closing the door for, almost, the last time, another trip needed to sort out the finalities of the move, a handing over of keys, one last walk around the floors next week.

The train was on time and she sipped coffee as she waited for her connection to London, the anxiety growing, the slight dread of using the underground system, checking and rechecking she still had her card for it, visualising the route from train to tube and the connection needed to get her home, that last word sounding odd in her thoughts.

A sandwich as the scenery blurred past, the last of her bread, cheese and salad used up and she stared at it, teeth-marked and exposed and a tear ran down and dripped onto the chunk of cheddar.

The rest of the journey was a daze, weaving through tourists, mingling with commuters, shuffling into carriages and sitting silently, watching each stop pass until the underground burst out into the late summer sun of the suburbs. A short walk, the route automatic, like a bird heading for it's home after wintering away, rows and rows of houses, a terraced blur until a familiar one loomed.

A deep breath, key poised and then a look around the small front garden, the flowers already in need of attention, missing her mother's touch.

"Hi love." The voice frail, yet strong and she heard him moving in the living room.

"Hi dad. You ok?" she wanted to hug him tight, but feared she'd break him, as if he wasn't broken enough.

"Yes love, You? Was the journey ok? Want tea?" The words bombarding her and she tried to swat them away by shaking her head, long wavy hair stirring dust motes in the sunlit room.

She made the tea, trying to acquaint herself with the kitchen again, opening cupboards, finding favourite mugs and the biscuits and then placed everything on a tray to rest, accept her new life, try and adapt.

"When does the van arrive, Mags?" Dad always called her that, the only person to, even her mother used Margaret, usually barked when she had done something wrong, occasionally slipping to Maggie as she grew and then she knew the full name meant she was in trouble again.

"Tomorrow. I've got essentials in my suitcase." the conversation faltering, both coming to terms with things.

"What would you like for dinner?" The question threw her, she had expected to cook and had realised earlier she didn't bring any food with her, or stop for shopping on the way.

"What? You can't cook."

"My cooking isn't that bad!" he laughed. "You're not veggie, are you?"

"Why? I mean, no, not entirely, but I don't eat much meat." She was still confused and now her father was walking towards the kitchen and she quickly went after him.

"I don't either, but maybe once or twice a week. Still, there should be enough to rustle up something." He said, not looking back as she scrambled after him.

"DAD!" she stomped her foot on the lino floor of the kitchen and he finally stopped and turned, smiling, mischief in his eyes.

"Daughter?"

"You should be sitting down."

"Why?" his smile got bigger.

"Because you're not well." she stomped her foot a little more, exasperated by him as he opened the fridge and peered inside.

"Who said?"

There was a silence, just for a second, but enough.

"Well." another silence as she thought. "I was told..."

"Who told you?"

"Mum."

"Yes. About that." and he placed some vegetables on the table and a few jars and pots and headed to the cooker to grab the saucepans from the shelf above. "Sit down love." and she did just that.

She watched as he chopped the food, rice already simmering and the frying pan sizzling, ready for each ingredient as he spoke, calm, firm and steady.

"You see." he said as he neared the end of preparing the meal, "I was never THAT infirm, but mother insisted she look after me. She had no one else to fret and fuss over. I am quite capable." and he ducked back as the food hissed when he threw it in the pan.

"So, why did I have to come and look after you?"

"No idea. I never said you did."

She felt a bit too sick to eat now. It was all a mistake. She didn't have to be here, but her brain refused to accept it.

"I was told you were too frail." she mumbled, watching him move easily.

"Who told you?"

"Mum, before... obviously. Aunt Carol..."

"Mum told Carol. Mum thought I needed looking after, I never said it. I never asked you to come back."

"Do you want me here?"

"Of course, but I never told you. Everyone made up their mind, but didn't ask me."

"Why didn't you say no?"

"I was grieving. Still am. I lose half of my being. Of course I was in a mess, but... I can look after myself." and a silence descended again.

A sigh from her, one from him too as the food sizzled and sauce was added.

They ate the stir fry and rice with just odd words, letting the situation sink in, both deep in thought, wondering how to resolve this, wondering if they could.

The evening dragged. Stilted conversations, the air heavy and the TV just a distraction.

"What time does your stuff arrive?"

Maggie checked her phone and the details.

"Ten in the morning."

"Will they need any help?"

"DAD!" she squealed, trying not to laugh at him. "You're an old man who, I was led to believe, could barely stand."

"Don't believe all you are told, young lady." he chuckled and stood. "I will go to bed, leave in peace. Don't worry, Mags, it'll be ok." and he walked passed and his hand reached out, skinny fingers, more bone than flesh, squeezed her hand and she felt the strength in him still.

She sat, the night chilling as Autumn approached, creeping into the edges of the day, hiding in shadows, cool and damp. She stood in the back garden, the flowers slightly ragged now and overgrown plants crowded around the small bench and table where the family would gather on Summer nights, watching Swifts scream overhead, seeing the flitter of animals and insects in the gloom. She wondered how much had changed under the surface, this suburb now busy with people, new houses and buildings close by, a new road not far away. She hadn't seen the changes, even on holiday visits she stayed to what she knew from her past, seeking comfort there, shunning anything new that destroyed her childhood memories. She would have to find out now.

The morning was sunny and her dad was up and had made coffee and she found him in the garden, a steaming mug of tea in his hands, watching the occasional cloud bob along in the weakening blue sky.

"Morning love." he said and raised the mug and she raised her one, the coffee swilling around inside, steam swirling in the cool air.

Neither of them needed to help, the removal men well versed in their task as boxes were hauled upstairs to her room and the smaller spare one. It took less than two hours and her life was now completely in the old house again.

"Need help unpacking?" and her dad fussed about, checking the boxes were undamaged and trying to peek inside and she giggled at him, still the same dad, still funny, sweet and nosy.

"No thanks. I only really need the clothes." and she pointed to four boxes in her room.

"What's in the others?" and he moved his head, looking at the others and then nodded down the hall to the spare room where another load waited to be opened.

"Mostly music, CDs and stuff. Books too. Most stuff I left behind, the kitchen stuff, as I knew you had it all. Gave lots to a charity shop, just household things. I have some pictures and ornaments, trinkets and stuff, but they can wait."

"You're not going to unpack your music and listen?" he knew how she loved music, going to concerts at an early age with friends, watching Top Of The Pops every Thursday, the radio always on, the music papers strewn around the house, new bands highlighted, gig listings pinned to the kitchen notice board.

A silence broken by the sound of strong tape being cut and a box of clothes was opened.

"No, dad. No." and he opened his mouth to reply, but saw her look and rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment before walking away.

"I'm making tea." he called as he headed down the stairs.

The clothes were put away, drawers and wardrobes now full, a sense of normality returning. The toiletries were arranged in the bathroom, a small tray of shampoo, toothpaste and gels to one side and she tidied her father's stuff and noticed a shampoo bottle, her mother's favourite, some still left and she flipped the lid and sniffed, the scent making her eyes stream as the memories flooded back, that smell, diluted, but the same, as she nestled to her all those years ago, the long dark blonde strands draping across her face as her mother held her tight. Mousy, her mother called her colour, but to her it was exotic, different to her dark locks, inherited from her father.

Legs trembled and slowly gave way until she was kneeling, back to the towel rack, tears pouring down her face, chest shuddering with each wracking cry.

She threw the bottle in the bin after she had stopped, then reached and picked it out and put it back on the shelf, between her tray and her father's stuff and then went to get some coffee.

"You should explore the area." he was talking a lot, unused to company and being able to speak freely for some time. "There's the new road with all the posh houses." and he pointed and her eyes followed, knowing where he meant even if she couldn't see.

"What's there?"

"Posh houses."" he laughed. "There is a pond too, got some birds on, you probably won't need your binoculars as it's not that big." and she chuckled. He had encouraged her love of nature and heartily approved when she got her first pair of binoculars and joined him on a trip to a nature reserve.

"So, posh houses and a small pond. Hmmm, maybe save it for a day when I can get an early start." and he stared at her, trying to look angry at her sarcasm, but just laughed.

"There's a path to the river too. Also a few little green bits. They have signs saying they are important to wildlife. Not sure how, but maybe because of the nature centre."

"Is that place any good?" it was another place she had never been, a new centre for wildlife created out of wasteland.

"Been a few times." he mumbled and took a slurp of tea to help him think. "Lots of stuff, birds, plants and the like. Seemed a bit too full of twitchers though." he laughed.

"I thought you were one!" she laughed with him.

"No, I just like seeing the wildlife, not fussed about ticking boxes and making lists." and he smiled at her, the years not changing that look. "Too many people in camouflage clothing." he chuckled.

"Maybe we can go there together one day?"

"As long as you don't wear camouflage clothing."

"Are you that opposed to it?" she cackled, his humour had always hit her, causing fits of giggles when she was younger and still doing so.

"I'll not be able to find you" he added and she spat out some coffee and her head rested on the table as she gasped for air, laughing like she hadn't for a long time.

He cooked again, but she had made a trip to a local supermarket to get some supplies in and he stared as she had presented him with some vegetarian sausages to go with their chips and egg.

"Not bad." he mumbled as he chewed it. "No idea what's in it though." he said, eyes sparkling as she laughed again, almost choking on a chip.

"You should have a walk, it's a nice evening." and she stared at him and then out the window. It was getting dark, earlier each evening, the blue descending fast.

"Nah, I still don't know the area."

"Go down the new road, it's very safe. No one walks, they all have numerous fancy cars to drive."

"Where does the road go?"

"Nowhere. It's a road to nowhere, just loops around."

She looked out the window and was tempted. She loved her father, but she needed to be alone again, so many years that way was hard to throw away.

"So, it just goes in a loop?" she was still unsure and couldn't be bothered to look at a map on her phone.

"Yes. Go towards the main road, down the little cut through and then head left. The road bends around. You'll see the path to the river between the building. Keep going and you end up where you started. The pond is about halfway."

She stared at him, but he smiled, settling her nerves, knowing his daughter well.

He was right, there was no one around and she felt settled, almost safe. Big houses, lights glowing, curtains open to display the furnishings in empty rooms, lined the road and her footsteps sounded loud in the quiet evening.

"Fucking 'ell." she mumbled as she peered into one house, a large bookcase stuffed filled one all. "Wonder if they will let me borrow some." she chuckled as she turned to carry on walking.

The path to the river was full of warning signs, designed to make people think they weren't welcome, but actually to say the garden parts were private, the path public. It was a strange world where they wanted people to stay away, but couldn't keep them out. Another small path, lined with trees and dark, but she ignored it, even though she was tempted, just to annoy the people who wanted the public not to use it. More big houses, more cars in the drive, she walked and sighed at the strange world that had moved next door to hers.

A patch of green and a warning sign. This time telling that it was a "wildlife corridor" and she had no idea what that was, but looked for any wildlife and saw none, just a discarded hire bike. She kept walking, frowning at this fake world, envying the houses, but not the lifestyle they seemed to have.

Another green patch and a streetlight blazed next to it and the red made her jump. He, she assumed it was a man by the general shape, was standing still, lit brilliantly, his coat flaring in the darkening evening. He wasn't moving, standing, staring up. She stopped, silently watching, wondering. His head moved slightly, dark hair shifting as he turned now and then, gaze shifting, but always up. She was going to ask if he as ok, but there seemed no point, he didn't look in distress, only odd.

"I guess even posh areas have a local loon." she mumbled to herself and began to walk away, her ears just picking up a faint hissing sound and she moved her head to try and trace it, but it was just white noise and she shook her head as if to rid her ears of it and then walked on.

The pond was quiet, but two large white shapes appeared in the dark water, three smaller ones in their wake and more ripples on the lamp-lit water showed others joining them in coming to check out the human, hoping they had food. Eager and expectant faces looked up, Swans, Ducks, Coots and a lone Moorhen. She held her hands up, empty, to show them, but still they looked for a few moments more until realisation set in and one Coot began to swim away, its partner following. The house lights bounced over ripples from across the water and smudges flicked in front of her, making her rub her eyes, blinking to clear the black dots and blobs of age away before she turned and walked back to her adventure.

She was home soon, wondering if she should do another lap, but slightly worried about the man in red. Had he been walking, it would be normal, but he was very not normal.

The routine settled, she worked from home three days a week, searching for something more now, although the money was enough. Her father fussed over her, rather than the other way around. He would go out more than her, his elderly social activities taking place several times a week, a mini-van coming to collect the locals and she started to sink again, another life lost, another dead end, like the road, just looping to nowhere and nothing, endless circles.

"Why don't you play music?" Her father asked as they sat watching a quiz show. "You always had music playing."

She thought. The time for hiding was over.

"Memories." she said, trying to avoid spitting the word out.

"What memories?" His eyes were warm and gentle and her venom vanished.

"Of him. He never liked my music. Hated me playing it. He said I was sad because I listened to sad music."

"Not because you were married to him." and he chuckled and she tried to hold hers in, but failed. "It's like in that book, where he wonders if he is sad because he listens to sad music, or he listens to it because he is sad." and his smile warmed her.

"You read that book?"

"You gave it to me one birthday!" he laughed and she gave up trying to be surly now and just laughed with him.

"Yeah, so... bad memories of listening to music." she mumbled.

"But not the music. So why not play it?" She looked into his dark eyes, the shine she remembered since she could remember. She had no answer to him.

"Pipistrelle." he shouted and she jumped a little from her own world and her eyes went from him to the screen.

"What? How did you know that?" she laughed as the correct answer was given on the show, matching her father's word.

"Everyone knows the Pipistrelle is Britain's smallest bat." Once again, he had beaten her in a quiz, even a TV one. He always would.

"Everyone, but me." she added. "Had bats around the old place, but no idea what they were." and her mood began to slide.

The weekend was still warm and she unpacked her CDs, lining the new shelves she had assembled the day before. The stereo was on a shelf waiting, she had plugged in her little music player, but it sat, the screen glowing for a second, then going dark, the occasional dot flickering. It seems that had died too and it summed up how she felt.

Another box emptied and she lay down to rest, watching the dust motes in the rays that streamed through the curtains. The house was quiet, her father out again, an afternoon trip to a park, or stately home, something more interesting than she could think of to do.

Music.

She jumped and stared at the speakers as it came out and she looked around for the source. Her player glowed, finally charged enough, kicking into life on its own, struggling to breathe again, bursting out.

She shook, goosebumps on her, arms, legs, neck as a familiar song played and the tears ran down her face.