Undying Read online

  As I ate what was a really dry meat pie, I overheard a man to my left, in the outer row of seats, imploring a passenger next to him to stay awake for the next 13 hours, as it would give them the best chance of limiting their jetlag and synchronise with Ireland’s timezone. His reasoning was justified but unachievable, I would think.

  Maybe sleep was my only option.

  And sleep was one thing I hadn’t had enough of recently. I was looking forward to this opportunity to catch up, regardless of any later consequences of jetlag.

  When I looked over to my right, Elizabeth had her earphones on and was engrossed in some film and poor Edward seemed to be fighting with his control device. No goodnights were needed, so I lay back in my seat and closed my eyes. I loved sleep, even though I was far from good at it. My nights are always filled with conundrums of another time; Victoria, a woman that has seemed to occupy my dreams most nights, of horses and carriages, balls and royalty. Consequently, most of my spare time had consisted of trying to piece the dream puzzles into a story. My mind never seemed to stop. I had sought the advice of a dream expert at one stage, but she had been no help at all. Forty-five dollars for a fifteen-minute session, and all I got was a bit of light entertainment, listening to her banter. Her advice to write down what I dreamt had now become an obsession – a story.

  Time for sleep now…

  When I woke, my body felt cramped from the awkward position I had slept in. I looked around. Most of the passengers I could see were still asleep and the plane’s cabin lights were still dimmed. I looked to find that Elizabeth wasn’t in her seat. She couldn’t have gone far, I imagined.

  “Good morning Catherine, I trust you slept well?” Edward asked in his refined English accent.

  “Yes, thank you,” I lied. “And you?”

  “Well enough, my dear. Elizabeth was not as fortunate. She woke several hours ago and could not get back to sleep,” Edward said as he rose from his seat, scanning for his beloved. Elizabeth was now in sight, and she looked different – somewhat pale and tired. Edward stepped out into the aisle to let his wife in.

  “Good morning Catherine, did you sleep well?” Elizabeth asked, as she exhaustedly sank down into her chair.

  “Yes, thank you I did, and you?” I replied, already knowing the answer to my question.

  “No, not at all! Unfortunately I woke, for who knows what reason, and could not for the life of me get back to sleep,” she said as she took a deep breath and sighed. She was obviously drained.

  “I was envious watching you and Edward in deep sleep,” she stated with a smirk on her face, looking directly at me, with one eyebrow raised.

  “You were quite entertaining,” she added.

  “Oh, no! Please don’t tell me I was talking in my sleep?” I pleaded, mortified at the prospect. It was something Annie had told me about often enough.

  She nodded and then leaned over to me reassuringly.

  “It’s perfectly fine dear.”

  Her voice became lower and she moved closer to me. We must have looked like two friends sharing a secret, not wanting another soul to hear what was being said between us.

  “Can you remember what you dreamt about?”

  “Not anything that would make any sense to relate. I am so very sorry to have kept you awake with my talking. I am almost terrified to ask you what I was saying.”

  She paused for a moment, almost unsure if she should share with me what she had heard.

  “Well, firstly you started humming,” she finally said.

  “Humming? Oh no, I am so embarrassed,” I said, covering my face with one hand.

  “Please don’t be. I have to confess, you made me feel so happy and alive. You see… the melody you were humming was a tune that recalled my fondest memories as a young child. I should be the embarrassed one!” she confessed.

  “It brought tears to my eyes. Catherine, I just can’t comprehend how you would know that tune,” she added.

  “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  Elizabeth paused, as she corrected her posture. She was obviously a very proud woman who was always conscious of her appearance and stance. She looked over at Edward who was now immersed in his novel, and then back at me.

  “And then…” she continued, “you were terribly saddened. You seemed to be in a great deal of pain. You were trembling and I was tempted to wake you when you suddenly stopped.”

  I shook my head still not remembering.

  Edward poked his head up from over Elizabeth’s shoulder, curious to know what we were quietly talking about. He did not ask and we did not say, so he returned to his novel and with perfect timing, breakfast was served.

  As I ate, I started to think about what Elizabeth had said. Not that it had made much sense. It was more the melody that intrigued me.

  What was the tune I was humming, was it something I could put into my story, maybe dancing, I don’t know?

  The rest of the flight seemed to last forever. I never realised how exhausting it was to watch the minutes go by. Fortunately, I closed my eyes to rest them. What am I doing? Is this really the right thing for me to do? Should I have stayed in Australia?

  I opened my eyes to force myself to stop thinking. And just like that Elizabeth was there waiting for me with her smile. If only she knew how much she is helping me right now. “Are you alright, dear?” she whispered.

  The announcement then sounded, asking for all passengers to put their seatbelts on and return their seats to an upright position. We were starting our descent.

  I was finally here! It was almost too hard to believe that I was about to set foot on British soil. The plane began to whine, a sudden thump and then a loud screech as the tyres touched the ground. We had landed. I had arrived.

  In an instant, the plane became chaotic, with every last passenger out of his or her seat and organising their things to exit. The relaxed, quiet environment that had been enjoyed by all just a few moments ago was now long gone and sheer pandemonium had replaced it. Everyone was in a hurry to leave.

  Did I miss something?

  Even Elizabeth and Edward had joined the pandemonium.

  Was there a lucky prize for the first person off the plane that I didn’t know about? Or was it that all the passengers except me had loved ones anxiously waiting for them at the airport and they could not wait to be reunited? I have no one to be reunited with. That’s a little depressing I thought.

  On that note, I decided there was a prize on offer for the first passenger off the plane. There was no way I was going to win today though; the competition was too fierce. I decided to wait. It didn’t matter to me if I was the last person off this plane.

  Edward and Elizabeth were sweet. They offered to let me through in front of them. I declined with thanks and told them that I did not mind waiting, encouraging them to go ahead and expressed how lovely it was to have met them. Edward gave me his card and insisted that I contact them at some point. They were now being forced to continue moving down the aisle by the impatient passengers behind them.

  I waited ten minutes or so, till the crowd cleared. Usually I hated waiting. I was the most impatient person I knew. When finally the coast was clear, there seemed to be only a small handful of other passengers who also didn’t mind waiting.

  Once inside the airport, I tried to keep pace with the small group in front of me, hoping they would lead me straight to my luggage. Thankfully they did.

  I headed for the doors. My walk was swift and as I approached the automatic door it welcomed me by opening at just the right time.

  “Ahh!” I screamed as I had my first taste of the new climate outside. It was freezing! The ice-cold air went through my clothes into my bones. I turned right around to head back into the warmth of the airport, but the welcoming doors that opened for me at the perfect time moments ago weren’t so welcoming this time. I had to walk back a couple of steps for the door sensors to detect me so I could return to the warm air inside.

  “You might want
to change before you go out again. The restrooms are just behind you,” advised a uniformed worker, who had obviously been entertained by my trouble getting back inside the glass doors.

  “Thank you. That sounds like a brilliant idea,” I replied, slightly embarrassed.

  I got to the restrooms quickly. Once there, I looked in the mirror and shook my head in disappointment.

  What are you thinking Catherine? Are you actually going to show up at the college looking like this? I don’t think so!

  I placed my bag on the bathroom floor and opened it. I washed my face with some cool water and dried it with a paper towel. I put on some skin cream that, according to the packaging, promised to make me glow.

  Intent on making a perfect first impression, I chose something warm, proper and beautiful. Surely, the entire faculty would be there on my arrival. I decided on my cream pants, white blouse, navy blazer and chocolate brown boots. Memories of the slap of cold wind I got when I first tried to exit the airport prompted me to also grab my gloves and scarf. Done! I zipped my bag up and had one final look in the mirror. Mission accomplished. I looked like a cross between a polo player and a wannabe Ralph Lauren model.

  This time I felt prepared and ready to walk out of those doors. I looked up at the time on the boards. It was 6 o’clock, which meant that if I left now I should arrive at the college by 8 o’clock.

  Outside it was still fairly dark and misty and the morning air was crisp on my face. Funny enough, what I could see didn’t really look like what I thought it would. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. It was very modern and quite ordinary.

  Silly really. I guess I must have been expecting horses, carriages, castles, and a few royals. That was quite ignorant I supposed. Nevertheless, I was here and I was sure that whatever I was looking for was here too.

  To my left I noticed a man dressed in a dark driver’s uniform staring at me with a paper sign in with my name written on it. I started to slowly walk towards him when he noticed me, and a relieved expression came over his face.

  “Miss White?” he exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  “I have been sent to collect you and take you to Wimborne College.”

  “Oh… Wow! Thank you!”

  In a matter of minutes, he had packed my bags in the car boot and we were off. It was such a relief: I could only imagine how much a taxi would have cost. I had always had an aversion to public transport. I refused to take a bus or train – a taxi was the only form of public transport I accepted. My attitude had always annoyed Annie, and, remembering my best friend, I sent her a text message to let her know that I had arrived safely.

  The driver was quite formal and refrained from small talk. No tour, not even “how was your flight?” I kept twisting my head left and right, not wanting to miss anything on either side of the road. To my left seemed to be miles of neatly cut grasslands and to my right countless trees. We seemed to have a clear run, unlike the cars heading east that were caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The display of flora on either side of me then turned into residential homes on my right, and to my left, sheep grazing on small perfectly rounded hills with an intermittent cluster of homes. As I leaned closer to the window the coldness of the glass startled me. I can’t believe I’m here! I wanted to feel nervous and surprised, but strangely enough I wasn’t. I am not sure why that is so. Was it because I was not impressed with what I was seeing? Or was it because I was expecting something more?

  Despite this, something wasn’t right. I looked out the car window a little disappointed, waiting for something exceptional, something historical. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath.

  Why are my expectations so high for this country?

  Every so often I would get a glimpse through the trees and indulge in the view of the sloping, rich green hills scattered with livestock. A blanket of light fog and mist was the only hint of cold that I had experienced earlier. Previously, my knowledge of England amounted to what I had read in books, seen in movies and my dreams. I could see now none of those things had done it justice; it was just breathtaking. The countryside was beautiful, full of substance, and it filled me with euphoria and fascination.

  “We’ll be there in less than an hour, Miss,” the driver unexpectedly announced to me.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  I closed my eyes and thought about Victoria, and what I may have dreamt last night. What did I miss that I would have been able to add to my story? Excitedly, I pulled out my laptop and continued with my story.

  I must be ill! At present there cannot be any other sensible explanation for my behaviour. My vulnerability annoyed me. Mother has sent for the doctor so many times that he is now constructing reasons to avoid seeing me, in fear of my insults. I am not in the least pleased with my actions, but I do not seem to have any command over them.

  “Victoria, I do not know what else to do. My nerves cannot hold up for much longer, please tell me what is happening to you,” my unfortunate mother said from the door of my room.

  “It is embarrassing, I am certain the whole town is talking about us! You have not left the house since the Campbell’s tea party; this is all I need to add to my list.” She continued to rant as she constantly straightened her dress and pulled back her hair.

  I don’t ever recall my mother standing still.

  “Mother, nothing is happening, I do not have an appetite, that is all.”

  “Charles Barton has come to see you almost every day since the Campbell’s tea party, why will you not see him? It’s upsetting.” Her eyes widened and I knew what her expression meant: she was due for one of her fits.

  “I have no interest in him, I loathe him.”

  “Hush Victoria, any sensible lady would be honoured to have Charles Barton at their doorstep. But you are annoyed. If he should call on you again today, what am I to say? My excuses have been exhausted!”

  “Will you not try telling the truth today? Tell him I despise him,” I replied.

  My mother left enraged but I don’t want him, I want nothing to do with Charles Barton, his very name makes me cringe. Why won’t he leave me alone?”

  As I slowly walked to my window, the deepest emptiness filled me, and the fear that this sentiment may never disappear frightened me. If only Charlotte were back from her vacation to Bath and was here to speak sense to me and shake me out of my bizarre behaviour.

  My mind seemed to be constantly occupied with nothing; I wanted to leave, I longed to be somewhere, I wanted Charles Barton to go back to the cavern that he had left and most of all… I… I wanted Jonathon Bates.

  Finally it was said. The one notion that has been occupying my thoughts since the day we met. I want him and only him. How was it possible that an impression so strong can be made in only a few moments? Even though I am ready to put aside all my pride and forged notions to be with him, why did he leave that day so quickly? Why did he say he would visit again and did not. Why did I have to meet him if I could not have him? I cannot believe that it has been almost two weeks since we first met at the Campbell’s. And with my confession came what I dreaded most – another visit from Charles Barton. The bell rang as it had done every day for the past two weeks in the late morning. Could Jonathon be at the Barton’s dinner party tomorrow evening or will I be forced to tolerate such boredom and torment without any allies? But today will be different, for today I will not hide from Charles Barton. I will give him the answer to the question that I know he wants to ask, and I will take pleasure in my reply.

  “Excuse me miss, a Mr Jonathon Bates is here to see you,” a servant announced from my doorway.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A Mr Jonathon Bates, Miss,” he repeated.

  “Ah, um, I won’t be a moment,” I stammered.

  “Very good Miss.”

  “Excuse me, Miss? My apologies for interrupting, but the scenery is quite beautiful here,” the driver interrupted.

  “Oh, OK, thank you,” I said, quickly closing my l
aptop. I couldn’t thank the driver enough; the village that we were going through was incredible! There were consistent terraces down every laneway. There was a scene of elegance and history around every corner. Private little gardens had pedal bikes parked out the front, leaning on iron rails. The one thing to distinguish these homes from each other was the colour of door the occupants had chosen.

  Not long now…

  For some reason, it was at that point I started thinking about the sleeping and living arrangements.

  Will I be the only female teacher? Where will I sleep? Will I be surrounded by men? How will I cope with that?

  Questions that had never crossed my mind before now seemed exceptionally important to me. Living on the school grounds with the majority of the teachers being male was going to be quite a challenge. Being an only child and then living with my unmarried aunt after my parents died, I had now come to realise that I was throwing myself in the deep end. At least I was arriving on a Saturday, and with a public holiday on Monday, I would have a few days to get over the flight, settle in and find my way around the college. I looked back out my window, the countryside continued to impress me. We drove over arched stone bridges and little creeks that were flowing with crystal clear water, edged with tall reeds and pretty spring flowers. Passing through some quaint villages I saw that they were mixed with little old cottages with thatch roofs, prestige homes and in the distance grand-looking stone castles. The sun still hadn’t shown itself, but a few locals were out and about.