Part III: The Making of Memory
Static.
Like everything, everywhere else. The condition that characterised the entire world, inside and out, had crept into the walls of this courtyard; somehow found a way to invade, making the space seem smaller and more intolerable than it already was.
The wind had stilled to a wisp; there was no sound, no perceptible movement. No sign of life.
Although undeniably unnerving, there was always the possibility that she had misread the signals. After all, her senses were no longer quite so adept, having been progressively trained to expect the worst. Perhaps this stillness wasn't something to be feared; was a preparation for all the good that was to come, a cleansing. The calm after so many storms. It was long overdue; it was bound to come as a shock to the system, disguised, misconstrued.
The devil on her shoulder, burrowing its way fast into her brain, said entirely different and the same as ever. Don't be ridiculous; you're only deluding youself. Of course it's bad. How could you possibly think otherwise? A feeling all too familiar, but no less devastating to encounter. This day was like every other, before and after it. Except the fall was considerably greater this time around. Out of the oppressive silence came a whisper from within, sounding over and over, becoming louder each time it was repeated:
He's never coming back.
Then her mind blanked totally, the static seeping through, blocking out the awful echoes. Again, this was not a sensation that was uncommon to her now; was, in fact, one she would often welcome with open arms when it did arrive, just for some stolen, second-hand sense of peace. For as much as it was hectic, frantic with a million and one distinct thoughts battling each other and collectively waging war on her most of all, there were just as many occasions throughout this ordeal when her mind would simply relent and shut down temporarily; it had to, otherwise it would have short-circuited beyond all repair long ago. The blackout of all conscious feeling and thought would have frightened her in the past, been unthinkable for someone who thrived so much on the fine nuances of her emotions, whether good or bad. But now she was content precisely not to feel – at least not for a little while. Not when almost all that she had felt – in the most real sense of the word – recently had been emotions unwanted, undesired; disappointing and disillusioning. It brought a certain kind of consolation to have everything wiped, an easing of the permanent burden that accompanied her daily. It was self-preservation, pure and simple, and she needed to practise it otherwise she would lose herself completely.
The trouble was, it was happening far too frequently now, and increasingly without her being aware of it taking over. She was no longer in control of her mind; instead it was leading her into territory unknown and, what was worst of all, making her marks on previously-tread ground indistinguishable. Each time she succumbed to the suppression, another small but significant part of the network of her memory was switched off, evaporated gradually from existence. There was a price to pay for erasing the present, she was discovering nearly too late, and that was the extinguishing of the past. Everything had its equivalent – pain with joy – and to bypass one point was to obliterate its opposite, no matter how far apart they were.
Memory was a very strange thing indeed, she had come to realise. The ways in which it functioned in the brain, the fragments it chose to amplify and embed in the recesses, never to be moved or altered by the march of time or failing of faculty, while others of greater substance – at least she had reckoned – became buried deep, concealed closely like secrets never meant to be unearthed, were unfathomable. She had expected to be able to rely on it wholeheartedly, calling upon it in an instant to revive her in the coldest light of day and darkest depths of night. If there were no more memories to be made in the future then at least she would have the ones already created and cherished, dreams realised as compensation for those shattered before they had the chance to begin. Another trap she had wandered into unknowing. The things she had wanted so desperately to remember, resuscitate, were lost in shadows; their colours draining away faster than could be recovered. Snatches would come every now and then - looks exchanged across the servants hall and at the altar, words whispered in corners and vows sworn aloud, the briefest brushes of lips and never-ending embraces – but each time they appeared a little more faded, faltering; clarity blurring, experience forgotten. Outweighed and overwhelmed in the imagination by what was to follow, the memories she willed so hard to vanish but were to appear all the more vivid, against her hope. She wasn't just the passive victim of a cruel subconscious, though: she had her own part to play in this unravelling and unmaking of memory. The skill she had worked fastidiously on honing over the last few months, of selecting, sorting and shutting out all the unfavourable stares and overheard comments that were thrown her way, had become perfected to such a fine art that she had failed to notice how far it had become entrenched in her head. It was unfortunate that it had chosen to work against her, putting up further barriers to pleasure already remote and insistently bringing up the bad, blaring it until she could take no more. In response she had smothered the moments she had held so dear, destroyed them with her own desire to return to them again. She had used them as her shield, wrapped the remains of her happiness tight around her, covering herself so she could not be found by grief. She had conjured them up half-made against their will, used them up, worn them out until there was hardly anything left to sustain her.
And so she lay in bed in the endless run of nights, inviting every possible form of sadness to climb in next to her. Alone, but not quite; instead the room rang out with a cacophony of sounds replayed from the most agonising of all her memories – the ones that were most frequently relived when the hours became dark and silent. The slam of heavy steel doors; the cackling and chattering of a thousand people transformed to vultures. Loudest of all, the piercing primal scream that erupted from her at his moment of judgement, deafening and terrorising; its constant reverberation causing her to shoot up, shuddering and shivering in horror. And then the memory she had kept, clung onto against all odds, rushed to her head, came swiftly to calm her. Another voice, strong and silky and soothing; a whisper so close. She could almost feel him above her once more, his breath warm against her ear as his fingertips caressed the curve of her hip, easing her wedding-night nerves. The words he had said over and over as she truly became his wife and that she had kept in her consciousness ever since:
"I love you, Anna May Bates. I always have and I always will."
Listening attentively, never wanting to let go, she closed her eyes and let another blackout take her away, this time punctuated by a glimmer of white-hot stars before everything went blank once more. In the morning, she would wake to find the faint daylight streaming through her window, resting at her side. Her left hand, palm facing upwards, was placed parallel to her head on the pillow, fingers curled as if they were joined fast with another's, invisible. Remembering: their two hands laced together; united, inseparable, laying in the very same place as he repeated his vow, kissed her face, connected them closer than ever… She could perceive an absence, an aching for the loss of contact. She attempted to lift it from the bed but it steadfastly refused to cooperate, having become separate from her. A dead weight, yearning for the life that could only be provided by the touch it had started to forget.
She had not noticed how tightly her hands had become clasped as she paced back and forth across the ground, looking more on the verge of sentence than release. Stopping still, she relaxed and prised them slowly apart. She turned up the palm of the left, staring fixedly at its lines and creases, the ring that rested firmly and lone there. Missing. She began stroking over the fingers with her other hand – a poor substitute, she knew, but given the circumstances the only option she had – marking the route, tracing where his touch had been so many times but nowhere near enough. Trying aimlessly to get something back, hoping that it hadn't disappeared forever. Waiting for the spark to reignite, but nothing came. She was still surprised, and deeply unsettled, by the lack of feeling within her. All that she could really determine was a throbbing in her head and limbs that alternated with weakness and the acidic burning in the pit of her stomach that would surge occasionally, on the phantom swing of a gate or apparent footfall in the distance. Neither were pleasant sensations, not the excitement that would be expected to accompany a long-awaited arrival. No exhilarating rush of blood, wings of butterflies absent. It was more than worrying; it was absolutely terrifying.
Another snatch of a memory came suddenly flying back, elucidating with her uneasy wondering of that precise present moment. It was the night before their wedding and they were both standing in the courtyard, a sliver of a silver moon casting a glow across their faces. They were in a perfect, comfortable silence; Anna gazing at the night sky, euphoria dancing around inside her as she contemplated the fact that in mere hours she would finally be married to the man she loved and adored in actuality, although she had been married to him in her mind for years. As a sizeable smile spread across her face, John's hand rested on her arm and his voice came forth.
"It's not too late to reconsider; I can go down first thing and cancel if you wish".
The smile was still on her lips as she turned towards him, taking what he'd said for a strangely phrased joke, and she replied with more than a hint of mischief in her tone.
"John Bates, if this is your way of saying you have second thoughts, then I'm going to march to the registrar's house to wake him up and demand that he marry us right now. But not before I get hold of one of Mrs Patmore's heaviest pans to knock some sense into you."
Her attempts at humour turned him even graver. "Anna, I'm serious…" He took both her hands in his and she felt her heart flutter in her chest, half with the thrill that the feeling of his skin against her own always produced and half with the fear that he was about to say something that would shatter her whole world. He sighed heavily before he continued.
"Believe me when I say that coming here and finding you was the best thing to ever happen to me. I still can't quite believe that a man like me could be granted such good fortune and happiness, not after everything I've done. Anna Smith, you have changed my life beyond compare; you have changed me. You are a miracle."
His eyes, having twinkled like stars as he showered praise on her, abruptly shadowed.
"But I am certain that if we marry I will change you, and not for the better. It eventually happens to everyone; the poison around me, it infects everything. And if I were to alter you, even in the smallest way, it would be worse than all of my bad deeds put together. I would not be able to bear it."
His glance drifted from her eyes downwards, as if he was trying to steel himself from imminent rejection. Anna was so saddened by what she had just heard him say, for his insecurity that still persisted.
"John, look at me."
His head lifted as she leaned in closer to him and placed her hands on his chest, his heart beating fiercely at her slightest touch.
"First of all, you are not poisonous, or cursed, or anything else silly like that. I have never known a man so good, so full of honour and kindness…and love." She tangled a hand in one of his, raising it to her lips and kissing the knuckles. "And you have already changed me. You changed me from the second you walked through the door. Before then I was just going along, not knowing anything at all about how much I could be. You made me come alive. I'm not sure how much more I can be altered, because I feel as though I couldn't possibly love you more than I already do and I certainly won't love you any less. But I do know that whatever change does come, it will be wonderful because it will happen to us both, together. And that I'm more than ready for it; in fact, I've been waiting for it forever."
The smile from moments back reappeared, bigger than before, and she beamed as beautifully as the moonlight that framed them. She noticed it mirrored on his mouth, her eyes held to the captivating curl of his lips. She drew even closer, grasping the lapels of his jacket and elevating herself on tiptoe, him meeting her halfway before their mouths met in a tender kiss, filled with reassurances and promises, and love above all. Pulling away a little light-headed Anna smoothed her hands down John's chest, tugging the edge of his jacket slightly, affirming her confidence.
"And if there's one thing you should know by now, John Bates, is once my mind is made up it can't be changed for anything." She sprung up quickly on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek before dashing towards the door. "Not a thing."
As she stood there, glaring down at her open hands and then up at the grey building loitering behind its stagnant gates, realisation came upon her, snapping her ardently out of her trance. Perhaps she didn't know herself as well as she had thought. Perhaps she had changed. Or rather, that all this had changed her. It would not be at all unreasonable - in fact it seemed inevitable - but nonetheless the bolt struck her forcefully. She knew for certain that she still loved John; would always love him. But love had many guises and there were no guarantees that one form would not turn into another, seamless, leaving whatever had gone before lost forever. Perhaps the transformation had already happened with her unaware. The want of strong sensations could certainly be explained by an evaporation of passion, given way to something steadier, fine in itself but with a vital component missing. Missing. That word again, resonating in her head. Desire overshadowed by duty instead. A compensation; a dull imitation. It could be enough, maybe. The fire in her stomach seared fiercer than it had done before as she dared to even consider the thought. Right at that moment, it was all too much. Panic, impatience and deep distress gathered and imploded at once inside of her and she was struck with the urge she'd had the very first time she'd came here: to run, as far as possible, all the way back to Downton if her legs would carry her the distance. It had been wrong to come here when she was in such a perturbed state; even though she wouldn't be the first person he would see unconfined, it was better that than have him confronted with the radical change in her, plain before his eyes, sure to leave him deflated immediately. She turned away from the gates, pulling the silver watch from her pocket and fumbling with its cover. Still running. She placed her fingers tentatively on the winder, wanting to send the hands jumping forwards, hoping that the action would somehow take her along in time too: to a place where they were together, sitting in the hall or maybe even in that secret room again, side by side in peace and harmony; or otherwise, her lying in that single bed, cocooned away, waiting again for the blackout to consume her.
A mere second was all it took; less than that. A miniscule movement upon the watch-face, marking an imperceptible measure of time, which stopped the chaos and set the axes straight.
A series of sounds broke through the static that surrounded her. She dismissed the first, a swift clatter and clash of metal followed by a screeching creak that echoed on the air. Just another trick; a figment of the imagination. This was also how she accounted for the gentle thud of the steps, accompanied by a steady, regular tap. It was only when the voice came, smooth and measured, that the illusion ceased and shattered.
"I'd hoped I'd find you here."
The sound a force, calling to her and being silently answered by the wild thudding of her heart, bringing her back to herself as it had done during her night-time hallucinations and hazy half-dreams. But now it was more powerful; now, it was real. Holding her completely captivated.
Anna spun around instantly, dizzy with expectation. It was true. There he was, standing just yards away from her.
No sooner had she processed the sight that should have been unremarkable but as it was was completely astounding, she saw it happen, before she was even aware that her gaze had fallen upon him. The smile, shining so bright upon his face as he kept looking at her, his eyes never leaving hers. The very same one she'd seen him wear in only one other place before. Warmth radiated within her chest, filling her body from head to toe, and she could feel the corners of her mouth lifting, stretching almost above her eyes; his joy making and meeting her own.
The world around her had not visibly transformed; the sun was still shrouded by clouds, there was no sudden flash of light from the sky. But inside her everything had altered; or, more precisely, was restored to the way it was, the way it had always been. The unfounded doubts she'd possessed evaporating to nothing; the shadows lifted and the chains unbound. It should have been overwhelming, and in some ways it was - this explosion of energy and emotion – but more than anything, it made perfect sense to her. The first time in a long time that anything had made sense. As she started to move, gliding as if in a dream, she perceived that her outlook had become clearer, more defined. The colours of everything were brighter, seemed to be bursting. Life flowing through every thread, each and every part connected. And she was connected to it all too, this world moving in motion; after being on its edges for what seemed an eternity, she was part of it once more. Set free.
She continued to close the short distance between them, steps turning into miles. All at once time speeded, racing through her veins and making her head swim, then slowed and stretched nearly out of reach. She felt like she should be beating against the tide, rushing forward, running straight into his embrace without thought or regard for propriety. It was what she had longed to do, the thing she had imagined over and again that she would do when this moment arrived. But now it was here, it was altogether different. The feeling of anticipation that for months, years she had hated and cursed had taken on a far sweeter form, sending delightful shivers playing up and down her spine, and she didn't want to get rid of the sensation just yet. Besides, she felt strongly that she needed to fully acknowledge the moment; hold it close before it fled, let herself be absorbed wholly by it, live it fully. It was more than she could do right then, unable to contain all the life that bounded from her, but she would appreciate it in time to come. Now she knew the true value of memory and here it was in the making. This was the one that would live on forever, could never be erased; was to be the starting point of a million other memories, more wonderful than the ones that had gone before.
And then, before she knew, she was there, right in front of him. Inches apart, separated no longer by bars or buildings, but by breath and their own carefully contained restraint. The very particles of oxygen between them fizzled with electricity and Anna had expected to feel it shock her as she sent her fingertips into the air, reaching out tentatively, seeking his. Again they flashed through her mind, all of the actions and demonstrations of love she could have shown, but it was the simplest, purest of gestures that both of them chose. The touch of palms, sweep of fingers first finding each other then closing fast, clasping, connecting. As their hands met so too did their souls, pulses brushing and making hearts fall back into rhythm, matching each other beat for beat. Anna's breath caught as John's other hand traced up the arm hanging by her side, fingers travelling along her shoulder and ghosting her collarbone before cupping her face with the tender strength only he was capable of. She steadied herself by placing her hand on his waist, feeling overcome and shy all of a sudden, as if she'd been whirled into the past and they were meeting for the very first time; old feelings clambering to the surface and colliding with new ones. But then, spurred on by excitement, she became bold and tightened her grasp, bringing him closer as he smiled down at her, his thumb rubbing continuous circles on her cheek.
"Oh Anna, my dearest..." he began, voice thick with emotion. "I had thought this day would never come."
She gazed up into his eyes, still somewhat unable to believe his presence here, holding on to her with such intensity. Her words shook slightly as she said them. "I never doubted it would. Not ever…"
She was stopped short by the sobs that gathered in her throat, a fat tear rolling unbidden from her eye.
"What's this?" His voice was soft and reassuring. A wave of heat flushed her face as she hurried to explain, though she wasn't even sure why she had begun to cry, thinking that she couldn't possibly have any tears left in her. "Oh…John…I don't…it's just I can't quite…" Her hand grasped onto his back, running up and down frantically as she fumbled with her words.
"Shhhh…" He deftly and gently wiped away her single tear with his thumb, sweeping it down her face and then letting it rest with his other fingers on her chin. He stroked soothingly before raising it, leaning to her and laying the softest, sweetest kiss on her lips. Her hand instinctively sprang to his face, fingers threading in his hair as the kiss deepened, all of their love and longing poured in to it. Her left hand was still joined in his right, not yet separated from the first touch, and Anna felt John squeeze them tighter together as the fingers of his left hand ran over the back of her neck, leaving tingles live and dancing all over her. As what seemed like whole hours had passed with them entwined, they finally broke apart. His touch returned to the side of her face, and as he caressed tenderly he brought his mouth up to her ear. Then, he whispered:
"I love you, Anna May Bates. I always have and I always will."
The unconcealed sun shone high in the sky, warming them as they walked down the path, arm in arm. Curling her linked arm closer around his and resting her head below his shoulder, Anna closed her eyes and smiled contentedly, breathing in the bliss of the moment. For minutes she was back in time to that glorious April afternoon, where they had walked in the very same way, smiles bursting and hearts singing. They could have stayed there, in that spot just outside those gates, for hours; not moving an inch, holding on to each other and letting the time they'd lost fill up again, the world falling away around them. But it didn't seem right to give that place so much reverence in their reunion; they'd had their victory over it, could replace its bitterness with sweetness in their memory and leave its shadows in the past, expelled by the light of their future. Also, they had been expected at Downton some time ago – the Earl had insisted upon a lavish welcoming party to greet the arrival home of his most trusted and accomplished valet and most treasured friend. Though they were both exhausted it would be wonderful to be back, to take in all of the excitement and well-wishes. To be back home, where he – they both belonged. The thought came into her head of the evening to come, when the party had ended and it would just be the two of them again; alone, at long last. Her hand slipped to the silver watch now in his pocket; if only the hands could skip forward again…she giggled to herself and briefly coloured like the crimson leaves that clung to the trees overhead.
As she raised her head and looked at those leaves, taking in their radiance and bright, brilliant shades for the first time that day, it dawned on her how perfect it all was. It came back to her then; the reason why autumn was her favourite season. It was the nature of it, always amazing to her as a little girl, watching the world explode from her window. When it was thought that all of the wonder of the year was over with the passing of the summer days, autumn would come as a wonderful surprise, more beautiful than anything that had been before. She remembered seeing the fragile leaves cascading and rushing outside, scooping them up like petals. The second spring, her mother had called it; the time where everything got the chance to change, renew, begin again. Walking along with her husband under a canopy of converted flowers, she knew it had arrived for them; their new start, their second spring.