Year After Year

This romantic short story by Alyson Hilbourne welcomes you to a brand-new Special.

After that first meeting, I looked forward to seeing Ken every summer . . .

IBURIED my toes in the warm sand and picked up my book. Julian, Dick, Anne and Timmy were on the trail of the mysterious intruder while George –

A shout from below interrupted me, followed by more cries.

Annoyed by the noise, I kneeled and peered over the dunes and the marram grass to see who was on the beach. Two boys were chasing a smaller lad.

His feet splashed in the shallows, but as he turned to look behind, he tripped and fell into the foamy water.

“Got him!” A shout of triumph came from the pursuers.

A big boy with dark hair and wearing an Aertex T-shirt grabbed the fallen boy’s arms. The other grabbed his legs.

As I watched they picked him up and swung him as if to throw him out to sea. “No!”

I heard a faint, frantic voice and saw the smaller boy wriggling and struggling to get free.

For a moment I hesitated, then I hurried down to the beach as fast as the loose sand allowed.

“Stop!” I yelled, braver than I felt. I knew the two pursuers as bullies from school. “I’ll tell your dads, Frank Dobbs and Dennis Crawley.”

I glared at them. They were trouble, but I knew Frank’s father didn’t stand any nonsense.

“Aw, come on, Jenny. We’re just having a bit of fun.” Frank stopped swinging the lad.

“Yes, but maybe he can’t swim so you’ll drown him and then you’ll be in real trouble.”

Frank and Dennis muttered something that I couldn’t hear, but they dropped their captive and Frank aimed a kick at him before they ran off.

I watched them go and waited for the boy to get up. When he didn’t I offered a hand to help.

His back was soaking and water was leaching round the front of his shorts.

“You should get dry,” I told him. “It’s not warm enough for swimming.”

“Wasn’t swimming,” the boy muttered.

He wouldn’t look at me but turned and checked in the direction Frank and Dennis had gone.

“Come here,” I said. “They can’t see you in the dunes.”

I led the way to my sand bunker and grabbed a towel.

“Here, wrap this around yourself and put your clothes in the sun to dry.”

He moved out of sight and reappeared wearing the towel and putting his shorts, grandad shirt and sleeveless pullover over the spiky tops of the marram grass.

Then he sank down on the blanket next to me.

His body was pale above the towel but his legs were brown. His hair was dark and wild and a sprinkle of freckles crossed his nose.

“Why were they picking on you?” I asked.

The boy blinked.

“Because of the fair. They call us names, but they all like the rides.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“We’re setting up. I should be helping.” The boy jerked his head in the direction of the town.

“A fair? I’ve never been.” But I’d read about them. “I’m Jenny. Your clothes should dry soon.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped.

“Dad’ll kill me for not helping.”

“You can tell him you were chased by two morons.”

“Then he’ll kill me for not standing up for meself.” The boy pulled a wry expression.

I felt sorry for him. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ken.” He looked up. “Would you like an apple?” I took one from my bag and offered it.

Mum always gave me loads of food when I came to the beach for the day.

Ken took it and bit into it. I picked up my book.

“Is it interesting?” Ken’s voice was muffled by the

mouthful of apple.

“Yes, really exciting.” I lifted the book to show him the spine.

He put his palms up and a panicked expression passed over his face.

“No. I don’t wanna read. You read it to me.”

I stared for a moment, shrugged and began reading out loud.

Ken lay on his back, nibbling the apple and staring up at the sky.

After several pages I thought he’d fallen asleep. “Are you still awake?” “Yeah!” Ken jumped up. “What happens? Do they catch the guy?

“Does George get away?” He leaned forward to look at the page as if it contained the answers. I gave a brief laugh. “I don’t know. I haven’t got that far.”

“Oh,” he said sadly, and stepped off the blanket to gather his clothes.

“I gotta go.” He disappeared for a few minutes then returned my towel and dropped it on the blanket.

“Come to the fair,” he said gruffly. “Me dad’s got the Waltzer.”

“What’s that?”

Ken raised his eyebrows. “A ride. Cabins spin round and they go up and down a track. It’s fun. Come and try.”

He turned and I watched him slide quickly down the sand dune and tear off along the beach as if

Dennis and Frank were still chasing him.

It took me a week to persuade Mum to go to the fair.

“It’s so noisy and expensive,” she complained. “I can’t think why you want to go.

“Please, Mum. I’ve never been. I can write about it for school.”

Mum rolled her eyes but my appeal struck home. If anything could be useful for school, I got away with it.

As it grew dark we walked to the water meadows where the huge rides and caravans were parked.

I could hear the music from a distance, and as we got closer there was strong smell of fried onions and sugary candyfloss.

Each stand and ride was lit up with coloured lights, some of them flashing on and off. Bells and whistles sounded.

I clutched Mum’s hand and squeezed it with excitement as I looked at everything.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through me as we watched the dodgem cars, the occupants screaming and laughing as they avoided bumping each other.

I loved the fanciful horses that spun round on the merry-go-round, all painted different colours, their manes stretched out as if blowing in the wind.

I wanted to ride on everything but I knew Mum would claim we didn’t have the money.

So I pushed through the mass of people clutching toffee apples and candyfloss, searching for the Waltzer.

In the end it was easy to find because of the name lit up in lightbulbs around the top.

“I want to go on this one,” I told Mum.

“I’ll wait here. Right here.” “You don’t want to come?”

Mum shook her head. “Waste of money.” I watched as the ride slowed down, the music stopped and people got out of the tub-shaped cars.

Then I climbed in.

As it began to turn I put my hands down on the seat to balance.

I was just thinking that the ride wasn’t too scary when Ken walked along the central arms of the machinery and jumped into the car.

I smiled and offered my sixpence.

He shook his head and sat down next to me as the car took on a life of its own, rising and falling on the undulating track and spinning on its own axis.

I was forced backwards by pressure on my chest.

Ken grinned as I gasped. My knuckles were white as I gripped the seat to stop myself sliding into him or the other way along the bench.

I felt queasy as I was whipped one way and then the other.

By the time the car slowed and the music stopped my heart was beating frantically and my legs were wobbly.

Ken stood up.

“Wanna go again? On the house?”

I nodded. I didn’t want him to think I was frightened.

Ken made his way across the arms of the machine and helped people out of the cars. Other people got in but no-one climbed into my car.

This time, as the music started and the car gained speed, I knew what to expect and enjoyed the speed and the feeling of wind in my hair.

Ken reappeared and sat beside me.

“This is the best thing ever,” I told him.

He grinned, his teeth snowy white in the blinking lights.

“We’ll be back next year,” he said. “Make sure you come.”

For the next week I could think of nothing but the fair and the rush of excitement the ride had brought, but gradually the memory faded as other things took over.

I’d all but forgotten about it when I saw caravans and trailers arrive at the water meadow the following summer.

My heart soared in excitement and I wondered if Ken would remember me.

“Mum! The fair is back!” I rushed home to tell her.

This time it was Dad who took me the first evening. He gave me coins to go on the merry-go-round but I headed for the Waltzer.

I sat waiting for the ride to start, anxiously looking around for Ken.

As it moved off, he jumped across the machinery and lowered himself on to the seat next to me. I bit my lip.

He was taller than last year, but still willowy and freckled.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

He gave me a nervous smile.

“I didn’t know if you’d come.”

I went to the fair three times that year.

I ignored the dodgems and the merry-go-round and had no interest in trying to win a goldfish or a cuddly toy.

I only rode the Waltzer.

****

When I turned fourteen Mum let me go to the fair with friends, but I soon left them at the dodgems and went to find the Waltzer.

Ken was taller than me now and wore a singlet that showed his biceps.

He had a small gold earring in one ear that I envied, and was tanned but still freckled.

He would give Frank a drubbing now, I reckoned.

“You came,” Ken said, jumping down into my car.

I blushed and pushed my hair behind my ear. My heart was pumping fiercely.

After a third ride Ken leaned over and kissed me in the gloom of the car.

His mouth tasted of liquorice and I could smell sweat on him.

In the afternoons, when he wasn’t working, we met at the beach, in one of the bunkers in the dunes.

Sometimes I read to him from one of the books I took, but often we paddled in the sea and searched for shells along the tide line.

I went back every night the fair was in town. I was giddy with love.

The following year, instead of looking forward to the fair, I worried that Ken might have forgotten me or found a girlfriend in some other town.

I couldn’t sleep and for the first time in my life I was scolded in class for not paying attention.

On the day the fair arrived I went to the

A surge of adrenaline rushed through me

beach and huddled down in a hollow on the dunes, out of the way.

“Hi!” The voice made me jump. I looked up.

Ken’s face was brown, his hair daringly long. He wore jeans and a T-shirt.

I squinted up at him. He was the most handsome boy I’d ever seen.

I went to the fair every evening.

I rode on the Waltzer and Ken joined me in the car between collecting money and checking on other customers.

We cuddled up on the seat and slid together as the car spun round.

In the afternoons we met at the beach, keeping out of the way of other people, hunkered down in the dunes out of the wind.

“What will you do when you’re older?” I asked Ken.

“I’ll take over the Waltzer from Dad.” He pulled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. “I already do most of the running of it.”

“Don’t you want to have a house and family?”

“I’d have a caravan. I’d never leave the fair.”

“Oh.” I fiddled with the blanket we were sitting on.

It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

On the last evening, in the dark of a Waltzer car, Ken gave me a little bunch of heather with a twist of foil round the bottom.

“It’s lucky,” he said. “Remember me, Jenny. I’ll be here next year.”

****

The following year I hovered by the railings of the water meadow, watching the fair set up.

I saw Ken from a distance putting out the track for the Waltzer and then pushing the cars into place.

When he had a break he came over to the fence and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Coming tonight?” he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Try and stop me.” I grinned.

Ken licked his lips wolfishly.

I skipped home, my feet light, my heart singing. I couldn’t wait to see him.

But there was a shock waiting for me.

“No, you’re not going out,” my father said when seven o’clock came.

“Why not?” I asked, blinking.

“You were seen in town, kissing one of the fairground men.

“That’s not right, Jenny. They’re vagabonds. There’s no knowing what they get up to.”

“But I’ve known Ken for years,” I protested.

I heard Mum hiss and realised my mistake.

“Which makes it worse,” Dad said, his face darkening. “You’ve been deceiving us.”

“I . . . I – no,” I protested. “Dad, I have to go. I promised.”

“You’re not going out, young lady. And that’s that.” Dad put his hands on his hips. He meant it.

I went up to my room, fuming at the injustice. What could I do?

Dad would certainly be listening for the door. I wouldn’t get out that way. I swallowed.

George, Anne, Dick and Julian always got out. They shinned down drainpipes or climbed out of windows on to the apple tree.

I flung open the bedroom window.

A large horse chestnut grew by the house. Perhaps I could reach a branch . . .

****

I woke up in hospital with a thumping headache, one leg hanging from a pulley and Mum sitting beside me wringing her hands.

“Oh, Jenny, Jenny. What were you thinking?”

I touched my head, feeling the scratchy surface of a bandage.

“What happened?”

“We found you under the tree. Your head was bleeding and you were out for the count.

“You have to stay here until your leg is straight.”

My heart fluttered as if something was trapped inside it.

I couldn’t get to see Ken. My eyes filled with tears. He’d think I didn’t care.

The following year there was no sign of Ken when the fair came to town. He was not on the Waltzer.

I rushed all around checking the different rides and stalls.

I thought about asking where he was but I didn’t want to know if he was with someone else.

I was heartbroken. My world had been torn apart.

****

Forty-five years later I moved back to my childhood town.

I’d had a happy marriage with a loving husband and two children and enjoyed my job as a librarian with all the books I could want.

But then my husband had died of a heart attack, suddenly and unexpectedly, and the library cut my hours.

It seemed like time for a change. I wanted to live by the sea.

I didn’t know many people in the town any more so when I came across an advertisement for people to help with an adult literacy programme I went for training.

My first client was a man. He wore a shirt and tie but kept fiddling with the collar as if it was unfamiliar.

His hair lapped his ears and when he moved his head I caught a glimpse of a gold earring.

“Hello, I’m Jenny.” I smiled and offered him my hand.

“Walt.”

“Hello, Walt. Why do you want to learn to read?”

The man shrugged. “There’s so much I can’t do, or can’t do well. I never went to school. We moved all the time.

“We were supposed to be home schooled but it was never a priority.”

I checked his reading level and we worked through some exercises from the manual.

The hour’s lesson passed quickly.

“That’s all for today, Walt. See you next week?”

“Yes,” Walt said hesitantly. “How long do you think this will take?” I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Why, are you moving on?”

“No, no. I’ve got myself a caravan along the coast. I can see the sea every day.”

“I love the sea,” I said. “That’s why I moved back here.”

“There’s some dunes further along,” the man said. “Makes a good place to read.”

His eyes twinkled and his teeth were bright under the library’s strip lights.

Something shifted inside me as if a wall of memories I had bricked up suddenly collapsed. I gasped.

“Is your name really Walt?” The question surprised me. I hadn’t known I was going to ask it.

“Ah, found out.” The man grinned at me.

“I was called Walt because I used to run the Waltzer at the fair. My real name is Ken.”

I sat back in my chair. My mouth was dry.

“Ken? Is it really you?” We sat looking at each other. My face warmed under scrutiny. But the memories flooded back.

My first kiss, the excitement of the Waltzer, the warmth of the sandy dunes and a little bunch of heather that I still had pressed in an old diary at home.

“I broke my leg climbing out of the window coming to see you,” I said. “Then the next year you weren’t there.”

“I couldn’t stand the thought you wouldn’t see me, but since then I’ve looked for you in every town we stopped at.

“I thought moving here might give me a chance.”

“Well, now you’ve found me,” I said, trying to control the smile that stretched across my face.

“Good. I never want to lose you again,” he said.

“If nothing else, I want to know if George got away and how that story ended.” I grinned.

“Goodness. I can’t remember. Let’s go and see if the library has a copy.

“We could go and sit in the dunes and see how the story ends.”

“I like a happy ending, meself . . .” Ken said with a grin.

The End.