Chapter 20 20. Maureen and the PR representative

Forth Bridge Road had not had a day of peace since Harold's story appeared in the Coventry Telegraph.Just when there wasn't much news, someone called up the radio program to tell the story, and several local papers took notice, with the South Hams Gazette covering three full pages.Add one or two national newspapers, and overnight, everyone's interested.Harold's walking journey became the subject of Radio 4's "Thoughts of the Day", which in turn inspired a series of feature reports on the nature of modern pilgrimage, the essence of England, the courage of the "hero" generation.People talk about it everywhere, in shops, playgrounds, parks, bars, parties, and offices.The story captures the imagination, just as Mick assured the editor in the first place.Details of the story began to be changed as the reports became more outrageous.Some say Harold is in his seventies, others say he has learning difficulties.He was claimed to have been seen in Cornwall, Inverness, and Kingston on the Thames and in the Peak District.A group of reporters waited daily in front of Maureen's trampled vegetable garden, and a small team of local TV crews set up a makeshift tent by Rex's privet hedge.As long as you have a computer, you can also follow his progress on Twitter.Maureen's house doesn't have a computer.

What shocked her most was when the local newspaper published a picture of Harold, who looked completely different.It had only been six weeks since he had been out posting letters, and he looked surprisingly taller and more confident.He was still wearing the waterproof jacket and tie, but his hair was a mess, his beard was bushy, and his skin was so dark it took an effort to see the man she thought she knew all too well. The story was headlined "Harold Fry's Impossible Pilgrimage."The article tells the story of a penniless retiree from Kingsbridge (also home to Miss South Devon) who embarks on a walk to Berwick with no map or mobile phone when he is twenty Heroes of the first century.There is a small photo at the end of the article. In the photo, there are two sailing shoes with the words "shoes that will conquer 500 miles", which look a bit like Harold's pair.It's clear they're very happy with the sales of this issue.

The blue line on the map snakes its way from Bath to Sheffield.Maureen calculated that at this rate, Harold would be in Berwick in a few weeks.But apart from his success within easy reach, apart from Maureen's thriving garden and her growing friendship with Rex, apart from the letters of support and wishes from supporters and cancer survivors who pile up their mailboxes every day, Maureen sometimes suddenly The loneliness was unbearable, and she wanted to scream.She never told Rex any of this, but at times like this she went back to the bedroom, drew the curtains, buried herself in the feather duvet, and howled loudly.It's so easy to stay in bed in the morning and not get up.It is too easy to not practice hygiene and stop eating.It takes endless courage for a person to persevere.Suddenly, a young woman called Maureen and offered to be her public relations representative.She said people wanted to hear her version of the story. "But I don't have a story," Maureen said. "What do you think about your husband's behavior?" "I think he must be very tired." "Is it true that you have problems in your marriage?" "Excuse me, who do you say you are?"

The young woman repeats something like specializing in relationships.It's her job to protect her clients and bring them to the public at their most sympathetic.Maureen interrupted, asking if she would mind waiting a minute, and she was going to knock on the window to remind him that a photographer was standing on a bean vine she was planting. "I can help you in many ways," said the young woman.She mentioned emotional support, breakfast-time TV interviews, and invitations to second-rate parties. "As long as you want, I can help you solve it." "Thank you, but I've never been interested in parties." Sometimes she doesn't know which is crazier, the world in her head, or the stories she reads in newspapers and magazines.She thanked the girl for her generous advice: "But I'm not sure I really need help. Unless, of course, you know how to iron."

When she told Rex this, he smiled.She didn't laugh at the thought of the PR girl.They had coffee at Rex's, because Maureen had run out of milk, and there was always a small group of fans waiting outside the garden, eager to get an update on Harold.They brought Dundee cakes, home-knitted socks, but as Maureen had explained to several well-wishers, she hadn't forwarded to Harold's address. "A reporter said it was a perfect love story," she said softly. "Harold's not in love with Queenie Hennessy. That's not what he's hiking for." "The PR rep asked if there were any problems between us." "You've got to have faith in him, Maureen, and in both of you." I have confidence in my marriage. He will come back."

Maureen studied the hem of her skirt carefully.The pin has come loose and a small piece is missing. "But it's so hard to hold on to those beliefs, Rex. It really hurts. I don't know if he still loves me, and if he loves Queenie. Sometimes I wonder if he died , everything will be much simpler. At least I will know where I should stand." She turned pale and looked up at Rex, "I actually said such a terrible thing." Rex shrugged: "It's okay." "I know how much you miss Elizabeth." "I think about her all the time. I know in my mind that she has gone, but I still can't help but look around. The only change is that I gradually get used to the pain. It's like finding a big hole in the ground. At first You keep forgetting there's a pit and keep falling in it. After a while it's still there, but you've learned to get around it."

Maureen bit her lip and nodded, after all, she had also experienced such sadness.She was once again surprised to find that the human heart can never find peace.For a young man who passed Rex on the street, he was just a helpless old man, out of touch with reality, drained of energy.But under that waxy pale skin, and inside that fat body, there was a heart beating no different from that of a seventeen or eighteen-year-old boy. He asked, "Do you know what I regret most after losing her?" She shook her head. "I regret not giving it a try." "Elizabeth has brain cancer, Rex. How can you fight?" "When the doctor said she would die, I just held her hand and chose to give up. We Giving up. I know it probably won't change anything, but I wish I had shown her how much I wanted to keep her. Maureen, I should have pissed myself off."

He was holding a teacup and bowed his body as if praying.Without raising his head, he just repeated a few words intently and in a low voice, and the teacup on the saucer trembled slightly.She had never seen him like this before, and his knuckles were white. "I should be furious." This conversation has followed Maureen.Her mood sank again, and she stared out the window for hours, reminiscing about the past, and doing little to nothing.She thought carefully about her past self, the woman who thought she could give Harold everything, and then looked at her present self, who was not even a wife.She brought out two more photographs from Harold's nightstand, one of her smiling face taken shortly after the wedding, and one of David in his first pair of shoes.

Suddenly, a detail in the second photo startled her, and she took another look.That hand, the hand that helped David stand up on one foot, staggering.A chill ran down her spine. The hand wasn't hers, it was Harold's. The photo was taken by her.Of course she took it, now she remembered.Harold was holding David's hand as she turned to get the camera.How could you get this scene out of your mind?She blamed Harold for all those years, saying he had never held their baby, never given him the fatherly love a child needed. Maureen went into the best room and took out the photo album that no one was looking at.The back of the book was covered with thick dust, and she wiped it off with her skirt, holding back tears and carefully flipping through each page.Mostly pictures of her and David, but there are others.Baby David lay on Harold's lap, and Harold looked down at him, hands in the air, as if resisting the urge to hold him.In another, David is riding on Harold's shoulders, and Harold is stretching his neck for balance.Teenage David and Harold sat side by side, the young man in black with long hair, his father in a jacket and tie, both staring at the goldfish pond.she laughed.They've both tried to approach each other at one point or another, though not noticeably, not often.But Harold tried, and even Davy tried occasionally.She put the opened photo album on her lap, staring blankly at the air, what she saw was not the curtain, but the past.

She saw Bantham again, and saw Harold untying his shoelaces the day Davy was caught in the surf.She spent years blaming him for it.Then she saw the picture from a new angle, as if the camera had been turned a hundred and eighty degrees and the lens was on her.Her stomach is throbbing.There was a woman by the sea, waving her hands and screaming, but she didn't run into the sea either.A half-frightened, half-mad mother who does nothing.If David had indeed drowned at Bantham, she would be equally responsible. The days that followed were even more difficult.There were opened photo albums all over the floor because she couldn't put them back.She washed clothes in the washing machine early in the morning, but left them to stink in the washing tub.She tried to eat crackers and cheese because she couldn't muster the strength to boil water for cooking.All she can do is remember.

Harold called back, and she could barely speak a word except to listen.Occasionally murmured "My God", or "Who would have thought that".He told her about his resting places, the lumber store, the tool shed, the log cabin, the bus station, the barn.The words in his mouth popped out one after another with vigor, and she felt that she was getting old. "I try not to mess up people's places, and I never break the lock," he said.He knew the names of every shrub and what they were used for, and he listed several at the time, but she couldn't keep up.He told her that he was learning natural orientation, and described to her the strangers he met, what food they provided, and he helped him repair his shoes, and even marginalized people who took drugs and alcohol came to help him. "If you just stop and listen, Maureen, you'll see that nobody's scary." He seemed to have time to chat with every stranger.He was too incomprehensible to her, this man who was walking alone and talking to strangers, so she just said some annoying little things in a high-pitched voice, like bunionitis, bad weather.She didn't say "Harold, I wronged you".Nor did she say that she had actually enjoyed her time in Eastbourne, that she regretted not letting Dave have a dog in the first place.Didn't she ask "is it really too late"?But she had those words on her mind throughout the phone call. Alone, she sat in the cold moonlight, crying for what seemed like hours, as if only the lonely moon understood her heart.He didn't even have the courage to confide in David. Maureen watched the street lamps on Kingsbridge Street cut through the darkness into the room.There was no place for her in this safe, sleeping world.She couldn't stop thinking about Rex and his lingering grudge against Elizabeth.