by Jenny Colgan
Because she’d been jealous, and because everything she’d had with Lennox had been so perfect, and she couldn’t bear it not to be. Because of stupid reasons.
She didn’t say anything.
‘Well, I’m here now,’ said Zoe. ‘Do you want me to call your boyfriend?’
Nina shook her head. ‘I don’t . . . I don’t want to worry him.’
‘If you’re not well in your pregnancy, worry everyone!’ said Zoe, attempting a smile. ‘Seriously. Raise hell.’
Zoe helped her down and was surprised by how shaky and wobbly Nina was.
‘I’m sure it’s something I ate,’ said Nina, feeling sick and panicky and horrible and just desperately wanted to lie down. ‘Can I just go to bed? My own bed.’
‘Will the doctor come out?’ said Zoe, who thought this probably was the best plan of action.
‘She will,’ said Nina in a faint voice. Zoe led her into the farmhouse. Like everyone who went there, she was surprised by how modern and cleanly it was decorated. Nina never had much cause to think kindly about Kate, Lennox’s artistic ex, but she always appreciated her wonderful taste.
Feeling slightly odd – but then again, feeling odd and trespassing in other people’s houses did seem to be more or less everything Zoe did these days – she helped Nina into bed, found her a pot to throw up in, which Nina immediately obligingly did, made her some proper tea she couldn’t keep down and called the local GP’s office. She was put through to the doctor, then Nina was put on and after that things moved with fairly alarming speed.
The local doctor, Joan, was an extremely practical woman with short hair, clogs, a peremptory attitude towards humans and a dogged devotion to all animals. She turned up in her dirty hairy SUV with a dog in the back – surely against NHS guidelines – washed her hands, took one look at Nina and called 999.
Then both the girls got very frightened. Nina grabbed Zoe’s hand, forgetting entirely that they weren’t actually that close, and told her to go and find Lennox, he’d be in the upper field; there wouldn’t be a signal.
‘Of course,’ said Zoe, not even thinking about her shoes. She ran to the door then turned back.
‘What does he look like?’
‘He’s the really gorgeous one,’ said Nina her face pale and sweaty.
‘Um, okay,’ said Zoe.
‘Lanky lugs with sandy hair,’ said Dr Joan, who had picked up the chicken and was patting it gently and interrogating the girls as to precisely how much sick the poor creature had eaten.
Zoe dashed outside.
The wind was high, pushing the clouds against the sun so it felt like the world was moving beneath her feet – sun, shade, sun, shade – as she ran; it buffeted her, making her eyes sting. Her feet sank into the newly empty furrows of the autumn fields, and she remembered – from her devoted readings of Swallows and Amazons rather than any actual farm experience – to shut the gates behind her. She found herself running through fields of sheep which in any other set of circumstances she would have wanted to stop and look at.
Instead she just shouted ‘Lennox! Lennox!’ on the wind until a farmhand came out and stared at her curiously.
‘Lennox?’ she said. He shook his head and pointed to a barn so far away it was only a tiny shape on the horizon. Zoe had mud up to her ankles. She dimly remembered now a line of wellingtons at the door of The Beeches that vastly outnumbered the people who lived there, and now understood why. It was too late anyway: her shoes were ruined. She glanced at them. They belonged to a life from quite long ago.
She caught her breath and started running again, finally appearing at the door of the barn, realising she hadn’t run that far in years. If it hadn’t been so awful, there would have been something freeing about running up a sunny clear hill at full pelt; about being totally winded and spent. Something different.
‘Sorry, where the fuck did you spring from?’ came a not unpleasant voice.
‘Are you Lennox?’ she gasped, shocked at how raw her throat was.
‘Aye.’
He looked at her, in the middle of helping a sick ewe he did what he did every day; focused entirely on the job in hand to the exclusion of everything else, including whatever Nina might be up to. (This exceptional focus generally drove both Nina absolutely mad and turned her on something frightful.)
‘It’s Nina,’ she barked. ‘You have to come.’
His face changed immediately and he leapt up, forehead furrowed.
‘What . . . what is it?’ he said, charging out. He stuck her on the back of his quad bike – Zoe had never been that close to one in her life; neither of them wore a helmet – and tore down the hill at top speed, bouncing across the ruts, practically surfing the grassier patches. Zoe didn’t have a chance to catch her breath at all. Once again, if things hadn’t been so grave . . . she might have loved it.
Joan was waiting to meet them; the ambulance was still a way away.
‘What is it, Joan?’ he said, running indoors, leaving Zoe to get herself off the bike.
‘You know pregnancy toxaemia?’ said Joan.
Lennox stood stock-still in the doorway. His hand started to tremble. He took a step forward.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Jesus. That kills sheep! It poisons them and it kills them.’
‘No, no, it’s not so bad, honestly. Bad example,’ said Joan. ‘It’s not so bad in humans. They can fix it if they catch it in time, and we’ve caught it. We will catch it.’
She glanced at her watch.
‘How long have you been feeling bad?’ said Lennox as he went in to see Nina, pale as a wraith on the bed. How hadn’t he noticed? Bloody harvesting. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Nina’s face creased.
‘Because you were busy, and I was busy and . . . I thought it was . . . I thought it would be better than this . . .’
She really did start to cry now and he leapt to the bed beside her and gently stroked her hair.
‘Hush now by,’ he said soothingly. ‘Hush now bye’ exactly as if she was one of his sick ewes, and even realising this, she leant into his muscular side, and felt comforted.
Chapter Twenty
There was no book selling that day. (In fact, in all the drama, they both completely forgot to mention the stuck van to Lennox, which meant that when it rained that evening, it plugged the van into a gigantic mire that eventually turned to quicksand and became a five-person job to pull the damn thing out again, including hiring a digger, which Lennox kindly put down as a farm expense and never mentioned to Nina again.)
Nina was feeling nothing but relief. Pre-eclampsia was diagnosed, quickly and without fuss, in a way that implied the staff had seen it a million times before, even though the doctor lowered her glasses and her voice before imparting the terrible information that Nina would have to stay in hospital, possibly all the way to her due date, keep quiet and move about as little as possible.
Nina had blinked.
‘Seriously?’
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ the doctor had said. ‘You’re going to find it terribly dull.’
Nina frowned.
‘But I can read, right?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘It won’t harm the baby?’
‘Not at all.’
Nina sank back against the pillows.
‘I think,’ she said, Lennox holding her tightly, ‘I think that will probably be all right.’
* * *
Zoe meanwhile sat next to Lennox in the Land Rover, staring into space as he drove.
This wasn’t at all what she’d thought it might be like. She’d hoped that she’d be working with someone in a cushy job in a bookshop. She’d fantasised about a cosy corner of a lovely house, not a servants’ room with iron beds and a cold-water bath. That hadn’t been it either.
Zoe smiled ruefully at the picture she had had of herself, calmly reading all the new books and bringing light into the lives of some adorable motherless tots and generally helping people out in a sticky spot, som
e kind of combination of Julie Andrews and Supernanny. There had been very little in that fantasy, she thought now, of her watching a chicken eat sick. A lot of dreams in her life hadn’t turned out exactly as she’d expected, she reflected.
Behind her a car slowed down and honked loudly. She turned around, startled, wondering who it was honking at. Everyone stared. It was Joan, the doctor.
‘GOOD WORK TODAY,’ she hollered out of the window at Zoe. From the back of the car, several dogs joined in a barking chorus.
‘YOU WERE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT TO TAKE IT SERIOUSLY. ABSOLUTELY BLOODY RIGHT!’
Then she wound the window up and drove off with a screech of the gears and a splatter of mud on the spring road. The car, Zoe noticed, was absolutely filthy. She hoped Joan didn’t have to do much surgery.
Lennox turned to her, as if just realising she was there, dropping her off next to the little green car.
‘Aye,’ he said gruffly. ‘Aye. Thanks. Thank God for you.’
Zoe got out of the Land Rover. The chicken stared at her meanly, without blinking.
‘Yeah. Thank God for me,’ she wanted to tell it. And when she got into the Renault to drive away, she realised that someone had left her a basket of fresh eggs, some still warm, some with feathers still stuck to them, on the passenger seat.
Chapter Twenty-one
Zoe was worried about Nina, obviously – she had had a friend with pre-eclampsia and knew what a terrifying experience it was, as well as a rather lonely and boring one, stuck in hospital and denied the pleasures of late pregnancy (which were, though, she recalled, mostly people prodding you without asking and wondering if you had twins in there and how could you possibly stand up without overbalancing and other less than helpful theories) and in fact it basically boiled down to sitting in the bath and feeling like a desert island and she had rarely felt lonelier than having nobody to help her put on her own socks.
Anyway, she was worried, but glad Nina was safe in hospital. As she bowled along in the stuttery green car, past the great smoke-belching coaches leaving Loch Ness for the day, under the lengthening shadows from the mountains on the coast, the flash of a white tail of a deer disappearing into a forest, and rounded the bend of the long drive where she could see the great house ahead, she felt something inside. She wasn’t quite sure what it was at first. But there was the tiniest possibility it felt like . . . a tiny bit like optimism. Like a little bit of hope. Like something – the tiniest seedling was, after so long in the gloom – starting to push its way out of the earth. Something could have turned disastrous that day. But it hadn’t. And she had the added bonus of a disconsolate-looking Hari charging towards her in delight when she turned up at nursery. She snuck a sideways glance at him now in the car, staring out of the window at the house, looking delighted to be home. She had asked Tara how the first day had gone and Tara had looked awkward, and elsewhere, but she had him now, and that was enough.
* * *
Zoe’s good mood lasted as long as it took to get through the back door. She could hear the yelling from miles off. It was actual, full-throated screaming.
The noise was horrific. It sounded like somebody being murdered. The sun went behind a cloud, casting the great house into shadow suddenly and Zoe dumped the car, told Hari to stay in his seat, exactly where he was and looked around for something to hit the murderer with. There was fortunately a hardback copy of The Hobbit lying in the back of the car, and she took it stealthily, heart beating, and advanced, carefully holding it up to the door, her heart in her mouth . . .
Zoe peered round the door frame. The screaming was getting louder.
‘Hello?’ she said, trying to make her voice sound low and threatening rather than, as it came out, loud and querulous. ‘Who’s there?’
The screaming stopped, abruptly, and Zoe felt her arms prickling.
‘WHO’S THERE?’ she yelled, and burst into the kitchen, her arms aloft.
All three of the children on the floor immediately burst out into howls of mocking laughter at the sight of her, white-faced and shaking, holding The Hobbit above her head. Even Mrs MacGlone, who was at the sink, turned round and Nina saw her lips twitch.
Mary, who’d been lying flat on the ground, her hair tumbled out around her, sat up from the position in which she’d been vigorously trying to kick Shackleton on the chin.
‘What are you going to do, elf us to death?’ she asked in ringing tones.
‘Bore us to death more like,’ said Shackleton. ‘Couldn’t you at least have used The Watchmen? It’s in the downstairs loo.’
Patrick gazed up at her severely.
‘Actually we were only playing,’ he said.
Zoe’s fear turned to fury, as it so often does.
‘That’s not playing!’ she said. ‘Look at you!’
Shackleton had a huge bruise on his chin from where Mary had kicked him; Patrick had scratch marks on his face.
‘Are they allowed to do this?’ she demanded of Mrs MacGlone, whose face turned to stone.
‘I’m just the housekeeper,’ she said stoically. ‘Nothing to do with me.’ She glanced pointedly at her watch.
‘It was Shackleton’s fault!’ yelled Mary hotly. ‘He started it!’
‘Shut up, you little vixen! It wasn’t, as if I could care what the hell you’re doing.’
‘You’re a lying prig and you can just shut up!’ screamed Mary, working herself up into a state.
‘You are both the stupidest people actually IN THE WORLD,’ yelled Patrick, careful not to be left out. All three started screaming abuse and insults at each other.
Zoe, still bristling, stood up on the nearest chair, and dropped the heavy book onto the flagstone floor.
The noise was extraordinarily loud. All three stopped temporarily.
‘RIGHT,’ said Zoe, in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘That is absolutely enough.’
‘But,’ said Mary.
‘Shut it,’ said Zoe. ‘Right now.’
‘Or what?’ said Mary. ‘You’ll leave? Fine by us.’
‘’Fraid not,’ said Zoe. ‘In fact, I found out today that I’m going to be here for a long time, whether you like it or not.’
They did not, and made this clear.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘In my car, there is a cake and some sausages.’ There were. The woman serving at the tiny village shop had stared at her in rude, open-mouthed silence for so long Zoe wondered if she had a disability. Zoe went on: ‘I brought them back for supper. I will make supper with those things. But there are a few things that are going to happen first.’
‘You’re going to bribe us with sausages?’ said Mary in a tone of utter disdain.
‘Sausages!’ said Patrick gleefully.
‘I’m not bribing you,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m feeding you. As soon as you all get up.’
Shackleton reluctantly got up off the floor. Mary aimed a good kick at his kneecaps as he went.
‘Oi,’ said Zoe.
She had them standing up, and then got down from the stool to go to fetch Hari, who came in shyly.
‘You help Mrs MacGlone put the cups away.’ She pointed to Patrick. ‘You –’ This was aimed at Shackleton. ‘– sweep this room; it needs it. You –’ to Mary ‘– put the laundry piles in everyone’s room.’
‘No,’ said Mary. ‘That’s not our job actually?’
‘Actually,’ said Zoe. ‘From today it is. From today jobs are everyone’s jobs. Because when you guys are just lying around you get in to trouble. So I’m going to make it my mission to keep you busy.’
Patrick padded over to the sink and obediently picked up one cup at a time.
‘Suck-up,’ said Mary.
‘You don’t need to have either sausages or cake,’ said Zoe mildly.
‘Good. They stink.’
‘But you do need to put your laundry away.’
‘No, I don’t.’
Zoe picked up the pile of Mary’s laundry from where it had been drying by the fire. They reall
y had to get the kitchen sorted out; it was a mess, and uncomfortable and unproductive.
‘If it doesn’t get taken away, it gets binned.’
‘You’re not serious.’
Mary looked at Mrs MacGlone.
‘Mrs MacGlone, she’s completely crazy.’
Mrs MacGlone could not deny it. She loved the motherless mites, in her way and did the best she could by them, but they were totally out of control and she was not the person to control them. If this – the seventh attempt – if this peculiar person could manage it, then so much the better. Ramsay was scared of his own children, and she wasn’t much better; too wary of Mary’s whiplash tongue; too aware of the housemaid she had always been, and the place she’d always known.
Mrs MacGlone looked scary, but wasn’t. Zoe looked mild as butter, but wasn’t.
Zoe threw a sock of Mary’s onto the fire. Mary watched, absolutely outraged and horrified and secretly slightly impressed.
‘I hate those socks,’ said Mary. ‘I’ll go without.’
‘Put your laundry away!’
‘Shan’t!’
The entire room was silent now, everyone watching incredibly closely to see what the outcome was going to be. Zoe really wished she knew herself.
Well, she was in it now. This was the crux of it. If she backed down now, she might as well pack her bags. And she really, really couldn’t afford to do that.
Be consistent was the message, wasn’t it? Along with be firm? Was this too firm though? Burning socks? It wasn’t the most dignified situation Zoe had ever found herself in.
Mary was watching her with her arms folded, a smug expression on her face, as if daring her to go further.
‘There’s a sleeper train back down south you can catch tonight,’ she said saucily. ‘We won’t miss you.’
Suddenly the mist descended. Zoe couldn’t help it. She couldn’t manage like this, not with everything that had to be done. She cast around on the laundry pile and extracted a small cardigan – it had to be far too small for Mary; she must have grown out of it anyway. It had little foxes stitched into it. Zoe picked it up and advanced towards the fire.