Seething, she planned to make a midnight visit to his own regimented acres at dead of night later in the summer. With pockets full of thistle down.
Their relationship from that moment on had steadily deteriorated, his only remarks on the rare occasions they met were patronising and critical and on one occasion were actually conveyed via a formal complaint about her flowering hedges to the Parish Council. Apparently her blackthorn and her holly, her roses and her honeysuckle were scratching the barouche as he drove past.
The train stopped at the next station and several more people boarded. To her relief James Campbell did not look up. He had immediately on sitting down opened his Financial Times. She was spared the horror of having to make polite conversation with him as she produced her own reading – a rather shabby copy of Mrs Leyel’s Herbal Delights. His refusal to further acknowledge her presence was perhaps intended as a slight. If it was it sadly misfired. She was intensely relieved.
Some raucous laughter from the seats across the gangway caught her attention and she gave a quick glance across at their neighbours. Two young men had boarded the train at the last stop, dressed in combat trousers and tee-shirts with huge black boots, their hair cropped short. Perhaps squaddies from the local barracks? They were very young, teenagers even, fresh-faced, wide-eyed but, once the thick layer of acne had run its natural course, would both be quite good-looking.
She bent her head to Mrs Leyel once more, whilst straining to decipher their accents. Scottish. That much was easy. East coast probably rather than west as she felt her ears throb to the barrage of strangulated glottal stops. Not dangerous young men. Not hostile. Just loud.
The coffee trolley was approaching down the carriage, inching its way between anxious mothers with restless children, Jaeger dressed ladies going to town to lunch with old school friends, business men – not the dawn rising kind, the older more leisurely breed – students and tourists. And people like her. One offs. In her case, visiting a magazine with some newly commissioned illustrations. The trolley was doing good business – tea, coffee, Cokes, orange drinks, Kit-Kats and flapjacks. It stopped alongside them and James Campbell lowered his paper for a fraction of a second to shake his head curtly at the girl. Caroline too declined but with a smile. The two young men sat forward eagerly. The girl obviously instantly tuned to their speech and had no difficulty in interpreting an order for two cans of lager each, but firmly declined the suggestion that a third, to keep in reserve, might be even better. She pocketed their change, handed over the drinks and then to Caroline’s delight wagged – actually wagged – her finger at the boys. ‘Now, no nonsense, you two. Behave yourselves, you hear me?’ she admonished loudly. ‘And put the empties in the bin!’ How did she do it? How did she escape with her life? She must have brothers, Caroline thought, to give her that ease of communication with them. Or was she just a natural leader of men? Far from being angry, they beamed at her and sat back to enjoy themselves as she trundled on her way.
Caroline realised suddenly that James Campbell had folded his paper in half. He was still reading, but the slightest glance enabled him now to see across it to their neighbours. And her. She frowned, trying to concentrate on the words on the page in front of her, but it was hard. The voices of the young men were growing louder and she discovered suddenly that her ear had grown accustomed to the lilt and staccato of their speech in spite of the impression that they were talking through mouthfuls of marbles. They were discussing a night on the town which they had both enjoyed. And they had, she suddenly realised, only a limited vocabulary when it came to description. The more baby-faced of the two tipped back his head and drained his can. He then stood up and obedient to instructions carefully tucked it into the litter bin behind his seat. He reseated himself and produced the second can with a flourish.
‘Och it was a fucking guid night!’ The expression of contented reminiscence reached her clearly. ‘I like watching fuitball; I like clubbing.’ He beamed across at his companion. ‘But not as much as I like fucking and brawling.’ He paused. ‘But, oh fuck, I like brawling best!’
Caroline bit her lip tightly to keep her face straight. She had seen the expression on the face of the woman in the next row of seats. It was scandalised. Her eyebrows had hit her hairline. Beside her, two more travellers were staring hard at their feet. Caroline glanced up at James Campbell. The Financial Times was trembling slightly. She could see his knuckles white against the pink paper. She frowned. No doubt he would take it upon himself to throw them off the train at the next stop.
The boys’ conversation had changed tack slightly, but not in any adjectival sense. ‘It’s fucking impossible to get back tae Edinburgh,’ – so that is where they came from – ‘and down tae fucking Colchester in that space of fucking time!’ The second can was neatly disposed of in the bin. They were oblivious to the other passengers, intent now on travel plans. ‘It’s fucking scandalous. If you like fucking brawling, you should do something about it! Go and have a fucking brawl with the fucking train arrangers!’
The Financial Times slipped a little and just for a second Caroline caught a glimpse of James Campbell’s face. It was very red. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth held in a tight-lipped grimace. Tears of laughter were streaming down his face. She stared, still trying to hold back her own mirth, and suddenly he looked up and caught her eye. His mouth twitched. He reached for the newspaper supplement which he had discarded on the seat next to him and held it out to her with a shaking hand. ‘You’d better borrow this!’ Already he had disappeared once more behind his own screen.
Caroline opened the paper hastily, aware that one of the boys was staring at her suddenly. But he wasn’t angry. There was no cry of ‘What are you looking at then?’ On the contrary, his huge blue eyes were full of sympathy and understanding. ‘Are you OK, hen?’ he asked gently. ‘Fucking hayfever!’
As the train drew into London Caroline refolded the paper and handed it back to its owner with a smile. ‘Thank you.’
The boys had been first off the train, not a can, not a crisp packet to be seen, the seat where they had been sitting spotless. ‘I don’t think I could have coped with that without your help.’ His face had returned to normal except that his eyes were no longer cold and critical. ‘I hope you’re not going to report them to their f –’ she stuttered. She had almost said it. ‘To their commanding officer!’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t enjoyed a train journey so much in a long time. Did you see the faces of those women?’
They were making their way out onto the platform now and somehow he was carrying her portfolio as well as his briefcase. He glanced across at her and she realised suddenly that not only were his eyes not cold, they were a startlingly bright blue. ‘You haven’t got time for a coffee, I suppose? To help compose ourselves before we are launched into the metropolis?’
And, gentle reader, do you know, against her better judgement, she agreed!
Barney
Theo Dexter, the house agent, was a young man of about her own age, Kay thought, or a little older. Good-looking in a floppy, self-deprecating, Hugh Grant sort of way. When the key wouldn’t turn he looked at her with an apologetic shrug.
It infuriated her. She stopped herself from grabbing it from him. ‘No one seems to have been here for a long time.’ She shoved back her hair from her face with barely concealed impatience.
‘No one else wants to see the cottage.’ He smiled.
She refused to be charmed. She needed somewhere to live. Now. Somewhere cheap. Very. The fact that this ruin was falling down was a plus. It suited her mood. And no one would come looking for her here.
‘Please try again. Give it a good rattle.’
His cautious shake was followed by a hefty thump then, two hands on the key, a bit of bicep-flexing. She watched, more amused now than cross. The place was beginning to work its magic. Another struggle and she heard a grating noise from the lock. In a moment the door was pushed open. The interior smelled musty and damp
, but not unpleasantly so. And it was very silent. They stood in the narrow hall for a moment, orientating themselves. Straight ahead there was a narrow staircase. To the right, a door opened on to a small living room; to the left, a kitchen with an ancient Rayburn, a dresser, and a scrubbed oak table.
‘Perfect!’
Kay’s enthusiasm shocked Theo into a response which was, she felt, for an estate agent, probably candid in the extreme. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Honestly, the place is a dump!’
She laughed. ‘It’s quiet. It’s pretty. It’s cheap. It’s all I can afford.’
He grimaced. ‘You’d better look upstairs before you commit yourself.’
She led the way, suddenly feeling ridiculously and uncharacteristically happy.
The stairs were steep and creaking, the banister loose. At the top there was a small landing lit by a window almost obscured on the outside by honeysuckle. On either side they found two identical bedrooms.
‘Still perfect?’
Kay caught Theo looking at her and grinned, unaware that her sudden happiness had made her radiant. Her previously rather severe features had become beautiful in a way which fascinated him.
She looked away first. ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that there is a bathroom?’ Practicalities had a way of bringing one back down to earth.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Believe it or not, there is. At the back. The old boy probably kept coal in the bath.’
‘Then I shall have a supply of fuel.’ Turning, she stepped back on to the landing and stopped in surprise. A small brown dog was sitting at the top of the stairs.
‘Hello.’ She stooped and held out her hand.
‘Who are you talking to?’ Theo appeared in the doorway.
‘The dog.’ She glanced up.
‘What dog?’
‘That one.’ She turned back. The dog had disappeared. ‘He must have run back downstairs. We left the front door open.’ The fresh air had certainly improved the feel of the place. The mustiness had gone and she could smell the roses and mock orange from the front garden.
The bathroom proved an almost pleasant surprise. Not modern certainly, but not too squalid either. If water and electricity could be coaxed back into the property the place was definitely viable.
They stopped off on the way back to have a sandwich in a thatched pub. Sitting at the table in the garden she glanced at her companion. ‘You must think I’m mad to make an offer for a house like that.’
He returned her look with a quizzical smile. ‘Mildly dotty, certainly. But I keep telling myself that the customer is always right.’
‘I’m running away.’
‘I assumed you weren’t trying to hit the high spots.’
‘A relationship on the rocks. There was quite a lot of heartbreak and a bit of publicity.’
He smiled again. She liked the way he did it, mostly with his eyes. ‘That’s tough. Well, I doubt if anyone will find you here.’
‘I don’t really think anyone will try. It’s all over. But I need some space.’
‘You’ll get that. There’s an acre of garden we never even looked at.’
She nodded. ‘An acre of nettles and brambles if we’re honest?’ When they laughed together she knew she was already beginning to heal.
It was ridiculously easy to buy the place. She didn’t bother with a survey and her first, unbelievably low offer was accepted by Alice Cross, the old lady to whom the cottage had been left. Expecting to have to haggle for it, Kay was stunned that the only condition of the sale was that she should love it the way ‘old Harry’ had loved it. And take care of Barney.
Barney, after due enquiry, turned out to be a dog. A small brown dog. She liked dogs so she agreed. The only problem was that since that first sighting there had been no sign of Barney anywhere. No one in the village seemed to know anything about him. Alice merely shrugged when asked and said he would turn up.
Kay moved in two months after she had first seen the cottage, complete with a bag of dog biscuits for Barney should he appear, and with some trepidation invited Theo for a drink to celebrate. He was, after all, the only person she knew in the area. He came and stayed for lunch. By the time he left she knew he was unattached and even nicer than she had remembered. And no longer infuriating.
Two days later he returned with a strimmer and a saw. The next weekend he brought wine, a couple of pasties and a bunch of roses.
On the Saturday after that they saw Barney again. She and Theo were standing just inside the front door. The dog was exactly where she had seen him before at the top of the stairs. By now the cottage was clean, sparsely but attractively furnished with the few things she had retrieved from her disintegrated past. She had gone round the place with a pot of white paint and had covered a multitude of sins with pictures and strategically placed pot-plants. It felt more like home than anywhere else she had ever lived.
‘Barney?’ Kay called. He wagged his tail and, turning, trotted out of sight.
‘How on earth did he get in?’ The door behind them was closed.
‘It doesn’t matter. He’s here now.’ Kay made for the stairs.
But they couldn’t find him.
After ten minutes’ fruitless search they gave up. ‘I’ll put down some water and biscuits for him. He’s obviously found a way of sneaking in and out.’ She was looking forward to befriending the little dog.
Their next visitor was equally unexpected. They were gardening as the gate clicked open. Alice was standing there watching them. She smiled and nodded as though approving of what she saw. ‘Harry would have liked this. He hated it when he was too old to look after his garden.’
Then followed the guided tour. Everything was approved with evident delight. In the kitchen Alice noticed the bowls on the floor. ‘You’re an animal lover. That’s good.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t been very successful with Barney.’ Kay thought it best to be honest.
Alice turned and looked at her. Her pale blue eyes watered slightly as the sunlight through the window caught her face. ‘How many times have you seen him?’
‘Well, only twice actually.’
Alice nodded. ‘And you’ve both seen him? You and your young man here?’
Kay smiled. ‘Yes, we’ve both seen him. This morning. Upstairs.’
Alice smiled. ‘That’s where he always sits. At the top of the stairs.’
‘We’ve put food down for him.’ Kay gestured at the dog biscuits.
Alice laughed. ‘I don’t suppose he’s touched those.’
‘No.’
Alice chuckled again. She laid her hand on Kay’s arm. ‘I’ll tell you a story. Harry and I were sweethearts before the War. Then he went away. He didn’t come back and I never got his letters. In the end I began courting someone else. I was married by the time he came home and moved in here, to his parents’ old place.’ She paused. ‘I visited him here.’ Kay saw the sudden twinkle in her eye and glanced at Theo. He was smiling.
‘My Bill was a hard man,’ she went on. ‘Cruel when the drink got to him. Harry and I still loved each other so much. It was on my third visit that I first saw Barney.’
Kay frowned. ‘What date are we talking about?’
‘About 1947,’ Alice chuckled. ‘Barney had belonged to Harry’s parents,’ she went on. ‘His father gave the puppy to Harry’s ma on their first wedding anniversary. They were so in love.’ She paused. ‘She died when Harry was born. Told the dog to look after the house for her.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence.
Kay’s whisper was barely audible. ‘You mean he’s a ghost?’
Alice beamed at her. ‘That’s right. He won’t be needing your biscuits, my dear. Just make him welcome. Love him. And let him look after you.’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘That goes for both of you. You must both belong here or you wouldn’t both have seen him.’
That night Theo stayed. It seemed the right thing to do.
You’ve Got to Have a Dream
She didn’t care!
She sat looking at the phone after she had put it down, stunned by the realisation. She really didn’t care!
‘I know you’ve been expecting it, Meg.’
He was more or less right. She had. She must have been. But not in that way. Not at that moment.
‘It’s the right time for the break, Meg, and if I accept the job and go to live in Bristol the office will pay for my move. You can keep the house. It’s always been more yours than mine. You deserve that at least.’
Which was the nearest he would ever get to an apology, to an acknowledgement of the last two years of heartache. She did not bother to ask if Angela was going with him. It was presumably a foregone conclusion. She found she was smiling suddenly. Why had he not made these world-shaking statements this morning as they ducked and wove around the kitchen, grabbing coffee and cereal and toast. Why wait till both he and she were at work, miles from each other. Why? Because he was a coward, that’s why!
‘Bastard!’ She said it almost affectionately.
Nicola glanced away from the screen on her desk, her fingers still clicking busily over the keyboard. ‘Douglas?’
‘Who else?’
‘Need an ear? Or a shoulder?’
Meg laughed. ‘Maybe an extra set of brains. He’s off. Leaving me. So, where do I go from here?’ In spite of her light tone there was suddenly a catch in her voice.
Nicola saved her document and spun her chair to face her friend.
‘Cake shop. Come on. The office can take care of itself for an hour or two. That’s what all these machines are for. They don’t need people.’ She switched on the answer phone. ‘Let’s go and brainstorm.’
As they grabbed their coats and turned the notice on the door to ‘closed’ Nicola stopped and looked closely at Meg’s face. ‘You don’t still love him, do you? No lurking regrets?’
Meg shook her head. ‘Only for all the time I’ve wasted hoping things would get better.’
Sands of Time Page 23