Alison sat at her desk, anxiously inspecting her face for any sign of spots. Today was too important for any unexpected eruptions. She still found it hard to get her head around the way events had moved in the past week. First Al, then Gran, then Simon… Her head was still spinning from the previous evening. It had been fabulous. She had eaten steak, and prawns, and a wonderful lemon tart, and drunk wine, and brandy, and coffee. She and Simon had laughed and talked, so easily. ‘And I worried that we might run out of things to say,’ she marvelled. ‘It was like we’d known each other forever.’ And then he had driven her home, kissed her hand and told her to take an aspirin to ward off any possible hangover.
‘And he didn’t try anything on!’ she said aloud, exultantly, which meant that she could look forward to her evening with Al with a completely clear conscience.
The thought of meeting Al again had been uppermost in her mind when she had woken that morning, and although, initially, she’d not been terribly enthusiastic when her mother had invited Simon to tea, now she was glad, because it would be a welcome diversion during the countdown to seeing Al again, a prospect that was making her increasingly nervous as the day wore on.
She heard the sound of a car arriving in the yard and went to her window to check who it was. It was Jeff Babbington. She decided to slip out of the house and walk up the track to wait for Simon.
On her way out, she caught sight of Stephen sitting on a hay bale in the shadow of the barn. Gone was the carefree figure of yesterday. He looked positively haggard. Alison had never paid much attention to her brothers’ feelings. They were so much older than she was, and so had always seemed emotionally remote, self-sufficient, not needing or wanting her sympathy or understanding. Sitting there, Stephen looked so vulnerable Alison suddenly felt differently about him. She changed direction and went to sit beside him.
* * *
Replete with rich chocolate cake and wine, Ron and Elsie were lying in each other’s arms, dozing, when their quiet comfort was shattered by the sound of the door bell.
‘What was that?’ Elsie, startled out of her slumber, was momentarily confused.
‘The door bell.’ Ron sat up in bed. ‘That’s odd.’
‘What is?’
‘It’s my front door bell. Not the one that lets you in downstairs.’
‘Perhaps it’s a neighbour, wanting something. Leave it, dear. They’ll go away.’
But a moment later, they heard the scraping of a key in the lock and Ron shot out of bed. He had barely had time to whisper to Elsie, ‘It’s Pat!’ when they heard someone call ‘Dad? Dad?’ and move across the living room in the direction of the bedroom.
Elsie dived under the duvet, taking with her the remnants of the torte and the wine, and Ron just had time to don a dressing gown and, with great presence of mind, throw a jacket over Elsie’s clothes on the chair, before the door opened.
Elsie, lying half suffocated under the duvet, and flattening herself into the mattress as much as possible, trying not to move, could visualise the thin, sharp features of Ron’s daughter,peering suspiciously around the door.
‘Dad? What are you doing?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘It’s not like you to go to bed in the afternoon. Are you all right?’
Elsie could hear Ron moving towards the door. He sounded irritated. ‘Yes, of course I am, perfectly all right. Mayn’t a man have a snooze, if he feels like it?’
‘Yes, but…it’s just not like you, that’s all. And don’t you normally see friends on Saturday afternoon?’
‘I do. So what are you doing here?’
Elsie felt a tickle in her nose. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she thought, half way to panicking and half way to collapsing with laughter at the absurdity of the situation.
With relief, she heard Pat say, with some hesitation, ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on. We need to talk, Dad. You get dressed and we’ll have a cup of tea.’
Ron shut the door behind her and pulled back the duvet.
‘Thank God for that,’ muttered Elsie. ‘I though I was going to suffocate. Get dressed, Ron, and get rid of her as quickly as possible. I’ll put my clothes on and hide in the wardrobe till she’s gone.’
‘Why don’t we just tell her, Elsie? For goodness sakes, we’ve got our own lives to lead…’
‘And the less other people know of our business, the better, Ron. Go on, find out what she wants. Why did she come here if she thought you were out? That daughter of yours doesn’t do things without a reason.’
They dressed as rapidly as they were able. With Elsie ensconced safely in the wardrobe, Ron went to face his daughter. Elsie could hear the rise and fall of their voices, but although they were clearly having an argument, she couldn’t make out what was being said, try as she might.
It was some time before she heard the front door slam and Ron came to release her, and Elsie, even though she had left the wardrobe door open a crack, was feeling faint through lack of air and having to sit in such cramped quarters. Ron sat her in a chair and, giving her a glass of water, anxiously rubbed her feet and hands until she could move comfortably again.
‘I felt like a teenager all over again. Fancy hiding under the duvet at my age!’ She chuckled, but Ron remained serious. She looked at him, concerned, ‘What was that all about then?’
He pulled a face. ‘She was here because a neighbour asked her to call round this afternoon. Walls have ears, my dear. Our little scene with Alison the other day was overheard, and it would seem all the neighbours have got together to enjoy the gossip and decide what is to be done with me. June suspects the onset of senile dementia, and nothing I could say would persuade her that there was a perfectly simple explanation. Being in bed on a Saturday afternoon has further reinforced her suspicions. She’s on the warpath, Elsie, and I’m going to have to watch my step if I’m not going to find myself clapped in a home!’
* * *
By the time they arrived in the kitchen for tea, Nicola was regretting the impulse that had led her to accept Stephen’s invitation.
The farm wasn’t anything like she thought it would be. It was a hot afternoon and the heat seemed to accentuate the smell, the dust and the flies. The farm buildings were tumbledown; the milking parlour, which he showed her with pride, was of no interest to her at all. The barn, where the calf had been born, smelled oppressively sickly and strange. The little calf was sweet, but she’d no wish to stroke it and hastily backed away when the mother made a loud ‘don’t touch’ noise the moment she had tentatively put her hand out.
Stephen then suggested they went and looked at his herd, which was grazing in a field quite close to the farmyard. They walked down a rutted farm track, the afternoon sun beating down remorselessly hot on her head and back, there being no shade of any sort from the sparse hedgerow; and while she made polite conversation, he was almost inarticulate in his replies. She was wearing a short, thin, cotton dress, and she could feel a trickle of perspiration running down her spine.
When they arrived at the field, the cows were over on the far side, huddled together in the shade of a large chestnut. Nicola would have preferred to admire them from a distance, in the safety of the lane, but to her alarm, Stephen opened the gate and ushered her into the meadow. The size and proximity of the cows alarmed her, though she did her best to hide it, but when one vast black and white monster lumbered slowly to her feet, Nicola couldn’t help squeaking with terror and did her best to conceal herself behind Stephen’s broad back.
He looked at her with concern. ‘It’s alright, Nicola. She’s only being curious. She’s a good milker that one; gave me a pair of calves six months ago…’
‘Oh…how nice…’ Nicola’s voice came out high and thin with fear, and in spite of Stephen’s inclination to linger and extol the virtues of every individual cow, she couldn’t get out of the field fast enough, feeling the cows’ eyes on her back all the way to the field gate
.
‘Er…would you like to go for a walk along the river? It’s pretty nice at this time of year.’
‘Anything,’ Nicola, thought, ‘anything, so long as he doesn’t show me any more cows. This afternoon is turning out to be the longest in my life. Why, oh why?…’ She attempted a smile. ‘That would be nice, Stephen. Will it be cooler there, do you think?’
He looked at her with concern, ‘You do look a bit hot. Are you all right?’
The path along the riverbank was hard and uneven, her sandals were not really up to it, and she had to concentrate to avoid the thistles, nettles and cowpats. She tried to draw Stephen out, but he had no conversation and went red whenever he put more than two words together, which, after a while, she found very trying.
Climbing a stile, he took her hand to help her over, and then tried to hold onto it. She managed to disengage herself by pointing at a bird on the river. ‘Oh look, what’s that? Isn’t it handsome?’
‘It’s a mallard, a drake – they’re pretty common, really.’
Nicola walked in front of him, putting the hand he had clutched in the pocket of her skirt, giving him no opportunity to take it again, and hardening her heart against the look of despair she saw pass across Stephen’s face.
They reached a huge old tree, its roots reaching over the bank into the river, as if it were dipping its toes in the water. They paused for a moment, under the shade of its branches and she became aware that he was trying to pluck up courage to say something to her.
That Stephen had a crush on Nicola was not a secret among the Merlin Players, and it had caused her, and the rest of them, a great deal of amusement when she had returned on periodic visits to catch up with her friends in The Players. Nicola liked being adored and was used to it, and rarely, to her credit, took advantage of it. But this summer, she was bored. She had come back to her parents’ house because there was no work in London and her funds were very low. She had broken up with her most recent boyfriend, at his instigation, which had left her sore. She had agreed to take a part in The Beaux Stratagem as her ego needed the level of stroking that being their star would provide, but she was out of their league and she knew it, which added to her general feelings of frustration. So the teasing of Stephen, leading him on for her amusement and that of her friends in the company, was the result, which was why she had accepted his invitation.
She had anticipated having great fun, reporting back to the others her experiences of Marsh farm and Stephen’s family, none of whom any of them had ever met. But what had started out as a frivolous game was turning into an ordeal, and for one awful moment she feared, under the grey ash tree, that Stephen was about to declare his passion, which was more than she was prepared to deal with. So she gave him no chance to say anything and talked about the river, the view, the heat, rehearsals, anything that came into her head. He seemed to deflate even more and, almost in silence, finally led the way back to the farmhouse and to the tea that awaited them.
Jenny beamed. Everything seemed to be going so well. True, nobody except Stephen seemed to have much of an appetite; there were a lot of the sardine sandwiches left and Nicola was taking a long time to eat hers. What a pretty girl she was; with those lovely blue eyes and glossy dark curls, Jenny could understand why Stephen was so smitten. She reminded her of a heroine in a Georgette Heyer novel that she had just finished reading.
When she had first arrived in the kitchen, Jenny was nervous. Nicola had seemed a bit quiet, cold, even. But then Simon had appeared with Alison, and Nicola appeared to come out of herself and sparkled. ‘Poor girl, I expect she was just shy,’ Jenny thought, sympathetically, and cut her an extra large piece of chocolate cake.
Simon was a great hit with all of them. Jenny had liked him from the moment Alison had brought him home. It wasn’t just that she was impressed by his appearance and by his charming manner, but there was a kindness about him that made her feel relaxed and comfortable. She beamed at him across the table. He certainly was good-looking. Jenny marvelled at the good-fortune of her two children to have attracted such a glamorous pair. It was just such a pity neither of them seemed to eat anything. Simon had managed one sandwich and a scone, had praised her strawberry jam but had refused anything else. But then, he had told her he was going out to dinner that evening. And Nicola, well she was such a slim creature, and an actress - they did have to watch their figures, didn’t they…
Sitting by Jenny’s side, Alison nibbled at a sardine sandwich. The bread was slightly dry and the filling was very fishy and slimy, so with the practice born of years, she waited till her mother’s attention was elsewhere then slid the sandwich under the table, into the eager jaws of Gip, who had long since learned to sit patiently under the table by Alison’s knees at mealtimes.
Alison was concerned about Stephen. He was very quiet and there was a defeated air about him – the way he sat with his shoulders hunched and rarely looked up at anybody. True he hadn’t lost his appetite, but then, Alison reminded herself, Stephen had always stuffed his face, however miserable or worried he was. Then Simon turned to talk to him, and to her relief, she saw Stephen respond and become more animated. The conversation led on to the Tuckers’ plans to regenerate the farm’s fortunes. Stephen brightened, helped himself to another large slice of chocolate cake and turned to talk to Jeff, animatedly, about what they might do with rare breeds.
Alison felt guilty. With everything that had happened over the past few days, she had given very little thought to the farm’s future. She said as much, and added, ‘I guess, since I don’t know too much about farming, I ought to look at other ideas for using what we’ve got.’
‘Like what, Alison?’ Simon smiled across at her. He was sitting in Charlie’s chair, next to Stephen; Nicola sat in Jenny’s place, next to Alison, and Jeff occupied Elsie’s huge wooden chair at the head. Jenny had pushed the heap of paraphernalia on the table further down one end, to make room for herself, next to Alison, and from here she jumped up periodically to fill the kettle or teapot, cut cake, and press more food on her guests.
‘I don’t know…’ Alison replied, thoughtfully, ‘We had a few ideas the other day… Clay pigeon shooting; paint-balling; pick your own; ostrich farming; a farm shop; weddings… I really don’t know, but we’ve land and we’ve got a nice setting. We should be able to think of doing something that people want, and if it could happen alongside Stephen’s rare breeds…’
‘Sounds like a recipe for a circus!’ Nicola laughed.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sure even circuses will pay good money for a site,’ retorted Alison, sourly.
‘Talking about sites…’ Nicola sparkled. The arrival of the man sitting opposite her had been as unexpected as it was welcome. Simon was just the sort of man she liked; the sort who brought out the best in her; the sort of man she would very much like to have and would have, if she put her mind to it. ‘I’ve heard there’s going to be some sort of rave near here. You should get onto that bandwagon – I bet the organisers would pay well for the land. They charge enough for the tickets.’
‘Yeah, well, raves are old hat,’ replied Alison, ‘but letting the land out for a music event was one of the ideas I thought we might consider…’
Her mother looked up, alarmed. ‘Events, what sort of events? We might need the money, but I don’t want anything illegal going on. I’ve heard about those raves, Alison, and I’m not having one on my land.’
‘But Mum, they’re not what you think…
‘How do you know, Alison? I’ve heard all about them. Can you imagine how your gran would react if we were invaded by hippies, rolling around in the dirt; dogs and alcohol; weird music; drugs for sale, and goodness knows what else? If there is going to be such a thing round here, they’d better keep well away from our land or I’ll set the police on them.’
‘Raves have changed, Mum. They’re not like they used to be – they’re more like huge discos; they’
re not for hippies.’
‘You’re not going to get me to change my mind about them, Ali, and I hope you’re not planning on going to this one. I’ve heard about them discos and teenagers takin’ those E tablets, dancing all night and dying from thirst. Terrible!’ And she shook her head, visibly distressed.
Jeff leaned forward and patted her hand. ‘I’m sure raves would be the last thing Stephen would want here.’ He smiled encouragingly at her, ‘I’ve got another idea: how about a golf driving range? There are a number about and they seem to do quite well.’ Jeff liked golf.
‘Or a pitch and putt…’ Jenny cheered up at the thought, and helped herself to a piece of fruit cake. She had played pitch and putt once, on the seafront at Weston.
‘What ideas has Charlie come up with?’ Jeff took a nibble out of the large slice of chocolate cake Jenny had insisted on giving him. It was like eating clay. Nicola, he noticed, had just taken a bite and was staring at her piece with dismay.
‘Oh he would like to set up a motocross circuit, of course,’ said Alison, contemptuously. ‘Apart from that, he hasn’t come up with anything.’
‘He’s busy with harvesting at the moment, Ali. He probably hasn’t had time to give it much thought. More tea, Nicola? Are you sure you won’t try my cake, Simon? Have another scone and some strawberry jam…’
The conversation drifted on to other things. Nicola questioned Simon about where he lived, his reasons for moving out of London, and his job. She then started exchanging London reminiscences with him. ‘Which rather cuts the rest of us out,’ thought Alison. She was beginning to dislike Nicola.
Alison’s mobile buzzed, and excusing herself from the party, she went outside to check the text message.
‘Probs. Held up. CU 8. Al’
For some reason she felt gutted. All day she’d been pitching for seven o’ clock. It was only a delay of an hour, but... Meeting someone at eight rather than seven ruled out so many possibilities: it would be too late to eat; too late to go the movies; too late to go anywhere very far… Alison ground her teeth in vexation.
A Tangled Summer Page 19