Mollified, Charlie put up no further objections and told Linda about his fight with Alison, his worries about Stephen and of his planned meeting with Hugh Lester.
She was interested and sympathetic, but sided with Stephen, which took Charlie by surprise.
‘He’d be in the same boat as I’m in, Charlie. Stan wants to sell ,and if we do, that means I shall be homeless and jobless. Think about it.’
‘I have Lin, endlessly. And the more I do, the more sense it makes to sell. I really can’t find any other way out of our difficulties. If Hugh Lester accepts my price, then it’s a starting point; it doesn’t commit us to anything. I couldn’t sell without the rest of the family’s agreement, anyway. But once they got over the shock, I’m sure they’d come round to the idea…’
‘But it’s more than a job for you all, isn’t it Charlie? How would your family feel, not being at Marsh Farm any more? It’s been in your family for years, hasn’t it? What are they going to think of you, going to see Hugh Lester behind their backs?’
Charlie had no satisfactory answers. ‘I’m just sounding out the ground, Lin…’
‘So you say, however… There. I’m done.’ She held out a mirror to Charlie.
He stared at an unfamiliar image. The long sweep of hair, darkened and stiff with Brylcreem had gone completely. His hair was a glossy nut-brown, now cropped quite short. He looked very much younger than his thirty-two years, but, he thought, he looked so odd… maybe it was the white patches from his missing hair that were the problem. He fingered his face.
‘What do you think?’ Linda was enthusiastic. ‘Looks cool, doesn’t it? I always knew you were a good-looking dude under all that growth. Come on, put your shirt on and stop looking so mournful. Don’t worry about the white skin, it’ll tan soon enough.’
They were interrupted by a shout from the bar, and Linda hurried down to serve.
When Charlie joined her, Lenny had just come in. He stopped in his tracks and stared and stared open-mouthed at his friend till Charlie protested, ‘Oh come on Lenny – I’ve just had a haircut, that’s all…’
‘That all! Blimey, Charlie, you’ve ’ad a complete makeover. Talk about the ugly duckling… You’ll be wearing Armani suits next.’
* * *
Stephen had spent the day in a happy daze. He’d arranged for a specialist to come and sort out his water heater problems, cleaned the dairy till it sparkled, and driven the cows back to their pasture after the afternoon milking. Angela finished work at five-thirty and they had agreed that he should pick her up from her lodgings with all the information on different approaches to farming that she’d been collecting for him. They were going to spend the evening together, working on the business plan. He glanced at his watch. No time to change – he’d do that after he picked her up. She wouldn’t mind if he smelled of cows.
Driving to Summerbridge, Stephen happily indulged in daydreams about Angela, the farm and their future. Left to himself, he freely admitted, he would not have been up to the task of putting together a business plan, but with Angela helping him, he almost looked forward to it. ‘She’s a bit like Gran,’ he thought happily, ‘not afraid of forms and figures….’
From out of nowhere, the thought of his gran thumped Stephen in the solar plexus. Inadvertently, he swerved violently, causing the car behind to sound its horn, long and angrily. Stephen, shaking, pulled onto the side of the road. How could he have forgotten his gran’s ultimatum? And Angela… What on earth would Angela make of it when she found out? Perhaps she didn’t have to know? After all, he hadn’t told anyone, and he knew that wasn’t the reason why he’d asked Ange to marry him. Far from it… Why complicate matters?’
‘Say nothing,’ he thought, ‘and maybe it won’t arise. Say nothing, and maybe it will…’
Miserably, he resumed his journey.
Unusually, Angela didn’t come running out as soon as he arrived, the curtains in her window, which was on the ground floor in the front of the house, were drawn, and it was the landlady who let him in.
Angela finally responded to the knock on her door, and although she tried to smile brightly at him, she looked pale and her eyes were pink and puffy. She drew back slightly when he bent to kiss her and responded only with a perfunctory peck
‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you arrive, Stephen. I was lying down, I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Ange. Do you want to give this evening a miss?’
‘No, no, it’s all right. Simon says we need to get a move on...’
‘But if you’re not up to it… You do look really pale.’ He was concerned.
Angela flushed and Stephen could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. But she shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘I’m fine. The stuff’s all in that box, there, and I’ve bought some things for our supper…’
Like Angela, her room was small and neat. The box she indicated was sitting on a table in the window bay; her sofa-bed was tucked against the wall, underneath a picture by Constable, The Hay Wain (her favourite painting, she had once told Stephen); the third wall was filled by a built-in cupboard, divided into two, one half of which held her modest collection of clothes, and the other half, a sink and an electric hotplate, with shelves below, for her food. A small chest of drawers, one dining chair and one armchair completed the furniture, all of which was serviceable, but dull and old-fashioned. ‘This room is enough to pull anyone down,’ thought Stephen. ‘Ange deserves better than this.’
She was unusually silent all the way back to the farm, and Stephen, stealing a glance, noticed her staring out of the window, a set expression on her face. Perhaps now would not be a good time to tell her about Gran; if she was not feeling well, she might completely misunderstand – particularly if she was having a period or something (he had been alerted to the problems of PMT often enough by the women in his household).
So, instead, Stephen set about trying to make Angela as comfortable as possible. She was so very quiet it worried him, and he fussed, making her endless cups of tea, assembling the lettuce, tomatoes, coleslaw, potato salad, cold meat, and cheese that she’d bought for their supper, till, finally, pulling up a chair next to her so that they could go through the business plan, he put his arm around her and said, gently, ‘Is there something wrong, Ange? Are you all right?’
Angela turned her head away and studied one of the forms intently. ‘No, nothing’s wrong, Stephen. Really. You’ve been so kind to me this evening. It’s just…it’s just this headache.’
* * *
At the end of a busy evening in the public bar of The Grapes, Charlie washed glasses, wiped the bar, cleared tables and stashed empties, whistling quietly as if he’d being doing it for years. His new look had attracted many favourable comments, he had enjoyed a lively conversation with a number of regulars, and although tired, he felt content.
Linda, seeing off the last few customers, threw him a grateful smile. ‘Charlie, you’ve been a real asset this evening. Lots of people have complimented me on my new barman.’
Charlie grinned back, ‘Anytime you want me, Lin. I’m happy to oblige. Beats farming, any day.’
She had just gone into the kitchen to put their supper in the microwave when Charlie heard the outer door to the pub open. ‘Sorry mate, we’re closed,’ he called out.
‘Well, well, well, Stan said softly, his face cast in deep shadows by the bar light. ‘If it’s not Farmer Tucker, toes tucked behind the bar; all shorn and sheepish. What a pretty boy, eh? She didn’t waste much time, did she? Giving me all that crap about being abandoned, trying to run the place on her own…’
‘What are you fucking on about, Stan? I’m just giving her a hand?’
‘Oh yeah? And what else are you givin’ her, Charlie? Didn’t hang about, did yer?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not giving her anything but h
elp, running this place.’
‘Come off it, Charlie, you’ve always fancied her. I’m not stupid…’
‘Yes you are.’ Charlie was suddenly really angry, and didn’t notice Linda coming back into the bar. ‘You’re really stupid, Stan. You had something nice here, and you threw it away. Linda’s a really classy bird and you just didn’t see it, didn’t see what she was worth. Threw it all away for a bit of tit and big blue eyes, and the sort of skirt that would make eyes at the likes of me. Linda’s not that sort, more’s the pity for me. But you, you just snapped your fingers and turned your back on it, so don’t tell me you’re not stupid. Stupid ain’t the word for it – you’re fuckin’ brain-dead!’
Stan growled deep in his throat and swung a punch at Charlie, who, just in time, ducked down behind the bar. Stan’s fist came crashing down on the counter, setting all the glasses jumping and tinkling.
‘That’ll do.’ Linda was composed, icy. ‘Charlie, you’d better go now. I’ll lock up. Stan and I have business to discuss. If you’d like to call round tomorrow, I’ll settle your wages. Thanks for tonight.’
Wages? Charlie was deeply offended. So Linda saw him as a hired hand, and he’d thought… Oh never mind what he thought. He stalked to the door, and Linda followed him, the keys in her hand. Stan stood at the bar and watched them.
Over the rattling of the lock, Linda whispered, ‘Charlie, come back tomorrow, please. It’s best if I deal with him on my own. I’ll be all right, honest.’
* * *
‘Your Mum’s back late from the cinema,’ remarked Angela, rubbing her eyes with fatigue. ‘I’m sorry Stephen, but I don’t think I can do any more, tonight. We’ve made a good start, though. I’ll take this map of the farm and photocopy it tomorrow, then we can mark in what might be the farm walk…’
‘I’m sorry, Ange. A full day at the library, then a whole evening working on this plan…And with a headache. You must be exhausted. I’ll run you home.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Shall I make us a cup of tea before we go?’ Stephen blushed, ‘It would be nice to see Mum and tell her about us.’
Angela went slightly pink and looked distressed. ‘Er…perhaps not tonight, Stephen. We don’t want to rush things, do we? Not until we’re really sure…’
It was Stephen’s turn to look distressed. He turned in his chair to face her and put an arm round her thin shoulders. ‘I’m sure… Aren’t you?’ When she didn’t reply but hung her head still further, Stephen was alarmed and put out a hand, gently touching her cheek. ‘Have I done something to upset you, Ange? I wouldn’t hurt you, for the world…’
Before Angela had a chance to answer, Charlie stumbled in. ‘Blimey, Steve, you’d never guess what I’ve just seen – Mum and Jeff outside in the car, snogging!’ He registered his brother’s position. ‘Strike a light! What’s goin’ on? Mum and Jeff, you and Four Eyes… Somebody fill me in, please…’
‘If you ever call Ange that again, I’ll fill you in all right!’ Stephen hissed, turning to meet his brother. His eyes widened. ‘Blimey, you’ve had your hair cut – you don’t look like Charlie any more, you look like…like…’ For a moment his brow furrowed, trying to work out, without success, just who his brother reminded him of.
Losing interest, he took Angela’s arm and self-consciously started to introduce his fiancée to his brother. ‘Ange, I’m not sure how well you know my brother, Charlie. We’re partners on the farm. Charlie, Ange and I have been working on a business plan. We’ve been looking at how we might introduce rare breeds, change farming practices, introduce things like farm walks and stuff; bringing the farm up to date and making it a more commercial proposition. Do you want to have a look over it? If you agree, we could submit it to the bank and maybe…’
From the way Stephen was talking, Charlie realised that Alison hadn’t told him about the estate agent. Overwhelmed with relief, he seized his opportunity.
‘Steve, you should have talked to me before you went to all this trouble.’ He picked up the document and flicked through it. ‘It’s great you’ve done so much, and I hate to pour cold water on it, mate, but it ain’t going to work.’
Stephen stared at his brother ‘Why not?’
‘Well, for one thing, the way things are with the bank at the moment, they’re not going look twice at anything like this. Be realistic, Stevie – they want us to cut our debt, not ask them for more money!’
‘But Simon said, and Gran, that this was the best way to go. We’ve got to get them on our side…’
‘I don’t know who this Simon is, but Gran’s still living in the last century…’
‘I don’t know how you can say that, Charlie. She’s as sharp as she ever was, and you know it.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘Well, maybe, but the thing is, Steve, she doesn’t know how things stand.’
‘And you do?’
‘Yes, I do – there’s something I’ve found out that she doesn’t know, and nor do you.’
‘What?’ Stephen’s chin jutted, belligerently.
‘For a start, the bank is in the pocket of Hugh Lester. They’ll turn anything down that we might come up with. He wants our farm.’
‘We know…’ Angela started to speak, but Stephen stopped her. He turned to his brother, a dangerous look in his eyes.
‘So what are you proposing, Charlie? Do nothing and slide towards bankruptcy?’
‘Of course not. I’ve given the matter a lot of thought, Stevie, and this is my plan: we sell to Hugh Lester.’
‘What?’ Stephen was almost beside himself with rage and disbelief.
‘Hold on, hold on. Let me explain. Hugh Lester wants this farm so bad he’s prepared to go to almost any lengths to get it. I’ve had the farm valued and I’m proposing offering it to him at a bit above the valuation. He’s unscrupulous, Steve. He’ll get us out, one way or another. This way it’ll save him and us a lot of bother.’
What!’ Stephen leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over.
Charlie held up a hand. ‘Makes sense, Steve. We collect a tidy sum, well over a million, with any luck. You can buy another farm, somewhere else, cheaper than this… Everyone’s selling at the moment, but we’re lucky, we’ve got a buyer who’s desperate, so we’re quids in…’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this…’ Stephen, furious, grabbed Charlie’s jacket.
‘Take your hands off me,’ Charlie, getting annoyed in turn, pushed him back. ‘For Chrissake, Stephen, don’t be so bloody stupid. Can’t you get it in your thick head that this is the best thing we can do – all that stuff with fluffy, cuddly animals just won’t work.’
Incensed, Stephen pushed Charlie, hard, and before Angela could do anything to stop them, both men were rolling over and over on the kitchen floor. Chairs went flying and the table, crashed into once too often, collapsed at one end, sending years of accumulated paraphernalia slithering to the floor.
Gip, jolted out of her basket, added to the general mayhem by barking furiously at the fighting men and dancing round them, trying to nip any available ankle.
Amid the chaos, Jenny and Jeff came into the kitchen, followed closely by Elsie and Alison.
‘What is going on?’ Jenny shouted across the din to Angela.
‘Oh please stop them, Mrs Tucker. Stephen’s bleeding. They’re going to kill each other…’
Jeff attempted to intervene, but to no avail.
Jenny went straight to the sink, picked up a bowl of stagnating washing up water and threw it over them. The fight stopped abruptly. Both men sat on the floor, dazed, water dripping off their faces, their hair, their clothes. Stephen had blood streaming from his nose, and with a small scream Angela ran to him. Charlie had received a thump to one eye, which was closing rapidly.
‘Well done, Jenny,’ said Elsie, approvingly. She turned to the two men. ‘Well, are we going to get a
n explanation?’
24
They calmed down pretty quick, after that, although they couldn’t stop glowering at each other,’ Alison, her arm linked through Simon’s, chuckled.
Simon had rung her that morning. She told him about Al and the accident, and the agreement she’d made with Al that as Swindon was so far away, she would confine her visits to every other day. Awful though Al’s injuries were, Alison was on a cloud of loving and being loved, and Simon was delighted. He had suggested that when he got back from work, they should meet for a walk.
‘Angela seemed pretty upset,’ Alison continued, ‘so Uncle Jeff took her back to Summerbridge, then Gran gave the boys a right ticking off. Gave us all a lecture on pulling together, not fighting. Mum’d no idea what was going on, she seemed more amazed by Charlie’s haircut and how like Dad he looked than anything… Gran wants us all to meet up this evening. She says she wants to talk to us.’
‘Sound intriguing.’ Simon whistled for Duchess who had lingered behind on the riverbank, fascinated by some smell or other. ‘Wish I could be a fly on the ceiling.’
They were making their way along the riverbank, past the blackberry bushes where Duchess had knocked her into the water. ‘Funny to think I never met Charlie,’ Simon mused. ‘Actually, apart from the fact that no one should ever give the Lesters anything, his plan was not without economic sense.’
Alison snorted, ‘Any plan of Charlie’s is doomed to failure. I wish you’d met him when he still had sideburns – he looked like a relic from the nineteenth century; now he just looks ordinary.’
Simon took a card out of his inside pocket. ‘Here, give this to Stephen, Ali. I had a word with someone at your bank. He’s working with me on this current project. I’m pleased to say, he was horrified to hear of the somewhat unprofessional practices of Mr Gordon White. He’s instructed me to tell you that when Stephen is ready with his business plan, he must contact this gentleman. I think Stephen’ll find the bank sympathetic.’
A Tangled Summer Page 39