by Mark Tufo
‘It is a bit like that, isn’t it?’ Scott said, taking a beer from Phoebe who’d brought in a bottle for him and a coffee for her dad. ‘We’ve got a brewery one way, a fracking site just over the hills behind us...’
‘The fun never starts,’ Tammy said sarcastically.
‘I’d be interested in seeing the fracking site,’ Jeremy continued. He stopped, conscious that the others were looking at him. ‘What? I’m interested, can’t help it. It’s not a million miles removed from my line of work. I’ve been talking to another firm about going into partnership on a project in Yorkshire of all places. Once they’ve sorted out the PR side of things, of course. Have you had any earthquakes yet?’ George waddled into the room. ‘I can’t get over how you’ve grown,’ Jeremy said to him. ‘When I last saw you, you were just a titchy little fella, not a big strapping man like this.’
Michelle came in from the kitchen and watched Scott from a distance, trying to gauge his reaction as Jeremy interacted with his son. He looked as uncomfortable as she’d expected, but at least he was keeping his temper in check. Conflict between the two men had been an issue in the past, particularly when the girls had been younger. Scott had always accepted that Tammy and Phoebe needed to spend time with their father, but he’d struggled with the realities and practicalities. In fact, it hadn’t been until he’d become a father himself that he’d finally started to understand the emotions and unspoken needs at play.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Jeremy said, ducking back out into the hall to fetch a plastic carrier bag. Glass bottles clinked together as he picked it up. He gave a bottle of wine to Michelle (her favourite label... she was touched that he remembered) and handed a bottle of scotch to Scott who seemed genuinely surprised. ‘The best I could find on the way into Thussock, so not great I’m afraid. Supermarket’s own.’
‘Thanks,’ Scott said, checking out the label. ‘A malt. You shouldn’t have.’
‘Nonsense. You’re both being very hospitable and I appreciate it. Understanding too.’
‘Want a shot of this in your coffee?’
‘No thanks, I’m driving.’
‘You could stay here if you wanted a drink,’ Michelle said. Scott bit his tongue and glared at her. ‘We’re out of beds, but the sofa’s pretty comfortable.’
She might not have picked up on her husband’s unease, but Jeremy did. ‘What, and miss out on staying over at the Black Boy? Hell of a place, your local.’
‘Something to do with a sheepdog, isn’t it?’ Scott said. ‘You’d think they’d change the name. I thought twice about going in there for a drink, so fair play to you for spending the night.’
‘I haven’t done it yet,’ he laughed. ‘Not a lot of choice around here though.’
‘You’re lucky you managed to get a room,’ Michelle said. ‘It’s not the biggest pub.’
‘Don’t think that was ever going to be a problem. I think I’m the only guest there right now. And judging by the state of the room they’ve given me, I get the impression I’m the first person they’ve had there in a long time.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ Michelle said. ‘Anyway, the offer’s there. If you feel like getting drunk or decide you can’t stand the thought of the pub, you can bed down here.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m looking at it as an adventure. I’ve stopped in far worse places. At least here we all speak the same language.’
‘You reckon?’ Tammy laughed. ‘Have you heard how they talk, Dad? I don’t have a clue what they’re saying half the time. I had to ask a teacher to say the same thing four times today. Made me look like a right idiot.’
‘I just keep nodding my head and make the right noises when they pause for breath,’ Michelle admitted.
‘So you’re finding the locals a challenge?’
‘Everything’s a challenge,’ Tammy answered quickly.
‘She’s exaggerating,’ Michelle said. ‘She always exaggerates. The people are fine.’
‘Those who are still alive,’ Tammy said under her breath.
Michelle felt the mood in the room immediately change.
‘What did you have to say that for?’
Tammy shrugged her shoulders then turned to her dad. ‘You’ve heard about Thussock’s little problem, I take it?’
‘I’ve heard.’
‘And what do you think?’
Jeremy looked around the room. Michelle was watching him, Scott was glaring at him, Phoebe was chewing her bottom lip anxiously... even George looked unsure.
‘I think it’s very sad and very worrying,’ he said. ‘But I also think you’ll all be okay. Scott’s here, and he’s not going to let anything happen to any of you, isn’t that right, Scott?’
‘Absolutely.’
Another pregnant pause. Awkward. Uncomfortable.
‘Right, let’s eat,’ Michelle said, her voice overly enthusiastic. ‘Who’s hungry?’
Jeremy stayed at the house until almost eleven. The evening was, for the most part, unexpectedly enjoyable and inevitably awkward in equal measure. The girls had gone up to their rooms just after ten, the initial novelty of having their dad around having worn off. He joked that they’d always liked the idea of being with him better than the reality. They made plans for him to pick them up after school tomorrow and spend a little time together.
Things soured soon after the girls had left. Scott disappeared, leaving Jeremy and Michelle alone in the living room. ‘Weird, isn’t it?’ Jeremy said.
‘What is?’
‘This. The fact it feels reasonably normal to be sitting here talking like this. We’ve lived apart for years yet it’s like we’ve hardly been out of the room.’
‘Suppose. We spent a lot of time together. A lot of good times to start with.’
‘I know, but when you think how long it’s been... In some ways you’ve hardly changed, Chelle.’
‘Is that meant to be a compliment?’
‘I guess,’ he said. Jeremy watched his ex-wife watching him, wondering whether he should stop talking now. He’d had a question on the tip of his tongue all evening. ‘Look, if I’m out of line, tell me to shut up, but are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ she answered quickly. ‘Just tired, that’s all. It’s been a tough few months. Mentally and physically.’
‘I’m not convinced.’
‘Honestly, Jeremy. Look, I hear what you’re saying, but we’ve barely seen each other for years. How do you know I’m not always like this?’
‘I hope you’re not. That’d make it even worse.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He sighed. Did he really want to do this? Then again, could he afford not to? ‘I’ve got a memory of one particular night just before we split up. You probably wouldn’t even remember it. We weren’t fighting or arguing, we were just trying to live together and failing miserably. I remember watching you watching TV and thinking, something’s not right here... but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It’s hard to explain, but looking back I think that’s when I first knew we were in trouble. It was what you weren’t saying that was important, not what you said. There was no connection anymore. The spark had gone out. You looked like you were lost. Remember that tatty old armchair we had? The one Mum gave me? You were sitting on it with your knees pulled up to your chest, watching TV. You looked so small, so vulnerable... I didn’t realise it was me making you feel that way.’
‘What point are you making?’
‘That you’ve been giving off the same vibes all evening.’
‘So maybe it’s having you around again that’s making me feel this way?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe it is.’
‘All due respect, like I said, we’ve hardly seen each other in ages.’
‘You’re right. But like I said, if you are usually like this, then that makes me even more worried.’
‘Don’t be. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘The girls tell me thin
gs...’
‘Well they shouldn’t.’
A heavy silence. The two of them staring at each other across the dark room, just the creaks and groans of the tired old house around them. Jeremy cleared his throat. ‘I care about you, Michelle, so I’ll ask once more, then I’ll shut up. Are you sure you’re okay? Are the girls going to be all right here?’
‘Tell you what, Jeremy,’ Scott said, ‘why don’t you just save us all the trouble and shut up now? Seriously. I’ve put up with your bullshit all night, and I’ve had just about enough of your fucking noise.’
‘Scott, don’t...’ Michelle protested.
Jeremy held his head in his hands. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Scott. I just need to know. For the sake of my kids...’
‘Jeremy was just—’
‘Shut the fuck up, Michelle,’ Scott ordered. ‘Don’t you take his fucking side.’
‘I thought we were all on the same side,’ Jeremy said, quickly getting to his feet and positioning himself between Scott and Michelle, hands raised. Fuck, how he hated confrontation. He could smell the scotch on Scott’s breath from here. ‘Like I said this morning, just put yourself in my shoes. I’m worried about the girls.’
‘And like I said this morning, everything’s fine.
‘Maybe I still need convincing?’
Scott grabbed Jeremy’s collar and pushed him back against the wall. Michelle tried to force herself between them. Jeremy kept his hands raised in submission, refusing to fight back. ‘Then let me convince you, fucker,’ Scott hissed.
‘Scott, please,’ Michelle said, trying to separate them. ‘This isn’t helping anyone.’
He remained tense for a few seconds longer, then let go and walked away. Jeremy straightened himself out, adjusted his glasses and smoothed his hair, breathing hard but trying not to let his nervousness show. ‘I should leave.’
‘You don’t have to go,’ Michelle said.
‘I think he fucking does,’ Scott told her.
Jeremy didn’t hang around. He tried to tell Michelle it was okay and that he’d try and talk to her tomorrow, but Scott wasn’t having any of it. He handed Jeremy his coat and blocked his way to any other part of the house but the front door. Standing out on the step, Jeremy turned around to try and make one last situation-saving apology, but the door was slammed in his face.
He stood next to his car and could already hear Scott yelling at Michelle. But what could he do? Part of him wanted to go back inside, but would that just make things even worse? He’d come back and try again tomorrow. Michelle was a good mum. She’d always look out for the kids. He tried to hold onto that thought.
He looked up at the house and smiled and waved to Phoebe who was watching from her bedroom window. Don’t let her see, he told himself, don’t let her see...
Chapter 72
It wasn’t even eleven, but it looked like the entire town had already gone to bed for the night. Christ, Jeremy thought as he drove, how could anyone stand living in a place as soulless as Thussock? He drove the short journey back to the Black Boy, hoping he’d come across somewhere more interesting to stop en route, because the idea of spending the rest of the evening alone in the cramped little box room above the pub lounge didn’t bear thinking about. He travelled constantly and he’d stayed in some pretty shitty places and lonely hotel rooms around the world, but this was grim by anyone’s standards. It reminded him of a week he’d once spent living on his nerves in Azerbaijan.
The room seemed stuck in the late eighties. There was no Internet, and it would probably be better to take your chances and shout from the window rather than risk the temperamental mobile coverage. The landline in the room was corded – Christ, when did I last use a phone that wasn’t cordless? – and he hadn’t been able to get a picture on the small portable TV when he’d tried earlier. He’d only wanted to catch up with the news headlines and it was only after a frustrating twenty minutes spent checking cables and fiddling with the aerial that he realised it was because the TV was an old analogue set, useless since the switchover to digital. And that, he decided, summed up Thussock perfectly: an analogue place stuck in a digital world.
With nothing else to do, the bar of the pub seemed the only option. He parked on the road outside the scruffy-looking building (damn place didn’t even have a bloody car park) and locked the car. He stood outside for a few moments, listening to the silence. Ah, maybe he was just in a bad mood after the ruckus back at the house. There was a lot to be said for the peace and quiet. There was no other traffic, hardly any other noise at all, in fact. The pub wasn’t far from the station and he remembered thinking the clattering of the railway would probably keep him awake all night. As it was, he couldn’t recall hearing even a single train since he’d arrived. Thussock was too quiet, if anything. He was almost relieved when he saw two helicopters crawling across the sky in the distance, taillights blinking, almost in unison. And far away he heard the low rumble of a truck, airbrakes hissing. Life goes on elsewhere...
There were only two other drinkers in the bar tonight, a couple of men in their late fifties, both reading newspapers, sitting right next to each other but barely speaking. They acknowledged him, but that was the extent of the interaction. The landlord kept himself busy, dividing his time between the bar and the TV Jeremy could hear blaring in one of the backrooms. The noise was muffled, but he could tell it was some kind of comedy programme. Every so often the volume would swell with the laughter track, the noise sounding out of place.
It was so bad he nipped upstairs and fetched himself a book to read as he drank his pint. It was that or paperwork, and no matter how bad it got, he decided, there was no way he was resorting to doing office work in a pub at this time of night. His dedication to the company, whilst strong enough to keep him travelling all these years and intense enough to have been the cause of many of the rifts between him and his ex-wife, still had limits.
At least the beer was good. Thussock’s own, no less, produced less than half a mile down the road. Ever the optimist, Jeremy was glad he’d found something positive to take with him from his time here. He’d try and pick up a crate or two before leaving. What happened at the house is getting you down, he told himself as he finished his first pint and got up for another. Things aren’t that bad. What other reason could there have been? Was it a local curse or something equally ridiculous? Was this one of those bizarre isolated communities you saw in horror movies? Abandon hope, all ye who enter Thussock...
The second pint went down even better than the first. The drink was going straight to his head, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He’d needed a drink all evening, all day if he was honest. He didn’t let them see, but he found being with Tammy and Phoebe almost as hard as being away from them. He hated leaving them more than anything. If I had my time again, he said to himself, sounding like an old man on his death bed, I’d never have let things get as bad as they did. He reminded himself that it hadn’t all been his fault. He and Michelle had grown apart naturally, their individual priorities and desires slowly changing the longer they were together. In the end their marriage had become a passion-free arrangement of convenience. He’d told her repeatedly that he’d done all the hours and all the travelling for her and the girls, of course, but he’d been blind to what they’d actually needed from him. The status quo at home had continued for longer than it should have. When it became clear that their close proximity but lack of interaction was having a negative effect on the girls, they’d separated then divorced soon after. No hard feelings. Regular and informal access. The best of a bad situation.
Third pint before closing time. That was what he needed. He got up again and checked his change, deciding that if there really was a curse of Thussock, he’d been well and truly blighted today. The other two drinkers had disappeared, though he couldn’t remember them going. The TV in the other room was still blaring. It sounded like a war movie now, all guns and noise and stirring music. Whatever it was, it seemed to be holding the landlord�
��s rapt attention. Watching the film was clearly more appealing than coming back and serving his one remaining customer. Either that or he’d fallen asleep in front of the box. Jeremy rapped the edge of a coin on the bar several times and coughed loudly, but his noise wasn’t having any effect. He doubted anyone could hear him.
There was a girl standing next to him. Where the hell had she come from? He physically jumped and swore with the sudden surprise, then immediately apologised. ‘Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice quiet, little more than a mumble.
‘I think he’s nodded off in there,’ Jeremy said, his composure returning, gesturing in the direction of the TV noise. ‘If he’s not back in the next two minutes, I’m just going to help myself.’ He was half joking, but he thought he would if he had to. They could just add it to his room tab.
The girl didn’t move. She was just standing there, leaning against the bar, looking at her own reflection in the mirror behind the row of optics. Jeremy tried not to stare but he couldn’t help studying her face. She was very young and attractive, her skin pale against the vivid purple of her jacket. He noticed that her legs were bare. She was either wearing the shortest of skirts or nothing at all below the waist. He looked at her face in the mirrors again, caught her looking back at him. Her lips were full and red, inviting... he stopped himself. What the hell did they put in that beer? He made himself look elsewhere and rapped the coin on the bar again. Bloody hell, he thought, get a grip... you’re old enough to be her father.
‘Can you help me?’ she asked, and there was something about her light, breathless voice which cut straight through him. He felt an immediate concern for her, an inordinate need to protect.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m really cold.’
He turned to look at her, taking a couple of subtle, shuffling steps back to increase his distance and not give the wrong impression. She did look cold. She was shivering, but that was hardly surprising given her lack of clothing. He felt uneasy, not knowing what would be worse: helping this girl and risking being accused of being a pervert, or leaving her shivering. Sod it. Look at her. Poor kid’s freezing.