by Jan Ruth
‘Jo?’ Al said, ‘Come outside, you might feel better for some fresh air.’
‘Umm… no, sorry but I’m going to head off, I’m not feeling so great.’
There was a murmur of commiseration at this but only Al went out to her car. He was gone some time and she was left with Maisie and the boys as they pulled on borrowed boots.
‘There’s spiders in these!’ one of the boys yelped.
‘Don’t hurt them, Barney,’ Maisie said, ‘tip them into that bucket and we’ll find them a new home.’
They ventured outside, into a damp December afternoon, the fringes of Snowdonia’s dark vanilla skyline already deepening with encroaching dusk. Of course, water and sky had no smell or taste, but somehow the aura of the landscape jumbled everything into a melting pot of heightened senses. The boys ran ahead with the dogs, scattering all the hens.
‘This is a paradise playground for two small boys,’ Kate said, breathing it all in, and Maisie agreed.
‘It is, although it looks very run-down, not how I remember it.’
She wondered what Maisie knew of the brotherly rift but it wasn’t the right time, or her place to ask. Al and Fran caught up with them as they entered the barn and Fran explained about the latest recruits, the retired riding-school horses.
‘I had to bid against the meat man to get them,’ she said bitterly, as Maisie looked in mouths and picked up feet. ‘How could she send them to be slaughtered, after they’ve given their whole lives to her? Worked themselves into the ground in that riding school?’
‘It happens I’m afraid,’ Maisie said, reaching for her stethoscope. Fran followed closely as she went through some of the other ponies. Eventually, Maisie asked Al to take the boys outside.
‘Auntie Fran,’ she said, ‘I’m really sorry but in my honest opinion one of these horses needs to be put down, and I think it may have equine influenza as well, so you need to isolate it.’
The announcement launched her sister-in-law into an even deeper depression. Maisie continued her way around all the animals, with a distinctly subdued Fran limping behind. The untouchable horse who hovered on the periphery of the feed store and bothered the mares was, according to Maisie, a badly gelded stallion.
Al touched Kate’s arm, ‘I’ve a feeling this is going to end in tears. Maisie won’t put up with any kind of misplaced sentiment.’
‘Maybe George will see this as an opportunity to exert some control?’
‘If my brother had his way he’d just shoot everything, including me.’
‘When I had lunch with him last month, he said he would make some sort of announcement, after Christmas.’
He stopped walking at this. ‘What? How do you mean?’
She shrugged, ‘I don’t know, maybe he’s retiring?’
‘First I’ve heard.’
They continued to the paddock where Becca had obligingly tethered two Shetland ponies. Their winter coats were caked in dried mud but the boys enjoyed brushing them and Al showed them how to put the bridles on, making them giggle with far-fetched stories. Despite the obvious enjoyment of his grandchildren, it was clear he was ruminating over his brother’s impending decision, and she began to wish she’d not said anything.
As the chilly bite of late afternoon turned to rain, they headed back indoors, rubbing hands and stamping feet, laughing at red noses and cheeks. On the kitchen table, there was a significant roll of cash. When Fran asked what it was for, George pushed it across the table towards Kate.
‘Housekeeping,’ he said, succinctly, then he turned to Fran. ‘Our resident vet tells me we have an incorrectly gelded stallion in our midst, and some old horses which have been worked into the ground. I feel an odd kinship with all of them.’
She stuffed the money into her jeans pocket, aware that all eyes were upon her but only George smiled.
Chapter Eleven
Al.
Supper was early to accommodate the ravenous boys. His brother declined, announcing that it was his staff Christmas dinner-dance and would Fran like to accompany him, for once?
Fran was in a thoroughly black mood, going over and over the list Maisie had put together. The animal treatments had been carefully costed out, minus any labour charges, so no one could argue it wasn’t fair. Kate looked uncomfortable about the money lodged in her bag, although it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already spent it on everyone’s Christmas dinner, and more besides. What rankled, was the way his brother had enjoyed scoring a point in front of everyone. Unsurprisingly, Fran couldn’t be persuaded to dress up and go out with him.
‘I’ve nothing to wear,’ she said, picking at the dirt under her fingernails. His brother looked at her with mild disgust.
‘And whose fault is that?’
George climbed into a taxi around seven, and there was a visible sigh of relief radiating throughout the house at his departure, although his sister-in-law was never totally relaxed these days. Fran never seemed to eat, and sometimes her eyes looked wild and demonic, as if she were possessed.
‘I’m worried about Kipper,’ she said, waving the list.
‘Kipper?’
‘The horse Maisie says needs shooting. What if it passes on horse flu to Becca’s horse, and all the others? I haven’t got any money to get it sorted.’
Al sat down next to her and she shuffled up, then rested her head on his shoulder. ‘George won’t trust me with the housekeeping anymore.’
He knew where the conversation was going, but if he was honest, he felt incredibly indebted to Fran. For years, she’d been a buffer between him and his brother whenever things turned ugly, and he knew how much she’d pleaded his case on his return to Chathill. ‘I’ve got a bit of money left, if it would help.’
She lifted her head to look at him. ‘Oh, Al! Would you do that? For me?’
‘Yeah. Do what you have to do, right?’
‘I’ll never forget this.’
Becca had cheered up too. The Thomas’ had offered Stilton a space in their lorry, promising to keep an eye on her if she wanted to join them at the local meet. Fran, disappointed she wasn’t fit enough to go herself, reluctantly agreed, and all the tack was brought into the sitting room to be soaped and polished.
The boys rolled about on the floor playing a rough, noisy tug-of-war game with Butter and an inner tube. Occasionally, if he was losing ground, the dog stole Becca’s sponge instead and a chase ensued. Feeling weary at their energy but grateful to Butter for the first-class entertainment, Al stretched and yawned, clasping his hands behind his head. He saw Kate avert her eyes when the lower half of his shirt came unbuttoned, and his heartbeat racked up a gear.
Kate. He kept thinking about the conversation they’d had in the kitchen, the one where she’d sincerely thanked him for playing the fool. And he couldn’t stop taking sneaky glances at her ever since she’d arrived. It wasn’t just the vibrant haircut and the way it lifted the colour of her eyes, it was the subtle details too; the way it nestled in the nape of her neck and skimmed the contours of her cheekbones, the way her mouth curved with amusement. Part of him didn’t want the complication of her, but every part of him wanted to kiss her again.
He had no idea where this left him with Jo, she was currently ignoring his calls. He’d tried to laugh off the flirty conversation she’d clearly witnessed between himself and Kate, but she was no fool. Jo was a sharp cookie and from what he’d seen, handled all of her relationships with the same, considered thought.
Kate was chatting to his daughter about the Jim Silver books, and that in itself gave him a feeling he wasn’t sure what to do with, or how to categorise.
‘Have you had a look at Marge?’ he said to Maisie.
‘Yes. I think she’s pregnant.’
‘No way! Honest?’
‘Yep, pretty sure you’re going to be a puppy daddy.’
Everyone laughed.
‘This is as well as being a real daddy,’ Maisie went on, ‘and er…
it must be catching, because you’re going to be a granddad again too.’
The way she dropped this into the conversation threw him for a moment, and it was Kate who fully understood the picture before anyone else, and then Fran and Becca were both asking a million questions before he could get to his feet and get his arms around her. ‘Come here! That’s just the best news.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Pleased? That’s the biggest understatement of the century.’
The baby had happened at the wrong time for her, career-wise, but Maisie approached it all with her usual practical determination. She was thirteen weeks’, and planned to marry the following Christmas. Unlike himself and Jo, Maisie had been with Simon for many years, so no fear of a shotgun wedding there.
‘This is just the best news,’ he said, again. ‘I’ve had all my Christmas presents in one go.’
‘That’s good, ‘cos there’s nothing wrapped for you,’ Becca said.
‘So, Dad? I plan to keep working. I think we’ll be looking for a part-time nannie but I’ll be needing every spare minute of your time for specialist babysitting,’ she said, and the way she met his eyes was a delicious unspoken pact, it was a kick in the teeth for Bernice.
‘You know the answer to that.’
She grinned and stretched, no sign of a bump yet. ‘I probably need to get these boys back home, or my sister-in-law will think I’ve kidnapped them.’
Al carried all the bags and boxes, and loaded the boys’ presents into her car. It was dark, wet and miserable and he didn’t want her to drive anywhere or lift anything, or manhandle big animals. Christ, he couldn’t carry on like this, he’d be a nervous wreck.
She wound the window down on the driver’s side and Al leant in to kiss her. ‘Thanks for everything you’ve done today, bringing the boys, chasing that bloody horse… I’d never have let you do any of that if I’d known.’
‘I know, that’s why I didn’t say earlier. Other than creasing indigestion, I’m doing okay.’
‘Indigestion? Bit soon for that, isn’t it?’
‘Dad, I’m fine. It’s just a shame Jo went home, I wanted to talk babies with her. I’m sorry about that stupid spat, I should have kept my mouth shut.’
‘Oh, I don’t think she went home because of that,’ he said quickly, but his daughter was no fool.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘No, not really. I wish I’d been sensible like you and not said anything till it was all set in stone.’
‘Oh, Dad.’
Change the subject. ‘How’s your mum?’
‘Bitter and lonely, if I’m honest. I’m spending Christmas over at Simon’s parents’, and I don’t think she’s too pleased.’
‘Don’t forget to bring my son-in-law over sometime, will you?’
‘Boxing Day?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
He kissed her goodnight, pulled a funny face at the fractious boys in the back and stepped away from the car. She was about to wind the window back up, then stuck her head out again.
‘Hey, well done on the books by the way. She’s nice, isn’t she? Kate?’
He nodded and smiled, waved at the boys. He watched the car bounce down the drive and indicate right.
‘Yeah, she’s nice.’
Full of a twisted sort of guilt, he tried calling Jo again, but her phone played the complicated message service relating to work. She wasn’t even online, which was highly unusual. When she’d left Chathill earlier she’d been morose, deep in thought, clearly turning things over in her mind. They hadn’t made any forward arrangements.
The tiny exchanges between Kate, Maisie and Fran had been like shards of ice. Even Becca and the boys had irritated her with constant chatter, demanding his attention with questions, competitive taunts and squabbles. Helen used to say he simply switched off from the adult world if there were any children within a ten metre radius. Whenever they’d had dinner parties, Al was always more concerned with putting Tom and Maisie to bed while the guests, and the starters, sat stone cold at the table waiting for him. Helen always used to get drunk, and then they’d argue.
He was in Delamere village in just over an hour.
At least there was a light on in her flat. Crazily, he found himself shaking with nerves as he pressed the bell, as if his insides were pre-empting an imagined scenario, the one he’d gone over and over in his mind since the day she’d told him she wanted a termination.
She let him up the stairs and opened the flat door; surprised but not over-pleased to see him. He kissed her cheek and she frowned.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I was worried, I couldn’t get hold of you.’
‘There was no need,’ she said, and indicated her busy desk, illuminated by an angle-poised lamp. ‘I was just working, I had stuff to sort out before Christmas starts tomorrow and the whole world grinds to a halt.’
‘Oh.’
‘Look, sit down. Do you want a drink? Coffee, or maybe a whisky?’
‘No, no thanks.’
He sat vacantly while she made herself some tea. On her return, she cradled a mug in her hands and stood opposite him, in front of the fireplace. It was almost as if they didn’t know each other, as if the baby growing inside her had nothing to do with either of them.
‘Guess what, Maisie’s pregnant, and so is Marge. Wait till I find out which dirty dog is responsible,’ he said, knowing full well it was a stupid diversion, but she shot him a lightning quick smile, then inclined her head to one side.
‘Al, I have some stuff to say to you.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ve er… I’ve decided to spend Christmas with my parents, in London.’
His first feeling was one of massive relief, that it was something so inconsequential. For a wonderful, wild moment, he wondered if he’d get invited along, to meet Mum and Dad, but then as he studied her expression, he knew he was clutching at straws.
‘Has this anything to do with what happened at the farm today?’
She half laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘You mean, was I upset and intimidated by your string of female fans? Not at all. But it did make me realise how very different we are.’
‘What do you mean? Where’s this heading, Jo?’
She took a deep breath and placed the mug on the mantlepiece.
‘You know I have a secondment in New York, in January? Well, after that, I have the option of moving office. I’ve been offered a promotion.’
‘And you’re going to accept it?’
‘Yes, yes I am.’
The hum of traffic was the only noise which broke through his jumbled thoughts. It was the sound of the world going about its business, unaware that a semi-rootless part of his, was about to be pulled out of its fertile soil. He searched her face, willing her to say something about the baby, but not really wanting to hear it, because it would likely scar his insides forever. The second his eyes left hers though, she delivered the blow.
‘Al, I… I think we should finish.’
He’d been expecting a difficult conversation, but not those words, exactly. Ashamedly, the twist of fear and pain in his guts had nothing very much to do with Jo, but everything to do with his unborn child. She knew it, had known it all along, and now he knew it for certain.
His voice came out as a strangled whisper, ‘Jo, listen-’
‘No. Al, we have a seriously, unbalanced relationship.’
She came to sit next to him, but he studied his clasped hands rather than look at her. Her voice, when she began to speak again, was so gentle, so sincere; it turned his limbs to jelly, stripped him of bone.
‘I watched you today, with your family, and your grandchildren. There was magic and truth there. You’re a lovely, mixed up, funny man, Al, and I love you for that.’
A long moment passed as he digested this, but the second he moved to look at her face, she rose and went back to
her superior position, standing by the fireplace. ‘I’d like you to leave now, before you start to tell me how much you care about me.’
‘I do care about you!’
‘Exactly. You don’t love me. Look, I’ve tried to get my head around all of this, and I waited, like you wanted me to, but nothing’s changed and I’m at the end of the line.’
‘What about…?’
‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘Deal with it? The mindless killing? Just where does all of this fit within your idealistic world, Jo?’
She swallowed hard and looked at the floor. ‘I’d like you to leave, please.’
As much as he tried to absorb everything she’d said, he was also fully aware that he’d known these facts all along, so why did he feel so broken and unable to react? There was no fight in him, and even if there had been, he knew he was powerless against her decision.
He’d just have to deal with it.
He hardly remembered leaving the room but swaggered down the stairs and let himself out into the night, leaning back against the outside door, his chest heaving with emotion. His mobile rang. It was Tom.
‘Nice move, Dad.’
‘Eh?’
‘You and Maisie? Conspiring an afternoon at that tip of a farm. The boys are exhausted and their clothes are ruined.’
He let his son grumble on, knowing full well it was the result of an ear-bashing from Bernice. ‘Are you coming over on Boxing Day or not? Bernice needs to know numbers for the prawn, wasabi and samphire nests. She said you even put the phone down on her the other day. Honestly, you’re like a child. Are you even still there?’
‘Yeah, still here.’
A beat. ‘So, Boxing Day? Yes or No?’
‘Tom, can I call you back, son?’
A long, annoyed sigh at this, and the call ended.
*
In the kitchen at Chathill, Fran was rooting through a battered box of Christmas decorations and Becca was holding them up and laughing at them. Some of the decorations were the ones he and George had made, or had had gifted as children. The carrier bag he’d brought from the off-license cut into his hand and he wondered whether to just make a run for the stairs, but the kitchen door was open and they saw him the instant he stepped into the hall.