by Unknown
‘Oh. Right you are. Ely got it, then?’ Suddenly he seemed quite chatty and amenable. Ellen would have laughed if she hadn’t been in such a foul temper. She eyed him angrily. ‘Did he give you a backhander to let it go to pot?’
‘I wouldn’t do nothing for that bastard,’ Saul snarled. ‘I just knew he was after it. Wedding present or summink.’ The bright blue eyes watched her face.
But Ellen couldn’t care why Ely had wanted it. ‘He didn’t get it. A new family will be moving in soon,’ she said wearily, ‘and I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear about the services you offer.’
‘That a fact?’ His boxer’s face twisted thoughtfully. Then he licked his lips and leaned out of the window. ‘Is it true Spurs Belling’s bonking you?’
‘Who said that?’
‘Everyone’s talking ’bout it. Gladys has bin telling all the biddies you two’ve been at it since you got here. Her ladyship’s in a right state. She wants you out of this village ’n’ all. I should watch your back.’ Giving her a menacing, broken-toothed leer, he put the pick-up into reverse, then belted away in a plume of black exhaust fumes.
‘It’s all your fault,’ Ellen told her mobile, when it rang as she trailed back from the organic gardens with her strawberries, having taken half an hour to extract Snorkel from the wild pack of children and animals. ‘Why don’t you have a silent alert?’ If the pesky little device hadn’t rung at the charity auction, she would never have got to know Spurs. Had Hell’s Bells not taken its trill ring as a bid, she would never have bought Spurs’ wishes at a knock-down price.
‘You could at least vibrate,’ Ellen told it, as she fished it out of her pocket. ‘Yup?’
‘Ellen?’
She clutched the phone so tightly to her ear that her earring tapped tunefully on the number four button. She had never spoken to Spurs on the phone before, and the sound of his voice deep in her ear made her sway into the verge. Her mobile was vibrating like mad now.
‘’Sme.’
‘This is Spurs.’
I know, she thought, as the goosebumps raged. I bloody know. ‘The answer’s still no.’ She managed to sound calm.
To her consternation, he just laughed, knowing immediately what she was alluding to. ‘I warn you, I’ll ask you again. What’s that noise?’
Ellen took out her earring to stop the four button intoning. ‘My mobile does that sometimes.’
‘I’m having a drink with Rory. He says he’s already asked Dilly up here tomorrow night.’
‘I know.’ She leaned over the stone wall and watched a herd of cattle drift aimlessly in the afternoon sun. ‘I’ve told her I’ll give her a lift to the pub.’
‘Good. Because I told Rory about your pantomime idea—’
‘It wasn’t my idea—’
‘—and he told me he thinks it’s fucking crap.’ He laughed, ignoring her interruption. ‘But he’s now come up with some thoughts that I have to admit are frighteningly camp, so we’re on for a bit of set-dressing at least.’
‘Spurs, I don’t want to play the back end of your panto horse any more.’ She kicked the wall.
‘What?’
‘You’re right – us trying to be friends would be like running in new shoes, only worse because we have nowhere to run except out of time.’
He dropped his voice: ‘At least try them for size.’
‘I don’t see that there’s any point. We’re being . . .’ she cleared her throat ‘. . . talked about.’
‘By whom?’
‘The entire village, as far as I can tell.’
There was a long pause.
‘Does that bother you?’
‘No, but then I’m not staying much longer, am I? You have more at stake.’
‘I don’t give a shit what they say about me.’ He let out an angry tut and muttered something at Rory in the background. ‘You still owe me dinner, and Rory here could use our help. You don’t get out of it that easily.’ The arrogant clip in his voice made it clear he had no intention of losing face. The slight slur to his voice was even more worrying.
Ellen watched two magpies rise up from the field and chatter into a tree. Far beyond it, bathed in hazy sunlight, was the Springlodes, perched high on the ridge. She could make out the huge house, which sat in a wooded park between the two villages. Somewhere, in that little cluster of stone dots to the right, Spurs was breathing vodka fumes into her ear.
‘Please, Ellen. Wear the new shoes.’ He had lowered his voice huskily. ‘I need you to keep me good. You’re my garden angel. My avenging angel.’
‘No!’ she shouted, sending the cows into a panic-stricken stampede across the field. ‘I’m not your good fairy or Dilly’s fairy godmother or Pheely’s Guardian-reading angel or anybody’s anything else. I just want an easy life, not a hard-luck story. You’re so wrong about me, Spurs. I don’t believe in fairy tales – I don’t even know most of them because I never heard them as a kid, just as I never went to pantomimes or played at make-believe.’
He started to laugh, offending her even more. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. I never got to do that stuff. And I’m too old to start now.’
‘No, you’re not. We can do it together.’
An elderly couple on a tandem had wobbled into sight from a breakneck descent down the Hillcote one-in-four, both pale-faced and sweating as they cycled unsteadily along the lane towards Ellen.
‘I’ll come round at seven tomorrow,’ Spurs was saying.
‘Please don’t.’ Ellen tried to return the couple’s smiles, but she had to turn her face away as tears bobbled on her eyelashes.
Spurs breathed deeper in her ear. ‘I love you.’
‘Cut that out,’ she muttered, staring blurrily at the distant Springlode specks.
‘I’ll make everything better,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll make-believe everything better.’
It was only after she’d pocketed the phone that Ellen wondered how he had got the number. She’d never given it to him.
‘This is such a balmy evening, isn’t it?’ Pheely sighed as they took their customary walk around the village.
‘I know – it’s crazy,’ Ellen agreed, fanning her T-shirt.
‘I was talking about the weather.’ Pheely glanced at her. ‘I think it’s rather lovely that you and Spurs have rallied on Dilly’s behalf. She’s terribly chuffed.’
Ellen said nothing, pausing to reattach the loose corner of Fins’ Missing poster, which was drooping from the poop-bin post.
The cottages along Manor Lane were glowing gold in the late-afternoon sun, their little front gardens bubbling with colour, the swathes of honeysuckle climbing the walls curling open to waft sweetly across the lane. Swallows looped showily overhead, watched by a lean tortoiseshell cat lying bravely in the centre of the lane, batting its disapproving tail as Hamlet and Snorkel strained towards it on their leads.
‘And I think it’s terribly brave of you going out for a chummy meal with Spurs,’ Pheely was gurgling indulgently. ‘I’d be so hurt if somebody had given me the brush-off like that – I’d avoid them like the plague.’
Ellen glanced worriedly at the manor’s back gates. ‘We’ve come to an understanding.’
Pheely snorted. ‘If you understand him you’re doing a hell of a lot better than anyone else around here. We just stand under the big black cloud of doom that rolled in when he came back.’ She glanced up and looked rather disappointed that no clouds had conveniently appeared in the blue sky. ‘Everybody’s waiting for him to spontaneously combust.’
‘Why should he?’
She shrugged. ‘Something’s going on.’ She turned her huge eyes on Ellen. ‘Something brought him back here and whatever it is has made him a very meek boy. He even turned you down.’ She looked rather too pleased with the thought.
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Ellen cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing around.
‘Extraordinary.’ Pheely was shaking her head. ‘Maybe you’re just not his type.’
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‘We might as well have been at it non-stop, for all the village thinks,’ Ellen muttered, noticing heads turning at the tables outside the Oddlode Inn on the opposite side of the lane.
‘Yes, the grapevine has been having a vintage season at your expense.’ Pheely laughed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘What would have been the point? You ignored my warning that he was mad, bad and dangerous to know – you were hardly going to change your behaviour as a result of pensioner tittle-tattle.’
She had a point, Ellen thought, as they crossed towards the village shop and looked at the new cards in the window in case there was a ‘Found’ one describing a cat resembling Fins. But apart from someone advertising an old Fiesta, and yet another ‘friendly local family’ desperate for a cleaner, there was nothing new. Lily Lubowski moved conspicuously into view with a duster and glowered at Pheely over a display of local produce.
‘You do know,’ Pheely said idly, as she gave Lily a cheery wave, ‘that there’s another rumour going around claiming Saul Wyck tried to mow you down on the Hillcote lane last night?’
Ellen turned to her in surprise. ‘So lovely that whoever saw it came to help,’ she murmured bitterly, starting to harbour seriously evil thoughts about every inhabitant of Oddlode.
‘So it was you?’ Pheely was agog. ‘I thought it was just another case of him driving at ramblers. He and Reg have a competition going.’
‘Yes, it was me,’ Ellen confirmed. She told Pheely about her encounter with Saul. ‘He was the one behind the badger and the note. And I’m pretty certain it’s not just about firing his grandparents – I think Ely was bribing him to let the cottage go to pot. I wouldn’t mind betting Saul was one of the Shaggers too.’
‘How thrilling.’ Pheely’s eyebrows shot up. ‘To think that I’ve spent thirty years ruffling feathers in this village and I’ve never managed to elicit much more than disapproving looks. You have half the locals on a hate campaign after just a few weeks. I suppose that’s what you get for befriending Spurs. When you’re tarred with that brush, the ruffled feathers are bound to stick.’
‘Saul’s pranks had nothing to do with Spurs.’
Pheely shook her head wisely. ‘Around here, you only have to stop to talk to him in the lane and he’ll get the blame for everything from your bad double-parking to your anti-social bonfire. Believe me, the fact you two are in cahoots means that you are perceived as troublesome. And you did want to take him to bed, darling,’ Pheely reminded her with a naughty gurgle.
‘It would have been too messy,’ Ellen said flatly.
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude.’ She winked at Lily who was still glaring at her. ‘I love messy sex. It’s the threat of being thrown to the hounds after he’d taken his pleasure that would put me off Spurs. You had a lucky escape.’
‘That’s what he said about you.’
‘Was it?’ Pheely looked thrilled. ‘How sweet. I wonder if he still hankers a little?’
Ellen started walking away from the shop, thinking tetchily about Dilly’s latest absurd plan to get her mother together with him.
Pheely followed, checking the lane so that they could cross over to the green. ‘I’m stunned that he didn’t take up your offer of a night of sin. By God, even if nothing else convinced me, that shows he must have changed. Either that or he’s fallen in love at last.’ She laughed uproariously. ‘But with whom, I wonder. Probably himself. All that therapy has created the great love of his life.’
Sometimes Pheely’s delight in dissecting Spurs infuriated Ellen. Having expended so much effort in revving her up to talk about him over recent weeks, she now regretted that he’d latterly become the most common topic of their conversations. Pheely’s combined fascination and hatred was unhealthy. ‘So Dilly’s excited about this evening?’ she asked, to get her friend off topic.
‘Very much so. Although I do still entertain doubts about that haughty horseman she fancies, however pretty he looks. He was very louche the other night, I thought. And he mumbles terribly. Do make sure she comes to no harm.’
‘I’ll try my best,’ Ellen promised.
‘Where are you going while the youngsters moon?’
‘A pub in another village, I guess. I promised Spurs supper.’
‘Let’s hope they have very long-handled spoons.’ Pheely gave her a shrewd look. ‘Don’t go too far from Springlode in case Dilly needs rescuing.’
‘Are you going to sculpt this evening?’ Ellen had worrying visions of Pheely taking up pursuit on her moped.
‘I should. That wretched bust really isn’t coming together. I long to start again, but I’m running out of time.’
‘Is it that bad?’
‘My work is never bad, but I sense it might be too interpretive for Ely’s taste. I don’t suppose . . .’ She gave Ellen a sly look. ‘Could Dilly sleep over at the cottage? She’d love that, and it means I can sculpt uninterrupted all night.’
‘I – er—’
‘Oh, please, darling. It’s not as though you and Spurs are going to get up to anything naughty, are you?’
‘No, we’re not.’ Then Ellen gasped with alarm as she remembered that the jeep was out of action. ‘Oh, God, I must fit the new battery.’
‘Steady on.’ Pheely giggled. ‘You do know those devices can make you go blind?’
Having wired in the replacement battery, Ellen decided to give Dilly’s carriage a quick valet. She plastered the jeep with foamy water, then washed it off with the hose and gave it a chamois polish. Then she dragged out the vacuum cleaner and sucked up enough Cornish sand from the upholstery and footwells to make a twenty-four-hour egg-timer. When she straightened up and switched it off, she heard a familiar engine rattling along North Street and walked to the gates just as Spurs rounded the corner into Goose Lane, riding the mini-tractor. Its front racks were piled so high with bags and boxes that they almost obscured him, and it wasn’t until the oversized quad ground to a halt on the gravel beside her that Ellen saw he was wearing a suit.
‘Evening.’ He jumped off and brushed dust from his legs.
Ellen watched him warily, rubbing the rebellious goosebumps from her arms and telling her heart to shut up. Instantly she felt very, very ill-at-ease.
It might have been the very first time he’d appeared in the Goose Cottage drive telling her that she had to make a wish there and then. There was something unfamiliar about him, an impatient, intimidating mood that seemed to make the air spit hotly around her.
She told herself firmly that it was just because he looked different. He had always been impossibly scruffy, apart from that one interrupted evening when he’d worn pretty sharp rags, but they had had nothing on this. The suit – immaculately tailored pale grey silk, matched with a purple shirt and tie – wouldn’t have looked out of place on a shady Soho boho or a fashion icon at a première. It made him seem strange and formidable, as did his narrowed eyes and brutish smile.
‘I’ve got the props,’ he announced, as he started to unload the tractor. ‘Open the boot.’
Ellen silently watched bags and boxes being transferred into the freshly vacuumed space, unable to talk around the lump in her throat. Despite her mental battle, she was almost wiped out by how attractive she found him. And yet it felt wrong. The entire thing felt completely wrong.
‘Rory gave me a shopping list – he’s really into your bigged-up romance idea.’ He laughed. ‘When I went to see this new horse of his this morning, I checked all over the house for vodka in case he’s on one of his benders, but I think he really is inspired. He’s okayed it with Keith Wilmore – the landlord at the Plough.’ He handed her two boxes. ‘These are for you. It’s your costume, and your new friendship shoes.’
She laid the boxes carefully on the garden bench and went to unplug the vacuum. She couldn’t bring herself to look, frightened of the emotions welling up inside her, knowing she had to hold it together.
Spurs eyed her edgily, reluctant to acknowledge t
hat she wasn’t playing along as he had hoped. ‘Shame you haven’t time to try them on.’ He heaved the biggest of the boxes – marked ‘Easy Assemble Oriental Pagoda’ – on to the roof and went in search of the cargo straps under the back seat. ‘We have to run everything up to Springlode and then you need to come back here for Dilly. I’d have dropped this lot off myself, but I was giving Pa a lift back from Cheltenham Races and I couldn’t risk taking him anywhere near a pub. After all this effort, Rory sure as hell doesn’t want his hot date screwed up by the old man drowning his sorrows at the bar all night.’
She stooped to wind the flex back into the vacuum, watching it slither across the gravel like a snake. Then Spurs stepped on it, forcing her to look up. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘Cat’s still missing,’ she muttered.
He untangled the cargo straps, winding them around his hand as he looked down at her. ‘So what’s wrong?’
‘I told you I didn’t want this.’
‘Well, I do,’ he snapped, stepping off the taut flex. ‘I want to be good.’
‘This isn’t good.’ She laughed hollowly as the plug rattled into its plastic well. ‘This is interfering.’
He unleashed a cargo strap over the car like a long whip, then stalked round to the other side to thread it under the running rails.
Ellen stood up, ruffled by his insolence and the way he was hijacking the evening. ‘You shouldn’t have filled Rory’s head with stupid ideas about big romantic gestures,’ she rounded on him. ‘They should be allowed to get to know each other without us imposing a great theatrical happening on them.’
‘I’m not imposing anything.’
‘Yes, we are – you are. You were the one who started banging on about fairy tales and pantomimes and acting as set-designer and stealing my kindness. You’re the one who grants wishes and lights fire circles around Chinese takeaways, who buggers off for days, then gallops up on a horse to tell me you’ve sold your soul but, hey, now I’ve sold the gingerbread cottage, let’s be mates.’