by Angela Huth
‘Oh there you are,’ he said, and immediately turned from her, a slight flush rearing up his neck, and made for the kettle.
‘You haven’t been around, at least not at your window,’ said Prue. She took her usual place in the arthritic chair by the window.
‘No.’ A few silent moments later he handed her a cup of coffee. ‘The Ganders are looking forward to meeting you,’ he said. ‘I thought we might go over this afternoon, if that’s convenient.’ There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice that Prue had never heard before. He was indicating that he knew her afternoon, like most of her afternoons, would be empty.
‘The Ganders? You mean the farmer I might work for?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well. Fine. That would be OK – this afternoon.’ Prue concentrated on her coffee. She was determined not to be the one to bring up the subject of the incident in the barn.
‘I suppose we’d better get the matter of . . . the other day cleared up,’ Johnny said after a while. ‘Then I hope we’ll be back to normal.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. At least, I do. I was suddenly gripped by the longing to comfort you. You seemed so sad, so overcome, back in your barn.’
‘You don’t have to explain,’ said Prue. She was troubled by the harshness of his voice and the regret in his eyes.
‘But I want to. I don’t want you to think I’d planned to take you to the barn at Hallows Farm on purpose to seduce you.’
‘I didn’t think that.’
‘It was completely spontaneous. What I had in mind was . . . just a hug, brotherly, sisterly. But it went wrong. Got out of hand. I mean, you’re not exactly resistible.’ He gave the faintest grim smile. ‘And somehow, weakness of the flesh and all that, my planned brief hug turned into—’
‘Quite.’
‘What happened was a misjudgement.’
Having heard this word from Joe so recently, Prue flinched. ‘Heavens, Johnny,’ she said, as lightly as she could, ‘we all misjudge all the time.’
‘Are you angry with me?’
‘Not any more.’
‘Thank God for that.’ He came and sat down on the chair opposite her. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m the kind of man bent on seducing other men’s wives.’
‘Of course not. I’ve never had any such thought.’
Johnny now gave a wider smile, almost back to his usual demeanour. ‘You have to admit, when we first met, I didn’t respond with so much as a flicker to your flirting.’
‘My flirting?’ Prue was shrill with mock-indignation.
‘There was the odd cock of the head, the odd look, the occasional positioning yourself close enough for me to ease an arm round your shoulders had I felt inclined – wasn’t there?’
Prue laughed, really laughed. ‘Honestly, Johnny, I’m surprised you noticed. You call that flirting? I know when I was younger I was a bit wild, but I’m a married woman now, aren’t I? And I behave with – what’s the word Ag was always using? – decorum. That’s it. I behave with “the utmost decorum”.’ She said this in what she liked to think was a grand, prim voice.
Johnny laughed too. ‘What I’d like to suggest . . .’ He clasped his hands, perhaps to stop their slight shaking, perhaps to assist his thoughts. ‘What I’d like is that we put all this behind us. No need to mention it again. Go back to being straight and narrow friends. I’d hate to lose you. There aren’t many people here—’
‘Agreed,’ said Prue. ‘Let’s just carry on as before.’ She felt the small thrust of a tear behind one eye, and quickly stood up.
‘I’ll pick you up at two,’ said Johnny. ‘I think we’d better go in my van. Mr Gander might be unnerved by the Sunbeam Talbot. It might make him think you’re not the sort of girl he’s looking for.’
‘Fine. I like your van.’
Johnny held the door open for her. Recently, on meeting and parting, they had exchanged a quick peck on the cheek. Now Johnny made no move to approach her for their customary farewell. Prue shrugged. The tear continued to threaten. She wondered if their friendship could ever be quite the same again, or if its innocence was shadowed for good. The Ganders’ farm was only a twenty-minute drive away, an oddly rustic place so near to Manchester. Johnny explained that Steve Gander was a widower. He lived with his daughter, Dawn, and son-in-law Bert, a printer, who worked in the city.
‘Dawn’s a bit of an odd one,’ he said. ‘Chippy. You want to mind your words there. Just keep asking about her is the best thing. She won’t want to know about you.’
‘Right.’ Prue, looking out at the unkempt hedges, was wondering whether this was going to be the job of her dreams, after all. The van bumped down an uneven track to a clear area of rough land on which the farmhouse stood. ‘Farmhouse?’ said Prue. ‘It’s the most hideous bungalow I’ve ever seen.’
‘Well, you won’t be in it much. And I do promise you the view from the other side is a surprise. Wonderful oaks, elms, ash, chestnut. Must have been someone’s carefully planned wood in the past. When the Ganders bought the land they just chopped down half of it to build the bungalow.’
They parked in a corner beside a large farm building made of corrugated iron. Prue, glancing inside, was pleased to see a jumble of farm tools, an old tractor and a large stack of pig feed.
‘Wow, Prue,’ she heard Johnny say. ‘I’ve only just noticed.’ He looked her up and down, fighting natural appraisal. ‘Your land-girl gear?’
‘Just the breeches.’ Prue blushed. ‘OK, do you think?’
‘Fine.’
‘I mean, I’ll wear them when I work here. Why not?’
‘Why not?’ Johnny laughed. ‘There’s Steve. Come and meet him.’
A small bent man was hobbling towards them. He wore gaiters and a cap whose tweed shone greasily with age. A pipe hung from his mouth. When they were close enough to shake hands he removed the pipe to a place between his ear and the cap. The smoke stood up like a feather. Prue had to control her smile.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ said Steve Gander, gathering Prue’s hand in both of his. The hard roughness of his skin felt unnervingly familiar: farmer’s hands, Mr Lawrence’s hands. His eyes flicked up and down Prue. He gave a thrilled wail. ‘Well I never! Well I be dashed! You a land girl, were you? I believe Johnny mentioned it.’ Prue nodded. ‘I’m proud to meet you. I want to shake you by the hand again.’ This he did, squeezing her fingers till they hurt. ‘What would we have done without you? I always wanted our Dawn to join the Land Army, but it wasn’t for her, she said. She’s never been one to get up early. So my wife did the milking, Dawn did her best at the stove.’
‘Do you still have cows?’ Prue withdrew her hand.
‘That we don’t. We had a fine herd of Herefords before the war, but had to turn over to arable like everyone else. Once it was over I hadn’t the heart to start again.’ He turned towards the bungalow, retrieved his pipe and waved it about. ‘As you can see, things have gone downhill a bit. Amy gone, it’s not the same. But I was hoping you might help us get it together again, few hours a week.’
‘I’d love to try,’ said Prue.
‘Let’s go into house. Dawn’ll maybe get us a cup of tea.’
Johnny and Prue followed his rocking progress to the front door of the bungalow, a building of rough grey concrete and window-panes in rusting frames. The old man had some trouble pushing open the front door, obviously not often used. ‘Don’t usually go in this way,’ he said, ‘but I’d like you to see . . .’
Prue was expecting a dark passage, in keeping with the outside, and it was dark, painted a sour brown – but the paint was scarcely visible between the dozens of glass boxes of butterflies on the walls. Steve turned on a switch. Strings of small bulbs lit up in the cases. The colours were brilliant in the dusky light of the corridor. Prue went from case to case, enchanted by the fragile wings so carefully preserved.
‘Used to be my hobby, butterflies,’ he said. ‘When I was
a lad I went all over, collecting. I was in the Merchant Navy so I had the opportunity – all over the world. Very fine specimens I was lucky enough to find. They’ve done me well. I spend a lot of time here, just looking. Dawn, now – well, it could be said Dawn doesn’t see the point of butterflies the way I do.’
He turned off the lights. In the instant gloom the creatures’ colours were lowered into a minor key, but still they glowed magically.
Steve led them to the kitchen, a room so crowded with furniture, boxes, piles of old newspaper and general detritus that it was hard to weave through the junk to chairs at a chaotic table. A very tall, bony woman was pouring tea. ‘Dawn,’ he said. ‘This is my daughter Dawn. Looks after me. Dawn, this is Prue, coming to help us out. You know Johnny.’
By way of acknowledgement Dawn blinked lashless eyes in Prue’s direction. She gave a reluctant smile that was hampered by a pair of exceptionally long front teeth. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘What – you the land girl?’
‘I was once,’ said Prue.
Dawn banged the teapot onto the table. ‘If you ask me, they didn’t know how to behave,’ she said.
‘No one’s asking your opinion,’ her father quietly chided.
‘I’ve got a friend who knew a land girl,’ Dawn went on. ‘You’d be shocked if I told you what they got up to.’ Prue and Johnny exchanged a glance.
‘They weren’t all the same, Dawn,’ said Steve. ‘And it’s good for us we’ve found someone who knows about farm work.’
‘Maybe,’ said Dawn, and left the room.
Over the horribly strong tea Steve began to explain the kind of job he would want Prue to do. ‘The pigs,’ he said. ‘They’re in a field down the hill, round the other side.’
‘I love pigs,’ said Prue.
Steve clattered at his teeth with the stem of his pipe. ‘Some of them can be right buggers,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to mind your step.’
Dawn came storming back into the room. ‘The main thing for you to take over,’ she said, sitting down next to Prue, ‘is my job.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Exercising my horse. Jack the Lad.’
As she showed no sign of explaining any further, Steve braced himself, with a long suck on his pipe, to enlighten Prue. ‘See, before the war we bred Shires. Amy loved them. Suffolk Punches, Clydesdales – won a lot of prizes. We kept three for the field work in the war, but then . . . they went the same way as the cows. Great pity.’
‘But we kept Jack the Lad,’ Dawn suddenly offered, with a liveliness she had not previously displayed, ‘because he’s my horse. He’s a bloody great stallion. Marvellous. I love Jack.’
Prue saw Johnny had turned away from the table and was concentrating hard on the view from the window. His mouth twitched as he fought a smile.
‘It was like this,’ Steve went on. ‘He was a fine stallion. We’d this idea of keeping him, getting another mare one day. But that wasn’t to be. And he became – how can I put it? – restless. Dangerous, sometimes. He’d go for people.’
‘Not for me.’ Dawn banged the table.
‘Not for you, Dawn, no. But in he end there was nothing for it. We had to have him cut.’
‘I’ve never forgiven my father for that.’ Dawn banged the table harder.
‘No. But he’s a lovely quiet horse, now, docile as a lamb. He can live out his days here, far as I’m concerned.’ Steve averted his eyes from his furious daughter, turned to Prue. ‘Thing is, there’s not much for him to do. Bit of harrowing, that’s all. So he’s bored. He needs a bit of exercise.’
‘So I walk him on a leading rein,’ said Dawn, ‘but I’ve not really the time for that.’
‘No,’ said her father, uncertainly.
‘So that’s what you’ll be doing.’ Dawn’s front teeth flashed nastily at Prue.
‘Fine,’ she said.
‘We should be going,’ Johnny said. Steve leapt up to guide them through the clutter on the floor.
‘Let’s see you here first thing Monday morning,’ he said. ‘You’ll be most welcome.’ He grinned at her breeches.
In the van, once they were out of the gate, she and Johnny were able to laugh at last.
‘What do you think?’ asked Johnny.
‘I’ll give it a go,’ said Prue.
When she turned up for work at seven o’clock the following Monday morning, there was no sign of Steve Gander or Dawn. She parked the Sunbeam among some buildings behind the large shed, sensing it would be better if her employers came across it later, rather than were immediately affronted by its scarlet presence next to the bungalow.
As she got out of the car, wearing her land-girl breeches in defiance of Dawn’s hostility, she saw a figure emerge from the corrugated building. It was the tall, bony Dawn, in baggy dungarees, her hair sticking out in awkward wisps. From a distance she might have been a scarecrow.
Prue drew herself up, summoned an enthusiastic smile. She was ready and keen to start work and anxious to convey her enthusiasm. The two women walked towards each other.
‘So,’ said Dawn, her eyes on the bow in Prue’s hair – carefully chosen, a very modest affair of dark green with a paler stripe, ‘your first morning. Down to it, that’s what I say. In at the deep end. The pigs need mucking out. They’re in a field at the back of the house, down the hill.’
‘Right,’ said Prue. ‘Just tell me where to find a wheelbarrow and a fork.’
Dawn threw her a look of considerable scorn. ‘You’ll come across them if you use your eyes. But before that you’d better meet Jack. He needs his walk. He’s the most important animal on the farm, as you’ll see.’ She turned away.
Prue followed her skeletal employer behind the shed and round a corner, where the scarlet Sunbeam glared in the sunlight. Dawn stopped, turned. ‘This thing yours?’
Prue nodded.
‘Some people,’ Dawn said, and carried on, her shoulders raised huffily. From behind the car three geese rushed towards her with mysterious enthusiasm, their greeting a sea-hiss, necks fully stretched. Prue, who hated geese, was pleased they ignored her.
They came to a block of run-down loose boxes. Dawn gave Prue her horrible rabbit smile, plainly enjoying the surprise she had in store. Prue moved to her side and looked into the stable, which was almost entirely taken up by the most enormous horse she had ever seen. Its head seemed the size of a beer barrel, its hoofs were larger than elephants’ feet. The circumference of a single knee was larger than her own waist. The horse turned as carefully as a liner easing its way in a small harbour and thrust its vast head over the half-door.
‘Jack, my lad,’ whispered Dawn. She stroked the grey nose, then placed her mouth on the top lip, which instantly rolled back. For a moment Dawn’s mouth was on the horse’s grimace of giant teeth. Then the great head gave a shake and turned away from the pressing kiss. Evidently he’d had enough, though from the look in Dawn’s eyes she could have carried on the embrace much longer. ‘Our morning kiss,’ she explained breathily. ‘Every morning. We’d never miss it, would we, Jack?’
‘Cripes,’ said Prue.
‘What’s on your mind?’ snapped Dawn. Her dreamy eyes gave way to a look of sharp suspicion.
‘I was just thinking . . . how would I reach to put on Jack’s head-collar? I mean, you’re much taller than me.’
The question caused a superior laugh – a sound somewhere between a bark and a snarl.
‘There are ladders,’ she said. Then a flicker of charity entered her dark soul. ‘But just for once, first time, I’ll do it.’
‘Gosh, thanks,’ said Prue.
Dawn fetched a head-collar. Prue observed that it weighed down the skinny little arm that held it, but its weight seemed to be giving pleasure rather than pain, judging by the look on Dawn’s face. With some awe Prue watched the process of Dawn’s stretching up to put the head-collar over Jack’s ears. As she stretched up to do up the chin-strap, her shirt rode up and frothed over the waist of her dungarees. For a moment th
ere was a flash of greying vest. Then Dawn led her horse out: it moved with a few huge, gentle steps, then stopped. Dawn handed the leading rein to Prue. ‘Just go down through the fields, anywhere, it doesn’t matter. Jack’ll lead you. He has his favourite ways. Go on.’
Prue met the challenge with a toss of her head: land girls had always been up for anything. Taking the leading rein, she moved close to the horse. She came to an inch or so above its shoulder. Uncertain how to behave in front of Dawn, she gave Jack’s neck a firm pat. Dawn reacted swiftly. She, too, patted the horse, but on the withers, which Prue could barely reach. Then she tangled a few strands of its mane between her fingers, which Prue thought horribly spooky. Finally Dawn darted back to Jack’s head, kissed him once more, on the nose this time. ‘Goodbye, my darling,’ she whispered, like an actress in a third-rate romance. ‘You’ll be back with your Dawn soon.’
Prue was relieved to see their love was not entirely mutual. Jack seemed eager to be off. They moved away, Prue keen to be out of range of Dawn’s critical look.
‘Cripes,’ she heard herself say. ‘It’s like taking a tractor for a walk.’
Dawn, busily rummaging with the mess of her vest and shirt, either ignored or did not hear the comparison. Clothes reassembled, she wiped an eye. Prue was reminded of newsreel pictures of wives saying farewell to their soldier husbands as they left for a long spell of fighting abroad.
Prue, nervous at first, soon found Jack an easy companion and, as Dawn said, he knew the way. They went along paths through the woods that were thick at the back of the farm buildings, as Johnny had said, occasionally turning into grassland or a lane. Every now and then Jack would toss his head and give a long, snorting sigh, which flattened the stinging nettles as they passed. This reminded her of Noble. She reached up to pat the horse’s shoulder. But mostly she kept her eyes on the way ahead: to look back at the mountain she was leading was unnerving.