Born to Be Trouble

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘You are NOT gonna cut our hedge like that,’ Freddie shouted. ‘This is our hedge, between the garden and the lane. There are nesting birds in there and I won’t have ’em disturbed.’

  ‘I work for Somerset County Council Highways Department, and I’ve got to do my job,’ the driver yelled back. ‘I keep telling you that and you won’t listen.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Freddie bellowed. ‘I’m not moving and you’ll have to drive over me if you dare – and I reckon you would too, since you don’t care tuppence about the wild birds who live in that hedge. You’ve already destroyed their source of winter food. That hawthorn will have no berries now, ’cause of you and your posh tractor. ’Tis bad enough with the elm trees being cut down, without an idiot like you destroying the hedges as well.’

  ‘Don’t you call me an idiot. Look at you – a demented old man with shaving soap on yer face. Why should I listen to you?’

  Kate squared her shoulders and walked into the road.

  ‘Stay out of it, Kate,’ Freddie pleaded.

  Kate marched up to the tractor and flashed her bright brown eyes at the driver. She wagged a finger. ‘Now you turn that engine off and get down here,’ she said, ‘and we’ll talk this over nicely.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  He rolled his eyes, and turned off the engine.

  ‘That’s better, thank you,’ Kate said pleasantly. ‘My goodness, you look so intimidating up there in that huge tractor. It’s like a tower. I was a farmer’s daughter, and my dad never had a tractor like that. He had a little grey Ferguson. We used to play on it as children. Now, are you going to get down, or shall I come up and get you?’ she added, mischievously.

  The man actually smiled. ‘All right, missus. Keep yer hair on!’

  He opened the cab door and climbed down, and the atmosphere changed immediately as a human being emerged from the mechanical monster.

  ‘Well, you’re only a lad,’ Kate said appraisingly. ‘Fancy you being in charge of that intimidating machine.’

  Her kind voice coaxed another smile out of him. Kate looked at Freddie. His face was purple, but his eyes glistened with regret. She sensed him calming down. She reached up and gently brushed the last of the shaving soap from his neck. ‘I thought the house was on fire, dear, the way you thundered through the kitchen.’

  The ghost of a twinkle appeared in Freddie’s eyes. He looked at her with awe, and gratitude.

  Kate took his arm. ‘Now you – and you,’ she looked at the young lad, ‘come and sit down on the lawn and I’ll bring you both a cup of tea. Then you can talk about this nicely.’ She towed the two men to the seat under the cherry tree. ‘Now isn’t this lovely? Look at the blossom. And the bees on it!’

  She left them sitting there meekly while she made tea. Later, she planned to turn it into a funny story she would relish relating to friends even though it was a serious matter. Kate believed tea and good humour would calm the troubled waters. She opened the biscuit tin and popped a few custard creams and Cadbury’s Chocolate Fingers on a plate, put it on a tray with three mugs of tea and took it outside, pleased to see Freddie was himself again, quietly explaining something about nesting birds to the young man who was listening, mesmerised, by the emotive power of Freddie’s storytelling, a gift inherited from his father.

  What would Freddie do without me? Kate thought, sipping her tea. He’d be lost. With a heavy heart, she made a decision she ought to have made months ago. I should go to the doctor, she told herself. I can’t run away from this forever.

  CHAPTER 16

  I’ve Lost Everything

  The morning after Tessa had found her, Benita sat on the sofa, washing her face elegantly with a carefully curled paw. Her eyes were watching Tessa darting around the flat, stuffing clothes, shoes and books into a bag. Tessa was singing along to her favourite song, The Beatles’ hit, Let It Be. It suited her mood right now.

  There will be an answer

  Let it be

  The song was exactly what Art would like. Tessa allowed herself to imagine him playing it on his guitar, and singing the words in his husky voice. It sent a shiver down her spine. The years had passed, the wound had healed over, but the scar was deep. Deeper still was the longing in her soul. Tessa had never stopped searching for Art. Every day, every place, every hippy in the distance. In truth Art had never left her. He was in her heart every day, and in her dreams at night. No one knew where he was. Lou and Clare told her Art had gone missing. No one had seen him. All my life, I’ll search for him, Tessa thought, stuffing her flared jeans into the rucksack. She knew that if she did find Art, her marriage to Paul would be over.

  ‘Do you like The Beatles, Benita?’ Tessa asked, and the little cat blinked her eyes in reply. She already looked a bit better, her legs less wobbly, her eyes happier. ‘Now you stay here and be contented. I’ve got to go out, but I won’t be long. I’m not abandoning you, darling.’ She felt terrible when Benita followed her to the door and meowed, looking up at her pleadingly. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ Tessa locked the flat door, took the packed bag downstairs and stuffed it into the boot of the Morris Minor.

  She hurried down the street and into the bank. It was the end of the month and she’d just been paid. She drew out her entire month’s salary, leaving nothing to pay the rent, and not caring for once. With the cash safely zipped into her multi-coloured Indian bag, Tessa ran on, dodging the early morning shoppers, and arrived at a pet shop. She bought Benita a luxury travelling basket with a cosy tartan cushion inside. After a browse around the shop, she bought her a brush, a tin of flea powder, worming pills, a catnip mouse and a red velvet collar. She bought vitamin pills, and tins of Felix.

  It was May, and heat was already rising from the pavements of London, the sun blazing from the windows of tower blocks. Tessa was boiling hot, and anxious, her heart racing, worrying in case Paul might decide to come home early and find Benita alone in the flat. What would he do? What would he say when he saw the travelling basket and the bag of goodies from the pet shop? He’d cross-examine her about why, and how much money she had spent. Tessa didn’t think she could stand yet another row. Lately it had been bad. Paul was stressed over his final exams, his auditions, and his migraines which seemed relentless.

  She hurried back to the flat, feeling rebelliously jubilant at the thought of the money tucked in her bag. She’d earned it. Why shouldn’t she spend it for once? She loved carrying the cat basket home, and the stuff she’d bought for Benita. She was looking forward to helping the little cat recover from her ordeal, seeing her coat glossy and her eyes alive and happy.

  But when she looked up at the flat window, it was open, and she’d left it closed in case Benita tried to escape. Paul must be there! Tessa paused at the front door and debated whether to put the cat basket straight into the car. Why should I have to hide it? she thought. I’m proud of what I’ve done. But the money! He’ll take it off me.

  Tessa put the bag under the driver’s seat of the Morris Minor and locked the car, hoping Paul wasn’t watching her. She hid the car key in a crack between two bricks next to the front door.

  Paul was at the kitchen table, sipping black coffee and frowning over a pile of sheet music. ‘Hi,’ he said, without looking up. Benita was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where’s Benita?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘I left her in the flat while I went shopping. Where is she, Paul?’

  He went on studying the sheet music, teasing her.

  Tessa’s heart raced with anxiety. She searched the flat, looking under chairs and the sofa, under the bed, behind the fridge, in the broom cupboard. Anger came, burning along the threads of her anxiety, igniting a bomb inside Tessa. ‘WHERE IS SHE?’

  Paul went cold. ‘Don’t shout at me.’

  ‘What have you done with my cat?’ Tessa yelled.

  ‘Don’t get hysterical. I haven’t damaged your precious cat. I let her out.’

&nbs
p; ‘You did WHAT?’

  ‘She meowed at the door. So I let her out and she ran downstairs and out into the street – where she belongs.’

  ‘How could you, Paul? How COULD you? You – you’re not human. Benita doesn’t belong in the street. No one belongs in the street. She needs a home, and I rescued her.’ Tessa was distraught. ‘She could die on the street – and – and she’ll think I abandoned her.’

  ‘Stop screaming at me. How can I work with a bloody head-case like you around?’

  ‘I am not a head-case. I’m a caring, compassionate person, Paul. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, you can work, thanks to me paying for everything.’

  Paul’s shoulders stiffened. He pretended to be looking at the sheet music, but his eyes fired bullets of contempt in her direction. ‘And don’t you just LOVE reminding me,’ he quipped.

  ‘I don’t love it. I hate having to and I wish you appreciated what I do.’

  ‘Like blowing our housekeeping money on a luxury cat basket for that flea-ridden bag of bones off the street.’

  ‘I’m being kind. Or hadn’t you heard of kindness?’ Tessa turned her back, intending to go out and search for Benita. She forgot how much Paul hated her to walk away.

  In seconds he was on his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor. He grabbed Tessa’s wrists and held her in a vicelike grip, as if he hoped her bones would snap like chair legs. Her silver charm bracelet dug into her skin. His breath drowned her in an acrid cloud. ‘You’ve been drinking,’ she said, wincing, ‘and you’re hurting me.’

  ‘GOOD,’ he growled. ‘You asked for it.’

  It was what he always said.

  ‘Let go of me,’ Tessa screamed. ‘I need to find the cat.’

  ‘Oh – it’s the cat now, is it? I’m just your husband. What do I matter? Eh? Eh? – Go on, answer me.’ He shoved her against the wall with such force that a picture hook tore out from the plaster and sent the picture crashing to the floor. It was one of Freddie’s watercolours. The river bridge in summer, with its yellow bottle lilies and reeds. It glowed up at them through the shattered glass.

  ‘Dad’s picture.’ Tessa bent to pick it up, a rush of tears in her throat.

  Paul kicked it aside. ‘Leave it,’ he raged, his knuckles white as he pushed her shoulders back against the wall. ‘Stop bloody whingeing about a stupid picture. Stop bloody looking at it.’ He gripped her chin and turned her head to look at him, his fingers digging into her cheeks.

  Tessa froze. Images streamed through her mind. Freddie sitting by the river with his box of Reeves Watercolours and a jam jar of water. Benita, lost again, cowering out in the echoing streets. The smile in her mum’s bright brown eyes when she’d given her the picture. ‘I had it framed especially for you – for your first little home with Paul.’

  The images closed together like curtains, shutting out the black window that was Paul. Long ago, in her childhood, Tessa had learned how to freeze, to go still and silent, diving under the anger and fear, diving deep to survive.

  She waited, while Paul glared, his eyes demanding a reaction. She sensed him moving along the edges of his anger, crawling, clinging like a man trying not to fall over a precipice into the destructive maelstrom of his own fury. She remembered the times when Freddie had rescued her from that same dark shoreline. He’d never rescued her with words. He’d rescued her with silence. His big hands patting her shoulders. His blue eyes believing in her.

  It took all of her strength to stand there and keep quiet, keep the lid on her own feelings. She hated Paul. She was terrified. But she had compassion for him. ‘I won’t let you do this, Paul,’ she said quietly, and slipped her arms around his shoulders.

  Predictably he crumpled, letting go of her and sinking to the floor. He took his head between both hands and banged it against the wall. Then he looked up at Tessa and held a fold of her skirt against his face. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he pleaded. ‘You’re my LIFE, my whole world. Please – please – don’t leave me.’

  Kate was unusually silent as she lay on the narrow couch in Dr Jarvis’s surgery. She’d been a nurse. She knew how to read a doctor’s face. So she studied Dr Jarvis’s expression as he examined her swollen tummy. He was frowning as his clean, confident hands pressed and prodded. He did a lot of tapping and listening, his eyes occasionally meeting hers over the top of his glasses.

  When he had finished, there was an uncomfortable silence. While Kate readjusted her clothes and slipped her shoes on, he sat at his desk writing notes with a black fountain pen. Kate felt very frightened. She knew, from her nurse’s training, what it could be, and Dr Jarvis knew that she knew.

  ‘Take a seat, Kate.’ She sat down on the brown leather chair while he shuffled papers, as if putting off the moment when he must tell her. Finally he met her eyes. ‘I’m afraid you might need surgery, Kate. There’s definitely something there that shouldn’t be there. But – unless we open you up and have a look, we don’t know what’s going on. Let’s hope it’s just a cyst which can be easily removed.’

  ‘And what else could it be? Please be honest with me, Doctor. I need to know.

  ‘I will be – but let’s not speculate. Wait and see what the surgeon finds, Kate.’

  ‘So – when have I got to go to hospital?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Now?’ Kate was shocked. She’d expected him to say in six weeks’ time. She gripped the arms of the chair tightly. She saw summer disappearing like a picnic rug snatched from the lawn. ‘But I can’t just drop everything. Freddie depends on me. We have a business to run.’

  ‘Freddie’s a big boy,’ said Dr Jarvis, ‘and he would want you to have the best treatment we can get for you – wouldn’t he?’

  ‘He’s got a deep fear of hospitals,’ Kate said. ‘It’s in the family. His mother was the same, only worse – and it’s in Tessa too. I’m the one who holds the family together.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Kate. But the sooner we get you into hospital, the sooner you can get well. I’ll try to get you in on Monday.’

  ‘And Lucy’s in Australia,’ Kate added.

  Dr Jarvis nodded. ‘It will be all right, Kate,’ he said firmly. ‘Your family will rally round, and friends.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ Kate said in a small voice.

  ‘You won’t be. You couldn’t be a nuisance if you tried, Kate. You’ve looked after everyone else over the years. Now it’s your turn for some TLC.’

  ‘TLC? What’s that?’

  ‘Tender loving care.’

  Going under the surgeon’s knife didn’t sound like tender loving care to Kate. She considered refusing treatment. Reasons to say no loomed in front of her like a flight of stairs. Number one was that Freddie would panic. Who would look after him? Kate wanted to cry. The deepest pain was Lucy being in Australia. So far away. So unavailable. And the resentment still stubbornly brooding between Lucy and her father. In the old days, Kate thought bitterly, Lucy was our pride and joy, our golden girl. She would have managed everything so beautifully. W hat if I die and never see Lucy again?

  Kate got up in a daze. ‘I need to think this over, Doctor. I’ll go home now.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Dr Jarvis looked at her shrewdly, ‘but, Kate – don’t leave it too long.’

  Kate was glad Freddie was out when she got home. The lorry was gone and he’d left a note on the kitchen table. Gone to help Herbie load some stone.

  Everything hurt. Even seeing her lovely home and garden. Kate took her bike out of the shed. She needed to be out in the sunlit countryside, sailing along the lanes with the wind in her hair. I’ll go to Hilbegut, she thought, and look at the old family farm.

  She hadn’t ridden her bike for a while, and at first she felt fine, sailing down through Monterose and out across the Levels. But her swollen tummy felt awkward and uncomfortable, and soon she was overwhelmingly tired. Again she wanted to cry. She stopped on the river bridge, propped her bike against it and sat on the warm stone parapet, ga
zing down at the pea-green waterweed waving in the current, the marsh-marigold and sedge grass along the bank. She smiled as a water vole emerged, swimming downstream with his fat cheeks and bright black eyes.

  The rhythmic hum of swans’ wings made her look up, and a pair of swans flew over, perfectly together, perfectly snowy white. Kate knew that swans mated for life. Like her and Freddie. I can’t die, she thought. I can’t die and leave Freddie all alone.

  Heat shimmered on the tarmac as Tessa drove down the A303, her bruised wrists on the steering wheel a stark reminder of the state of her marriage. It’s over, she thought, not for the first time. I can’t go back. Then the voice of reason told her she had to. Paul’s desperate, pleading eyes begging her not to leave. His hand clutching her skirt. His words calling out to her compassionate nature. She’d supported Paul and built his self-esteem, tried to heal the wounds he carried from a lifetime of rejection. It wasn’t working. Instead of gratitude, there was anger. Sometimes she thought he hated her. He’d blamed his parents for everything, and when they’d refused to support him through music college, a new surge of bitterness took hold of Paul. Hell-bent on proving them wrong, he’d invested his hopes and emotions in Tessa. It had become increasingly scary for her, coping with his moods, and being the sole breadwinner. ‘Don’t walk out on me NOW!’ Paul had yelled. ‘I’m almost there, Tessa. Another few months and I’ll have a great job and a salary – money in the bank! Don’t pull the rug out now.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ she argued.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it? So how are we going to pay the rent now you’ve blown it on cat stuff? You silly bitch.’

  Tessa was deeply hurt, and frightened, as her mind recycled the argument while she was driving. It wasn’t the situation. It was his attitude. The way he spoke to her. It wasn’t fair. She’d done her best to survive in London. She’d longed for a dog or a cat to love. She’d longed to spend some of the money she earned. Working with the children was emotionally rewarding, but exhausting, especially with the journey she now had to make across London. There were times when it hurt to go out on a beautiful morning, and taste the traffic fumes, and spend the summer days cooped up in a building or a tube train. She longed for the silver-blue skies and the water meadows of Monterose, the silence, the deeply scented lanes and the starry nights. She missed her father’s mystic peacefulness, and her mum’s bright cheerfulness.