by Sharon Booth
"It's all the cheap mince and sausages," I said cheerfully. "Not to mention the frozen steak pies that Seth loves. A pound for four in the freezer shop."
"A pound for four! What sort of steak would they contain?" She sounded horrified.
"Best not to think about it too much," I advised.
She shook her head. "It's a different world. You need to take control of your body now. You'll never attract another man if you get any fatter."
"I don't want to attract another man," I said immediately. "Bloody hell, that's the last thing I want. As far as I'm concerned, the fatter I get, the better. Keep the buggers away."
"But you don't want to be alone for the rest of your life," she said, sounding appalled.
"That's just where you're wrong," I said. "I do want to be alone for the rest of my life. In fact, that's the plan."
It really was, too. I’d never let anyone make me feel not good enough again. With only myself to please, I could never let anyone down, could I? And if I didn't let anyone down, I would never experience that sickening lurch of disappointment in myself—that God-awful feeling of failure.
I shuddered. Nope. From then on, it would be just me. True love was a lie. Relationships were a let-down, and passion was a devil that blinded you to the truth and ruined your life. I would never be in its grip again. No more Heathcliffs for me.
#
The caravan was basically a tin hut on wheels, and if I'd been that farmer, I'd have been mortified with shame for daring to charge two hundred pounds a week for someone to live in it, particularly in early March, when the wind blew off the moors and rattled the thing so much I daren't even hold a cup of tea in my hands when it started. I spent the first week basically huddled under the duvet, with the gas fire on full, wearing a thick jumper over my pyjamas, and even, at times, gloves.
Tamsin's house had been a lot more comfortable, and it sometimes crossed my mind that maybe I should have thrown myself on her mercy and asked if I could stay there instead—if only for the central heating and the triple glazing.
Having said that, I didn't think she'd have had time for me. Alice and Robyn, it turned out, were so busy that Tamsin had no time for anything once they got home from school. They'd only been home five minutes before she’d had to rush around getting their equipment sorted for gym club. As she explained to me about their seemingly endless list of activities, I thought what spoilt little brats they sounded, then felt immediately guilty when they greeted me with excitement, obviously thrilled to see me, and seemed to see me as some super-cool auntie, whom they'd actually missed—unlike Brad, who'd rolled in from work at eight, had dinner, then disappeared into his office to ‘make calls’. He’d barely so much as grunted when Tamsin explained why I was there, and hadn't seemed to care one way, or the other, how long I was staying, which didn't surprise me, given that he didn't seem to be in the house much anyway.
No wonder Tamsin filled her days with all those exercise classes, I thought. Some marriage. In her own way, my sister had been just as much a victim of the lie of true love as I'd been. She'd just had the foresight to fall for someone with cash and ambition. If you were going to be fooled, better to be fooled in a luxury house with lots of money in the bank, than a council flat with a dodgy boiler and orange kitchen units, with no idea of where your next loaf of Cheap 'n' Low thin white sliced bread would be coming from.
The following morning, she'd very kindly driven me to the caravan, which was on a farm about three miles from Newarth, and her eyes had widened in horror when she saw it. "You can't stay here! You'll freeze to death."
I was worryingly aware that she could have been right, but I needed some time alone to think, and walk the moors, and visit Newarth, so I was willing to overlook the obvious drawbacks of my new temporary home.
"Call me," she’d said. As she’d climbed back into her Nissan Juke and shut the door, I’d thought of her heated car seats and envied her. "Keep me in the loop."
"I will," I promised, little realising that there’d be no signal and no internet access, and if I wanted to contact anyone I’d have to walk nearly as far as Newarth to do so. Not that walking to Newarth would be a hardship, but for the first few days, at least, I just wanted to hibernate.
Thankfully, Tamsin had taken me to a large supermarket near York, on our way to the caravan, and I'd stocked up on some basics, such as teabags and milk, and bread. I'd also stocked up on crisps and chocolate, much to her dismay, but I’d figured I deserved some comfort food. I'd also thrown a couple of thick paperback novels into the basket to keep me occupied, automatically hovering over the romance section of the bookshelves, until I'd realised what I was doing and snapped back to attention. No more romance for Miss Truelove! I hastily reached for the detective fiction, instead. Maybe I should change my name to Miss Marple?
After almost a week of alcoholic police inspectors, deranged serial killers, and Carroll's Caramel Choc Bloc, though, I was getting distinctly antsy. I was also wondering, for the first time in days, what was going on in the outside world. I couldn't help worrying about Seth. I hoped he was coping. Jilly had promised to call him, let him know what I'd done, as I hadn't the nerve to do it myself. I was too afraid he would talk me out of it, guilt-trip me into coming home. Jilly was made of sterner stuff, and wouldn't fall for his declarations of love for me. She'd never understood how I'd fallen for them myself.
"That's not love, Cara," she'd informed me, many times. "It's need. And there's nothing attractive about neediness in a man—or a woman, come to that."
Maybe I was doing Seth a favour, I told myself, and not for the first time. If he had to deal with life outside his little bubble, he might finally grow as a person. Who knew, having to pay the rent on the flat might even persuade him to get a job, although, thinking about it, I was pretty sure that, once he knew I was serious, he would be more likely to move in to Isolde's flat with Naomi. It was certainly big enough for three people, and Isolde would be more than happy to take care of him, no doubt.
I was curious, though, and so one day, I layered up with about three jumpers under my coat, pulled on my boots, and headed off towards Newarth.
I treated myself to a new book in the bookshop, having finished both novels already. I'd had quite enough of crime, and chose a fantasy novel instead. It was something new, and on the plus side, it was so big and heavy that, if it failed to entertain, it would make a good draft excluder. From there, I popped into the teashop and ordered a cup of tea and a toasted teacake, where I finally took out my phone to see what was happening on planet Earth.
I had about sixteen missed calls from Seth, which was a bit worrying, and three missed calls from Naomi, which was annoying, if not surprising. There was also a missed call from Mum and Dad. I had eight voicemail messages, which I dreaded listening to. However, fortified with teacake, and about to start on a cream scone, I dialled the number and waited, heart thudding.
As soon as I heard Seth's telephone number being read out, I deleted the message without listening to it. I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to be attacked by guilt.
The next four were also from him. Then there was one from Mum and Dad, saying they'd just heard from Tamsin that I'd left Seth, and they couldn't be happier, but they hoped I was okay in some caravan in the middle of nowhere, and if I needed anything, to get in touch, although they'd be flying off to Spain in a couple of days, so not to hang around for too long. The next one was from Naomi, and I deleted that, too, but there was also one from a number I didn't recognise.
It turned out to be Isolde's. She gave me a stern lecture on my disgraceful behaviour, and my inhumane treatment of Seth, and added that she would be taking care of him from then on, and she hoped that I would realise what I'd thrown away, and she thought I was extremely petty to take the piano money, which would seriously delay, if not completely derail, his chances of going into business with her.
I deleted that one, too, then turned my attention to the texts.
Tamsin had s
ent me a couple, saying she hoped I was okay, and if I wanted to get out of the caravan, she was sure Mum and Dad would let me live with them until I got sorted. Probably making sure I got the hint that her house was strictly off limits.
Redmond had texted me, too.
What on earth do you think you're doing, running off like that? You should have thrown him out instead. Tamsin says you've left all your possessions behind. My advice is to see a solicitor. Married, or not, you have rights. Oh, and you definitely shouldn't have left your job. Have you any idea how difficult it is for unskilled workers to find employment these days? Honestly, Cara, I do wish you'd spoken to me first. Take care. Redmond. x
Finally, there was a text from Seth. I decided to eat the cream scone first before opening it. It would take some courage to deal with his pleading, I thought.
When I finally opened the message, I realised I needn't have worried. His words didn't touch me, at all, although I did cringe at his terrible poetry.
Soft breaks the light. Hard breaks the heart.
I trudge on, feet of clay.
Night follows day.
Time has no meaning now we are apart.
Come home and give my life reason.
To leave your king was an act of treason.
The bathroom tap is dripping. What's the number of the council?
Seth, I decided, rather heartlessly, would just have to learn how to use the phonebook.
Chapter Five
Have gained two pounds this week! Time for Zumba!
Tamsin really did have a difficult life, I thought. How on earth did she cope with such anxieties?
Sitting on a bench, just off Main Street, duffle coat fastened up to the neck, I tapped my gloved fingers on my phone screen with a decided lack of accuracy. I'd just been to the cash machine to draw out another twenty pounds from my wages, and it occurred to me that, really, I had to stop living for the moment and start being the old, responsible Cara again. It had been lovely to escape, and I'd certainly needed the break to clarify things in my mind, and make absolutely sure that I'd done the right thing. Realising I was sure, though, I had to think of the future. It was all very well running away from home, but what next?
I didn't think Little Poppets Playschool was an option. Jilly would have had to find a replacement for me, and even if she managed to squeeze me in somehow, I wouldn't want to go back there. I was finally where I belonged—in Yorkshire—and I didn't want to go up to Oddborough ever again.
So, what to do?
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I decided to visit the café and have my usual tea and toasted teacake. The lady who worked behind the counter was getting used to me, it seemed, and she always had a cheery smile when I walked in. I sometimes saw a query in her eyes when she took my order, and I imagined she was curious to know who I was, and what I was doing, wandering around the village dressed like a fat Paddington Bear, my already rounded figure plumped up to even vaster proportions, thanks to the three jumpers I always wore under my coat.
Sure enough, the lady beamed at me when I pushed through the door, and said, "Tea and teacake, love?"
I nodded, and she turned away to start my order. I looked at the stack of newspapers on the table at the front, and decided to read the local one. There might be a job section in it. As dismal as the thought of returning to employment was, I knew I had to do something fast. It was either that, or throw myself on the mercy of Mum and Dad, and as much as I loved them, I felt too old to be living with my parents. Besides, I didn't want to leave the moors. I knew there wasn't much hope of finding a job in Newarth itself, but maybe there would be something in one of the other villages or towns? Even if it was just temporary.
I perused the situations vacant column with growing dismay. There were a couple of cleaning jobs, and a waitressing job that I could possibly apply for. There was also a bar job in a pub in Farthingdale. When the kindly café lady brought my order, I said, "You haven't got a pen and paper, have you?"
She rummaged in her apron pocket, tore off a piece of paper from a tiny jotter, and handed it to me, along with small plastic biro. Peering down at the opened newspaper, she said, "Job hunting?"
"Afraid so," I said, scribbling down the contact details for the Farthingdale job, then scanning the column for the other possibilities I'd found.
"Bar staff? Wouldn't have you down for a barmaid," she said, looking at my strange attire and probably thinking I was as far removed from a vivacious, sexy barmaid as you could get.
"I've never done it before," I admitted. "Worth a try, though?"
She hesitated, as if wondering if it was any of her business. "You're not from ‘round here, are you?"
"I was born here," I said. "And I lived here until I was seven. My great grandma lived here, until she died a few weeks ago."
"A few weeks ago? Do you mean Mrs Reed? Hutson Road?"
I nodded. "That's right. Did you know her?"
"Everyone knows everyone around here," she said, plonking herself down on the opposite chair. "Couldn't make the funeral service, but I was at the vigil the day before. Lots of the villagers went. I met your mum and dad, then. Didn't see you there, I don't think?"
"I couldn't get here before the funeral," I said, feeling regretful. The vigil had been the time when family and friends had gathered to pay respects to Granny Reed at the funeral parlour. Mum said it was an important part of the proceedings, and that a lot of Granny's neighbours had turned up, and they'd all gone for a drink and a chat afterwards. Granny had, apparently, been well thought of in Newarth.
"Drink your tea before it gets cold," the woman instructed. "Are you holidaying here, or have you moved back? I'm Rhoda, by the way."
"Cara," I said. "And I'm staying in a caravan a couple of miles away, on Southwick's Farm."
"That thing? In this weather?" She shivered. "Rather you than me."
"No, well, it was cheap and available, and I was in dire straits." I said. She raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head. "Long story. The plain fact is, I'd rather be in a caravan on the moors than in my old flat, and my old job, with—never mind."
"Ah." She patted my arm. "I get you. Well, I could ask around, if you like. See if there's anything going. Might be some jobs coming up in a few weeks, as the weather warms up and the tourists start arriving. I only know of one job going, at the moment, but I'm afraid they're insisting on qualifications."
"That pretty much rules me out," I said gloomily. "Unless they're happy with four average GCSEs and a diploma in childcare."
She stared at me as if I'd just said something amazing. "Childcare? You have a diploma in childcare?"
Well, I admit I hardly looked like Mary Poppins, but she didn't have to look quite so disbelieving. "Yes, I have. And I have experience working in a very popular nursery school, for your information." I didn't think it worth mentioning that it was only popular because it was free to anyone on benefits, and just about every resident of the local estate qualified, and couldn't wait to palm their toddlers off on professionals so they could get on with their dubious activities in peace.
"Sorry. I wasn't questioning you. Just that, well, the job I was talking about—they're looking for a nanny."
"A nanny? Are you serious?" I glanced down at the newspaper. "It's not advertised in here. Are you sure? Is it ‘round here? I don't want to move too far away."
"It's not been advertised at all, yet," she told me. "Although, when it does get advertised, it'll probably be in a national magazine, so if I were you, I'd apply pretty sharpish. It's live-in, too. Just the thing you need. I only know because Laura Fairweather comes in here sometimes—her sister lives two doors up, above the fish shop—and she mentioned it. Well, the kiddie's just arrived, and Laura isn't up to it, and she told him straight that she wasn't having it, so he told her to find someone and make sure they were qualified to do it, so there you go."
I really did try to keep up with that conversation but, to be honest, it was pretty difficult. "So, this Laura
Fairweather has just had a baby, and she doesn't want to look after it?"
Rhoda laughed. "Laura Fairweather? She must be sixty, if she's a day. I'd be calling the tabloids if she'd just had a bairn. No, it's her employer. She's housekeeper at Moreland Hall, a couple of miles north of Hasedale, and she's been landed with the little girl. She's only four, so you can imagine, Laura can't keep up with her. She's desperate for someone, and she's not looking forward to interviewing, and all that palaver, so you could be in there, if you hurry up. He's left it all to her. Your teacake's looking a bit sorry for itself. Do you want a fresh one toasting?"
"What? Oh, no thanks. I think I ought to get myself to Moreland Hall and apply before she places that advertisement." Too right. If it went in a national magazine, I'd have no chance. No way could I compete with other nannies and nursery nurses, who'd probably worked in posh establishments that would put the Little Poppets Playschool to shame.
"No worries there, love. I'll give Laura a call and arrange an interview, right after I make you a fresh teacake. Reckon another cup of tea's in order, too, don't you?"
"Thanks ever so much," I said, feeling a bit dazed. Things were moving very fast. Surely, it was too good to be true?
Ten minutes later, I was eating a piping hot toasted teacake and listening in awe as Rhoda arranged my future over the phone with the mysterious Mrs Fairweather.
"All sorted," she announced, handing me a mug of steaming fresh tea. "She's that relieved. I told her you were a decent sort, and she's not to know that I've only known you five minutes, is she? Soon as I mentioned Mrs Reed, I heard her relax. Pillar of the community, Mrs Reed was. Well, until she lost her marbles, but fair's fair—she was as old as Methuselah by that time. I take it you can get references? I mean, you seem honest enough to me, but she'll want proof that you're actually qualified."
"I've got my diploma in the caravan," I said, "and I can get a reference." Jilly would give me a good reference, I had no doubt.