Out of Step

by Maggie Makepeace

  I think I want landscape today, Nell thought. I wonder what’s across there.

  She leant against the stone parapet and looked both ways with binoculars, up river through the spruce forest, and then downstream towards the little tree-filled island and beyond. She could see the wood around Bottom Cottage but not the house itself, and wondered if Heathcliff was in there still staring resolutely forwards, amidst all these wonderfully distracting surroundings. She decided he must be looking at a computer screen and was most probably a teleworker, newly arrived. He’s bound to have a totally unrealistic romantic view of the countryside, and after just one lonely, river-lapping, wuthering winter, he’ll up sticks and leave. Then, she thought – dropping bits of grass into the water and watching them be drawn sluggishly upstream with the rising tide – then I shall buy the cottage, and I shall let people use my lane if they want to, and I shall keep all my books upstairs so I shan’t panic if the river floods, and I shall live frugally, happily, ever after … Mmm. But in the meantime…

  As she walked on, the spruce woods gave off a musty fungal smell after the recent longed-for rain, and Eely Creek, when she came to it, also smelt autumnal and decaying, but with the sharp, dank odour of anaerobic mud, a whiff that Nell had come to appreciate because to her it was redolent with memories of happy days watching waders, drinking tepid coffee out of a Thermos, and sharing broken chocolate biscuits. Martin had scoffed at birdwatching, so they hadn’t done any. This new freedom was intoxicating.

  She breathed deeply and loitered beside the half-dozen houseboats moored there – the long boats without masts that she’d seen from the top road. Most were pretty dingy but the last one was a gem: carved and painted like a gypsy caravan in reds and greens, and with all the appearance of a permanent home, with a wide gangplank that had railings like a bridge, and tubs of still-flowering petunias on either side.

  How lovely, Nell thought. I must draw that too.

  She might once immediately have wished to live in such a whimsical place, but not now. She walked on, across a small wobbly suspension bridge over the thin Eel tributary and found herself on the wooded coastal path that ran downstream above the south bank of the Torrent. If she continued along it, she would be able to look across the river and see Bottom Cottage without having to run the risk of encroaching on anyone’s ungenerously defended territory. The thought appealed to her, and she walked briskly until she came to a clearing in the trees where a rough meadow went right down to the water’s edge. The sky had clouded over. Nell hoped the rain would hold off until she’d had time to do a decent sketch.

  It did. From this direction, right opposite, the cottage looked even more appealing, sheltered as it was on three sides by trees and with the open hill rising behind it, hedged and fenced into fields full of greenly recovering grass. The drought was over, at least for now. Nell made colour notes at the margin of her sketch pad and was concentrating so hard on getting them just right that she was unaware of the arrival of an elderly farmer in an old pick-up, until he stopped it right beside her and leant out of his window.

  ‘All right, that is,’ he offered, gesturing.

  ‘Oh.’ Nell’s instinct was always to hide her drawings, but politeness forbade. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Do a lot of this artistic stuff, do you?’

  ‘Whenever I can, yes. I didn’t know you could get a vehicle down here though.’

  ‘Four-wheel drive, see. Collecting up my sheep off the head.’ He gestured towards the dog in the back, and the close-cropped headland projecting out of sight into the bend of the river.

  ‘Oh, I see. Not a public right of way, then?’

  ‘No, but you can come down over my yard any time you likes. Don’t let the missus see ee though.’ He cackled. Nell smiled cautiously.

  ‘Bottom Cottage, that be,’ the old man went on. He put out a wide, calloused hand and Nell gave him the pad so he could study her drawing more closely. ‘I could tell ee a thing or two ‘bout that. Oh yes.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Ooooh, goings-on – shoutings – swearings. Sound of it carries right acrost the water some days, but I don’t reckon they knows that or they wouldn’t do it, now would ’em?’

  ‘I suppose not. So who lives there?’

  ‘Oh, she’s gone now. Took herself and the two kiddies off to the town, she did. ‘Twas either that or have ’em taken off her by the Social.’ He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t stick it even three year. I s’pose ‘twasn’t so surprising – her with her fancy townie ways and her high heels! Stands to reason, doanit? He’m all right though. Everybody do like him. He must bin there goin on ten year now. He keeps hisself to hisself but he’m no bother to nobody. If you knows what I mean?’ Nell reached for her sketchbook and took it back. ‘Yes, he’m all right, be Rob Hayhoe.’ He had a sudden bright idea, and patted his door as if to emphasise it. ‘I reckon he’d buy that picture off you. You wants to give him a try?’

  Nell made a point of remembering the name, but waited until after the farmer had driven away, his collie bouncing from side to side in the open back of the pick-up, before she carefully wrote it down under her bottom colour notes – Rob Hayhoe.

  ‘That’s a really unusual name,’ Elly said, full length on Nell’s sofa. ‘Hey! What if he’s related to Malachy Hayhoe?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Nell! The sexy actor who plays the senior surgeon in that TV hospital thing.’

  ‘The slimy one?’

  ‘The distinguished, caring, luscious father-figure, yes.’

  ‘I hope not, for his sake.’ Nell made a face.

  ‘But if he is,’ Elly said, ‘it might be a good career move for me to meet him.’

  Nell was sceptical of her friend’s recently expressed desire to become an actress, assuming it was just the latest in a long line of short-lived passions, but she said, ‘Go ahead. I’ll give you a map reference.’

  ‘That’s no good. You’ve got to come too, for moral support.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Nell was adamant.

  ‘Please, Nell. This could be really important to me.’

  ‘Why? Why the sudden desire to act?’

  ‘I just know it’s for me. I could do it.’

  ‘Then go on your own! You’re not exactly shy after all.’

  ‘Can I take your drawing of his cottage to sell, as a pretext?’

  ‘Oh, all right, but he won’t want it.’

  ‘Yesss!’ Elly punched the air.

  Nell regarded her with affection. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t known her, and her mother. She just wished she could grow to be as fond of Elly’s husband … ‘What would Paul say?’

  ‘Who cares? I shan’t tell him until I’ve landed a leading rôle, and then just watch him lap up the reflected glory!’

  Nell privately thought that Paul was too keen on the centre stage himself voluntarily to rejoice in anyone else’s success, but she kept quiet.

  ‘Why on earth did we both choose to do Fine Art at university, Nell?’ Elly shook her head. ‘We must have been loony; folie à deux!’

  ‘Not at all. You wanted to do interior design, and I wanted to paint. It was obvious.’

  ‘Yes, but look where it’s got us.’

  ‘Well, your business is doing pretty well.’

  ‘Maybe, but I should have done drama. I’ve wasted so much time.’

  ‘Does Paul know how you feel?’

  ‘Nope. He’s far too wrapped up in his school and his bloody sailing.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘Oh, Will and Sam know I’ve been a drama queen all my life.’

  Nell smiled.

  ‘But what about you, Nell? Isn’t it time you reassessed your life too? I know Sibyl would hate to lose you, but she worries about you wasting all your education, working behind her shop counter.’

  ‘I like it there,’ Nell said firmly. ‘It suits me. I’m not the up-shifting type. I’ve decided I want a life, not a career. Careers suc
k people dry and leave them no time to just be. But now you mention it, I am thinking of making some changes.’

  ‘Does Sibyl know?’

  ‘No, I mean personal changes. I want to sell my house and live in the country.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Funnily enough, exactly where this Hayhoe man lives. Tell you what, if you’re determined to make his acquaintance, you couldn’t introduce a small neutron bomb into his cottage, could you? You know – the sort that kills people and leaves buildings intact!’

  ‘Nice place to live, eh?’ Elly was looking at her curiously.

  ‘The best,’ Nell said simply.

  Elly did not have time to visit Bottom Cottage that weekend but when she came down from London a fortnight later, she persuaded Nell to go at least part of the way with her to direct her. Elly drove, and when they came to a ridge overlooking a deep valley with a stripe of river at its floor and a gleam of sea on the horizon, Nell made her slow down, and pointed out a cart track on their right.

  ‘OK,’ Nell said, ‘drive down through the tree tunnel… there’s a vantage point… yes, there on the left. Stop here. The cottage is at the bottom. Now look!’ She passed her binoculars to Elly, who obediently peered through them. It had been raining hard all week, making up for past deficiencies, and everywhere this morning looked grey, even the yachts. The grey hills came down to the grey water. The grey trees stopped just short of the grey mud. A few new-fallen grey leaves covered the grey path between wood and river. She looked downstream at the greyly ebbing tide and a few grey birds poking about in the distance. The sky was especially grey.

  ‘Isn’t it paradise?’ Nell said.

  ‘It’s certainly exclusive, but it would be much too secretive and claustrophobic for me.’

  ‘Some people have no soul,’ Nell said cheerfully, putting on scarf, gloves and a woolly hat. ‘This is where I get out. Don’t be long though; it’s a bit nippy to be hanging about for ages.’

  ‘Right,’ Elly said, restarting the engine. ‘I’m not at all sure about the rest of this road though. Sure you won’t come?’

  Nell shook her head.

  ‘How much d’you want for your drawing?’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t though. Twenty?’

  Elly drove slowly on down the track alone, bottoming out twice and having to choose her route with care. No one in their right mind would want to live here! she thought, except of course Nell (and maybe Sibyl?); the unworldly in thrall to the impractical.

  At the turning place, she parked by a Land Rover and looked critically at the house. She saw it as a ‘Before’ photo in a renovation portfolio. She banged on the front door with her knuckles and then brushed flakes of paint off them, holding the picture frame under one arm. No answer. She tried again.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a voice said from behind her. A man and two small children were walking up the path from the river. The elder child’s wellington boots were making squelch-squelch noises with every step.

  ‘Are you Mr Hayhoe?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Oh good.’ He’s quite good-looking, Elly thought. Lots of curly brown hair. Mid-thirties, early forties? A bit thin. ‘I’ve brought this to show you.’ She held out the drawing.

  ‘Want to see!’ The boy with the sodden wellies rushed up and snatched it from her.

  ‘Gently, Josh,’ the man said. ‘It’s breakable, OK?’

  ‘Me, me,’ the small girl insisted, letting go of her father’s hand and bumbling forward.

  ‘Let Rosie have a look too,’ he said, squatting down beside them. ‘I’ll hold it for both of you.’

  ‘That’s my bedroom,’ Josh said, jabbing his finger at the window and leaving a smudge on the glass.

  ‘And Rosie’s too,’ his father reminded him.

  ‘I’ve got my own room at home!’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ve only got two bedrooms here, haven’t we?’ He glanced up at Elly. ‘Sorry, these two monsters do rather seem to take things over.’ The children swaggered a little. He looked properly at the drawing. ‘This is very good. Did you do it?’

  ‘God, no! It’s by a friend of mine. She’s very talented but she’s no good at self-promotion, so I…’

  ‘Dad! My feet are cold.’

  ‘Rothie wants to do a weeee …’

  ‘Sorry,’ Rob said. ‘I’d better just deal with … Come on …’ He handed the picture back to Elly and followed his children through the front door. Elly brought up the rear, and waited in the kitchen/living room as the three of them went upstairs, boots and all. She saw that this could be a very stylish room indeed if a great deal of money were to be spent on it. The floor was still covered by its original flagstones. The stove was set in a broad chimney alcove under a thick wooden beam where an open hearth had once been. There was an inglenook – a little seat – on one side of the stove, and an old bread oven on the other. Facing the back door on the opposite wall was a wooden staircase to the first floor, and next to it a large scrubbed pine table, but there all charm ended. There seemed to be no storage cupboards or work surfaces to speak of. The sink under the back window had only one basin and one draining board, and an old plastic drying rack that looked distinctly dirty. A few blackened pans hung on hooks from another beam. There were no curtains or blinds at the window, and any space on the walls which was not obscured by stuck-on children’s paintings appeared to be covered in childish scribbles in pencil and felt-tip pen.

  A box of toys at the far end had overflowed, and bits of Lego and heads of Play-People crunched underfoot rather like extra large grains of … sugar? No, that was sugar.

  Hmm, Elly thought rather grimly. ‘Needs some attention’? Or ‘Ripe for development’? How could one put it politely?

  ‘Nice and warm in here,’ she said, as Rob came downstairs again with both children.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got a woodburner. Sit down, Josh, or I can’t get these boots of yours off.’ He pointed it out.

  In Elly’s limited experience, woodburning stoves had only three settings – too cold, too hot, and out – but she said, ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Pop upstairs and get yourself some dry socks, yes?’

  ‘I want you to come.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Rob said yet again. ‘Back in a mo.’

  ‘Hayhoe,’ Elly said as he came downstairs again. ‘Are you by any chance related to …’

  ‘Yes,’ he cut in, rather wearily, it seemed to her. ‘But unlike my father, no, I don’t act.’

  ‘Oh dear. You’re obviously very tired of that question.’

  ‘Just a little.’

  ‘My apologies. Does he ever visit you here?’

  ‘Hardly ever. He has a busy schedule.’ He pronounced it ‘skedule’ with some distaste, as though quoting. ‘And before you ask, he eats wannabe actresses for elevenses.’

  ‘He does not,’ Joshua protested. ‘He has coffee and shortbread.’

  ‘Hungry!’ Rosie piped up, amidst the laughter.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Elly said. ‘I’m not used to being seen through so speedily.’ She waited for a standard compliment, but it didn’t come.

  ‘So, do you really want to sell this drawing, or was it just…?’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely.’ She hastily offered it to him again.

  ‘For how much?’ he asked, without taking it.

  ‘Forty pounds.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘Bit steep.’

  ‘Daddy, Daddy, Rothie’s hungry.’

  ‘All right, poppet. We’ll have something very soon.’

  ‘Pity Nell isn’t here,’ Elly said. ‘As well as being an artist she’s also a brilliant cook.’

  ‘Why didn’t she come with you?’

  ‘Shy, I suppose. Reluctant to trespass again.’

  ‘Oh … is she the woman who’s been down here a few times in a blue Citroën?’

  ‘The very one.’ A brilliant idea struck Elly, and she acted upon it instantly. ‘Actually, I think she rather fancies you, but for God’s sake don
’t tell her I told you so! Look, don’t feel obliged to buy the pic. I’m not trying to do a hard sell. I’ll just write down her name and phone number, shall I? Then you can take time to decide whether you really want it or not.’ She put the drawing under her arm again, opened her shoulder-bag and wrote on a small notepad, tearing the page off and giving it to him.

  ‘Eleanor Chant, eh? Well… thanks.’ He stuffed it into a pocket in his faded cords.

  ‘Well, mustn’t hold up your …’ Your what? It was eleven o’clock.

  ‘Breakfast. We’re a trifle disorganised this morning.’

  ‘… Breakfast, then. Sorry to have bothered you.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Bye.’ She got into her car and drove off up the track, thinking: Well, well, well! I hope I’m right. Could be just what Nell needs after the ghastly Martin – an intelligent, non-macho, well-spoken New Man!

  Nell jumped up and down to keep warm. It was far too cold even to do any preliminary sketches as she had planned, and she was cross with herself for having agreed to come at all. When Elly finally drove up and stopped beside her, she saw her drawing was still lying on the passenger seat.

  ‘Told you so!’ she said, picking it up as she got in.

  ‘Aha! But it’s not the way you think,’ Elly countered, raising both eyebrows in an ironic glance.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Well, I may be wrong, but I got the distinct impression that Mr Rob Hayhoe liked your picture so much that he hasn’t bought it on purpose.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s going to use it as a ploy to get you to go down there instead of me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll bet you ten, no twenty, quid that he phones you within the week.’

  ‘What, to buy the drawing?’

  ‘No, dumbo! To ask you out! The man clearly fancies you. He realised who you were at once. He’s probably been fantasising about this beautiful capricious, unknown painter for weeks.’