Out of Step

by Maggie Makepeace

  ‘Haven’t gor it.’ Mic looked across at the clock on the mantelpiece, and got to her feet. ‘I’ve gotta collect Rosie from nursery school, awright?’

  ‘Right.’ The social worker stood up too. ‘Well, carry on with the good work for now anyway, and I’ll let you know what’s decided soon.’ She went out, got into her car and drove away.

  ‘Stupid cow!’ Mic berated herself aloud. ‘If those kids get sent to their dad’s, then Gav and me’ll get chucked outer here. I was a pillock to get so stroppy; I should’ve brown-nosed her.’

  The winds got up from the south as a deep depression approached the West Country across the Atlantic, and Rob, who had heard the weather outlook, set about battening down the hatches before the worst of the gale should hit. The shipping forecast had predicted severe gale 9, gusting to violent storm 11 for Wight, Portland and Plymouth, so it wasn’t to be ignored. He got his torch and went round the caravan in the dark, checking the stay-legs were firm and tying the tarpaulin more securely over his Calor Gas bottle. Beyond that there was little he could do except hope for the best. He went inside again and hunted through the wall cupboards until he found his collection of half-burnt candles and a box of matches, in case the site electricity should fail. Then he fried a couple of lamb chops for supper, ate them with bread and butter and sat back with a mug of coffee, congratulating himself on his unaccustomed forethought.

  By ten o’clock the wind had increased in strength to an uncomfortable degree and the rain had settled into a steady percussion on the thin roof above his head, changing note and amplitude every now and then as squalls of hail went through. A couple of times the lights flickered and the boom of thunder interrupted The World Tonight on Radio 4. It’s the full works, Rob thought, climbing fully dressed on to his bunk. Could be a bumpy night. He switched off the light and darkness took over.

  When he awoke again it was with a start, to find the whole caravan rocking and shivering in the blast. The rain seemed to have stopped, but the wind was screaming around in ever-accelerating strength, and buffeting the sides of the van so that they sucked and bulged spasmodically. The noise was terrific. Rob fought an impulse to bury himself deeper in his bedclothes, and wondered what to do for the best. There were big trees round the edge of the site, but his caravan was out of their range, so with luck he wouldn’t be hit by anything from above.

  ‘Just hope the bloody van doesn’t overturn –’ he began aloud, and as he reached for his torch a ferocious gust roared in and engulfed everything. Rob had a brief sensation of being weightless and upside down, and then there was a huge crash.

  Nell lay in bed and worried about her cottage. The tide was low, so there was no need to be anxious about flooding, but the clay tiles on the roof were rattling alarmingly, and she was sure she heard at least one of them sliding downwards. There’s nothing I can do, she thought. I’ll just have to hope for the best. I do hope the nearest trees have got a grip on things.

  She slept fitfully and was tired but relieved when dawn, and the waning of the worst of the storm, came together. At first light Nell got out of bed, put on her fleecy dressing gown and slipper socks, and looked out of the window. It was raining gently. One old and rotten ash tree had fallen across the junction of the coast path with her turning circle, but otherwise all seemed well. She looked round her bedroom – no change – and then went on a damage-inspection tour of the rest of the house.

  At the bathroom door she heard the plink plink of falling water and, looking up, saw it was seeping through the hatch from the roof space and pinging into the bath directly below. Handy place for a bath, Nell thought, and then: Damn! I was right. I must have lost a tile, maybe more than one.

  She got dressed quickly and went outside in wellies and a parka to have a look. Squinting through the still-falling rain, she saw several tiles had been displaced sideways but there was only one definite hole in the roof, the offending tile having slid down and lodged itself in the gutter apparently unbroken.

  It’s no big deal, Nell thought, but I’ll have to get someone in to fix it for me. I haven’t a ladder high enough, nor a good enough head for heights. In the meantime, it can go on raining into the bath. I may as well go to work and ring for a builder from there.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sibyl enquired as Nell arrived at ARTFULL. ‘Only there’s been a terrific amount of storm damage, according to the Today programme. Apparently it’s very bad north of Boxcombe. Did you have any trouble getting in?’

  ‘I had to wait for one fallen yew to be chainsawed out of the way outside the church,’ Nell said, ‘and of course everywhere’s littered with leaves and twigs and rubbish but no, I think I got off relatively lightly.’

  ‘I seem to have missed most of it too. My bit of town is down in a dip and sheltered from the worst of the winds. That’s why I was so surprised at the news.’

  ‘Can I phone?’ Nell asked. ‘I need a builder to put some tiles back.’

  ‘Of course, but I think you’ll be lucky. They’ll all be gone out by now, sucking their teeth and estimating away; anticipating the fruits of a good disaster!’

  Sibyl was right. Nell had no luck.

  ‘You could always phone Rob,’ Sibyl suggested. ‘He’s a practical sort of bloke, isn’t he? He would probably do it for you.’

  ‘Well, I suppose…’

  ‘Go on! What have you got to lose?’

  The secretary at Mugglestone, Puddock & Co. said she was very sorry, but Mr Hayhoe wasn’t in today. Nell had a sudden awful thought.

  ‘He’s all right though, isn’t he? His caravan hasn’t been damaged in the storm?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t –’

  ‘Look,’ Nell said, getting worried. ‘You can tell me. I’m a friend of his. Is he all right?’

  ‘If you’d like to leave your name and telephone number, I’ll see that Mr Hayhoe gets back to you.’

  Fat chance of that if he’s lying dead under a squashed caravan! Nell thought, but told the woman her name and the shop’s number anyway, and put the phone down, feeling anxious.

  At lunchtime, ARTFULL was closed briefly while Nell went out to buy a sandwich, as Sibyl had the afternoon off and had hurried away. Nell skirted round the fallen debris on the pavements, looking down to see where she was going, and at a junction she looked up to cross the road, and saw a pink furry house.

  She stopped in amazement and did a double take. It was definitely pink, but the ‘fur’ was only the still-attached stalks of the Virginia creeper which covered the walls, and whose leaves had all been blown off in the storm, leaving just their pink petioles behind. Nell stared at it smiling, and thought, Sibyl would love this! I must tell her about it. But then she remembered that Sibyl had already left for the afternoon, so there was nobody to tell. I wish I had someone to share things with, she thought, unlocking the shop door again and flipping the ‘Open’ sign to the front. Maybe even a lodger would be better than no one at all.

  The sound of the telephone made her jump. It was Rob. ‘I gather you rang,’ he said. ‘How’s the cottage? Any damage?’

  ‘Only a few tiles, and one tree down. How about you?’

  ‘Well, actually it was a bit on the breezy side. My caravan fell over.’

  ‘But… are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, you know, bruises, the odd cracked rib, nothing life-threatening.’

  ‘But that’s awful. It must have been terrifying. You’re not at work, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m at the hospital. I phoned the office and they gave me your message. So, do you need any help with your tiles?’

  ‘Well… yes … but you won’t be fit enough, will you?’

  ‘I’m fine now. I was only in overnight for observation, but there’s no concussion or anything, and they’ve said I can go.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Let’s see, it’s Saturday tomorrow, isn’t it? I could pop round in the morning if you like.’

  ‘That would be great, but what about y
our children?’

  ‘Long story. Tell you when I see you, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nell said. ‘Thanks.’

  Chapter Twelve

  None of the other caravans on Rob’s site was occupied during the winter season, which was just as well, as most of them had been wrecked by the storm. The site was covered in pieces of them and their contents, as though a giant rubbish heap had been dropped on it from above. Some vans on the boundary had been crushed by falling trees, and Rob, going over the damage with the site owner, counted his blessings. His Land Rover in the car park was undamaged. He had managed to salvage most of his belongings from his overturned van. And the owner and his wife were willing to put him up in their own house until the area could be cleared and new caravans brought in.

  ‘Thank God we’re insured,’ the owner said to Rob, shaking his head in wonderment over the mess. ‘I’ve been here over thirty years, you know. Never seen anything like this. Don’t you worry though. I’ll get you a new van soon’s I can. The rest might take a little longer to replace …’ He blew his cheeks out. ‘Never seen anything like it…’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand with the clearing up later,’ Rob offered. ‘I’ve just got to go and help a friend put some tiles back on her roof, but I won’t be long.’

  ‘Aye, aye!’ The owner raised an eyebrow. ‘Her roof, eh? Sure you wouldn’t rather stay with her too?’

  ‘Not at all. I doubt if she’d have me. And anyway, it’s not like that.’

  As Rob drove towards Bottom Cottage he wondered idly whether in fact Nell would welcome a temporary lodger, but then dismissed the thought out of hand. She might expect more of him, and he couldn’t face those sort of complications, not now, whilst he was still disentangling himself from the Mad Cow, and probably not for some time afterwards either.

  But, driving along the top road from Boxcombe and looking down at Thrushton Hall and the curve of the River Torrent, he was affected with such emotion that it brought tears to his eyes. It’s a great mistake to come back, he thought. Why am I doing this? Maybe it’s because my cottage needs me!

  Nell came out as he was turning the Land Rover by her front door. The big ladder on its roof was attached by orange baler twine, and stuck out over the bonnet and beyond. ‘You look as though you’ve been in a war,’ she said, seeing his face. ‘Poor you.’

  Rob touched his forehead. ‘Probably looks worse than it is.’

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you … Come in.’

  He followed her into the kitchen, and looked about in some surprise. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Poncy.’

  ‘D’you like the new look?’

  ‘Not bad. I should have had the wit to do it myself. Then I could have sold the place for twice the price!’

  Nell laughed. ‘Coffee first, or afterwards?’

  ‘Now would be good.’ He sat down at Nell’s kitchen table and took in the transformation all around him. ‘Did you do all this yourself?’

  ‘Mostly, yes. I like practical challenges.’

  ‘So I see. Thanks.’ He took a mug of coffee and held both hands round it.

  Nell sat down opposite him. ‘This is very good of you,’ she began, ‘but why…’ No, I can’t ask that. ‘What I mean is, where did you get that long ladder from?’

  ‘Thrushton Home Farm. Tom’s an old friend of mine. He’s lent me his chainsaw too. His wife’s ill apparently, poor thing, so I had to hear all about her health and her forthcoming operation next month, or I would have been here much earlier. He’s a lovely man, but a terrible bletherer.’

  Nell smiled. ‘And will it be difficult to fix the roof?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. You just have to take off a vertical row of tiles, which exposes a kind of ladder of battens, and then you simply walk up them one by one as you lift the tiles out of the way, to reach the skewwhiff or damaged ones. I’ve done it plenty of times before. There should be some spare tiles in a pile behind the woodstore, unless of course you’ve gentrified that area too?’

  ‘Oh no, I haven’t begun on the outside. Haven’t had time.’ Gentrified? ‘Biscuit?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Nell watched Rob over the top of her mug, still wondering why he had really come, and hoping he would explain without her having to ask. But he seemed more interested in practicalities. ‘Shouldn’t the roof be lined under the tiles?’ she asked eventually, remembering her survey.

  ‘Ideally yes, but it’s a pricey job and there isn’t usually a problem, except when it snows, which it virtually never does here.’

  ‘That reminds me – I found a sledge in the woodstore. Do you want it back?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Rob said. ‘I’ll wait. The ten-acre over there would be brilliant for sledging.’ He gestured to the east. ‘I’ve always thought Josh would love it.’

  ‘What’s happened about the children, then?’

  ‘Oh, the Mad Cow’s had another of her turns and has booked herself into this hugely expensive private loony bin for a rest-cure. And of course there’s no way I can have them living with me now, so the Social Services in their officiousness have decreed they can stay at home with a “friend” of Cassie’s to look after them. I even offered to take them to a hotel for the time being, but no, “too disruptive” they said.’ He laughed shortly. ‘But I’ve scotched one of Cassie’s nastier little schemes.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. The friend is called Mic, and she wanted me to assume it was short for Michael, so I’d be jealous! I did believe it for a week or so too.’

  ‘But you weren’t jealous?’

  ‘Do me a favour! It was Rosie who let on, bless her. I’m convinced her mother told them both not to tell me – can you imagine that? – but when I asked her if she liked Mick, she said,’ Rob put on a little high voice, ‘“Yeth theeth nithe.” So then of course I knew.’

  ‘But you haven’t met her?’

  ‘Not yet. Once I knew the kids were happy with her, it didn’t seem to be so urgent. I may go round tomorrow, if I can.’ He put his mug down and got to his feet. ‘Right. Point me at the tiles.’

  Nell held the bottom of the ladder and watched as Rob sorted out her roof, pushing the errant tiles back into place so that they hung firmly from their battens and overlapped each other properly at their edges. The tile that had slipped down into the gutter had a broken peg at its top, so he threw that one away and used a spare. It was all done very quickly. Then he cut the fallen ash tree in the turnaround into logs and piled up the brash for burning later on. The saw screamed and smoked but did the job very efficiently.

  ‘Can you stay for lunch?’ Nell asked when she could hear herself speak. She threw the last branch on to the bonfire.

  ‘Better not. I’ve arranged to help my site owner clear up, in return for a temporary bed at his house, and the promise of a brand-new caravan with steel guy-ropes.’ Rob grinned.

  ‘I was going to ask you where you were staying. I suppose you wouldn’t like to … lodge here …?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Well, there’s a spare room. I just thought…’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Rob said. ‘But thanks anyway.’

  ‘Right.’ She wanted to say something else to cover her discomfiture, but couldn’t remember what it was she had been meaning to ask him. ‘Do you know where the field poppies came from?’ she said instead. ‘After all, they’re weeds of arable land, and this isn’t corn country; yet the cottage was surrounded by them last summer. They were lovely.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s a cheat,’ Rob admitted. ‘We sowed a packet of wild flower seeds, and they were the only ones that survived.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  She helped him to tie the ladder back onto his roof rack, and watched as he drove away. She remembered now what it was she had been going to ask him about, and remembered also why she had decided not to bother. The cracks in her walls had all but closed up again; there was no need.

  Nell decided to refuse any offers of help from him in future. She co
uld do without feeling like this. She wished above all things that she hadn’t weakened, and invited him to stay. She remembered wryly a notice she once saw in a bar – Please do not ask for credit, as a refusal often offends. Too right!

  Rob drove away, cursing himself for having been so brusque with Nell. Why did he always have to act like that? Anyone would think he was afraid of women. It would actually have been very pleasant to stay with her, and maybe to have helped her with other problems. It would also have provided an ideal place for a day out with his children. She had only invited him to be a short-term lodger, for heaven’s sake! He’d been unnecessarily cautious, as ever.

  The next day, Sunday, he went over to Boxcombe to take Josh and Rosie out for a few hours, possibly for an afternoon walk, but he was unprepared for what he found at Cassie’s house. A short woman, with dyed pink hair and too many earrings, opened the door.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You must be Mic,’ he said.

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I’m Rob Hayhoe.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She was staring at his forehead.

  ‘I’ve come to see my children.’ He felt self-conscious about his bruises, but there was no concealing them.

  ‘You should’ve phoned,’ Mic said. ‘No… wait… you got a car?’

  ‘Transport, yes.’

  ‘Great. Then you can take us. We was goin’ on the bus, but it’s ever such a hassle.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘The Odeon. There’s some kids’ cartoon stuff on, and I promised Gav and the other two.’

  ‘Daddy!’ Rosie pushed past Mic and rushed into his arms. ‘We’re going to thee thome pictures. Want you to come too!’

  ‘Hello, piglet. How are you?’ He lifted her high, so that their faces were on a level. ‘I thought we’d all go for a walk and see what we can find.’