by Sue Limb
There was merry laughter from the kitchen and I was desperate to join in, though concerned that I was damp and mushroomy when I should have been irresistible and chic.
Martin was sitting at the head of the table, and Oliver was on his right, with his back to me. Everybody was drinking soup and eating baguettes. It was kind of crowded, with the Polish guys in there as well, and there was only one place to sit: down at the far end of the table away from Oliver, and on the same side of the table, which meant that in order just to catch a fleeting glimpse of his fingertips I’d have to dislocate my neck.
Sarah asked if I would like some soup. I could hardly refuse, even though it was an unsettling green colour and contained strange lumps.
Actually it did taste rather nice. It was also hot, which helped.
‘I make it once a year, in the autumn,’ said Sarah, ‘and I just go on boiling it up and adding seasonal veg to it, day after day.’
‘It’s delicious!’ I exclaimed politely, while fighting off sudden nausea. This soup was at least eight months old!
I bolted down the last of the soup and then got stuck into a ham baguette. Safer ground. I was just beginning to feel a bit more comfortable. Brendan and Sarah were discussing Great Rainstorms of the Past. I swear, if I live to be a hundred, I will never take part in such a boring conversation.
‘OK, Oliver,’ said Martin, finishing off his tea. ‘Off you go and move that electric fencing – then after that we’re going to take those sheep off to Grange Ground.’ There was the sound of Oliver getting up. This was a disaster! He was leaving already and we hadn’t exchanged a single word – or even a look.
Oliver drifted picturesquely over to the dishwasher and loaded his plates (so divinely domestic and helpful!) and then paused by the door for a moment.
‘Cheers, then,’ he said, and ran his eyes over the assembled company. Was it my imagination, or did his eyes kind of linger on me for a split second? ‘Thanks for the lunch, Sarah!’ he said – and was gone.
‘Such lovely manners!’ said Sarah approvingly, smiling fondly at her baguette.
‘Yeah, Oliver’s a legend!’ Chloe grinned. ‘Half the school is mad about him – especially Zoe!’
My heart gave a sickening jolt. I looked up. Everybody was grinning at me. Even the Polish guys seemed to have understood. I felt my face go deepest crimson. I was never going to speak to Chloe again.
.
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9
‘I’d be mad about him if I was your age!’ said Sarah, moving swiftly to rescue me from my embarrassment.
‘I’d be mad about him if I was a girl!’ added Brendan.
‘Well, I’m not mad about him,’ I retorted, glaring at Chloe. ‘I admit I did have a crush on him once, but that was in Year Nine.’ I’d blushed deeply so it was kind of useless to lie. ‘I think my sister had the hots for him, though – big time.’
‘Oh, you’ve got a sister?’ exclaimed Sarah, tactfully grabbing the new subject. ‘What does she do?’
‘She’s at uni,’ I said.
‘Oh, where?’ asked Sarah. We then discussed Tam for a few minutes, and she told us all about her daughter Lily’s brilliant career at Oxford. I assumed Lily was the girl who’d barged into the bathroom. I boasted right back about Tam’s intelligence, though secretly remembering her evil plan to pretend to be ill so she wouldn’t have to go to Granny’s. Sometimes I think she doesn’t deserve my unflagging PR efforts on her behalf.
Chloe then started raving about my parents, going on about how chic my mum was and how clever and amusing my dad was and stuff. Chloe really loves my family. I feel sorry for her, because she’s an only child and I sometimes think she’s embarrassed about her mostly absent dad and the way her mum surfs the astrological websites and plays with her tarot pack.
When we went out again after lunch, the rain had stopped and the sun was revving up nicely. I was glad, because it might have made Chloe like the farm more, but on the other hand, I was still furious with her for telling everybody I was mad about Oliver. So after Brendan had taken us to a polytunnel and showed us how to prick out more baby plants, we worked in total silence. I wondered who was going to apologise first. I had a nasty feeling it would have to be me, because I so desperately wanted Chloe not to hand in her notice.
After a while Brendan dropped by to see how we were getting on and we started chatting.
‘Where are you going to uni?’ asked Chloe.
‘Edinburgh,’ said Brendan. ‘I did think of going to Dublin but it would be too near home. You don’t want your family breathing down your neck when you’re out and about making a nuisance of yourself, now, do you? Not that I plan to misbehave. I’m famous for my religious devotion and tidy habits.’ He twinkled at both of us.
‘What subject are you doing?’ asked Chloe.
‘Time-wasting and binge drinking,’ Brendan grinned. Chloe laughed hysterically. I just smiled. OK, it was funny, but it wasn’t that funny. ‘Veterinary science, officially,’ he added. ‘Same as Oliver. Although I think he may be having second thoughts.’
‘Second thoughts?’ I asked. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not sure he’s a hundred per cent motivated,’ said Brendan with a shrug. ‘Just a little feeling I get sometimes.’ Shortly after, he went off, leaving us to be baked alive in the polytunnel.
After Brendan had gone, I decided it was time for a showdown. I didn’t want to put Chloe off working here, obviously, but she had to play ball.
‘Chloe,’ I said as tactfully as I could, ‘I was really embarrassed when you told everybody at lunch that I was mad about Oliver.’
Chloe whirled round unexpectedly. ‘Listen!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had it up to here with this crap job. I was soaked through this morning, now I’m getting boiled alive. You can keep coming, as you seem to like it so much, but you can count me out.’
‘Chloe!’ I wailed. ‘Don’t be stupid! We’ve got to keep coming! I told Martin we could work for a month! And, anyway, it’s amazing! All the animals and stuff! And really funny people! You’ve got to stick it out! Don’t give up on me!’
At this point Silkvest and Prozac entered the polytunnel, and started to mess about with the tomato plants. It was impossible for Chloe and me to continue our row. This was a shame. Every row should end with somebody flouncing off and slamming doors, followed, after a decent interval, by a weepy reunion and hot buttered toast.
After boiling in the polytunnel all afternoon, with Chloe and me sulking away at each other in stereo, I had a vile headache. But of course, I had to keep up a charade that everything was hunky-dory. OK, I had only glimpsed Oliver so far, but I was sure there would be lots of tender moments among the haystacks. If there were any haystacks.
At the end of the afternoon Chloe went off in the direction of the outdoor loo. The Polish guys had gone. I heard footsteps cross the yard. Was it Oliver? My heart missed a beat. If it was Oliver, he was going to see me in Sarah’s horrendous, lumpy, dung-coloured chinos.
But it was Brendan who entered the polytunnel. He looked closely at me.
‘What’s wrong, Zoe?’ he asked. His voice had lost that hard kidding-around edge and sounded soft and concerned. ‘I’m famous for my ability to read people’s body language.’
‘I’ve got a horrible headache,’ I said. ‘It’s really hot in here.’
Brendan looked sympathetic. ‘Poor Zoe,’ he said. ‘You’ve worked so hard, too.’ Suddenly he placed his hand across my brow. It was deliciously cool. He kept it there for several seconds. It was soothing to my head, but he was basically the wrong guy.
‘Nice cool hands,’ I said. He nodded.
‘Always at your disposal,’ he said quietly. ‘My hands are cool in summer and warm in winter – I’ve had no complaints.’ There was something about this remark I didn’t much like, but there was no time to think about it now, because Oliver had suddenly arrived.
Brendan removed his hand – not guiltily, just tactfully. But Oliver must hav
e seen him stroking my head.
‘Poor Zoe’s got an awful headache,’ said Brendan. ‘It’s too hot to be working in here all afternoon.’
‘Oh,’ said Oliver, frowning. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve got a headache too.’
‘Let’s get you some painkillers from the kitchen,’ said Brendan. It was five thirty anyway – the time we were due to finish. Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table reading a book and jumped when we entered. She certainly seemed to be a jumpy woman.
‘Oh, cripes!’ she gasped. ‘Zoe, I totally forgot about washing your jeans! I was going to wash and dry them for you but I got distracted by this book about unusual vegetables! I’m so sorry!’
‘Don’t worry! I’ve got loads of pairs at home.’
‘Zoe and Oliver have both got headaches,’ said Brendan. ‘OK if I give them some paracetamol?’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘I’m so sorry. That damned polytunnel is an inferno. Why Martin didn’t put you in there this morning, and out in the field this afternoon, I don’t know. He’s hopeless!’
Brendan handed out the pills and Oliver and I swallowed them. We had shared our first paracetamol! I only hoped that, in due course, it would lead to a night at the theatre followed by dinner at a posh restaurant. After that Oliver got out his car keys. Apparently he wasn’t dependent on bus timetables like us.
‘I’d give you a lift,’ he said uncomfortably, ‘but I live in the other direction.’ There was silence for a split second. I almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all. It would have been better if he’d driven off without a backward look. But maybe he was just shy, and he thought we’d think he was trying to pull or something.
‘I’ll give you a lift to the bus stop,’ Brendan cut in quickly. ‘It’s too hot to walk, especially with a headache. And I have to go to the village shop, anyway, for some toothpaste.’
As Brendan drove, he did some impressions of Martin’s booming voice. ‘Imagine how he’d be as a beautician!’ he grinned. ‘Do you want yer bloomin’ eyebrows plucked or not? And don’t fidget for God’s sake or I’ll have to tie yer down! Pass me that rope, Brendan!’
On the bus on the way home, Chloe turned to me with a mysterious expression on her face.
‘Zoe,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry about the row. I decided not to chuck in the job yet. I’ll give it till the end of the week. And I’m sorry I told them you fancied Oliver. I was still feeling really annoyed about the wages and everything.’
‘Sorry I didn’t tell you about the muns,’ I said. ‘I was terrified you wouldn’t want to work on the farm if you knew, and I was so desperate to be with Oliver …’
We had a quick hug and then Chloe suddenly produced a naughty grin. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘Brendan … how many out of ten for sex appeal?’ I suddenly saw a brilliant opportunity.
‘If Oliver didn’t exist,’ I said, ‘nine and a half! And I reckon he’s got the hots for you!’
Chloe frowned, but it was a kind of smiley frown with a secret agenda. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Defo!’ I assured her. ‘You should see the way he looks at you – when you’re not looking.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Chloe with a mischievous smirk, ‘maybe life at the farm isn’t going to be a hundred per cent torment after all.’
.
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10
When I got home, Tam was lying on the sofa, watching a documentary about Hitler.
‘Zoe!’ she called as I passed the door of the sitting room. ‘Come here! How was your day?’ I slouched in and perched on the arm of the sofa. My head was still pounding. The TV was deafening. Hitler was ranting away like mad.
‘Turn it down!’ I grumbled. ‘I’ve got a vile headache from working in the goddam polytunnel all afternoon.’
‘Not good, then?’ asked Tam, trying to pull me down on to the sofa.
‘No.’ I resisted being pulled. ‘I’m going to get a smoothie and have a lie down.’
‘Listen! Zoe! Wait! Mum will be back in a minute. I’m going to tell her I’ve got this terrible pain. I have got a pain, anyway, actually, so it’s not a complete lie.’
‘What?!’
‘No, I’ve got to. I can’t go and see Granny now. It’s impossible. I can see her later. Listen. I’ve got to see Ed again. It’s difficult. We have to keep it secret. Zoe, don’t tell anybody, but … this is really awkward, but … he’s married!’ Her voice dropped to a melodramatic whisper. My heart froze.
‘Married?!’ I exploded. ‘Are you insane?’
‘Shush!’ Tam hissed in panic, grabbing my hand. I pulled away from her and backed towards the door, shaking my head in disbelief.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve got a headache. A real one.’
‘Zoe! Look – take an aspirin or something, we can’t both be ill at the same time.’
‘Unlike you,’ I snapped, ‘I really am in pain. I can’t believe you! You want me to heroically hide my headache so you can take centre stage with your so-called stomach ache. Well, tough. I’m going. The TV is hurting my eyes.’
‘Zoe! Wait!’ Tam flicked off the TV. ‘I really have got a pain! It’s not fictional!’ I ignored her, collected an ice-cold smoothie from the fridge, and stomped upstairs. It was just typical of Tam to play the drama queen. The minute Mum got in, Tam would be sprawling all over the sofa and groaning in agony. Well, I wasn’t having any part of it.
I would have slammed my bedroom door if my head hadn’t hurt so much. I ripped off Sarah’s ghastly chinos and lay down on my bed with Bruce the Bear, stared at the ceiling, and tried to get to grips with the awful news that Tam’s boyfriend was married. How could she be so stupid? What if he had kids and everything? How could it possibly turn out well? It just couldn’t. Somebody – possibly everybody – was going to get hurt.
I went into one of my nightmare scenarios. I imagined that the phone would ring. I would pick it up. A woman with a very snappy voice would say, ‘Who’s this?’ I would identify myself, feeling angsty. ‘I’m looking for somebody called Tamsin,’ she would snarl. ‘She’s out – can I take a message?’ I would stammer nervously. ‘Well, tell her to keep away from my husband or I’ll come round and hit her with his cricket bat!’ Later (in my fantasy) a cricket ball came whizzing through the window and struck Dad on the temple just as he was dishing up a divine onion gratin. Dad was brain damaged, which was a shame, because up till then he’d been the only member of our family who was really interested in cooking.
I felt sick with dread. I turned over on my side and tried to think about something else. I hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with Oliver today. But it was handy that Brendan was working there, because Chloe seemed quite taken with him. It could work out nicely, just as long as I managed to limit my exposure to the dogs (frightening) and the slugs (disgusting). My worst nightmare would be a dog-sized slug called Bonzo who would jump up and lick my face when I got home.
After ten minutes I got up, pulled on my comfy old jeans and fetched a damp facecloth to drape over my brow. It did help a little, and I dropped into a slight doze. I suppose I was a bit tired from all that farm work. Suddenly I was in a divine wood with Oliver. He took my hand and said, ‘I’m going to show you my secret den where I live when I’m not working for the government.’ We pushed through loads of bushes and after a while we came to the dearest little cottage, in a slight clearing but surrounded by trees. It had turf on the roof. It looked like an illustration from a children’s book.
‘It’s the sort of place where a witch might live,’ I said. Oliver seemed to have turned into someone else. He was slightly on the cusp of himself and Mr Scott, who teaches sport at school.
‘Zoe, can you keep a secret?’ he asked, holding me close and looking down into my eyes.
‘Yes!’ I panted. This was ace. I didn’t much care whether he was Oliver or Mr Scott, to be honest, I was just up for it, no matter what.
‘The fact is,
’ Oliver whispered, ‘I am a witch!’ And suddenly we both kind of flew up into the air, the sky exploded, and I heard Mum’s voice outside my bedroom door.
‘I’m going to ring an ambulance!’ she was shouting. ‘I don’t like the look of her at all! It could be appendicitis!’
‘I think you’re over-reacting, but if that’s what you want to do, go ahead,’ came Dad’s voice. I sat up quickly. The pain in my head returned with a sickening lurch.
‘I am not over-reacting!’ shouted Mum. ‘I’m going to ring them now! Come down and sit with her!’ There was the sound of footsteps going downstairs, and raised voices below. I got up. OK, this was all a big charade, but I couldn’t help wanting to see it for myself.
Tam was lying on the sofa stretched out stiffly, clutching her abdomen. Dad was hanging about nearby, trying to look supportive. Mum was talking on the phone in the kitchen – to the emergency services.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Period pain?’
‘No!’ snapped Tam, giving me a fierce flashing glare. ‘It’s worse than that! Mum’s calling an ambulance!’
‘I don’t think it’s anything dangerous,’ said Dad. ‘But Mum just wanted to be on the safe side …’
Mum came in now, totally ignored me and threw herself down on her knees before the sacred sofa where Saint Tamsin was writhing in agony.
‘Hang on, darling, they’ll be here in ten minutes,’ said Mum, grabbing Tam’s hand and massaging it. Hang on? What was this, a deathbed? Sudden unexpected childbirth, possibly the Second Coming?
It was plainly not the moment to tackle Mum again on the subject of my hol in Newquay. I would have to save up my threats, pleadings, promises and tantrums for later. I went out to the kitchen and poured myself another smoothie. I know they’re full of calories but I just couldn’t help it. Moments later Mum came bustling in.
‘Oh, Zoe!’ she said, as if she’d totally forgotten I existed. ‘Run up and get a set of clean pyjamas for poor Tam, quick! In the airing cupboard. Or a nightie. And her dressing gown.’