by Joan Smith
She and Clara fell into conversation about the events of Friday night, giving Loretta the chance to have a good look round the camp. Most of the tents were proper canvas affairs, and there was an air of permanence about the place which contrasted sharply with conditions at Greenham, where the women were subject to repeated evictions by council bailiffs. Even so, she marvelled at the willingness of the women to give up the comforts of everyday life to live in primitive conditions next door to thousands of hostile servicemen. It wasn’t just the idea of being exposed to the elements that bothered her, it was also the sheer relentless boredom of spending day after day in the same place. Much as she agreed with their convictions, Loretta admitted to herself, the life of the peace women was not for her.
‘Loretta!’
She turned her head, and saw Peggy and another woman emerging from the trees, their arms full of wood. Getting to her feet, she walked across the clearing to meet them, waiting while Peggy added her haul to the stock of firewood piled under a tarpaulin next to the old coach.
‘How’re you feeling?’ Peggy asked, straightening up.
Loretta was about to answer when she saw Peggy’s expression freeze; the girl was looking past her towards the track from the road, a look of utter dismay on her features. Loretta turned and saw a young man in jeans standing on the edge of the clearing, his feet planted firmly apart as though he was preparing to resist any challenge that might be thrown at him. There was an unnatural silence in the camp, and an air of tense anticipation. When he finally spoke, his words were an anticlimax.
“Lo, Peggy. I’ve been looking for you.’
Peggy stayed where she was, the group of women and the fire between herself and the newcomer.
‘You needn’t have bothered. I’m all right where I am.’
‘You must be joking! Call this a home?’ He gestured towards the camp with his left hand, not even trying to conceal his contempt. ‘This is no place for you, girl. The bike’s down the road. Why don’t you come home?’ For a second he sounded unsure of himself; it was more a plea than a question.
Peggy said nothing, and another uncomfortable silence ensued. After a moment the man moved further into the clearing, stopping on the edge of the group of women. Loretta could see a complicated tattoo on his left forearm: a heart pierced by an arrow, and in its centre a woman’s name, Peggy.
‘You keep back, don’t come any closer!’ His movement had stirred Peggy into action. She looked around frantically, as if for a weapon. ‘Keep away from me, Mick, I mean it! I don’t want nothing to do with you any more!’
‘For Christ’s sake, Peggy –’ He began to advance round the circle of women, holding out his right hand as though coaxing a shy animal. ‘Look, we gotta talk – for the kid’s sake. What’ve you done with the kid?’
A squeal of rage broke from Peggy. ‘Don’t you mention her, you, you –’ Words seemed to fail her. ‘She’s in a safe place where you’ll never get your hands on her, you vicious bastard! Get away from me, get away!’
The man had rushed forward, and Loretta began to move; Clara was quicker, posing her considerable form between Peggy and the enraged Mick.
‘That’s enough!’ she cried in tones that rang across the clearing. ‘Peggy’s told you she doesn’t want you here, whoever you are, so you can take yourself off! Go on, you heard me!’ She pointed back in the direction of the road. ‘Go on.’
The young man glowered at her for a second, then ducked suddenly under Clara’s arm and made a successful grab for Peggy. The two struggled together, Peggy screaming and gasping as she tried to break free, Mick cursing as her kicks and scratches went home. Loretta and Clara flung themselves into the fray, and Loretta received a sharp blow to the side of the head as Mick let go of Peggy and grappled with his new assailants. She staggered back, as other bodies rushed past her; seconds later Mick was on the ground, shouting ineffectual obscenities at the half dozen women who had pinned him down. She saw Clara lean forward, fixing him with a fierce glare as she addressed him slowly and clearly.
‘In a moment, my friends and I are going to let you go. I’m going to count to ten, and if you haven’t got the sense to disappear before I get there, we’ll have to do something that’ll make you sorry you ever came here. Understand?’
Loretta heard the words ‘you old bitch’ escape the man’s lips as he made another bid for freedom. Clara was unperturbed.
‘That’s quite enough of that, young man. You’ve already shown us what bad manners you have.’ She went down on one knee and poked him sharply in the chest. This is my land and I don’t want the likes of you on it. Got it?’
Mick nodded his head in sullen agreement, and Clara stood back.
‘All right, eveyone, let him go. One... two... three...’
Mick was already on his feet and making for the edge of the clearing. When he reached the track, he turned and jabbed two fingers obscenely in Clara’s direction. ‘I’ll be back!’
‘Seven... eight...’
He disappeared down the track. Clara shook her head, and turned to Peggy, who was hugging herself with both arms, apparently oblivious to the trickle of blood running down her face from a cut over her right eye.
‘My poor girl,’ Clara said, moving to embrace her. ‘Let’s take you back to the house and clean you up. Loretta, are you all right?’
‘I think so.’ Loretta felt her head gingerly. ‘Clara, you were magnificent.’
Clara shrugged, dismissing the incident, and began to lead Peggy along the track to the road where the car was parked. Loretta climbed in the back after Peggy, who was whimpering quietly; when Loretta took her hand, Peggy held it tightly.
‘Take her in while I park the car.’ Clara stopped outside the front door of Baldwin’s and handed Loretta the keys. Loretta opened the door, returned the keys to Clara, and led Peggy inside. She drew a chair from under the kitchen table and helped Peggy into it. Peggy folded her arms on the table, put her head down and started to sob. Loretta placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and then, as she became calmer, went about the business of putting the kettle on. She returned to the table, took a seat opposite Peggy, and waited.
‘He’s me husband.’ Peggy looked despairingly at Loretta.
‘I guessed he was.’
‘I don’t know how he found me. The women at the place I was staying, the refuge, they promised they wouldn’t tell.’
Loretta spotted a box of tissues on the windowsill and leaned across to offer them to Peggy. Now she had time to take a proper look, she could see that the cut over Peggy’s eye was superficial.
‘You were in a refuge?’ she asked gently, wanting to know more but unwilling to press her.
‘Yeah. He hit me, see. It wasn’t me I minded about – well, not much. It was the kid. She’s only two. I don’t want her to grow up with that – seeing her dad lay into me every time he’s been drinking.’
‘What’s her name?’ Loretta asked, wondering but not daring to ask where the child was.
‘Maureen,’ Peggy said. ‘After me mum. That’s where she is now, with me mum. D’you wanna see a picture of her? Oh, you can’t – it’s in me bag, it’s up at the camp.’ She started to get up.
Loretta leaned across and placed a restraining hand on Peggy’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, we can get it later. I’ll go up there, or Clara. Just sit quietly for a while.’
Peggy sank back into her seat. ‘I didn’t know where else to take her,’ she said, returning to the child’s whereabouts. ‘When I left him last month, I took her to this place for battered women, but I didn’t wanna keep her there, there wasn’t room to swing a cat. And I knew he’d find me somehow. So I took her to me mum. She’s got a sister in–’ Peggy stopped, glanced nervously at Loretta, and looked down at the table. ‘Her sister lives up north. Mick won’t find them there, he never took no notice of me mum. I thought he might see sense after a bit and I could have her back.’ She clasped her hands together and stared blankly into space.
�
�So how did you – why did you come to the peace camp?’ Loretta asked, wondering whether Peggy’s presence at Dunstow had more to do with her need to hide from Mick than her opposition to nuclear weapons and American bases.
‘Oh, I was in the refuge when they bombed that place, you know, Libya,’ Peggy said. ‘When I heard it on the radio, I thought, Christ, that’s the last straw. I can get the kid away from Mick, but how can I save her from these bombs? I didn’t know much about it before, but in the refuge everyone was talking about it all the time. This girl Yvonne, she was one of the helpers, she’d been to that place where they have the Cruise missiles, Greenham. Then she told me there’d been a camp set up here, where the planes went from. And I thought, this is me chance, it’s not the sort of place I wanna take Maureen. So when I was well enough to take her to me mum’s and get her settled, I hitched here. I wasn’t just hiding from him, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ Loretta mumbled, embarrassed at the ease with which the girl had read her thoughts. I’ll make some tea.’
At that moment Clara breezed in and led Peggy away to the downstairs bathroom to wash the blood off her face. When they reappeared, Peggy was looking uncomfortable in a Liberty print dress several sizes too big for her.
‘I’ve put Peggy’s things in the washing-machine,’ Clara announced. ‘She’s going to stay here for a day or two in case that man comes back. No, Peggy, you really can’t go back to the camp for the moment. You’d got to be sensible about this. Look, if he doesn’t show up in the next week or so, we could even have your daughter brought here. All right?’
Faced with this bait, Peggy’s protests subsided, while Loretta marvelled at Clara’s skill in manipulating people. ‘Oh, Peggy’s things are still at the peace camp,’ she told Clara. ‘Shall I take her up there to pick them up?’
‘That’s very kind of you, Loretta. Oh, there’s the phone.’
Clara left the room, returning almost at once.
‘It’s for you, Loretta,’ she said. ‘Robert – Robert Herrin.’
‘Oh. Did he say what he wanted?’ Loretta was surprised.
‘No. The phone’s on the desk in the drawing room.’
Perhaps Robert wanted to arrange another ride, Loretta thought, leaving the kitchen. He’d said something about it the night before. Well, the way she was feeling today, wild horses wouldn’t drag her back to that stable-yard. She smiled as she picked up the phone, realizing the aptness of the metaphor.
‘Loretta? How are you? I’ve just heard about last night.’
‘Oh, that.’ The previous evening’s attempted burglary had been driven from her mind by the scene she had just witnessed at the peace camp. ‘Sorry, I’d rather forgotten. Things happen so fast. I’ve just come from the peace camp – Peggy’s husband turned up and attacked her.’
‘No! Is she hurt?’
‘Don’t think so, just knocked about a bit. Clara sent him off with a flea in his ear.’
‘Good for her!’ Robert laughed. ‘You have to be a brave man to tangle with Clara – you should see her in action on the parish council. Well, you are having an exciting time.’
It was an odd way to describe the last couple of days, but Loretta realized Robert was right at least about the latest incident; Clara’s triumph over Mick had left her feeling rather elated.
‘Actually, I was ringing to ask you to supper. If you’re free tonight, that is. I thought you might like an uneventful evening. I’ve lived in this house for eight years without being burgled – in fact the only person I know who’s got it in for me is a music critic on The Times.’
‘Well, I –’ Loretta began, suddenly unsure of herself. Although nothing in their brief acquaintance had suggested that Robert was attracted to her, the invitation had raised an immediate suspicion. If a single and, as far as she knew, heterosexual man asked her to supper at his place in London, she would recognize it as an oblique question and act accordingly. But here – there wasn’t a restaurant for miles, and perhaps Robert simply liked her company. And why jump to the conclusion she was to be the only guest? Maybe he intended to introduce her to more people from Flitwell. It was an intriguing question.
‘Loretta?’
‘Yes, I’m here. I was just thinking about some work I was going to do tonight – some essays I have to mark. But they can wait. What time should I arrive? And where’s your house?’
She took down directions, and promised to turn up at half past seven. Then, smiling to herself, she returned to the kitchen, and asked Peggy if she was ready to go back to the peace camp to collect her things.
Robert Herrin’s house was a semi-detached three-storey building at the opposite end of Flitwell from the cottage owned by Ellie and Here. The front door was at the side and Loretta had to open a small wrought-iron gate to get to it. She paused at the side of the house, trying to identify the faint piano music coming from the house: Fauré, she thought, wondering if Robert was the player. He wasn’t; she heard his footsteps as soon as she rang the bell, but the music continued. She straightened the grey wool suit she’d been wearing when they met on Saturday, and waited for him to open the door.
‘Loretta. Right on time.’ He stood back to let her in, gesturing along the low-ceilinged corridor that ran towards the front of the house.
She followed it to a half-open door, then paused.
‘Go in. What would you like to drink?’
‘Wine, if there’s some open. Oh, and I brought this.’ She handed him a bottle of Rioja, one of several she’d brought with her from London. ‘What a wonderful room.’
It was low and wide, with an inglenook fireplace to her left; it was a cool evening and a couple of branches were burning on cast-iron firedogs. To her right was a Victorian sofa with mahogany armrests and legs. Behind, the remaining space in the room was almost completely taken taken up by a grand piano – not a baby, but a full-scale Broadwood. The music, she noticed, was coming from a Swedish stereo system discreetly out of the way in one corner.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ Robert said, handing her a glass of red wine from an open bottle standing on a low table. ‘You’re looking at years of work. Everything was dark brown when I moved in, even these.’ He pointed upwards to the exposed ceiling beams. ‘It took me ages to get all the paint off, it was a standing joke when people came up from London – Herrin’s unfinished ceiling.’
Loretta looked at him blankly.
‘Like Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony,’ he explained, amused by her incomprehension. ‘Though I’ve got one of those lying around, too. Hungry?’
‘I am, rather,’ she said, wondering whether she should take a seat or continue hovering by the door. Was anyone else going to arrive? She studied Robert covertly as he crossed the room to turn over the record, which had just finished. Although she hadn’t registered an attraction to him at their previous meetings, she was now aware of a frisson of excitement which was making her intensely conscious both of her own movements and of his. It was a long time since she’d slept with anyone – not since the disastrous affair of the previous autumn, in fact – and this stirring of interest was novel and welcome. For some months after the last affair, she’d simply been off men; then, at some point, she’d seemed to get out of the habit of noticing them. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t before taken in his narrow shoulders and thin hands – now that she had, she hoped she had not read his intentions wrongly. It was as if part of her that had been dry and still as a leafless branch had suddenly felt the first intimation of spring.
‘We might as well go through to the kitchen, it’ll be ready in five or ten minutes,’ Robert said, coming back to her side. His fingers brushed her elbow as she moved in front of him into the corridor; the contact was brief, but the signal clear.
Glad that he could not for the moment see her face, Loretta followed the corridor to the back of the house, discovering an untidy kitchen organized around an old farmhouse table. Loretta pulled out a chair and sat down, avoiding Robert’s gaze in case her thou
ghts were written too clearly in her eyes. He moved past her to the oven and opened the door.
‘We can eat now, if you like, it’s taken less time than I expected.’ He shut the door, came over to the table, and began laying two places.
‘You travel a lot,’ Loretta remarked, observing the posters that covered the walls, many of them advertising concerts at which Robert had conducted his own music.
‘Yes. It gets a bit wearing in the end, living out of suitcases. One hotel room’ – he used an oven glove to carry an oval dish to the table – ‘is very much like another.’
‘What’s that? It smells heavenly.’
‘A gougère. And there’s monkfish to follow. I suppose we ought to be drinking white – or are you happy with red?’
‘I’m always happy with red. Where do you get monkfish round here?’
‘Oh, the fish van comes round every Monday. We’re not completely cut off from civilization, you know. Is that enough? You can always come back for more.’
Dinner seemed to last for hours. Robert was a good cook, and they lingered over each of the four courses. Loretta was careful to drink enough to loosen her inhibitions without getting drunk. Robert, she guessed, was doing the same. Eventually, around ten, the conversation came to a natural pause. They sat in silence for a moment.
‘How d’you feel about going back to the cottage, after last night?’ Robert asked suddenly, giving her a direct look.
She returned it unwaveringly. ‘Clara’s fitted it up with enough locks for Fort Knox,’ she said lightly. ‘But I’m not all that enthusiastic’
‘Stay here, then.’
‘All right.’
It was admirably simple. The only thing Loretta felt guilty about, as Robert undressed her upstairs a few minutes later, was the amount of money Clara had wasted on all those security devices.
Loretta didn’t bother with lunch, having enjoyed a leisurely cooked breakfast with Robert before returning to Keeper’s Cottage next morning. As she let herself in, she noted with relief that the antiseptic smell had begun to fade. Around three she walked over to Baldwin’s, intending to ask Clara if she could use her phone; she’d promised to let her mother know she’d settled in safely. Clara was out, but she found Peggy in the kitchen eating a bowl of soup.