by Kathy Shuker
She wandered round the corner to the artist’s studio - the first in the next run of units. The sign read: Adam Thomas. There were a couple of big figurative, highly textured, canvases in the window. The door stood open and she could see him inside, shaven head bowed over a table, earphones rammed in his ears. Next door was the Natural Healing unit. The place was deserted but the lights were on and the door stood ajar so she walked in.
It was a bright space, the walls painted a chalky pastel yellow, and mobiles of crystals hung from the ceiling, catching the light and bouncing it round the room. A tall fibre-optic table lamp in the shape of a tree stood on the cupboard in one corner and silver jewellery hung on the back wall - earrings and pendants set with an assortment of stones, the properties of the stones listed nearby. On the wall to the left hung a large poster showing the chakras on a human body. There were shelves of books about healing and meditation and others stacked with ointments and powders produced by a herbal company. Near the open window at the front a wind-chime oscillated in the movement of air, its bamboo chimes piping softly. And there were mottos all over the place, random, occasionally sugary, inspirational quotes.
Claire was mildly interested in herbal medicine but some of the stock looked like superstitious nonsense. What goes round comes round, she read on a sign propped up on the table in front of her.
‘Claire. How lovely to see you again.’
She turned quickly. The woman standing behind her smiled. The beautiful brown eyes were still there though now they were couched in heavy dark make-up. Her face was rounder but her hair hung long, shiny and sleek, partly masking it. She was still striking. Draped around her shoulders was a fringed shawl.
‘Jane,’ said Claire. ‘I knew you were here but I didn’t realise this was your place.’
‘And I’d heard you were back in Bohenna, Claire, but didn’t know whether to believe it or not.’ Jane still smiled as if the expression was stuck on. ‘You know what the rumour machine’s like here: the sighting of a helicopter landing in a field can become news of a full scale invasion. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make some.’
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘Take a seat.’ Jane indicated two small bamboo armchairs either side of a round bamboo and glass table, and disappeared into a room at the rear.
Claire sat down, leaned back, crossed her legs, uncrossed them, then restlessly bounced one heel on the ground the way she always did when she was nervous. Jane was different to the girl she remembered – more assured and yet strangely remote, her voice smooth and inexpressive. Claire was reminded uncomfortably of a plastic doll.
‘I sometimes use the table for consultations,’ Jane called through. ‘It’s a bit more relaxed.’
‘Consultations?’
Jane reappeared in the doorway. ‘You know, if someone wants to discuss their problems and what therapies might help.’
‘Ah.’ Claire nodded but Jane had gone again.
After several minutes she brought through a tray bearing two mugs, a teapot and a plate of aniseed biscuits. She offered Claire a biscuit then took one for herself and they sat, chewing, silent, as if both searching for something safe to say.
‘So are you planning to stay here?’ Jane asked.
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
Jane looked her over thoughtfully. Claire waited for a comment. None came.
‘When did you come back?’ Claire asked. ‘I heard you’d gone to live in East Anglia.’
‘Oh, that was a long time ago.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I was a fool. I met this guy at university and thought he was wonderful so I followed him to Norwich and abandoned the degree. We split up - of course - and I did a secretarial course. Then I got interested in this…’ She waved an elegant hand towards the room. ‘…when someone gave me a herbal treatment for something and it worked. Transformed me actually.’ She paused and looked up. The heavy make-up round her eyes made her gaze strangely compelling in her otherwise blank face and Claire found herself fixed in its beam. ‘And that’s when I realised I had a gift - though I think I’d always known it really.’
‘A gift? What sort of gift?’
‘For sensing people’s pain; for understanding energies, both good and bad. I use it to help treat people and make them well again. When I heard about the Craft Yard I thought it was a good opportunity so I applied straight away and got in at the beginning.’ She finished her biscuit and leaned forward, resting a hand on Claire’s knee. ‘I was sorry to hear about your daughter. Very sorry.’
‘Thank you. You heard then? I suppose everyone did.’
‘I saw it on the news. Terrible. I couldn’t believe it.’ Jane straightened up again. She hesitated. ‘Is that why you moved away?’
‘Yes. We wanted a new life. But it’s not that easy, of course.’
‘No. You take your life with you.’
Jane lifted the teapot, pouring tea through a strainer into each of the mugs. It was pale yellow as if it had been chosen to match the walls. She put a mug in front of Claire.
‘Chamomile,’ she said. ‘Calming.’ She glanced at Claire’s bouncing leg and Claire immediately quelled it.
The tea was still steaming. Claire tried a sip but it was too hot and she sat back, gingerly holding the mug. She rested her gaze on Jane warily. ‘I wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure how we’d be now.’ She hesitated. ‘I know we had our differences, Jane, but when I apologised to you I did mean it you know. It wasn’t intentional but I was sorry for what happened.’
Jane shrugged and offered a tight smile.
‘I know you were. But I did some terrible things too and I don’t think I ever apologised. Let’s just forget about it. It’s so long ago, it’s ancient history.’
Claire managed a sip of tea. It wasn’t good.
‘Tell me about you,’ said Jane. ‘I heard your father moved to Lostwithiel when he retired. And where’s your brother now?’
‘I’m afraid Dad died of a stroke a couple of years ago. Jon’s been living in Canada for years - married but no children. Says they don’t want them.’ She hesitated. ‘Tell me: have you heard from Fiona at all? I was looking at some photos of us all before I came out. I can’t remember when I last saw her.’
An expression of distaste fleetingly distorted Jane’s impassive expression.
‘No, I haven’t heard,’ she said, with finality. ‘But then, we’ve never been that close. And I gather she’s had some mental health issues too. Had a breakdown or something.’ She paused. ‘I heard you were getting a divorce. So what’s Neil doing now?’
‘Neil’s still in Kent. He’s got a job at a vineyard there…and a girlfriend.’
‘Oh. Serious?’
‘I have no idea.’
A leaden silence fell between them. Claire had been hoping to renew their friendship, had thought the passage of the years might have rubbed away that tarnish from the past. But it didn’t feel like it. And Jane had definitely changed, had become more intense and probing and yet oddly evasive. Claire supposed she wasn’t the same any more either but, whatever the reason, she didn’t feel comfortable here. The room felt too small as if it was crowding in on her. She forced down another mouthful of tea and put the mug down.
‘Thanks for the drink.’ She stood up. ‘I’d better go. It was good to see you again.’
‘I’m glad you called.’ Jane got up too and reached out a hand again to place on Claire’s arm. Claire didn’t remember her being so touchy-feely either. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’ She raised enquiring eyebrows. ‘By the way, are you still doing your beautiful illustrations?’
Something in the way it was said suggested Jane already knew the answer. In fact, Claire had the disconcerting feeling that Jane knew a great deal about her.
‘No. In Kent I was working at a garden centre.’
‘Ah yes, plants can be very soothing can’t they? I grow several of my own herbs. Well, if you happen to be looking for a job, Penny Shalcross wants someone at V and C.’
‘But you can’t get away from the Pennymans, Claire,’ Jane murmured, eyes stretched knowingly wide. ‘Not if you live in Bohenna. You must have known that. And you’ll have to learn to live with the memories. They’re everywhere.’
*
Claire arrived back at Woodbine Cottage to find a man by her front door, bending over and moving the empty flower pots, swearing.
‘Neil? What are you doing?’ she demanded.
He straightened up and turned.
‘Looking for a key. Waiting for you. I’ve been here half an hour already. Where’ve you been?’
She pushed the gate open and walked the short path to the front door.
‘What’s that got to do with you?’
He frowned, apparently surprised at the question. ‘I wanted to see you.’
‘Really? Why do I find that so hard to believe?’ She turned the key in the lock. ‘Then I suppose you’d better come in. And for future reference…’ She pushed the door back and stepped inside, turning to hang her jacket on a hook behind the door. ‘…I don’t leave a key under those flower pots. In any case, I don’t remember inviting you to poke around my home.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
He followed her in and looked around. The front door opened straight into the living room and, taller than average, he only just missed the bottom of the old beams and made the room look small. He looked back at her. She thought she saw pity in his eyes and she hated him for it.
‘Oh Claire, what are you doing?’ he said.
‘We’ve been through this, Neil.’ She pushed past him and walked briskly into the kitchen. ‘Look, I’m making tea. Do you want one?’ She had to get the taste of Jane’s chamomile out of her mouth and the activity would occupy the space between them.
He moved to stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. ‘This isn’t a good place to be, Claire.’
She ignored him. ‘So tell me why you’re here? There’s no special occasion, is there? A birthday perhaps? Something I’ve forgotten?’
‘I came to see the family…and you.’
‘Check up on me, you mean.’
‘No. I just wanted to…well, yes, check that you were all right.’
‘I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’
He sighed. ‘Can’t we get ahead of this? Must you always fight?’
The kettle boiled but she ignored it and turned to face him, full square.
‘Get ahead of this? You’re the one who needs to do that. You criticise, you find another woman to share your life and then you turn up here, unannounced, and expect me to be here, available for you. Like what? A servant? And you keep patronising me. Now, if I don’t want to keep playing the same games - by your rules - I’m the one who’s accused of fighting.’
He managed to look astonished, as if they hadn’t had similar arguments before, and didn’t reply. She reboiled the kettle and poured the water into the teapot, glaring at it as if daring it to answer her back. They were both silent until she’d poured the tea into two mugs and they’d taken them through to the living room.
Claire hugged the mug of tea like a friend. She had drunk so many cups of tea these last years. Lost your daughter? Let me make you a nice cup of tea. No sign she’ll ever be found? I’ll make you a cup of tea, dear. Getting hate mail for neglecting her? Have a cup of tea - you’ll feel better. All terribly British. She was surprised no-one had suggested she keep a stiff upper lip.
‘You’ve let your hair grow again,’ Neil said. He smiled. ‘I always thought it suited you like that. Never understood why you wanted to cut it…get rid of all those lovely curls.’
She flicked him a look.
‘Sorry. Criticising again. I know. What I’m saying is: you look good. And I’m glad, Claire. Really I am.’
She frowned at him, unsure where this was leading. She supposed he wanted something.
‘Are you staying up at the house?’ she asked.
‘No. I stayed with Tim last night.’
‘I went to see them, you know. I spoke to your mum.’
‘Tim said.’
She took a sip of tea. ‘I was amazed at him. He’s looking very proper these days. I think I preferred him the way he was before.’
‘You would. You’ve always liked ‘free spirits’. But everyone else gave him grief for it and he finally succumbed to the pressure. It was about time he grew up.’
Claire let it drop. ‘Did you know Jane’s back in Bohenna too? She’s got a unit up at the Craft Yard.’
‘I know.’
‘How?’
‘I suppose Tim told me.’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Yes, I was just there. She’s…’ Claire searched for a way to describe her but abandoned it. ‘It seems old John Matthews was right. Do you remember - when we left - he told us we’d be back? People always come back to Bohenna, he said.’
Neil didn’t reply and they drank their tea. He emptied his mug first and put it on the table.
‘Gilly won’t come back, Claire,’ he said, gently. ‘I wish you’d accept that. I really do.’
She looked up. ‘I have.’
‘I don’t think so. Isn’t that what this is all about: waiting for her to come home? Being here ready?’
‘No. No, it’s not. It’s about moving on, Neil.’
He scoffed. ‘Coming back here is moving on?’
Her voice rose in frustration. ‘It had to be here. Because this is where it all started and this is where it all went wrong. How else could I pick up the pieces?’ She tried to find a better way to explain it but his pained expression stopped her. There was no point.
‘OK…good,’ he said placatingly. ‘Moving on. I’m glad.’ His expression softened. ‘You know, I’d like us to be friends again. Do you think that’s possible?’
Claire pressed her lips together and nodded, refusing to meet his eye. ‘I don’t want us to be enemies, Neil. That would make it hard for Laura.’ She stood up. ‘Anyway, I’ve got things to do.’
‘Yes. Well, so have I.’
He got up, walked to the door and opened it, then paused.
‘Are you all right for money?’ he asked coolly.
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘Look Claire, I’ll be down for Christmas and I should warn you: Mum’s going to ask you to join us…and Laura of course. You will come, won’t you?’ When she didn’t immediately reply, he added, ‘It’ll be awkward for Laura if you don’t come.’
‘Will Samantha be there?’
He looked wrong-footed. ‘I don’t know yet.’
He hesitated, opened his mouth then closed it again and walked away. Claire closed the door with the smell of his after-shave in her nostrils, a smell she knew only too well. She felt very weary all of a sudden.
*
When Adam got home from work that afternoon, Zoe was already there, lolling on the sofa watching a TV film. She worked as a receptionist at a dental practice in Lostwithiel and was still wearing what he thought of as her work clothes: a formal skirt and a crisp blouse. She’d thrown an oversized cardigan over the top and was hugging it fiercely to herself though the central heating was already on and, to him, the house felt warm.
They lived in a rented sixties bungalow, a two-bedroomed square building of cream-rendered breeze-block with old and inefficient UPVC double glazing. It stood in a large overgrown garden on a lane running south from Long Lane, the main street of the village, and had originally been built for an elderly relative of the neighbouring farmer. It stood alone, surrounded by fields of cows, and was in desperate need of modernisation though Adam barely noticed.
Now he walked across to the sofa, leaned over and gave Zoe a kiss. She didn’t respond and he straightened up.
‘Are you OK?’ He peeled off his fleece jacket.
She grunted, eyes still on the sc
reen. ‘I thought you said you couldn’t work as late with the nights drawing in.’
‘There was something I particularly wanted to finish and the light wasn’t an issue.’ He looked at her but she was ignoring him. ‘I’m going to get a beer. Do you want anything?’
‘No thanks.’
Adam got a bottle from the fridge, prised the cap off and tipped back a generous mouthful. He went back into the lounge and dropped into the only armchair. The film appeared to be an American detective mystery and he watched it idly.
‘Who’s he?’ he said, gesturing with the bottle towards the screen.
‘You don’t really expect me to tell you the whole story now, do you? It’s more than half way through. Anyway, I didn’t see the beginning myself.’
Then why are you watching it, he felt like saying. But he often watched a football match which had already started, even when he didn’t know where the teams came from.
He watched her sidelong. Eight years they had been together now and mostly it had been great. They had met in a queue for a cinema in Bristol, both waiting to see Casino Royale, and there had been an immediate attraction. Zoe was fun, light-hearted and incredibly pretty and she had a wonderful, infectious laugh. He thought she was the perfect antidote to him. He could be funny - in a dry sort of way - but he could be intense and preoccupied too. She helped him keep things in proportion. But lately she hadn’t smiled much and she never laughed and he was scared to ask why.
The adverts came on and Zoe hit the mute button. The silence felt explosive.
‘We’ve had a reminder that the rental contract is due for renewal.’ Zoe flicked a glance towards the table where Adam could see an envelope and an unfolded piece of A4 paper. She turned her head, looking at him accusingly. ‘How long do we have to live here?’