The Great Village Show

by Alexandra Brown

  I inhale sharply, feeling mean and ungrateful, as it’s thanks to Mum that I have this lovely little cottage, not forgetting the glorious holidays Jack and I have enjoyed with her. I just wish sometimes, in a way, that I could be a bit more like her perhaps. Gregarious and outgoing. I always feel inadequate around her, prudish and prim. Yes, if I was different, less of a home bird, more adventurous, I could join Jack in South Africa for the summer. Mind you, I’m not sure he’d want me muscling in on his adventure, but it’s a possibility. But really I like normality: routine, familiarity, my home, my garden – I find comfort in the certainty of knowing the snowdrops, daffodils and geraniums will appear along my front path in early spring, followed by the glorious pink peony blooms on the bush beside my washing line in April. I like things to stay the same, the way they always are. It makes me feel safe and secure and actually very happy.

  ‘Jolly good. We are going to have so much fun,’ Mum says, sounding very chipper as she cuts into my thoughts, and I smile, relenting. Perhaps it won’t be so bad having her around. She means well, and she can be quite good company – if she steers clear of the bubbles, that is.

  ‘So you have no idea why Dan left then?’ I try again.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, I’m not sure. My memory isn’t what it used to be …’ Mum does her tinkly laugh.

  ‘Hmm, so nothing to do with you being sozzled then?’ And I give her my best scary teacher face before shaking my head and smiling.

  ‘Oh Megan, don’t give me that look – he’ll be back … and in the meantime we can enjoy some girly time together. How about we paint on some face packs and watch a rom-com? There’s a box of churros in my case – from the patisserie near my apartment that you like. We could heat up some chocolate to make a dip. Come on, it’ll be such fun,’ she beams, hopping across the room to pat her hair back into place in the mirror.

  ‘I have to go to work,’ I say, feeling a little exasperated now. And why hasn’t she got the hangover from hell? By rights, she should be feeling very fragile this morning. If I had drunk as much as she did yesterday, then I’m sure I’d be hiding underneath my duvet right now, refusing to move.

  ‘Of course! Silly me,’ Mum chirps. ‘Well, I’ll just have to manage on my own then …’ And she near leaps back on to the sofa and reaches for the TV remote control. ‘Would you be a dear and pop the kettle on before you leave?’

  Ten minutes later, and having begrudgingly popped the kettle on, I’m cycling past the allotments near my school when I spot Jessie over in the far corner, wearing jeans, a T-shirt and pink polka-dot wellies. She’s bent over pulling cabbages from a patch – for the food bank, I assume – and the triplets are chatting and giggling away as they form a little production line, passing the cabbages along to each other before loading them into a selection of wooden crates on the ground, next to a van with the words ‘Sam Robinson, Landscape Gardener’ inscribed down the side. Ahh, that’s nice that he’s helping her out.

  ‘Hi Jess,’ I yell, ding-a-linging my bell, but she mustn’t be able to hear me, and carries on with the cabbages. I glance at my watch and see that it’s just after eight – far earlier than I had realised – so I swing my legs off the bike and rest it against the fence, figuring I have plenty of time to stop for a chat – the inspectors don’t usually tend to turn up until at least nine o’clock.

  I’m making my way down the tiny gravel path that snakes in between the centre of the allotments, flanked either side by the most gloriously golden buttercups, some of them nearly knee high, when a man appears from the doorway of the potting shed. It’s Sam. And for some reason, I instinctively stop moving. Jessie is walking towards him. Beaming, he hands her a mug. She takes it from him and then he says something that makes her laugh, before gently lifting a stray strand of hair away from her face. And the way Sam does this, so intimately, makes me turn away. I feel like an intruder, interrupting a tender moment, as if I’m spying, so I go to walk back to my bike. I’ve almost reached the fence when I hear my name being yelled by one of the children.

  ‘Miss Siiiiiiinger. Look, Mummy, it’s Miss Singer,’ the voice says, excitedly. I immediately swivel on my heel, and turn to face the allotments. Jessie is standing now, facing me, but where’s Sam? He’s disappeared, back inside the potting shed, I guess. Well, he didn’t need to go on my account. If he makes Jessie smile, then that’s good enough for me – it’s about time she had some happiness in her life.

  Millie is running towards me, laughing and clutching a bunch of dandelions. I walk towards her and, when we meet, she flings her little arms around my legs to give me a huge hug. I stroke the top of her head before crouching down to talk to her at eye level.

  ‘What a wonderful greeting. Thank you, Millie.’ She grins and pushes the dandelions towards me.

  ‘These are for Blue, I picked them all myself,’ she tells me, her sapphire eyes twinkly in the early morning sun, and I’m dazzled by the incredible contrast from that day I first saw her in Kitty’s café. Even since Millie played in my garden, her hair seems blonder, her skin brighter – and now she has a warm honey-coloured tan from being outside in the sun, too – but there’s something else as well … happiness! She’s happy and relaxed. Not withdrawn and indifferent like she was when she first came here. Obviously, her daddy being away is having an enormously positive effect on her.

  I take the dandelions from her and she slips her hand into mine as we walk on further along the path together.

  ‘Meg, so lovely to see you,’ Jessie says, glowing as she walks towards us, pulling off her gardening gloves with her teeth and slinging them under her arm to give me a hug. ‘It’s my turn to harvest the crop for the food bank – Mrs Pocket has drawn up a rota, so we,’ she inadvertently gestures towards the potting shed, before pausing to correct herself, ‘um, I thought I’d make an early start before the weather gets too hot.’

  ‘That’s nice. Lovely to see you too – how is it going?’ I ask, gently hugging her back, pleased when she doesn’t flinch. I glance over at the crates and see that they’re brimming with a veritable rainbow of colourful, freshly picked home-grown produce – cabbages, kale, carrots, potatoes, sweetcorn, butternut squash, plums, parsnips, apples, pears, and plenty of punnets of strawberries – such a wonderful variety.

  ‘Good, really good,’ she nods, grinning as she steps back to see my face as she asks, ‘Sooooo, how did it go yesterday?’

  ‘Um, err … yes, it was OK thanks,’ I say tentatively. ‘Dan cooked lunch!’ I add, making big eyes.

  ‘Ooh, lucky lady. I bet it was amazing.’

  ‘It was. The food, I mean, it was truly delicious …’ I nod, awkwardly, not really sure of what else to say to her – that he kissed me? And I liked it. But he might have just been messing around. And he has a girlfriend?

  ‘Aaaaaand?’ she asks, giving me a quizzical look. But there’s a short silence as we’re distracted by the children playing tag, darting in and out between us, all laughing and attempting to squidge each other with juicy, ripe, half-bitten cherries from the orchards surrounding the allotments. ‘Come on now,’ Jessie laughs, half-heartedly chastising the children. ‘That’s enough – the fruit and vegetables aren’t for playing with. It’s precious produce that we need to crate up, so let’s get on with it. Chop chop!’ she claps her hands together. ‘Go and pick up the cherries, please, and put them in the punnets over there.’ Jessie shakes her head and rolls her eyes, and I’m struck by the contrast in her appearance too. She’s glowing, happy and vibrant, and it suits her how she has her hair now – wound up into a loose, messy bun, and not a trace of make-up – fresh faced, a classic English rose complexion with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, joining on the bridge of her nose. I glance at her hands, and the nail polish is gone too. And, wait a minute! So are her rings – her platinum diamond engagement rock and matching wedding ring. She spots me looking and shrugs apprehensively.

  ‘Oh, I, um, always take them off before coming to the allotments – j
ust in case the mud ruins the diamonds,’ she explains, before slipping her gloves back on. I smile, but feel dismayed when a dart of disappointment for her flicks through me.

  ‘Ahh, I see. I thought for a moment there, that you had …’ I grin and pause, not wanting to overstep the mark – not keen to interfere in her marriage, even if her husband is abusive, philandering and controlling. I’ve been over that scene outside Kitty’s café so many times in my head, where Mr Cavendish had lost his key, and now see it in such a different way – Jessie was fearful and feeling intimidated out there on the High Street when he tapped his cheek and demanded she kiss it. With the benefit of hindsight I see it, and should have said something, if only to ask if she was OK. I would love to be able to turn back time and have the opportunity to give the charming Mr Cavendish a piece of my mind. Although what if he had later taken it out on Jessie? Hmm, and I feel torn again now, it isn’t my place to tell Jessie what to do; she needs to come to the realisation herself. Jessie nods for me to continue, ‘… um, had a think about everything,’ I settle on, seeing as Millie is now handing me more dandelions.

  ‘I’m starting to,’ she says cryptically, and I know exactly what she means so I nod and touch her shoulder in support. ‘Sooo, tell me, how was the rest of your date with Dan? Anything else happen apart from lunch?’ she asks brightly, changing the subject and giving me a spill-the-beans inquisitive look.

  ‘It wasn’t really a date,’ I correct, and then explain, ‘my mother turned up for a surprise visit, just as Dan started cooking.’ I stare at the dandelions.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Jessie tries not to laugh.

  ‘Indeed. And luckily he had brought plenty of ingredients with him as it was then three for lunch instead of two,’ I shake my head. ‘And then he had vanished by the time I came back after popping to the bathroom. Pfffffft! Just like that,’ I say, smiling wryly as I wave a palm in the air.

  ‘Well, that’s unfortunate. Didn’t he say goodbye?’ Jessie creases her forehead.

  ‘No! He just disappeared. Lawrence called to talk to him and then I overheard him on the phone, to his girlfriend, and then he was gone …’

  ‘Hmm, that sounds a bit strange … His girlfriend? I saw the way he looked at you in the pub garden.’ Jessie shakes her head. ‘I’m surprised, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Have you spoken to Lawrence? Maybe he can shed some light on why Dan would just disappear, without even saying goodbye …’

  ‘I haven’t yet. But that’s a very good idea – maybe I’ll call him later. I’m wondering now if I offended Dan somehow,’ I mutter, deep in thought, as I let my mind flick through the sequence of events yesterday.

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Then you must try to stop worrying, or you’ll end up convincing yourself that you did something wrong. Call Lawrence. I bet there’s a simple explanation. I’m sure he wouldn’t just have upped and left without good reason. It’s rude, if nothing else.’ She pauses, and I can’t help thinking that maybe he did do just that. He can be rude! And I know he’s impulsive – I saw that on the bridge when he tossed his phone into the water. Who does that? But then Dan Wright isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met; it’s as if the rules don’t apply to him. Maybe my mother had already nodded off and he got bored of waiting for me to return, or – and then it dawns on me – he heard the window slam shut and realised I was eavesdropping like some silly schoolgirl, preferring that pastime to actually sitting in the garden being sociable. No wonder he left! He most likely thinks I’m ridiculous. Especially next to the women he’s used to, the London women with their designer clothes and pretty scarfs with diamanté detailing. His actual girlfriend! And he did say that I was infuriating. And with Mum going on the way she did. Who can blame him?

  ‘Maybe later, after school, I’ll see what Lawrence has to say,’ I venture.

  ‘Yes do,’ Jessie grins.

  The children are busy now, over by the produce boxes, so I decide to go for it.

  ‘And talking of men disappearing, why is Sam hiding in the potting shed?’ I ask, leaning into Jessie and lowering my voice. She hesitates, opens her mouth, closes it, and then hurriedly asks, ‘Do you have a few minutes?’

  I check my watch and nod, and she dashes over to the shed. Moments later, and she’s back. ‘Sam will keep an eye on the children,’ Jessie adds, before linking her arm through the crook of my elbow and gently steering me away.

  We walk a few steps until she’s certain the triplets are out of earshot and then swiftly tells me everything.

  ‘Oh Jessie, what are you going to do? That’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard,’ I whisper, briefly placing my free hand over my heart, after she’s finished explaining how she’s known Sam since they were babies – their mothers were best friends. Sam and Jessie grew up together in the same village and were then childhood sweethearts. Her first kiss. Her first love. They were inseparable until Sam went off to agricultural college, followed by a year’s volunteering in Africa, cultivating the land so a new school could be built. Meanwhile, Jessie met Sebastian at an awards dinner in London – something to do with one of the farming magazines that she used to write for. He pursued her, relentlessly, and she found it flattering. He wowed her with gifts and trips to the ballet, opera, art galleries and the very best restaurants … all the things she had never experienced, having grown up in a little village, where she later felt so lonely and isolated without her mum, and desperately missing Sam after they had drifted apart.

  ‘Sebastian really did sweep me off my feet,’ Jessie explains. ‘He met me at a vulnerable time, and it’s very distracting and quite intoxicating being whisked off to Paris for the weekend, or riding in a gondola along the Venice waterways, watching the sunset from the deck of a yacht in the Caribbean – that was my birthday treat. Mind you, the warning signs were there even then, when he created a scene one evening, insisting I go back to the room and change, as the dress I had chosen to wear for dinner wasn’t suitable. I had foolishly thought he was just looking out for me, the naïve, unworldly country girl, who didn’t have a clue about high society nuances; that he was helping me, enlightening me. And then … well, when I found out I was expecting the triplets … that was kind of it! We got married right away,’ she finishes quickly and quietly.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, softly, seeing her body stiffen.

  ‘But it’s not OK, is it?’ Jessie stops walking and turns towards me. ‘Not really! I can’t have Sam in my life. I’m married. It’s wrong. Very wrong.’ I turn sideways to see her face; her eyes are glistening with tears.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ I say firmly. ‘We’ll figure it out – I’ll help you, however I can.’

  ‘But we’ve only just met – what must you think of me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. We’re friends, isn’t that what friends do? Help each other out. They don’t judge and, besides, if you don’t mind me saying so … from what you’ve told me, and from what I’ve witnessed myself of your marriage, it doesn’t seem to be in …’ I pause, ‘… um, great shape,’ I look at the ground.

  We start walking back to the children, who are now having the times of their lives, weaving in and out of the buttercups, trying to catch Sam who is pretending to be a horse, or is it a gorilla? I can’t be sure as he’s doing a silly mixture of galloping, followed by swinging his arms from side to side down in front of his body. Either way, the triplets are loving it, shrieking and shouting, ‘Go faster, horsey, faster!’

  Smiling, I glance again at Jessie, and see that silent tears are trickling down her cheeks. I sweep an arm around her shoulders and gently pull her into me.

  ‘And how does Sam fit in now?’ I ask carefully, not wanting her to feel that I’m making any kind of assumption or judgement, as it’s pretty obvious there’s something between them. Jessie lets out a long sigh, as if she’s relieved to finally be able to share her burde
n.

  ‘You are going to think I’m dreadful,’ she starts, apprehensively.

  ‘Try me, I’m here to listen,’ I say lightly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she gives me a watery smile. ‘Sam and I are friends. Sebastian knows about him, but he doesn’t know that we’re back in touch. He … I haven’t told him yet … but I will, I have to. Sam is staying here in Tindledale. He wanted to be close by; he doesn’t want us to drift apart again.’ Jessie’s voice wobbles before fading, and I’m shocked, not from what she’s telling me, but that nobody noticed another newcomer here in the village. I wonder where he’s living? And then a thought pops into my head, a potentially very dangerous thought, but surely not … Sam can’t actually be at the farmhouse while Sebastian is away? But Jessie swiftly allays my fears by adding, ‘Sam’s renting the studio flat above the bookshop in the High Street – he managed to secure a big contract landscaping the grounds at the Blackwood Farm Estate.’ I let out a small inward sigh of relief.

  ‘And are you just friends?’

  ‘Yes.’ Silence follows. Jessie takes a deep breath. ‘Sorry … no, no we aren’t … It’s more than that, but not what you might think, we aren’t having a proper full-blown affair, I couldn’t do that. Even if Sebastian has a habit of doing so.’

  ‘Hey, you don’t have to apologise or explain to me … or even tell me anything at all for that matter, unless you want to. If it helps, then I’m here, but you must do whatever you feel comfortable with.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m so pleased you’re my friend. And I’d like to tell you, I think I need to, as keeping this all to myself is near on driving me mad. When Sam and I were first back in touch – he found me on social media and was living in London too – he sent a message to let me know that his dad had passed away and that his mum had been asking after me. Anyway, we met up in London and chatted about the good times, the fun … and he, well, I feel alive when I’m with him … He makes me feel how I used to feel, before …’ She stops talking. ‘It was later, a month or so after the funeral, actually, when I went home to see Dad, and I bumped into Sam again. He was back in the village visiting his family too, and although I had thought that moving here, away from London and the distraction of Sam being there, would mean an end to it, he persuaded me to have a drink with him, for old times’ sake, and well … it was a difficult time, I felt so low and isolated and I had just found out about another one of Sebastian’s … indiscretions. Dad was looking after the children for the night and well, I … stayed with Sam for the whole evening. It happened, and I’ve felt ashamed ever since. And now he’s here, saying he loves me and needs to be close to me and I can’t get him out of my head, even though it’s wrong. I think I’m still in love with him, but I can’t be, I just can’t …’