by Rosie Howard
‘This is new,’ said Maddy, stroking a cool, suede bucket bag with a wide, woven shoulder strap. It was multicoloured, with an emphasis on oranges, browns and moss green, but with the natural vegetable colours used as dyes the overall effect was subtle and harmonious.
‘Great, isn’t it? I’ve got Ivan to make me one too,’ said Serena. ‘Tilly says she can weave the strap in no time. I’ve picked out all the blue, aqua and green colours – they’re more my thing.’
‘These colours would be great for an autumn photoshoot, though,’ said Maddy, enthused. ‘We could do the sheepskin hats and gloves too, of course, we just need some autumn leaves and a couple of small, cute children …’
‘I know where to borrow them,’ confirmed Flora. ‘I have a friend with three under five. Mad. Bloody naughty but cute as kittens.’
‘Come and see the house,’ said Serena, already on her way. She stood back to let Maddy in through the back door into the boot room. The last time she was there it had been a tip, with coats falling off the coat hooks, a jumble of mismatched wellies on the floor and a good quantity of honest Sussex mud on the flagstoned floor. There had even been a fair bit spattered onto the walls. Today, the transformation was astounding. The flagstones had been thoroughly washed and – the subtle gleam indicated – waxed. A carefully colour-coordinated selection of coats along with some more of the covetable sheepskin hats and gloves had been artfully arranged on a handsome new row of wrought-iron coat hooks. Another of the woven wool blankets was arranged to spill out of a handsome reed basket. The overall effect was of a ruddy-cheeked country family, having just come in from a brisk autumn walk en route to crumpets in front of the fire.
‘I haven’t seen these baskets before,’ said Maddy, reaching down to touch it.
‘Locally sourced willow. A wonderful lady in Little Havenbury. She weaves in a shed at the end of her garden at the moment, but she’s dead keen to join the Consortium and says she needs more space. I’ve offered her the unit next to Jez. We just need to clean it up a bit and mend the roof …’ Serena was dragging Maddy through to the kitchen as she spoke, gabbling in her excitement.
Maddy stopped dead in the doorway, making Serena cannon into her.
‘Oops, sorry … so, do you approve?’
Maddy had never seen the kitchen table so clean. The scrubbed pine really was scrubbed nearly white. On it, laid for tea, were the chunky pottery plates, bowls and egg cups that Maddy had seen samples of knocking around in the pottery next door. There was a choice of rainbow colours, with the pleasingly handmade-looking crockery coloured on the outside only, so the cream-coloured clay was still visible on the inside. Rather than choosing a single colour, Serena had mixed them randomly so a sunshine yellow egg cup sat on a red plate, with a green bowl alongside. There was an oak chopping board with ‘BREAD’ carved into the side and a thick rope handle fixed onto one end – Maddy had seen that being made the last time she was there too. The rustic loaf of brown bread, with two slices cut, lay perfectly arranged on it. Two turned-wood candlesticks sat at either end of the table, candles just waiting to be lit. There was even a table runner, woven in a range of natural colours, clearly the work of the blanket weavers.
‘It’s like the Marie Celeste,’ joked Maddy. ‘What have you done with your family?’
‘It’s alright,’ explained Serena. ‘I haven’t gone mad. Giles is staying over in London until this evening, and the boys are off seeing their grandma for a couple of days, much as I hate not to have them with me, again …’ Her face clouded over momentarily. ‘But it looks okay, doesn’t it?’
‘It all looks amazing,’ said Maddy, waving her arm to include the stage set in the kitchen, the boot room and the barn outside. ‘It just feels like there’s this Boden catalogue family of ghosts, living this weird parallel life here.’
‘That’s the general idea,’ said Serena, crossing her arms with a hint of a smug grin.
‘But you haven’t done it all for me?’ puzzled Maddy.
‘No,’ said Serena. ‘Obviously, we have as well … but no, this is all set up for Keith.’
‘Who’s Keith?’
‘Did I not say?’ said Serena, surprised. ‘Oh no, I suppose I didn’t, what with your leg and all, it’s been a bit hectic. So, anyway, I’m pootling away on Facebook and then, suddenly, I get a friend request from Keith, so there you go …’
‘And Keith is … ?’
‘Ah, sorry. He’s the photographer I used a couple of times when I was doing catalogues in London,’ she explained. ‘So … you know I was a homewares buyer?’
Maddy nodded.
‘I was a bit of a control freak then’ – Flora pulled a face, but Serena didn’t notice – ‘so I quite often used to make the PR people let me attend the photography sessions. I learnt a few tricks from the stylist along the way. Fancy being paid actual money for lifestyling a few products,’ she marvelled. ‘I mean, it’s not rocket science, is it?’
Maddy had to disagree. She saw real talent in what Serena had done. Somehow, magically, a fairly disparate range of rather random homespun bits and bobs had taken on an identity. Serena was creating a brand for the Bespoke Consortium, a set of values and references that customers would instinctively ‘get’ – and she was even more talented than Maddy had realised.
‘And Keith? When is he coming?’
Serena looked at her watch. ‘Soon,’ she said. ‘At least, I hope he is. It’s going to take at least four hours to get all this in the can, and I’ve got your supper to cook too.’
‘You’re not cooking my supper,’ said Maddy, confused.
‘Not just you,’ agreed Serena. ‘I need you to come and chat up Giles this evening. I reckon he’s good for the website-build cost.’
‘You’re not going to ask Giles for the money, are you?’
‘No, you are,’ clarified Serena. ‘It’ll sound better coming from you. Anyway, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do with Keith, having not seen him for years.’
‘That’s terribly kind,’ said Maddy, confused, ‘it’s just that getting here and then home again’s a bit tricky.’
‘I know, I know, that’s why Ben’s invited too,’ said Serena, waving away protest. ‘And Flora, obviously.’
‘He didn’t mention it,’ said Maddy, a little sulkily. It seemed she had very little say over the arrangements for her own life, currently.
‘He was probably preoccupied,’ suggested Serena.
‘And he said something about me having lunch with him too. You all seem hell-bent on stuffing me full of food at the moment.’
‘Can’t your friends feed you occasionally?’ Serena asked. ‘Speak of the devil,’ she went on, as she watched Ben pull into the drive again. ‘Out you pop, and I’ll see you at seven this evening.’
Clunking laboriously out of the house on her crutches before Ben sounded his horn, Maddy turned back to wave but she could see Serena and Flora through the kitchen window, totally preoccupied as Serena moved an egg cup, with a boiled egg in it, first a couple of inches to the left and then, holding her head on one side, back to the right again.
‘So, how did that go?’ asked Ben as they bowled down the lane towards the main road.
‘Pretty amazing,’ said Maddy, ‘and I understand we’re both going back for supper to persuade Giles to give us some money.’
‘Count me out on the persuasion bit,’ warned Ben. ‘I’m happy to be your date for the evening.’
‘Don’t think it’s quite like that,’ muttered Maddy, blushing. ‘But you do seem mighty keen on taking me out and feeding me at the moment. I’m going to be the size of a house. Where and why are we going for lunch, by the way?’
‘Havenbury Arms again,’ admitted Ben. ‘It seemed simpler, and I know you like to keep an eye on things …’
‘And the “why”?’ she pressed.
‘Business and pleasure,’ he said, cryptically. ‘Okay … there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
‘Go on …’
<
br /> ‘It’s a colleague. A psychologist, like me. I think you’ll take to him.’ He paused. ‘People do.’ He glanced at her quickly, judging her reaction.
‘What if I don’t?’ said Maddy, furious at the tiny wobble in her voice.
‘It’s fine,’ soothed Ben. ‘No one is going to make you do anything. I just thought it might be helpful to talk. It’s not a consultation. He’s a friend. We’ve done research projects together. It’s just lunch. Relax.’
Maddy slumped down in the car seat, her bad mood returning. She could hardly say that she would much rather have lunch with him alone, which was what she wanted. She was perplexed. His constant presence was saying one thing and his decorous reserve something else. Again, she wondered at his motivation. Was she an interesting case – a curiosity – to be discussed with a colleague, a burden imposed by his loyalty to Patrick or a convenient way to serve some other objective? And she found herself thinking again about his interest in the pub and Top Taverns’ plans. What had he been doing there that morning when they first met?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Duncan was waiting for them by the time they arrived. He had grabbed the little table in the corner. With the high settle opposite forming half of the seating it was the most private spot in the pub. He half stood up, greeting Ben with a familiar slap on the shoulders. Once they were ensconced and Ben had been despatched to collect drinks, he reached out to shake Maddy’s hand.
‘Ben’s talked about you,’ he said.
He was shorter than Maddy and had a shaven head, presumably to disguise or embrace premature baldness – she reckoned he was in his early thirties. Even in repose his face looked as if he was going to break into a smile.
‘He’s told you I’m a nutter, then,’ she joked.
‘Yeah. Well, technically, we don’t use that expression.’
‘No?’
‘Nah. The accepted professional term is “loon”,’ he deadpanned. ‘Anyhow, I think his fascination with your mental state was just one of the reasons he wanted the three of us to get together.’
Maddy raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘He’s a good mate,’ said Duncan. ‘Plus we work together. Actually, that’s why we work together – that and because he’s reasonably clever, but don’t tell him I told you – not as clever as me, obviously …’
‘Getting on okay?’ said Ben, plonking two pints and an orange juice onto the table.
‘I take it that’s mine,’ said Maddy, reaching resignedly for the orange juice.
‘You shouldn’t really drink with those painkillers,’ he explained. ‘Besides, you need the Vitamin C. It’s good for healing, apparently. There’ve been studies.’
‘Talking of studies,’ said Duncan.
‘Ah yes, good,’ said Ben, looking at one of them then the other. ‘Has he explained?’ he asked Maddy.
‘Explained what?’
‘About our study. Me and him. And you.’
‘Not yet, but it’s a relief to hear it’s that, to be honest,’ she said. ‘I thought he was about to suggest a ménage-à-trois.’
Duncan blushed. ‘Just saying any friend of yours was a friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘But yeah, the study we are working on is a protocol for treating PTSD. It’s early days, but before we go for a full trial, we are planning to write up a couple of case studies trying out the new treatment. Hence …’ he looked at Maddy expectantly.
‘But surely it’s soldiers you need? People who’ve been through proper trauma – battlefield stuff, no?’ Maddy queried.
‘But what happened to you,’ Ben said gently, ‘was clearly traumatic …’
‘It wasn’t “clearly” anything,’ Maddy protested. ‘It isn’t clear at all. I don’t even know what happened, I only know …’ She stared into the middle distance. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she finished simply.
‘… and that is why we think we can help,’ Duncan said. ‘We treat PTSD by essentially reprogramming the memory of the precipitating event, desensitising, basically … That’s not a particularly new idea – but that’s tricky when your brain has decided to forget what it’s experienced.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Maddy. ‘I mean, what would you do? In my case, I mean. If I said “yes”, that is. Which I haven’t, by the way.’
‘Basically, I’d hypnotise you,’ said Duncan enthusiastically. ‘And then, while you’re under, you could relive the trauma and retrieve your memories …’
‘Wait!’ said Maddy, panicked. ‘What if I don’t want to retrieve my memories?’
‘But that’s the point of the study,’ Duncan said. ‘It’s sort of a bit … well – key.’
Ben noticed Maddy’s thousand-yard stare had returned. She was wringing her hands until she saw him watching her, then she unclasped them and slipped them beneath her thighs, trapping them there to keep them still.
‘We don’t have to decide anything now,’ he said. ‘Moving on,’ he added, studying the menu intently, ‘I don’t know about you but I definitely want chips.’
Duncan made as if to say something else but was quelled by a sideways look from Ben.
The two men were good company – a double act – entertaining Maddy with tales of their training. While they talked, she ate, and – having told them both she didn’t want chips – she ended up eating nearly half of Ben’s.
She also let Duncan talk her into a large glass of red wine. ‘Essential for morale,’ had been Duncan’s response to Ben’s raised eyebrow, ‘and I speak as a proper doctor, unlike laughing boy here.’
She was yawning hugely by the time they had ploughed their way through the Havenbury Arms’ treacle tart, which had become a bit famous since Maddy first made one a few weeks before. She spooned up her last mouthful and leant back groaning.
‘I am stuffed,’ she complained. ‘And I don’t know how I’m going to keep my eyes open at supper tonight,’ she added. ‘I can’t even believe I have to eat again so soon,’ she said, looking ruefully at her watch, which said it was already after three o’clock.
‘The Mediterraneans have the right idea with their siesta tradition,’ said Ben. ‘You should have a nap.’
‘It’s good training,’ he puffed as she protested at him carrying her up the stairs yet again.
‘You’ll give yourself a hernia.’
‘You have gained a bit of weight,’ he said, making her blink at his honesty.
‘Yikes,’ she said, blushing. ‘That was … erm – direct.’
‘Oh … no!’ said Ben, realising his lack of tact as he put her back on her feet at the top of the stairs. ‘I mean – you have – but I like it – I mean, it’s good,’ he explained. ‘When we first met, I could see your ribs, here,’ he said, placing the flat of his hand on the top of her chest, making her shiver, although his palm was beautifully warm. ‘I could count them. Not a good look. I was wondering if it was a bit of a London thing. The girls I meet up there seem to think skinny is good and skinnier is even better …’
‘I doubt porky is much of a fashion statement either,’ she said, yawning again. ‘Oops, sorry …’
‘Bed,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll be back to pick you up later.’
When he had gone, Maddy lay down as ordered. She was sure she wouldn’t sleep, lying on her back with her hand on her chest where his hand had been, but quickly she was proved wrong.
‘You’ve got it bad, mate,’ said Duncan.
‘Not following you,’ said Ben.
‘Maddy’s case? Lovely girl, by the way … Can you honestly say this is really about the study? I feel a rescue coming on …’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Maaate … ?’
Ben held up his hands in surrender.
‘She … it … feels important,’ he admitted. ‘She’s distressed at being back here. It worries me, the direction she’s going. Of course I want to … I dunno – stop her from self-destructing. Plus, I promised Patrick. Plus she’s got a boyfriend …’
‘
Sure, sure,’ said Duncan. He gave his friend a sympathetic look. ‘You’ve got feelings for her.’
‘I care,’ said Ben firmly. ‘But “feelings”, no. I mean,’ he thought for a moment, ‘I’ve helped Jonno and I care about him too – doesn’t mean I fancy him, does it?’
‘So, nothing more than that … ?’
‘Nothing more than that,’ said Ben, meeting his friend’s gaze.
He wasn’t fooling anyone.
Wandering back to the car, he smiled at his friend’s intuition. In truth, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could manage to be a gentleman and, he admitted to himself with some surprise, he wasn’t after a quick, mutually agreeable tumble into bed and then out of it again. No, with Maddy, he wanted it to mean something – to become something more. He laughed gently at himself. What his men would think of their old leader getting so soft in old age, he could only begin to imagine. The one thing he did know is that they would be describing his predicament in some pretty unrepeatable language.
When Maddy woke, the light outside was warming into evening. She hobbled over to the window, never tiring of the view over rooftops to where the sun was slipping below the summit of Top Down.
A crash and a stifled oath from the kitchen made her jump. Patrick? Maddy grabbed her crutches and swung quickly down the little corridor.
‘Mum,’ she said, in relief. ‘I thought you were Patrick.’
‘Sorry, darling, I was trying so hard to be quiet, but I dropped the pesky sauté pan. It’s not easy making lasagne with a parrot on your shoulder. I think he thinks I’m Long John Silver.’
Maddy gave Pirate a little scratch on the crest and he bobbed appreciatively, digging his claws into Helen’s upper arm as he did so, making her squeak and drop the slotted spoon into the sink with a clatter.