The boot popped open and they each took their own bag. Briony was talking, but Jenny’s head was in a dream. This was a place of angels, she thought. She could disappear here and be content.
“Jenny?”
Briony’s voice was calling her and she realised everyone else was looking at her from the door of the barn. She hurried in behind them and focused on the conversation there.
They ate that evening with two others who’d joined them: Raymond, Briony’s partner, and a woman who had driven over by car. Over cold meat, exquisite cheeses and fresh bread, they introduced themselves. There were four of them altogether: Simon, an accountant in his forties, with a passion for blood, guts and gore; Naomi, a post-grad whose entire life so far had been working towards becoming a writer; Cynthia, a woman in her late sixties, whose husband had died the year before and was now determined to seize the day, and Jen.
When it got round to her, Jenny was embarrassed to admit how little writing she’d actually done, but not one of them seemed to look down on her. On the contrary, they seemed to think it exciting to be so new.
That night she settled into her little room in the attic, with sloping ceilings and dark wooden beams. She unpacked and set Mr Rochester on her nightshirt on top of her pillow and put her book on the little wooden table beside her bed.
In her diary lay the flowers, tucked in the crease and now worshipped with love. Here I am, in a pocket of heaven, she wrote. In a distant corner of France, my heart is at peace. The thought of what awaits me fills me with hope and I am excited to get writing at last. What I really wanted is lost to me now, but I always knew, deep down, that it would be.
I cannot think of what has been or is yet to be. For this week… for now, I am determined to be free.
The following day, they each had some time alone with Briony to talk about what they wanted to achieve in their stay there. In her time, they talked about what Jenny liked to read and what writing she had done so far and then they talked about what she might like to do. Jenny was struggling to come up with an idea, until Briony asked her if there was anyone in particular she wanted to write for and in that moment she had the idea of writing a story for the little girl on the wards. She was going to write a story about a pink unicorn called Penelope, who guarded a beautiful princess. It was a manageable goal for a week’s work and Briony thought it was brilliant.
Objective achieved, they made a quick list of all the things she would need to think about and then Briony left her to it and Jenny became the scribe to her imagination.
At lunchtime they came together to eat and then found their own spaces to hide away again. For Jenny it was bliss.
The second day they were encouraged to try venturing out, to take their thoughts on a wander, and Jenny found a field at the side of the barn that looked over a small lake in the valley beyond. She lay out on a blanket and listened to the sounds of the world around her and let her thoughts drift into wonderland.
In the evening they all helped out preparing the meal and enjoyed a barbecue as the sun set over the hills around them. Despite herself, Jenny’s mind felt drawn to thinking about Pete and how he must be feeling. It was his exam the following morning and she may have been enjoying a rest in the land of beauty and serenity, but he would be nervous and needing her and sadness slipped in.
Jenny hadn’t called. He had hoped she would, to give him a chance to speak to her. The whole aim of her being with him had been to get him back on track in order to pass his exam, and, pass or fail, she had done it. She must have really decided against him, not to have rung, and that hurt more than he thought it could.
It was a waiting game now. Eight more days till he could find out his results. He needed to vent his frustration. He couldn’t see Jenny, but he didn’t want anyone else. She had spoiled him for others, giving him all of her, and now he wanted nothing less. He gave Neil a ring and arranged to go sparring.
They met at the club and started with some training: skipping reps and heavy bag work and then they stepped into the ring.
It felt good to get back in there, good and bad. Fighting helped bring some release from the stresses he was battling, but it also served to remind him of why he had begun. It was a good session, though. He’d worked hard. Neil had given as good as he’d got, so they had both taken some punches. He was a mate, however, so the reins were always on, just keeping him fit and ready in case he needed it; determined never to take a beating again without taking the other guy down with him.
When they had showered and changed, Neil invited Pete down the pub. It was his brother’s birthday and they had arranged to meet in the White Horse for a couple of pints around nine. Pete thought about this. He had no studying to go back to and he would only have the one pint, maybe two. But then, what did it matter if he didn’t? Jenny had given up on him. He no longer had to try to impress her, only… he wanted to… still. He wanted to be the person she thought he could be. “Okay,” he said.
Pete gave Neil a lift to the car park a short walk away from the pub. They talked about his exam and their impending fights, only two weeks away, until they arrived at the door of the pub and the starkness of noise hit them.
Moving through a crowd unusually large for a weekday, Neil spotted his brother. “Jack!” He beckoned him over. Turning to Pete, standing just to the side of him, he whispered a warning. “Vomit alert,” he said. “I’m afraid my brother’s surgically attached to his new girlfriend and she’s back off to university next week, so it’s pretty full on between them at the moment.” He rolled his eyes. “Jack! Happy birthday, buddy.” He patted his brother on the back and turned to Pete. “This is Pete. I don’t think you’ve met before. Pete, this is my kid brother, Jack. Mum and Dad have managed to rope him into the family business.” Jack and Neil solemnly bowed at one another and then Jack laughed and punched his brother in the arm. “Jack, this is Pete Florin. He’s a doc at the hospital and a sparring buddy of mine, so don’t mess with him.”
They laughed and Pete shook his hand. “Happy Birthday, mate. How many is it today, then?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three? Oh, to be so young again!” Pete sighed.
“Come and meet Lena. We’ve got a table over there.” Jack pointed to a pretty, dark-haired girl sat at a table in the corner, quietly watching them.
Pete saw Jack’s face light up and Neil told him they’d be over in a minute. They were just going to get some drinks in. Jack returned to his table and Pete saw the look in the eyes of his girlfriend as she smiled up at him. Something pulled inside of him as he recognised what he wanted out of life. And suddenly he wished he was with Jenny and that she would look at him as Lena was looking at Jack and that he would know what it was like to be loved.
Pete said his goodbyes not long after his first pint. The company was not the problem. Jack and Lena, and, in fact, all their mates, had been fun, but he was pining for the one thing that he couldn’t have, and the longer he sat there, the darker his mood became.
Sitting back at home, Pete allowed himself to wallow. He put on his Nina Simone CD and sat back. What would be the point of getting to consultant level, having worked as hard as he had, and having no one to share it with? His mother would be proud, certainly, but that was no longer enough.
He thought about his nightmare and realised he hadn’t had it again since the night he had shared it with Jenny. It wasn’t the longest he had ever gone, perhaps, but it was a good start. He needed to see her, to talk to her and not just in passing in the corridor where he couldn’t say anything with meaning, but in private. He had to try and prove to her that he was not the man he had once been. He needed her to see him, to look at him with open eyes, if not an open heart. He had changed… not enough, perhaps, but she mattered to him and he wanted her to understand that.
But it wasn’t just about him. She no longer wanted him. And if he couldn’t make her happy, or she wasn’t going to let him, then who could? And then it struck him. What she needed wa
s a man who was worthy of her, of everything that was wonderful about her. This would be his penance. He wanted Jenny to be happy; Lord knows, she deserved to be happy, and although it tore a hole a mile wide inside him to do so, he was determined to find her a man.
Grabbing a paper and pen, he tried to think up a list of contenders, but the harder he thought about it, the more difficult it became. Of those he knew well, he knew too much to see them as perfection, and anything less would not do for Jenny. For those he didn’t know it was worse still. Unknown flaws could be more dangerous than those that were known. He might be shoving her towards a potential wife beater or a philandering cheat. Frustration made him angry, at himself more than anything.
As the days passed he found himself scrutinising the men he met and considering each as possibilities. And then, just by chance, on Thursday afternoon, he was introduced to a locum in the canteen. He had been brought in to cover some maternity leave, so he was going to be around for a good few months. A decent-looking chap, he had an honest way about him. He was fun and charming and genial to talk to. At last he could be onto a winner.
His single status was established early on, when a conversation about home was brought up and a light turned on in Pete’s mind. This might actually work. All he needed now was an opportunity to get the two together and a whole heap of luck.
It was the last full day of Jenny’s writing holiday and the first draft of her story was complete. Briony had been a mine of useful information, with little tricks and strategies for getting her creative juices flowing, and on their last talk together she had let Jenny read her work to her, and had guided her with pointers about how to finish it off. She had brimmed over with encouragement and Jenny’s head was swimming.
Elated by her relative success and eager to push on, she was a little disappointed that they were going on an outing for the latter part of the afternoon, but piling into two cars, they plunged further into the countryside to take in the view.
The drive didn’t take long, and before she knew it, they were stepping out onto a panorama that quite took her breath away. Lavender fields: beautifully fragrant rows of deep-purple flowers springing out from silver-greens and rust-coloured soil, with low hedgerows dividing them, like speckled hems on a patchwork quilt, and Jenny was in awe. It was stunning.
They set out a blanket and chairs and sat in the warmth of the afternoon sun, chatting happily together about what they had learned from their week and how they were going to change their lives to allow more time for writing. But change was coming to Jenny faster than most.
As she was packing her bags at the end of the evening, Jenny spotted her box of tampons still lying in her case unopened. She stared at it. Rapidly calculating, she tried to work out when she should have been due on. She was five days late. To some, this might not be an issue, but Jenny had taken the pill religiously ever since she had lost Clara. It was unthinkable that she could have caught again. There her mind screeched to a halt. No! The vomiting! She had forgotten about the couple of days she’d been sick after the day she’d gone home. The day after she had slept with Pete…
Jenny touched her abdomen and all the turmoil of what had happened before shook her. Suddenly her brain was numb. She couldn’t think. She was frightened. She couldn’t go through it all over again. She couldn’t do it. How could life be so cruel? She sat back on her bed and thought about her reality. Not the romantic interlude in a beautiful place she was currently enjoying, but the nitty gritty of everyday life and how hard it was going to be, because it was going to be now; it was too much of a coincidence to be just a blip. She was pregnant and there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she could bear, anyway. She thought she had felt different, but had assumed that was merely her will to be free. Well that was a laugh; free was now the one thing she never would be again.
Tomorrow she was leaving and going back to her shared little house and her job. It was the life she had made for herself. But proof of her love was growing inside her, for she had loved him. She loved him still. And in his own way, she thought he had probably loved her too. What he would say, she wasn’t sure. Was she going to tell him? She ought to tell him. But was that even fair? She could do this on her own. Soon he would be off and gone, to a future he had worked hard so many years for. It was a good future too. Oh, there was so much to think about. Too much for one night. So pausing briefly to touch the hydrangea now pressed within her diary, she wrote about her day and then went down to join the others for tea.
That night, she picked up her book from beside the bed and the photo slipped out. Pete. He was relaxing in his brother’s back garden, seemingly at ease with the world. Carefree. She yearned for him. But ‘carefree’ was not what he really was, it was what he wanted people to see.
Pete… a father? No. No way was he ready for that. She wouldn’t want to tell him until it was several weeks on, anyway, to be sure, and by then he would be long gone.
As the night wore on, a kind of peace settled over her. It wasn’t something she had planned on, but it could be a good thing. She was going to have a baby and maybe in the hours and days before the wind of change blew through, she could finish her story for the little girl on the ward. Oh, she was sure there would be times when she would resent Pete’s ability to float above the pain he caused around him, but, in the end, she was a grown woman, and she had gone into this knowing him.
And so she would take what life was willing to give her, and be thankful for it. She settled her hand on her abdomen again and thought about how pretty her baby would be with Peter Florin as a father.
By one in the morning, the panic was fading and she pulled out her diary and wrote in it anew.
Well, it’s my last night of light in this piece of heaven. We have all swapped email addresses and promised to keep in touch. Cynthia has been my favourite, so down to earth and easy to talk to. I have told her about Pete and she wished me luck and then the strangest thing happened, she looked me in the eye and said, “Forgiveness is the greatest gift we can give each other in life,” and she smiled at me and I felt… I don’t know exactly… forgiven.
She put out the light and rested back on her pillow. At the airport tomorrow there was sure to be a chemist’s. She would buy a test, just to be certain, and when she got back home, she’d make an appointment at the doctor’s. She was stronger now. She could do this and she had her family to support her if times got rough.
It was a windy day as they left the hills for the airport. Clouds were passing through, threatening rain. They’d had the best of the weather, not a bad day to leave.
Jenny waved goodbye to her friends and walked back inside the cool, bustling building. Noise surrounded her as children played, wheels squeaked and Tannoys called out their timely reminders. She looked around for her line to check in.
Duty free held little appeal and she realised she would have to start saving her money now, with circumstances about to alter.
She took her seat on the plane and rested her head. She spotted Helen Sinclair, the lady from the flight over, walking past.
“So how did the adventure go?” Helen asked, dipping her head to the side. “Life-changing or a bit of a damp squib?”
Jenny thought to herself and smiled. “Definitely life-changing,” she said.
Helen looked at her closely and nodded. “I’m glad,” and moved on past to find her seat.
So that was it. Back to the humdrum of daily life, although now life would never quite be the same again. In her darker times, Jenny had almost given up hope of having another baby. But what if it went wrong again? What if she could never have children? She just prayed to God this time she would get to keep her. Or him. A little Pete. She took a deep breath and let it out. She would like that.
As the plane settled in to its flight, Jenny pulled out her work and started to read it again. She was almost there now; just the odd tweak and it would be finished. Then she just had to type it up and print it out and possibly try to do a drawing f
or the cover. Maybe next time she would tackle an adult story, she thought. Far less cause for artwork there.
Time flew by as she concentrated on her writing and, before she knew it, they were coming in to land.
Back on the ground, the whirl of departure took over and she followed the convoy through the terminal and out into the cool grey of the British day.
Boarding the train back to Duxley, Jenny realised she had forgotten to pick up a test. But the day was still young. It was only mid-afternoon and the shops would be open in town when she got back. So she dropped in to a dispenser a few miles from home, on an estate where no one knew her and few people were around to see.
She was slightly disappointed at the lack of welcome at home. Nobody was in. They must have all been working. Jenny’s mind focused on the side of her handbag where the pregnancy test had been stowed. Do it now and at least then you’ll know, she thought.
She hauled her bags up the stairs with her heart rate pounding. Why was she so nervous? She knew what the answer was going to be. But feeling it whilst on a beautiful romantic holiday in the countryside was one thing, seeing it in black and white – or blue and white, in this particular case – was quite another.
Dumping her things in her bedroom, Jenny grabbed the box from her bag and hurried to the bathroom. She read the back and worked out what the exact indication would be and then ripped open the box. She looked at it. Hard. This piece of plastic was going to decide her future. Fear gave her stage fright and she had to run the tap to help her pee and then she waited, stick in hand, staring at the little window, daring herself to blink. Within seconds a bold plus was showing. She blinked and checked the box and then looked again. It was true. She had been right. She was definitely pregnant.
Dazed, she ditched the evidence in the bin and piled some tissues on top. She walked out and into her bedroom in silence. No thoughts crammed her head now, no sounds battled to get in, just silence all around. Empty. She sat on her bed and unzipped her case. Mr Rochester came out and she hugged him. After years of anxiety and denial, she was having a baby. Again.
The Summer We Loved Page 18