Torn

by Gilli Allan

  Danny looked up, eyes serious. ‘I’m not disgusted, Jess. I like animals. I sometimes think I like them more than people. But I’ve a problem with cats. I’ve got asthma. Cats aggravate it. I try to avoid them.’

  ‘Oh! Asthma!’ Like Rory. Only his was not exacerbated by dust mites or animal fur. ‘What do you want to do? I’ll put Tubs outside.’

  ‘That’ll help, but won’t make a lot of difference.’

  ‘So, do you want to leave? I’ve had too much to drink to give you a lift to …?’

  ‘This side of Warford. Of course I don’t want to leave, but it’s not going to be very comfortable for me to stay. I haven’t got an inhaler with me.’

  Time to come clean then. Why worry? After all, this wasn’t an encounter likely to develop into anything significant.

  ‘Is Ventolin any use? I’ve a couple of spares in the bathroom cupboard. My son, Rory, has asthma.’ Jess watched his face as she casually delivered the information. She saw no flicker of concealed surprise, just a relieved smile.

  ‘My boss’ daughter, too.’

  ‘There’s a lot of it about. So, will you stay?’

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Good!’ Jess exhaled a sigh. Even if she had no faith in the staying power of this embryonic relationship, they had come this far and there was no point in not making a night of it. ‘Now I need a drink. Bugger the coffee. How about you?’ But Danny declined to join her in a slug of McAllan’s – the only alcohol she had in the house – he even refused a cup of coffee, and drank instead several glasses of water.

  ‘Where is Rory tonight?’

  ‘Don’t worry. He isn’t here. He won’t jump on you first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I knew he wasn’t here. I don’t have you down as the kind of mother who’d leave a youngster on his own, without a baby sitter.’

  ‘I’ve to collect him tomorrow … I mean today. He’s at a sleep-over.’ Danny’s assumption that she could not be an irresponsible mother only served to rekindle her conscience about palming Rory off onto someone he hardly knew. Still, in for a penny in for a pound. There was no point now in not taking full advantage of the situation. Her drink hardly touched the sides. Sean would have thought this casual gulping down of his favourite single malt whisky a sacrilege.

  ‘OK. Let me show you the bedroom.’ Jess opened a door from the kitchen onto a steep staircase. It led straight up into the main bedroom.

  ‘The bathroom’s in there,’ Jess pointed. Then she indicated the second flight of stairs. ‘And that’s Rory’s room, up there under the eaves. If he had a full-sized bed I could offer you that to crash on, but … And mine isn’t the most comfortable in the world. As you can see it’s virtually antique. As for the cat, well he’s not allowed up here so it shouldn’t be too bad, although he does sometimes circum … circ … uh, get past me.’ Aware she’d gone into motor-mouth mode, Jess couldn’t stop herself. Danny took her hands and drew her towards him, effectively stemming the tide.

  At some point during the kiss they arrived on the bed. Thinking back later, she couldn’t quite work out how it happened – whether he’d pulled her down, or whether she’d overbalanced, tipping them both over. Some kind of mini, alcohol-induced blackout she supposed. Whatever the reason, it was this plunge, from the vertical to the horizontal, which was the catalyst. She’d lost control; her body and brain in the sudden grip of a disabling vertigo. Other, even more unwelcome, forces had been instigated, robbing her of coherent speech, draining her limbs of power, scrambling her brain. An ice-cold chill goose-pimpled her flesh, intense nausea rebounded with immediate and turbulent urgency.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she managed to utter, as she half rolled off the bed, and staggered on wobbling legs for the bathroom.

  Jess opened her eyes. It was pitch black outside the window; inside, the bedroom was divided vertically and horizontally by dark slabs of shadow. Only a pinpoint of amber light, flickering now and again, beamed from her laptop. Though her brain was clear, her head was banging and her mouth felt furry and tasted sour.

  Drunk’s dawn, she thought. Brilliant. At first she thought she was alone, then she heard his breathing, with its characteristic asthmatic wheeze, and the dip of the mattress as he stirred. She was repelled by the thought of their bodies touching, and if he was rousing she didn’t want him to realise she was awake. He turned over then turned back again. The wheeze had developed into a definite whistle. Jess sensed he’d woken and was probably lying there wondering what to do. If she was any kind of decent human being, she would tell him she was awake and go and fetch one of Rory’s inhalers for him. But she stayed rigidly still and tried to control her breathing.

  She could come up with all sorts of rationalisations for her ungenerous behaviour. She was naked and didn’t know if her dressing gown was close at hand. He’d be embarrassed if he thought he’d woken her. He might even be ashamed of his frailty, not that admitting he was asthmatic had seemed to bother him earlier, but still, he might not want to make a big deal of it in the early hours of the morning. More importantly, she was embarrassed. It was a long time since she’d done anything so reckless and had lost some of the bravado necessary to face the stranger in the morning. She couldn’t even remember if they’d had sex, let alone if he’d used a condom.

  The head of the bed was positioned under the flight of stairs that led up to the attic room. As Danny got up he cracked his head on the slanting ceiling. He swore quietly then padded across the room, managing to stumble over something – probably the toy basket – on the way to the bathroom. As he pulled the door closed behind him and she heard the light click on, she let out her breath. Good. She couldn’t remember much about Danny, but at least he must have a modicum of sense. Even if he were still half asleep, the spare inhalers would be easy to spot in the cabinet. As she had the thought, she heard the clatter as something fell into the hand-basin below the wall-mounted cupboard.

  So, he must be thoroughly awake by now. Perhaps he would use the inhaler then decide to get dressed and let himself out of the house. She need never confront him face to face again. Though she could recall thinking he was good looking, that was last night, and under the influence of alcohol; should they meet again, at some future time, would they even recognise each other? But Danny padded back to bed and slid carefully in under the duvet, evidently making an effort not to disturb her. What a cow I am, Jess thought.

  When she opened her eyes again it was bright day. If wearing nothing else, she still had on a watch; it was nearly ten. It would be tempting to close her eyes again and lose herself in sleep, but she knew it would resolve nothing. If the man in her bed had any sense of shame, he would have removed himself before now. But he was still there; even if not touching she could feel the radiant heat of another body. Nothing for it then. She would have to face him – and the situation – now or later. Better get it over with. Slowly and cautiously Jess began to turn. She didn’t want to disturb him before she’d had a good look. Cautiously she pushed herself up on her elbow.

  He slept like Rory often did. Arms flung back on the pillow, hands limp and relaxed. His face was turned away, against his shoulder, but she could see his profile; the tousled ashy hair, the straight nose, the fan of long eyelashes, the concave plane beneath the cheekbone heavily stubbled with soft blonde whiskers – almost, but not quite a beard. The beaded chokers were still around his throat, the beads dragging to one side, caught in the crease between neck and collar-bone. A part of his smooth chest was exposed, the nipple dark and small against the creamy, fine grained skin. Jessica found herself mentally mapping each detail; the pull of the deltoid against the bicep, the perfect rounded form of his shoulder. When he turned his head she could study his mouth, the mouth she had kissed over and over again; she was now perfectly able to recall that part of the evening. What struck her more forcibly than his beauty, was his youth. Jess had realised he was younger than her, but now she wondered by how much. Tentatively she touched his upper arm; the sk
in felt silky and cool.

  His eyes opened – clear, blue-grey, the iris ringed with indigo. She saw the sudden widening of the pupil, but by no other gesture did he display surprise at finding himself under scrutiny. He stretched and smiled and withdrew his arms from their up-flung position.

  ‘Hello Jess. You all right?’

  ‘Think so,’ she said, truthfully. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Could be better. Chest’s a bit tight. Your damn cat! You might think you keep him out of the bedrooms but he’s definitely been up here.’ He pulled himself up so that he was half-sitting against the pillows. ‘Had to get up in the night and help myself to one of your son’s inhalers. You did say …?’

  ‘That’s all right. I meant to find one for you before, before … Danny! I’m so sorry I was sick! I can’t imagine why you stayed after my disgusting display.’

  ‘It’s OK. We’ve all been there.’

  ‘Maybe, but to add to your revulsion I don’t suppose you’ve walked into too many houses smothered in flea powder.’

  ‘Look, I’m the last person to be upset by something like that. I deal with mucky stuff most days of the week.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a farm worker. I work with animals – sheep mostly.’

  ‘You’re a shepherd? I didn’t know they still existed!’

  ‘They don’t, not really, not in the old sense of walking about all day with a crook, a lamb tucked under your arm, and a dog at your side, look.’

  Jess now noticed what she hadn’t noticed the previous evening. Danny had a marked country accent. The reactions of her London circle to this situation flashed up in her imagination – easy to predict the range of patronising insults. That Jessica Avery had found herself in bed with a yokel, a bumpkin, a wurzel, would be greeted with delighted, sneering hilarity. She fell back against her pillows and looked up at the raked ceiling. What was she going to do? If nothing had happened last night, and she felt increasingly confident it hadn’t, it would be better not to let anything happen now. Draw a line. Nice to meet you, but …

  Rory’s potty – these days hardly used – was on the floor next to her side of the bed, presumably found by Danny in the bathroom and put there in case she was sick again. And her dressing gown was on a chair within reach of her outstretched hand. Danny had relaxed back; his eyes were closed again, his face turned slightly away. A wave of shame for her cowardice, for her superficiality, washed over her. Though she might not be able to admit her feelings of guilt to Danny, she could demonstrate her thanks with a hug. But she was naked. Best not do anything to stir up desire on either side. Desire was a treacherous force.

  Chapter Six

  The smoky smell of grilling bacon filled the kitchen and the kettle was boiling. Still in her dressing gown, but with a pinafore tied over it, Jess slopped to the bottom of the stairs in her trodden down slippers. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, thanks,’ came the answer from above. Though happy to make him breakfast and give him a lift home, Jess was still in a quandary over what to do with this man. Her policy in the past, pre-Sean, had always been to take their phone numbers, promise to ring, then get rid of them fast. There hadn’t been too many she’d called later. She’d been totally honest when talking to Sheila, despite how her subsequent behaviour at the party must have been construed. She really had no intention of embarking on any form of relationship so soon, even the short and purely physical variety.

  ‘And how do you fancy a bacon sandwich?’ she called again.

  ‘Um, sorry. Don’t eat meat.’

  Of course he didn’t. Thank God there was some muesli in the cupboard. Being vegetarian went with the old image, the ‘locks’ and wispy Gandalf beard. As she piled all the bacon from the grill tray onto one slice of bread, she decided it was actually quite lucky she’d been ill before going to sleep. Apart from avoiding the complication of sex, she was not now hung-over, only a little spaced out, and very, very hungry. Just as well, she thought, looking at the precariously balanced sandwich.

  She heard his footfalls coming down the stairs. Waking up next to him in her dim bedroom was one thing, but any moment now they would have to face one another in the cold light of day, and the delicate business of where they went from here would have to be negotiated. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. There was no guarantee that Danny himself was in the market for a relationship of any kind. Alcohol-fuelled desire was not a reliable gauge of sober intentions. Perhaps all he had really wanted was a lift and a bed for the night. He’d made no amorous advance this morning. Better to wait, see how the land lay, play it by ear. Jess chuckled to herself.

  Danny emerged through the door from the stairs into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt from the hem up over his bare chest. ‘What’s funny?’ He paused midway, unaware he’d missed out a buttonhole and the shirt hung askew. It was easy to stiffen her resolve when he was out of sight, but seeing him afresh, that pulse of attraction twanged through her. Her welcoming smile was entirely involuntary.

  ‘I was laughing at myself. Can’t explain. Did you say you wanted tea? There’s muesli and toast.’ She took off her pinny and sat down. He pulled out the chair opposite and they gazed at one another.

  ‘Last night …’ Jessica faltered, as a slow, knowing smile spread across his features, creasing his eyes. Her instant and very physical response recalled only too vividly how she came to find herself in this situation. ‘Er … the party?’

  ‘Yeah?’ he nodded, still smiling. Jess cleared her throat.

  ‘Was the only reason you approached me because you recognised me? From the pub, I mean.’

  ‘No-o! I liked the look of you! I mean, yeah I recognised you, but that’s why I recognised you. That night, before all the trouble, I’d been watching you. After your friend left you went up to the bar. It was classy the way you got the barman’s attention immediately, even though there was a crush of people.’ A skill you needed to learn in the wine bars of London, or else go thirsty. ‘I thought – she’s got style, she’s sure of herself. Confidence. I like that.’

  ‘Then you heard me called a bitch and a slag …’ she paused. ‘That must have broken the spell.’

  ‘I can’t take abuse and bullying. The man’s obviously a fool.’

  ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue. It was brave of you. And … I’m sorry I offered the money. As soon as I’d done it I realised it was wrong.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘But I couldn’t think how else to show my appreciation immediately.’ Jess considered the way he’d looked that night. The woollen hat pulled down over his dreadlocks, giving his head an enlarged, hydrocephalic appearance – the tasselled flaps of the hat hanging over his cheeks; the fair tendrils of moustache and beard obscuring mouth and jaw line. ‘Hardly surprising I didn’t recognise you after you’d had your locks cut off. Why did you do it? It must have taken considerable time and dedication to grow.’

  ‘Since I was about fourteen, when I decided I wanted to be an eco-warrior, I just let my hair grow and never shaved … not until recently.’

  Jessica had wanted to know why he’d cut them off not why he’d grown them, but she let it pass. ‘Most boys want to be train drivers. But you wanted to be an eco-warrior?’ She couldn’t help the teasing tone in her voice.

  He smiled. ‘In those days, while I was still young and there was nothing local to protest about, best I could do was look the part.’

  ‘You don’t want to be an eco-warrior anymore?’

  ‘I still believe in the power of people banding together to take direct action against big business and devel’pers. Protecting the envir’ment from global warming, but …’ he frowned. Jessica tried to supply the qualification he seemed to be searching for.

  ‘So, you’re a bit of an anarchist? But you don’t need the dreadlocks any more to prove it?’

  ‘Something like that. But the hair’s irrelevant. What I was trying to say … I don’t believe in violence.’

  ‘I
see. It’s the warrior bit you’ve out-grown. You’d prefer to be seen as an eco-campaigner these days?’ He nodded. ‘So when did you have the locks cut?’

  ‘Christmas. When I went back across the river to see my folks in the Forest.’

  He had crossed the river to his home in the Forest? Gandalf beard was right. This was beginning to sound like a fairy tale.

  ‘Forest?’

  Danny looked mildly surprised at her ignorance. ‘Forest of Dean. East … I mean west of here. Across the Severn.’

  ‘Is it a real forest?’

  ‘A lot is, some of it’s farmland, like here.’

  ‘And that’s where you learnt husbandry?’

  Danny looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Hus … what?’

  ‘Farming, looking after animals.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m not very educated, Jess. Spent too much time down the lane, helping on Earl’s, our neighbour’s, farm. So yeah, that’s where I learnt …’

  ‘Husbandry. Danny? I’m sorry, this may sound rude but, how old are you?’

  He gave her that narrow-eyed appraising look she remembered from the party, as if trying to second-guess her reaction.

  ‘Twenty,’ he said, tilting his head back, jutting his chin.

  ‘You’re twenty! Danny!’

  ‘Nearly,’ he added. Jess dipped her face into her hands. Last night she’d accepted he was possibly younger than her, if not by an unbridgeable margin. Even in daylight his age was difficult to judge. But there was something about the way he expressed himself, a kind of innocence, which had revived the suspicion that he was even younger than she’d first estimated. But nineteen, for God sake! No need to agonise any further about what she should do. This revelation had made up her mind for her. Even without the additional difficulty of her being the mother of a young child, there was no way she would pursue a relationship with a nineteen year old. It was ridiculous. Out of the question. Jess raised her head and looked at him. His face, at first serious, broke into a grin. Again that zap of electricity.