Torn

by Gilli Allan

  ‘What has been going on, Mr Warwick?’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Are you denying that Sasha has been forbidden to play in the Wendy house? That the girls are being forced to use the construction kits … the boys to play house?’

  Sheila sighed. ‘Hardly forced! There’s been a misunderstanding. Come this way. Yes, please, James. Do bring Sasha. I’ll explain.’

  The stunned silence in which he’d delivered his tirade broke as soon as the three left the room. One of the children started crying.

  ‘Well! Who rattled his cage?’ Hannah’s mother, Alison, asked.

  ‘I thought it was a good idea,’ said Sara.

  Jordan’s mother said, ‘Men always see everything in such black and white terms, don’t they?’

  Toby’s added, ‘Was he including all of us in this cabal of witches, lesbians, single mothers, and feminists, d’you think?’

  ‘But I honestly think he’s got a point,’ Alison said, to some groans and protests. ‘Not about witches and lesbians, obviously, but Hannah was really upset about not being allowed in the Wendy house.’

  ‘It was only one morning!’

  ‘Obviously he got a rather garbled version. But you can’t blame him for being upset. It’s hard for a man on his own. A mother has more instinct about what’s going on with her child. What’s good, what’s bad, how much attention to pay to their gripes and tantrums. And it was a tragedy what happened. It must still be fresh in his mind. No wonder he’s touchy.’

  ‘Of course it was tragic, but it’s old history.’

  ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’

  ‘Must be three years. He can’t use his wife’s death as an excuse forever.’

  ‘He is the one who made the Wendy house and gave it to the nursery.’

  ‘Well yeah, but he donated it as a kind of promotion, presumably? In the hope of getting orders to make more?’

  Jess added nothing, but with a guilty flush accepted that it was she who had triggered the row.

  Sheila hadn’t noticed the girls’ total take-over of the Wendy house, but when told about it was quite willing to believe it had happened. On Wednesday, after alphabet and number play, and colour and shape recognition, an experiment in role swapping had been introduced. Instead of their usual ‘free play’ half-hour the girls were encouraged to use the construction tables and the boys who wanted to, the Wendy house. There were a few grumbles but the girls soon got into the building, sticking, and hammering, and though a lot more noisy and rumbustious, the boys seemed equally keen on the Wendy house, judging by the bumps, scuffles, and raucous laughter which emanated from it.

  So, it was James Warwick who had constructed it. It was a beautiful piece of carpentry; a pitched, overlap roof gave the impression of tiles, there were dovetailed joints, an architrave around the door, windows, which opened and shut more silkily than Jessica’s own, and a decorative inlay around the base of the miniature house, mimicking a row of flowers in a bed. Despite her reluctance to allow any justification for his outburst, Jessica could well imagine a slight bristle of irritation if her son were prevented from playing with a toy she’d crafted and then donated. Still, he should have got his facts straight before he barged in making accusations and damning everyone in sight.

  Strange how women like Alison would always make allowances for men. Jessica too had made allowances in the past, but how far she was willing to excuse was always qualified – it depended on the man, her relationship with him, and exactly what he’d done. But a death in the family, however recent and unexpected, was not sufficient to forgive the condemnatory vehemence with which he’d labelled them all witches, lesbians, feminists, and single mothers, even if they were, in fact, any or all of those things. She recalled that earlier occasion, and how swiftly he had leapt to the accusatory ‘Hippy’. If there was anything she couldn’t forgive it was bigotry and prejudice.

  Jessica badly wanted to see Danny. He had rung again, a few days later, but he was evidently uneasy on the phone. They talked a while but neither could come up with a suitable place or time to meet. When she was free he was working. Apart from evenings he seemed to have little spare time away from the farm. Various venues were discussed – if she could get a sitter. The Prince Rupert or Earth’s Bounty were the only two suggestions with which he seemed comfortable. As both were universally popular, neither was ideal as a rendezvous in her eyes. There were other cafés in town, but none that guaranteed non-GM whole food. Of the remaining two pubs, one was more like a yuppie wine bar; the other was a dive full of skinheads and yokels who were likely to give any new-ager who dared broach its doors a hard time.

  The kind of place she would have preferred to meet – somewhere more private, more select – he had no knowledge of. Perhaps he’d feel uncomfortable entering such a place on his own. Her home was not popular with him because of Tubs, and he had bed and board at the farm. Jessica would have hotly denied she was ashamed of this budding relationship, but still baulked at parading it, even in front of a distant acquaintance, let alone Sheila. It would be doubly impossible to conduct any kind of liaison at the farm under the shocked scrutiny of Gilda or her son.

  ‘Your boss said I could come over to look at the lambs any time,’ she offered. ‘He said you’d show me? What do you think?’ There was a silence. ‘Danny?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What do you think? Shall I drive over one morning to see you … and the lambs?’

  ‘Yeah, but …’

  ‘What? This is hopeless! Don’t you want to see me?’

  ‘I do! Very much!’ There was a sudden, loud clatter. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Danny, what’s happened?’

  ‘It’s all right. I just pulled the phone off the … It’s all right.’

  No wonder he was tense and distracted; he must be in the house using the Warwick’s landline again. It had to be an old-fashioned, corded telephone.

  ‘You’re not using your mobile?’

  ‘I … I’ve lost it. I’m in the office.’

  ‘Doesn’t the boss like you using his phone? Are you scared of him finding you?’

  ‘No-o!’ Jess recognised that negative, with its amused upward inflection that she should think such a thing. ‘Look, come like you said, to see the lambs,’ Danny went on. ‘We can talk then. Try and think of something.’

  They’d set no specific day, but as she got out of the car Danny appeared immediately from the direction of the house and loped over. They did not touch.

  ‘Saw you from the kitchen. I was having something to eat.’

  ‘I came straight from delivering Rory to nursery,’ she said, as if in excuse for her early arrival. ‘Gilda said she was going into Ciren so I thought … Have you finished your breakfast?’

  ‘Not breakfast. Been up for hours.’

  ‘Is the boss around?’

  ‘Think he’s in the office.’ The superficiality of the conversation and the two-foot gap between them belied the hunger in his face. An upper window in the house was opened. They both looked up to see a feather duster being shaken vigorously.

  Danny lightly touched her arm and led her across the flagged yard and out through a gate on the far side, which he closed behind them. A track led on from the gate between fields fenced with wire stock netting. In places it was the only boundary. In others it was in addition to Cotswold stone walls which were in a variable state of intactness. On the right of the track the large field sloped gently down to the river; the main flock of sheep was scattered across it. Most had their heads down to the emerald turf; a few were up by the perimeter pulling hay from a rack. On the left of the track, in a smaller enclosure, were two large ewes and three small lambs. Beyond the rear fence, up a short steep slope, was an elderly caravan propped up on bricks. A couple of steps led to the central door, which stood slightly open.

  Jessica and Danny stood side by side their arms folded on the top bar of the gate. Barely a week old, the lambs looked clumsy and knock kneed, as if still getti
ng used to this walking lark, yet they leapt and bounced and ran about as if there were springs in their feet.

  ‘Danny? About getting in touch, if you give me your mobile number …’

  ‘It’s lost.’

  ‘I can call at an agreed time. If it’s switched on you’ll hear it ring and be able to track it down!’

  ‘Sounds sensible, only …’

  ‘Silly idea. I don’t suppose it’s switched on is it? And if it was, the charge will have run out. You’ll just have to get another.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mobile. They needn’t be expensive. Shame about the SIM card, but …’

  ‘You’re obsessed.’ After a silence he changed the subject. ‘Those two there are twins, that one as well, but its twin died.’ The singleton dropped to the ground near one of the grazing ewes, its legs collapsing abruptly beneath it as if suddenly tired. The siblings had paused, mid gambol, one standing, the other slanted down, forelegs folded at the knees. On its up-tilted rear end the tuft of fluff wagged as they touched nose to nose in silent communication. Suddenly it straightened its front legs and, as if in agreement, both twins skipped back to the other ewe, butted their heads against her woolly flank, then latched onto a teat each. She appeared indifferent to her offspring but raised her head from the grass to stare at the humans who stared back at her; her jaw worked laterally side to side.

  ‘Danny? How do you know when ewes are pregnant?’

  ‘They get fatter.’

  ‘I mean the early stages?’

  Danny glanced sideways at her, mouth quirked, eyebrows raised. ‘Can be a bit tricky chasing round the field after them, trying to catch their dawn pee in one of those little test tubes from the chemist.’

  Jessica stared at him, then suddenly laughed. ‘I’m easy to tease. I’m a townie. I don’t know about these things. What I mean is, why did you suspect the … tup? … had already had his wicked way with those two?’

  ‘What … apart from the smiles on their faces? I didn’t, not for sure. But he got in with the flock before he had the raddle on.’

  ‘Raddle?’

  ‘It’s a kind of harness that holds a pot of coloured wax under his belly. When he services a ewe it smears a marker onto her back. The boss thought none of them were in season so it didn’t matter. I wasn’t so sure. When we got the raddle on the tup and he was allowed back in with the ewes he got on with business. But these two weren’t marked as clearly as the rest.’

  She saw the very faint smear of blue on the ewes’ rumps. ‘And that meant?’

  ‘They were already pregnant. He tried it on with them again but they weren’t willing to stand for him.’

  ‘I see. And the fact they gave birth earlier than the rest proved you right. They’re big aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re Cotswolds. Classed as a rare breed, so there’s a premium on the meat. Especially now we’re moving into organic production and not treating the grass.’

  ‘They’re sold for meat?’ Jess was surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d be involved if they were being raised for meat. I assumed you were rearing them for wool.’

  Danny sighed. ‘I get enough hassle from my mates about this. Look, if I want to work with animals I can’t pick and choose. We do sell the fleeces, but there’s no money in wool. It’s hardly worth it. Because they’re pedigree we’ll hope to sell as many ram lambs as possible for breeding, but some will inevit’bly be sold for meat. And some of the females we’ll keep to build up the flock, but the rest will go for slaughter. But I can still rear them humanely, with high farewell … I mean welfare … standards, try to make sure they have a nice life, until …’

  ‘I’m not getting at you, Danny. I just wondered. When do they go to market?’

  ‘It depends. When they’re finished.’

  ‘How do you mean … finished?’

  ‘When they’ve put on enough weight.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be anytime between four and twelve months. But the boss’ll be dis’ppointed not to catch the summer market with some of them.’

  She slid her hand through the crook of his arm and squeezed. ‘I suppose there’s not much for you to do at the moment, until the main flock starts lambing.’

  ‘No. I just lay around all day with a straw in my mouth.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘Directly after the New Year I had to drench them all.’

  ‘Drench them? Is that like dipping?’

  ‘We don’t dip any more. Drenching is a treatment for worms, you have to spray it directly into their mouths. Then I have to keep the hay racks filled up all the time and increase the concentrates we give them, because at this time of year they’re not getting much goodness out of the grass. And we want a good birth weight for the lambs. Then I had to vac’snate them all against parasites. Then I had to get set up for lambing, scrub the lambing barn out with dis’nfectant, and make the pens. I have to check their feet all the time, specially the winter when it’s wet and the gap between the clays, the two toes of the foot, gets clogged up with mud and rubbish. So I have to clean them out and pare back the horny bit of the hoof if it’s overgrown, and check for infection. That’s apart from the chickens and all the general maintenance I do around this place …’

  ‘But do you like them? Sheep?’

  He found the idea amusing. ‘They’re all right. It’s hard to build a relationship with animals that are so dumb! But horses … I really like working with horses. That would be my idea of heaven, to have my own place … and horses.’ He turned his head to look at her. Their faces moved slowly together; cold noses, mouths seductively warm and moist. There was less desperation in the kiss this time. She was just about to move closer, to slide her arms under his jacket and around his waist when the metal gate behind them clunked and feet crunched over the gravely track. Jessica dipped her face away and found a tissue with which she noisily and ostentatiously blew her nose.

  ‘Hello, Jessica!’ James said. ‘Saw your car. You’ve come to see the lambs after all!’ Confident he’d noticed nothing, she wondered what he meant by ‘after all’. Next to her, Danny straightened slowly, then he too turned to face his employer.

  ‘I was expecting you to bring young Rory.’ The man continued to address himself solely to Jessica.

  ‘He’s at nursery.’

  ‘Of course he is. Of course he is.’ James Warwick was smiling, hitting his gloved hands together. The heartiness of his greeting was at odds with all the other contacts she’d so far had with him. He shifted his weight, looked around him then clapped Danny on the shoulder.

  ‘Well, I’ll look after Jessica now. You can go and get on with … whatever it is you should be getting on with.’ He concluded with a slight, self-deprecating smirk, as if to say, “I’m a loveable bumbling sort of boss who’s not afraid to admit that you know as much about the job as I do, but I’m still the boss and don’t you forget it.” Jess looked at Danny. He had now pulled himself up to his full height, a height several inches taller than the older man, she noticed. His mouth twisted to one side, but whether in private amusement or resentment she couldn’t tell.

  ‘I was going to carry on checking the fences. I’d got as far as Pook’s Bottom, when J … um …’ He stopped and caught her eye. Had he forgotten her name? ‘… arrived. So …?’

  ‘Yup. Fine. You do that. Check the fences. Don’t forget the …’

  ‘Fence repair kit?’

  ‘Yup. You got it.’ James Warwick gave him a thumbs up, then added, ‘Oh, and don’t fall over anything, or knock yourself out with the mallet!’

  ‘Try not to.’ As he began to move away Danny gave Jess a final sidelong glance. An answering throb in some deep, dark region of her body brought to mind the pelvic floor exercises she’d been told to practise after Rory’s birth. Then she’d found it hard even to locate the relevant muscles, let alone contract them. Had Danny been around at the time they’d have just got on and done it on their own, she thought. To disguise her smile Jessica turned back towards the sheep.

 
‘So … you’ve been chatting to our very own nature boy. He’s a dozy bugger!’ Then, having seen her smile and misread it, he nodded towards the lambs, ‘Can’t deny they’re cute.’

  She searched for something intelligent to say. ‘Apart from the sheep what else do you rear … grow … um, farm?’

  ‘The sheep are it, apart from some horses I’m paid to graze for their owners. That’s why Sideshow … Dan, is my only full-time employee.’

  Jessica wondered if she’d been misinformed about the size of the place. ‘So, how big is the farm?’

  ‘Near a thousand acres.’

  ‘Is that large in farming terms?’

  ‘Not particularly, but it’s the biggest in the immediate area.’

  ‘Do you need so much land for that number of sheep?’ The number looked modest even to her untutored eye.

  ‘I am in the process of building up the flock, but you’re right, there’s much more land than I need or want. I’m not a farmer born and bred. I never expected to inherit … so soon. My wife’s parents were only in their fifties.’

  Jessica imagined some ghastly accident which had carried off parents and daughter simultaneously. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was a bit of a shock. I’d never seriously considered the possibility of becoming a farmer, the prospect of them dying was too far off into the future.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Unforgivable negligence! Serena and I had been married a few years. Lived and worked in London. Her parents owned this place; a manager and half a dozen farm workers ran it for them. Every year they’d go out to Spain for a month or so, had their own apartment near Marbella. The place was being refurbished. That spring it should have been finished but wasn’t. They were told by the management company to go anyway, they’d be put up in a complex of brand new apartments, which had just been completed. As it happened it was unseasonably cold. There was a gas heating system which had been incorrectly installed. Basically they were poisoned.’

  ‘Carbon monoxide!’ Jess said.

  ‘So, out of the blue, my in-laws are dead, my wife is pregnant, and we’re the owners of a farm.’ He frowned and shook his head as if the inheritance was unwelcome and he still had trouble believing it.