Torn

by Gilli Allan

  ‘Whatever. I’ve nothing booked. Any time. I’ll make myself free.’ She stood up to make the coffee.

  ‘Good. Saves to-ing and fro-ing on the telephone.’

  As she poured the hot water and stirred the cafetière, Jess wondered why making a coffee for this man had impelled her to go to this extra trouble. Anyone else could like or lump instant coffee. Even his mother. He was looking down at the table now, smoothing his hands across its scored surface.

  ‘Jessica.’

  ‘James.’ They spoke simultaneously.

  ‘I was just going to ask how Sasha is getting on with the pony,’ she said, with a smile, following his ‘after you’ gesture.

  ‘So far a great success. She’s named it Violet. Don’t know why. Keeps badgering Sideshow Bob to give her lessons. You know he helped me choose her? Far more knowledgeable about horses than I am. I can lead Sash round on the pony, but he’s a better rider than I’ll ever be. Trouble is I’ve plenty of other, more urgent jobs he could be doing.’

  ‘Is he well again?’

  James sighed. ‘I wouldn’t make him work if he wasn’t well. Sideshow is fine, though he’s about as cheerful as a wet weekend.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t call Danny Sideshow Bob all the time. He might not be educated, but he’s not stupid. He knows when he’s being dissed.’

  ‘Dissed?’

  ‘Disrespected. He works bloody hard for you and deserves some credit.’

  ‘I know. I do give him credit for the work he does. But at the same time I can’t pussy-foot around his over-developed sensitivities. He’d get far worse, believe me, in an environment with a lot of other workmates.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And anyway, the real Sideshow Bob, if you can call him real, is a rather refined character.’

  ‘Apart from being a homicidal maniac with puce dreadlocks. While Danny has short fair hair and wouldn’t deliberately hurt a fly,’ she added, with a smile.

  ‘Did you know him before he had the dreadlocks cut off?’

  ‘Before you made him have them cut? Just. I met him before Christmas.’

  James gazed at her intently for longer than was comfortable. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to say … about Dan … and you.’

  ‘You underestimate him,’ she said, pre-empting him.

  James’ eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps I do. You apparently know him better than I suspected.’ Jessica felt herself blush. ‘I don’t know what’s been going on between you … don’t say anything. Don’t think I want to know. Um, I just thought I ought to point out …’ Whatever he was trying to say was proving difficult. Should she affect surprise, Jess wondered, if he told her Danny was illiterate? Admit she already knew? Tell him her flirtation with the lad was over? Tell him to mind his own bloody business!

  ‘He’s not your equal, Jess.’

  The leaflet which landed on her mat was headed ‘Your Say on Local Development Plans’. It was a very long tick-box survey about the by-pass, housing, retail, and industrial development, as well as local employment in the locality. There was space given for a few lines of individual comment on the multitude of sections and subsections. In her eyes, it wasn’t the referendum as had been promised; it was too long and complex for any but the most dedicated resident to fill in. Even she left it on the dresser, scarcely able to face reading through it and seriously considering the options proposed.

  From initially favouring a by-pass she now wanted to put large black crosses in virtually all of the boxes. No to route X. No to route Y. No to new housing. No to industry. No to change of any kind. But eventually she had to read it if only to see where it would be safest to look for a house to buy – if she was intending to stay in the area.

  ‘I’m sure they’ve made it deliberately complicated. To put people off,’ she said to Sheila, who’d come round for supper. ‘I hate even thinking about it.’

  ‘That you should care so passionately about the place proves you’ve already put down roots. But it’s not like it’s the most scenic area roundabout. You should go and look at the Duntisbournes, Miserden, the Slaughters, the Slad valley; there’ll still be plenty of beauty spots left.’

  ‘But that’s not the point, is it? Every time a scheme is approved it provides a precedent for the next.’

  ‘So what happens if you prevent all new development? Incomers like you can still afford a pretty cottage in a sought-after village, but what about first-time buyers? There’s a need for low-cost housing to keep the rural economy going. Apart from the slump in agriculture, locals are being driven away. Even if they can find work, they can’t afford the house prices. People like your friend Danny. How is he ever going to afford to buy a place on a farm worker’s wage?’

  Don’t talk about Danny, Jessica silently implored. The thought of him lay on her conscience like an unhealed sore; it only hurt when she was reminded. She knew how to divert Sheila.

  ‘Guess what? I’m going to Stratford-upon-Avon with James Warwick, at the end of the month.’

  The ploy worked. Sheila looked flabbergasted, disgusted by this news. ‘You’re not! Why? I mean, what are you going for? A day trip or the theatre?’

  ‘As far as I know it’s only the theatre. But who knows?’

  ‘When was this arranged?’

  ‘He first mentioned it the morning after the party.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  Why should I? Jessica wondered. ‘It wasn’t a firm date then, it firmed up later.’

  ‘Oh! So it is a date? I’m sorry, but I think you’re mad. The man’s a pig!’

  ‘Sheila, all men are pigs in your estimation. What is so much worse about James?’

  ‘I’ve never been able to forgive him. Serena –’

  ‘You knew her quite well, didn’t you?’

  Sheila looked down at her hands and began to twist her rings. ‘I met her shortly after they moved here. She was one of those women who’ve never thought about her role in life. Never questioned herself. Being beautiful, doing a job which traded on her beauty, getting and keeping the man in her life, was all that had been important to her. The change in circumstances, the pregnancy, the farm, was offering another route to self-fulfilment. But would it have been any more satisfying? I helped her to think about things she’d never thought about before. Empowerment through personal liberation. Freedom and independence. The rejection of male domination. She became very fired up, very enthusiastic, had all sorts of plans, then … all at once she was gone. It was unbelievable.’ Sheila sounded choked; she sniffed and cleared her throat. ‘You see, that’s what happens when you allow men to rule your life.’

  ‘But she was doing what she wanted to do when the accident happened.’

  ‘She had to fight him every inch. James didn’t want her to follow her own star. He wanted to submerge her, hide her, keep her for himself.’

  ‘In what way did he dominate her?’

  ‘He tried to crush her faith in herself. He stood in her way. He undermined her.’

  To Jessica, who’d lived with a man who stole from her and grew increasingly violent, all this sounded pretty nebulous stuff.

  ‘I’ll just have to be on my guard then, won’t I, for any signs of undermining.’

  The discussion was left there, and the rest of the evening passed companionably enough as they finished off a second bottle of wine. It was only when Sheila was about to leave to walk the quarter of a mile home, that the subject was returned to. Sheila pulled on her jacket and wrapped a woollen scarf around her neck.

  ‘About James Warwick …’ A twang of discord reverberated in Jessica. ‘You’re not … not planning to sleep with him, are you?’

  Jess sighed. ‘I’m not planning anything! Neither is he, as far as I can tell. He asked me to Stratford. I said, “Yes please, that would be nice.” I didn’t add, “By the way, how about a night of rogering, after?” Neither did I spot any hint in the subtext that it’s part of the deal. But who knows how the mood will take us?�
� The last remark she’d added as a tease, but then regretted, when she saw the distress in Sheila’s face.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Jess!’

  ‘Look, an intimate relationship with James Warwick, of all people, is not on my agenda just at the moment. And I’m fairly sure it’s not on his. He has far too much emotional baggage left over from Serena’s death to contemplate anything like that. And I’ve too much other stuff to deal with as well. I suspect he has no close friends locally. Perhaps he really does just want some intelligent company, someone to talk to, to spar with?’ Jessica shrugged. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Danny stood in the centre of the small paddock, the Bolivian Indian hat pulled down over his head and ears. In his right hand, clad in a fingerless glove, he held a flat woven rein – like a luggage strap – its length wound back and forth. The other end of this rein was linked to a ring on the Dartmoor pony’s wide nose band. Violet, with Sasha gazing down imperiously from her perch astride the saddle, circled him. In his un-gloved hand Danny held a long thin bamboo cane and, like a circus trainer, he touched the tip to the pony’s flank from time to time. Rory sat grumpily on a hay bale.

  ‘I want to ride Violent,’ he said, when he spotted her.

  Jess smiled at his mispronunciation. ‘But you need a hard hat, like Sasha, to ride Violet.’

  Danny glanced round; his nod of recognition was impassive. Though Jess could hardly accuse him of being hostile, there was a definite barrier between them which had to be broken through at every meeting. Her throat unaccountably thickened. She missed the affectionate welcome in his face, missed his smiles and those secret glances charged with desire.

  ‘Mrs Warwick did buy him one,’ Danny said, tipping his head towards an extra helmet on the grass beside the bale. ‘But he hasn’t been keen to ride until just now.’

  This was typical of Rory. Though attracted to activities with an element of risk, he would frequently lose his nerve when offered the opportunity to take part. Sean had called him a wimp and forced him into doing things he was patently scared of. Instinctively protective of her child’s well-being, Jessica had always taken Rory’s side, welcoming what she saw as his innate and thoroughly understandable caution. That he avoided the high slide and the big boys’ climbing frame, even while giving them lustful glances, had so far made life a lot less stressful.

  ‘I do want to now,’ Rory said, underlining his intention by picking up the helmet and cramming it on. Fastening it for him, Jess made a mental note to thank her friend and offer to pay.

  ‘OK. I’ll walk round with you, shall I?’ Jessica looked at Danny to check. ‘Is that all right? It wouldn’t spook Violet if I walked beside her, to make Rory feel secure?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. She’s very good tempered.’ As if to demonstrate this, the pony stood placidly, nonchalantly ruminating on her bit, while Danny lifted Sasha down and then lifted a wide-eyed, taut-lipped Rory up into the saddle. His face, as he turned it to her, was pale and agonised, yet he pushed her away when she tried to hook her hand into his waistband at the back of his jeans.

  ‘No! I want Danny to do it.’

  Jessica retreated to the perimeter but exchanged a glance with Danny. It was as if he understood the entreaty in her expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay beside him.’

  A clump of grass sprouted around the base of the nearest fence post. To Violet it must have looked especially luscious. She bent her head, pitching Rory forward. Equilibrium lost, he let go of the reins and flung his arms out sideways. Jess gasped and leapt forward to save her son. But it was Danny’s neck her child’s flailing arms lassoed; it was Danny who caught him before he launched himself from the unreliable creature’s back. A few moments passed in this awkward embrace, as Jessica’s heartbeat returned to normal. She stepped back; her interference was not needed. Rory, still twisted sideways on the saddle, clung to Danny. Danny held him and rubbed his back, at once offering comfort and reassurance while preventing him from slithering down. Oblivious to the urgent muttered debate going on between the riding instructor and the child, Violet lifted her head and stared at her rider’s mother. Emerald strands trailed from either side of her mouth.

  Gradually, Danny persuaded Rory to let go of his neck and instead to hold the reins. He encouraged him to grip tightly with his knees. Eventually, with the young man walking alongside, boy and horse made a very slow circuit of the small paddock. To Rory’s evident relief, Danny lifted him down. Honour had been satisfied. Time enough in the future to attempt the dangerous adventure again.

  ‘Well done,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m proud of you. You’re a horse rider now!’ As the adrenaline of fear turned to triumph, Rory’s cheeks regained their colour. ‘Now, do you think those chickens have laid any more eggs?’

  Sasha was blasé, but this everyday miracle was yet to become commonplace to her friend. She couldn’t resist the opportunity to impress him yet again. Violet was abandoned as they ran off, helmets still in place. The pony stooped for another mouthful of grass. Danny patted her neck and hitched the lunge rein to the top rail of the fence.

  ‘Thank you for that. You handled him really well. Better than I could.’

  Danny shrugged. It wasn’t the first time Jess had witnessed him employing an almost extra-sensory perception in his dealings with animals. Now she discovered he could do the same with children, and their affection for him was obvious. No point in remarking upon it; he was unlikely to admit to any special talent.

  ‘How are you, Danny?’ she asked, after a short pause.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You are fully fit?’

  ‘Yeah.’ This time there was a hint of impatience.

  ‘I enjoyed meeting your brother the other day.’

  He shook his head. ‘What is he like? I’ve a job to follow what he says.’

  ‘Me too. What did you make of Imogen?’

  A shrug. ‘Obviously loopy!’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘All that stuff she came out with about me! Woman’s got a screw loose.’ He was fiddling with the horse’s tack, not looking at Jessica

  ‘So, you wouldn’t consider going in for a career in modelling? What are you doing, Danny?’

  ‘I’m loosening the girth to make her more comfortable,’ he patted Violet’s flank as he said this. ‘And running up the stirrups so they don’t bang against her when I lead her through to the stable and un-tack her. Can you seriously imagine me as a model?’

  ‘Course I can.’

  His expression softened. ‘Then you’re as mad as she is,’ he said with another shake of his head. The loops of wool on top of his hat did a shimmy.

  ‘But it’s not something I expected you to be interested in.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not. The superfic’ality of that world doesn’t appeal to me. Anyway, I like what I’m doing. I like working with nature, out in the open air, in the countryside.’ He waved his arm in an all-encompassing gesture. ‘Just look at that hill! Every day it’s different, every hour, every minute the light changes. If I was inside, modelling, or doing an office job, I wouldn’t see that.’

  It had been a cold day of sunshine and showers. Now, though the dropping sun was still bright, inky dark clouds were rearing up behind Spine Hill. Its sharply raking slope and the Mohican bristle of trees along its ridged top seemed integrally lit; the brilliance of the acid green against the indigo sky was dazzling.

  After a pause she said, ‘Your brother’s very fond of you.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Of course he is.’ How to convey the choked back emotion detected in Piers’ voice at the brothers’ meeting? And she could never tell him of Piers’ rambling and maudlin confession, overheard in the early hours following the dinner party. ‘He’s generous too. Have you played your MP3?’

  ‘A bit, but I … I can’t download any more music.’

  ‘I’ll do it for you. And I can copy anything from my collection for you. My … Eagles album, if you’d like it?’<
br />
  He’d continued to look at the hill, lit up against its dark backdrop, but his eyes turned swiftly to her face. Was he reminded, as she was by those songs, of their first afternoon together? He really did have lovely eyes.

  ‘Danny?’ There was no subtle way to do this. ‘Have you ever had your eyes tested?’

  ‘What?’ He frowned.

  ‘Your eyesight. Have you ever had it tested?’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘You should. Everyone should.’

  ‘Don’t need it.’

  ‘You might think you don’t, but –’

  ‘My eyes are fine.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Nobody knows for sure. Eyes need to be regularly tested.’

  ‘Why are you going on about it?’

  ‘It’s no big deal. Just make an appointment at the optician.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re not worried about wearing glasses?’

  ‘No! Stop fucking going on about it! You’re obsessed! I don’t need my fucking eyes tested!’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  There had been some debate over how they would get to Stratford. The choice was between the Land Rover, which had definitely seen better days, or her BMW – and if they went in her car, who would drive. At last it was agreed that in the interests of arriving in a calm, unshaken, and unsoiled condition they would do best to take her car, which she would drive if James would promise not to be a backseat driver.

  Plans had expanded from a simple visit to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre; they were now going to make a day of it. It sounded thoroughly delightful. Just a shame she was going with James Warwick. Jess reminded herself that, if they ever had been, Danny and she were no longer an item; the excursion was not one she could envisage sharing with him. He would never have thought of it, could not have afforded it and even without the first two obstacles, probably wouldn’t enjoy it. A classic Western at the movies would have been more to his taste – although she now wondered if his professed love of the genre was real, or simply a younger brother’s emulation of everything his older brother liked and did.