by Gilli Allan
She woke early; it was still not fully light. Though she immediately knew where she was and who with, she could not quite comprehend how it happened. One minute they were hardly more than acquaintances, the next they were behaving as though bewitched – as if some powerful love drug had been slipped into the bottle of cognac, mesmerising them, altering their perceptions and their normal responses. The bed smelt musky; it was a familiar enough scenario, the faint odour of sex and sweat, but this time she felt almost scared – as if she was no longer in control.
A mild nausea washed over her. She’d been here before – too often. She had the resolution and will power of a slug! More crucially, what would his expectations be? He might be an attractive and sexy man, but he was also a man who’d suffered a devastating loss in his life. He’d admitted to one-night stands with strangers, but this? It was likely he would think there had to be more to a relationship than the purely physical? So there were two ways this could go. Either he would be filled with remorse and self-disgust, which he might well turn against her. Or he would expect that last night had been the start of something – something he would want to continue. Neither prospect filled her with delighted anticipation.
All she could see was the curve of his back and the tumble of dark hair on the pillow he embraced, but from the rhythm of his breathing she knew he was still asleep. Above all she had to get out of this room before Sasha and Rory bounced in.
Sitting in Gilda’s kitchen before six, with a herd of butterflies pounding flat-footed around her stomach, was not how she’d envisaged this morning. Last night she’d meant to go home – it was the only sensible course of action. What had happened to bring her to this? Jessica thought back over the day; she remembered how she’d begun to like James, to be touched by him, to suspect there was a lot more to the man than met the eye. She recalled how they’d sat up in the theatre’s restaurant, talking about everything and nothing. He’d smiled more than she’d ever seen him smile; their glances kept twining and holding. But even then she was determined to go home. Why hadn’t she stuck to her original plan?
Ignoring the coffee-maker she boiled some water. Dressed but unwashed she sat at the kitchen table and stared at the instant black coffee in front of her. The butterflies had consolidated into a lead weight, a headache was beginning, and there was still a niggle of something important, something forgotten. It was chilly in the kitchen but soon there were the rumbling groans of the boiler switching itself on. This was still an unfamiliar house so other less definable noises she ignored. The scrapes and bumps were the normal contractions and expansions of joints and beams, the generalised background hissing was presumably something to do with the plumbing system.
Jessica made herself another coffee. She knew why everything had gone wrong last night. It was simple. She’d drunk too much. Drunk too much and allowed herself to be lulled and subverted by the storybook ending to the day of sitting on a rug beside a log fire. It was so stupid! Everyone round here had an open fire, or at the very least a wood-burning stove. Was she going to go to bed with anyone and everyone just because of that? She’d managed to remain faithful to Ben while it lasted. She’d been faithful to Sean, though he’d hardly deserved it after the first year. What had happened in between had been an aberration; she was right to draw a veil over that. Yet now, having got herself out of the Sean situation, and armed with the resolution to be first and foremost ‘a mother’, she was behaving like a slapper! Slapper? What did the word remind her of? The beginning of a memory began to resolve itself.
The door which led out to the utility room opened, there were a couple of barks and someone backed into the kitchen, barring the way to the dog, whose skittering claws could be heard on the tiled floor outside.
‘Danny!’ Jessica shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. She knew he came in for his breakfast. But a moment or two before he’d been a million miles away from her thoughts. Danny’s hair looked darker than usual and was spikily clumped together; a towel draped around his neck. The sound of hissing had apparently been the shower.
‘Oh!’ His eyes widened. ‘Hi, Jess!’ His voice was uncertain and husky when he spoke again. ‘I’ve … um … I’ve got to feed Kit.’ As if to prove the point he held up the dog’s bowl. He must have known she was here; he’d had to walk past her car in the yard. Yet neither had expected to see the other at just gone six in the morning, in the farmhouse kitchen.
‘Anything I can do? Does she have water?’
‘I’ve already done that,’ he gestured clumsily towards the utility room door, then turned away, and began rattling about in one of the cupboards. ‘Shit!’ A couple of tins fell out, bouncing on the granite work top then smashing down with a loud clatter on the stone-flagged floor.
‘Here, let me help.’ She jumped up and retrieved the tins, which had skidded under the table.
‘Thanks.’ He grabbed at the now dented tins, put one back in the cupboard and clamped the other in the opener. Back turned, he scraped the contents into the bowl, put the tin in the sink under the running tap, and, without a backward glance, disappeared into the utility room with Kit’s food. His appearance may have been unexpected but since he was around she wanted more of his company. Was he coming back? What about his own breakfast? Jessica filled the kettle, turned the tap off, and went to the door. Danny was crouched beside the black dog, his hand on her back, watching the animal. Kit ate as if starving; the bowl sliding on the floor with the urgency of her consumption.
‘Danny, are you coming back in?’
He returned slowly to the kitchen and closed the door firmly, standing with his back to it with his hands behind him. The kettle was re-boiling and Jessica had begun to search the cupboards.
‘What do you have first thing? Something warm to drink? Cereal? Toast?’ When she turned for his answer she saw his eyes were glassy.
‘Um … just tea and … um … toast.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Edie … Mrs Dowdeswell … usually cooks something for me later.’
‘Danny, sit down. What’s the matter?’ They both knew what the matter was. Within a few minutes she’d put a pot of tea in front of him and a plate of buttered toast. He shook his head. Jess didn’t know whether it was at the prospect of eating or at her stupid question.
There was a noise outside and the door from the hall was flung open. Dressed in joggers and a rumpled polo shirt, James looked exactly as if he’d just this moment got out of bed and dragged on the first clothes he’d laid hands on; his hair looked even more like a forest wilderness unpenetrated by mankind; his feet were bare. At first he looked worried, then fazed to find Jessica and Danny apparently sharing breakfast.
‘There was a crash. Something fell?’
‘It’s OK. Nothing broken. Just some tins falling out of the cupboard,’ Jessica said. His eyes focused on her.
‘I was afraid you’d gone. Can’t see the yard from the … from my … the back.’
‘I’m still here,’ she said unnecessarily, then added for Danny’s benefit. ‘We had a day out in Stratford, yesterday. Went to the theatre.’
‘Oh. … You’ll’ve enjoyed that. It’s your kind of thing.’
‘Yes. Then … as Rory was staying the night, I stopped over as well. Made it simpler all round …’ Why was she explaining herself? Not that he looked as if he believed a word of it. She didn’t blame him. Here she was with make-up still smudged under her eyes, and an unmistakable soreness around mouth and chin from kissing a man whose stubble you could almost see growing. Even James looked distracted, as if having a problem gathering his thoughts. The pair of them might just as well have been wearing banners saying “Après Sex!” After a moment or two’s silence James focused on his employee.
‘Isn’t there anything you could be doing?’
Danny cleared his throat. ‘Thought I might have another go at training Kit?’
‘Good idea.’ James said, latching on to the idea. ‘There’s no point putting her anywh
ere near the sheep until she’s obeying some basic commands. Though I’m not holding my breath. Doesn’t look like she’s inherited much of the herding instinct from her sheep dog antecedents.’
Jessica felt inclined to jump in here, to say how she’d witnessed Kit’s exemplary conduct while surrounded by sheep, but she kept silent. Her intervention was neither wanted nor needed just now.
Danny pushed back his chair. ‘Sorry about the …’ He looked first at the untouched food then at Jessica. His eyes were bleak, his mouth twisted down at the corners. He was still so young, still incapable of successfully masking his emotions. Her heart lurched as she watched him leave, heard him calling the dog to follow.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jessica bit her lip. If only she’d been alone she could have followed him and hugged him. And said what? She sat down abruptly; for something to do she began to eat the toast. It was cold. James sat down opposite her.
‘Jess?’
Too late. She’d remembered what he said in the car just before she withdrew into sleep. Why had her subconscious taken this long to throw it back at her? The previous night’s high-jinks would never have happened if she’d woken from her doze with perfect recall of how James Warwick classified women. She’d have insisted there and then to be taken home.
‘When I woke up I didn’t know where you were,’ he said.
‘I didn’t want the children discovering us together.’
‘Then you’re more thoughtful than I am. They don’t seem to have surfaced yet. Won’t be long. Is there enough tea in that pot for me?’
‘I made it for Danny, but he didn’t … It’s probably stewed.’
‘I’ll take the risk. Jess, is something the matter?’
‘Why should anything be the matter?’
‘Is it something to do with Dan?’
‘Is what something to do with Dan?’
He frowned. ‘About last night … Did I do anything wrong? Are you having second thoughts?’ He was pinching at his lips.
‘You did nothing wrong. I enjoyed myself.’ Her cheeks warmed with the memory of just how much she’d enjoyed herself. But it was unfair to prevaricate and pretend. ‘Yes, I am having second thoughts. It shouldn’t have happened. I had no intention of letting something like that happen. It was a mistake.’
‘Can you explain why?’
‘I came to live here with no intention of being anything other than a mother. I don’t want complications and involvements. I may be weak, I may be tempted, but … I don’t want another relationship. Not now, not for a long time.’
‘Can life be organised in so cut and dried a manner? When you think you’re ready there may be nothing on offer. Like waiting for a London bus …’
‘Feast or famine. I’ll just have to take that chance, won’t I?’
‘If that’s how you feel, I don’t understand why you became involved with Daniel. He’s a very odd choice for someone who is determined not to have a relationship.’
‘How do you know I was involved?’
‘Oh, come on! I’m not stupid!’
‘Danny is none of your business.’
‘I differ. In my view he is my business. I’m virtually in loco parentis. And he’s been as miserable as sin for the last couple of months … for which I decline to accept the responsibility!’
‘Perhaps his unsuitability made him the perfect choice. I knew it couldn’t go anywhere.’
‘I can’t believe this!’
Jessica was almost glad to perceive the signs of his building frustration and anger. It would be easier to end the thing if James lost his temper.
He continued. ‘You mean you picked him up just to amuse yourself, knowing you would dump him almost immediately? You can’t treat people like that!’
‘Your treatment of him is hardly respectful of his dignity!’
‘Dan’s my employee, not my –’
‘Lover?’
‘Are you?’
‘What? Danny’s lover? Like I said, it’s none of your business.’
‘I’m beginning to suspect you’re not the woman I thought you were!’
‘No. I’m not! You’ve acquired a highly distorted impression of me, probably from Gilda.’
‘I thought I knew enough. That you were in an abusive relationship, which you came here with Rory to escape.’
‘That much is true.’
‘I see it now. Did you choose Dan because he’s young? Because you wanted to be the one in control of the relationship?’ This explanation seemed to give him some comfort, a comfort Jessica whisked away almost immediately.
‘If you believe Danny can be so easily pushed around, then you underestimate him even more than I thought you did. Try … I fancied him rotten.’
James winced. ‘But not me?’
The righteous indignation with which she’d armed herself softened a little.
‘Last night wouldn’t have happened if I found you unattractive.’
‘Then I don’t understand?’
‘It was only this morning … I recalled what you said on the journey home, about meeting me and Rory on the hill.’
‘For fuck’s sake! That again?’ He briefly bowed his head, clutching at his hair; tangling it into even more mad spirals. It was a characteristic gesture, a moment to pause, think, regroup. ‘OK. I did assume you were a hippy and her bastard sprog. I’m sorry! Forgive me? I know you’re not a hippy. I’ve nothing against hippies … new-agers … travellers! As long as they don’t camp on my land! And as for bastard, that’s just my hyperbole! I’ve told you already, my mouth sometimes runs away with me. I don’t care if you and Rory’s father weren’t married. It’s irrelevant. Your relationship may have been misguided but –’
‘I wasn’t in a relationship with Rory’s father. I don’t know who Rory’s father was … is. He could be any one of several faceless men. Which makes me, in your terms, “a slapper” I think?’
He paled and stared at her blankly, as if she were suddenly unrecognisable. It was almost funny.
‘You are so old fashioned, James Warwick.’ She could have added, ‘Bet you’re especially glad you used a condom last night’, but then admitted to herself her own relief at his forethought. The kitchen door opened; Gilda walked in, smiling.
‘Good morning, my dears. How are you this morning? Did you enjoy your day in Stratford? The play?’ Her smile began to fade. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Hello, Gilda,’ Jessica said brightly. ‘The play was wonderful. It was the funniest thing I’ve seen for a long time.’
Gilda’s eyes turned back towards her son but he didn’t acknowledge her. He walked across the kitchen, poured his tea into the sink, then stared out of the window. The self-satisfaction that Jessica knew she saw in Gilda’s welcoming smile had fled, replaced by anxiety. It was understandable. Easy to imagine her own feelings of responsibility if, years into the future, Rory’s life plunged into tragedy. Wouldn’t she do what Gilda had done and look out for a likely woman? Might she not try to engineer a relationship, if only to pour a little balm on his wounds? And on the morning after, would she resist the temptation to see if the spare bed had been slept in? Poor Gilda. She had come downstairs triumphant, only to find the atmosphere in the kitchen like an icebox.
James turned round. ‘I’m … erm … I’ve some work I need to get on with, in the study.’ He seemed to be talking to his mother but then he looked at Jessica. ‘Perhaps … I … we … can talk about this again, sometime? Yes?’ It seemed he was determined on an answer. She raised her eyes to his face; he looked more pained than angry.
‘OK. Yes.’
He immediately quit the room. Swallowing back the thickening in her throat, Jessica asked, ‘Is it this week’s newspaper article that he needs to get on with?’ She was playing for time, unconvinced there was any outstanding work suddenly requiring his attention.
‘I doubt it. He usually sends that in by Thursday. I expect it’s some freelance copy-writing Piers ha
s sent through for him.’
‘Copy-writing?’ Jess swallowed again. ‘I didn’t know he did that as well as the articles? And managing the farm! How does he have time for the novel?’
‘And carpentry. Making special pieces to commission. The point is he doesn’t have the time. It’s all a juggling act. And he often as not works long into the night. Jessica, whatever is the matter? Have you two had an argument? James has a short fuse, but you mustn’t take his bursts of irascibility too seriously.’
To Jessica’s shame the bubbles of emotion which she’d been suppressing throughout this last diversionary exchange were becoming irresistible. She gulped and coughed, and covered her face with her hands. Only as her head drooped forward, did she realise she’d been sitting ram-rod straight, spine unsupported by the chair back. Her shoulders began to heave as the emotion surged up to the surface and spilled over uncontrollably.
‘I’m making such a pig’s ear of my life!’ she managed to utter, between sobs.
Gilda was a kind woman for all her reserve and county mannerisms. Best of all she did not demand an explanation for her breakdown.
‘It’s too soon,’ Gilda murmured, stroking her head. ‘It’s still too soon.’ For whom was not elucidated, though Jessica guessed the woman was thinking of her son, unaware it was he who’d been rejected. Perhaps she should be ashamed of sitting in the man’s kitchen and weeping on his mother’s shoulder, but it was easier to give way to the emotion now, and receive what small degree of comfort she could glean. There would be precious little on offer elsewhere. Everything was such a mess and there was no one she could talk to, no one who would understand.
Hysterical giggles were accompanied by thundering feet on the stairs. Jessica sat up straight and gathered a gulping breath. Gilda handed her a sheet of kitchen towel. The evidence of her tears, obvious to anyone else, went unnoticed by the scarlet-cheeked children. Soon she too was laughing, albeit shakily, at the sight of them. Looking the more normal of the two, Sasha was wearing Rory’s red sweatshirt and denim dungarees. Although baggy on her it was the kind of outfit she often wore. But in her pink party frock and tiara, with his own dark socks and untied Doc Martens, Rory looked thoroughly outlandish. In his fist he gripped a short stick with knot of tinsel on top, as if it were a lightsaber.