Torn

by Gilli Allan

  Jessica saw him first and uttered his name under her breath. Rory reprised, ‘Danny!’ in a delighted squawk. He raced forward and embraced the young man’s denim-clad legs and immediately demanded he look at and admire the new plastic figure. Danny stooped and lifted Rory up into his arms. His spontaneous grin faded a touch and stiffened when he turned his face to her.

  ‘Look! Look at him, Danny! He’s good isn’t he, Danny? Do you think he’s the best one?’

  Danny readily agreed and showed sufficient interest in the new acquisition to temporarily satisfy Rory. ‘You smell of chlorine.’ Danny commented as he set her child on the ground again.

  ‘I expect I do too. We’ve just been swimming.’ Jess said. ‘We’ve come in for some new shoes for Rory. What brings you into town?’

  ‘Screws and stuff. The shelf in my van’s falling off the wall.’

  ‘James should do that for you. He’s your landlord.’

  ‘Don’t want to bother him with something I can easily fix.’

  ‘Even so, I’m sure he’d give you the screws … just a minute … you’ve not been to the hardware store? The guy who attacked you?’

  ‘He’s OK. There’re no hard feelings.’

  ‘Christ! I’m not sure I could be that forgiving.’

  ‘I don’t bear grudges, Jess.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Mummy? I mean Danny? Do you think he really is the best? Mummy says so. I bought him with my own money I saved up. I wanted Buzz Lightyear … but they didn’t have him at the shop.’ Rory’s little face was now full of doubt and confusion. ‘I’m not sure now.’

  Danny squatted beside him. ‘Show me again.’ He studied the figure in all seriousness, front, back, top, and bottom before handing him back. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Woody.’

  ‘He’s def’nitely the best one, in my opinion. You made the right choice.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jessica said softly, when he straightened up. ‘Close call! Danny, are you doing anything? I mean, would you like to come with us for something to eat? It’s nearly two and Rory’s started to complain about being hungry. I’m sure he’d enjoy it more with you along. And so would I.’

  Danny chewed at the inside of his cheek; he looked up and down the High Street as if something there might provide inspiration. Although well aware Danny was someone who took his time to digest and respond to new information, Jessica felt the tug of impatience. She resisted the impulse to say, come on. It’s not that difficult a decision! Patience was a quality she would need to develop if she was to be a successful teacher. She had the prospectuses at home – teaching refreshers, courses on dyslexia, special needs, and learning support assistants were all available.

  ‘My treat.’ she added. The words revived the recent occasion when this offer – made in different circumstances and to a different man – had been turned down. Memories of that evening and its surprising conclusion sent a small yet distracting pulse through her body. She couldn’t help feeling some gratification at James’ unexpected declaration of love, but she was also dismayed by it. Their easy and informal relationship was bound to be altered.

  ‘OK. Thanks,’ Danny eventually agreed, bringing her thoughts back to the present. ‘How about Earth’s Bounty?’

  ‘I want a burger!’ Rory said.

  ‘Danny’s a vegetarian. He can’t eat beef burgers. Let’s go to the place Danny likes, shall we, darling? I bet they do veggie burgers there. Let’s go and see?’

  Rory was dubious, but Danny’s support for the café seemed to swing the balance. His interest in the project picked up when Danny made an adventure of it by telling him the café was in a secret, underground room. It was a semi-basement, down a short flight of steps at the back of the organic whole food shop. But it was dark enough to seem spooky in Rory’s eyes, and the partially tiled walls and mismatched tables and chairs appealed to Jessica. Once tasted the Quorn burger was not an unqualified success, but smothered in sauce was palatable enough for Rory to take a few bites. The fact that cola was also off the menu was a further disappointment.

  ‘But Mummy, you said I could have cola I wanted cola. Can I have cola when it’s my birfday?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘I definitely want cola on my birfday. Danny, it’s my birfday soon. I’m going to be four.’

  ‘Are you? When is it?’ Rory looked vague.

  ‘The 20th of August,’ she supplied. ‘I’m never sure of the best approach. If you deny fizzy drinks and sweets they become forbidden fruit and consequently more desirable. But then,’ she added with a shrug, ‘there’s the bargaining-tool angle.’ Turning to her son she said, ‘I’ll buy you one when we’ve got your new trainers, and perhaps an ice cream?’

  ‘I want a bocker glory! You never let me have a bocker glory!’

  Jess raised her eyebrows at Danny. ‘Because I know you wouldn’t finish it.’

  ‘How do you know? How do you know that, Mummy? I would finish it. It’s my idea of heaven … a bocker glory!’ He clutched his stomach and rolled his eyes, which made Danny laugh, so he repeated the action until he’d rung the last drop of appreciation from his audience.

  Though the chosen salad was a bit tasteless, Jessica was enjoying this unexpected interlude and gazed fondly at the two males opposite with whom she was sharing it; the dark child frowning and serious, his elbows on the chest-level table, and the fair young man beside him, hair longer and shaggier now, expression almost equally serious, keeping an interested eye on his companion.

  ‘Tell me what you want to be when you grow up,’ Danny asked.

  ‘I want to be a spaceman, like Buzz Lightyear. When I was little I wanted to be a policeman. Rawn is a policeman. Why don’t we ever see Rawn any more, Mummy?’

  ‘You know he’s in London, sweetheart.’ Jess glanced a warning at Danny. Rory sighed and tipped his head onto his hand, like a little old man contemplating the mysterious ways of the world.

  ‘A spaceman sounds more fun than a policeman,’ Danny said.

  ‘Sasha wants to be a farmer.’

  ‘Yeah. She’s said that to me.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You don’t like the idea?’

  ‘She says you have to do lots of smelly jobs if you’re a farmer, like cleaning sheeps’s poo off their bottoms!’

  ‘That’s true. Sheep can’t wipe their own bottoms when they go to the toilet,’ Danny caught Jessica’s eye as he uttered the euphemism. ‘So, the farmer has to clip the wool on their bottoms to clean them up. It’s called dagging, look. If you’re a rich farmer, you can hire someone else, like me, to do mucky stuff like that. I’ve only just dagged the lambs which are going to …’ He stopped himself telling her child the lambs were about to be sold at market. ‘When I was your age I wanted to be a cowboy, like Woody. I wanted to be a cowboy until … like, quite recently.’

  ‘I think a cowboy is what I really want to be!’ Rory said decisively. ‘Or an ice-cream man.’ Then, as he watched a forkful of salad on its way to Danny’s mouth, he asked, ‘Can I have some?’

  ‘Sure.’ There was no complicated transference of food onto Rory’s plate or worry about hygiene. The fork changed direction, Rory opened his mouth, and the salad went straight in. After a moment’s thought, which kept the adults in suspense, Rory rubbed his tummy again. ‘Mmm,’ he said, but on being offered another forkful, he declined. Jess smiled at Danny. And he smiled back, this time with all the old warmth and openness. It reminded her how much she’d disliked the constraint between them. The moment was interrupted by her son.

  ‘Can I get Woody out of the bag again, Mummy?’

  ‘Do you want any more of your burger?’

  ‘No, I’m stuffed!’

  ‘Here you are then.’ With Rory’s attention taken up by the plastic figurine, Danny and Jessica were able to talk.

  ‘A cowboy? I thought you wanted to be an eco-warrior?’

  ‘It was Pete’s fault. He was always into Westerns. Had
loads of videos and DVDs at home. Whenever he visited he’d encourage me to watch with him. Even took me to the cinema. I expect I was a kind of excuse for him. S’ppose those films gave me a romantic view. All that open space. Being a free agent. Just you and your horse. No one breathing down your neck. No expectations.’ He narrowed his eyes and would have looked into the distance if a wall had not intercepted his view. ‘The man with no name.’

  ‘Even with the dreadlocks?’

  ‘Buffalo soldier!’ He smiled his familiar, self-deprecating smile. ‘What am I like? Sad, or what. But I had to grow up. Pete got me the job on Gore Farm. And suddenly I faced facts. This is it. This is my life from now on.’

  ‘I thought you enjoyed working on the farm?’

  ‘I do, more than any other job I can think of, but too many of the animals go for slaughter. And I’m not my own boss.’

  ‘Few people are in this world.’

  ‘I know it’s unrealistic. It’s tough being a farmer these days. I’m the last person who could run a farm like James Warwick does. Doesn’t stop me dreaming, though.’

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’ the waitress asked Jess. She shook her head. ‘What about you, Danny?’

  ‘No thanks, Cass.’

  Of course, Jessica had thought she looked familiar. The overall she wore covered a skinny, black lace garment. Her hair was done up in little plaits twisted into knots and clipped against her scalp with fancy grips. She was one of the gang he hung out with. The girl scribbled on her pad and slapped down the bill rather nearer to Danny than to Jessica.

  ‘How much is it?’ Jess asked pulling out her purse. Danny squinted at the bill; he blinked a few times, pulling his chin back as if to gain a longer view.

  ‘Uh … It’s too dark in here!’

  Jessica plucked the bill from his hand. ‘Give it here.’ It was dark, and Cass’s writing was fairly crabby, but she could read the bottom line of figures.

  ‘Seriously Danny, do you think you need your eyesight tested?’

  His gaze shifted up, towards the ceiling. ‘Just leave it, Jess.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous! If your sight is bad, no wonder –’

  ‘No wonder what?’

  ‘No wonder you can’t read the bill. And you couldn’t see my stud when it fell onto Sasha’s book.’

  ‘That was because of the glare!’

  ‘What glare?’

  ‘The glare off the white page. The stud got mixed up with the black print! It kind of flickers, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You’re talking rubbish. What flickers? It must be your eyesight!’

  ‘So? What is it to you?’

  ‘I worry about you fumbling around like Mr Magoo!’

  ‘Thanks a bunch! Just get off my case, Jess!’

  ‘Mummy! Mummy! Can I have my eyes tested?’

  ‘Good idea!’ Jess breathed in and smiled tightly. ‘There’s an optician just up the road. Let’s go and make an appointment now!’ She pushed back her chair, slapped a twenty-pound note onto the table, and stalked out of the café, Rory trotting confusedly beside her.

  ‘Jess. Jess, I’m sorry. Please?’ She stopped out on the pavement. ‘I’m sorry, Jess. But, I’m not a child. And I get a bit touchy about being patronised.’

  She sighed and nodded. ‘I was probably coming on like … a mother!’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I do care about you, Danny, it just frustrates me that you can be so obdurate.’

  ‘My eyes are fine.’

  ‘So why are you worried about getting them checked?’

  ‘I’m not! Are you really going to make an appointment for Rory now?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure he’s OK but it’s a good idea to start eye checks early.’

  ‘But how does that work with children? I mean … like … if they can’t read?’

  Jessica knew that nagging Danny about his eyesight had been the wrong tactic. He was obstinate and strong willed; she should have known he would resist being pressurised. After making Rory’s appointment she asked the girl how they tested the eyes of people – like the very young – who couldn’t read. Assuming this was a mother’s concern about her own young child’s ability to respond to the usual tests, the woman called out the optician to speak to her.

  ‘We are well used to dealing with people who can’t read … children or adults. Of course, even the severely dyslexic usually know their alphabet,’ the optician added, saving her the trouble of asking the follow up question. ‘It’s the mass of letters projected at once they have difficulty with. They find it hard to pick out the individual letters. So we can highlight the letters one at a time, or we can project a series of Es facing in different directions. For young children like your son we can use symbols …’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  True to his word James had offered the farmhouse for Rory’s party and Jessica had accepted. Even so, it wasn’t quite as riotous or as expensive as Sasha’s had been. This time the paper plates, napkins, cups, and other ephemera were bought off the shelf. The balloons were inflated at home with an air pump. The party bags contained just a handful of penny sweets, a novelty, and a blower. The food was laboriously home-made by Jessica over a period of days. An entertainer was dispensed with.

  None of the children seemed aware of the deficiencies of the occasion – if they did Jessica didn’t care. Only the games were the same as those played at Sasha’s party, and were joined in with as much enthusiasm by Sasha’s dad. Jessica was too busy to see much of him, but Danny was about this time. He led those who were willing to put on a hard hat around the small paddock on Violet, or supervised small groups who wanted more intimate contact with the other young animals. But thankfully there was no elaborate dinner party to attend after the children had gone home, and though Jessica did stay the night, she retired relatively early to the guest room and slept well. The next day an outing had been arranged by James, just for the two of them.

  There were not as many bikes or students or head-in-the-clouds academics as she’d expected to see, but then what should a student or an academic look like these days? Influenced, perhaps by watching the TV adaptations of Inspector Morse, Jessica had conjured a slightly archaic picture of the hushed and ancient streets flapping with black gowns as students cycled or walked with earnest purpose from lectures to seminars to tutorials. That was until James reminded her they were visiting the town in the summer vacation, and even in term time these days, gowns were not generally worn, except for prescribed occasions. And anyway, why had she expected the denizens of Oxford to look any different from those of her own university town?

  Even so, she was unprepared for this busy city centre, gridlocked traffic, and jostling crowds. The high street stores were those you might expect in any large town. The people who blocked the pavements were either here to shop or to see the sights. Some, more annoyingly – because their meanderings around the town were random and unfocused – were apparently here to do both.

  But soon James had led her away from the main shopping centre and into the back streets and alleyways, pointing out the colleges – their quadrangles and chapels – the libraries, museums, and theatres. Everywhere had a story attached. This was a favourite pub where many a riotous and extended evening had been spent. A flat in that house was where he’d lived in his second year. They walked around the public areas of Christ Church where he’d studied, and visited its picture gallery, and then on to the cathedral, where he’d often attended the services – “just for the music”. And strolling on down across the sloping lawns of Christ Church Meadow he pointed out where he and his friends would sit to watch the rowers sculling up and down the Isis. There was the spot where Piers had fallen in when they’d hired a punt, and this was a favourite picnicking place.

  They put down the bag and spread out the rug. They were not alone; many others had had the same idea. But Jessica felt privileged to be with someone who knew the town intimately, and for whom it meant so much. For a while the
y simply enjoyed the sunshine in silence. Then James asked: ‘So … are you going away anywhere on holiday?’

  Jessica had been lying down, eyes closed. At his question she sat up, laughing.

  ‘You sound like my hairdresser.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Not this summer. Anyway, it’s a bit late now. What about you?’

  ‘Me neither. The finances are a bit …’ James lapsed into silence. They watched a scull slide by on the river, propelled by four powerful rowers.

  ‘Did you row?’ Jess asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to say any more on the subject.

  ‘I have rowed, but not competitively. Never played rugger or cricket either. Not here. I was always happy to watch others exert themselves.’

  She leant back, supporting herself on her elbows. ‘What was your dream, amongst these dreaming spires?’

  ‘I wanted to travel.’ Another boat slid by. James watched it out of sight. ‘After I graduated … I showed you the Sheldonian Theatre, where the graduation ceremonies are held, didn’t I? In Broad Street, next to the Bodleian and the Radcliffe Camera …’

  Jess nodded. Her feet and brain still ached from the long tour. If she forgot all other buildings she’d been shown today she would remember the Sheldonian. Its semi-circular perimeter was bounded by a wall topped by metal railings. At intervals, high stone pillars intersected the railings, each one surmounted by a large carved head. The emperors’ heads, James had called them. The row of austere, curly locked, and bearded faces peered down with classical disdain at the gawping tourists.

  ‘So, after I graduated, I took off,’ James continued. ‘Some of the bits of furniture around the farmhouse are from that time.’

  ‘The coffee table?’

  ‘Came from Bali. But even more than travelling my ambition was always to write. I kept a notebook while I was away and when I got back, I started on my magnum opus. My parents supported me while I worked on the book, which I had no shadow of doubt would make my name and my fortune. Looking back I can hardly credit how confident I was. I must have inspired them with a similar confidence. But my Dad was quite a bit older than my mother. Although only in his late fifties, he suffered a completely unexpected, fatal heart attack. I knew I couldn’t sponge off Gilda any longer, it just wasn’t fair. Piers, who was employed by the ad agency straight from uni, was always pestering me to join him. Said it was money for old rope. So I eventually took him up on it, and eighteen months after Oxford got my first job.’