Torn

by Gilli Allan

  A vague buzzing began to invade her consciousness. It took a moment to comprehend what it was and where it came from. She pulled off the main carriageway into the opening to a farm track. On leaving the Bowman farm, she’d moved her handbag from the back seat to the passenger seat. Now she grabbed it and extracted her phone

  ‘Jess? It’s Jay. I’ve been trying to get you all day! Ted was moved.’

  ‘We found out after driving all the way to Lydney. My phone, I’ve just realised, Rory must have turned the ringtone to mute last night.’

  ‘How did he manage that? Look, Jess, I’m so sorry you had a wasted journey, and after all that –’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘I heard. I’ve just spoken to Piers. I am really sorry.’

  ‘Don’t say sorry to me. I didn’t know the man. It’s his children …’

  ‘I’ve already given my condolences to them. How are they bearing up?’

  ‘Still taking it in. Where are you calling from?’

  ‘I’m just home. There was nothing to keep me in town. I decided to head back.’

  ‘So, I’ll see you in about an hour? I’ll come straight to Gore to pick up Rory.’

  ‘Jessica, isn’t there anything you want to ask me? About my day?’ James’ voice sounded flat, depressed. Worried by his tone she suddenly recalled the reason for his trip to London and his appointment with possible ruin.

  ‘James! I’m sorry. How did you get on at the bank?’

  ‘My debts have been rescheduled till the end of the financial year.’

  ‘Congratulations. You worried me. You sounded so deadpan.’

  ‘As you know, I’d hoped to celebrate … but in the absence of the person I’d wanted to celebrate with, it seems unreal, a bit of an anti-climax.’

  Jessica let that comment lie. It would be too easy to extract a cheap quip from his unintended innuendo.

  ‘I really am sorry about Ted. How’s poor old Sideshow taking it?’

  ‘Shell-shocked.’

  ‘I bet. Sixty-four is too young. It’ll take a while to sink in. He was a nice man and, given the circumstances, good to Daniel. OK, Jess, I’ll let you continue on your way. See you in a bit.’

  In fact, she saw little of James. He was at the door to greet her when she arrived at the farm and she congratulated him again on his successful mission to London.

  ‘Thanks. But it’s only a reprieve. I need several other factors to slot into place before I can breathe easy.’

  ‘But you believe they will.’

  ‘Yes, I think I’m home and dry.’ He did not offer and she did not expect him to revive the subject of celebration, even though there was no reason now to prevent it. Neither of them, it seemed, was in the mood.

  Some of her earlier anger, she could now acknowledge, had been born out of frustrated resentment that their plans had been thwarted. He’d not been totally heartless, just over-burdened by his own concerns. But James Warwick was a big boy now and would survive a minor disappointment, while her own disappointment came second to Danny’s need of her. They talked superficial platitudes for a while but soon he excused himself and disappeared off to some nether region of the farm.

  Over the next few days she and Danny were in frequent contact. Due perhaps to his brother’s influence it seemed he’d at last mastered the mobile phone. Not only was he calling her, he was keeping the phone charged and switched on. Neither of them had anything particular to communicate, it was more a need for contact, for reassurance that the other was easily reachable and all right. And they would stay connected for far longer than necessary, once everything significant had been said. In essence these frequent calls were just a kind of touching. The funeral had been arranged for the afternoon of Wednesday, the following week. Danny asked if she would come. And every time she spoke to him he asked again.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so pathetic, but … I really want someone there for me.’

  ‘You’re not being pathetic, you’re being honest. But your brother and sister will be there.’ Jessica did not make the mistake of mentioning the mother again. Whatever had happened, it was clear she was not around anymore.

  ‘I know, but Helen will be there with Grant. Don’t know about the kids. They’re not very old. And Pete will have Imogen.’ It was hard to imagine that the classy Imogen would be delighted to attend such an occasion. But perhaps Piers had insisted?

  ‘Trouble is, the only person I can ask to have Rory is still Gilda. And it’s awkward for her with the kids at different schools. But perhaps James …?’

  ‘He’s coming to the funeral.’

  ‘James is?’

  ‘He knew Dad. He used to come down for weekends with Pete, when they were at university together.’

  ‘So you knew James before you came to work for him?’

  ‘A bit. But I was only young … five or six.’

  ‘Of course you were. I forget about the age gap. Look, Danny, if you want me there I’ll see what I can do, but mid-afternoon … it’s such an awkward time of day.’

  ‘You could always stay the night.’

  For once it wasn’t raining, but it was grey and the damp hung palpably in the air. After dropping Rory at school, she turned the car towards the A40. Her dark Hobbs suit was hanging in the back of the car. A pair of boots and a matching handbag completed the ensemble she intended to wear to the funeral. Whether or not Gilda was happy to have been co-opted by her son, yet again, into providing childcare for Rory, Jess knew she could rely on her. She had no intention of stopping the night at the Bowman farm, despite James’ assurance that it would be all right with his mother, and yet she threw her overnight bag into the boot, alongside her Wellingtons and waterproof jacket – just in case.

  There was nothing about the day ahead she could look forward to. Her relationship with James was now strained. Piers, though friendly enough, was hardly a bosom buddy and Helen was distinctly frosty. Still, her own enjoyment was not what she was going for. It was enough that Danny wanted her there.

  He loped out to meet the car and hardly waited for her to extricate herself from the driving seat before throwing his arms around her.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ he muttered against her neck.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked when he at last released her.

  ‘OK. It’s been strange here, just me and Pete. The house seems so empty. Helen came over a couple of times. She’s prepared all this food, don’t know why, and did loads of washing … bedding and towels and stuff, then made us help her clean the house!’

  ‘That’s because people will come back after the funeral. Some might stay.’

  ‘And Pete’s got in a crate of booze and loads of glasses. It’s like they’re expecting to party afterwards!’

  ‘It’s the hospitality thing. Men feel the need to offer alcohol, women to offer food. But with women there’s the added imperative to make sure your surfaces are dust free, the kitchen floor mopped, and the bathroom sparkling.’

  Danny shook his head. ‘Weird. Pete spent the last week going through all Dad’s papers, insurance policies and stuff. Turns out his will is held at the solicitor’s. Helen’s been gagging to know what it says. So that’s where they’ve gone this morning.’ Helping Jess with her things, Danny led her through the house.

  Just from the smell of polish and cleaning fluid it was apparent that the place had undergone some intensive housework. The decor seemed to have side-stepped every fashion since the nineteen fifties. The walls were papered with Lincrusta, the carpets – muted by age – were indeterminate floral. The furniture was the bulky, wooden sideboards, dressing tables, and wardrobes of two or three generations back. Perhaps Danny’s parents hadn’t cared about their domestic environment. His father spent most of his life outside and his mother, a teacher, had lived in the world of her mind. A grandfather clock in the hall – wood panels cracked, marquetry peeling – was the only significant piece of furniture she saw. It stood against the banister wall that flanked the stai
rs; its slow, sonorous tick echoed all over the house.

  It was a four-bedroom house but the smallest of the bedrooms had been converted by Ted Bowman into an office after Piers left home for good. It was racked with shelves, a filing cabinet, and a built-in desk. Stacked files with Post-It notes on the front of each were piled on the desk. There was no computer.

  ‘I’ll put your things in here.’ Of the three remaining bedrooms, Danny’s was the smallest, made even smaller by the overlarge furniture. Jess wondered why he hadn’t moved into the larger bedroom when his sister left home. Even though he’d only quit the room just over a year before, it had an empty, unused air. When he opened the wardrobe to hang up her suit Jessica saw it was empty apart from the tangle of wire hangers. There was nothing personal around the room to claim Danny as its previous inhabitant. A lack of books was not surprising, but there were no posters on the walls, no model aeroplanes, no football memorabilia. Only a skeleton leaf and a shard of limestone with a fossil imprint lay on the windowsill. The one item she recognised was his backpack. It slumped by the leg of the roughly straightened bed, spilling odd items of underwear onto the floor.

  Jessica’s own family background was scarcely traditional, but while her mother maintained the home in London there were still her old clothes in her bedroom cupboards, and books and ornaments collected through childhood on the shelves. And on her bedroom walls were her posters; art by the Austrian Secessionists, photos of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain, and Darcey Bussell as Giselle.

  ‘Shall we go out for a walk?’ Danny suggested.

  First he introduced her to the animals. He threw a few handfuls of grain to the chickens and geese, gave the goat some kitchen scraps, and the large, dray horse, named Bruce, received a bucketful of bran.

  The terrain rose gradually behind the house, fields bordered by hedgerows rather than the Cotswold stone walls or wire stock netting of Gore Farm. It took some minutes to reach the apex of the gently climbing hill. Once there they sat down on a flattened rocky outcrop. The view was as lovely as any in the immediate vicinity of Warford, but here dark swathes of countryside were thickly fleeced with trees.

  ‘And we’ve got the Wye Valley. It’s like a really, deep wooded gorge. Have you never been to Symonds Yat? Only a few miles away to the east.’ He wafted his hand in a direction vaguely westward, then frowned. ‘No. Wales. It’s on the border with Wales. Sorry it’s west. This totally amazing high crag you can get to. The river winds along at the bottom. Too many tourists but …’

  ‘It sounds stunning.’ There were sheep in some of the fields and cattle in others. The field they had chosen to stop in was empty of livestock. ‘How much of this is your father’s farm?’

  ‘It’s much smaller than Gore.’ He attempted to point out the boundaries; to her it seemed quite big enough.

  ‘And the majority is rented to neighbouring farmers?’

  ‘Yeah, not that he … we get much from it. It’s not very profitable, but then it’s not very profitable to sell either, not unless you can wangle a change in the planning regs, like James Warwick’s bound to.’

  ‘Some people have more than their fair share of luck.’

  ‘Bet he’s good in bed as well.’ This was the first time Danny had ever referred to what had happened between her and James. For the moment she let it pass, and carried on talking.

  ‘… though he’s had to bite his nails a bit just recently.’

  ‘Can’t say that makes me want to weep.’

  Jessica smiled at him. ‘Danny, you told me when you were a kid you used to bunk off school and work on the farm. Didn’t your dad realise and send you back?’

  ‘I didn’t come back here! I wasn’t that dumb! Of course he’d have sent me back to school. Well, he might’ve tried. I never took the chance. I’d go down to Earl’s farm.’ Danny pointed out a cluster of buildings further down the hill. ‘He used to keep a few horses to breed in those days, as well as the sheep and so on. He always found stuff for me to do. With him I learned about looking after ewes and helped with the lambing. I was good at that because I had small hands, still have, I suppose.’ He contemplated them. ‘Earl taught me to drive the tractor, haymaking, laying hedges, and … just about everything, really. When I did start helping out more regularly on our farm Dad just took it for granted I seemed to know what I was doing. But by the time I’d officially left school, Dad had given up, sold the cattle, rented out the land. So I went back to work for Earl, only he couldn’t afford to pay me.’

  ‘Didn’t the school ever complain that you were never there? And what about open evenings? Your mother was a deputy head teacher herself?’

  ‘Different school.’

  ‘But she must have been told about your absences … did she never query them with you?’

  Danny was frowning now, eyes squinting against a sudden bar of sunlight between the clouds. ‘I can’t remember her ever going to an open evening. Doesn’t mean she didn’t, but she never mentioned anything to me, apart from telling me I was stupid. And a curse and an accident. She told me that a lot.’

  ‘But that’s outrageous! Did she never try to help you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sit down with you, with your books, and go through the things you found difficult. The things that put you off going to school. Maths … reading … writing.’ Jess sensed him tense. She was trying to be subtle but it was proving difficult. What she wanted was to draw the admission from him, not confront him baldly with her knowledge. He screwed his face up, then sighed.

  ‘I have some early memories, before I started school, of her trying to teach me stuff. But I couldn’t get the hang of it. I remember her shouting at me. Throwing the books across the room. She must have given up in disgust in the end. Both Pete and Helen were reading before they went to school, so she knew I was the thicko of the family. That’s what she meant by me being a curse, I s’pose.’

  ‘Danny, grasping reading at a specific age is not an indicator of overall IQ! There is no right or wrong age. All kids are different. Rory is still well behind Sasha. Perhaps I’m biased, but their innate intelligence seems fairly equal. My theory is that he’s slower because he’s too impatient, and too lazy. He gets frustrated … wants the story instantly. Trying to work it out for himself takes too long.’

  ‘I can understand how he feels.’

  This was impossible. She could wait forever for him to make the crucial admission, and anyway, today was not the time to try to winkle it out of him. The clouds had knitted back together again and the sky was darkening almost perceptibly as they sat there. A miracle that the almost constant rain had held off for this long.

  ‘What a shame that you and your mother didn’t get on better.’

  ‘Better?’ Danny queried. ‘Didn’t get on, full stop. It was always a bad vibe. She always kept me at arm’s length. Perhaps she could only love clever kids.’

  ‘But your father? Ted, was a good bloke? You and he …?’

  ‘Yeah,’ His voice thickened and he was silent for a while. ‘I think he cared about me, but he wasn’t one for … telling you he loved you … or giving you a hug or anything …’

  ‘Of course he cared.’

  ‘But I got there too late,’ he said, abruptly. ‘He didn’t know I was there. I so wish I’d been there when he –’

  ‘Death is cruel, not many people are given the chance to say goodbye.’ Jessica saw the emotion which tightened his face and tried to draw him back to the previous subject. ‘So what was his take on your problems with school?’

  ‘School was Mum’s department. Dad never told me off about getting bad grades … no grades … but then he never expected anything of me either. I was who I was. He just accepted me.’

  ‘He loved you,’ Jessica said, then seeing his mouth twitch down again, added, ‘Weather doesn’t look too promising for later on.’

  Danny closed his eyes for a moment as if imagining the scene yet to be faced.

  ‘Whose decision was
it … an interment rather than cremation?’

  ‘Oh … that was me. Pete and Helen weren’t bothered one way or the other. Except they wouldn’t agree to a wicker coffin.’

  Jess smiled in response to this. ‘It’ll be harder on you. The graveside ceremony and everything.’

  ‘I’m so not looking forward to that. But he worked with the earth, with the cycle of nature most of his life. He loved farming. It broke his heart when he had to give it up. Him being buried feels right to me … the natural way … what he would have wanted.’

  ‘I’ll be there, Danny.’

  He turned and smiled at her ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t thank me.’

  Danny’s gaze shifted from Jessica’s face to the landscape in front of them, its hills and vales, the thick fleece of woodland, the distant muddy river. ‘There’s a natural balance to life. So … when Dad goes back into the earth it’s like a … completion. He’s kind of phys’cally and spir’tually reunited with the mother goddess, and all that’s gone before. But I don’t really believe in an afterlife, not like a Heaven or Nirvana.’

  ‘Don’t think I do either,’ said Jessica, looking up to the heavens in disgust as the first cold heavy drops plummeted down.

  The Porsche was in the yard when they got back to the farm, and the smell of fish and chips filled the kitchen. Piers withdrew the tray from the oven. The paper wrapping the four parcels was curling back, brown-edged and smoking.

  ‘Did you get on all right at the solicitors?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’ Piers told his brother. ‘Me? Don’t care. But Helen? Pretty pissed off.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You don’t know? Helen thinks you must, but –’