by Hazel Osmond
With his clothes back on and wrapped in a blanket, his mouth full of beautifully burned burger, he worried about what was happening to him. He wanted to keep Doug’s secret for him, for a friend. Correction, for a marra. He took another bite of his burger and listened to the wave’s steady rhythm behind him, wishing he could stay on this beach forever feeling trusted, life and warmth slowly returning to his extremities.
CHAPTER 18
Finlay poked his head round the door of the Blue Room, where Jennifer was trying to mediate in a heated discussion between Lydia and Wendy about whether gold braid for the dark-blue doublet would or would not make Lisa look like a camp majorette.
‘I couldn’t borrow you for a few minutes, could I?’ he asked. ‘Wendy, Lydia, could I borrow Jennifer? I need her to work her magic.’
Jennifer hoped the magic she was being asked to perform involved a dorkish pirate, but it was Gerry, Steve and Pamela whom Finlay was steering her towards.
‘They’re trying their best, but not really pulling together as a team,’ Finlay said quietly. ‘No one is going to believe they’re thick as thieves and plotting to trick Malvolio.’
Jennifer had some sympathy with the three stooges who were now facing her. This period of rehearsal was always difficult, people trying to remember where to move, but still needing the odd check of their scripts. She looked across to where Doug and Matt were working on a scene together, and was surprised to see how well they were moving and speaking. She felt slightly cheated of that rueful smile Matt Harper had worn whenever Doug crashed into him. Never mind, that new smile, almost as if he were proud of Doug, was doing just as good a job of sending little scurries of excitement across her chest. This evening perhaps she should act on Cressida’s lecture and talk to him rather than run.
‘OK,’ she said, ‘Steve, do you want to go from that bit about the letters you’re going to drop on purpose for Malvolio to pick up? Start with Sir Toby Belch’s line.’
Steve stood for a few seconds, obviously building up to it, before saying to no one in particular: ‘Excellent! I smell a device.’
There was a long pause, then, ‘I have’t in my nose too.’ Gerry made a big show of touching his nose, but not looking at the others at all.
Another long pause before Steve rushed at, ‘He shall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece and that she’s in love with him.’
They all waited and Pamela suddenly screeched, ‘Oh, it’s me isn’t it? Sorry. I was thinking it was Gerry again, but no, it’s me. Now … ah yes, here we are … “My purpose is, indeed, a house of that colour.”’ Pamela beamed at them.
‘Not house, you daft bint,’ Steve said, ‘it’s horse.’
‘Well, there’s no need to be so rude,’ Pamela huffed at him. ‘At least I just forgot it was my go, I didn’t keep everyone waiting for my line on purpose. And at least my eyes weren’t all over the place when I spoke them.’ She looked at Gerry.
Jennifer raised her hand to cut off any response and wondered what to do with these two lumps of wood and the speak-your-weight machine.
She set them some exercises. Pamela shrieked her way through the first one, where she had to fall backwards and trust the others were going to catch her. At one point it looked like Steve was contemplating a nasty case of ‘butterfingers’. Then they’d taken it in turns to think of an emotion, arrange their body and expressions to convey it and see if the others could guess what it was. Steve had got most of the ones right that Gerry acted out, which was something of a miracle as Gerry’s way of conveying everything from sorrow to anger looked as if he was having a particularly difficult poo.
Slowly, slowly they started to tune into each other’s body language and pick up on cues. Jennifer felt her shoulders relax, her neck feel less tense. A little victory. She hoped Matt Harper had been watching closely.
Her feeling of elation didn’t survive Jocelyn sauntering past and saying, ‘Teaching them how to make funny faces, Jen?’
She should have just caught hold of Jocelyn at that point and asked her exactly what her problem was, but she was too busy panicking that Steve had heard and his obvious shock would blossom into anger that would engulf them all in embarrassment. She could see Finlay frowning and moving his head, as if trying, from the other side of the hall, to work out what had happened. More distressing was the knowledge that Matt Harper, wandering past to fetch his script, had heard the comment too.
She retreated to the Blue Room, seeking sanctuary and calmed her breathing enough so that Wendy and Lydia, immersed in a squall about the correct use of Velcro, would not notice her agitation. Uncanny how Jocelyn had the ability to say the things that wounded the most. No consolation that her vitriol was the juice of sour grapes: Jocelyn knew that if Jennifer chose to step on a stage again, she herself would be acted right off it.
Jennifer understood she was not alone in suffering the sharp side of Jocelyn’s nature; that Jocelyn’s father had been a vile bully and sarcasm had been Jocelyn’s only defence. She should feel sorry for a woman who eventually alienated all but the most hardy. She kept telling herself that and was sick of hearing it.
When Wendy and Lydia packed up to go home, Jennifer said she’d stay a while, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of needle through material. It was even more comforting if she imagined the material was Jocelyn’s backside.
Another few minutes and she would pack up too. The urge to talk to Matt, or just sit near him in the pub, gone. She was too distracted, fighting away this horrible mix of inky-black shame.
When the door opened and Matt walked in she couldn’t look at him and hoped he would be quick and go. She kept on sewing and breathing. Her face felt as if it was burning.
She heard him put his rucksack on the table and something else that crinkled. She glanced up. A Primark carrier bag.
He had wandered over to the rail of costumes and was looking at his brown doublet.
‘This is coming along marvellously,’ he said, and she said, ‘Mmm.’
She heard the sound of the coat hanger and presumed he had taken the doublet down from the rail and was perhaps trying it against his body. She couldn’t stop herself from looking.
Oh God, you look gorgeous, all dark and dishevelled. Just go, will you?
‘I’ve come straight from Newcastle today,’ he said. ‘I really liked it. Very vibrant.’
She caught the forced brightness in his voice and knew he was trying to cheer her up.
I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to feel … attraction, lust … oh, I don’t know, just not bloody sorry.
All Mack could think to do when faced with Jennifer’s obvious misery, was to go and try the doublet against his body. He looked down at it. Yup, that was going to make him look exactly like the turd he was.
Well, Plan A was in tatters, thanks to Jocelyn. Getting a lift home, all his pre-rehearsed patter about his family, which was going to lead nicely to Jennifer talking about hers, blown out of the water.
Just the way she was stabbing her needle into that material told him that. It was a shame it was the only place she could think to put all that emotion: Jocelyn’s backside would have been better. He’d have helped her.
He probably shouldn’t have come into the room at all, he felt as if he was intruding. He’d do better going out again.
Then he thought of Fran in the playground, the other children jeering at her. A bewildered Gabi having to move to another city.
He picked out a suitably hearty tone and told her where he’d been today and how much he’d liked it, he left out the bit about meeting up with the Third Party again and wanting to vomit when he’d pressed some more of Tess’s post into his hand.
He chanced sitting down next to her and watched her needlework become less ferocious. Perhaps Plan A wasn’t dead.
‘I got my nieces some presents in Newcastle,’ he said, ‘couple of furry animals to add to the pile they’ve already got.’
‘In Prima
rk?’ she asked.
‘No, that’s just a sweatshirt for me.’ He was certain he saw her mouth twitch.
Yeah, OK, I know what you’re thinking, but I only got the sweatshirt for the bag it came in, because it hides, beautifully, the pair of Paul Smith slim-fit trousers (zip detail) that I also treated myself to. A way of spending O’Dowd’s money and remembering who I am.
He steered her away from his sweatshirt and back to his family. ‘I sent the furry animals straightaway, caught the post. Kind of thank-you present for the “Missing You” pictures they drew me.’ He wondered whether he should get the little sheets of paper out of his pocket before remembering Fran had written a convoluted riddle on hers about Bath and rain and having to have a Mack with you.
He saw Jennifer hesitate, and then she was looking at him for the first time since he’d come in. ‘My niece is only nine months old, she’s teething at the moment.’
He made sympathetic noises before asking if the niece lived nearby and soon Jennifer was telling him about her brother and his wife, and he supplied more information about his nieces and about Tess and Joe, and there they were chatting away. It felt easy and unforced until he got too relaxed and mentioned that he’d already met her mother. He saw from her reaction that this was news to her, and not particularly welcome news.
‘I miss my sister,’ he said quickly, ‘I’m very close to her.’
‘I miss my cousin; she’s in America at the moment. New Mexico.’
It was like laying a little trail of breadcrumbs.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I think Sonia mentioned her. Cicely, isn’t it?’
‘Cressida. Yes, I’m sure Sonia did.’
‘Gosh, sorry, Cressida. And are … are you close?’
‘Yes, she’s more like a sister than a cousin. I can talk to her about anything.’
Good girl, come on, gently does it.
‘That’s nice. Hard to chat properly on the phone though, isn’t it? I find that with my—’
They both jumped as Finlay opened the door. ‘Locking up in a minute, you two.’ He went out, giving Mack a ‘well done’ smile that made him feel even more shoddy than normal.
Somehow the interruption had swept away all the progress he’d made, and the piece of material was getting a real seeing-to again. He swore he could hear the upset and anger thrumming away in her over the sound of the cotton coming through the fabric.
‘I’m sorry. Really sorry,’ she suddenly said, and before he knew what he was doing he had put his hand over hers and stopped her sewing.
Jesus, Gods, what the Hell are you doing?
‘Were you apologising?’ he asked, bending his head towards hers.
She nodded and he saw her lips were pressed tightly together as if she was afraid she might cry.
There was something catching in his own throat and he only just got out, ‘Oh Jennifer, I don’t think it’s you who should be apologising.’
He heard her sniff and she turned her head a little to look at him. ‘Do you always do that?’ he went on, making his voice as gentle as he could, ‘take it upon yourself to make other people feel better when someone sours the atmosphere? You think perhaps you have no right to be upset or angry?’
She was looking right into his eyes now. Her hand felt cold under his.
‘That’s exactly how I do feel,’ she said.
The words stayed in the air between them.
Don’t answer her; don’t speak; get off this bloody chair and go.
He thought how different her eyes were from her mother’s, even though they were the same blue. ‘Well, that’s a shame,’ he heard himself say, ‘because you had an accident; you didn’t lose your right to be treated with respect or get angry if you’re not.’
He no longer had his hand over hers, but was holding it.
Whaaat, are you channelling some kind of self-help book? Move your hand … now.
She was looking as stunned as he felt.
Take your hand away and move.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘Why put up with things you wouldn’t have put up with before your accident? You haven’t changed, have you? Your face just looks different.’
That’s it, final warning, get up, get out.
Her nod had something of the punch-drunk about it.
He was leaning in closer, those blue eyes inviting him to do it. ‘You’re so much better than Jocelyn,’ he said, ‘in every single way. If the tables were turned, I can’t imagine you saying any of the things she says.’
Up. Now. Run.
‘You need to remember that, Jennifer.’
‘I … I’ll try,’ she said and blinked, and suddenly he saw how close his head was to hers, how it looked holding her hand like this. He gave it a final, consoling squeeze, got to his feet and managed a bright ‘Better be off’.
Picking up his rucksack, he almost sprinted for the door and felt as if he was tottering out of the hall, just managing to wave at Finlay.
What the Hell had he done? It had been too friendly, too intense. He walked rapidly away, his heart gunning until the panic started to subside. It was all right, no harm done, get a grip. And maybe he’d done the right thing. Some part of his brain must have been telling him that honesty was definitely the best policy with Jennifer. Well, his brand of honesty anyway. That’s why he’d blurted, that’s why he’d done that hand-holding.
He should stop thinking about how weird it had been and think about what he’d done right. He’d got her talking about Cressida; shown her he wasn’t hyper eager to find out about what she was up to. Getting Cressida’s name wrong was a touch of his old magic. It was all good stuff. And when he got to the cottage, he’d put on his new trousers, turn up the music and give O’Dowd the finger.
He stopped walking. The carrier bag, where was the carrier bag? With all that emoting he’d genuinely forgotten it. What if she opened it and found the trousers? How would he explain them? He started to race back to the hall. Was he actually turning into forgetful Matt Harper?
As he reached the hall, Jennifer was coming out with the bag. ‘Here you are, you left it on the table,’ she said, ‘and, you know, Matt, don’t think I’m being funny, but there’s more to Newcastle than Primark. It has some really good clothes shops. Or I could point you in the right direction on the Internet; I buy a lot of mine like that.’ She was giving his jacket and jeans and the carrier bag a sympathetic but pained look, and he knew he was safe.
‘Sieve for a brain,’ he said stowing the bag safely under his arm. ‘Better be off.’
‘No, let me give you a lift.’ There was real warmth in her voice and it was there later in the car when she said, ‘Thank you for earlier, Matt. You’re really … tuned in to how it feels sometimes. You always seem to know the right things to say.’
‘Not always.’ He felt all at once out of his depth. ‘Ha … hmmm … I think we both know I can really put my foot in it sometimes.’
She gave him a little sideways glance that made him wish he’d insisted on walking home.
‘Oh, yes, I know about your foot,’ she said. ‘In fact, back there I was half-expecting you to tell me to put a brave face on things.’ She gave him her lovely wide, warm smile, and he thought what guts it took to laugh after that humiliating incident and how much he liked it when she pulled his leg.
He wobbled along to Peter Clarke after she dropped him off, needing to hear O’Dowd’s voice to toughen him up.
‘I’m making progress; we’ve started to talk about Cressida. And she called me Matt for the first time,’ he reported like the good little lackey he was.
‘Hold the front page,’ O’Dowd said tersely, but Mack was looking upwards at the stars, wondering at how much brighter they were here and how behind the main ones you could see great swathes of other, fainter ones. Lack of light pollution, he supposed.
‘Hey,’ O’Dowd said, ‘stop doing whatever you’re doing and listen. The old bastard upstairs has started making grumbling noises, he h
asn’t got my patience. He wants a bit more progress. That girlfriend you made up …’
Mack stopped looking at the stars. ‘Ye-es.’
‘Make up some problems you’re having with her. Women love all that, you can cry on Jen’s shoulder, she can offer you advice. That’ll lead nicely on to Cressida’s love life.’
‘You’re joking, that girlfriend is my insurance. I’m not doing … Aahhh … whaaat … no, no.’
There had been a sudden noise in the grass near the legs of the bench, something bashing about, and then Mack saw a rabbit disappearing at speed, followed by something reddish-brown, long and sinuously fast. There was a bout of high squealing in the dark and then nothing.
‘What the Hell’s going on?’ O’Dowd shouted.
Mack got his breath back. ‘Something in the grass chasing a rabbit … think it’s just caught it and killed it.’
‘Let that be a lesson to you, my son,’ O’Dowd said slowly. ‘Now do what you’re told about that girlfriend and next time you ring … more progress.’
CHAPTER 19
Jennifer sat in the pub and wondered if that was Matt’s knee touching hers or the leg of the table. She didn’t dare move to find out. She wasn’t going to do anything to mar this little bit of perfection: just the three of them, Doug, Matt and her around a table. No Lisa, no Jocelyn, no one else.
Funny how Doug being there didn’t feel wrong, but comforting. Like having stabilisers on your bike before you launched yourself off for the first time unsupported. And she was definitely in pre-launch mode. She remembered that: the way you couldn’t get enough of seeing the other person’s body. She thought about Matt’s knee under the table and watched him talking, moving his hands in that expansive way he had. She looked at his eyelashes; those incredible brown eyes, and the pleasure of it all felt like pain. She wanted him; her body was telling her that. Under that jumper and those jeans there was a body she yearned to feel naked and vulnerable against hers. She wanted to smooth her hands down over his backside and pull him in to her. She looked at his hands again, wondering how many women they’d held and imagining how they would feel on her skin.