by Ivan B
He stripped off his jumper and tossed it over, “It’s quiet and we can talk.”
“Just talk?” She jested mischievously.
“Just talk.”
He gave a half-shrug, thought I ought to tell you a couple of things. For a start this radio job I’ve been offered is much more attractive than the job with Nightingale City, for a start it’s a ten year contract.”
“Ten years!” She squealed, “nobody offers ten year contracts!”
Norman eye’s wrinkled into a smile, “The producers of Suffolk Skies do. It’s been going for eight years and is gaining audience all the time. It’s now broadcast in umpteen countries and relies on a stable cast of recognisable voices.”
Petra’s brow furrowed, “So they want to add you in?”
“No, the actor who plays Samuel Yardly is leaving. Apparently his wife was landed a film job in the New Zealand. Shooting’s going to take three years apparently.”
Petra’s face took on a jealous expression. “You mean Fi-fi L’Amore.”
“If that’s her stage name, I thought it was Elma Thomas as the actor’s called Giles Thomas.”
Petra shook her head, “She played two years in Stannard’s cove and then married Giles. I don’t think she’s done anything since; believe me I am envious.”
“You look it.”
Petra tossed her head and Norman continued. “I did a voice test for them, with a little bit of voice acting I am apparently so close to the Samuel Yardly character they won’t have to do any fancy tricks like writing in a throat operation. Thing is once you’re in your out; they give long contracts, but won’t let you work in any country where the programme is broadcast. Apparently they’re terrified of second hand endorsement, you know Samuel Yardly is a trustworthy chap therefore if he endorses Stinky Yoghurt it must be good stuff.”
He paused, took a deep breath and plunged in. “That means I’ve got a stable non-farming three day a week job and I rather wondered whether you’d like to move in with me.”
“Here?”
“Here, then I can help Colin and dad on the farm, dad’s not getting any younger and the farm doesn’t need a full timer.”
She scowled, this was not what she wanted. “You mean just move in; cohabit like?” She meant ‘cohabit so that you can throw me out with no obligations when you’re tired of me,’ but didn’t say it. She didn’t need to, it was written all over her face.
His eyebrows rose rapidly, “You know that’s not my style.”
She snapped. “Then what do you mean?” He could detect something lurking in her tone of voice. Ire? Cynicism? Disappointment? He didn’t know and it worried him.
He pushed the tea-chest aside and knelt before her grabbing hold of her hands in his huge paws. “I don’t know, I’m thinking it through. I’m not a gigolo who bonks woman and then throws them off, neither am I usually the type of guy who rushes into things. I guess I’m hoping that you’ll stay because I don’t want to be apart.”
“What about what you said earlier, you know ‘needing time to see if we’re compatible while remaining faithful to each other?’”
He massaged the back of her hands with his thumbs, it was rather like having her hands caught in a washing machine. “Thing is I suppose I do know. Know that I want you. Guess the time thing is because I was worried that you didn’t know, plenty fish in the sea and all that. So I’ve decided on a change of strategy, that is capture you now before you can run away and compare me with some other man.”
She managed to reverse her hands to prevent her hand-bones from being mangled. “You mean live here?”
He shrugged, “Plenty of rooms.”
She firmly shook her head. “Sorry no, too claustrophobic with all your family around.”
His face fell and she gently, added “But I could live in that cottage at the end of the drive, the one that has that disgusting musician in. That’s far enough away from your family to be our own place and for you to work on the farm.”
His face lit up. “The keeper’s cottage is bigger and Jill will move out when she marries my brother.”
“Prefer the cottage.” She meant she didn’t want trains rumbling by a few feet away from the walls.
He leaned forward and delicately kissed her on the lips. She whispered in his ear, half holding her breath while half-wondering why. “Does that mean we’re engaged?”
He sat back on his legs and smiled, “I guess it does, I guess it does.”
A wave of unreasonable happiness spread over her, it totally caught her by surprise, but then the whole week had been full of surprises.
In the room below Simon looked out of the window. He instinctively knew that his yoga money-train was coming to an end. The fad for what he termed as groupie yoga was passing. In its place he thought there was going to be a demand for retreats and stillness holidays. His mind turned to the Trembine Arms and he pulled out his mobile phone and turned it into calculator mode. The old inn would make a grand retreat centre, he just had to do some sums to see if it was both viable and hit his normal 20% profit margin. He started punching buttons.
Julia examined Buster’s room, investigated the chest of drawers, prodded about in his wardrobe and sat on his bed. To allay her fears Buster had taken her on a tour of the whole house, including the basement, and had now left her to explore by herself; after all this was to be her home. She decided that the room oozed masculinity. There was a small dressing table, but on its shiny glass surface there was just on roll on deodorant and a comb. The wardrobe contained nothing but two working suits – one fresh in a cleaner’s bag – and a few shirts. The chest of drawers contained the necessary underwear (did men really wear pants like that) and a few handkerchiefs. On impulse she looked under his bed and discovered the sawn-off shotgun. Being the daughter of a farmer she understood all about shotguns and examined it closely. It was an expensive model, not used recently and with fresh saw-cuts in the end of the barrel. She toyed with it in her hands and then pushed it back under the bed. Somehow knowing it was there was reassuring not frightening. She resumed her exploration.
Sarah stood back and surveyed the dining room table. She’d wiped it over (twice), removed the coffee cup-rings and finally given it a good dose of bee’s wax polish. She carefully laid the table for two using matching knives and forks and, after a moment’s hesitation, put out two wine glasses. She wanted this meal to be special; special to him and special to her.
Julia stopped on the stairs and sniffed. Buster was cooking again. She smiled to herself, he seemed to really enjoy cooking while to her it was a necessary chore. She wandered into the kitchen and sat down. “You’ll make a good house-husband,” she said jocularly.
He grinned his inane lopsided grin. “Cooking I like, cleaning is something else.”
He rolled some meatballs and popped them in the oven. “Had a good look round?”
“Hmm, and a good think.”
He stood up and watched her, “And?”
“And I’d like to leave the school. There’s a voluntary job going at the prison, they want to start a woman’s hockey team and a woman’s football team. I’d enjoy a job like that. The local cricket team also want an umpire for some of their Saturday matches, I wouldn’t mind that either.”
“Thought you liked teaching.”
“I do, but I don’t like working in a school where I’m being squeezed out because I’ve been there a long time and because my face doesn’t fit.”
He glanced at the oven and started to cook the spaghetti. “Harriet tells me that her local scout troop are looking for a basket ball coach. Mixed team I believe.”
She laughed, “So much for a life of ease.”
He stirred the Bolognese sauce. “Life of doing what you want.”
She laid out some cutlery, “What we want. I don’t want to hug it all.”
He started to set out the spaghetti Bolognese on some pre-warmed plates. “In that case how about starting the voluntary stuff after we’ve returne
d from Norway, always fancied a trip to Norway.”
She thought of the skiing and grinned, “Sound’s great, is that before or after our marriage?”
Her walk around the house had crystallised her thoughts. Buster had been a bit of a surprise in her life. He was probably not the best catch in the world and definitely had a murky past. However, he was a bird in the hand and he was beginning to grow on her. Circumstances may have driven them together, but she had decided that she’d rather stay together with him than seek another man elsewhere; hence her question.
He chuckled, “After the marriage, definitely after.”
Rupert came in from the garage and noticed the cutlery lying on the highly polished surface of the dining table. He glanced at the clock, Sarah had given him a thirty minute warning so he had time to shower. He glanced into the kitchen. Hoof was fast asleep on the hearth rug and Sarah was busy slicing something on the glass cutting block. The radio was on and cooking odours assailed his nostrils. He climbed the stairs deep in thought. Three minutes later, his dirty clothes littering the bathroom floor, he was standing under the shower still thinking. He was trying to analyse what had happened. Had Sarah become a replacement Anna? No she hadn’t he decided. Was Sarah taking advantage of him? No, he rapidly decided. Was he content with Sarah disturbing his peace? Yes, he instantly determined. Was he looking forward to her leaving? No he definitely wasn’t. So what was she to him? Sister? Friend? Surrogate mother? Potential lover? He froze with his head still lathered with shampoo and foam cascading over his forehead onto his feet. She’d said that she’d want more than just friendship when he’d suggested clearing out a room for her. He suddenly smiled and started to sing What a difference a day makes as he finished rinsing his hair.
Sarah stopped and listened to the noise from above and smiled to herself. Rupert wasn’t as fearsome as he’d seemed when she’d seen him for the first time and taken him for a train fanatic. She paused frying the mushrooms for a moment. On the other hand he was not what you might call normal, however he wasn’t totally abnormal either, just somewhere between the two. Could she really cope with his eccentricities? She stood thinking until Hoof waggled his ears, a sure sign that Rupert was approaching. She briefly wondered how a dog could both snore and remain alert at the same time before deciding that his eccentricities not withstanding, she was beginning to feel at home in this house. She turned to find him scrubbed and ready for dinner wearing a crumpled pair of grey slacks and a white shirt that had obviously just come out of its wrapping. She resolved that she wasn’t just at home in the cottage, she was at home with him.
Chapter 24
Driving Away
The phone rang at 3am. Sarah groped around on the chair beside her bed and eventually answered the call. Mr Knowles sounded chirpy to the point of nausea. “Good morning Cargo Nine-Seven. I’m glad to inform you that the line is now clean, the signalling system is working and that in two minutes time you will have green light so you can proceed towards Brandon.”
She listened to rain lashing against her window and automatically shivered. Then a slow smile spread across her face and she lay back down. “Thanks for telling me, as soon as it’s daylight I’ll check the train over and proceed as soon as I can. I will keep you informed.”
“What!” He replied. “I need the line open asap, so get off your arse and into the cab.”
Sarah’s smile spread across her whole face. “Sorry, you know the procedure as well as me. Train’s been frozen in for days, might still be frozen in for all I know. Even if it isn’t I’ll need to visually check ever brake on every wheel before I go anywhere. It’s a long train and I’m single handed. Under such conditions I’m not prepared to do the checks by torchlight, so you’ll just have to wait.”
There was a spluttering noise. “Now you look here…”
She cut across him, “No you look here. The regulations are quite clear that in circumstances like these it’s my call. That is,” she purred, “unless you want me to break regulations.”
He cut the call and she sighed. She was asleep within two minutes.
Rupert heard her phone ring and the mumbling of a brief conversation, to him it was a herald of doom to come; she was leaving. He padded over to his window and looked out. Rain was falling is sheets, but parts of the landscape were still white. He smiled to himself, the rain was coming in from the opposite direction to the snow, so there was yet hope. The train had been practically buried and if the snow wasn’t being washed away Sarah would have no way of freeing the train. He lay down, dreamed of walks with Sarah to come and fell into a fitful sleep.
The phone rang again at 6:30am, this time it was her manager, Mr Gladbury, who informed her that he was sending her a driver’s mate by car as he realised that she’d have to check the wheels and brakes individually. She lay back in bed and stretched, the poor individual whom he’d selected was not due till 8:30am so there was no hurry.
By seven she was up and dressed in her Cargo-Haul boiler suit and boots. To her surprise Rupert was in the kitchen – the real kitchen, cooking eggs and bacon. She sniffed appreciatively. “Where did the bacon come from?”
“Flosse Farm, thought Jenny would have some.”
She looked out of the window at the still sleeting rain. “You went out in this for bacon?”
He gave a schoolboy grin, “Thought you’d appreciate a proper breakfast.”
She rounded the central island and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “That was kind of you,” she said softly.
He turned slightly pink and turned the bacon over.
“What state is the train in?” She asked.
He grimaced, “Rain’s washed the snow away. There’s still a sort of snow dune in the shelter of the train, but it’s diminishing rapidly and there’s a definite gap between it and the train.”
“Temperature?”
He grunted, “Above freezing I reckon, but still cold.”
She smiled at his expression and said gently, “I will be back Rupert, I’m not going for ever.”
He nodded glumly. She gently punched him on the arm, “Come on, let’s enjoy breakfast, I’m not being sent to the gallows.”
He managed a grin and started to dish up. Sarah wondered how anybody could char the white of the fried egg while leaving the middle just cooked.
By 8am she was in her cab and firing up the engine. The cab was freezing cold and once the engine was running she turned on the electric heater full blast and started to scrap the ice off of the inside of the windows. At 8:20 a car suddenly appeared and a muffled figure eased himself out and staggered down the platform. Sarah opened the cab door and waited. Stuart, her overweight and overconfident administration clerk, climbed in and grunted.
“Pardon?” She enquired.
He took the scarf away from his mouth, “I said have you got any coffee, I haven’t had breakfast.”
Sarah smiled, she was going to enjoy this. “Now where would I get coffee from after being stranded here for days on end?”
She became businesslike. “Have you done this before?”
He made a sour face. “Only in the yard. I mind the engine while you check the wheels.”
Sarah gave him a wide smile, “Oh no. The engine can take care of itself. You check the starboard wheels and I’ll do the port.”
The expression on his face was something she wished she could have captured on camera.
Petra lay curled up to the back of Norman. She heard the train engine start up and enjoyed the warmth of being close to Norman and under his umpteen tog duvet. She considered their conversation of the previous day and felt an inner emotional warmth. This was not what she had planned. This was not what she had dreamt of in her idle moments, but she was staying. No more wandering, no more sleeping around in an endless search for a quick emotional fix and the hope of a good man. She’d found her good man and now she was jolly well going to hang onto him.
Nearly two hours later Sarah relented and poured out a coffee fo
r Stuart and herself. He stared at the thermos as if it had appeared by magic, which in his terms it had as Rupert had placed it in the cab while they were walking the train. Stuart sipped the coffee and stretched, “Guess we’ll be leaving now.”
“Not quite,” she replied as she gazed out of the window. She tossed him some cotton waste, “Give the inside of the windows a wipe will you, they’re streaming with water.”
She left the cab and he watched as he cleaned the glass. She went up to an odd looking man on the platform, rubbed his dog’s ears, and then kissed him.
Julia and Buster paused at the level crossing and watched the hot diesel fumes exhausting from the engine. Julia tucked her hand in his arm. “Wish you were leaving?”
“No fear,” he said, “No fear.”
Five minutes later Sarah was back in the cab. She called signal control and told them she was rolling and then eased the power handle forward. As she rumbled over the level crossing she gave Julia and Buster a wave and gave them a toot on the horn. She was leaving Trembine halt, but she would be back as the people living there, and one man in particular, now had a place in her heart.
From the same author on Feedbooks
Felburgh (2010) Felburgh is the story of a vicar (Peter) and his life in a new parish; one that he has not chosen and that has not chosen him. The parish is set in seemingly idyllic Suffolk seaside town of Felburgh somewhere between Felixstowe and Aldeburgh. The parish, like most parishes, is only normal on the surface and has underlying tensions and vast social differences. The church itself has a third of a million pounds in the bank, some of the congregation are downright antagonistic and quite a few have interesting pasts. The church has previously seen a rapid succession of vicars, who have been driven out, escaped or just disappeared, this has left a legacy of distrust and discontent. Finally, like the Parish, the vicarage itself also has an interesting history, one which soon impinges on Peter’s life and not necessarily for the better. All in all it’s a mixture most vicars would run from, but Peter has no choice but to stay as he has nowhere else to go, so can he make a success of it or will history repeat itself once again?