What had Mum done to deserve such loyalty, such devotion?
Charlie was too upset to confront her mother. If she let herself speak, she’d end up shouting harsh, unforgivable things. Not today. Avoiding Kathy, she went into the office and sat there writing labels in indelible pen.
The fête was a success. The warm weather brought people out in numbers, and Henrietta – in a bizarre ankle-length garment in a bold African print and even more clanking jewellery than usual – went from stall to stall, beaming encouragement. Kathy and Charlie, too busy with customers to have much time to speak to each other, sold so many plants that Kathy went back to Flightsend for more. Besides the stalls and refreshments, there were additional attractions: a fortune-teller (friend of Henrietta’s), jugglers, acrobats and a tug-of-war, and the Long Wykham Morris dancers. The accordion player was already practising a few snatches, adding to the fairground atmosphere.
When Anne Gladwin arrived unexpectedly and offered to help, Kathy sent Charlie to have a look round. A crowd was gathering round the Morris-men, so Charlie followed the drift and was astonished to see, hopping and skipping among them, Angus David. She did a double-take. Yes, Angus, in a flowered straw hat, garters with jingling bells, sturdy calves in white socks, feet stamping in clumpy shoes. During the next dance he and three others took a break, while a smaller number of dancers performed a routine with clashing sticks. Charlie went over to him.
‘Another of your talents? Is there anything you can’t do?’
Angus was red in the face under his straw hat, from exertion or embarrassment. He took off the hat and fanned himself with it.
‘Andy Ferris sprained his ankle last weekend, falling off a ladder. I’m the standin.’
‘The dairying spin-bowler? Don’t tell me – you’re milking his cows as well?’
‘No, there are limits. I’ve had a week of practice but I’m still winging it. This stick-bashing stuff I leave to the experts. Too much risk of knuckle damage.’
‘All that and the rehearsals?’
‘Dress rehearsal tomorrow,’ Angus told her. ‘If you’ve got time for a bit of ill-met by moonlight, proud Titania, I’ve come prepared.’ He pulled a battered copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream from the back pocket of his trousers.
‘I would, but I’m helping Mum,’ Charlie explained, gesturing towards the plant stall.
‘Aha!’ Angus said, looking. ‘She might be just the person. We need vegetation. I know where the wild thyme blows,’ he explained. ‘Come on, Charlie, do keep up.’
‘Angus!’ one of the Morris-men called.
‘OK, so it’s my turn to keep up. The Sheep-Shearer’s Ditty, or some such.’
‘Aren’t there any Morris-women?’ Charlie asked.
‘Great Oaksett’s got a women’s team, if you’re interested. Or was that an Equality of Opportunity question?’
‘Yes, it was. Don’t forget your hat.’
Charlie watched for a while. Angus danced as he did everything, with great precision and comic seriousness. She joined in the clapping before going back to the stall.
‘Was that Angus David in the hat and bells?’ asked Anne, who had been his History teacher.
‘Yes! Go and watch. He’s so funny.’
‘OK, while it’s quiet.’
Henrietta was approaching the plant stall, talking animatedly to a man in a cream jacket. ‘You two,’ she said importantly to Kathy and Charlie. ‘I must introduce you to someone who used to live in your cottage.’
The man with her was Dietmar.
‘Oh, we’ve already met,’ Kathy said. ‘Hello, Dietmar! How nice to see you again.’ She looked around as if expecting to see the aircraft.
‘No Cessna today,’ Dietmar said, laughing. He shook hands with her and with Charlie. ‘I came by car.’
‘Specially for the village fête,’ Kathy asked, ‘or … ?’
‘Specially for the village fête,’ Dietmar said. ‘I am hoping the WI cake stall is keeping up its high standards. But now I am going to buy some of your plants.’ He was one of those men, Charlie noticed, who looked stylish even in casual summer clothes. She only had to look around at the baggy shorts and stomachs bulging under Tshirts to see what a mess the average British male made of it. Surely, she thought, he hasn’t driven all the way from Leicester just to buy cakes and plants?
‘When you’ve finished, don’t forget to visit Madame Sosostris,’ Henrietta told him. ‘She’s in the tent by the tombola.’
‘Thank you, but I won’t risk it,’ Dietmar said. ‘I might be afraid of what she tells me.’
Henrietta looked unsure whether to take the remark seriously. Then she looked critically at the red T-shirt Charlie was wearing again. ‘I hope you won’t forget to look at my clothes, Charlie.’
Charlie, thinking Henrietta meant the bold African thing she had on, thought she was being asked for a compliment. ‘Oh, it’s … er …’
But Henrietta was pointing to her own stall, next to the tombola. ‘Special bargains today,’ Henrietta said. ‘And there are green bargains, just for you. I do find that red so terribly distressing on you, with your colouring. That’s my friend Jiminy, in the skull cap, manning the stall for me. Tell him I sent you.’
Then, distracted by someone asking about toilets, she moved on. Dietmar spent a long time choosing plants and eventually chose three hardy geraniums, one of which he said reminded him of the garden at Flightsend. Then he asked if he could buy Charlie and her mother a cup of tea.
‘You go, Mum,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll look after these.’ She wrote DIETMAR on the carrier bag the plants were in, and stowed it under the table. ‘Teas are round the corner, at Nightingales, the big house,’ she told him. ‘You can buy her a piece of cake as well – it’s her birthday.’ Her mother would enjoy talking to Dietmar; while he’d been making up his mind, they’d got well into propagation techniques and colour combinations and plants that flowered at that difficult time in late summer.
‘Charlie!’ Kathy reproved.
‘Really? Then I wish you many happy returns,’ Dietmar said, in his formal way. ‘In that case, tea seems definitely in order, if you would accompany me?’
Angus, Anne, Dietmar – who else was going to turn up? Charlie had wondered whether Sean might come, and was half-disappointed that he hadn’t; but perhaps he wouldn’t risk being spurned in public. And it was probably just as well he wasn’t here. Charlie couldn’t help comparing the warmth of the reception Dietmar had just been given with the cool treatment her mother handed out to Sean. She knew that Kathy wouldn’t even phone to thank Sean for the lilies.
Anne returned with three ice-cream cornets. ‘Oh, where’s Kathy gone?’
‘She’s gone to have tea with a German pilot,’ Charlie said.
‘With a what?’
‘With Dietmar Kolbert of Hamburg and Leicester via Flightsend. I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Charlie eyed the cornets, that were starting to drip. ‘Should we eat those first?’
Charlie had known Anne for years – before even starting at Westbury Park. Anne had been her mother’s best friend through the Sean time, through the baby time. She’d been living with someone, then, when that broke up, had lived alone for some while. Now, she had a part-time relationship with a man in Newcastle-on-Tyne, seeing him on alternate weekends. Charlie liked Anne, both as Mum’s friend and at school. She was quietly-spoken, always unflappably calm. Once, upset by a bullying campaign against a newcomer at school, Charlie had told Anne, who, without involving Charlie again or causing the least embarrassment, had firmly sorted it out. She was good at dealing with problems, and knew Kathy better than anyone.
‘Anne,’ Charlie said, when they’d finished all three ice creams and put out more plants, and she’d explained about Dietmar, ‘listen – Mum will kill me if she knows I’ve told you this, but …’
She told Anne about Sean, last week’s visit, the lilies and the thrown-away card. Inevitably, two customers came up and spent ages dithering between t
wo different colours of scabious. When at last they’d gone, Charlie put their money into the cash-box and appealed: ‘Don’t you think she’s being unreasonable?’ Anne sorted out notes and laid them in the bottom of the box, underneath the coin trays.
‘It must seem like that,’ she said slowly, ‘but she’s got to do it her own way. It’s hard for you and it’s hard for Sean, but I think he’s got to take no for an answer.’
‘Oh, but …’
This wasn’t what Charlie wanted to hear. Anne knew Sean well; Charlie expected her to take his side, to agree that yes, Kathy was behaving outrageously, and if she had any sense she’d phone Sean this instant and beg him to come back.
‘She’s so determined to make this new start. I admire her for it,’ Anne said. ‘It takes guts to make such a complete break, giving up her job and moving out here. How many people stay in jobs they don’t like, year after year, just because they can’t take the plunge?’
‘I don’t mind about the job,’ Charlie said. ‘She could have given that up and moved out here and still not split with Sean. Why won’t she even meet him in a friendly way? He deserves that, doesn’t he?’
‘But the reason she won’t be friendly is that it’s too risky for her,’ Anne said. ‘You realize that? She’s afraid of giving in, if she sees too much of him. And she doesn’t want to give way just because she feels sorry for him. That wouldn’t work.’
‘But why should it be like that?’
Anne looked at her. ‘Because it just is. You can’t tell people how to feel. I hated it when they split up – as much as you did. I wasn’t sure Kathy really knew what she was doing. Also, I like Sean, a lot, and I hated to see him so devastated. But it’s happened, and that’s her decision, and they’ve both got to get on with their lives. She’s doing all right, Charlie. You’ve heard of people getting post-natal depression – well, hers was a hundred times worse, with no baby. But she’s picking herself up. It’s taking time, but she’s doing it. And if there’s no place for Sean, he’ll have to accept it. After all, if she’s giving him no encouragement but he keeps making these approaches – well, he must know by now what response he’s likely to get.’
Charlie said nothing. She rearranged some of the plant pots and straightened a label.
‘He’ll get over it, in time,’ Anne said. ‘He’ll have to. And – you’re a terrific help, Charlie. I’m so glad she’s got you. It’s tough for you, too, but you’re mature and sensible and you’re giving her a lot of support. She appreciates it.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Charlie grumped. ‘I’ve noticed.’
‘Well, she’s always telling me how good you are. How she’d fall apart without you. Here comes Angus, so I’m going to stop talking like an agony aunt,’ Anne said. ‘Well done, Angus! Have you finished Morrissing for the day?’
Angus trudged over heavily, feigning exhaustion. ‘Yeah, we’re off in a minute. Coming to the barn dance tonight, Charlie?’
‘Can’t, I’m working,’ Charlie said, ‘but if it’s still going on when I’ve finished, I’ll come on my way back.’
‘OK, see you later, then.’
‘I didn’t know you were a Morris-man. Or a barn dancer. Any other surprises?’ Anne said, and then, when he’d performed a few steps and twirls and gone back to the other dancers, ‘He’s great, isn’t he?’
‘He’s an idiot – a nice one,’ Charlie said. ‘He doesn’t care what anyone thinks – he just does what he wants. Oh, here’s Mum. They’ve been ages.’
Kathy, still with Dietmar in tow, came across the trodden grass. ‘Sorry! I hope you didn’t mind being left for so long,’ she said. ‘We keep meeting people Dietmar knew when he lived here. And we’ve been over to Henrietta’s stall and she said I had to buy you this.’ She handed Charlie a soft, floppy bag. Charlie shook out what was inside: a long batik top, light and floaty, in a greeny-gold colour. She held it up.
‘Thanks, Mum! It’s lovely. Henrietta’s been going on at me to get this. But you’re the one with the birthday – you should have bought something for yourself.’
‘No, I wanted to buy you a present,’ Kathy said seriously. ‘For helping. Thank you.’
Charlie noticed Anne’s face registering I told you so smugness because of the present, and Mum looking animated, even excited.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Kathy said. ‘You two don’t know each other, do you? Anne, Dietmar, who used to live in our house – Dietmar, my friend Anne. Dietmar’s just offered to give me the most fantastic birthday present—’
Rosie
‘You could at least have phoned.’ Rowan’s disgruntlement came through the receiver loud and clear. ‘To say you were sorry.’
‘Yes, I know. I was going to and then I forgot,’ Charlie said.
‘Forgot to phone? As well as forgetting to come back for me?’
‘Sorry, but I did. I’ve been busy.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ Rowan huffed. ‘Too busy to pick up a phone? Anyway, it didn’t matter about Friday. Russell came and found me at Shapers.’
‘Good. I’m really glad you didn’t have to walk home all by yourself.’
‘Charlie,’ Rowan said, on a warning upward note. ‘Anyway, Russell thinks my new hair’s great. You should have come to Jason’s party last night. I did ask. Too many early nights are bad for you, you know.’
‘I didn’t go to bed early. I went to the village barn dance. For the last hour, anyway, after work.’
‘Village barn dance,’ Rowan said scathingly. ‘Well, I bet that was a rave. What was it, cowboy boots and yee-hahs?’
‘Actually, it was fun. Much better than some tedious party where everyone thinks they’re cool.’
‘So who did you dance with? Some local pig-farmer?’
‘I danced with Angus,’ Charlie said. ‘And with Dan from Nightingales, and Oliver Locke, and two other people I don’t know.’
‘Angus, King of the Fairies? Careful, you’ll start rumours. You’re not going out with him, are you?’
‘Course not,’ Charlie said loftily. ‘Can’t I have two dances with someone in the village hall without people thinking we’re an item?’
‘Two dances. Well, there you are. In Pride and Prejudice, when Mr Bingley danced twice with Jane, it was practically a way of announcing their engagement. Wait, Mr Locke, did you say? I might have thought it was worth coming, for that. How many times?’
‘Just once.’
‘Hey, that’s not why you’re switching to Art, is it? So you can hang around with Mr Oliver Lush?’
‘No, it’s not,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m not basing my career options on whether or not I fancy the teacher. That wouldn’t give much choice.’
Rowan giggled. ‘So when am I going to see you, then?’
‘School on Thursday, this sixth-form thing. I’ll wait for you by the buses.’
‘Right. And don’t forget, this time.’
Rowan rang off, and Charlie sat on the stairs thinking of yesterday and its various surprises: Angus, the conversation with Anne, the barn dance. Most of all, Dietmar. He was going to take Kathy for a flight in the Cessna, from the flying club in Leicester.
‘How fantastic,’ Anne had said when Kathy told them, providing a cover for Charlie’s reaction, an open-mouthed, silent But …
She thought now of the reasons for that But.
But I want to go. I was the one who brought him home. Self-centred, grudging. OK, she could make an effort to eliminate that one.
But it might be dangerous. No. Illogical. Dietmar was a qualified pilot; it was probably safer than driving into town, or crossing the street.
But it’s practically going out with him … Hmm. Was it? What if it was?
But he’s so much older than you. You can’t go out with a man who’s nearly old enough to be my grandfather … She wasn’t sure about that one. Dietmar was kind, intelligent, interesting; even quite attractive if you didn’t mind a certain weathering. It would depend on what happened next, really.
&nb
sp; But what about Sean? How can you throw his message in the bin, then the same day get all girly and excited when another man asks you to do something?
Yes. That was the real But. The others could be got over; that last one couldn’t. Charlie kept all her doubts to herself, and even managed to take a polite interest in the plan for the flight. But she was sure by now that Kathy had noticed her pointed silence on the subject of Dietmar.
For the last few days, Charlie had been thinking of drawing a portrait of Rosie.
When Fay next asked her to child-mind, on Monday afternoon, Charlie collected a bagful of toys and objects likely to interest a two-year-old and took her out on the grass, under the mulberry tree. Rosie, in a white sun-hat and a smocked dress, examined the items one by one, discarding some, keeping others close by her.
‘Tonker.’
‘Conker, Rosie.’
‘Tonker. Two tonkers.’ Rosie reached into the bag. ‘Trayon.’
‘Crayon.’
‘Crayon. Duck. Cortoise.’
‘Tortoise. Say tortoise.’
‘Torkoise.’
Sketching the first tentative lines, Charlie saw that Rosie would be a more difficult subject than the models in class. And not only because Rosie wasn’t sitting still. Soft, childish flesh and small features were harder to capture than wrinkles and blemishes; Rosie’s open-mouthed, absorbed expression was harder to convey than the firmer lines suggestive of character in a mature face. After a while Rosie tired of the animals and toys and cuddled up to Charlie. It was like trying to take a photograph of Caspar, when he kept wanting to lick her face and sniff the camera.
‘Tarlie! Tory!’
‘All right. I’ll tell you a story, if you play with the tortoise and duck while you listen. What story would you like?’ Last week, they’d had Goldilocks and the Three Bears and The Three Little Ducks.
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