Torn (15 page)

The only two friendships so far made, both in different stages of embryonic development, had their drawbacks. Gilda was twice as old as Jess, and from a background and class she found it hard to relate to. And Sheila? In the early days they had sneered and giggled together over the inadequacies of men, but Sheila was gradually revealing a more hard-line feminism than Jessica felt comfortable with. She'd had enough of that with her mother. Now over seventy, she was living in some kind of commune in the States. Jessica saw little of her, and little was enough.

What of her own relationships with men? She'd anticipated a delay of many, many months, if not years, before she allowed herself to become involved on a more intimate level with anyone. Seeing Danny so recently had confirmed the physical attraction between them, if nothing else. But her instinct towards the gratification of her physical and emotional needs was at war with her intellect. There was no greater clarity just because a relationship took place in a glorious stretch of landscape, and the pretty scenery would make it no easier to navigate.

‘Where's Sheila Jordan? What the hell kind of indoctrination is going on in this place? Has the world gone mad?'

As the door to the nursery was flung open and James Warwick strode in, Jessica wasn't the only mother to turn goggle-eyed from coat buttoning. Sheila, who was unpinning the artworks produced by the departing children, found herself cornered by the easels, an accusatory finger wagging in her face.

‘I'm sorry Jay … Mr Warwick. I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.' Her voice was level but two high spots of colour flamed her cheeks.

‘Not only do adults nowadays have to put up with these ridiculous “politically correct” constraints in life, hampering us at every turn, labelling us as potential rapists and bigoted monsters if we question the imposition of the new religion … or God forbid, fail to use the correct sanitised language! But now the PC thought police are infecting our kids' lives!'

‘Please? What are you accusing us of?'

He glanced around, taking in the other mothers, Sheila's assistant Lynn, and the two students; then briefly he caught Jessica's eye. His frown deepened.

‘You and your bloody witches' cabal of feminists, single mothers, and lesbians. Do you want to totally indoctrinate the girls? Emasculate the boys? Turn them all neuter? A slightly drastic remedy for overpopulation!'

‘Mr Warwick, if you'll explain what you think has been going on here?'

‘Are you denying it now? Saying it didn't happen? People like you shouldn't be allowed near children!' Sasha stood, open mouthed beside the two arguing adults, her eyes ranging from one to the other.

‘Please?' Sheila laid her hand on his arm. ‘It's not for me to judge how well I undertake my role here. I can only do my best. I'm still not clear what you think I've done or not done. But if you care as much about the children's well-being as you seem to, I'm sure you don't want to upset them with all this ranting.'

‘I am not ranting!' He brushed her hand away. ‘I only found out today from my mother … but I just wonder how long it's been going on?'

‘What has been going on, Mr Warwick?'

Chapter Ten

‘Are you denying that Sasha has been forbidden to play in the Wendy house? That the girls are being forced to use the construction kits … the boys to play house?'

Sheila sighed. ‘Hardly forced! There's been a misunderstanding. Come this way. Yes, please, James. Do bring Sasha. I'll explain.'

The stunned silence in which he'd delivered his tirade broke as soon as the three left the room. One of the children started crying.

‘Well! Who rattled his cage?' Hannah's mother, Alison, asked.

‘I thought it was a good idea,' said Sara.

Jordan's mother said, ‘Men always see everything in such black and white terms, don't they?'

Toby's added, ‘Was he including all of us in this cabal of witches, lesbians, single mothers, and feminists, d'you think?'

‘But I honestly think he's got a point,' Alison said, to some groans and protests. ‘Not about witches and lesbians, obviously, but Hannah was really upset about not being allowed in the Wendy house.'

‘It was only one morning!'

‘Obviously he got a rather garbled version. But you can't blame him for being upset. It's hard for a man on his own. A mother has more instinct about what's going on with her child. What's good, what's bad, how much attention to pay to their gripes and tantrums. And it was a tragedy what happened. It must still be fresh in his mind. No wonder he's touchy.'

‘Of course it was tragic, but it's old history.'

‘It wasn't that long ago.'

‘Must be three years. He can't use his wife's death as an excuse forever.'

‘He
is
the one who made the Wendy house and gave it to the nursery.'

‘Well yeah, but he donated it as a kind of promotion, presumably? In the hope of getting orders to make more?'

Jess added nothing, but with a guilty flush accepted that it was she who had triggered the row.

Sheila hadn't noticed the girls' total take-over of the Wendy house, but when told about it was quite willing to believe it had happened. On Wednesday, after alphabet and number play, and colour and shape recognition, an experiment in role swapping had been introduced. Instead of their usual ‘free play' half-hour the girls were encouraged to use the construction tables and the boys who wanted to, the Wendy house. There were a few grumbles but the girls soon got into the building, sticking, and hammering, and though a lot more noisy and rumbustious, the boys seemed equally keen on the Wendy house, judging by the bumps, scuffles, and raucous laughter which emanated from it.

So, it was James Warwick who had constructed it. It was a beautiful piece of carpentry; a pitched, overlap roof gave the impression of tiles, there were dovetailed joints, an architrave around the door, windows, which opened and shut more silkily than Jessica's own, and a decorative inlay around the base of the miniature house, mimicking a row of flowers in a bed. Despite her reluctance to allow any justification for his outburst, Jessica could well imagine a slight bristle of irritation if her son were prevented from playing with a toy she'd crafted and then donated. Still, he should have got his facts straight before he barged in making accusations and damning everyone in sight.

Strange how women like Alison would always make allowances for men. Jessica too had made allowances in the past, but how far she was willing to excuse was always qualified – it depended on the man, her relationship with him, and exactly what he'd done. But a death in the family, however recent and unexpected, was not sufficient to forgive the condemnatory vehemence with which he'd labelled them all witches, lesbians, feminists, and single mothers, even if they were, in fact, any or all of those things. She recalled that earlier occasion, and how swiftly he had leapt to the accusatory ‘Hippy'. If there was anything she couldn't forgive it was bigotry and prejudice.

Jessica badly wanted to see Danny. He had rung again, a few days later, but he was evidently uneasy on the phone. They talked a while but neither could come up with a suitable place or time to meet. When she was free he was working. Apart from evenings he seemed to have little spare time away from the farm. Various venues were discussed – if she could get a sitter. The Prince Rupert or Earth's Bounty were the only two suggestions with which he seemed comfortable. As both were universally popular, neither was ideal as a rendezvous in her eyes. There were other cafés in town, but none that guaranteed non-GM whole food. Of the remaining two pubs, one was more like a yuppie wine bar; the other was a dive full of skinheads and yokels who were likely to give any new-ager who dared broach its doors a hard time.

The kind of place she would have preferred to meet – somewhere more private, more select – he had no knowledge of. Perhaps he'd feel uncomfortable entering such a place on his own. Her home was not popular with him because of Tubs, and he had bed and board at the farm. Jessica would have hotly denied she was ashamed of this budding relationship, but still baulked at parading it, even in front of a distant acquaintance, let alone Sheila. It would be doubly impossible to conduct any kind of liaison at the farm under the shocked scrutiny of Gilda or her son.

‘Your boss said I could come over to look at the lambs any time,' she offered. ‘He said you'd show me? What do you think?' There was a silence. ‘Danny?'

‘Yeah.'

‘What do you think? Shall I drive over one morning to see you … and the lambs?'

‘Yeah, but …'

‘What? This is hopeless! Don't you want to see me?'

‘I do! Very much!' There was a sudden, loud clatter. ‘Shit!'

‘Danny, what's happened?'

‘It's all right. I just pulled the phone off the … It's all right.'

No wonder he was tense and distracted; he must be in the house using the Warwick's landline again. It had to be an old-fashioned, corded telephone.

‘You're not using your mobile?'

‘I … I've lost it. I'm in the office.'

‘Doesn't the boss like you using his phone? Are you scared of him finding you?'

‘No-o!' Jess recognised that negative, with its amused upward inflection that she should think such a thing. ‘Look, come like you said, to see the lambs,' Danny went on. ‘We can talk then. Try and think of something.'

They'd set no specific day, but as she got out of the car Danny appeared immediately from the direction of the house and loped over. They did not touch.

‘Saw you from the kitchen. I was having something to eat.'

‘I came straight from delivering Rory to nursery,' she said, as if in excuse for her early arrival. ‘Gilda said she was going into Ciren so I thought … Have you finished your breakfast?'

‘Not breakfast. Been up for hours.'

‘Is the boss around?'

‘Think he's in the office.' The superficiality of the conversation and the two-foot gap between them belied the hunger in his face. An upper window in the house was opened. They both looked up to see a feather duster being shaken vigorously.

Danny lightly touched her arm and led her across the flagged yard and out through a gate on the far side, which he closed behind them. A track led on from the gate between fields fenced with wire stock netting. In places it was the only boundary. In others it was in addition to Cotswold stone walls which were in a variable state of intactness. On the right of the track the large field sloped gently down to the river; the main flock of sheep was scattered across it. Most had their heads down to the emerald turf; a few were up by the perimeter pulling hay from a rack. On the left of the track, in a smaller enclosure, were two large ewes and three small lambs. Beyond the rear fence, up a short steep slope, was an elderly caravan propped up on bricks. A couple of steps led to the central door, which stood slightly open.

Jessica and Danny stood side by side their arms folded on the top bar of the gate. Barely a week old, the lambs looked clumsy and knock kneed, as if still getting used to this walking lark, yet they leapt and bounced and ran about as if there were springs in their feet.

‘Danny? About getting in touch, if you give me your mobile number …'

‘It's lost.'

‘I can call at an agreed time. If it's switched on you'll hear it ring and be able to track it down!'

‘Sounds sensible, only …'

‘Silly idea. I don't suppose it's switched on is it? And if it was, the charge will have run out. You'll just have to get another.'

‘What?'

‘Mobile. They needn't be expensive. Shame about the SIM card, but …'

‘You're obsessed.' After a silence he changed the subject. ‘Those two there are twins, that one as well, but its twin died.' The singleton dropped to the ground near one of the grazing ewes, its legs collapsing abruptly beneath it as if suddenly tired. The siblings had paused, mid gambol, one standing, the other slanted down, forelegs folded at the knees. On its up-tilted rear end the tuft of fluff wagged as they touched nose to nose in silent communication. Suddenly it straightened its front legs and, as if in agreement, both twins skipped back to the other ewe, butted their heads against her woolly flank, then latched onto a teat each. She appeared indifferent to her offspring but raised her head from the grass to stare at the humans who stared back at her; her jaw worked laterally side to side.

‘Danny? How do you know when ewes are pregnant?'

‘They get fatter.'

‘I mean the early stages?'

Danny glanced sideways at her, mouth quirked, eyebrows raised. ‘Can be a bit tricky chasing round the field after them, trying to catch their dawn pee in one of those little test tubes from the chemist.'

Jessica stared at him, then suddenly laughed. ‘I'm easy to tease. I'm a townie. I don't know about these things. What I mean is, why did you suspect the … tup? … had already had his wicked way with those two?'

‘What … apart from the smiles on their faces? I didn't, not for sure. But he got in with the flock before he had the raddle on.'

‘Raddle?'

‘It's a kind of harness that holds a pot of coloured wax under his belly. When he services a ewe it smears a marker onto her back. The boss thought none of them were in season so it didn't matter. I wasn't so sure. When we got the raddle on the tup and he was allowed back in with the ewes he got on with business. But these two weren't marked as clearly as the rest.'

She saw the very faint smear of blue on the ewes' rumps. ‘And that meant?'

‘They were already pregnant. He tried it on with them again but they weren't willing to stand for him.'

‘I see. And the fact they gave birth earlier than the rest proved you right. They're big aren't they?'