Coombe's Wood (12 page)

“Anyone would think you like this,” he said, laughing. Using his fingertips, he traced lightly down either side of her backbone. She shivered, goose bumps following his touch across her skin.

“You want to start over there?”

Feathers took his hands away from her, and stared morosely at the virgin wall. “Looks like fun.”

“You don’t have to. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?” She used the scraper to remove another piece of paper before it dried.

“Took a day off, was hoping possibly you and I might
…
” He petered off mid-sentence.

She couldn’t help but turn around. Feathers stood facing her, hands deep inside his pockets, his blue eyes faded to a pale grey. Her heart skipped a beat, and the tingling sensation on her skin was back.

“Might
…
what?” He made her excited, not like when she first met Joseph, but a deeper, intense fizzy sensation that left her light-headed and
breathless.
She clambered off the stool and sat, unsure of the strength in her legs. She looked back up, and Feathers moved closer, only two small steps, but now she felt the electricity,
and
the softening of his eyes suggested
that
he did as well.

“We’ve known each other a while now. Six months if you’re counting
…
” He spoke in a whisper, kicking a foot against one of the wallpaper drifts. “And it’s time I told you how I really feel.” Feathers cheeks flushed, he made eye contact for an instant then looked away, closing the remaining distance between them with hesitant, shuffling movements. “I liked you the moment you arrived here, and almost dropped your wine bottle down onto Mr Brown’s patio.” The blush on his face lit his eyes, so the faded grey switched to a vibrant blue, so bright; she thought about closing the curtains, so she could see if they glowed in the dark.

“You did?” Izzy remembered her first night in Cedham, and how having a male so close invoked a sensation of terror, and not a little disgust.

“How could I not?” He reached forward, brushing aside a large curl of brown hair from her forehead. She held her breath, waiting.

Feathers leaned in, and for a moment, she thought he was going to hug her. A curious mix of relief and regret swirled together as she half-wished for a kiss. She grasped him as his arms wrapped around her back. But Feathers placed his mouth on hers – wonderful soft lips gently pressing against hers. He moved even closer, Izzy thrust her hands through his hair and pulled him forward. He parted her lips with his tongue; she touched the tip with her own. An image came to mind, of them together in her bed, how he would enter her slowly and tenderly, as he had with his tongue.

“No,” she murmured, “Not yet.” And gave him a little push. He resisted, leaving a trail of kisses along her jaw line. A sigh escaped, and she tilted her head. He moved down, towards the v in her t-shirt. She pushed again. He backed off this time, his hair dishevelled and a distant look in his eyes.

“Got another scraper?” Feathers suddenly asked. His fingers crept to his lips, examining the moisture she’d left there.

“Yes,” she said, her voice echoed in her head. With dream-like movements, she brushed aside drifts of peeled wallpaper. She located the toolbox and handed a scraper to Feathers, the tool still in its wrapper. She dipped her hand into a bowl of water and squeezed out a sponge.

“You’ll need this.”

He raised his eyebrows and took it from Izzy. She mimed rubbing the wall.

“It’s to make the paper wet. It comes off easier then.”

Her mind ran the kiss in a loop before her mind’s eye. As they got to work on opposite sides of the wall, she played out a fantasy. She didn’t push him away, and he carried her off to bed.

Later, they sat in piles of shredded paper drinking tea and waiting for Connor to come home. Neither mentioned the unexpected embrace. She had just about relegated it to imagination when Connor came whistling in. He dumped his schoolbag by the door and walked first to Feathers, delight twinkling in his eyes.

“Hiya, why are
you
here?” Connor sat beside him, imitating the manner in which Feathers sat cross-legged. She realised with a silent gasp that Connor had become quieter, surer, not only in character, but in movements. How did she miss all these important events? Had she not seen the bond growing between him and Feathers?

Outside, the rain beat against the windows. Izzy sat on the floor, her arms around her legs, an empty cup in one hand. Feathers and Connor chatted while she watched rivulets of water stream down the glass.

Almost a year ago, on a similar grey day, Izzy took the decision to disappear, to run from George. Had that man numbed her so much? Would a new relationship be a bad thing? ‘Seeing him’ in Pangbourne had frightened her badly,
though it was a false alarm. But in that first second of fear,
she’d expected him to turn and club her caveman-style, then drag her back to Chester. Once in the area,
if he ever did track her location down,
finding her would be easy. He
would see
the adverts for her business; they were
plastered up
on every notice board for miles.

Then there was Joseph, the missing link. She could see more of him in Connor each day. Maybe she’d been mistaken
about him
…

Now there was a closeness developing between Feathers and her son, a familiarity Connor never allowed with her ex. This made her more comfortable, and she guessed it was her turn to make the next move. Feathers didn’t leave any doubt in her mind, or on her lips, about his opinion of her. Confused, she pushed away the debate and went to the kitchen, switching on the oven on her way to the fridge and freezer.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” she called over her shoulder. She spotted some yellowing greens and squishy tomatoes in the salad drawer. She shouted out again, much louder this time, “Do you want to stay
…
”

“There’s no need to shout, Mum, we’re right here,” Connor said. Feathers stood a step behind, near the table.

“You’re both too quiet. I’m going to get jingly bells next time I’m in Pangbourne, and attached them to your ankles.” She looked back into the fridge. “So would you like dinner, or not?”

“Love to. What’s on offer?” Feathers leaned over her. His aroma surrounded her, spicy. Maybe sandalwood. Giddy, she glanced up. He wasn’t looking at the food, and she wondered what Connor might make of this. But then she realised he’d gone.

“Um, roast wall paper?” she replied.

She ended up cooking omelettes, using some of Feathers’ dried herbs. She found a bag of chips in the freezer. They were coated in frost, but after a brisk rub in a tea towel, she judged them edible and added them to the menu. No one complained, so she assumed all the ingredients weren’t too far past their use-by date.

Time skipped into the evening. Feathers appeared to be getting ready to settle in for the night. After dinner, he sat on the sofa, struggling with the corkscrew.

“Bloody awful bottle opener you got here,” he said, and stuffed the bottle of chardonnay between his legs. “Lots of wines come with screw tops now.”

“Yeah, the cheap ones.”

“Actually, that’s a myth. You can get £200 bottles with them. The other myth is why. Some people think a bug ruined the harvests, and there’s a general lack of cork. But something like five percent of wine spoils because of natural moulds in the bark of the tree. It reacts with the bleach they use in production.”

“They use bleach?”

“I’m sure it’s harmless.”

“Perhaps to be safe, I’ll get a screw top next time. Anyway, you best stop for now, Connor and I need to go on our rounds. Why don’t I pop by later, we can have a drink then, if you like.”

“Promise?” With a look of relief, he put the bottle down on the coffee table.

“Promise,” she replied. She wanted to give him a kiss goodbye.
As if
they’d been together for a hundred years and were ancient wrinkled beings grown old in unison,
who
couldn’t remember life before togetherness.
But – w
hat if somewhere, hidden beneath his smiles and friendly nature, a dark side
lay waiting
for her trust?
But – what if
she was over analysing…

Feathers grabbed Connor as he trailed past in her wake, mussing his hair and working him into an impromptu headlock. “Wanna leave him with me?”

“Nooooo
…
help me Mum
…
I’m dying
…
”

Halfwa
y to the floor, Feathers struggled to maintain his grip as Connor fought back. Grunts and oophs sounded behind her as she walked out into the hall and unhooked her coat from the peg.

“Come on Connor, you’re with me tonight. You can stay with Feathers next time.”

Connor limped out of the living room, faking a broken leg. “He got me Mum, he’s a brute.”

“Yup, our Feathers, definitely a brute.” She pushed Connor out the door as he struggled into his jacket, still wet from his walk home.

Feathers brushed past Izzy, she caught the scent of his skin. “Sandalwood?” she asked.

Feathers stopped halfway into his flat.

“Musk, amber and sandalwood. Good guess.”

“Isn’t musk used as an aphrodisiac?”

“Is it?” He grinned and shut his door.

Outside, the wind blasted into them,
pelting bullets of rain against
their faces.
Her h
ands
dripping,
Izzy struggled to open the car.

“Come on, Mum!”
The wind picked up Connor‘s howl.

“Blimey.” Izzy dropped into her seat and slammed the door closed. “It’s a mess out there.”

“No kidding.” Connor wiped his face, showering drops of water over the dashboard.

“Reckon the roads will flood?” She leaned over the steering wheel, peering through the rain. To the right, the woods, dark and wet, filled the windscreen. The wipers flicked across the glass, clearing the view.

“Shall we go the long way?”
       

Connor nodded. Izzy pulled away from the flats and down the road, around to the other side of Cedham. The further she drove from Coombe’s Wood, the better she felt.
The car
splashed though
deep puddles, coasting, and she prayed it wouldn’t stall.
Silent, she hunched over the wheel, the only sound the swish-swish of the wiper blades and the rain drumming on the roof.

They parked next to a little complex of converted farm buildings. The Jamison’s lived in what had originally been a milking shed.

“No need to water the plants today,” she remarked.
With the engine switched off and her fingers on the door handle,
she
peered up at
the grey wash of clouds to see if the rain would let up for a moment.

“Can I stay in here?”

“No.” She got out and ran through a cottage garden, key in hand. Connor sprinted up the path, and they fell in the back door. Inside, a fat black-and-white cat lay on a large rug, purring, her belly exposed for scratching.

“Don’t get everything wet,” Izzy said. She removed her shoes, stepped over the cat, and went about her duties. A few cat biscuits lay scattered on the kitchen floor. A half-buried pile of poo needed cleaning out of the litter tray. A bowl with dried lumps of cat food required a soak in hot water. Post lay on the mat. She picked the
letters
up and placed the bundle on the hall chair,
atop
a growing stack of correspondence. Connor did what he did best and lay on the carpet next to Bessie, running his fingers along the length of her white belly.

Izzy tried to be subtle. “What do you think of Feathers?” she asked from the kitchen as she scooped chocolate-brown cat food out of a packet and broke the lumps apart with a fork.

“In what way?”

She sighed. “In any way.”

“You mean you and him.”

Silence. She should have realised there was no way she was going to sneak a question like that past Connor. He was a smart one, top of his class type of boy.

“What do you mean me and him?”

“You want to know if I’ll think it’s okay.”

More silence as she tried to put some words together.

“Is it?” she asked, after thinking of several complicated and convoluted explanations to propose in a roundabout way that she liked Feathers.

“I’ve seen the way you two gawk at each other, like puppies in love. I didn’t think I’d be consulted. I figured one day, I’d walk in on the two of you in bed together.”

“Connor!” She came out of the kitchen to tell him off. He smiled up at her from the floor, Bessie cuddled at his side, purring in his ear.

“Well, everyone else saw it coming,” he muttered, cuddling up to the cat.

“Who everyone else?” She leaned against the doorway, a jelly-covered fork in one hand and a half-empty packet of cat food in the other.

“Some of my friends have been asking when you guys were going to get together. Said their parents were talking about you and Feathers.”

“Jesus, this really is a small village!” She went back into the kitchen, the world having both shrunk and grown in the same second. Disorientated, Izzy finished what she was doing, and put the bowls on the floor. Bessie heard or sensed her dinner arriving, and left the caresses of her son. The cat slinked between Izzy’s legs and curled her tail around them, before trotting over to the food.