Lots of Love (31 page)

Just for a moment, she saw herself fluttering all the way to the village – swooping in on Hunter Gardner as he drank another cafetière of coffee and kept watch.

‘What a laugh,’ she shrieked, her words whipped away by the wind.

But she knew that any attempt to soar, loop-the-loop and thermal ride all the way to Oddlode would be far too high risk.

‘Concentrate,’ said a voice in her head. ‘Think about where to set the ’chute down. You haven’t much time.’

‘Go away, Richard!’ She wailed into the wind. ‘I’m having fun. You’re out of my life now.’

The valley opened out beneath her dangling feet as she swept down into it much faster than she had anticipated, now feeling like a spinning tiddlywink propelled into a giant green cup. She missed a treetop by little more than inches, startling several young crows who gaped up at her from a high nest. She was flying almost directly over the bridleway now, and recognised the derelict stone barn that marked her turning place on runs from Goose Cottage.

She knew there was a row of telegraph poles two-thirds of the way down so she had to land before them, but she also had to lose speed and height first.

The ground was rushing past far too fast beneath her – faster than she’d ever travelled over the sea, and offering a far less sympathetic landing. She
had
to slow down. But every time she dipped the ’chute to lose height, she speeded up, and every time she gained height she changed direction, spinning dangerously out of control. The telegraph poles loomed closer by the second, along with a large wood and a farmhouse.

‘Fuck!’ Ellen squeaked. ‘It’s a lovely way to gooooooooo – nooooooooo!’

The adrenaline rush was an all-time high, but she wasn’t ready to die. There was nothing for it . . .

‘Backwards,’ she told herself. ‘Up, over and put your heels down as brakes.’

It was a leg-break move, but she had no choice. It was that or frying on a cheese-cutter wire.

She tugged hard on the right toggle and turned a half-circle until she was facing up the hill again, still hurtling inexorably down towards Oddlode. Leaning right back into her harness and clamping her eyes shut, she tucked her knees into her chest and felt the first bumps of
terra firma
against her backside before she released the ’chute from its harness and tucked in tightly for the roll.

Her roll was swiftly interrupted by a large hillock, which she hadn’t seen from the air. It broke her fall with a perfect, soft grass-mattress buttress.

As emergency landings went, they didn’t get any better.

Ellen hugged the banks of the hillock and kissed the dry grass gratefully, before jumping up and leaping around in the air.

‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

Far above her, she could just make out two small figures jumping too – Spurs and Snorkel, both barking their heads off. She couldn’t hear a word but she waved both arms joyfully and blew a hundred kisses – then ran to the crest of the hillock, doing handstands and cartwheels.

She’d got her spirit back. It felt like falling in love.

Getting her spirit back was one thing, but getting her breath back was another. By the time she had collected her ’chute and clambered back up the hill to rejoin Spurs, she was so puffed out she couldn’t speak.

‘You beauty!’ Spurs hugged her.

She panted into his bare chest and fought an urge to ram her hot cheeks to the freckled skin. She broke away before she could let herself and grinned up at him, shaking her head, still unable to speak.

He cupped her face between his soil-stained hands. ‘You are amazing!’ The silver eyes danced around her face, a straightforward, come-to-bed message playing between them.

She knew he wanted to kiss her, and suddenly she felt so turned on that her burning lungs almost imploded. For a split second, as his face moved towards hers, her knees gave way and the burning, buzzing heat between her legs threatened to set light to her harness. But then she twisted her face away so that the kiss landed on her cheek.

‘It felt amazing!’ she gasped, and turned towards the car as though the near-miss kiss hadn’t happened. ‘It felt fucking amazing. What a crack.’

The tomboy was back. Ellen, the trouper. Ellen, one of the lads. Ellen, who couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to Spurs because that made her vulnerable, and she had no time to be vulnerable. She was going to head off round the world in search of sport and adventure. She had her spirit back.

‘We’d better go back – I think Snorkel’s had a decent enough run,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I have a hell of a lot to do next week, so—’

Two firm hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her round. ‘Whoa, whoa. Sssh.’

‘What are you doing?’ She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held on tight, silver eyes searing into hers.

‘Calm down, Ellen – sssh. Let it go.’

‘What are you talking about? I feel fine. I feel fantastic. That was fucking fantastic!’

‘Let it go. Believe me, I know. You have to.’

‘What
are
you talking about?’

‘I get like this, and I’m sure as hell not getting into a car with you when you’re like it.’

‘Then walk home.’ She jerked back, almost dislocating her shoulders as he held on tight. ‘What d’you think I’m going to do? Drive off a precipice?’

‘Probably. You’ve got to let it go, Ellen.’

‘Let
what
go?’

He just stared at her, his face twisted with the effort of hanging on.

As the adrenaline and endorphins and lactic acid drained away, Ellen stopped wrestling and took a lot of deep breaths, deliberately calming herself, hating him for robbing her of the high.

Then it hit her like a wall. The pain. It hit her so hard that she almost fell over.

Sliding down to her knees, she put her head into her hands and sobbed.

He sat down beside her while she wept, pulling at the long grasses and looking out at the valley, saying nothing, not touching her or offering sympathy. She was grateful. It was embarrassing enough having Snorkel trying to dry every tear with a sloppy pink tongue, a kind paw on her knee and a little whine constantly playing a violin sonata in her throat.

Eventually Ellen dared to look across at him through the streaming tears, watching his curls dance in the wind and studying the creases beside his eyes where he was squinting into the sun. ‘How did you know?’

‘I just did.’ He didn’t look round. ‘You’ve been like an unexploded bomb all weekend.’

‘Is this what they call a controlled explosion, then?’ she bawled, covering her mouth because the sound of her sobs embarrassed her.

He half smiled and looked down as he pulled another grass stem.

‘I hate you for this.’ She wiped her nose on the back of her wrist, fighting against the rattling hiccups that were bubbling up through her chest.

‘Oh, you’ll forgive me soon enough – just as you’ll forgive him eventually.’

‘Him?’

‘Richard.’

She pressed her wet face to the inside of her arms and took a deep breath. ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’

‘In thirteen years?’

‘I’m not bitter – I’m just mourning. It’s a relief.’

They watched crows rising from a nearby crop like ambush helicopters from a desert haze.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Our love died in infancy. It’s been like living with a corpse.’ Ellen let one eye follow the crows until they blurred into specks.

Beside her, Spurs didn’t move. ‘They say the first day you cry is the first day you can begin to forget.’

‘Who says?’

‘Some shitty book I read in prison.’

A snotty, impatient snort flew from her nostrils before she could really take this in. ‘Did you cry a lot in prison?’

‘Only because the books were so shitty.’

They stared out at the valley, watching stormclouds gather on the hills like grey armies preparing for battle.

‘I cried a few times,’ he conceded eventually.

‘Ever cried over a woman?’

‘No.’

‘So you don’t know at all how I feel.’ Ellen lifted her face from her sleeve and studied his profile, hating its perfection.

‘I’ve mourned a boy.’

She smiled sadly, dipping her head back into the damp nooks of her elbows. She might have guessed. It was always the ones you least suspected and found most attractive.

‘Did you love him very much?’

‘Yes.’ He turned his face to her. ‘I’m not queer. We weren’t lovers. We were friends. But I did love him. My first big love, if you like.’

‘Like Richard.’

‘Well, we didn’t screw on a regular basis for thirteen years.’

She snorted, half laughing and half sobbing. ‘Neither did Richard and I.’

He scratched his nose with a blade of grass, eyes jumping from point to point on the horizon.

Ellen lifted her head and propped it on her wrists. ‘We grew up together and we shared a passion – but it was never really for each other. We evolved this odd life that only we understood – working through winter, playing through summer. And we like each other – we can talk all night.’

‘Just not screw?’

She tilted her head. ‘Oh, we had our fair share. I’m only thinking of the last couple of years when it was birthdays and Christmas, and we both had to be pissed to do it.’

She didn’t see his eyes press carriage return on her face.

‘Why did you stay together so long?’

‘We relied on each other. We had the same job and loved the same sports. My parents hated him, which gave me a reason to prove it could work. Besides, we
wanted
to make it work. We’re best friends. We’re – we
were
like a little self-contained unit, a camper-van couple who only needed a small backpack and each other. And we did
need
each other.’ She thought about it afresh, her analysis clumsy with the post-mortem of renewal. ‘I was the brave one who made things happen, he was the sensible one who always made sure we had cash, a home and decent jobs.’

‘I could use his number right now.’

‘Me too.’ Ellen laughed tearfully. ‘He’s in Australia.’

He pressed his chin to his shoulder as he turned to look at her. ‘Long way to go to get away from you.’

‘He wanted me to go too. It was an ultimatum.’

‘But you’re still here.’

‘I’m still here.’ She nodded, eyes sliding towards his. ‘Turned out he was braver than me all along.’

‘I doubt that.’

Ouch, ouch, ouch! Ellen fought to pull away from the silver A and E gaze that was mugging her eyes, ripping Richard from her head and replacing him with big electric defibrillator jolts to her heart.

She shook her head repeatedly. ‘Our loopy little life suited me. It had no ties.’

‘Except to each other?’ He kept her eyes trapped. ‘You never tied the knot.’

‘I was always hopeless at knots. It’s why I never took up sailing or mountaineering.’

‘They’re easy to tie when you’re frightened you’ll lose something.’

‘Like horses?’

‘Like horses. I always tie them up very carefully.’

They were pattering again, and Ellen was grateful. Her chest and eyes hurt, and she was ashamed and angry with herself. Her magnificent, spiralling flight down the valley seemed petty and attention-seeking now. The emergency landing had been a crashing fall after all.

She looked down at her scratched, grass-stained legs and tattered clothes. If yesterday in the garden had turned her into a swamp monster, this morning’s escapades had dragged her from the primordial soup and pulled her through a hedge backwards.

‘You’re not seeing me at my best,’ she apologised.

‘Does that matter?’

‘I guess not. Most bomb-disposal experts don’t admire the casing before they defuse the detonator.’

‘You have fantastic casing.’

She rubbed the sticky sweat from her eyebrows.

‘Come and meet my cousin.’ He stood up. ‘I want him to admire your casing.’

They drove into the village of Upper Springlode, one of the tiny limpets that clung to the flank of the dinosaur crest, a scattering of old, honey-coloured houses divided by sheep-filled paddocks and windswept woods. They turned into a bumpy, potholed drive and stopped by a cluster of ramshackle farm buildings. Several droopy-lipped horses peered out at them suspiciously from mismatched stables as they jumped out of the jeep. A transistor radio was blaring the latest manufactured-band hit from an open doorway.

‘Bloody hell – he’s teaching.’ Spurs was looking across at a sand square behind a rusting horsebox. In its centre a grumpy, good-looking youth was watching a fat middle-aged woman bouncing around with no stirrups on an equally fat cob. ‘That must be a first. Rory!’ he called.

The youth looked up, then called to his pupil, ‘Carry on trotting, Ann. Won’t be a tick.

‘What d’you want?’ he asked suspiciously, when he joined them.

‘Jumps.’ Spurs patted him on the back. ‘Rory – this is Ellen.’

‘’Lo.’ Rory reached straight into Spurs’ rear pocket, pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. He gave Ellen little more than a passing nod, although she was staring at him in amazement.

He was a Spurs in miniature. The resemblance was uncanny – the same eyes, mouth, nose and high cheekbones. Rory was finer and lighter than his cousin – the hair blond and straight, the freckles like gold dust and his frame narrower. Yet the similarity was eerie. ‘How many d’you want and how long for?’ he was asking Spurs. His voice also held the unmistakable Belling drawl. Or was that Constantine?

‘A couple – just today.’

‘Sundays are my busiest teaching day.’

‘Aw, c’mon. Ann there hardly looks ready to try her luck over the sticks.’

They all watched red-faced Ann as she bounced past, big bottom crashing unevenly on the saddle.

‘I have other pupils.’ Rory shrugged, then called to Ann, ‘Terrific! He’s really tracking up.’