Nearest Thing to Crazy (7 page)

When the market first opened it buzzed with enthusiastic punters, but now the novelty had worn off the custom was drifting away a bit. Signs sprouted along the hedgerows and at crossroads once a month to advertise the event. It was a real labour of love, the dispatching of signs. They sprang up, magically, like mushrooms a few days before the event, and then vanished as though foraged in the night. We had a mishmash of produce and craft-type stuff. Wooden bowls and breadboards, exotically flavoured home-made fudge, a couple of good meat stalls, a designer baker and, of course, lots of fruit, veg and eggs. And if all of that was just too exhausting, you could recover over a decent cup of proper coffee and a home-baked cupcake with corrugated frosting.
As I fiddled around laying out my gingham cover on my assigned trestle table and arranging my produce, despite all the little problems, and even the bigger ones that I managed not to think about, I felt a warm core of contentment deep inside of me. It was good to see all the locals and to catch up with what was going on in their lives. There was Beth, whose mum ran the village shop, who’d just had her new baby and had brought it along so that we could all bill and coo over it; Alex, the old boy whose wife had died a few months back and who limped down from his cottage with a bag full of giant cucumbers and juicy ripe tomatoes from his greenhouse; Jennifer, who used to clean for me but was now chief baker for the cake stall. I loved chatting to everyone, getting all the news and gossip and feeling a real part of our little community.

‘Boo!’ I felt a finger poke my back and a female giggle which I recognized. I turned around to find Amelia grinning at me. She was struggling under a stash of sourdough loaves.

‘Thank God you’re here. I need some eggs. How many have you got? Two dozen? I’ll take the lot. I’ve got a cake to make, pudding, breakfast for two days . . . How much? One-twenty a half dozen?’

‘You know I hate charging you. You can have them for seventy-five . . .’

‘Absolutely not. This is business. Ooh look, you’ve got some of last year’s plum chutney. William will be
thrilled.
You know how he says only yours cuts the mustard . . . Oh ha, listen to me . . . cuts the mustard.’

‘You’re in a good mood!’ I laughed. ‘And thanks again for lunch the other day.’

‘Not at all. It was lovely to see you. But I’m in a bit of a muck sweat. I’ve got William’s ancient godfather and carer staying for the weekend, together with some distant cousins who I barely know. I can’t be too churlish about it as I don’t suppose they’ve got too many more years left. I only hope they don’t die over the weekend, especially if I’m going to make a cake. Perhaps I’ll cheat and buy one from Jennifer, be much better than mine. God, I nearly forgot to ask, are you feeling better?’

‘Better?’

‘Yes. Ellie said you were feeling a bit low when you went on the garden tour, and that you didn’t feel like joining us on Thursday.’

‘Why? What happened on Thursday?’

‘The cinema. It was a real shame you couldn’t come, it would have done you good . . .’

‘Couldn’t come . . .?’ I said, vaguely.

‘We all went – well, all the girls, that is. It was really jolly. We missed you. Makes such a change going to the new theatre rather than that crappy old fleapit. We had decent drinks beforehand, and nibbles, and it was all rather fun. We’re going to do it again, and next time you really must try and come.’

‘Well, yes, I would love to . . .’ I didn’t really know what else to say. And what did she mean, I was feeling low? Amelia must have misunderstood Ellie. Unless Ellie had completely misinterpreted what I was saying about Dan and me. I couldn’t actually remember precisely what I’d said, but I don’t think I’d led her to believe I was low, not now. But I was a little surprised that she hadn’t asked me, especially after I’d taken her on the garden tour,
and
I’d left all those concerned messages, and the flowers.
All
the girls had gone? Which girls? Amelia continued, oblivious of my confusion.

‘Next time. And Ellie’s such good news, a really sweet girl. She said she loved the garden tour, but she was terribly concerned about you. I’ve been meaning to call you, but what with this weekend and everything I just haven’t had a minute. Are you sure you’re okay now?’

‘I’m fine. Absolutely fine. No need for her to be concerned. I
always
was
fine,’ I said, firmly.

‘That’s great. I’m so glad. Anyway, darling. I’ve got to run. God
. . . I’ve just had an awful thought . . . I hope they don’t drink sherry. Oh bloody hell, I’d better stop off at the Spar and see if they’ve got any of that ghastly Hardy’s stuff. Speak soon . . .’

‘Bye,’ I called after her. But I was left feeling deeply confused. What did she mean, I was feeling ‘low’? I tried to concentrate on pushing my lettuces and runner beans at the trickle of customers, but when I counted up my takings I’d only got a grand total of ten pounds and seventy pence. And I used all of that to purchase the lamb I’d promised myself. I’d been too distracted to focus on my sales patter.

When I got home the kitchen was deserted and so was the study. I felt I needed to talk to Dan, to sound him out, to see what he thought about this Ellie business. When he wasn’t preoccupied with his work he could be a sympathetic listener. Lots of my friends envied me the fact that Dan could be so ‘girlie’ when he chose to. I suppose it helped that he’d grown up with an elder sister, and that he had a daughter. And perhaps the fact that he worked in an industry that had needed to adapt itself to an increasingly significant female target market. Getting inside women’s heads was a part of his job description.

‘Dan?’ I called out. But the house seemed empty. It had that familiar slumbering quality that I often felt when I returned alone, as though it was shrugging off the inconvenience of our presence, settling back into itself and making almost imperceptible little sighs and creaks of contentment, stretching and relaxing like a host body free at last of its irritating little parasitical fleas and bugs. I went upstairs to the bathroom, keeping my footsteps light in deference to the mood of the house, past the open door of our bedroom and the bomb site of a bed that Dan had been the last to vacate. I made a mental note to tidy it up once I’d been to the loo. After I’d flushed, and rinsed my hands, I heard a dog barking. I looked out of the window and saw Dan by the woodshed, an axe dangling from his hand. Ellie was walking towards him, striding out with her long hair flowing in the wind. She had come from the direction of the footpath which ran along the fields between us and the Gales’ barn. Her cheeks were glowing and she was smiling. I took a step back instinctively, so that they couldn’t see me watching them. She kissed Dan on the cheek, and then placed her arm on his, and left it there for a moment. Dan ran his fingers through his hair as she talked. He said something and she laughed and then he gestured to the woodpile and shrugged. He leaned the axe next to the pile of logs and looked at his watch, and then put his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and rocked on his toes, as if he was thinking, and then he spoke again, his arms spreading in wide gestures which took in both her and the house, as though he were sweeping her towards it. She looked at her watch and she nodded. I could see her smile getting wider, and they both started walking back towards the house.

I flew into the bedroom and flung off my baggy jersey, exchanging it for one of my best cashmere V-necks, and dragged a brush through my hair. I could hear Ellie’s voice filtering up the stairs. And I could hear Dan’s dark-chocolate-coated baritone filling in the gaps. He sounded animated and engaged. The smell of coffee combined with cigarette smoke hit my nose as I pushed the kitchen door open.

‘Hi!’ I said. ‘What a lovely surprise!’

Ellie was leaning with her back to the Aga, in my favoured position, clutching the rail with one hand and holding a mug of coffee in the other. Dan was sitting at the head of the table, also drinking coffee, and stubbing out a cigarette. I noticed that Ellie’s terrier was sitting on his lap, its head resting comfortably on the table. We had never had a dog because Dan thinks they’re unhygienic, even though Laura had been desperate for one.

‘It’s so lovely to see you . . .’ She moved towards me, and as my lips almost met her cheeks I sensed her recoil slightly so that I was left kissing the air. ‘I was walking Coco along the footpath and didn’t realize it cut through the bottom of your garden.’

‘I’m just really glad you’re all right,’ I said. ‘I was really worried about you when you didn’t return my calls. I popped round but you were obviously busy. I feel awful now about taking you on the garden tour . . . that it might have been difficult for you . . .’

‘Difficult? Why would it have been difficult? I loved it. All those characters . . . It was huge fun, and great research material for me. I’m just one big sponge, soaking it all in. I knew I’d get loads of inspiration in a place like this.’

‘So you’re okay then, and the writing’s going well?’ I said.

‘Yes, really well thanks.’

‘I’ve just seen Amelia at the village market and she said you all had a lovely time at the cinema.’

‘On Thursday night. I’m really sorry you didn’t join us.’

‘I would have loved to, but I didn’t know about it.’

‘Oh no! You obviously didn’t get my messages. I just assumed you were busy.’

‘Messages?’

‘Yes. I left a couple on your mobile, saying give me a call if you wanted to come . . .’

‘I didn’t get any messages.’ Now I was even more confused.
‘Then you must have thought me very rude.’

‘Not at all. Just assumed you were busy. How stupid. I must have written your number down wrong – you’d better give it to me again. What a shame. It would have been great if you’d been there, and everyone missed you and wondered where you were.’

Written my number down wrong? But I’d written it down myself in her book, the inside cover of
Rebecca.
And what about the messages I’d left on
her
phone?

‘What’s this?’ Dan didn’t have a clue what we were talking about, nor could he have guessed at the subtext going on.

‘Ellie organized for a group of girls to go to the cinema on
Thursday night –’

‘. . . and it was such a pity you didn’t get the messages,’ she interrupted.

‘Perhaps you forgot to charge your phone again, sweetheart.’ He turned to Ellie, ‘She does that, often. It can be really difficult to get hold of her.’

I turned my face away from Dan to hide my frown. Having a go at me about my phone-charging habits was not helpful right now. And there was still the fact that she’d told the girls she was worried about me, that I was feeling ‘low’. I suppose it was possible that Amelia had misheard her.

I started to unpack the box of produce I’d brought back from the farmers’ market: a wilting pile of red and green oak-leaved lettuces and some fat broad beans.

‘God, did you grow those yourself? You’re so clever . . .’

‘I sell them at the village market. You should go – it’s the third
Saturday in the month.’

‘What a pity I missed it,’ she said. ‘I’d love to have bought some home-grown veg like this.’
‘I’ll get you a bag,’ I said. ‘You can take some home.’ A couple of earwigs escaped onto the table and the dog pricked up its ears, obviously hoping they might provide free-range elevenses. I scooped them into my hand and chucked them out of the open window. I think I caught Ellie shuddering, but she chatted on, gamely.

‘I was going stir crazy locked up in the house with just Coco and the computer for company. I felt I had to escape . . . and Dan sweetly asked me in, for coffee. I so love your house. I loved it from the outside, of course, but it’s got so much character inside. Dan’s been telling me all about how you found it.’ I glanced at Dan, and saw that his eyes were glued on Ellie, no doubt appreciating the aesthetics; the shampoo-ad hair, the short, peppermint green cotton dress, the little-girl sugar pink cardigan draped over her skinny shoulders and, of course, those long brown legs ending in the cool All Stars. She would have looked perfect on the cover of
Country Living
.

‘It was a complete wreck.’ I swept my eyes around the crumbling beams, the flaking plaster, the uneven flagstones. ‘Still is.’

‘I think it’s utterly charming,’ Ellie said.

Coco jumped down from Dan’s lap and came over to me to sniff my shoes. Both Ellie and Dan watched as my feet became the centre of attention.

There was an awkward silence which I felt I needed to fill. ‘Dan, they’ve put the new wood-burner in the village hall, ready for the whist drive next weekend. It’s all very smart. They’ve even got a club fender, and they’ve found one of those old wheeled laundry baskets for the logs. It’s all terribly chic.’
Dan snorted unkindly. ‘Village hall and chic . . . Hmm, bit of an oxymoron, I’m afraid –’

‘That sounds really sweet’ Ellie interrupted ‘What
is
a whist drive? It’s the kind of thing I remember maiden aunts used to talk about.’

‘Yes . . . what an enticing picture that conjures up,’ Dan sneered.

‘Well, to be honest, I don’t really know what it is either. But I just feel we’re lucky to have the hall, and we should support it.’

‘I’m all for supporting it if they put on something worth going to. So far we’ve had a Bridge and Scrabble night and a Promise Auction in aid of the local donkey sanctuary. Hardly a big pull for a Saturday night out. We’d ask you to come, Ellie, but it’s not quite Chelsea Arts Club, is it?’

‘If it means I have to dye my hair silver and don a printed frock and crocheted cardigan, then I’m game.’

‘Trust me, it’s really not your thing.’

‘I think you’re being unkind, Dan. At least they’re trying to get everyone involved to encourage a sense of community.’ It was almost as though he was showing off in front of Ellie, trying to be Mr Uber Cool.

‘Quite right. I intend to practise my pickling skills so that I get well and truly accepted in the village,’ Ellie said.

‘God preserve us,’ Dan sighed.

‘And our prize preserves . . .’ she quipped.