Paradise Fields (21 page)

‘OK. Oh, and Mum?'

‘What?'

‘Have you been holding out on me?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘With Jake? He's the one you took to Chill, isn't he? You never told me you'd got to know him.'

‘I'm not going to stand here talking to you through the bathroom door.'

Nel stomped off to her study and switched on her computer. A few games of FreeCell while she waited for the bath might calm her down. While it was booting up she concentrated very hard on not thinking about Jake. Away from his office he was so nice, such fun, so
incredibly sexy. In fact, if she cast her mind back, he'd been pretty sexy when she'd met him in his offices, too. He exuded sexiness from every pore. Not thinking about him seemed almost an impossible feat.

Her computer, operating at last, needed subtle adjustments before it would bring up her game. She knew she could have changed the default settings and got it to bring it up immediately, but somehow she'd never got round to it. Now, as she clicked and pressed keys, she realised that she was doing it on automatic and was really thinking about Jake. She dragged her mind away from his crinkly eyes, the way his wrists protruded from his shirt cuffs, the feel of his hands on her arms. She realised that since Saturday, if she wasn't thinking really hard about something else, she was thinking about him.

Fleur appeared, draped in white towelling. ‘You can have the bath now. It's nice and hot.'

‘Thanks. I'll just get this game out . . .'

‘And you've definitely been holding out on me. How come you know Jake?'

‘I met him at the solicitors when I went to tell them that the hospice owned the fields. It's such a pity they don't. Now they're going to be built on.'

‘We were talking about Jake.'

‘Well, you were, I was trying not to.'

‘First you go clubbing with him—'

‘That was pure chance! I was all set to go on my own.'

‘Then I come home and find you all cosy cosy in the kitchen.'

‘Not that cosy. He insisted on coming home with me from the meeting, which I didn't know he was going to be at—'

‘Grammar, Mum . . .'

‘In fact, he got in my car and refused to get out. There wasn't much I could do about it.'

‘It sounds like a load of excuses to me.'

‘The truth often does.'

‘Which is what I've always told you.'

‘Remind me, which one of us is the adult here?'

‘Me,' said Fleur. ‘You're refusing to answer perfectly reasonable questions about your boyfriend.'

‘He is not my boyfriend, Simon is!'

‘I'd dump that horrible Simon and go for Jake, if I were you.'

‘Simon is not horrible!' Nel protested. ‘He's very nice! He cleans out my gutters.'

‘Jake helped you with the cake.'

‘You helped me with the cake. You wouldn't clean out the gutters.'

‘You don't know Jake wouldn't. Anyway, you can't only go out with people who do DIY.'

‘That is the principal reason for me going out with anyone,' Nel explained. ‘After years of doing it myself, I'm on the lookout for someone who can put up shelves.'

‘I'm sure Jake could if he tried.'

‘Anyway, none of this is relevant. Jake isn't interested in me at all, he just felt bad about ruining my cake.'

‘So why did he ask you out, then?'

‘Out of politeness. He's very polite.' Nel didn't actually believe this, she just hoped Fleur would.

‘And getting in your car and refusing to get out doesn't sound remotely interested, either. Or polite.'

Fleur did sarcasm very well, thought Nel, considering she'd always tried to avoid it herself when talking to her children. She sighed.

‘And he did kiss you under the mistletoe,' persisted Fleur, sensing Nel's weakness.

‘I wish you wouldn't keep going on about that. It was weeks ago, and it was only Christmas spirit.'

‘So, what happened after he took you clubbing? Did you go back to his place?'

The role reversal was getting beyond a joke. This was becoming a serious interrogation. ‘I did spend the night with him, yes. But I got an early train home in the morning.'

‘I know you must have got a train home, what I want to know is what happened when you got back to his place.'

Nel decided to give Fleur the same line as she had Simon. ‘Oh, Fleur, we had mad passionate sex on his sofabed – what do you think happened?'

‘All right, I was only asking. Now you know what it feels like, getting the third degree.'

‘OK, I'll never ask you anything again, now go and get dry before you freeze to death. I'm going to get in your bath.'

Fleur's bath, even if it was full of toxic chemicals and bits of stick disguised as sandalwood, was a sensible place to end a long day. She really should turn her mind to the party tomorrow. And Simon, who
was
her boyfriend.

She pulled off her clothes and climbed into the water. As she sank her shoulders beneath it, she realised she wasn't thinking about either of those, she was still thinking about Jake. He had become the default setting of her mind.

THE NEXT DAY
began badly. There was a letter from the council saying that unless Nel could guarantee at least twenty stalls for every market they would not allow her to open. Thus she had to have letters from at least twenty potential stallholders, and ideally several dozen extra spare, undertaking to support the market and come every time.

She offered a brief prayer of thanks that at least she had made good progress in her search for a new home for the market, and then said to Fleur, ‘It's so unreasonable. These people lead busy lives, they can't be writing letters all the time! On the other hand, if we had that many stalls every time, it could turn into a nice little earner for the hospice.'

‘Jamie's coming down the weekend after next,' said Fleur, who wasn't listening.

‘That's nice,' replied her mother, wondering when ‘Please can me and (some nice little girl) have a sleepover?' became an announcement of a visit. ‘I'm looking forward to meeting him,' she added, deciding not to ask.

‘Mm. Would you smell this milk? I think it's off.'

‘Then I don't want to smell it. Give it to the dogs and see if this morning's has arrived yet.'

‘Mum! You know milk gives them diarrhoea! Mum – are you listening?'

‘No,' said Nel, who was fretting about the council's letter again. ‘It's the party today, and if I've got to visit every farm and smallholding I'm going to have my work cut out. If I don't get enough people, I won't get my grant, which I need for advertising, and publicity – stuff like that.' She switched on the kettle, and tried to refocus on her daughter. ‘Shall I do a special meal for Jamie on Friday night?'

‘You're going out on that Friday night. With Jake, remember?'

Nel sighed. ‘I was trying to forget.' It was a lie. She was trying to decide if she should cancel. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, it was that she couldn't square it with her conscience.

‘You're not engaged to Simon,' said Fleur, who knew her mother worryingly well.

‘You're not engaged to Jamie, but you wouldn't go out with anyone else.'

‘That's different. Simon's the only person you've been out with since Dad died. You should play the field a bit more before settling down again.'

‘Have you been talking to Viv?'

‘No, but I expect she'd say the same.'

‘I'm sure she would, that's why I thought you'd got together.' Nel felt a little calmer after her first sip of peppermint tea. ‘What about Saturday night? Or Sunday lunch?'

‘Thanks, Mum, that's a really nice idea, but we'll be going out on the Saturday, and he's got to leave by twelve on Sunday. He's got a lot of work to do.'

‘I won't have much opportunity to get to know him, then. Saturday lunch?'

‘Don't worry. You'll see him. What are you going to wear on Friday?'

‘Fleur! Some of us have more important things to do than to think about what to wear on a date that's over a week away!' But in spite of that, they still did think about it, she thought remorsefully.

‘Of course,' went on Fleur, ‘what you need for the market is a chef, someone to cook the products that are for sale. I saw something about it in a magazine at school. They have one at a farmers' market in Scotland.'

Nel considered this. ‘It is a good idea. But who could we get? I don't know any chefs.'

‘I bet Jake does. He's just the sort of bloke who would know all the young talent from London who are desperate to come down and turn some failing pub into a restaurant.'

‘I wish you wouldn't say bloke. It's so vulgar. How do you know so much about it, anyway?'

‘I told you. It was in a magazine. Anyway, can't stay here chatting. I've got to get to school. No chance of a lift, I don't suppose?'

Nel glanced at the clock. ‘Honey, at this time of day, you'd be quicker to walk. The traffic will be horrendous.'

‘That's all right, I don't mind being late. I'll just say we were caught up in the rush hour.'

Nel sighed. ‘OK, then, get the dogs in the car and I'll give them a quick walk in the woods afterwards. Then I can get on with the party. I wonder if I've still got that tea chest we used for a bran tub last time? Or did it get turned into a prop for
Jane Eyre
?'

‘Prop for
Jane Eyre
,' said Fleur. ‘Someone put their foot through it.'

‘That's all I need! Having to find a bran tub at this stage.'

‘Oh, just use a dustbin, Mum!'

‘Oh! Good idea. Now where's Villette? On my bed, I expect. You round up the other two, and I'll go and get her.'

‘Well, I think that went OK, don't you?' said Vivian. ‘The press all turned up and took photos.' She dried another glass.

Nel, who was washing up, ran a glass under the tap. ‘Yes, and we just about managed to convince them that it was always intended as a campaign to raise money for the roof, and not to save the fields.' She shook her head as she remembered how many lies she had told, in such quick succession.

‘Oh don't worry about things like that!' Viv was putting the glasses into boxes, ‘they wouldn't have remembered why they were there, anyway.' She carried a box of glasses over to a table. ‘It was a pity Jake couldn't come. Did he go back with you and help with the new cake?'

‘Yes. And Fleur did, too. She took a picture of it for her portfolio. I think she's thinking of doing a cake for her final piece. Edible art. Should go down well.'

‘Changing the subject?'

‘No, but I'm going to change this water. Viv, you don't know any chefs, do you? Fleur suggested we got one to come to the market to do a cookery demonstration and encourage the punters to buy stuff.'

‘Not off hand, but I'll have a think. You should ask Jake. He's bound to know of someone.'

‘Jake and I are not on those terms, and would you care to take a turn at washing now? My hands have gone all wrinkly.'

‘You should wear gloves.'

‘I would, but these have been here for ages and have gone all slimy.'

Vivian turned on the hot tap. ‘You know he'd be far better for you than Simon—'

‘Viv! Jake is not interested in me, and Simon is just fine. I'm of a certain age, I'm only going to attract a certain type of man now.'

‘Bollocks. Will you tell him that Jake helped you make a cake?'

‘If it comes up! But I'm not going to make a point of it. He'd think I was trying to make him jealous, and I'm too old to play games.'

‘No woman is ever too old to play that sort of game,' said Vivian firmly.' Anyway, what makes you think Jake isn't interested in you? He slept with you, didn't he?'

Nel shrieked, and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard. ‘That doesn't mean a thing! At least, not in the long term! It was a spur of the moment, spontaneous—'

‘Lovely?'

‘—action. It does not have long-term potential. Women like me do not go out with men like Jake. Understand?'

‘No.'

Nel sighed. ‘I'm a mother, I'm over forty, I'm overweight! Jake is younger, gorgeous and single. He could go out with anyone he likes. He's not going to pick frumpy old me. Now, can we please just drop the subject? It's making me depressed.'

‘OK. Your choice. But I think you're barking. So what are you up to now?'

‘I'm visiting all my potential stallholders tomorrow. I've got to make them write to the council and convince them they'll support the market regularly. If I don't have at least twenty, they won't let me do it. They are so damn cautious! If they let us start slowly, we'd get more people in time.'

‘And twenty is loads. We've never had more than about ten before.'

‘I know! I could probably do it if I was allowed crafts, but they're being a bit iffy. I don't know why. Gwen Salisbury – you know, the potter who produces all that lovely blue stuff – is a farmer's wife. And she's really local. I think I'll go in person and twist their arm on this one.' Nel dried her hands on a very wet tea towel. ‘I would have gone to see the planning officer, but that seems a bit pointless now. The fields are going to be built on. It's just a matter of who by.'

‘Shouldn't that be by whom?'

Nel shrugged. ‘I'm just the chief cake-maker – I don't do “whom”.'

Nel put Fleur firmly into the car the following morning, having decided to face the council as soon after nine o'clock as possible, before she could find a list of excuses not to go. She had spoken to Simon the night before and he had suggested he go with her, but Nel had declined his kind offer. If he went, he would do all the talking and her points and anxieties would not be expressed. It was slightly galling, she thought, that he wanted to be with her when she wanted to be alone, and yet when she was begging him to come clubbing with her, he refused.