The Nothing Girl (19 page)

‘
What?
’

‘What?’

‘No, no, no, I didn’t mean it that way, my dear. I meant, we could all have gone down with something dreadful, thanks to that stupid old woman, and it was fortunate, although not for you, of course, that only one of us was affected.’

She regarded her half-drunk tea with suspicion, even though I’d made it, and seemed to struggle with herself.

‘Jenny, listen. I know you think – well, I don’t know what you think these days – but I worry about you. You have so little experience of life and you’re such a quiet little thing, and you’re so far away from us now and every time I see you you’re tired or ill or you’ve sustained some sort of injury. You don’t see it, but I do. So does your uncle. Please, please – no, don’t say anything – please just listen. I know your uncle spoke to you and now I’d like to add my little bit. If anything ever – happens – that worries or alarms you, please, please, just one phone call and your uncle will come and make everything right again. Do you understand what I’m saying, my dear? We’re so worried about you.’

I’d never seen her so agitated.

‘Don’t answer me now, Jenny, but please think about what I’ve said. There. I’ve said it. Now I must be going. Thank you for the tea.’

She got up.

‘
Well,
’ said Thomas. ‘
That was – unexpected. And a little unsettling. Now, let’s get her off the premises before the young master gets back and there’s another free and frank exchange of views.
’

Mrs Crisp reappeared again after Aunt Julia had gone.

‘I heard what she said. About me. It’s what everyone must be thinking …’

‘I’m not … thinking it. Nor is Russell. And it’s got … nothing to do with anyone else.’

‘Well, thank you for speaking up for me. I do appreciate your …’ Her face started to crinkle again. She sniffed. ‘Russell …’

‘… Can’t manage without you. You know that.’

She sighed.

So did I. This was going to be very hard work.

‘If Russell knew about … you know … Do you think I should tell him?’

‘No,’ I said, as firmly as I could, ‘No. It’s … done. Let it lie.’

She looked relieved.

I was slowing down with all this effort.

‘And obviously … no one’s ever going to hear it from … me.’ I tried not to sound bitter. ‘I don’t … know if you’ve … noticed, Mrs Crisp, but I’m … not a … Gabby Gertie … And I … don’t have anyone … to … gab … to.’

She began to cry again. That set me off. We pulled ourselves together. Noses were blown.

As she re-tied her apron with trembling fingers, I felt a huge stab of sympathy for her. She kept the whole place going. She was certainly the centre of Russell’s erratic orbit. She must feel she carried the world on her shoulders. No wonder she drank.

I couldn’t do anything about her memories, but I could help her face her future with more confidence. Just a few last words.

‘Please, Mrs Crisp. Don’t leave us.’

That was it. I put my hand on hers and suddenly realised I didn’t need words any more.

Mrs Crisp was obviously determined both of us should get back on the horse as soon as possible.

‘Omelette,’ she announced gesturing at eggs and another anxious-looking frying pan.

‘Well …’ I said, trying not to sound terror-stricken.

‘Watch me,’ she said, cracking, whisking, pouring, cooking, and serving. ‘There.’

I stared at the semi-circle of golden perfection on my plate.

‘Now you, Mrs Checkland.’

I cracked, mopped, tried again, whisked, poured, sucked my burn, prodded when I should have stirred, tipped a mass of yellow-grey worms onto a plate, and tried not to cry with frustration.

‘What can I smell?’ asked Russell, coming into the kitchen.

‘Omelette,’ I said sadly.

He picked up a fork, ignored my protests and tucked in. He said nothing until he’d finished, laid down the fork, and said, ‘Delicious.’

My heart swelled with gratitude.

‘
You should marry that man.
’

‘Really?’ I said to Russell. ‘You think it was OK?’

‘It was fine. A little more seasoning next time and it will be perfect. Can you do Shepherd’s Pie?’

‘For this I spent all those years at college,’ muttered Mrs Crisp, cleaning things away. ‘My slow roast lamb with garlic and rosemary is hailed across three continents and all he ever wants is Shepherd’s Pie.’

After all that, and just when I thought nothing else could happen to me – it did.

We were all set to go into town – to pick up Russell’s art stuff – when he announced a postponement.

‘Sorry and all that, Jenny, but there’s a problem with the feed bill. I’m going to have to sort it out with Charlie Daniels – God knows what he thinks he’s playing at – before we run out completely and have to start feeding the staff to Marilyn to save ourselves. Mrs Crisp, don’t worry, you’ll be the last to go. But, I’ll be finished by lunchtime, so we’ll nip into Rushford then, have a spot of lunch, and then off to the shop. How does that sound?’

‘Fine,’ I said, wondering if this was a genuine problem or just an excuse.

‘
Oh, I think it’s genuine. It’s not really in his nature to run away from things, is it? He’s more a “run full-tilt and argue them to death” kind of person, don’t you think? Anyway, let’s leave him to it and go for a walk.
’

‘Good idea,’ I said, and it was. Spring was springing all over the place, with bright green leaves exploding everywhere and exuberant birds cartwheeling across the sky, yelling their heads off.

‘
Let’s go the other way,
’ said Thomas, so, just for once, we walked down the lane towards the village. We turned at the bottom and began to skirt the inaccurately named Duck Pond.

‘
I’ve seen more duck down a coal mine,
’ muttered Thomas, but I was watching a group of boys bending over something – a sack? – on the ground, half in and half out of the water. One of them poked it with a stick and I thought I saw it move.

Before I knew it, I said, ‘Hey!’ and began to run.

One of them said, ‘Quick,’ and another one shouted, ‘Come on,’ and pulled his arm. I never saw which one of them did it, but the sack was suddenly sailing through the air to hit the water with a splash. It definitely moved again. There was something in it.

The boys scattered as I ran towards them, which was just as well because I had no idea what I would have done if they’d stood their ground. I ran splashily into the water, tripped over some branch hidden beneath the surface, fell forwards, caught my face on something, panicked and floundered in icy water that wasn’t quite deep enough to swim in.

My clutching fingers caught a corner of the sack just as it disappeared beneath the surface. Holding it high, I struggled back out again, tripping on unseen hazards, coughing and shaking because the water tasted awful and was freezing into the bargain. I dropped the sack on the ground and spat.

‘
Hope you haven’t got cholera,
’ said Thomas.

‘Where were you?’

‘
Making sure they didn’t come back.
’

‘Oh. Thank you.’

‘
My pleasure.
’

I began to pick at the knot with stiff, cold fingers.

Thomas shifted uneasily. ‘
I’m not sure …
’

‘I can’t leave whatever it is in there.’

‘
No, of course not, but it could be anything, so be careful.
’

I wasn’t listening. There was no movement at all from the sack and I feared I was too late.

‘
There’s a hole. Just rip it.
’

I poked a finger through the hole to make it bigger, grasped the edges, tugged away, and whatever was in there stirred into sudden life.

‘
Look out,
’ said Thomas, but it was too late.

I fell back onto my bottom with shock. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting – a litter of cute puppies or kittens maybe, but that wasn’t what I got. Now I was in real trouble. I had rescued THE CAT FROM HELL.

It was not happy. It was not happy at all.

It fought its way out of the hole I had made, accompanied by the worst smell of ammonia in the entire world. If it had had two eyes, they would have been blazing with fury. If it had had two ears they would have been laid back against its head as it crouched in full fighting mode, seeking what it might devour. If its fur hadn’t been plastered to its skinny body it would have been bristling like a toilet brush on steroids, but despite not having any of that it still managed to give a very strong impression of stark, staring, incandescent rage.

‘
Jenny, get back
’, said Thomas from several yards away.

I always feel sorry for wet cats. They look like drowned rats, all their dignity stripped away, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. Not this one however. Vulnerable was not in its vocabulary. Which was rich and varied as it roared and spat its way up and down the musical scale, hurling challenges to the universe and everything in it.

‘
Jenny,
’ said Thomas, again.

‘What are you doing all the way over there?’

‘
Protecting you.
’

‘By post?’

‘
I think you should move quietly away so he doesn’t think you’re a threat. All he probably wants to do is get away and lick himself clean.
’

I looked down at my wet hands. There were faint traces of blood. ‘I think he’s hurt.’

There was a slight pause.

‘
Jenny, the animal is unsafe and probably sick into the bargain. I forbid you to go anywhere near him.
’

‘But I think he’s hurt. And he seems to be missing an awful lot of body parts.’

‘
Maybe, but they didn’t just drop off in the last few minutes. You saved him, now come away before he attacks you.
’

I didn’t move. The cat and I looked at each other. He got up from battle-crouch and wobbled his way towards me.

‘
Look out – he’s attacking.
’

‘What is the matter with you?’

‘
It’s filthy and riddled with disease. Cats carry rabies, you know. And bovine TB. And anthrax.
’

‘No they don’t.’

‘
I bet you this one does.
’

‘He’s had a tough time,’ I said, quietly, looking at the scars, the bald patches, the tattered ear. This was not a cat who curled up happily in front of the fire every night. I stretched out a hand.

‘
Are you insane? You could lose your arm.
’

I was getting cross with him. He’d comforted Marilyn quickly enough and supported our efforts to steal her. Why not this cat?

‘
It’s not the same thing at all. Now come back home and get out of those wet clothes.
’

‘Good idea,’ I said, and gently stroked the cat, which produced a strange noise similar to Russell’s Land Rover when he missed third gear.

‘It’s purring,’ I said in delight.

‘
It’s preparing to rip your throat out.
’

‘He likes me. I’m going to take him home.’

‘
Jenny, I forbid you …
’

That did it. What was the matter with him? Determined to get my own way, I reached out very carefully and said to the cat, ‘I’m going to pick you up and put you inside my coat and then I’ll give you some milk and something to eat.’

‘
What are you doing?
’

‘Well, if I tell him what’s happening then he won’t be scared. And I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but I’m taking him home.’

‘
Russell won’t like it.
’

‘Russell can …’

‘
Yes?
’

Unable to think of anything I could do that would threaten Russell in any way, I ignored him. The cat showed no fear, continuing his rusty metal noise, so I picked him up and set off for home, with Thomas muttering to himself every inch of the way.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ I said, crossly. ‘I’m not listening.’

I hoped Russell would still be yelling at Mr Daniels, but he was crossing the yard. Of course he was.

I said to the cat, ‘This is Russell. He shouts a lot but he doesn’t mean any harm so don’t worry. I’m just going to cover you up now.’

‘
Now you’re in trouble.
’

What happened to ʻwe’?

‘Jenny, what’s happened?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re soaking wet and you’ve cut your cheek. I have to hand it to you, wife, I’ve only been gone half an hour. What’s in the jacket?’

Well, he’d stolen a donkey and I’d backed him up. Now it was his turn. I went to pull back my jacket, but the cat beat me to it and poked out a head like an outraged periscope, took one look at Russell, laid back its stumpy ear and hissed, long and hard.

Russell took a step backwards.

‘What the bloody hell is that?’

Off we went again.

‘It’s a cat.’

‘Jenny, put down the jacket and step away.’

‘No.’ I tightened my grip.

‘What?’

‘I said no, Russell. I can’t pull it out of the pond and then … just leave it.’

‘What pond?’

‘The Duck Pond. Some boys threw him in.’

‘What boys?’

‘The boys who threw him into the pond.’

‘And you pulled it out? You?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where were the boys while this was going on?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t looking. I was in the pond.’

‘There’s blood on you. Did it bite you?’

‘No, I fell over something.’

The cat spat at Russell again.

‘What’s the matter with it?’

‘Nothing. It just doesn’t like you.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because I’m cold and wet, and my face hurts, and he’s cold and wet and hurt and you’re just standing there yelling at the pair of us and if I could spit then I would too.’

Mrs Crisp pushed past him. ‘Russell, get out of the way. Come with me, Mrs Checkland. We’ll get you both dried off and you can have a cup of tea and he can have some milk.’

‘Mrs Crisp, you’re not taking that disease-ridden object into my house,’ he shouted after us.

I turned round. ‘That’s not very … nice. I’m your wife.’

‘I didn’t mean you. You know I didn’t mean you. Bloody hell, Jenny.’

‘Nice one, Mrs Checkland.’ said Mrs Crisp, quietly.

*      *      *