The Wild Boy and Queen Moon (19 page)

‘GO HOME, TONY.
I know where it is. It’ll be here tomorrow, I promise.’

What else could she say? She was committed now. It all had to be brought out into the open, whatever her mother thought.

Tony drove off, slightly puzzled but still more occupied with his momentous afternoon than with his material possessions, and Sandy waited for Ian. Her parents were out; she didn’t know where.

‘Oh, come on, come on!’ she moaned, hopping from one foot to the other. All her moody thoughts were now swamped by this new horror. If this was solved, she would be brilliantly happy. Nothing else mattered at all. Her conversation with Ian earlier was now going to prove useful: he was clued up and was going to help her. She didn’t think she could cope with it on her own any more.

She felt she had waited for an hour by the time he came down the drive, although in fact
it
was only ten minutes. She threw the news at him as soon as he was in earshot.

‘What shall we do?’

To her great relief, he did not shrug it off or try to belittle it.

‘That’s terrible!’

They tried to think that it might be someone else, but in their hearts they thought it highly unlikely. Sandy made a thorough search of the tackroom, under the rugs and in the cupboards, but the jacket did not come to light.

‘Let’s go over there,’ Ian said suddenly. ‘Talk to Josie. Before Mum and Dad come home.’

‘Oh yes!’

Anything to have it in the open, the miserable business solved. Sandy had a bike too, an ancient machine no-one would ever want to steal, which lived at the back of the haybarn. The quickest way to the Elizabethan tower was along the ancient driveway across the water-meadows. Grazed almost bare, it was flat and direct and perfect for bicycling. They set off purposefully, not saying anything. The sun had now disappeared behind the woody ridge above them and the only sound was of the rooks settling down in their rackety nests, ink blots against the orange sky. In half an hour it would be dark.

As they approached the tower, they saw the greenish light of a pressure lamp starring the kitchen window. Glynn’s Land Rover was parked
in
its usual place on the driveway that led up to the road. Sandy had been hoping Josie would be alone.

Ian said softly, ‘Let’s look in the Land Rover. If he took it and doesn’t want Josie to know, it might still be in there.’

Feeling like thieves themselves, they laid their bikes in the hedge and padded across the lawn to the Land Rover. There was nothing on the front seat. Ian climbed in the back, which was cluttered with tools, sacks, bits of timber and old diesel cans, and rooted around. Sandy couldn’t see in the dusk, but could hear her heart thumping uneasily as she waited. Without proof on their part, Glynn could talk himself out of it, after all. Perhaps it was all wrong, what they were doing.

‘Ian—’ she started.

‘Hush!’

He was backing out. He turned and lifted his legs over the tail-gate.

‘Here.’

He threw something heavy and smooth into her arms. It was the leather jacket.

‘It was under some sacks.’

It was a great relief, in spite of confirming her fears. Sandy could see that Ian felt the same, his chin lifting, his eyes sparking.

‘We’ll get him now.’

The satisfaction was momentary. Opening the
door
, going in with the leather jacket over Sandy’s arm, was dreadful.

Josie did not know the significance of it, but turned, smiling with surprise and welcome.

‘Why, Ian! Sandy! How lovely! What’s this in aid of?’

They hadn’t visited often, after all, and never together that Sandy could remember. Josie was sitting at the table, spooning boiled egg into Selina’s mouth which was poised, open, like a baby sparrow’s beak, as Josie spoke. Glynn was just pouring out two cups of tea from the teapot. The newly lit lamp hissed on the end of the table and the fraint fragrance of woodsmoke hung in the room. It was a happy domestic scene.

Neither Ian nor Sandy found they could say anything. Sandy found herself making a weak gesture with the jacket. She saw instantly that Glynn knew what was up, but Josie said cheerfully, ‘You’ve timed it well. Get another couple of mugs. There’s plenty of tea in the pot. How did the competition go, Sandy? Mum was telling me all about it. I hope you won!’

‘No fear,’ said Sandy blankly.

‘What’s wrong? No accidents, I hope?’

‘Oh, no. They all got round. It was OK.’

Josie looked blank suddenly, her welcome freezing.

‘What’s happened? Mum and Dad—?’

‘They’re OK. Fine.’

‘Look, Glynn. This is Anthony Speerwell’s.’

Ian took the jacket off Sandy and held it out.

‘He missed it. We came to look, and there – well, we thought it might be . . . in your Land Rover.’

‘Oh, God!’ said Josie.

Glynn grinned. ‘I didn’t think he’d miss it, the gear he’s got.’

‘Glynn! The saddles!’ Sandy cried out. ‘Polly and Henry –
they
couldn’t afford it!’

‘And Gertie’s savings!’ Ian said.

‘I
borrowed
Gertie’s savings,’ Glynn said. ‘I’m going to pay Gertie back, I swear I will! The others – well, the insurance pays—’

They all stood looking at each other, very tense.

‘You said you wouldn’t, ever again – you said, Glynn!’ Josie cried out in an agonized voice. ‘You promised!’

‘People leave things lying around—’

‘You came for Ian’s bike in the middle of the night, and unlocked the door. That’s not things lying about!’ Sandy shouted at him.

‘Oh, he didn’t!’ Josie said faintly. ‘You didn’t do that, Glynn?’

‘Well . . . look, we can talk about this,’ Glynn said. ‘Let’s sit down and talk about it.’

‘You’re not going to the police? You haven’t told them?’ Josie whispered.

‘No, we haven’t told anybody, not even Mum and Dad,’ Ian said.

‘But Mum knows, I’m sure of it.’ Sandy wanted Glynn to know – she
hated
him, standing there smiling, as if it were a joke.

‘She asked me,’ Josie said.

‘And what did you say to her?’ Glynn asked roughly. ‘You told her it was true, I suppose?’

‘I didn’t! I never knew, did I? I never guessed – well, I didn’t want to believe – perhaps—’

Sandy could see now that there was another side to Glynn, his natural exuberance tipping over into a bullying anger. He was a very large man, and Sandy had only seen him apparently gentle and smiling before. He now appeared extremely threatening.

The baby, Selina, sensing the atmosphere, started to cry. Josie lifted her out of her high chair and hugged her, hiding her face against the baby’s soft body. She turned away and went and stood by the window, looking out into the dusk. Glynn watched her, and seemed to visibly soften, anxiety and distress smothering the anger. He looked at Ian and shrugged.

‘Well, what are you going to do about it? Give him back his jacket – you can tell him where you found it. I don’t care.’

Ian didn’t know what to say. Sandy could see that there were no answers, in fact. She felt agonized for Josie, to whom it was more than just a few missing goods. It was Josie’s life, linked to this man.

She sat down at the table. It was awful.

Ian whispered to her, ‘I think we ought to go.

‘I’ll give the jacket back to Tony. I won’t tell him,’ Sandy said to Glynn. It was the most she could do. ‘But you said – you promise?’

‘I swear to you,’ Glynn said – the old Glynn, blond and bland and shining. His blue eyes were honest as the day.

There was a long silence. Sandy stood up and looked at Ian.

‘We’ll go,’ Ian said. He picked up the jacket.

Josie lifted her head. ‘Will you tell anyone?’

‘No. It’s up to you.’

‘Mum knows,’ Josie said. ‘You can talk to her.’ Her voice was a whisper.

Sandy couldn’t bear it. She blundered out of the door and into the garden, and Ian came after her. He put Tony’s jacket on and pulled his bike out of the hedge. Sandy picked up hers. They walked out and shut the gate and started home along the smooth carriageway. The sun had disappeared, but the sky was still orange over the ridge and the sky above a deep velvet blue. It was a beautiful evening but, deeply disturbed, they couldn’t see it. Sandy, trying to look on the bright side, said eventually, ‘At least it’s wonderful to know – stop guessing. Worrying.’ Pretty awful about who it was though.

‘Apart from Gertie’s savings – well, I suppose
pinching
things – it’s not all that dreadful.’

‘From your own family it’s pretty dreadful,’ Sandy couldn’t help saying.

‘It’s not violent. Just mean.’

‘Yes. Mean.’

How could he, Sandy wondered? Those treasured saddles. Ian’s bike.

‘We’ll tell Tony that Mum put the jacket in the house, for safety,’ she said.

They pedalled slowly home, not saying any more. The best thing, Sandy thought, was being in accord with Ian – the first time she had felt this for ages. She hadn’t realized how apart they had become. She would have hated to confront Glynn on her own, yet she couldn’t have let it ride, even if Ian hadn’t wanted to know. But he had been solid, dependable. She glanced at him sideways, in the dusk. It was true that he seemed suddenly older. Perhaps he would be all right now, if Gertie went away with Grandpa and their mother stopped getting so uptight. Perhaps everything wasn’t so awful after all. In the great scheme of things, Glynn being light-fingered wasn’t much to make a song and dance about.

She felt a lot better, thinking this. There was a wonderful smell of spring and the first stars were coming out over the sea.

‘There, Gertie, what do you think?’

Sandy opened the door into the living-room
of
the small cottage. She and Ian between them had papered the walls with a lovely paper – old-fashioned, with daisies all over it. It was their wedding present. Some of the corners were a bit uneven, but the pattern was so fussy the mistakes didn’t show much. It had taken them a whole weekend, Sandy pasting and Ian up the ladder. They hadn’t argued much and had found great satisfaction in the result.

‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Sandy thought it was, anyway.

‘Oh, my word, yes!’

Gertie stood there smiling. After all these weeks of sitting doing nothing, she had walked down the drive and up the lane to her cottage like a Trojan, as if her strength had been conserved. The boiler in the kitchen had been lit for a week and the place was inviting and homely, scrubbed and polished, the curtains all washed, the fire laid in the grate. They had never dreamed at Drakesend that it was really going to happen, but with the first spring sunshine Gertie had stirred out of hibernation.

‘It’ll be good to come home, dearie. So pretty you’ve made it! If your mother hadn’t needed me, I’d have been back long ago. But I didn’t want her to think I was ungrateful.’

Sandy gawped. Gertie went round touching all her furniture, putting her ornaments in the right position, smoothing the cushions.

‘Very nice. Very nice indeed.’

‘Do you want to stay? We’ve filled the pantry. It only needs bread and veg and things – we’ve thought of everything. Lots of tins and that. It’s all ready. I can go and get bread now if you like.’

‘Tomorrow, dear. I’ll come tomorrow.’

Would she? They walked home together. Gertie had a stick, but did not falter. She was smiling. When they got back to the farm she said, ‘I’ll go and pack my things,’ and went upstairs.

‘I’m not sure if I believe this,’ Mary Fielding said to Sandy.

‘She said she only stayed because you needed her.’

‘Oh!’

Sandy grinned.

Mary said, ‘It’s dreadful, how selfish we all are. How badly we’ve behaved over Gertie. I’m the worst.’

‘You did everything for her!’

‘But I resented it all the time! Everything that wasn’t her fault – Ian being so bloody-minded, the worry over Glynn and Josie – I snapped at her. I took it out on Gertie.’

‘Oh, Mum, she was pretty annoying! Never helping or anything. Hogging the television. Don’t be daft!’

‘It’s been a bad time, I suppose – Glynn . . . awful. All coming together.’

‘It’s all right now, surely? Josie says it’s all right.’

‘Josie’s a great one for dreams! But she’s strong. With luck she’ll make him see sense. We told her to wait when she fell in love, but no – she knew it all, didn’t she? Glynn wants everything too easy – the idea of a job, eight to five, always frightened him to death. But now – now he must buckle down.’

‘Oh, Mum! He will! Josie will make him!’

‘Yes. She’s strong. Let’s hope so.’

‘You’ve got the wedding to fix next!’

None of them quite knew what to think about the wedding, whether it was touching or potty or a big mistake. Gertie had been married before but she had no children. There was no-one, really, to suffer any repercussions whether it turned out well or badly. It was to be at Easter, and just about everybody in the county over the age of seventy was expecting an invitation. Grandpa was selling the family heirlooms to pay for it: a gold pocketwatch, his first wife’s pearl necklace, and an old picture of a horse lying down in a field, by George Morland. Sandy rather liked the horse, which had hung in the old study ever since she could remember, but no doubt the wedding would give more pleasure. The picture turned out to be quite valuable.

‘Quite a few thousand, would you believe!’

They all scrubbed round to see if there was anything else they might have overlooked, but no . . . only the furniture, which they used. It was
antique
and no doubt valuable, but it belonged there. It had always been there.

‘No shortcuts! We’ve just got to work for our dosh,’ Mary said with a sigh.

With Gertie and Grandpa going and all that work about to evaporate, she had arranged to use her spare time to make quiches for a local pub. She was a good cook and was quite excited about her new venture.

‘Perhaps Josie can come in too, and make some extra cash. Keep Glynn out of mischief.’

‘Will he be OK now? You’ve talked to him?’

‘They want a tractor driver up at Endway and he could do that – your father’s spoken to them and they say they’ll give him a trial. So that might work out.’