Torn (13 page)

‘I know,' he said directly to Jessica, ignoring his mother. ‘I thought the boy playing with Sash looked familiar.'

‘You already know each other?'

‘We met up on the Spine.' Though the explanation was addressed to Gilda, he continued to look at Jess. ‘I'm afraid I reprimanded Jessica for trespassing. I do apologise,' he added, without a trace of apology in expression or tone. Jessica considered telling him how difficult it had been getting Rory home that afternoon. Negotiating the steep, overgrown path, with a distressed three-year old who absolutely refused to walk had been no joke. Funny how an unhappy child was far more difficult to carry; becoming in its misery an awkward, lumpen, dead weight. Her back and shoulders had been stiff for days after the incident. Jess kept silent in deference to her hostess.

‘Oh you didn't!' Gilda said, blithely. ‘You are impossible, James! He can be like a bear with a sore head sometimes, Jessica, but his heart is in the right place. You know Jessica is brilliant with computers, James.'

‘Is she?'

‘The next time yours collapses …'

‘Crashes, Mother.'

‘You will have to phone Jessica. Perhaps she will know what to do?'

Jessica and James answered simultaneously. ‘I'm not really that good' and ‘I've already got a reliable computer doctor!'

Paying no attention, Gilda had begun to pour the tea. ‘Remind me? Do you take sugar, Jessica dear?' Jess declined. ‘And you, James?'

‘You should know the answer to that by now.'

‘I know you don't take sugar! I meant are you going to have a cup with us?'

‘I'll take it to the study.' As he walked out of the room Gilda shook her head despairingly.

Jessica took a sip of the tea. It was disappointingly weak and too fragrant for her taste – probably Earl Grey, she thought – and now only lukewarm. The door swung open and James reappeared. The fragile porcelain cup, delicately vibrating in its saucer, looked incongruous in his large square hand. He somehow didn't look like an Earl Grey kind of man.

‘Have you spoken to Sideshow Bob today, Mother?'

‘I wish you wouldn't insist on calling him by that ridiculous nickname!'

‘If you watched
The Simpsons
you'd understand.'

Jess, who did watch
The Simpsons
, instantly picked up the reference to a dreadlocked character in the cartoon. Her suspicion seemed confirmed.

‘It's incomprehensible to me why you like it. It's so crude. And those stupid yellow faces!' Gilda protested. ‘Anyway, in what sense do you mean spoken to? I'm sure I've not been impolite to the lad.'

‘I don't mean the “Good morning, how are you today?” kind of spoken to. Has he said anything about what I asked him to do? I just found him in the small barn making wooden hurdles of all things! Been at it for hours. That's when he's not been babysitting! I left him a note this morning. I wanted him to start clearing the ditches down on Lower Field. Says he didn't see the note. He may disagree, but I know we won't be lambing for several weeks yet. And when we do start we certainly don't need hand-crafted hurdles! This is a working farm, not a museum. There are better ways he can employ his time.'

‘James, you know I don't have that type of conversation with the lad. I'm not a farm manager! I have no idea what you want him to do.'

‘But he did come in for breakfast?'

‘I can't swear to it. I'm hardly around when he has breakfast.'

‘Did you see the note? I left it on the kitchen table.'

‘No, I did not! I would not have paid any attention if I had. Mrs Dowdeswell probably threw it away. Don't blame him. He's a sweet-natured boy; I don't suppose he would deliberately ignore an instruction.'

‘Maybe not, but if he's got to be told three times before he does anything then he's more trouble than he's worth!'

‘You are exaggerating as usual. I recall you saying how good he is with the animals.'

‘Even if looking after the sheep was all there was to do round here … which it isn't … he still doesn't follow instructions. I've told him time and again we have to keep proper records of what we've done, what we've got to do. An ongoing diary, plus, at the very least, a brief note of the condition of the individual ewes.'

‘He's a farm worker, not a secretary.'

‘Doesn't have to be fancy, or written in triplicate. I asked to see his records recently. He prevaricated for days. When he eventually produced a notebook I couldn't make head or tail of any of it. It's in different colours, quite neat in its way and artistically done, but in a kind of code … his own weird hieroglyphics … which I'd not the faintest clue how to decipher! If he's ill or away on holiday or something, and I have to bring someone else in, they've got to be able to understand what he has and hasn't done! I told him it wasn't good enough. He just looked mulish. Don't know if he's done anything about it. But I'm double-checking with him every day now, and making my own back-up notes, just in case.'

‘I agree that's not fair. You have plenty to do without duplicating his jobs.'

‘Don't I know it? Seems to be the story of my life. Getting a dog and barking myself. Just as well we don't actually need a sheep dog yet. Looks like Kit's going to be bloody useless! Mind you, it would help if Sideshow knew his left from his right. Can't expect the dog to, if he doesn't! Did I tell you I offered him driving lessons?'

‘Kit?'

‘No, not the dog, mother! Sideshow Bob! Not that I think he'd need that many, he's more than competent on the tractor. It would be a huge help to me to have him mobile, able to run messages like today, collect and deliver, take feed round on the road to the other fields and so on. You'd think it would be a real bonus for him, too. Thought he'd be grateful. But no. Turned me down flat. Says he's happy with the bike! Sadly, I'm coming to the conclusion that the picnic is definitely short of a few wasps …'

If the lad they were talking about was indeed the same lad Jess knew, then she could have provided the probable, environmentally sound reason why he didn't want driving lessons. But she'd had enough to deal with for one day without attempting an explanation of her acquaintance with Danny, an acquaintance which had started and apparently finished in less than twenty-four hours, at the turn of the year. And given the fact he hadn't phoned her it would be easier all round if she didn't meet him again.

‘… Piers implied as much, but at the time I wasn't paying proper attention. Didn't take on board what he was saying.'

‘So, what is he doing now?' Gilda asked.

‘No point starting on the ditches, it's getting dark.'

‘Yes, it is late.' Jessica glanced at her watch. ‘Thank you so much for the tea but perhaps I'd better think about getting Rory home.'

‘I'm sorry, Jessica! We are being so rude! You don't want to hear about our troubles with staff. You'll fetch Rory, won't you James?'

‘Well, I …'

‘I don't like to bother you,' Jessica demurred, at the same time fervently hoping he would.

‘It's no bother, is it, James? Better still you take Jessica to Rory then he won't need to come in, only to go out again.'

This was precisely what Jessica did not want. She watched a frowning James slide his socked feet back into the large, muddy Wellingtons, which stood in the porch. She slowly put on her own shoes and followed him outside. Approaching one of the smaller barns in the complex she could now hear the echoing squeals and laughter. James Warwick went in, Jess hovered just outside the door. A moment or two later he came out again.

‘Aren't you coming in?' he asked. What could she say? I get claustrophobic in barns? I prefer standing outside in the cold, dark gloaming? His raised eyebrows lifted another few millimetres as she tried to think of an excuse and failed.

Though there was electric light it was insufficient to properly illuminate the whole barn. The children were climbing a short ladder to a low loft then jumping a few feet down into hay. Rory's cheeks were scarlet, his laughter almost hysterical, as he plopped down onto the loosened bales and lay there spread-eagled. Danny was weaving split wands of hazel laterally onto a frame divided by vertical wooden struts. When completed it looked like a section of fence and he leant it – adding to the growing number – against the wall. From time to time he looked up at the children.

‘Rory! Your mother is here!' James said, in the absence of any utterance from her. Danny turned towards them; he straightened, eyes widening in recognition, but by no other gesture did he give away the fact that he knew her.

‘And … ugh … this is Si … Daniel,' James said, not bothering with the added nicety of introducing her to him. He'd probably forgotten her name already. Jessica smiled, a tight, non-committal smile in Danny's direction. He nodded back, but his expression didn't lighten.

‘Come on, kids. Time to finish, now!' James reiterated.

‘Mummy! This is fun!' Rory panted. ‘Watch me do it!'

‘I've seen, darling. Very clever but is it all right for them to be jumping into the hay? Don't you need it?'

‘Don't worry. It's not much of a drop. I put a few bales over there deliberately.'

‘Watch me again, Mummy!' Rory squawked.

‘Have you seen me do it, Daddy?' Sasha joined in.

‘Many times,' he said. He might seem gruff and impatient, but it was an indulgent father who knew his daughter would enjoy jumping into the hay and put some aside just for that purpose.

‘Keeps them off the stack, which could be dangerous.' His head jerked towards the shadowy end of the barn where the majority of bales were piled up. He raised his voice. ‘Come on, Sash!'

‘You go back to the house,' Jessica considered adding his name, James, then Mr Warwick, and briefly, with an inward smile, flirted with a respectful ‘sir'. ‘I'll wait a few minutes more with them, let them get it out of their system, then bring Sasha over before Rory and I leave.'

A brief ‘thanks' was all she got, and the man was gone.

As the children continued to scrabble up the ladder and leap the few feet down onto the hay Jess sidled over to Danny's side. His hair, a little longer than when she'd met him, looked rumpled and tufty, as if he'd slept awkwardly and not combed it since. But the blonde stubble was shorter than it had been.

‘How are you?'

‘Fine. And you?'

‘Fine. Thanks for looking after Rory. Was he good?'

‘No trouble. Apart from calling Sash “a dumb bitch”.'

‘Oh no! He didn't! What must you have thought?'

‘It was only once, when we were sledging. Only a short slope, near my …'

‘He's never sledged before! Thank you so much. That was really kind.'

‘The boss and his ma usually only ask posh kids round to play with Sasha, so I was a bit surprised. Sash wasn't giving him his fair share of goes. Now I know Rory's yours I understand.'

‘I'm not sure how to take that?'

‘Yeah, you do. You're posh, but Rory was exposed to some bad influences.'

‘The last part is certainly true. What did you say to him?'

‘Ignored it.'

‘Good. I've found if I react too strongly it only makes him worse. He's getting better … I hope.'

Though not openly hostile Danny's manner was cool towards her; he lapsed into silence as soon as he'd answered a question. But now she was here she wanted to talk to him and searched for something else to say.

‘I hope you didn't get into too much trouble?'

‘About?'

‘To quote James Warwick: babysitting and making hand-crafted hurdles instead of clearing ditches.'

‘He was going on about it in the house was he? Didn't know that's what he wanted me to do. Anyway, I've my eye on a couple of the ewes who've bagged up.'

‘Bagged up?'

‘Their udders have dropped and filled. We might need to pen them at short notice.'

‘You think they're going to lamb earlier than the rest?'

‘Yeah. Why are you interested?'

‘I'm not. I mean, I am, but …' Not that interested. It's just something to say, she thought. ‘You didn't phone me.' The last blurted from her mouth like a reproach, even though she'd told herself she didn't care, didn't want a relationship with a boy.

‘You gave me the wrong number,' he said. ‘I kept getting a solicitor's office in Warford. I thought it was deliberate, your way of brushing me off.'

‘Did you see that jump, Mummy?' squawked Rory.

‘Yes, darling. Very good. Of course it wasn't deliberate,' she continued; though quiet her tone was urgent, desperate to convince. ‘What was the number you entered?'

Instantly he quoted her number back to her, but concluded three four five.

‘No!' she said, relieved by this simple explanation. ‘You misremembered the sequence. Five four three!' This time she had a pen and after rummaging in her pocket, found an envelope with a shopping list on the tab side. On the address side she wrote her phone number in large, clear, unmistakable numerals. As she handed him the envelope he held onto her fingers. Unaccountably her breathing became constricted; suddenly dizzy she needed to drag her eyes away, to look elsewhere, anywhere, rather than continue to stare into his. Temporarily taking a break the two children lay side by side on their backs in the hay.

‘I know … shall we go and see if the chickens have made eggs?' Rory said to Sasha, conversationally.

‘All right.'

‘Mu-um, Sasha's got chickens! We looked before but they hadn't made any eggs yet. Come and see if the chickens have made the eggs now!' They slithered off the hay and ran, whooping, out of the barn.

‘In a minute,' Jessica called after their retreating backs.