Torn (48 page)

‘That was luck. Sash was mucking about with the phone … showing me. I was glad to come, to be able to help.'

‘Confession time. I didn't need the spade after all. I found one after I called. But it wasn't just the spade. I hardly knew what I did want but you seemed to. Thank you, Danny.'

‘Death is signif'cant. How can you respect life when you don't respect death? You need to mark it in some way. Even ancient man honoured the animals he hunted.'

‘Cave paintings?'

He nodded. ‘Seems like the more civ'lised we get the more we push death away, as if it's something dirty. Everything … life … is too sanitised. I guess there're loads of people who don't connect the piece of red flesh in a plastic wrapping they buy in the supermarket with an animal that lived and breathed and ran around.'

‘When I told James about Tubs … he wasn't unkind, but he had no idea what I needed from him. He didn't understand.'

Danny's expression tightened. ‘Doesn't s'prise me.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘For what?'

‘I know you don't like him … don't like me seeing him.'

‘Nothing to do with me, is it?' Danny stared towards the stove; flames leapt and danced behind the glass. ‘I don't dislike him. He's not a bad man. There's a lot worse. But … he treats the farm, like nothing more than a … business.'

‘That's what it is, isn't it?'

‘Farming? Yeah, it's a business. But it's so much more than that. You ought to love it, ought to feel this deep connection with the natural world. But he just looks at the bottom line … what's most efficient … what cuts costs. Sorry, I'm useless at explaining.'

‘Not true.'

Danny turned to her. ‘Are you in love with him?' The directness of the question, so unexpected, momentarily stunned her. He began to apologise. ‘I'm sorry. No business of mine. Wouldn't blame you. Actually, I admire him. To be so clever … to be able to put your thoughts into words so … clearly.' He shook his head as if mystified by such erudition. ‘Sometimes he challenges me about some of the things I believe in.'

‘James argues with everyone!'

‘He can just … run rings round me. It frustrates me to be so stupid.'

‘Being eloquent doesn't make him right.'

‘But if I can't express myself? If I can't explain my ideas –'

‘I'm not in love with him,' she interrupted and heard his indrawn breath.

‘Please don't lie to me, Jess.'

‘I would never lie to you.' Only a few inches separated their faces. ‘And believe me, you're not stupid. You're just different. Different and special. Oh, stop it!' she half laughed. ‘Don't look at me so closely! Now it's been confirmed there's nothing wrong with your eyesight I know you can see my wrinkles!'

‘No wrinkles,' he said. ‘Just freckles. I've always been able to see them.'

In the kitchen the washing machine came to the end of its tumble-dry programme; it was the second cycle she'd put the clothes through. There was little likelihood any further drying would be needed. Her waterproof, which Danny could borrow should he need to, was hanging by the door. And the scraped-off spade and sluiced down wellingtons awaited him on the mat. Not that she wanted him to go. What she wanted was to pull his arm around her, rest her head against his shoulder, and keep him here with her – just for the warmth and the comfort of it. The temptation to suggest he stayed was almost irresistible. Despite the allergens in the air, he wouldn't need persuading she suspected. It was almost a disappointment when Danny broke the spell.

‘I'd better go.'

‘I wish I could offer you a lift, but Rory … and the wine.'

‘It's cool.' He shrugged. ‘I biked it here, I'll bike it back. Don't suppose I'll be breathalysed.'

That night she hugged the pillow against her face and fought against the inexplicable impulse to weep.

It was raining again. As usual an unrelieved litany of death, disaster, and terrorist outrage filled the news broadcast on the car radio. The prospect of the day ahead in London – the familiar sights and sounds, the Knightsbridge shops, a good restaurant – was a welcome diversion. Just because she'd a toothbrush and a clean pair of knickers in her bag, it didn't mean stopping over was a foregone conclusion. And even if she and James did stay the night in town – which was probably only sensible – they needn't necessarily share a room.

She'd no doubt it would be a good hotel. An image of the room they might share floated into her mind. The king-sized bed, its crisp linen turned back, perhaps a Thornton's chocolate on each plump pillow. Then the bathroom with its huge fluffy towels and all enveloping robes. There'd be top-of-the-range toiletries in a basket by the ‘his and hers' basins, a Jacuzzi bath, a power shower. And the all-important touch – origami on the hanging end of the toilet roll.

Jessica was almost laughing as she walked into the farmhouse kitchen, only to be jolted out of her reverie by three strained faces. At first she thought it was a row. Danny was being told off for some misdemeanour. But it couldn't be about him bunking off for Tubs' funeral, surely? She'd spoken to him since then and his absence that afternoon had gone un-remarked.

‘Gilda can't help because she's got the children.' James said. ‘And I'm off to London as soon as Jessica – Ah, Jess, you're here!' The Warwicks were standing; James unusually elegant and formal in a dark suit. It even looked as if he'd had his hair cut. But it was Danny, sat on a chair between mother and son, who commanded her attention. No. This wasn't a telling off. He looked ill. His eyes, which seemed abnormally large in his blanched face, stared straight at her without seeming to register.

‘Whatever's happened?'

‘Daniel has had some bad news,' Gilda said. ‘Piers phoned James about half an hour ago from the hospital.'

James took up the story. ‘Their father was taken ill … he passed out yesterday morning. Helen phoned Piers with the news that Ted had been taken into their local hospital, but not to worry, it didn't look too serious. He'd come round and was sitting up, talking, having a joke even. Piers decided to drive down from London yesterday evening and assess the situation before contacting Daniel. The hospital was reassuring and as it was very late by the time Piers had spoken to the doctors, he decided not to call. But overnight … well, it looks like the fainting was a TIA – Transient Ischaemic Attack. In other words a mini stroke. It was followed overnight by a massive one. Or perhaps it was all the same stroke. Apparently strokes don't always complete straight away. Like a false dawn. It might not seem too catastrophic at first, but then it keeps on going.'

‘Oh, Danny! I'm so sorry! Your poor mother!'

Danny, still looking shell-shocked, said nothing, but above him James shook his head.

‘By this morning he'd slipped into unconsciousness. People do recover from a stroke …' An unspoken ‘but' hovered in the air.

‘I've got to go.' Danny's voice was hoarse and constricted. ‘I've got to be there.'

‘I can run you down there tomorrow,' James said, as if this was an offer which had been made before.

‘I've got to get there today. I'll get the bus to Cheltenham, then the train –'

‘Be sensible about this. It'll take you all day on public transport! You might as well wait till tomorrow. We can be back by lunch time, can't we, Jess?'

Jess listened to this last exchange bewildered. ‘Lunch time tomorrow? What are you talking about? We can't go to London with this hanging over Danny. Of course we must give him a lift.'

‘I can't Jess. I've got to get to London. By midday! It's important.'

‘But this is important! Can't you see that?' She was flabbergasted. To her it was obvious their trip had to be cancelled. ‘His mother will want all her children around her at a time like this.'

‘Mother? Jess, you don't understand!'

‘Too right I don't! It's a clear case of priorities. A dangerously ill man, Danny's father, against a fun day out in London? There's no contest!'

‘It's not as simple as that. I've a meeting I must make … it can't wait!'

‘OK. Go to your precious meeting if it's that crucial to you. I'll give you a lift, Danny.' She then turned to Gilda. ‘I'm sorry about this, but could you still pick Rory up for me? I'll collect him from you as soon as I can.'

Gilda was clearly surprised and unhappy with the way things were panning out. She looked to James. For permission, Jess wondered.

‘Well, I suppose so.'

‘Have you got an overnight bag, Danny? Make sure you've got your mobile phone with you in case your brother wants to get in touch. We can start straight away. How shall we go, pick up the A40 by-passing Gloucester? You'll have to direct me after we cross the river.'

While Danny went to fetch his things Jessica strode out to her car, double-checking her own phone was switched on. She'd been amusing Rory with its ringtones yesterday evening and had left it with him for a moment. He was quite capable of turning it off. Dropping her phone back inside, she dumped her bag on the passenger seat. It was hard to believe James' attitude. Danny might only be an employee, but James still had a responsibility towards him. Apart from showing him this common humanity, Danny was the brother of the man James called his best friend! What price friendship when weighed against something you'd rather do? She half sat on the driver's seat of her car and punched the town and county details into the Sat Nav. Unless Danny already knew the way, they'd just have to look out for signs to the hospital when they reached the outskirts.

At the approaching scrunch of feet on the flagstones Jess stood up. James looked serious, even pale, his mouth set in a straight hard line.

‘This meeting,' he began. ‘I don't think you understand. It really is vital I make it, Jess.'

‘So you say. But you don't need
me
there, do you?'

‘But I really hoped it might turn into a celebration.'

‘Celebration of what? I don't think
you
understand. I couldn't possibly enjoy a day out. I am only glad that in the absence of anyone else, I can help Danny.'

‘Jess, look, I might not have explained to you before, but I know you must have heard stories, rumours?'

‘About what?'

‘My financial difficulties.'

‘Only from Sheila. Given the way you live I've always found it rather hard to accept. Anyway, I'm sure the by-pass, plus the development possibilities which come on its heels, will soon ease any short-term tightening of your purse strings!'

‘Short-term? Huh!' He dipped his head, grabbing at his unusually tamed locks. Several seconds elapsed before he straightened, his hair now whipped up into a coxcomb. ‘It's been an ongoing nightmare ever since I took on the farm. Even Gilda's contribution, the proceeds of the sale of her own house, was only a temporary reprieve. For God's sake, don't say anything to her. She doesn't know just how deep a pit we're in.'

‘But what can I tell her? I've no idea of the details of your financial situation.'

‘Are you even interested? Do you want to know the truth?'

‘If you want to tell me.'

‘OK. This, dear Jessica, is the official, unexpurgated version. Horse's mouth, remember. I am teetering on the edge of fucking bankruptcy! All the roads, and housing schemes, service stations, and out of town fucking superstores in the world, won't save me unless I can get agreement for another rescheduling of my debts. Mortgage, overdraft, credit card. Today! Last chance saloon! If I can persuade my creditors to hold off for another … six months, say? … I truly believe I will make it. The by-pass goes ahead, Northwell's development envelope will be enlarged. I get the money for the road, and am able to sell off the surrounding land – with a premium on it. All your worst fears realised, of course, but I'm afraid they're bound to be realised whoever the landowner is. Still, if I get agreement today to reschedule, then I'll be laughing. Not all the way to the bank, but just safe and secure. And Sasha's future assured.'

‘I see. Thank you for being so frank. I hope it turns out all right for you.'

‘Look, I'll book Dan a taxi. Cost doesn't matter, but please come with me.'

‘Very generous, considering, but unnecessary. Anyway, it's not going to make a blind bit of difference to the outcome of your negotiations whether I'm with you in London or not, is it?'

‘But I wanted you with me. Either to crack open the champagne or to help me drown my sorrows. Jess …?' There was no doubt he meant it. And he wasn't just asking for her company, he was asking for her understanding and acceptance.

‘Even if it does turn into a celebration, and believe me, Jay, I do hope for your sake it does, I'm not going to feel too much like celebrating.' She shook her head as if in denial of the part of herself that was disappointed to miss the day out. But she could barely admit this to herself let alone to James. Her attention was drawn away to where Danny had reappeared around the corner of the barn, carrying his backpack. James saw the shift in focus and turned to see his employee's approach. Jessica lifted her bag from the passenger seat and threw it onto the back seat. ‘I'm sorry. You might want me there with you, but you don't need me. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone only too willing to answer your needs.'

His face tautened, mouth clamped. The reference to their conversation in Oxford about picking up hookers in hotel bars was unmistakable.

‘You don't believe in sheathing your claws do you, Jessica?'

It rained the whole way; the heavy pall of cloud unrelieved even by a lighter shade of grey, let alone any intimation of blue. She was scarcely aware of crossing the Severn and then was surprised by the gleaming bronze glimpses of it as they drove southwest through Westbury, Newnham, then Blakeney. The journey passed in total silence; Jessica's thoughts veering between the two men. Given the style in which he lived, she would never have imagined in a million years that James' finances could be in so parlous a state. But perhaps, when the degree of debt was so huge, it ceased to matter whether you bought your VSOP cognac by the crate, or tucked a couple of bottles of supermarket bargain Napoleon in your wire basket.