How to Measure a Cow (26 page)

That was when she walked out of his garden.

Tara found herself thinking of Nancy Armstrong surprisingly often. She’d get sudden little images of the woman, close-ups of her creased, sullen face, so rarely lit up by any laughter or pleasure, and yet behind it was a lively enough mind, even if it had little to work on. Tara’s fear was that she might have become a Nancy Armstrong. Hadn’t she, after all, tried to become her, or someone like her? Someone who knew how to measure a cow? Who kept herself to herself, but who was strong, self-sufficient, in need of nobody’s pity? But I am, Tara decided, I am in need all the time of, if not pity, empathy. I want people to understand how I feel, what I want, and nobody does. Why she’d ever for one moment thought Nancy Armstrong might do so was laughable. Nancy didn’t
want to
know
people. She was a practical woman. Her whole way of life was not to be involved with anything as messy as emotional needs.

Her stuff was still up there, in Cumbria, kept safe by some organisation whose name she couldn’t remember but she had the inventory somewhere, the list of what had been taken from the car wreck and what she’d already moved to the rented house in Waterloo Road. Nothing of value, really. She could just tell them to bin the lot. It would be good to leave Barney’s place, as she soon must, unencumbered with possessions. To have nothing would be a good thing – but there, she was doing it again, persuading herself that
to have nothing and no one was a good thing
. She knew perfectly well that this was not true. Hadn’t she tried this, going off up to a town she’d never heard of, living in a place with no ties or memories or meaning for her? And it hadn’t worked. She’d felt no happier, no more settled, nowhere nearer to finding her ‘true self’. In fact, she didn’t think she had a ‘true self’. She made herself up all the time, as she always had done. It was exhausting.

‘You told me I could call any time,’ Tara said, ‘so I’m calling.’

The voice at the other end of the phone was silent for a moment. Then: ‘It’s more than a year,’ the voice said, ‘and I’m afraid we are having to make cuts which means we have to be strict about rules.’

‘I was told “any time”,’ Tara said. ‘I need help. I don’t know where else to turn. I’m suicidal.’

(She wasn’t but she knew she had to sound desperate, and she was expert at that.)

The appointment was at nine in the morning. She made sure she looked as pathetic as possible, which wasn’t too difficult when she already had dark circles under her eyes and hadn’t washed her hair for ten days, so that it looked greasy and lank. Her clothes were on the edge of being bag-lady, a look which had taken some care to achieve. She hoped it would be the same Woman she’d seen before, in Workington, but it was a stranger, another Woman, which was a bad start. This one looked older, and harassed. She sighed a lot as she shuffled papers.

‘You were doing so well,’ she sighed. ‘One of our success stories, we thought.’

‘The car crash wasn’t my fault,’ Tara said.

‘No, of course not, but it wasn’t ours either.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Tara asked, in a tone of voice sharper than she’d intended. The Woman was looking at her strangely, as though trying to decide something. She stared back, trying not to look defiant. Defiance was on the verge of aggressive – and being aggressive, she’d learned, towards anyone in authority was not a clever move.

‘What exactly is it that you want from us?’ the Woman asked.

‘Help,’ said Tara, ‘like before. I want to move south. Well, I already have done, but I mean for good. And I need help, somewhere to live, a job, another new name and everything that goes with it.’

The Woman shook her head and smiled. Her smile, in Tara’s opinion, was smug. ‘We can’t do that again,’ she said, ‘it’s policy, in cases like yours. If you want to change your name again, you’ll have to do the necessary yourself. I’m sorry, but there it is. It
took a lot of work, you know, setting you up a year ago.’

Tara went on sitting there. The Woman looked at her watch, looked at the clock on the wall, and began to get up from her chair.

‘I might kill again,’ Tara said.

The Woman sat down again. ‘Now really,’ she said, ‘there’s no need to be dramatic.’

‘I’m not being dramatic,’ Tara said. ‘I feel as if I could.’

‘I’ll refer you to someone,’ the Woman said, but she didn’t seem alarmed.

Tara had hoped she would be. Someone threatening to kill someone, anyone, should surely cause a fair degree of alarm. Maybe she should weep. She tried to, but for once no tears came on demand.

‘Wait here,’ the Woman said. ‘I’ll make a few phone calls and I’ll be back with a name and number.’

Leaving the building twenty minutes later Tara tore the piece of paper with the name and number of a therapist into tiny pieces and stuffed them in her pocket. Then she rang Claire.

‘I need help, Claire,’ she said, making her voice shaky. ‘I don’t know what to do. No one will help me to get a new life again. That’s all I want, just to start again properly this time.’

There was a silence, which was not promising.

‘Claire?’ she said again. ‘Can I come to you, just for advice? I have to leave Barney’s place tomorrow. There are tenants coming in. I won’t stay.’

She shouldn’t have added that bit, but it proved effective.

‘Of course, sweetie,’ Claire said. ‘Ring me from the station and I’ll pick you up. How long will you be, do you think?’

‘About an hour and a half,’ Tara said.

It was enough time for Claire to make a plan. The first part of this plan was to get Molly and Liz over as quickly as possible. She could not handle Tara on her own. She didn’t like to admit this, but it was true. There was Dan to consider. He’d be livid if Tara was in the house again when he came home and though she wasn’t exactly afraid of his anger she didn’t want to have to deal with it. But neither Molly nor Liz responded to her SOS – that’s what she told them it was – in the way that she’d hoped. Molly pleaded engagements with two of the charitable organisations she worked for, which she couldn’t cancel at short notice, and Liz wasn’t feeling very well.

‘What kind of not very well?’ Claire asked.

‘Every sort,’ Liz said. ‘I’d be no use. I’d just be sitting there feeling awful.’

Claire wouldn’t accept this as an excuse. Liz, she said, could surely manage to come for half an hour. ‘I need you,’ said Claire. ‘I need you, and Molly.’

In the end they both came, though Molly was constantly looking at her watch from the moment she arrived, and Liz immediately collapsed on to the sofa and closed her eyes.

‘Right,’ said Claire, ‘what can we do for Tara?’

‘
For
Tara?’ Liz said. ‘We’ve done enough for her. It’s more a question of what to do
about
her.’

‘All right,’ said Claire, ‘what, then?’

‘Just be generally supportive,’ said Molly.

‘And how do we do that?’ said Liz.

‘Well, just by trying to be understanding,’ Molly replied.

‘But,’ said Liz, ‘that’s the point. Do we understand her? Do we believe her version of events, all that stuff she told us at the reunion? Do we believe that smart, clever, cunning Tara never sussed Tom out long before she said she did? And the murder. A bit extreme, no, a bit beyond understanding?’

‘It happened,’ Claire murmured.

‘Oh, it happened,’ said Liz, ‘but my point is, we can’t understand it, so “trying to be understanding” is a waste of time. We either accept Tara as she is, and help in practical ways, seeing her occasionally but not getting involved again, or we decide enough is enough, and make no effort to keep in touch.’

‘But we’re her oldest friends,’ Claire said, ‘we can’t desert her.’

‘We can,’ Liz said.

‘But we won’t,’ said Molly, ‘not completely.’

They were sitting in silence when Tara arrived, still wearing the deliberately dreary clothes she’d worn for the interview.

Liz sighed.

‘What’s this?’ she said. ‘Little Orphan Annie day?’

‘Yes,’ said Tara, ‘but it had no effect. They won’t help me, except to send me to one of their tame therapists.’ She slumped on to the floor, back to the sofa, where Liz was still lying.

‘And what did you ask them for?’ Molly said.

‘Basic needs,’ Tara said.

‘But, Tara,’ Claire said, ‘you’ve got enough money for basic needs, you told us you had.’

‘Not for living in London, without a job.’

‘London?’ Claire said. ‘You’re going back to London, after …’

‘Yes, after,’ Tara said. ‘It was a mistake to leave. I’m going back to the old me.’

‘With some refinements, I hope,’ Liz said.

‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘I was wild and impetuous, I didn’t think things through, but I do now. I’m totally reformed.’

Nobody said anything. Eventually, Molly, rather nervously, said she really, really would have to go. She got up and gathered her things, dropping her scarf as she picked up her bag, and then her bag as she tried to wrap her scarf round her neck with one hand. ‘Oh, help!’ she said.

‘Molly,’ Tara said, ‘can I come and stay with you whenever I need to?’

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ Molly said, and there was a quick embrace before she rushed out, flustered. Slowly, Liz levered herself up.

‘I’d better try to get home before I completely collapse,’ she said.

‘Can I come and visit soon?’ Tara said.

‘Soon? How soon?’ Liz said.

‘That’s so like you, Liz, really welcoming.’

‘I
am
welcoming, when I’m ready to be welcoming,’ Liz said, not at all put out.

‘So I need to give you notice?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Liz. ‘Lots of notice, then I’ll think about it.’

Left with Claire, Tara sighed heavily. She watched Claire gathering up the coffee things they’d used.

‘Mrs Neat and Tidy,’ Tara said.

Claire said nothing, just completed filling the tray and disappeared with it to the kitchen. Tara waited. Back she came, standing in the doorway looking at her. ‘Tara,’ she said, then stopped.

‘Yes?’ said Tara. ‘You were going to say?’

Claire shook her head.

‘Thought better of it?’ said Tara. ‘Very wise. That’s what I’m going to do in the future, think before I speak. Claire, can I stay the night here, tonight? I don’t feel like going to Barney’s place. I’ll pack up there tomorrow and go I know not where.’ She laughed at that last bit and said, ‘Oh, God, hark at me.’

Slowly, Claire came and sat down beside her. ‘Tara,’ she said, ‘Dan will be home in an hour or so, and I’m afraid he – that is, there might be a problem. I mean, of course you can stay, but he’s not going to welcome you, let’s put it that way, and—’

‘Let’s not,’ said Tara. ‘Let’s face it. Dan hates me, always has done. He thinks I’m a bad influence. Well, maybe I have been, though you’re much too secure for me to have had much effect. If you want me to go, because Dan won’t like me staying, fine, I’ll go. Nothing more important than abiding by a husband’s wishes. Is there? I always abided by Tom’s, until I didn’t. I didn’t even realise I
was
abiding by his wishes. It took me ages. I thought I just wanted to do what he wanted to do, I thought we were in perfect agreement. Making Tom happy, pleased with me, was all that mattered. And then, so slowly, I started to notice that I was doing what Tom wanted to avoid disappointing him. Little things at first. Choice of restaurants, that kind of trivial thing. And then bigger disagreements, like where we’d go on holiday. He
liked big, flash hotels in Spain and France and I didn’t. He liked sitting by pools, drinking, having sessions in the spa, and I wanted to explore and really see a country.’

‘Well,’ said Claire, hesitantly, ‘that sort of argument is normal, isn’t it, between married couples? I mean, Dan and I—’

‘Oh,’ said Tara, ‘Dan and you … there’s no comparison. You don’t get what I’m on about, Claire. You didn’t know Tom. You didn’t know how any challenge to his will enraged him. As long as I was docile and adoring and admiring, he was fine. But I couldn’t keep it up.’ She smiled, enjoying Claire’s confusion, put on her thin jacket, and gave Claire a peck on the cheek. ‘I’m off,’ she said.

‘This is awful,’ Claire said. ‘I didn’t mean … I don’t want you to think … Oh, I should never have said what I did …’

‘I know the feeling,’ Tara said, and left.

Barney’s place was soon packed up. Next morning, Tara loaded her bags into the second-hand car she’d bought at the local garage, and set off slowly to London. She was pleased that though the traffic was heavy, her confidence seemed undiminished by what had happened. This car had automatic gears, so she didn’t have to use her still-painful left leg, now out of plaster but stiff. She was going back. It was the only thing to do.

‘Have you heard from her?’ Claire asked Molly.

‘Yes,’ said Molly, ‘I’m shocked. The idea of it. What was she thinking of?’

‘Well, it makes a kind of sense,’ Liz said, ‘facing up to things, that sort of attitude. And it’s where she was happy, well, happy for a long time.’

‘But, Liz,’ Claire said, ‘she can’t go back to that happiness. She wrecked it.’

‘No,’ said Liz, ‘
he
wrecked it, as I understand it.’

‘She’ll never have got a flat there, or even a room,’ Molly said. ‘That area is phenomenally expensive now. She wouldn’t even be able to park – she hasn’t got a permit.’

‘Oh, stop it, Molly,’ said Liz, ‘this is Tara we’re talking about. She’ll find ways and means, you’ll see.’

They hadn’t met for a while. Liz’s not-feeling-well had proved to be a virus from which she’d only just properly recovered, and Molly’s youngest had come home suffering from chickenpox and needing her tender loving care. They were all uneasy, none of them having heard from Tara since they’d seen her at Claire’s a month ago. The mobile phone number they had for her was no longer in use, so they had to wait for her to contact them, as she surely would. They were all expecting to be surprised. But then, when Tara did text them, they were disappointed
not
to be surprised. The information given in their texts was brief and to the point: ‘Studio flat found in old house. Job serving in a pharmacy starts tomorrow.’ Not much to analyse there.