Second Hand Jane (38 page)

Marian frowned
and shook her head in that way of hers that spoke volumes and as
they wound their way around the hedgerow lanes, Jess sent up a
silent prayer for today to go well. She might well be approaching
her mid-thirties but that didn’t mean she didn’t still need her
Mum’s approval.

Brianna’s Golf
Estate bounced up the driveway, hitting every puddle along the way,
and Jess made a mental note to pop it through the car wash before
she returned it. Glenariff came into view and did her proud by
looking every inch the storybook farm cottage with its lime-washed
walls nestling against a backdrop of green.

“Oh, Jess, it’s
lovely. I feel like we’ve just driven in to the pages of a Beatrix
Potter book.” Marian dropped her defences as she clapped her hands
delightedly. “Oh and look, there’s even ducks!”

As if on cue,
Jemima and her cronies had picked that moment to come waddling
around the side of the cottage for a dip in the pond.

“
Actually, Mum, they are not ducks—they are
geese and watch the mean-looking one in the middle. She’s
the
ir
ringleader. I call
her Jemima, and I wouldn’t trust her so far as I could throw her
and believe me, I’d like to.”

Marian laughed.
“Jemima Puddle Duck? You loved that book when you were a little
girl. Come to think of it, you loved anything by Beatrix Potter but
then you moved on to fairies and Enid Blyton. Do you remember all
that hoo-ha over Noddy and Big Ears?”

Jess wasn’t
listening; she was busy leaning over into the back seat. “Here you
go, Mum. You might want to take your heels off and put these on.
They’ll save your shoes.” Jess handed her a pair of blue plastic
wellies. Cheap and cheerful but they’d do for the day.

“I will not
wear gumboots!” Marian looked at them aghast before climbing out of
the car. She stood and smoothed her trouser suit down before
squelching straight into a pothole-filled puddle.

Oh dear—Jess
would have giggled if she wasn’t wound so tight—they were not off
to a good start. With lemony lips, Marian took the proffered boots
and sat back down to change into them just as Owen appeared in the
doorway. Waving over, he pushed his sock-clad feet into his own set
of boots and strode forth to greet them.

As he
approached, Jess’s tummy did that strange flip-floppy thing it
always did when she saw him. He looked so ruggedly handsome; she’d
never known a man who could carry off cords and a woolly jumper the
way he did. She watched amazed as his face broke into a welcoming
grin before he took her startled mother by both hands and kissed
her on the cheek.

“Welcome to
Glenariff Farm. It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Baré.” He took a step
back, still holding her hands in his as he studied her face.
“Jessica, you told me it was your mother who was coming, not your
sister.”

It might have
been a line as old as the nearby hills of the Mourne Mountains but
it worked and the lemon lips disappeared, to be replaced by a
flirtatious smile along with a bat of the eyelashes.

“It’s lovely to
meet you too, Owen, and thank you for inviting us up for the
day.”

“Come on, don’t
be standing about in the cold.” Owen took Marian by the elbow and
gently steered her around the potholes and into the waiting
house.

Jess lingered
behind for a moment, not quite believing what she had just
witnessed. Surely that charming chap who had just wooed her mother
couldn’t be the taciturn farmer she was fairly sure she had fallen
head over heels with? As Marian disappeared into the warmth of the
cottage, Owen looked back over his shoulder at her and winked
before mouthing, “Told you so.”

It was easy for
Jess to tell her mother was impressed by the cottage as Owen
ushered her around by the way in which she held her back straight
as she peered at the various furnishings, recognising them for the
quality pieces they were. She lingered over the photos on the
mantelpiece before picking one up and asking, “Is this your sister,
Owen?”

With her nerves
jangling as to what his reaction would be, Jess went and stood
beside him in silent support but he simply nodded, bemused as
Marian continued to stare intently at it.

“What a
beautiful, beautiful girl,” she said finally. “Jessica’s told me so
much about her, you know, and of course I’ve heard all about the
wonderful article she put together for her newspaper.” Marian put
the photo back before looking up at him with watery eyes. Then
resting her hand on his arm, she murmured, “Such a tragedy, young
man; my heart goes out to you and your family.”

“Aye, well
thank you, Marian—it’s alright if I call you that, isn’t it?”

She nodded.
“Yes, please do.”

She was such a
phony! Jess stared at her mother in disbelief—not once since she
had arrived in Ireland had she asked about Amy nor had she shown
any interest in the piece she had written. All she had been
concerned about was the fact that Owen must be some kind of
depressive because of it all and made non-stop snide remarks about
his career choice.

Marian’s nose
twitched and her smile was warm as the unshed tears quickly
evaporated. “Now tell me, Owen, what is that wonderful smell?”

“I hope you’re
both hungry because I have made a pie that could feed the five
hundred, so I have.” His eyes twinkled, enjoying his role of the
benevolent farmer.

Jess felt so
edgy she didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing. She trooped
behind him and her mother into the kitchen, feeling like she was
going to the gallows. The trusty Aga was putting out the heat and
true to his word, a steaming casserole dish topped with a dense
golden pastry sat in the middle of the table alongside a bowl of
salad and a cob loaf. Her mother looked as if she was in love as
Owen pulled a chair out for her and asked her what her preference
was. “White or red?”

Hoping it would
help take the edge off, Jess opted for a glass of red, which she
downed in next to no time while Owen dished up the pie. It was as
she’d known it would be, delicious, and she managed a few bites
while listening to the conversational banter bounce back and forth
between Owen and Marian. Her hand froze, a piece of bread mid-way
to her mouth, as without warning Marian moved from the innocuous
swapping of pie recipes to the business at hand. Helping herself to
a second serving of salad, she began drilling Owen about the
farm.

Jess put the bread down, knowing it would
taste like sawdust to her now and sitting back in her chair, she
clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her nails digging into her
palms as Owen explained to Marian how long the farm had been in his
family and what being able to keep it going by free-farming the
pigs meant to him. It was money that talked where Marian was
concerned and his familial, free-range sentiments would score no
brownie points with her, so Jess decided to knock the conversation
right off course. “Hey, Mum, did I tell you that Owen was a very
successful commercial law solicitor in London for years?” She
didn’t need to add
not just a pig farmer
because it lay thick on the air and on the tip of her
tongue.

Marian shot her
daughter a peculiar look but Jess didn’t notice nor did she
register Owen’s furrowed brows.

“No, you didn’t
tell me that. It wasn’t for you then, Owen?”

Jess wasn’t
going to give him the chance to open his mouth again just yet and
waving her hand airily, she said, “Oh, he needed a career break,
that’s all. London’s London—it will always be there.” Pushing her
chair back, she stood up to clear her plate. With a glance at her
mother’s stunned face, she was satisfied she had successfully sold
Owen’s earning capabilities to her. He was, she had implied with
her clever phrasing, a “professional” who chose to masquerade as a
farmer for the time being. Plate in hand, she gestured toward the
garden and suggested they head outside to see Wilbur.

“Aye, that’s a
good idea, Jess. Marian, do you want to come with us or would you
like to stay here in the warm?”

Jess crossed a
finger behind her back but there was no contest where Marian was
concerned—another cup of coffee in a cosy kitchen or traipsing
across muddy fields in order to see some pigs?

Jess virtually
skipped along behind Owen as he led the way to the barn. It felt
like months, not just a few days, since they had last been alone
together and she couldn’t wait for some one on one time with him
and to see Wilbur, of course. If he didn’t slow down, though, she’d
need a rest, not a snog fest, by the time they got to the barn.
Crikey, he was setting one heck of a pace as he cut across the
mushy paddock. She smiled to herself, thinking he was obviously as
keen as she was to be away from the eagle-eyed Marian.

As he heaved
open the barn door, she finally managed to catch up to him. In her
eagerness to see Wilbur, though, she pushed past him and made her
way down the barn, passing the sow and her piglet housed in the
stall next to where Wilbur’s box was. Where were all the other
piglets? she wondered briefly but then seeing the heat lamp had
been turned off and that the box was empty, her eyes flailed round
the barn bewilderedly. As her gaze settled back on the fat sow
lying on her side, hungry piglet suckling greedily at her, an
understanding suddenly dawned. That piglet was Wilbur. She looked
over to where Owen was still standing in the doorway for
confirmation and he nodded.

Jess wandered
closer to the stall but not too close because she didn’t want to
disturb the little family and she stood silently watching the
wondrous scene. He had made it—Wilbur was out of the danger zone;
just look at him being nursed by his mother! Before long, he’d be
up to size and joining his siblings foraging outside in the
paddock. It was a beautiful sight, watching him bond with his Mummy
like that and she wanted to share it with Owen but he still hadn’t
moved. She looked across at him, intending to beckon him over but
the look on his face stopped her and with a sense of trepidation,
she left the happy scene to find out what was wrong.

“Are you okay?
I know Mum can be hard work with her airs and graces but you just
have to take her with a pinch of salt. Don’t let her get to
you.”

“It’s not your
mother who has the problem, Jess—it’s you.”

“What do you
mean?” Jess looked up at him, puzzled, and reaching out, she
touched his arm for reassurance but he brushed her away, his
irritation palpable. Taking a step back, she looked up at him, her
face demanding to know what the problem was because she was damned
if she knew.

“What was all
that malarkey in there about me being a lawyer? I am a pig farmer,
Jess. It’s what I do and it’s what I love. I won’t apologise to
anyone for my life because it’s a good one and it’s an honest
one.”

Jess opened her
mouth to protest but he shook his head and held up his hand to keep
her at arm’s length. “No, let me finish what I have to say. If you
can’t accept me for who I am, how do you expect your mother to?
Jaysus, Jess, the reason I left London in the first place was to
get away from people who were so caught up in worrying about what
others thought. It’s not for me, that kind of life, and I didn’t
think it was for you either but I have read you all wrong.”

“But I’m not
like…”

He didn’t stick
around to hear her explanation, flashing a look of disgust at her
before striding down the paddock away from the cottage and away
from her. By the set of his shoulders, Jess knew there was no point
in going after him. Besides, what would she say? What he had said
was true. She had been trying to make him out to be someone he no
longer was and if he were still that person, she probably wouldn’t
want to be with him anyway. So why had she done it? To keep her
bloody mother happy, that was why. She wanted him to be someone she
would approve of for once. As his figure grew smaller, she felt
sick with the realisation that he had trusted in her and despite
everything she had said about not hurting him, she had done exactly
that.

Jess used the
time it took her to squelch back across the field to the cottage to
get mad. As she stomped back into the kitchen, oblivious of the
trail of muddy footprints she was leaving behind her, Marian
demanded, “What’s happened, Jessica? You’ve got a face on you that
looks like a smacked bum and where’s Owen gotten to?” She looked
over Jess’s shoulder to the empty garden behind her.

“Come on, Mum.
Get your bag—we’re going.” Jess snatched up her own handbag and
headed back out the door.

“But where’s
Owen?” her mother asked again as she scurried out after her
daughter in her pop socks, pausing at the front entrance to climb
back into her wellies.

“He’s out
looking after his pigs, which is what he does for a living and if
you weren’t so damned well hoity-toity about people and their
professions, then he wouldn’t be so damned well pissed off at me!”
Jess stormed across the driveway toward the car, determined not to
cry and not waiting to hear her reply, just as Owen hadn’t waited
around to hear hers. She was oblivious of the fact that Jemima was
stealthily bringing up her rear, and she’d clambered inside the
car, slamming the door shut before the goose got the chance to
lunge and peck. So Jemima arched her long neck in Marian’s
direction instead and made a beeline for the older woman. She was
standing transfixed by the advancing goose, semi-defenceless in the
no-man’s-land between cottage and car.

Much splashing
in puddles, bad language, and hissing on both their parts ensued
along with bag waving as Marian tried to shoo the bird away until,
finally bedraggled but not beaten, she slid into the sanctuary of
the passenger seat.

Eying her
filthy pants with distaste, she tried to brush the worst of the mud
off, muttering, “Thanks for your help.” When no reply was
forthcoming, she looked across at her daughter. Registering her
mutinous expression, Marian wondered whether perhaps she might be
better off taking her chances with Jemima again.