The Nothing Girl (13 page)

I slept a little and was up early. My instinct was to stay in my room until Russell had gone out, but Thomas wasn’t having any of that.

‘
It’s your house,
’ he said, firmly. ‘
Get out there and mark your territory.
’

‘You want me to spray?’

‘
If you feel it’s necessary, but why not try a more conventional approach first? See how that works out. However, if you’re hell-bent on spraying then I’m right behind you. Figuratively speaking, you understand.
’

As he intended, my world lightened a little. He was right. If I was going to navigate my way safely through the rocky reefs of Francesca and Russell’s relationship, I wasn’t going to be able to do it from my bedroom.

I went downstairs to speak to Mrs Crisp. Kevin was just finishing his breakfast. He nodded a brief good morning, grabbed his mug, and departed.

I chose toast because it was quick and easy and I wanted to talk to Mrs Crisp. I wanted to ask her if she would teach me how to cook. It was all very well Thomas talking about staying and fighting, but I wanted to acquire skills that would enable me to live in the world I could see myself being evicted into before very long. I had a feeling Francesca would be back and Russell couldn’t say no for ever.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said when I asked her if she would teach me to cook. ‘What a good idea.’ If she had any idea why I wanted to learn, she kept it to herself.

‘I did … cooking at school,’ I said, trying to show willing. ‘But I wasn’t very good.’

‘That’s no problem,’ she said, briskly. ‘We’ll start with the basics. How about I show you how to poach an egg? To put on your toast.’

Right now?

‘Um, yes, all right,’ I said, losing my nerve now we were about to start.

Thomas chuckled.

‘Stop that,’ I said. ‘Or you’ll be the one eating it.’

He sighed. ‘
I’m a horse. We don’t eat eggs.
’

‘You ate my Easter egg last year.’

‘
That doesn’t count. Pay attention, 007.
’

There followed pans of water, salt, eggs, simmering, and then she laid a perfectly poached egg on my toast and said, ‘Your turn.’

There followed a period of activity and anxiety and then we threw the pan away. The poached egg was still in it.

‘
What happened?
’ asked Thomas, as we made our way up the lane to get some fresh air and recover a little.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I did everything exactly as Mrs Crisp did, but the egg just wouldn’t come out of the pan.’

‘
Yes. I’ve never seen an egg spot-weld itself to a pan before.
’

I shook my head, depressed at my failure.

‘
It was funny, though. I think my favourite bit was when she seized the pan with both hands and shook it and the yolk went up the wall.
’

I tried to keep a straight face.

Up on the moors, I sat on a wide flat rock by the stream and watched Thomas run.

He thundered effortlessly up the hill, mane and tail flying, kicking up his heels for the sheer joy of living. I watched his muscles bunch and stretch as he lengthened his stride and galloped along the crest of the hill, a dark silhouette against the blue sky, encapsulating all the grace and power and beauty and freedom I would never know.

While he was gone, I bent over the water and looked for fish. The water was brown but clear. I could see all the way down to the stony bed. There were no fish that I could see.

I thought about the last few days, blinking back tears. No, I wasn’t going to cry. That wouldn’t help at all.

Thomas reappeared, jumping the stream in one fluid moment. For a moment he was a perfect arc above the water and time stood still. Then he was beside me, blowing in my hair.

I was envious.

‘
Well,
’ he said. ‘
Maybe one day you’ll be galloping across the moors, too.
’ But I’d rather stopped believing things people were telling me.

‘
Don’t.
’

‘Don’t what?’

‘
Don’t stop believing. Ever. Without belief, there is no hope. And without hope, there is nothing. Always believe and then you’ll always have hope.
’

I stood on tiptoe and gently kissed his nose.

‘Shall we get back, or do you want to turn a few somersaults?’

‘
Hey, that would be good, wouldn’t it? Imagine the world of show jumping if horses learned to do the Fosbury Flop.
’

I couldn’t help laughing.

We made our way back down the lane, laughing and pushing each other and generally messing about. I was feeling so good that I completely forgot I was married. Until I walked into the kitchen and saw my husband sitting at the table. He was finishing his breakfast. Mrs Crisp was tidying away. The egg yolk was off the wall.

I stopped dead, feeling the laughter drain away. I nodded formally. ‘Good morning,’ although it was probably afternoon by now, and walked through into the living room. He followed me in.

‘Have you got a minute?’

I had more minutes than anyone I knew.

He looked better. Still a bit shell-shocked, but definitely better.

Feeling the need of a business-like setting and the reassurance of my own laptop, I sat at the table by the window. Perhaps he felt the same because he pulled out a chair opposite, pushed aside a mass of unpaid bills, and placed a small package on the table, saying awkwardly, ‘I meant to give this to you at our wedding, but I never got the opportunity. Please – open it.’

The paper was crinkled and there were great lumps of creased sticky tape all over it. He’d wrapped it himself. He’d overdone the tape so it was a bit of a struggle to get into it, but I persevered.

A small watch nestled inside a little black velvet bag. Tiny diamonds glinted around the face and the bracelet was delicately wrought. It looked old and it wasn’t in a jeweller’s presentation box. I looked at him.

‘It was my mother’s. You have pretty hands. I thought it would look nice. Try it on.’

I slipped it over my wrist and it fitted perfectly. I twisted my wrist backwards and forwards, watching light play on the tiny diamonds. It had been his mother’s. And he’d given it to me.

‘It’s … beautiful. Thank you.’

He took my hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

It was a simple apology, quietly made and meant far more to me than the overwrought utterances of the night before.

‘Are we friends again?’

I nodded.

‘No divorce?’

I shook my head.

He said, quietly, ‘Good,’ then cleared his throat and got up from the table to look out of the window.

Fortunately, the telephone rang. I heard Mrs Crisp answer it. After a moment, she tapped on the door.

‘Do you know where your car is?’

‘Oh Lord, no. I can’t even remember where I left it.’

‘Well, I don’t know where it was, but I know where it is now. That was Miss Bauer. She’s sitting in her office and has just watched your car being towed down the High Street.’

He was galvanised into action. Saving your marriage was all very well, but this was his Land Rover. ‘What?’

‘She’s still on the phone if you want her.’

He grabbed the receiver. ‘Tanya? When? Where? Shit. On my way. Mrs C., can you get me a taxi please?’

She went out. He grabbed his jacket.

‘Jenny, I’ve got to rush. It’s Friday and I bet they’re closed over the weekend. I’ll see you later.’

A door slammed and the room was full of the lack of Russell Checkland.

‘
So, still married, then?
’

‘It would seem so.’

‘
Good or bad?
’

‘God knows.’

‘
Let’s have a look at the watch. Actually, it’s very pretty. Looks nice on you.
’

I twisted my wrist again.

‘
Interesting. He’s had it for years and never given it to Francesca. An idiot, but not a complete idiot.
’

‘Can we not talk about Francesca for a bit?’

‘
Good idea. What’s for lunch?
’

He turned up about four hours later, tense and sulky and with a large red mark on his cheek. I could tell by the way he was standing that he was still pretty tightly wound. He said nothing for a moment, and then took a deep breath.

I raised an eyebrow. A reluctant grin stretched his face. You had to hand it to him – he did have a sense of humour.

‘She hit me.’

‘Who?’ I asked in bewilderment. Surely not Mrs Pargeter, our last, best hope against motorcar mayhem.

‘Tanya. I called in to thank her. The least I could do. And if I’d been able to get a word in edgeways, I would have. She no sooner clapped eyes on me than she launched herself from behind her desk, yelled at me in German for about ten minutes, and then thumped me. These Germans really fetch a wallop, you know. Apparently, if I don’t pull my stockings up (I’m sure she meant socks), anyway, if I don’t pull up some item of hosiery then she’s going to sort me out properly. She really is the most terrifying woman. I take my hat off to Andrew. Stop laughing. You are my wife and the companion of my bosom and I really expect more from you than giggling at my misfortunes. I’m in pain, you know.’

‘
Probably best not to mention that’s two women who’ve hit him in the space of three days. It only needs you to have a go and he’s got the hat-trick.
’

‘And it cost me about four times more than she’s worth to get the damn thing back again, as well.

‘Who, Tanya?’

‘No, my car, of course. Concentrate, Jenny.’

‘Sorry.’

He sighed. ‘Shall we have something to eat and a quiet night in? Pretend we’re a normal couple?’

I nodded.

Mrs Crisp regarded the bruise with an expert eye.

‘Do you want some steak?’

‘For internal or external application?’

She just smiled.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

She smiled again, eyes not quite as unfocused as they usually were at this time of day.

‘Dinner is served, Mrs Checkland.’

We sat down to our first meal as husband and wife. Russell kept up a constant flow of chatter, almost as if he was trying to keep something at bay with a wall of words. Finally, he drew breath.

‘It occurs to me I have amends to make. Would you like to do something nice tomorrow? Shall we go out somewhere? Where would you like to go?’

‘
Rushby,
’ said Thomas instantly. ‘
Let’s go and see the sea.
’

‘I’d like to go to the … coast,’ I said. ‘Can we go to Rushby?’

‘Excellent idea. We’ll have a wander along the beach, see if anything interesting has been washed up – a new roof would be good – fish and chips for lunch, have a go on the funicular railway, and, if you like, stop somewhere nice on the way back to eat. Good suggestion, wife. Feel free to make more whenever you feel like it.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, and the sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. He grinned.

His phone rang.

Everyone knew who it was.

He scrabbled in his pocket, dragged it out, looked at the screen, frowned, and put it away again, saying curtly, ‘Voicemail.’

‘
Well,
’ said Thomas. ‘
I’m not happy that she rang, but thrilled he didn’t answer it.
’

‘Not now, anyway.’

‘
No, really. That must be the first time ever that he’s not taken a call from her. Imagine what’s going through what passes for her mind. And we have a trip out tomorrow. I like Rushby. I can do my
Chariots of Fire
thing along the beach. Have you ever seen it? It’s very impressive.
’

‘Seriously?’

‘
Yes, why not?
’

‘It’s a good job you’re invisible.’

‘
What’s that supposed to mean?
’

We set off the next morning. Thomas and I were still discussing his
Chariots of Fire
performance.

‘
I’m so excited,
’ he said, as we climbed into Russell’s recently rescued Land Rover.

‘Me too.’

Shame we never got there.

We bucketed down narrow lanes, taking what Russell called ‘the scenic route’.

‘
He’s lost,
’ said Thomas. ‘
How did he manage that? It’s not difficult, for crying out loud. You drive west for twenty minutes until you get wet and then you stop because you’ve fallen into the sea. Tchah!
’

I was about to comment on ‘Tchah!’ when Russell, who’d coaxed a reasonable speed from his rust-bucket, slammed on the brakes. Landscape whirled past the windscreen and the seat-belt dug painfully. We fishtailed across the lane and skidded to a halt in a shower of gravel. I bounced against my seat, sat stunned for a moment, and then rubbed my shoulder and neck.

Thomas hadn’t moved.

Russell was halfway out of the door when he remembered he was married to his passenger.

‘Are you all right?’

I nodded. I could talk later.

He disappeared.

‘
What on earth …?
’ said Thomas.

I released my seat-belt, thanking God Russell was too poor for air bags. We were on the wrong side of the road but, by Russell’s standards, safely parked. I followed my galloping husband on slightly wobbly legs. He climbed over a gate and disappeared.

‘
Jenny, I’m so sorry. I think I may have encouraged you to marry a madman.
’

‘Yes, we’re going to be discussing this later. Oh.’

We reached a dilapidated gate, set in a straggly, sickly looking hedge.

On the other side was one of those awful, overgrazed fields you sometimes see from a train. An old railway truck slouched in the corner. There was no grass anywhere. After all the rain, everything was just a sea of mud.

For a moment, I could see nothing, but Russell was heading towards the back corner where a lump of mud moved and became a large dog.

No, not a dog. A very small donkey, now struggling to escape away from him. He walked slowly towards it and stopped a few yards away, talking softly. It was pitifully thin. Bones stuck out everywhere. There was absolutely no sign of food or water anywhere. The poor thing was so hungry it had chewed on the wooden rails. I could see lighter wood showing through.

I climbed over the gate.

The little donkey showed signs of panic, so I stood still and Russell moved away and went to investigate the old railway truck.