Torn (46 page)

‘I just wasn't prepared for how hard it would hit me … and for those first few days, even though I'm used to him not being around in the mornings, I felt utterly bereft. And this endless rain has done nothing to improve my spirits. And what with Tubs going missing as well!'

‘Your cat? I thought there was little love lost?'

‘That's what I thought. But every morning I've come downstairs hoping to see evidence that he's been in through the cat flap and had some food. And every morning, as I throw it all away and wash his plates then dish out fresh, something I've always hated doing in the past, there's a lump in my throat. Can you believe it? I really miss him, the smelly old, mangy old, shred-eared thing!'

‘I'm sure he'll be back.'

‘But he
is
an old boy. The vet thinks at least fifteen. Perhaps it's for the best if he's run off, or even if he's died somewhere. We'll be moving soon, if I can find a place I want. And Tubs is not a cat who appreciates change. He wouldn't even put up with moving next door.'

‘You really are buying a place? Perhaps you should wait a bit.'

‘Not with the by-pass decision coming ever closer.'

‘But that will take ages. Even if it is given the go ahead soon it will take many months, maybe years, before the work gets this far.'

‘But house prices won't necessarily stay static in the meantime. I've procrastinated long enough. Anyway, it looks like my flat sale is going through at long last. Even though I wasn't dependent on it to buy another place, I didn't fancy paying two mortgages for any length of time.'

She made no mention of her ex-partner turning up on her doorstep. Gilda's understanding of her past was sketchy at best and she'd no wish to go through lengthy explanations. How could she explain, before she'd sorted out her own feelings? She hadn't expected ever to feel pity for him, but surprisingly it was the primary emotion which had engulfed her as she'd watched him walk away.

Even though it had been a shock, and the emotions stirred up by Sean's visit had been muddy and ambivalent, she was pleased he'd come. Only a few days had passed but her attitude to moving house had shifted significantly. Before his visit, though she'd known it was a step she needed to take, she'd lacked the willpower. His visit made all the difference. All year she'd been waiting for the sale of her flat to complete, almost using it as an excuse for not committing herself to anything new. Perhaps the Greenwich flat had been a symbol of her old life. Now the final chapter of that previous life was coming to a close and she could move on practically and emotionally. Or was all this psycho-babble reminiscent of Sean's outpourings about ‘closure'?

‘So,' she said to Gilda, ‘It's “make my mind up” time. In fact I've already got some details. There's a town house in Warford, and I've a place to look at near Witcombe, another at Fairford, and one that looks like a real bargain at Mitcheldean.'

‘Where on earth is Mitcheldean?' asked Gilda.

‘The other side of the river.'

‘Oh, not the Forest of Dean! No one lives in the Forest!' By this she meant no one who is anyone, presumably.

‘It's not really
in
the Forest.'

‘But it's miles away! Can't you find somewhere local? We … I really don't want to lose you as a friend, Jessica!'

‘It's not that far. From the map it looks like the town is near the A40 … which could be a blessing or a curse.'

‘A curse my dear, a curse! If I were you I really wouldn't bother looking at anything on the Forest side. It's why they look better value. No one wants to live there!'

‘To be honest I don't want to go too far afield. I don't want to take Rory out of his new school if I can help it.'

‘Why don't you ask James' advice? Though I don't suppose my son wants you to move at all.'

‘I daresay he'll miss the rent. It's unlikely anyone else will want to move in to my cottage while a bloody eight-lane highway is being ploughed across in front of it. Can you imagine what it's going to be like? The dust and the noise?'

‘Of course. Why do you think we don't want it on our side of the hill! But James doesn't care about the rent one way or the other. It's where you are planning to go he takes an interest in. Anyway, he's going to sell the cottages.'

Jessica keyed in his number as she watched the red Focus pull away. ‘You might have told me you were going to sell!'

‘Calm down, Jess. I'm not putting them on the market imminently. I've always known you were planning to move on. I've never had any intention of selling your home out from under you.'

‘Thanks!'

‘Do we have to have this conversation now, over the phone?'

‘Yes! What about the others in the row? Ethel Dell and the Thornhills? The Harpers? And Maggie Spry on the end?'

‘Most of them are old, Jessica.'

‘Oh, I see! You're waiting for them to die. Or hoping for them to die? Most of them, with luck, have another ten or fifteen years!'

‘Or more. I'm not hoping for anyone to die! But they probably should move on to retirement homes or …'

‘I don't suppose any of them want to. And Maggie's only middle-aged.'

‘I expect they'll want to move once the roadworks start.'

‘It is definite then? I never know if the men in yellow coats are still just surveying the land or an advance party.'

‘It looks increasingly likely. Though a final decision has yet to be made … or communicated to me.'

‘Who is going to want to buy a house here while a herd of bulldozers tear up the landscape? Not to mention the inevitable stand-off between demonstrators and police?'

‘I shan't sell straight away. I'll probably wait until the road is a
fait accompli
.'

‘You've had all this planned for a long time?'

‘Only since I first heard about the possibility of the by-pass. About two years.'

‘I see. So that is yet another favour the road will have done you? The likely departure of your tenants. These houses are far more valuable to you with vacant possession aren't they?'

‘Jess! Please! I'm not an ogre. I didn't conceive the idea to put a by-pass in front of your house. I'm an innocent party in all of this too.'

‘But it won't stop you taking maximum advantage of the situation.'

‘You worked as a derivatives trader … did considerations of the greater good weigh with you when making your decision to hit the buy or sell button?'

‘Touché. But it was my job to make a profit for the bank.'

‘And bugger the rest of the world?'

‘You sound like Danny.'

There was a brief silence. At length he said, ‘Coming from you I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?' He did not wait for an answer. ‘Actually, I'm glad you phoned. I wanted to ask if you'd like a day in London. I've a meeting coming up a week on Friday. It shouldn't take much more than an hour out of the day. You could go shopping, or whatever else you want to do, then we could meet up. Do an exhibition. Dinner. Perhaps we could stop over?'

‘Sounds nice but …' A night in London? Would she resist?
Could
she resist the temptation to share a hotel room? ‘But what about Rory? He finishes at lunch time.'

‘Gilda or Edie could pick him up, look after him for an hour or two till Sasha gets home. For that matter Daniel could keep him entertained. Dan's good with the kids, and they seem to adore him. Don't know what it is he's got that I haven't.'

Jessica ignored the throwaway line about his employee. These pin-prick jibes were growing more frequent.

‘Jay? Do you never worry that you're exploiting your mother?'

‘No. She always wants to do what's best for me.
She
loves me.'

Rory told her what had happened in the playground at break time, but as for the rest of the morning it was as if a mist had come down.

‘I don't know. We played,' he said irritably, unwilling to engage in any further post-mortems. This wasn't a surprise; he'd been the same about nursery. Occasionally he would speak of a singing game which he'd enjoyed, or a particularly delicious biscuit offered at break time, but otherwise his memory of events was more likely to focus on an insult from another child, someone pinching him or muscling in on the stickle bricks. There was a hesitant tapping at the door.

‘You stay there and drink your milk.'

To find Maggie Spry on the step was a strange coincidence. Less than an hour ago she'd figured in Jessica's conversation with James, yet their relationship had never been more than the ‘Hello, fine day today' variety.

‘Maggie! Nice to see you. Um … would you like to come in?'

‘I won't, Jessica, thank you. Actually, I think I've some sad news for you. I only discovered it because I've got some time off and planned to do a bit of gardening. Not that I've been able to do anything with all this rain. But you've been looking after Freda's old tabby cat, Tiggy, haven't you? Only I think I've found him under the ribes bush in the back. He looks like he might have been hit by a car. He's dead, I'm afraid, Jessica. Sorry. But I wondered if you would dispose of the body? I'd rather not touch it, if you don't mind. There may be maggots.'

Rory hadn't heard the muttered conversation at the front door and now was happy to be left for a few minutes in front of
Midsomer Murders
. Hardly suitable viewing for a four year old but he gave it little of his attention as he fitted together Lego bricks to make into a pretend mobile phone. It looked as if it might start raining again any time. Jessica put on her hooded waterproof then fetched a robust plastic bag and some rubber gloves from the kitchen. She followed Maggie the short distance to her end cottage. Overnight rain had held off since the morning; the air was fresh and cool, but not cold. Jess realised that she was shaking. I've turned into a wimp, she thought. What's happened to that brave, pro-active woman I used to be? I'm on the verge of tears about Rory starting school. I'm on the verge of tears over the man I never wanted to see again in this life or the next. I'm on the verge of tears about losing the cat I didn't want and didn't like. And now I'm shaking like a leaf because I have to collect his body and dispose of it.

The carcass was not as gross as she feared. There was some evidence of dried blood around his tattered ear, but otherwise no gruesome wounds or exposed bones.

‘I wonder who did it,' Maggie said. ‘Everyone knows where he lives. I can't imagine anyone from the lane hitting Tiggy and then not telling you, even if they didn't see where he ran off to.'

‘Perhaps it was a stranger.'

‘We hardly get any through traffic along here, but the lane was swarming with vehicles last week when they came to survey the fields again.' Maggie went on to bemoan the prospect of the by-pass, but Jessica stopped listening. A week? It was a week since Sean arrived on her doorstep, a week since the cat disappeared. Could it have been him? Even had he been aware of hitting a cat, he wouldn't have known who it belonged to. Had he inadvertently cut yet another tie to her life in this house?

‘Two phone calls in one day. I'm honoured, Jess. You haven't changed your mind, have you?'

She'd taken the hand-set into the kitchen and closed the door. ‘About?' She heard his sigh.

‘London. It's obviously of so little significance to you, you've already forgotten.'

‘London?' she repeated blankly.

‘You still want to come?'

‘Sorry! Yes. But James, I've something … to ask you.' Why had she phoned him? What could she say? It suddenly seemed so pathetic, so weedy, that she should need to turn to a man. ‘No. It doesn't matter.'

‘It patently does matter. I can hear you're upset? What's happened?'

She imagined him sitting at his desk, perhaps dreaming up ideas for Piers' latest ad campaign, or composing another of his tongue-in-cheek confessions of an inadequate countryman for the local rag. He could be revising the first few chapters of his thriller for the umpteenth time, or perhaps struggling with book-work for the farm.

‘No, I'm being stupid. It's nothing. I shouldn't have bothered you.'

‘Jessica! Will you tell me what's happened?'

‘It's Tubs.'

‘Tubs?' he queried, as if he must have misheard.

‘Our cat. He's dead. Probably hit by a car. But you're probably busy.'

‘Very, as it happens. I've a lot of stuff to prepare for this meeting. So … why are you calling me? I'm sorry, of course, if you were fond of the animal …'

‘Not particularly.'

‘It isn't my condolences you want, then?'

‘I haven't got a spade. I need to dispose of the body.'

He had sounded genuinely perplexed, but now appeared to grasp what she wanted.

‘That's no problem. Don't worry about burying it. Put it in a double layer of bin bags, tie it up tight, and take it to the tip. You know where that is?'

‘But?'

‘If you don't want to do it I will, but I won't be able to get over and pick it up till tomorrow sometime.'

‘No. I don't want him … just thrown away. I want to bury him here, where he lived, make a ceremony of it.'

‘But it's a dead cat, Jess. Not a close relative.'

She felt close to tears. He obviously didn't understand. She didn't really understand herself. Why the death of this unlovely old cat had touched so raw a nerve was a mystery.

‘It doesn't matter. Forget it. I shouldn't have phoned you.'

‘If you can wait till tomorrow I can come over then with a spade.' His tone was still uncomprehending, but at least now willing to humour her.

‘No. Don't bother. I'll see if I can borrow one.'