'I'll get my jacket,' I said.
She stopped on her way through the door and turned with an expression so strange that it was hard to fathom -somewhere between irritation and fear, I thought, before it shifted to a tight smile. 'Oh,' she said. 'You don't want to come. It'll be boring for you. I won't be long.'
'No . . . really
...
I'd like the ride. And if they're open, I can take something fresh and countrified back for Verity.
Something healthy - she's drinking too much on account of the blessed Mark.'
Jill turned away from me. 'Get her some cider,' she said, 'if you really want to come.'
In the car Jill put on Delius quite loud. 'Do you mind?' she said before I had the chance to ask if we could turn it down and talk. 'I just love it at the moment.'
Truly, I decided, whatever Oxford and I had done, we had done seriously. Jill was now so brittle that if I had bent her arm it would have snapped. Ah well, I thought, what is friendship for but to suffer all these vagaries, and I settled back to listen to the music and enjoy the scenery. At one point I looked at Jill. Her eyes were on the road ahead, but also very far away. It was a similar look to one Oxford had begun to wear sometimes rece
ntly
.
'Here we are. There it is,' she said suddenly, as excited as a child. A large barn came into view. A few cars were parked on the gravel outside.
We carried in the three large cheesecakes. They were decorated with flower petals and looked magnificent, I thought. I carried the one Jill had entrusted to me with extra care. I had a feeling that if I damaged it in any way Jill would never forgive me. Whatever the reason for this sudden rush of baking, it was bigger, infinitely, than the sum of its parts.
The shop was fairly full - the usual crowd of people picking over things - those who were bored on Sunday, those who were travelling and had just stopped by, those who wanted something to do with the children. It had a nice earthy smell, and whoever had organized the displays of vegetables and cheese and strange rustic drinks needed a medal.
Jill marched past the curious on-lookers to a small office at the back. 'Oh,' she said, 'it's empty.' She began looking around the shop, scanning with a desperate eye.
'Why, Jill,' said a woman's voice behind us, 'how nice to see you.'
I turned, so did Jill, and we stood there making quite an odd picture with our great rounds of cheesecake.
'What are these?' the woman said, smiling in puzzlement. She was small and plump with a bright face.
'Cheesecakes,' said Jill. 'I told Charles I would have a go with that Stainforth cream cheese. I think they are good. And I could make more - for you to sell here, I mean. I told Charles.' She spoke as if persuading someone that her life depended on it.
The woman frowned. 'Did you?' she said a little crossly. 'He said nothing to me about it. They look wonderful. What should I do with them?'
'Is Charles here?'
Jill asked, scanning again.
'No. He's gone down south for a day or two - the new shop. Here, let me take one of those.'
I thought for a moment Jill would decline, for she pulled away a little, but the woman was insistent and took one into her sturdy brown hands.
She shook her head. 'I don't quite know what he had in mind - I mean, how do we keep them fresh? And what about portioning?' She looked up at Jill for an answer.
'That's not my problem,' Jill snapped, so that I was embarrassed. 'When exactly will he be back?'
'A couple of days - maybe three. My husband seems to be a law unto himself at the moment. Well, well. I suppose I could put them in the freezer, though I don't think the flowers' - she touched them lightly with her fingertip -'would survive well. Oh dear.'
Jill's eyes had begun to fill with tears. She looked like a disappointed child.
'Look,' I said, knowing someone had to rescue the situation, 'why don't you have them as freebies? Give people tasters and see what the response is over the next couple of days? Then, when Charles comes back, he can sort it all out.'
It was agreed and we left the three offending orphans with their somewhat harassed new owner. I wanted to look around and get something for Verity and Oxford, but Jill was already walking towards the great barn doors. Dammit, I thought. I called after her that I would be out in five minutes and began to rummage around. I bought elderflower cordial for Verity, and some cheese. The fruit looked wonderfully ecological with their strange specks and irregular shapes, so I bought apples too. For Oxford I bought a flagon of cider that looked as if someone had washed their socks in it. It had a warning skull-and-crossbones label which I thought would amuse him. Maybe in the Nicaraguan jungle he could use
it
to disinfect his gut.
Back in the car, Jill sat looking forlorn and puffy-eyed. She had clearly been weeping.
'Tell me what's up,' I asked.
She blew her nose. 'Nothing - except disappointment.' She smiled wanly. 'And hormones, I expect.' She turned on the engine and revved with angry vigour. She turned to me with a slight smile. 'And I've just realized that I forgot to put the meat in the Aga.'
'It's all right,' I said, feeling a heel, 'I did it.' I shrugged. 'Well, it was just sitting there in its baking tray, all ready, so I just popped it in.'
'Which oven?'
'Top.’
Jill laughed. 'Aunt Margaret to the rescue. Well, in that case' - she punched my knee lightly - 'we can take the scenic route home, and listen to lovely Delius all the way.'
'Bloody men!' she said as the music crescendoed. 'They always let you down, don't they?'
'Nice woman, the wife,' I said conversationally.
'Yes,' said Jill, almost spitting out the words,
'isn't
she?'
I assumed she was still angry about Sidney.
For the rest of the afternoon I talked about general things. About Saskia and her father and my hopes that the exhibition over here would never happen. Neither David nor Jill understood this.
'Time marches on,' said David.
'Not for my sister,' I reminded them none too gently. 'She never had the chance to march on anywhere. Remember?' They both looked uncomfortable. So what? It wasn't their sister. 'Well, he'll get short shrift from me if he comes over here poking about in the ashes again.'
'Oh, I doubt he'll do that,' said Jill.
'No? I'm not so sure. It's what Sassy wants, more than anything. I can tell. She has a way of sending in a big gun when she wants something badly, and then letting it lie. But she's a tenacious little bugger - always was. I'd give her the moon - but I won't give her this.' A surprising anger rose in me.
'So love hasn't softened that inner bit, then,' said Jill.
'Love?'
'You and .
..
that man
..
. Simon. It's been too long for it just to be ships that pass in the night.'
That summed it up quite well, I thought, but I didn't have the urge to say so. 'It's not love,' I said. 'It's pleasant, friendly, sexy convenience. Never let them penetrate beyond that, then you won't get hurt.'
I waited for Jill to make her usual response to this - cries of 'Shame!' and 'How can you say that?' But she didn't. Surprisingly she nodded. 'I know what you mean,' she said, getting up to bring in the ice-cream.
I read the label. Everything sound, additive-free and organic. 'Did this come from the new place?'
Jill nodded as she doled it out.
'Everything we get comes from there nowadays,' said David. 'Costs us a fortune in petrol.'
He was smiling, but Jill banged down the spoon and glared at him. 'Oh, David,' she said angrily, 'you are such a mean bastard!'
He looked at me in embarrassment. I looked at him in wonder, and decided to leave immediately after lunch. Whatever was happening up here, there was nothing I could do about it for the time being. It disturbed me to feel so helpless.
On the drive home I considered asking the two of them down for Christmas, but realized that if I did, and they came, Amanda would never forgive either them or me. Funny, I thought, how once you have a family you are never truly free to think for yourself. Love being the other side of possession as well as a good many other things, I felt lucky to have come through with Saskia more or less unscathed. True, I was dreading some kind of confrontation over Dickie
- Richard
- but I could handle that. Indeed, as I drove back,' I began to think I could handle anything. That suggestion about the stupid sodding cheesecakes had been a mistress-stroke.
One should not congratulate oneself - I kne
w this - yet at the same time I
could not refrain. For was I not, really and truly, remarkably happy? Looking around me, I had only to see that I was. And Simon -
Oxford -
was too, at least so far as we were concerned. Do self-congratulations go before a fall, I
mumbled to myself as I arrived home, or what
...?
Verity was delighted with the elderflower cordial and made us up a concoction with gin (of course), vermouth and a lacing of the rustic liquor. It was,
1
had to say, very good. Just as well, for she bent my ear for some two hours or more. It became obvious why women turn to drink: it's not the ones with the problems, but the ones who have to listen to them. No wonder so many doctors commit suicide. Imagine that kind of thing week in week out. It was on the tip of my tongue to give up and suggest she take some Valium when at last she decided to go. She wove her way precariously down my path. Her last words, said somewhat forlornly from the gate, were 'I'm so looking forward to Christmas.'
I began to wonder if I was.
I had given Oxford a leather travelling bag, which seemed about the most sensible thing to buy him. I put into it some lavender sachets because I thought that when he was far away somewhere so alien the smell would be peculiarly English. More than anything, smells seem to be evocative of association, drawing those involuntary responses that remind us what a mystery we humans are. Patchouli always brought my sister back to me, boiling cabbage was school, baby powder was Saskia, and, of course, the smell of face powder and Yardley Black Rose was my mother. I wondered if Oxford would leave behind an olfactory memento..
..
Time would tell.
He gave me some CDs, things we had listened to in the car or at concerts. He had also made up a tape of various things he thought I would like: a bit of African music brought back from one of his student trips, some jazz, Tallis, whom he called the architect of the musical sublime. I found the effort touching. There is something very special about having a gift made for you. I never believed it when I was a child and my parents said,
'Make
us something, we'd really like that
..
.' I yearned to be able to buy them smart things, properly over the counter. My years with Sassy, being given all those struggled-over embroidered coasters, pictures, bits of haphazard pottery, which I now cleaved to so fondly, made me appreciate the value of the hand-made. It is about someone liking you enough to spend some of their precious time to create a pleasure for you. An aspect of love, I suppose, of the broadly based kind.
Now I had to cope with love of the Tintoretto kind. The prospect of the whole of Christmas Day with Verity, me, the gin bottle and Mark-in-the-ether was a
little
daunting. Colin would not come. 'Leave me out of it,' he said. He was going away somewhere hot.
I worked a day or two in the shop to help out with the Christmas rush. I was a little relieved to find the two of them were not entirely self-sufficient. They had hired a girl who looked something like the pinched little march
ioness of Nick
leby Legend - she scarcely came up to the counter and looked badly in need of a meal. But it was a good omen. It meant I wasn't entirely redundant and I was pleased to get my hand in again, even if Joan did tend to boss mc about in the same way she bossed Reg. Since I was only a halfway house, I didn't object. When I went back there permanently.
I would reassert my authority. Reg was taking Joan to his mother's for Christmas. I thought that was very nice. For one giddy minute I thought about inviting them all over to me, for my heart was plunging hourly. Verity was having deep dips over Christmas, but I realized that the advent of Reg, Reg's mother and Joan would not alleviate this. However, I made up my mind. Verity was
not
going to sit in a puddle of morose remembrance over the guinea fowl. I bought a Christmas television guide and marked up the day. When in doubt, stick on the box.