Someone Else's Conflict (13 page)

‘Really?'

‘I haven't seen her for years; she moves around, works for a hotel chain so it's been hell tracking her down at times. It's obviously in the blood. She's married now, though, so at least that means they stay put a bit longer. Not that I've ever met the guy. Haven't seen her for years.'

‘Doesn't that make you sad?'

‘Not really. Suits us both. She thinks I'm an irresponsible waste of skin and I…I don't care to be thought of in those terms.'

‘There you go, over-selling yourself again.'

‘I have an e-mail address so Cath can let me know if anything important happens, though it's rare she gets in touch and even rarer that I seek out a library with a computer. Especially since I didn't turn up to Dad's funeral. I just couldn't face it. It was ten years ago, and I was still…in a bad place.'

‘What—'

‘No excuses; if I'm honest I'm not even sure I could have faced it now. All those people I used to know. Having to pretend… Anyway, that's it for contact.'

And that's it for explanations, Marilyn thought as he brushed aside another interjection: ‘I reckon if she gets an annual card from me with a postmark that isn't a prison one she knows I'm safe and reasonably well. Duty done. So what about you? Haven't you got family you could've asked to help you out?'

‘I'm as likely to do that as you are,' she said. ‘I don't want any more lectures about “getting a proper job.” But I must say I do better than you at keeping in touch.'

‘Granted; most people do.'

‘Mum and Phil, my stepdad, moved to the south of France a couple of years ago. We phone and I go over when I can afford it – you can imagine how often that is. Dad's in London. We may see each other more often now Matt's out of my life; they never got on. Likewise, Laurie, my brother. We're quite different, but we get together once in a while. Hopefully you'll meet one day. You'd be good for him.'

‘Me?'

‘He needs shaking out of unbearable conventionality from time to time.'

Jay grinned. ‘So, while we're on the subject of real life…
Are
you going to let me help you out? Financially, I mean?' She hesitated. ‘It honestly has come from saving up rents. OK, I originally bought that house by using money I probably shouldn't have. But I've paid back every penny I owed.'

She raised her eyebrows. ‘That was said with feeling.'

‘Just…years of having a great big debt hanging over me. Paying it back bit by bit. It's been good to be free of it, is all.'

He fished his pipe and tobacco from his pocket, and began the fiddly business of packing the bowl. Marilyn watched him. She'd never really believed he was trying to swindle her, but it had crossed her mind that he might be on the run from something. She dismissed that idea whenever she thought of him performing publicly in the marketplace, and she wondered now if it was himself he was trying to hide from.

Sensing she'd never get anywhere by pushing, she stopped herself from asking by suggesting they went to finish their drinks outside so he could enjoy his pipe. The autumn evening wasn't cold and she savoured the enhanced flavour of the beer in the night air, breathing in the soft, nutty fragrance of his smoke as it floated away. They watched occasional car headlights wind their way down from the lonely moorland road to get swallowed up in the valley below where she knew, but couldn't see, that a village nestled.

‘Where does that road go?' he asked.

‘Across the moors to Holdwick. The track past my house turns into a footpath and crosses it over there somewhere.'

‘I'd like to explore the moors more while I'm here.' She felt a slight jolt at the suggestion of not-being-here his words implied. ‘I've got this thing about finding places that aren't really on the map.'

‘Like deserted villages, you mean?'

‘Sometimes. Not even that. Just…signs that someone's been there but isn't around anymore.'

‘I don't know of anything like that nearby.'

‘Yet.'

He smiled in the light from the pub sign above them and without warning leaned over, arm round her shoulder, and kissed her. She put her hand on his neck and held him there for a lingering moment, until the door behind them opened, spilling out light and a gaggle of noisy people.

As he drove them home, wisps of stories grew between them like the sparse patches of mist that gathered in hollows and hovered in ambush on apparently random patches of moorland. They reached the end of the lane through the trees, and saw a light.

‘Looks like there's someone at the house.' His voice was harsh and he looked tense in the glow from the dashboard. ‘Were you expecting anyone?'

‘No. Strange, I never get visitors unannounced. Unless it's Richard Harrington back early. I doubt it, though. He's got a key but he'd never let himself in uninvited.'

Jay turned the car slowly into the yard and killed the lights. There was no sign of life, simply the yellow light spilling from the kitchen window and pooling out to lap at the doors of the barn. It reflected dimly from sweat on his brow.

‘We'd best go and check it out,' he said. He released his white-knuckled grip on the wheel to turn the key and cut the engine.

‘
You
aren't expecting anyone, are you?' she asked quietly.

He shot her a look of pained innocence. ‘Of course not. Let's go.'

He insisted on entering first, grabbing the axe as he passed the woodpile, and opened the door as soon as she unlocked it. The kitchen was empty. Motioning her roughly to stay by the door, he made his way in silence through to the darkened living room. Marilyn obeyed, paralysed by the same kind of fear that had engulfed her as she watched the storm. She glanced over to the microwave, her eyes drawn by the clock flashing.
0:32
. Surely it wasn't that late? The blinking figures ticked on:
0:33
. And then the relief washed over her together with a fit of laughter as she realised.

‘Jay, it's OK, come back!'

He appeared immediately in the doorway.

‘Ssh! What …?'

‘It looks like we've got the electricity back.' She indicated the flashing green digits. ‘About half an hour ago, it seems. That's why the light's on.'

He glanced around. ‘What the fuck d'you leave it on for?'

‘I kept flicking the switch out of habit,' she replied, taken aback by his tone. ‘Must have left it in the on position.'

He relaxed suddenly, broke into a smile. ‘And you refuse to believe some of the things
I
tell you? Electricity blokes working at this time of night?'

He looked at the axe in his grip as if wondering how it had got there, walked over to the porch and put it back in place.

‘I'm sorry. Really I am. I…I overreacted. You must think—'

‘I don't think anything.'

He looked even more worried that he'd upset her than he had about the threat of intruders in the house. She gave him a reassuring smile as she put the kettle on. He came to her, put a tentative arm around her and she relaxed into his embrace. It wasn't only the electricity; she felt as if she'd got
him
back from somewhere, too.

She made hot chocolate while he coaxed the fire in the living room to a blaze. They lit candles and switched out the lights because it still felt right that way. He told her a story in the fireglow. As they went upstairs, by candlelight as if that had become tradition, Jay paused outside the door of the spare room.

‘Your place or mine?' he said with a smile.

She stopped short, one foot hovering over the top step, lost for a reply.

‘Sorry, that was…' He looked at his feet. ‘I shouldn't have said that.'

‘It's not… You took me by surprise. It… it's a bit soon. I hardly know you. No, it's not you.' She laughed self-consciously. ‘I mean – I swore I'd give myself time. You know, after Matt. At least a year, I said.'

‘What's a year between friends?' His laugh sounded equally forced. ‘Don't feel you have to explain.
Mea culpa
.' He turned to go into his room, paused and looked back at her. ‘Night night, then. Sweet dreams.'

‘You too.'

She stared at the closed door for a moment. Going to her own room was an effort, but she told herself it was for the best. She realised she hadn't even thanked him for a lovely evening. Too late now. He'd know. And if he didn't… Well, in that case they didn't understand each other as much as she liked to think. She should be pleased; she'd done the sensible thing for once in her life. But
was
it sensible? What if she drove him away? If that drove him away, let him go.

Slivers of moonlight found their way round the curtains and she lay chasing sleep in the pale light. The after-image of his expression as he'd shut the door wouldn't leave her – disappointment, but more; a hint of loneliness that mirrored her own. Her eyes followed over and over again the same fine ceiling cracks she'd traced during endless nights alone. She turned over. She'd got used to it now. Hadn't she?

Eventually, not sure if she'd dozed or not, she gave in to the need to go to the bathroom. She forced herself not to look at his door as she passed and crept down the stairs, the living room familiar in the fireglow and the bathroom welcoming in the glimmer of the candle she'd left burning out of habit and now thought she'd always prefer to the harsh electric bulb. On the way back upstairs she couldn't help noticing a faint light showing beneath the spare room door. Before she knew it she was knocking softly.

‘Come in.'

Jay was sitting up against the wall in his sleeping bag among the clutter, holding a paperback with a clip-on book light.

‘I saw you had a light on. I realised I hadn't even thanked you. I really enjoyed this evening.'

He grinned. ‘Me too. My pleasure. I mean that.'

She nodded. ‘Aren't you cold?'

‘Not in this sleeping bag. I don't carry much but I make sure what I do have is good quality.'

‘You're leaning against a freezing cold wall.'

He shrugged his naked shoulders. ‘I don't want to go spoiling myself with too much luxury. It'll be winter before long. It's surprising how soon—'

‘You weren't thinking of moving on just yet?'

He frowned. ‘I wasn't… I'm sorry, I overstepped the mark earlier, didn't I? I'd understand, you only have to say.'

‘You haven't overstepped anything, Jay.'

‘You're not angry with me?'

‘Of course not. Why would I be?'

‘Do you think I'd be daft enough to remind you?' He reached over and drew a shirt round his shoulders. ‘You shouldn't have mentioned the cold. Standing there with the door open and a draught coming up the stairs.'

‘Sorry.' Her hand moved to pull her robe tighter. ‘Anyway I'd better be off now, let you get some sleep.'

‘I don't think I'll be sleeping just yet.'

‘Me neither.' She smiled, looked at the floor, met his eye. ‘So why don't we go where there's a bit more room?'

Jay moved as if to get up, paused. ‘It… it sounds inviting. But, Polly, I don't want to do anything either of us will regret.'

‘No…of course not.'

She stood, deflated, staring at the way the faint light brought out one side of his face in sharp relief, leaving the other in shadow. There was a seriousness about him that contrasted totally with their earlier lightheartedness. The moment hovered between them as she began to wonder if he was one of those men who, on getting close to what they wanted, were no longer interested.

As she was about to leave, he grinned briefly and scrambled up, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She returned his embrace and felt a flood of relief mingling with her desire, somehow aware that it hadn't been arrogance or indifference or even respect that had held him back. It had been fear.

As if scared herself that one of them would have a change of heart she held him tight, running a hand down the smooth skin of his back beneath the fabric of his shirt. As he pressed against her she drew away momentarily, catching the soft gleam of his eyes in the halflight and smiling. She led them through to her bedroom, pausing to open the curtains and let the moonlight in to bathe the bed that a short time ago had seemed such a lonely place.

*

‘I still don't think you boys should have come.'

Zora's enigmatic smile belies her words. Even before they set off she protested that they should postpone their visit, and has continued to do so; tensions in the area where she now lives could soon boil over and become really dangerous. Yet she has done everything she could to speed their journey, to make them welcome. Guiltily, he studies her for a few moments in silence, even more beautiful than he remembered from last year, with her legs drawn up luxuriously beneath her in the sagging chair and the firelight glinting in her hair. This corner of the room is all the more homely for the air of neglect that pervades the rest of the house.