Someone Else's Conflict (5 page)

Slightly revived, he told himself he'd been crazy to even consider coming here, and roamed the stands until he found the stop for the bus back to Bradford. He studied the timetable and looked around the deserted aisles, the occasional voice and the revving of a solitary bus echoing round to emphasise the emptiness. He looked again at the timetable and realised it was Sunday. Just missed one – ages to go. He trudged over to the newspaper stand, open for trade despite the lack of traffic. He bought a chocolate bar, a drink, tobacco and a packet of mints and as he paid found himself asking in his heavily accented English the way to Fairview Terrace. He'd never spoken the name out loud before, and felt as if the few people scattered around the bus station had stopped to stare.

There wasn't a soul in sight but Vinko felt just as conspicuous as he stood at the end of Fairview Terrace, having walked slowly and taken a roundabout route to kill time. He was no stranger to killing time. He studied the twin rows of identical stone houses, smaller but much neater and better cared for than the house he shared back in Bradford. Headscarf-sized gardens, yards, a few of them untidy but mainly well-kept and well-swept, windows and front doors vying for attention with a variety of colours – people making their mark because they wanted to be here. He stared for a while, plucking up the courage to walk on and find number 52, trying but failing to imagine the hero Ivan Pranjić growing up here. Vinko had never seen the farms and fields his father should have grown up in, the farms and fields he'd fought and died to safeguard – for his son and all the other sons. He wondered if he ever would see them now.

He looked up the street, counting in his mind to locate 52. He wondered why his grandparents had chosen to come here in the first place. Why had he? He still couldn't answer that one. He almost turned away. But he was here now; he steeled himself, pausing only briefly at the small wooden gate, went up to the door and knocked. It was opened by a young blonde woman, only a few years older than he was. Vinko's heart started thumping. Could this be a cousin no one had told him about? Family?

‘I… I look for Boris and Anja Pranjić?' He disgusted himself with how small and pathetic his voice sounded.

‘Sorry, love, Mr and Mrs Pranjick moved a few months ago.'

–yitch
.
It's Pran-yitch, not
–jick
. But he didn't say it out loud. He never did. His irritability faded as he registered that this girl meant nothing to him.

‘Can you say me where are they?'

The girl pulled her towelling robe tighter and looked cautiously at him. He realised how early it still was. She broke into a smile. ‘Yeah, course. Wait there. No, you look froz. You may as well come in a mo' while I fetch you't address. Kettle's just boiled, I'll get you a coffee if you like.'

‘Thanks.'

He was reluctant to enter the house, but welcomed the warmth. He sat down, out of place on the neat cream easy chair.

‘You come far?' She put the steaming mug on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Where d'you live, like?'

‘Holdwick.' He said the first name that came into his head. ‘It's not far, for seeing my friends the Pranjić family.'

She nodded, sitting on a sofa opposite him. ‘Don't worry, they're not a million miles away. Moved out Oakthwaite way, they did. Don't blame 'em, nice area that. I'd like Gaz and meself to get a place somewhere like that one day, though I doubt he'll ever shape hisself enough for that. Came into money, the Pranjicks, a few months ago, like I said. A right fortune it wa' by all accounts, though they kept close about it, wouldn't say how they came by it. We all reckon they must've won t' lottery, didn't want the publicity or summat. Don't blame 'em. Right vultures, the press. Anyway me mum lives a few doors down and Gaz 'n me like it here, so when it went on t' market we thought better t' devil you know an' here we are.'

Vinko nodded wordlessly, understanding the gist if not every word.

‘Nice people, the Pranjicks,' she continued. ‘Well Anja were, any road; I never saw too much of him. I remember old Anja when I were a kid – seemed quite old even then, she did, though she must only be seventy-odd now – always had a sweetie for you. She sometimes took us into t' woods an' all, in that patterned headscarf of hers, to look for mushrooms – she knew what were fit to eat an' what-ave-you, learned it in t' old country, she'd say, though if we brought owt back me Mum'd always chuck it in t' bin saying you couldn't be sure, wharever t' old country had to say. Though I s'pose you know all that yourself.'

‘No, I don't,' he said. ‘I visit the first time today.'

‘You'll like 'em,' she said decisively. ‘They'll make you welcome. Think she missed havin' family around, old Anja. Daughter 'ud visit but she were a bit of a sourfaced… Sorry, no offence like, but any road, her kids 'ud never come out an' play wi' us when she were there. Think there were a son, too, but summat happened when he were younger, before my time, like. He—'

‘Who's that yer got down there, Nicky?' An irritable male voice drifted down the stairs.

‘Lad come askin' after t' Pranjicks. What d'you say your name wa', love?'

‘Vinko,' he said and regretted it.

‘Vinko here's a friend o't family and—'

‘Didn't you tell him they're not here no more?'

He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs.

‘I'm just getting him t' address now.' She went over to a sideboard and rummaged in a drawer.

‘Aye well, gerrit quick an' mek me some brekky. Got a mouth like t' bottom of a budgie's cage an' me belly thinks me throat's been cut.'

A man dressed in boxers and a grubby T-shirt walked into the room. Vinko tensed. ‘Sort o' time d'you call this? Bit early i'nt it? Respectable folks should be sleepin' it off.' He coughed harshly. ‘Like I were tryin' to do. Got a fag, Nicks?'

She threw him a packet, turned back to her scribbling. ‘Offer one to our guest, then.'

Vinko shook his head. He was ready for one, but didn't want to stay the length of time it would take to smoke it. He put his mug, barely touched, back down on the table and stood, looking over to where the young woman was folding a piece of paper.

‘You excuse,' he said to the man. ‘I don't make no trouble. I'll go now.'

‘Wait on, love, you sure you don't want some bacon an' eggs? I'm just doin' 'im some anyroad.'

‘No,' he said quickly. ‘Thank you,' he added.

‘Bet he'd rather have soddin garlic sausage or sour kraut or summat.'

‘Gaz, honestly! Sorry 'bout that, love. Anyroad, here's the address.' She handed him the paper and showed him to the door. ‘I hope you find 'em, an' when you do, remember me to 'em. Nicola Radcliffe, Ellie Radcliffe's lass, Anja'll know me.'

‘I tell them. Thank you. Bye.'

‘Good luck, love.'

As she closed the door, he heard the man's growl: ‘What the fuck d'you let
him
in here for? Best change t' bloody locks now.'

Vinko shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

Chapter 4

‘Your carriage awaits, madam.'

Jay doffed his hat theatrically and Marilyn felt slightly silly as she got into the jeep and turned the key, simply to feel the comfort of the engine running. The afternoon was already well-advanced; freeing the barn doors had only been a start. Before they could move the car or do anything more, they'd had to make the tree safe. She'd watched, heart in her mouth, as he cut through the branch from the top of a ladder and they lowered it slowly through the hole in the roof. He'd waved away her embarrassment that she hadn't got round to learning how to use the chainsaw, wielding it expertly and insisting he was glad to do whatever it took to help. After a late lunch of hot soup, they'd managed to coax the car with its erratic electrics into life and she could now bring it safely into the open.

Relieved, she turned off the engine and got out. The roof was dented and scratched, and she ran her hand over it. She shrugged. ‘I suppose it adds character.'

‘It's out and working, no real harm done … Sorry, that's a bit like the old “could be worse”, isn't it?'

‘I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. It's…a relief. Thank you for all your help.'

He offered to chop the branch up as a substitute for her buried woodpile.

‘Don't feel you have to. I'll run you back to Holdwick if you like. You should be able to find somewhere to stay, but you'll not get there on foot before it gets dark.'

‘Much appreciated.'

He started to gather up the tools he'd been using, pausing to stick out a hand as some scattered drops of rain fell. He looked across at her.

‘You know you were talking earlier about your builders not coming for a while?'

‘Mm-hm…' She could imagine where this was heading and was already trying to think of excuses.

‘I'll be honest with you. I haven't had any steady work for a while. Don't get me wrong; I'm not about to starve or anything but, well, I've enjoyed today, and…if I can make myself useful till they start, perhaps…?'

He looked slightly embarrassed and she wondered, not for the first time, what his circumstances were. Her mind raced but no excuses came. It would certainly speed things up, and in any case, even if she managed to find someone else to finish clearing the yard, she had no guarantee that she could trust them any more than this man, who at least came with the character reference of a day's willing work.

‘Let me think about it. I suppose I'd have had to pay Alan extra anyway, what with all this.'

‘The price isn't an issue, don't worry on that count. I know I can do a good job in preparation for the experts, and it'd be satisfying to be working on something worthwhile.'

‘I'm not promising anything, but…' The rain was getting heavier. ‘Step in for a moment.'

He joined her in the porch, dragging his rucksack in behind him.

‘Listen, I've got quite a bit of food in the fridge and freezer that's only going to go off.'

‘And you need me to dig a hole to keep the stuff cool underground?'

He grinned and she smiled back.

‘I think you've done enough digging. I mean I could use some of it up by cooking you a meal. To say thanks.'

‘Hey, that'd be amazing, cheers. I've even got some supplies I could contribute.'

He opened the top flap of his rucksack and produced the carrier she'd seen him get at the market.

‘
Then
I'll run you to Holdwick.'

‘OK. Or, well, could you just show me a field where I could pitch my tent? Save you having to drive.'

‘It's no trouble,' she said, waving a hand at the glass roof of the porch, where the initial drumming had increased to an insistent tattoo. ‘You can hardly call this camping weather.'

‘I'm used to it.'

She realised how tactless she'd been, assuming he could afford bed and breakfast in town, and rushed to cover up for herself.

‘You know, I…I could just about clear enough space for you to sleep in the spare room for tonight. It's a bit of a tip though. I haven't got round to sorting it out yet; I…' She stopped herself talking, realising the words were spilling out to hide her incredulity at the offer she'd just heard herself make.

‘Don't worry about that,' he said as if reading her mind. ‘You don't have to.'

‘I mean it.'

‘The barn's cleared now. That's more my usual style.'

Looking at him, she could believe it.

‘We don't know it's safe, and there's a great big hole in the roof,' she said, ‘You'd get soaked.'

‘There's plenty of space away from the hole. I could even put the tent up in there. Whatever. You're on your own here, aren't you?'

She shrugged; no point trying to deny the obvious.

‘The barn'll do me fine, really.'

‘I can't just chuck you out in the rain.'

‘Well…' He hesitated, but not for long. ‘If you insist.'

As she showed him the spare room she realised clearing enough space would be harder than she'd thought; there was hardly room to fit his rucksack in. The bed frame and its mattress were leaned against the wall to make room for boxes of her stock.

‘I'm intending to set up my workshop in the barn. This is my store till I do,' she said, annoyed with herself for feeling the need to justify anything.

‘You make pottery?' He picked up a piece from a nearby box. One of her favourite wall plaques, a stylised landscape in blues, purples and greens.

‘I do. Until I get the barn sorted I'm having to work somewhere else. It's not ideal, but I need to get established – supply enough stuff to local shops in time for Christmas, then get going properly for next year's tourist season. So it's what I've got to do.' She sighed. ‘It'll all just take a bit longer now.'