The baby seemed to be calming down.
‘Not lost your knack, then?’ Natalie said when she straightened back up. ‘And sorry, Tom, I know you’ve been trying to contact me, but he’s been a right little bugger this morning.’ She rooted around in the pocket of her little
leather jacket and pulled out her phone. ‘Thursday as usual? Yeah, no problem. Course.’
He felt the baby become more of a dead weight against his chest.
‘He’s going off,’ Natalie said, as if he were a bottle of milk.
Tom got out of the way of a man with a dog who seemed disinclined to vacate the pavement for a pram or someone holding a baby.
The tourist season was already gearing up and the square was busy. A group of walkers, taking a break from tackling Hadrian’s Wall, were sitting on the steps of the market cross licking ice creams.
‘Ignorant git,’ Natalie said to the man’s back. He turned and, in doing so, stumbled off the edge of the pavement. Natalie laughed and, just for an instant, she was a cheeky little girl before she returned to being a twenty-year-old. In many ways, she made Tom think of a glammed-up pixie with her short hair and delicate features. But it was doubtful whether many pixies were as determined as Natalie. Or as tough. And inside that neat little head of hers was a brain the size of a planet. Bucking the family tradition of attending school only sporadically, she’d turned out to be a star pupil. Now she was studying Law and making ends meet with a variety
of part-time jobs. It annoyed him when people assumed her chosen profession might be something that involved gyrating round a pole.
‘How come you’ve got Karl?’ he asked, giving the baby a gentle hike up in his arms. ‘Your mum not well?’
‘You could say that,’ Natalie replied in a way that did not encourage him to ask anything further. She was looking towards the bookshop. ‘Don’t suppose you could hang on to him while I go in there, could you? I’ll be dead quick.’
All went well until the church clock clicked round to 1 p.m. and there was a loud BONG. Karl’s eyes shot open and he reared back and hiccupped some partially digested milk on to Tom’s shirt before his eyes closed again.
Tom squinted down at the lumpy stain. It smelled worse than the llama spit. When he looked up, coming towards him was the odd woman. Of course she was. Perfect.
She was in another of her shabby-chic dresses, this time with a thick blue fisherman’s jumper on top and espadrilles on her feet. Her hair, in two plaits, made him imagine her striding across a high meadow like some demented Heidi. Yodelling.
She slowed when she noticed him and then, like two heat-seeking missiles, her eyes locked on to his shirt. He saw her press her lips together.
‘Go on,’ he said, ‘get it over with.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She stopped a few feet from him. ‘I was going to make the obvious comment that I see it’s not only llamas that you antagonise. But it seems a cheap shot.’ A pause and a frown. ‘Although, of course, I have said it, cheap or not.’
‘Well done.’
She was peering at the baby. ‘It seems calm enough now.’
He didn’t like the inference that she was amazed he wasn’t juggling the baby with some live tigers.
‘It’s a he,’ Tom snapped, ‘not an it.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ More frowning. ‘It’s just I’ve had some terrible incidents where I’ve called a he she and vice versa.’
‘Well that’s fascinating. And it’s not actually
my
baby.’
He had no idea why he’d said that, it only made her look at the pram in a worried way.
‘You mean you just decided to pick him up?’ She sounded appalled. ‘Well, you must put him back, immediately.’
‘What? No. I’m looking after him for a friend while she’s in the shop. Why would you think I’d steal a baby?’
‘I didn’t say you’d stolen it … him. I just thought you might be one of those people who couldn’t pass a baby without picking it up.’
He was saved from having to ask her what bloody planet
she lived on where people would chance doing that these days, when Natalie came out of the shop carrying two thick textbooks.
‘How’s he been?’ she asked.
‘Fine, except when he was sick on my shirt.’
‘Yeah, he does that sometimes.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Odd Woman’s face looked as if a lot of light bulbs had just come on in her head. ‘The baby is—’
‘Natalie’s brother,’ Tom leaped in, just stopping Miss Tactless from annoying Natalie by making the all-too-common assumption that she was a young mum.
‘Bit jittery there, Tom,’ Natalie said, raising her eyebrows at him, before she turned to focus on the woman. ‘So, what’s going on here, then? A bit of secret chatting up?’
‘Oh he wasn’t …’ The woman trailed off as she realised Natalie was teasing.
‘No, you’re right, I wasn’t,’ Tom said abruptly. Somewhere along the line this woman was going to tell Natalie that he and Hattie had used her garden as a toilet.
Natalie moved the books around in her arms. ‘Well, I’ll introduce myself then. Hi. I’m Natalie.’
‘And I’m Fran,’ the woman said. ‘Fran Mayhew. It’s very good to meet you.’
‘Moved here?’ Natalie asked.
‘Visiting. Maybe with a view to … settling later on.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ Tom said to the top of the baby’s head in a tone that implied the opposite. He knew if he glanced up, Natalie would be giving him an admonishing look, so he kept on concentrating on Karl.
‘I’m in a red-brick bungalow between here and Lowheatherington,’ Fran explained. ‘Off to the left, down a narrow track.’
Natalie was laughing. ‘That dump! Poor you.’
‘Yes, it’s pretty bad. But I’m meeting the man from the estate agent’s for a drink later. I’m working on getting a reduction in the rent.’
She seemed unaware of how bad that sounded.
‘Estate agent guy?’ Natalie was frowning. ‘That wouldn’t be Greg Vasey, would it?’
‘Yes, do you know him?’
‘Everyone knows him. He’s a creep.’
Tom knew that Natalie could have used at least one of her sisters to illustrate that character assessment. And, possibly, her mother.
‘Oh he is,’ Fran said, enthusiastically, ‘an utter creep. But they are often the easiest.’ There was a pause while a cat’s cradle of looks passed between Tom and Natalie. Still oblivious, Fran was off again. She peered at the books in Natalie’s arms.
‘My boyfriend at university read Law. How are you getting on with it?’
‘I’m just finishing my first year at Newcastle. Yeah, it’s great. Whereabouts was he?’
‘Warwick. We both were.’ Fran did a mock shudder. ‘Not my boyfriend any more, thankfully. I imagine he’ll be using what he learned to keep himself from ending up behind bars.’ She paused. ‘He went into the City.’
Tom wondered if this was a skill she had – to put her foot right in it up to her thigh? He waited for nice Natalie to be replaced by tough Natalie and so was surprised to hear her laugh.
‘Yeah, good one,’ she said, ‘that lot make my dad look like a bloody saint. He’s doing time at the minute. Bit sticky-fingered.’
There were a couple of seconds during which Fran’s face was a blank and then both hands went to her mouth. When she moved them, she said, earnestly, ‘I am so, so sorry. That must be really hard for you and your family.’ She shook her head as if exasperated with herself. ‘I have this unerring ability to say exactly the wrong thing. Always have.’
Natalie waved Fran’s discomfort away. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘It’s not like you knew.’
‘Well, that’s really generous of you. Has he … I mean, is he in for long?’
‘He’s been in thirteen months so far. Bit more to go.’
Tom could only be thankful that Fran did not ask how old Karl was.
Natalie bent to stow her books under the pram. ‘So you and Tom just met today then?’ she asked.
‘No, we met at the show. And then …’ Fran darted a quick, mischievous look towards him, ‘he came round with his daughter to water my garden.’
‘Didn’t know you offered that as a service, Tom.’ Natalie reached out for Karl and Tom passed him over, glad to have a reason not to answer. He watched Natalie strap the baby in the pram and cover him up and then there was a quick dip down again to retrieve something.
Tom only spotted the pack of baby wipes as Natalie came towards him. ‘Hold still,’ she said, while she dabbed at the baby vomit.
His life was going around in a circle with wet wipes and body fluids as the unifying themes.
Jamie, ambling into view, saved him.
‘Uh, Liz told me I could take a break to get something to eat.’ He spoke as if he expected Tom to tell him off.
‘So, what’s got you up before lunchtime?’ Natalie asked.
‘He’s joining us to find out what we do.’ Tom sensed Jamie’s discomfort, and added, cheerily, ‘Getting your hands dirty, aren’t you?’
‘That’ll be a first for a Mawson,’ Natalie said and Jamie blushed deeply and looked at the display of books in the shop window.
‘A Mawson?’ Fran was staring.
Natalie nodded. ‘Yeah, owns most of this village and a lot of Northumberland. Jamie Mawson, this is Fran Mayhew. Fran, Jamie.’
‘Jamie Mawson.’ Fran spoke the words as if trying them out.
‘Yup, second in line to the throne, aren’t you?’ Natalie teased.
Fran was still staring at Jamie as if she’d never seen anyone as handsome in her entire life. Tom wondered if he was the only one who noticed.
‘The things I could tell you about Jamie’s bedroom,’ Natalie was saying. ‘Some really dirty stuff I’ve found in there.’
‘Please, Natalie …’ Jamie gave up with the shop window and concentrated on his shoes.
‘Oh, stop looking so embarrassed.’ Natalie tapped Jamie on the arm. ‘I’m joking.’ She turned to Fran. ‘I clean at the Mawson house and he’s a buggar for leaving his coffee cups in his room. Although … that’s a hell of a guilty face. Perhaps there are some shocking secrets hidden away in your room?’
Jamie flushed an even darker shade of red and did the best squirm Tom had seen for years. Of the three people in front of him, Natalie currently seemed the most grown up – Jamie was an embarrassed schoolboy and Fran a lovesick teenager. How old did Tom feel? Way older than all of them.
‘I have to go,’ Fran said, suddenly, still looking at Jamie. ‘Sorry to take off so abruptly, but there are some things I need to get before … before, well, before I see Mr … Mr … um … Vasey. It’s been lovely meeting you. Goodbye. Goodbye.’
And then she was striding away, which should have been a physical impossibility in espadrilles.
‘Now that is one weird woman,’ Tom said when he was sure she wouldn’t hear.
‘Really?’ Natalie was still watching Fran. ‘She wasn’t that bad. Bit intense, but I liked how direct she was.’ There was another tap on Jamie’s arm. ‘Took a shine to you, dreamboat.’
Ah, so Natalie had noticed.
Tom left them not long after that, Jamie still looking down at his shoes.
As he went back to the office, sandwich finally in his hand, he saw Fran loading some large sheets of coloured paper into her car outside the art shop. It was the red car he’d spotted tussling with the bus earlier. Figured.
He tried to walk past, but she noticed him.
‘Ah, I’m glad I’ve caught you,’ she said, turning around, ‘I wanted to say thank you for saving me from that faux pas I nearly made about the baby and Natalie.’ She looked disgusted with herself. ‘That’s on top of the one I made about her father.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ He started to move away.
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, her tone less easy-going. ‘That’s how it works, is it? I say thank you for some decency on your part, but you just gloss over me being kind to you?’
He took a step back. What the hell was she gabbling on about now?
Walk away, Tom
.
‘I’m sorry?’ he said.
‘I think you heard me quite distinctly, Mr Man with no name.’ She was looking very fierce, which Tom thought was quite a major achievement for somebody sporting plaits.
Half-turning towards the car, she slammed down the boot before saying, with exasperation, ‘What a difficult person you really are!’
‘Hang on—’
‘No I will not. I skirted around the weeing in my garden incident in what I thought was a delicate way …’ Tom glanced at the people going by. ‘And what do I get for that? Any thanks?’ She tutted theatrically. ‘No.’
Her eyes were very wide, her colour up. Heidi gone feral.
‘And, to top it all, you don’t even have the rudimentary manners to introduce yourself. I can only presume you’re on some kind of Witness Protection scheme?’ She had raised her arms for emphasis, but the movement looked awkward and jarring and she suddenly lowered them like a conductor who had just suffered a loss of confidence.
‘Do you get into many fights?’ he asked her. ‘I mean, apart from with buses when you try to go the wrong direction up a one-way street?’ She opened her mouth, but he talked on. ‘I imagine you do. And I’m Tom. Tom Howard. And, whoopee, I am so grateful you didn’t actually draw a full picture of what happened yesterday morning, but here’s a thought – how about you hadn’t mentioned it at all?’
By the end of the speech he was actually annoyed. He also thought he might have damaged his sandwich.
He looked down. Yes, squeezed to buggery.
He expected a tirade of words back, but from what he knew of her facial expressions, she appeared to be distracted.
‘Yes. You’re right,’ she said, quietly. ‘I could have done that.’
It was as if a balloon that you expected to pop had suddenly deflated itself.
‘That’s it?’ he said. ‘Nothing else you want to berate me about?’
‘No. Absolutely nothing, thank you.’ She gave him a tight smile.
He wanted to move, but now felt that he had been the unreasonable one and needed to make amends.
‘You know how to get to the pub, do you?’ he asked.
She nodded briskly. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’
‘OK … Well, I’ll probably see you around then.’
‘Quite possibly.’ She gave him a wave as if shooing him away.
He looked at how she was standing.
‘You’ve shut your jumper in the boot, haven’t you?’ he said.
She sighed. ‘Yes. Yes I have.’
CHAPTER 13
Tuesday 13 May