The Nothing Girl (24 page)

He didn’t say anything either, and the silence just went on and on. The view outside darkened as the afternoon wore on. A bit of a metaphor, really.

A couple of weeks drifted by. The weather warmed up. Kevin and I cleared more of the garden. We borrowed books from the library and I downloaded various bits from the Internet. We propped them up in front of us and did our best. I tried hard to be enthusiastic, but inside was always a great, gaping Thomas-sized hole.

Russell was painting – we could hear him shouting. Occasionally, something got thrown across the room. But most afternoons he was out. Or if he was staying in, he’d get a telephone call, shout something incomprehensible over his shoulder, jump into his Land Rover, and roar out of the yard. No one knew where he was going. I ignored the little voice inside which said: ‘You know where he’s going,’ because Thomas would want me to and actually, how much did I care?

The cat, as unstoppable as continental drift, oozed into the living room and lay in front of the fire each evening, adding the distinctive smell of hot cat to the room.

Kevin came back from his mother’s, looking tired but better and, on the next visit, Sharon went with him.

Mrs Crisp spent less time in her room. I learned to cook Shepherd’s Pie, Chocolate Sponge, Toad in the Hole, and Spag Bol, all with varying degrees of success. If she noticed she was teaching me single woman dishes, she said nothing.

Marilyn put on weight, learned how to open the door into the mud room and from there into the kitchen and was discovered pulling the cloth off the table in an attempt to dislodge the fruit bowl.

‘Clever girl,’ said Russell, admiringly.

‘Naughty girl,’ chided Mrs Crisp, not very convincingly.

‘Lucky girl,’ I thought. You never caught Marilyn worrying about the future.

Russell and I went to dinner with Andrew and Tanya. I watched the unobtrusive togetherness that comes from a shared understanding of each other and realised I was lonelier now than ever before.

The silver lining was that Uncle Richard and Aunt Julia were away for three weeks in Portugal, where they went every year.

‘Poor old Portugal,’ said Russell. ‘What did they ever do to us? Now then, Jenny, it’s your birthday on Saturday. What would you like to do?’

I’d forgotten. Because all my days had been pretty much the same, I’d never had a good sense of time. I could usually identify the current season; narrowing it down to the month was a bit more difficult; and naming the actual date was pretty well impossible. It was a good job he reminded me.

I remembered back to last year. Thomas and I had rented John Carpenter’s
The Thing
and with a household-sized bar of chocolate had enjoyed an evening of delighted terror. This year I wasn’t even sure I could be bothered.

Other people, however, had different plans. Russell awoke me at some awful hour, bouncing across the room like an over-caffeinated Tigger. I suspected he’d stood outside the door, looking at his watch until it showed the earliest possible time Mrs Crisp had told him would be acceptable.

He handed me a cup of tea. A tray with a rose would have been nice, but this was Russell. At least it was in a receptacle.

‘Birthday breakfast downstairs,’ he said. ‘Don’t be long.’

Chance would have been a fine thing. Fifteen minutes later he was banging at the door again. I bundled my hair up in a scrunchie and opened the door.

‘This way,’ he said, grabbing my wrist and for a moment, I was back in my first day here when I’d got the tour. How exciting and wonderful everything had seemed. When Thomas had been with me. How could it all go so wrong?

The table was laid with a huge breakfast. Russell served Buck’s Fizz. My place had a little pile of presents. I was touched they had taken all this trouble. Mrs Crisp gave me a little book of simple recipes with, most importantly of all, colour pictures of the finished dish so I had something to aim at. Sharon gave me a pretty scarf. Kevin had carved a little mouse from a piece of wood. What a talented boy he was turning out to be. And there was a big box of chocolates from Boxer, the cat, and Marilyn. I opened all my cards and stood them on the table in front of me. No one mentioned there was nothing from Aunt Julia or Uncle Richard. Maybe it was in the post.

We all sat down together, and even I picked up a little of the excitement in the room. The Buck’s Fizz helped. When we’d finished, Sharon got up and Russell said, ‘Close your eyes.’

Not without some misgivings, I did as I was told. I heard a space being cleared on the table. Something was put down. There was whispering.

Finally, Russell said, ‘OK, open your eyes.’

It was a birthday cake. It was THE birthday cake. It was fabulous. Two storeys high – or whatever you call a cake with two floors, covered in green and purple iced stripes and spots. The two levels were deliberately crooked, giving it a wonderful lop-sided look. Big purple cellophane bows decorated the sides and funky green sparklers were carefully embedded in the top. It was the most exuberant, joyful cake I’d ever seen in my entire life.

Russell lit the sparklers and they all sang, ‘Happy Birthday’. They all looked so pleased and excited and I thought suddenly how lucky I was and that maybe the future could take care of itself after all.

‘Don’t try and blow the sparklers out,’ said Russell helpfully. ‘But don’t forget to make a wish.’

So I did and it came true.

We all had a slice, there and then. The bottom layer was orange and lemon and the top layer was chocolate, so some of us, Russell, had two slices.

I said to Sharon, ‘Did you make this?’

She nodded, proud and happy, and I made up my mind there and then that she would have her own cake shop one day. Genius like this deserved world-wide appreciation.

Eggs, bacon, mushrooms, toast, marmalade, birthday cake, and two glasses of Buck’s Fizz. I was feeling more cheerful than I had in weeks. I tied the scarf round my neck and carefully put the mouse and book to one side.

There was an odd pause and in the silence, I heard the sound of an engine.

‘Goodness,’ said Russell. ‘I wonder what this could be.’

‘Oh. Perhaps I should open the gate,’ said Kevin.

‘Yes,’ said Sharon. ‘I will help.’

‘I will come too,’ said Mrs Crisp and I stared at them, wondering if I wasn’t the only one who’d had too much to drink at breakfast.

Russell stopped and for some reason shoved a couple of carrots in his pocket, but I’d been married to him for nearly six months now and it took a lot more than that to amaze me these days.

A horsebox was backing in through the gate. There were lots of shouted instructions which Martin Braithwaite had the sense to ignore. At last, he switched off the engine and jumped down.

‘Morning all. Happy Birthday, Jenny.’ He began to let down the back. Kevin went to help.

‘Stand here, Jenny,’ said Russell and disappeared inside the box. Everything went very quiet. Suddenly, I was breathless. Something was going to happen. He re-appeared, and following him down the ramp, picking his way carefully, came a neat, dapple-grey horse, sturdily built and with an iron grey mane and tail.

He arrived at the bottom, lifted his head, pricked his ears, looked straight at me – at me! – and uttered a soft, low sound.

I was transfixed; rooted to the spot. Huge, liquid, dark eyes surveyed me placidly and apparently I wasn’t found wanting because he stretched his head towards me.

I stepped forward. He lowered his head and I felt his warm breath through my T-shirt. I gently stroked his cheek. He was beautiful.

‘Happy birthday, Jenny,’ said Russell, softly, and put the leading rein into my hand.

Chapter Twelve

I felt exactly the same disbelief I’d experienced when he asked me to marry him – that this was something too good ever to happen to me.

‘Here,’ said Russell, handing me a carrot. ‘Show him you’re his friend.’

He took the carrot very gently, his soft lips tickling my palm. I gently stroked his velvet nose.

‘That was good, Jenny. You’re very confident,’ said Russell. This was probably not the moment to tell him I’d spent the last fifteen years with an invisible horse.

‘May I hope that, just for once, I have rendered my wife speechless for all the right reasons?’

I nodded, still unable to drag my eyes away. He’d finished his carrot and was now calmly surveying the yard around him, apparently quite at home.

Russell was rattling on. ‘You never asked where I was going, did you, so thank you for making it so easy for me. I have to say I’ve been all over the county this last month. You very nearly got a beautiful little mare, the colour of polished mahogany, named Firefly, but something held me back and as soon as I clapped eyes on this fellow, I knew he was the one for you. He’s absolutely bombproof. He’s loving and affectionate and a complete gentleman. In fact, his previous owner says that if ever she felt herself falling off, he would stop of his own accord and wait for her to pull herself back together again. He loves attention and being handled. I think the two of you were made for each other.’

I could hardly get it out. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Thomas.’

I caught my breath. Thomas hadn’t stayed – but he’d sent. I should have known. I should have trusted him. He would never leave me completely alone. Warm joy flooded through me.

‘He’s really for me?’

‘He’s really for you.’

I tidied his forelock neatly and stroked his face, almost too full to speak. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘No, really, thank you.’

‘No really, you’re welcome.’

A thought occurred to me. I said quietly, ‘But …what about … you know … next year?’

‘We’ll talk about that later. Shall we take him inside to meet the resident loonies? Now, just keep a firm hold, look as if you know what you’re doing, and lead him in. Kevin, can you open his box, please?’

The first one was still empty, but I led him into the second. Marilyn was next door and Boxer in the big one at the end. Both of them nearly fell over themselves, craning their necks to look.

‘Yes, it’s easy to see who’s going to be the brains of this outfit,’ said Russell, following on behind. ‘Mind you, in this place you could stand a brick on the table and it would still be the most intelligent thing for miles around.’

I proudly led Thomas into his box. Kevin had it all ready for him. I unclipped the rein, gave him a final pat, and joined Russell.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let’s just give him a little peace and quiet. They can all get acquainted and then, if Marilyn hasn’t eaten him, we’ll turn them out together. Anyone fancy another slice of cake?’

But I couldn’t be dragged away. I watched Thomas – my Thomas – investigate his box, pull at his hay net, peer through the partition at Marilyn, who peered back, rather in the manner of the abyss, and then, apparently, he went to sleep.

‘Told you,’ said Russell, turning up with a plate and a mug. ‘Nothing rattles him. A bit of much-needed sanity around the place. By the way, tell that cat of yours if I find him on my bed again, I’ll make mittens out of him.’

‘Russell …’

‘Yes, love? Do you want that cake?’

I shook my head. ‘Russell, what about when I … leave? I could reasonably take the cat with me, but a horse …?’

‘I told you, I’ll help you find somewhere. And even if we can’t, you can still keep him here. I don’t mind. And Mrs Crisp will be pleased to see you when you visit.’

‘Russell, your next wife is not … going to want me wandering in and out a couple of times a week.’

‘My next wife?’ he said, thunderstruck. ‘What next wife?’

‘Well, when I’m … gone, you’ll still need money, won’t you? You should be looking around, so you have someone already lined up. Smooth transition.’

He actually put the cake down. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone else,’ he said, after a long pause.

‘But what about …?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something. But it definitely won’t be marriage; I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

I said in a small voice, ‘Has it been so … bad?’

‘No, of course not, but I can’t see myself marrying again, somehow.’

‘Russell, you’re an idiot. You’re … personable, quite charming when you concentrate, and you have this lovely house. Unless there’s something … badly wrong with the women in Rushford, you’ll be fighting them off with a stick.’

‘Mrs Crisp will be my chaperone and bodyguard. I’ll buy her one of those earpieces and some dark glasses.’

He would go back to Francesca. As soon as the door closed behind me, she would be over here like a Bengal tiger to a tethered goat.

He was watching me. ‘No, I won’t.’

‘Won’t what?’

‘Get back with Francesca. I’m not putting my hand in that fire again. I’m off leggy red-heads for good. They bring you nothing but grief,’ said my leggy, red-headed husband.

I put my hand on his arm. ‘I worry about you.’

Something odd flickered and was gone. ‘Well, I worry about you. Just promise me you won’t go back to your aunt.’

‘I promise.’

Thomas moved around his box again, calling me back to the moment.

‘I haven’t thanked you.’

‘Yes, you have.’

I put my arms around him and hugged him as hard as I could. The first time I’d ever done that.

‘Thank you, Russell. Thank you so much. You don’t … know what this means to me.’

He tensed and patted my shoulder awkwardly. I was embarrassing him, so I let go and stepped back.

‘Well, again, thank you.’

He turned quickly away and began hunting through the contents of a dusty cupboard.

‘Again, you’re welcome.’

I had my first riding lesson a couple of days later.

They marked out an area in our second field, with oil drums at each corner, marked A, B, C and, astonishingly, D. I could only assume this was for their benefit as I was already on nodding terms with the alphabet and Thomas probably couldn’t read. I wore a smart new safety hat, and with the aid of a box, climbed clumsily into the saddle. It was an awfully long way up. I could practically see the sea.

Boxer watched from over the hedge. Marilyn watched through the hedge and everyone else watched from the gate.

With Russell standing in the centre like a ringmaster, I walked Thomas from A to B, turned left at C, and walked him back to A and so on. Once I got used to the strangeness, it wasn’t too difficult. Then we trotted and I bumped gracelessly around like a – like a very graceless thing. We finished with a walk up the lane so I could show off to the Braithwaites. Their eight-year-old daughter, Fiona, was on her own pony, casually jumping fences that looked taller than me, watched by her proud parents. Everyone waved.

When we got home, I had to get my legs used to land again, and then I had to rub Thomas down under Russell’s watchful eye, pick out his feet – he lifted each one for me, such a gentleman – wash his bit, and clean the tack. It took three times as long as the actual ride and I was exhausted at the end of it. No wonder Russell was so thin.

But I was learning. I was actually learning to ride. And the day Russell saddled up Boxer as well and we rode together up on the moors was one of the best days of my life. We went for miles, closing our ears to the anxious cries of a small donkey suffering separation anxiety, drifting up from the valley below.

She was in the yard when we got back. I suspect Mrs Crisp and Sharon had been playing with her in our absence, but this did not prevent her scolding us every inch of the way across the yard. We turned the two horses into the field where they immediately enjoyed a luxurious roll and while they were on their backs with their legs in the air, she had a go at them as well.

‘Does she not have a volume control?’ said Kevin, moving out of range.

Mrs Crisp, who’d vainly been trying to get a word in, mouthed a sentence at me. She tried again, just as Marilyn finally fell silent and the words, ‘So they’re on their way over,’ reverberated around the yard.

Russell stepped back. ‘Why are you yelling at me?’

What she would have done to him at this point was never established, because, with the inevitability of death and taxes, my relations were upon us.

‘Quick,’ muttered Russell, ‘Let me look at you.’

‘What?’

‘Are you injured at all? Bruised? Ill? Unhappy? Tired? Quick, tell me, so I can think of excuses.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘Just for once, you’re … completely in the clear.’

Oh no he wasn’t.

I forgot to take my riding hat off.

They stopped dead as they took in the implication.

Aunt Julia opened her mouth.

Uncle Richard, with true heroism, spoke first.

‘My goodness, Jenny. Have you been riding?’

‘Yes,’ I said proudly. ‘I have my own horse.’

‘How exciting. May I see it? Julia, come and see Jenny’s horse.’

Fortunately, the horses had finished displaying their bellies and were both right side up, grazing quietly. They ignored the audience at the gate, but Marilyn bustled over to check them out.

For a second, we were a tableau of normality. The relatives admiring the niece’s birthday present. Then, sadly, the sound cut in.

‘Russell, are you deliberately trying to kill your wife?

Well, now she’d come right out and said it.

‘I think we both know the answer to that one, Julia.’

‘Are you insane? The risk … She’s not strong … Richard, you can’t allow this to continue.’

‘Well, really, Julia, why is it such a bad thing? I assume she doesn’t go out alone, Russell?’

‘Not yet. And she doesn’t go out on the roads at all. Just up the lane on to the moors. It’s very quiet. You never see another soul. Apart from Martin Braithwaite occasionally with his dogs. And certainly no traffic. And she’s coming along very well, Richard. And the horse is extremely reliable. There’s really nothing to worry about.’

Just for once, he was making a real effort to be conciliatory. He knew how much this meant to me and he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away. I was truly grateful.

Thomas wandered over to see who these new people were. I stroked him. ‘See, Aunt Julia, how gentle he is.’

She looked uncertainly at her husband. ‘Richard …’

I’ll say this for Uncle Richard, he may channel mild-mannered Clark Kent, but when he spoke, Aunt Julia listened.

‘My dear, I think you worry unnecessarily. This is a good thing for Jenny. She’s learning responsibility. Russell, I know we must seem over-protective to you, but we remember when she was – not as well as she is these days.’

‘Of course, sir. I understand, but you only have to look at the difference in her to see how beneficial this has been. I hope you will give her your blessing. She derives a great deal of enjoyment from her riding and your displeasure would certainly spoil it for her.’

They were all discussing me as if I wasn’t there – as usual – but even as I thought this, Russell turned, and concealed from them, winked at me.

‘Well, you may be right. But Jenny, please promise me you will not venture on to public highways.’

‘I promise, Uncle Richard.’

‘And you will take care.’

‘Yes, I will take care. I only ever go up on the … moor and follow the … path. And Thomas is very safe.’

‘Is that his name? Tell me about him?’

So I peeled off with Uncle Richard and talked about Thomas, while Russell, heroically, took Aunt Julia into the house, where, hopefully, she would be plied with refreshments and then go away.

Uncle Richard seemed in no hurry to follow them in, so we stayed outside in the sunshine, leaning on the gate. I remembered again, the night before I got married, how much I enjoyed talking to him. He told me about their holiday in Portugal, relating one or two little incidents.

‘And I have to say, Jenny, how much your speech has improved. You still have the slight hesitation, but it is a joy to see how your confidence has grown. You know that I was a little concerned about your marriage, but I’m delighted to say I think I might have been wrong. He’s not who I would have chosen, but there is no doubt, he’s been good for you. And I think you’ve done him good, too, Jenny. I’m very happy to see the two of you making a go of it.’

I was very touched. ‘Thank you, Uncle Richard.’

And I was very guilty. He was going to be upset when we divorced. And even more upset when I didn’t return to live with them. But that was for the future. I was beginning to adopt Russell’s ‘I’ll think of something,’ attitude.

‘And now, I think,’ he continued, in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘we had better go and find our respective spouses. You can never be quite sure how long détente will last. We wouldn’t want to put too much of a strain on goodwill, would we?’

They had brought my birthday present, with apologies for its lateness. Book tokens, which were always acceptable to me. In my pre-Russell days, I would spend weeks in the bookshop before making my choice. For me, with so much time to kill, that was the most important part of the present. The downside was that the bookshop belonged to Christopher and I had initially been reluctant to add to his profits, until it became painfully apparent to everyone that Christopher couldn’t run a race, let alone a business, and that probably the bookshop had never made any sort of profit since the minute he first walked in through the door. I sometimes wondered how much it cost them to keep him afloat.

We waved them off, basking in goodwill and sunshine. Russell disappeared to his studio, and Kevin and I, armed with weapons of mass destruction, got stuck into the garden again.

That was pretty much how the whole summer went. I rode in the mornings with Russell and then when he went up to his studio, I attacked the garden. Sometimes Russell hung out of the window, shouting advice or criticism. Sometimes I told him to wind his neck in.