The Nothing Girl (30 page)

Daniel nodded, put his arm around her, and led her away. Tanya, bending over a coughing Andrew, straightened up. ‘Francesca. Next week – you will have lunch with Jenny and me. I will call you.’ It was a command.

She nodded, looking rather pale. Reaction was setting in. She waved feebly and then Daniel took her away.

Russell went off to speak to the fire brigade who had everything perfectly under control. There was a comforting feeling that tonight, finally, there were people here who knew what they were doing.

We found Boxer at the very edge of his field, snorting and trembling, but still just about on Planet Earth. Marilyn fussed around him like a small tugboat. We led them back to Thomas, who hadn’t moved and the three of them huddled together.

Martin Braithwaite turned up with his horsebox and took them away. They could spend the night quietly in his barn. He would keep an eye on them for us.

Tanya took Andrew to hospital. He and Russell exchanged a few words. Russell thumped him on the arm and then hugged him. This is probably not the recommended treatment for concussion.

He said to Tanya, ‘What can I say? There are no words …’

She said, ‘Words are not needed, Russell.’

I sat on the ground, in the cold and dark, with Kevin on one side and Sharon on the other. We waited in silence. The cat turned up, dishevelled and smoky. He climbed onto my lap and I clutched him to my chest.

Mrs Crisp tried to get us to come inside. We refused. With much groaning, she sat on the ground with us. I worried we’d never get her up again.

It didn’t take them long to get things under control. The barn would need to be rebuilt. Our feed was all gone. The stables next door suffered only water and smoke damage. Nothing that couldn’t be put right. Nobody was dead.

Russell dealt with everything and everyone. There was no shouting.

He found us all, sitting in the dark, like refugees. He helped Mrs Crisp to her feet and she and Sharon went off to make the reservoir of tea that was such a small and inadequate reward for our wonderful fire-fighters.

He came back to me. ‘Come on. We can go back inside now,’ and pulled me to my feet. I tried to follow the others, but he held my arm, saying quietly, ‘What’s really the matter?’

Still clinging to the cat, I looked down. I looked up. I looked everywhere except –

‘Out with it, wife.’

I shook my head.

‘Jenny. It’s been a long day. And it’s not over yet. Tell me what’s wrong. You remember – a long time ago – you promised you’d tell me. You wouldn’t make me guess.’

True.

I took a deep breath. ‘My family. What they’ve done to you. And tonight.’ I gestured. ‘And the deal was – I brought the money and you brought the house and there’s no money. I can’t keep up my end of the deal. You said –’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Jenny.’ The cat growled. He took two hasty steps backwards. ‘Are you going to throw every stupid thing I’ve ever said right back at me? Now? Tonight? Because if you are then we’re going to be standing here for a very long time. Is that all it’s been for you? Just some sort of commercial transaction? Well it’s not. Not for me, anyway. Well, it was initially, but not for long. And I guessed fairly early on about your money. That business with the feed bill never paid – and other things too. And now, now I finally get everything sorted out, it’s all over and you’re standing in a field in the middle of the night, crying your eyes out because you think you have no worth without money? If I wasn’t the most easy-going, uncomplaining, patient bloke on the planet, I swear I’d be shouting my head off in frustration.’

He stopped shouting, took a very deep breath, and put his arm around me.

‘It’s all right, Jenny. I’ve got you … 
Now
why are you crying?’

‘Because I’ve got you.

‘Well … good … OK. that’s all right, then. Let’s go inside before that lot finish off all the lemon tart. And bring the cat.’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘Who do you think got Boxer moving? Old Buggerlugs here bit him. As far as I’m concerned, he has a home for life. But you knew that anyway, didn’t you?’

The kitchen was full of people. All talking loudly. Mugs and plates were scattered across every available surface. There wasn’t a crumb of lemon tart left anywhere.

I sat in a corner, watching, nursing a mug of tea and the cat. Gradually, they all went away. There would be questions and paperwork and explanations, but that was all for tomorrow.

Russell turned to Mrs Crisp. ‘You gave them our pudding?’

She smiled slightly and patted her hair. ‘Well, they’re firemen.’

‘Stop that at once,’ he said. ‘What sort of behaviour is that in front of two impressionable young people?’

The two impressionable young people grinned at him.

‘And you two can pack that in, as well. What are you doing?’

Mrs Crisp had started to pile up plates and dishes. He took them from her, saying softly, ‘Go to bed, Auntie Lizzie. We’ll see to all this in the morning.’

She swallowed, and said, ‘Oh … Russell.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘Off you go. And for God’s sake, have a bit of a lie-in tomorrow. You deserve it. Now, I’m assuming you snagged yourself a couple of firemen and chained them to the walls with all your other lovers, so don’t keep them waiting.’

She snorted.

‘And keep the noise down in there,’ he called after her.

She slammed her door.

‘Kev, I’m sorry, I can’t let you back into your room until we get the OK and I’ve no idea when that will be.’

‘No problem, Mr Checkland. I’ll sleep here, in front of the range. Just in case anyone … comes back.’

I hadn’t thought of that and looked at Russell in sudden alarm. He shook his head. ‘If they’ve got any sense, Richard and Julia have got him out of the country by now. Sharon, it’s really late. I’ll get you a taxi.’

‘No need,’ she said, innocently. ‘I’ll stay too. Just in case. I’ll curl up on the sofa.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ said my dense husband. ‘There are spare rooms upstairs and –’

 I kicked him under the table.

‘– obviously you prefer to be down here in case of any emergency. Commendable … dedication. Remind me to remember to pay you this month. Jenny, go to bed. You look dreadful.’

Glad to go, I said goodnight and departed for the longest and best bath of my life.

Emerging, pink and fluffy some considerable time later, I found Russell in T-shirt and shorts, sitting at the bottom of my bed, rubbing his hair dry.

He dropped the towel and looked at me for a very long time. My heart rate picked up.

Finally, he said, ‘You told your aunt and uncle that I went like a train?’

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

‘What?’

‘You told them I went like a train. Do you even know what that means?’

‘Well, I heard someone say it once …’

‘Not in connection with the Great Western Railway timetable, I’m thinking.’

‘Um …’

‘And how would you know anyway?’

‘Well …’

‘How can I possibly maintain my reputation as a sober married man and responsible member of the community when you’re dashing around telling everyone I go like a train?’

‘Um … well, if you think it would help, I could tell everyone that on the contrary, you definitely
don’t
go like a train.’

He closed his eyes. ‘I never actually thought I’d have to say this, but Jenny – please stop talking.’

‘I was just trying to help.’

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes, I really don’t know what to do with you.’

‘Yes, you do.’

He smiled. ‘Yes, I do.’

He stood quickly, scooped me up in his arms, laid me carefully on the bed, and made slow love with such exquisite gentleness that I nearly fell apart.

Epilogue

I awoke very early. Even the birds weren’t up yet. I turned my head on the pillow and smiled at the giant, golden horse standing in the corner, swishing his tail and filling the room with the scent of warm ginger biscuits.

‘
Hello, Jenny.
’

‘Hello, Thomas.’

‘
Come downstairs. Don’t wake anyone.
’

I disentangled myself gently from the randy octopus sleeping next to me, found some clothes, grabbed an old sweater of Russell’s against the early morning chill, and quietly let myself out of the house.

He waited for me in the lane.

‘Thomas.’

I put my arms around him. It was so wonderful to touch him again. He lowered his head and rested his forehead against mine. I lost myself in huge happiness. I stroked his cheek, arranged his mane, and tidied his forelock. He blew in my hair.

‘
Shall we walk a little?
’

We set off in the dim, grey morning light. Somewhere in the trees, a bird started to sing. They’d all be at it soon, heralding the start of another long summer’s day.

I put my hand on his neck as we walked. He didn’t seem to mind.

‘
So, how are you, Jenny? What’s been happening?
’

Where to begin?

‘Well, Russell is exactly the same. He’s painting like a madman at the moment. A local gallery took some of his work, which was quite well received. Someone came down from London to see them. He sold one and got a commission and the local paper did a piece about him and he’s putting together a body of work for an exhibition next year.’

‘
How’s it going? Is it coming back to him?
’

‘He’s struggling a little. His work is – different. I think he’s making a mistake trying to capture his old style. He’s not the same person he was then.’

‘
Is he happy?
’

‘He shouts a lot, so I think so.’

‘
What about Francesca?
’
                                                                     

‘Oh, you’ll not believe this; she took a shine to Marilyn and offered to do a promotion for the local donkey centre. The press was there and she was photographed cuddling hugely photogenic baby donkeys. She was a massive hit and now does a lot of fund raising for them and donkeys in general. Tons of good publicity of course, which does her no harm at all, but I think she enjoys it. And, more surprise, she’s very big in Spain.’

‘
What? Is it our revenge for the Armada?
’

‘They love her over there. She’s always dashing off to do photo shoots and things. Daniel often goes out to join her.’

‘
They’re still together, are they?
’

‘Very much so.’ I paused. ‘A lot of people learned a lot that night. Oh, you’ll never guess – Mrs Crisp has a boyfriend.’

He stopped dead and I walked into him.

‘
No!
’ he said, as we sorted ourselves out.

‘Yes. It’s the assessor from the insurance company. He turned up to inspect the damage and assess the claim. He kept coming back with all these silly questions. Russell was going mad thinking they were trying to wriggle out of paying and was barely even civil to the poor man, and then it turned out that Mrs Crisp was the attraction. He can’t keep away. His name is Bill and he takes her out every Sunday. She stayed out overnight once and didn’t turn up until after breakfast the next morning and we all had to pretend she’d just overslept. Russell is worrying he’s going to have to do the “What are your intentions?” speech.’

‘
Who’s “we all”?
’

‘Well, Kevin’s still with us, but not for much longer. Sharon has seen suitable premises for her cup-cake shop, with living accommodation over the top. We loaned them a bit of money. No idea whether it will be a success or if Kevin will get a job after college, but they’re young. They’ll cope.’

‘
Whereas you, of course, Jenny, are almost completely over the hill.
’

‘I consider myself to have reached the age of mature reflection, if that’s what you mean.’

‘
So, what else?
’

‘You’re insatiable, aren’t you? Not a lot, really.’

He sighed. ‘
I mean, Jenny, what about you?
’

‘Oh, me. Well, I’m in the process of selling the bookshop. A national chain, you know the one, has made me an offer I’m going to accept. And I did a bit of work with Daniel on his TV series. It was really interesting. I loved it. And we may do another about Queen Isabella. You know, The She Wolf of France. And I ride a lot.’ I paused. ‘Did you send him?’

‘
Who?
’

‘The other Thomas.’

‘
Certainly not. How could I? I simply caused a few things to happen.
’

I remembered Russell telling me about the mare I’d so nearly had. ‘But as soon as I saw this fellow, I knew he was the one for you …’

‘
And see how well it all turned out.
’

By now, we were passing the Braithwaites’ farm. Martin stood by his back door, mug in hand. I waved.

The sun was coming up over the hill as we stepped out on to the moors. Another bright, golden day was being born. Although not as bright and golden as Thomas himself, looking down at me with love in his eyes.

‘So, what about you, Thomas? Are you well?’

‘
Of course.
’

‘And your little boy? Did he …? Was he …?’

‘
No.
’

There was a world of pain in that short word.

I stopped.

‘Oh, Thomas.’

He sighed. ‘
I did what I could. It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. He was so small. But I was able to take away his pain and his fear at the end.
’

I felt my own eyes fill with tears
.
‘I’m so sorry.’

‘
It happens, Jenny. More often than I would like. There isn’t usually a happy ending. In fact, I can only ever recall one.
’

Poor, poor Thomas. Who gave his all. Every time. Who never stinted. And who almost always failed. I stood on tiptoe and kissed his forehead. ‘It’s good to see you. Why have you come?’

‘
I left you more suddenly than I wanted to. There were still things to say. And I missed you. And I thought you might like to see this.
’

We started forwards again. I rested my hand on his shoulder, feeling his warmth and strength. Trying to find the courage to come out and say it …

‘Thomas, would you like …?’

I stopped, suddenly. We breasted the top of the hill and there, spread over the valley before me – a whole herd of huge horses of every colour. Flashing chestnut, creamy white, glittering silver, rich dark brown. Beautiful horses. Beautiful, big, strong horses. Some stood in small groups with their heads close together; some grazed, one or two drank from the stream, some stood quietly and alone, perhaps quietly enjoying the early morning sun. A snatched moment of peace.

Above them all, on the hill, stood a solitary horse, far bigger than all the others, coal black, still and watchful. The King Horse.

But there was only one golden horse. My Thomas, standing quietly at my side, watching me watch them.

My heart swelled at the beauty and majesty of them.

‘Thomas …’

He said, ‘
This doesn’t happen very often. I thought you might like to see it. You could call it a works outing, I suppose.
’

On the hill opposite, the black horse shook his head and stamped his foot. I felt the ground tremble.

‘
I must go.
’

No, he mustn’t …

‘Wait. Thomas, I wanted to say … you don’t have to be alone. Your little boy died and you’re sad, but you don’t have to be alone. Why don’t you come and see me, just every now and then? When you need to talk. Or if you don’t want to talk, if things have gone badly, just to be with a friend. I don’t want to lose you. I hadn’t realised, until I saw you again … And I owe you so much. Let me repay a little. Please. Don’t let this be the last time we see each other.’

I stretched out a hand to him.

‘
Why?
’ he asked.

‘Because you’re special.’

The King Horse shook his head again and trumpeted a call, long and clear. The horses lifted their heads. One or two began to move.

‘
I must go,
’ said Thomas again, still not moving.

I couldn’t let him just leave. Not again. Something was tearing inside me.

‘Please, Thomas, what do you say? Will you come and see me sometimes? You should have someone to talk to. You shouldn’t be alone.’

He thought about it for a very long time. My heart thumped. I couldn’t lose him again. I just couldn’t.

‘
I’d like that,
’ he said, softly. His eyes gleamed with the sudden mischief that brought back so many memories. ‘
I’ll come on special occasions – like the birth of your first child.
’

‘Oh. OK.’

If a horse could grin, he grinned. ‘
So that’s in just less than six months, then.
’

‘What? Thomas, wait …’

But he was gone. He cantered gently down the slope and jumped the stream at the bottom as he had done before. And as he had done before, for a split second, he hung motionless in the air, a perfect arc, before galloping uphill to join his herd.

Now the other horses were moving after their leader. Moving as one, they wheeled around. Manes and tails streamed behind them like medieval banners. From a standing start, they moved to a full gallop, their necks outstretched, and powerful muscles bunching under their glossy coats. Full tilt, they thundered up the hill. A glorious sight that nearly stopped my heart in wonder. The ground shook under their hooves. One by one, they vanished. Gradually, the noise of thunder died away until just the early morning birdsong remained. That and the gentle breeze lifting my hair.

But, as he disappeared over the top of the hill, the last horse, the very last horse, the big, golden one, kicked up his heels for fun and the sheer joy of living.

And then they were gone.