Chapter 11

The next morning, Marilyn sent Jay off to the builders’ merchant to pick up supplies and hire some equipment while she stayed to make the preparations at home. He knew what he needed and she’d be more use clearing the few remaining bits from the barn than going along for the ride. She briefly wondered whether she’d ever see her car again, but told herself a decision to trust someone involved more than words. He wouldn’t get far in any case. She smiled to herself as she shifted half-empty sacks and an assortment of gardening equipment out of the barn to clear the floor.

He was back before she had time to begin worrying, the old jeep groaning under the weight of the hired trailer. They spent the morning excavating the soil floor with a mini-digger. He began by teaching her how to operate it, freeing him to do the heavier work on the ground. She became aware of how well they worked together, often even anticipating one another’s movements. Jay took charge, but in a way that didn’t make her instantly want to contradict him, and listened to her suggestions with a respect Matt had rarely shown her, not latterly at least.

It was warm work, and when the autumn sun broke through the steely clouds, a touch of gold glinting in the iron grey, Jay paused to remove his jumper. His T-shirt rucked up slightly and she thought she glimpsed a scar on his side before he pulled it back down. He glanced over and caught her watching him.

‘I…I thought I’d go and make us a drink,’ she said. ‘Shall I take that in out of the way?’

He passed the jumper over to her with a smile. A warm feeling suffused her, but she stopped the train of thought in its tracks by asking, awkwardly, whether he wanted tea or cordial and walking briskly in to the kitchen.

When she came out with two mugs of tea he stopped work and joined her on the rickety bench against the front wall of the house. It creaked as he sat down.

‘This could do with a bit of work,’ he said. ‘Couple of rotten bits need patching up, a brace or two on the wobbliest joints. I’ll add it to the list of jobs if you like – it’s not as if we’re short of timber.’

‘That’d be great, thanks.’

They sat gazing out through the trees, the song of the curlews bubbling up into the sky over the moors beyond.

‘This is an amazing place to live,’ he said.

‘I still stop regularly and think how lucky I am. Sorry about my little outburst yesterday. At least I’ve got a week off from my other job to enjoy it.’

‘Your other job?’

‘A friend of mine runs a pub – small hotel, really – in the next dale. I help out behind the bar; at least it’s something regular until I get established. Though it’s only temporary – Sue’s doing me a favour, really. I bet she’ll be happy not to have to pay my wages this week. All the more reason to make sure I get my own business going sooner rather than later.’

‘You will. I can see you’ve got determination. And self-respect.’ He was suddenly serious. ‘If you don’t respect yourself, who knows where it might lead?’ Wondering how to reply, she watched him staring towards the horizon. He picked up his tea mug and drained it in a couple of gulps. ‘Just listen to me! What do I know?’

He stood abruptly and reached for her mug to take into the kitchen with his own. On his way back out he paused on the doorstep.

‘See, no self-respect. Or respect of any kind. I forgot to take my muddy boots off.’

‘It doesn’t—’

‘I’ll learn. Listen, I want to thank you, Polly.’

‘I should be thanking you for all you’re doing.’

‘No, I mean it. Thank you for…for trusting me.’

‘I—’

‘It means a lot to me.’

He moved past her and she tried to think of a reply as she followed.

‘Now then,’ he said with a grin and a theatrical clap of his hands, ‘where were we?’

They worked hard, the chuntering of the digger limiting conversation to planning the next move and the give-and-take of instructions in the welcome pauses. He was a man on a mission, she thought as they worked. They stopped only for a brief lunch and a mid-afternoon cup of tea, determined to have the digger ready to take back and exchange for a concrete mixer the following day. By the end of the afternoon, shortly before their self-imposed deadline of the first signs of dusk, they had the floor excavated and much of the soil at the back cleared.

‘There,’ he said as they stood back and surveyed the gutted space. ‘It’s amazing what you can achieve when it matters.’

‘Matters?’

He turned to her. ‘Oh, you know. Job satisfaction. Didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘I…I didn’t think for a second that you did.’

They stood looking at one another for an awkward moment and she hoped the flush she felt on her face was the result of the afternoon’s work and fresh air.

‘It’ll be getting dark soon,’ she said. ‘We should be thinking about getting cleaned up and making some dinner.’

‘Why don’t we go out?’

‘We could…’ She hesitated.

‘I’ll pay; I know you’re strapped. Oh, hang on, you said you had a freezer full to deal with. Sorry, bad idea.’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘That was just me trying to impress. I’m not that efficient. A few bits but nothing that goes together. Should’ve done more of a shop when I was out yesterday. My head was all over the place, sorry.’

‘That settles it. Where’s good nearby – this place where you work?’

‘What day is it?’

‘Tuesday,’ he said without hesitation. She was mildly surprised he kept track.

‘She doesn’t do food on Mondays or Tuesdays at this time of year. There’s one over the moors does. A bit of a drive, but I’ve always fancied trying it.’

‘Sounds good.’ He grinned, gestured towards the car. ‘I really liked getting behind the wheel this morning. I hadn’t driven for ages before that. Can I offer to be your chauffeur for the evening?’

It wasn’t a pub she’d ever been to; Matt had never fancied it. It was surprisingly busy for the time of year, but they managed to find a quiet corner. She felt good in her favourite flowing skirt, with her hair loose, freed from the plaits she braided whenever she was working. Jay had called them ‘sweet’ and she was fairly sure from his tone that it was a compliment.

The beer was excellent and the food plain but good. As they ate she told Jay more about her plans and listened to some anecdotes from his nomadic life. He insisted on paying for them both and she watched him at the bar, chatting easily with the barman, looking over to their table every now and again and catching her eye. He was wearing the clothes they’d washed on the first night, a cotton shirt and cargo trousers – plenty of useful pockets for his travels, she thought. He’d laughed when she’d apologised for being unable to iron them as the electricity was off, and she smiled now as she thought how the creases actually suited him. She noticed he paid with plastic and commented on it when he returned with last drinks for the road.

‘I don’t always carry pockets of change around,’ he said. ‘Could give the wrong impression, especially on a first date.’

She felt a little tug of surprise. ‘Is that what this is?’

‘If you’re happy about it, I’m honoured. If I’ve misunderstood I apologise – I’d be quite happy to think of the investment I want to make in your pottery venture and call it a business dinner.’

‘I think I prefer the first option.’

She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but was happy to play along for a while and see where it led. Their hands touched as he passed her drink over. He took hers, leaned across the table and brought her fingers to his lips in an old-fashioned gesture. Marilyn laughed gently, but savoured the tingle that his touch sent through her. She looked at their hands, fingers lightly intertwined, on the table in front of them. His long fingers looked used to work, unadorned but for a small gold band on his little finger that seemed to have grown there. He noticed her looking.

‘I just saw it and liked it. It doesn’t mean anything.’ His expression was serious. ‘I’ve never been married, and believe me when I say I’m not one of those rover types with a no-strings-attached woman in every town.’ He relaxed. ‘I mean, honestly, who in their right mind would have the likes of me?’

‘Are you doubting my sanity?’ she teased.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘I know. You must have had a serious relationship or two.’

He nodded. ‘But I’m a man. I don’t talk about things like that. Seriously, there was someone once, yes, but it was a long time ago. Things didn’t work out. My fault mainly, I can see that now. I’m older and wiser. Well, older.’

‘And no better at selling yourself, obviously.’ She smiled. ‘Was that when you were still living in that house of yours?’

‘In Winchester? Yes.’

She picked up her glass and drank. ‘Is that where you’re from originally?’

He grinned. ‘I knew you weren’t listening to a word I’ve said. I’ve never lived in one place long enough to call myself “from” anywhere.’ He shrugged. ‘The opposite. I think I liked the fact that Winchester was somewhere I had even less connection with than anywhere else. I don’t really do connections, as you may have gathered. I send my sister a Christmas card every year; I doubt she wants it but it’s become tradition. And that’s it.’

‘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.

That will soon change. She has only just moved here from the capital, after all, and with their help will soon transform the run-down farm back into the home it used to be. Her spiritual home, she says. He is sure Ivan feels the same as she does, even though it is also his first visit to this place – they are family, after all. As for himself, he realises, with a sadness like nothing he has felt before, that he doesn’t have a spiritual home. Throwing all his energy into helping repair, clean and awaken the sleeping house, adding a layer of the habitable to the spiritual, he is more than ready to believe her when she says he is young yet and he will know when he finds it. That may be true, but he senses it is something she has always known, that she had no need to discover, and it makes him feel inferior.

And now she has told them they shouldn’t be there. Her smile seems just for him and he is reassured that she is speaking from concern. She looks at him in a way that makes it perfectly clear she does not want them gone.

The sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall. Zora frowns.

‘I didn’t expect him tonight.’

He and Ivan exchange a glance.

A formidable-looking man enters the room and he shivers as he is touched by the fresh, cold night air that accompanies the newcomer. The intense jealousy he feels as Zora rises to greet their visitor, embracing him warmly and kissing him on both cheeks, is irrational but real. The same goes for the fear he feels under the hostile, disapproving gaze. His grasp of the language is insufficient to understand the man’s question and Zora’s rapid reply, which adds to his disquiet.

‘I was telling him my nephew and his friend have come to stay,’ she tells them. ‘This is my good friend Lek.’

Without knowing why, he is fully aware that the man is more than a good friend. Lek’s face is expressionless as she presents them. She introduces him as Šojka, the name she gave him when they first came last year, saying it sounds so much nicer in their language, suits him so much better, than Džej. He agreed willingly; from the moment they first met she has made him feel older, interesting, an exotic foreigner – someone more special than he really is. But now, though his expression does not change, Lek’s eyes bore into him, unequivocally conveying that being named for a bird is something to be despised. It is a challenge.

Unsure of the etiquette, they stand to shake Lek’s hand. He makes himself look straight into the man’s eyes and ensures his handshake is hard and strong. It is a challenge he accepts.

‘You are welcome here,’ Lek says, glancing possessively at Zora, ‘but you will soon wish you had not come.’

The nature of his smile makes it clear he is in deadly earnest.