Out of Step (16 page)

‘You’ve gotta be joking!’

‘So … you have a different sort of relationship with her?’

‘Eh?’

‘She’s your partner, perhaps?’

‘For Gawd’s sake,’ Mic flared up. ‘We’re
friends
, right?’ Friendship made a better story than mutual (hostile) dependency. ‘She helps me an’ I help her. Not that it’s any of your fucking business.’

‘We’re talking about the children here,’ the social worker said emolliently, smoothing her way over Mic’s aggression like a snail riding on slime across sharp stones. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that their welfare has to be our paramount consideration. And whilst Mrs Hayhoe – Cassie – is under psychiatric care, I have a duty to ensure that they’re adequately cared for. How long have you known her?’

‘Long enough.’

‘And are you perhaps aware of her history of mental ill health?’

‘She said she had the baby blues after her kids were born, yeah.’

‘Well, it was a little more serious than that. The children were very nearly taken into care, you know.’

‘But they wasn’t.’

‘Well, no, but it was touch and go. Of course, then Mr Hayhoe
was around to give her support.’

‘An’ now she’s got me.’ Mic stared her out.

‘Yes …’ The social worker looked down at her notes. ‘Yes … My colleague says that you relate well to both children, but naturally their father is the obvious person to have care of them. You’ve met him, of course.’

‘Well, no,’ Mic admitted.

‘But, you’ve been here how long?’

‘Since April.’

‘But that’s … nearly seven months! Surely you must have … I mean, Mr Hayhoe visits his children regularly, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh yeah, every weekend, but Cassie don’t let ‘im past the front hall, and I just keeps out the way.’

‘Why is that?’

Mic had a flash of inspiration. ‘She’s scared, like.’

‘Of violence, you mean?’ This seemed to strike a chord. Mic nodded, and watched with satisfaction as the woman wrote?
Physical abuse
in her notebook.

‘An’ he lives in a grotty caravan,’ Mic went on, encouraged. ‘You couldn’t send kids there in November; it’d be too bloody cold. They’d be far better off in their own house wiv me an’ Gavin.’

‘Continuity is certainly important, yes.’

‘So, how long’s Cassie going to get banged up for then?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that. She’s gone in entirely voluntarily, you know, until she feels she can cope again. It may be that your advent has precipitated her collapse, in a funny sort of way.’

‘You blaming me? I don’t fink that’s funny.’

‘No, no. You misunderstand me. People like Cassie often hold themselves together by sheer willpower and then, when help comes along, they begin to relax their guard and, wham! the floodgates open. I don’t anticipate a very long stay, though. I’m sure they’ll soon have her
stabilised again. Now, if you could just give me Mr Hayhoe’s address … I’ll need to contact him anyway.’

‘Haven’t gor it.’ Mic looked across at the clock on the mantelpiece, and got to her feet. ‘I’ve gotta collect Rosie from nursery school, awright?’

‘Right.’ The social worker stood up too. ‘Well, carry on with the good work for now anyway, and I’ll let you know what’s decided soon.’ She went out, got into her car and drove away.

‘Stupid cow!’ Mic berated herself aloud. ‘If those kids get sent to their dad’s, then Gav and me’ll get chucked outer here. I was a pillock to get so stroppy; I should’ve brown-nosed her.’

The winds got up from the south as a deep depression approached the West Country across the Atlantic, and Rob, who had heard the weather outlook, set about battening down the hatches before the worst of the gale should hit. The shipping forecast had predicted
severe gale
9,
gusting to violent storm 11
for Wight, Portland and Plymouth, so it wasn’t to be ignored. He got his torch and went round the caravan in the dark, checking the stay-legs were firm and tying the tarpaulin more securely over his Calor Gas bottle. Beyond that there was little he could do except hope for the best. He went inside again and hunted through the wall cupboards until he found his collection of half-burnt candles and a box of matches, in case the site electricity should fail. Then he fried a couple of lamb chops for supper, ate them with bread and butter and sat back with a mug of coffee, congratulating himself on his unaccustomed forethought.

By ten o’clock the wind had increased in strength to an uncomfortable degree and the rain had settled into a steady percussion on the thin roof above his head, changing note and amplitude every now and then as squalls of hail went through. A couple of times the lights
flickered and the boom of thunder interrupted
The World Tonight
on Radio 4. It’s the full works, Rob thought, climbing fully dressed on to his bunk. Could be a bumpy night. He switched off the light and darkness took over.

When he awoke again it was with a start, to find the whole caravan rocking and shivering in the blast. The rain seemed to have stopped, but the wind was screaming around in ever-accelerating strength, and buffeting the sides of the van so that they sucked and bulged spasmodically. The noise was terrific. Rob fought an impulse to bury himself deeper in his bedclothes, and wondered what to do for the best. There were big trees round the edge of the site, but his caravan was out of their range, so with luck he wouldn’t be hit by anything from above.

‘Just hope the bloody van doesn’t overturn –’ he began aloud, and as he reached for his torch a ferocious gust roared in and engulfed everything. Rob had a brief sensation of being weightless and upside down, and then there was a huge crash.

Nell lay in bed and worried about her cottage. The tide was low, so there was no need to be anxious about flooding, but the clay tiles on the roof were rattling alarmingly, and she was sure she heard at least one of them sliding downwards. There’s nothing I can do, she thought. I’ll just have to hope for the best. I do hope the nearest trees have got a grip on things.

She slept fitfully and was tired but relieved when dawn, and the waning of the worst of the storm, came together. At first light Nell got out of bed, put on her fleecy dressing gown and slipper socks, and looked out of the window. It was raining gently. One old and rotten ash tree had fallen across the junction of the coast path with her turning circle, but otherwise all seemed well. She looked round her bedroom – no change – and then went
on a damage-inspection tour of the rest of the house.

At the bathroom door she heard the plink plink of falling water and, looking up, saw it was seeping through the hatch from the roof space and pinging into the bath directly below. Handy place for a bath, Nell thought, and then: Damn! I was right. I must have lost a tile, maybe more than one.

She got dressed quickly and went outside in wellies and a parka to have a look. Squinting through the still-falling rain, she saw several tiles had been displaced sideways but there was only one definite hole in the roof, the offending tile having slid down and lodged itself in the gutter apparently unbroken.

It’s no big deal, Nell thought, but I’ll have to get someone in to fix it for me. I haven’t a ladder high enough, nor a good enough head for heights. In the meantime, it can go on raining into the bath. I may as well go to work and ring for a builder from there.

‘Are you all right?’ Sibyl enquired as Nell arrived at ARTFUL
^L
. ‘Only there’s been a terrific amount of storm damage, according to the
Today
programme. Apparently it’s very bad north of Boxcombe. Did you have any trouble getting in?’

‘I had to wait for one fallen yew to be chainsawed out of the way outside the church,’ Nell said, ‘and of course everywhere’s littered with leaves and twigs and rubbish but no, I think I got off relatively lightly.’

‘I seem to have missed most of it too. My bit of town is down in a dip and sheltered from the worst of the winds. That’s why I was so surprised at the news.’

‘Can I phone?’ Nell asked. ‘I need a builder to put some tiles back.’

‘Of course, but I think you’ll be lucky. They’ll all be gone out by now, sucking their teeth and estimating away; anticipating the fruits of a good disaster!’

Sibyl was right. Nell had no luck.

‘You could always phone Rob,’ Sibyl suggested. ‘He’s a practical sort of bloke, isn’t he? He would probably do it for you.’

‘Well, I suppose…’

‘Go on! What have you got to lose?’

The secretary at Mugglestone, Puddock & Co. said she was very sorry, but Mr Hayhoe wasn’t in today. Nell had a sudden awful thought.

‘He’s all right though, isn’t he? His caravan hasn’t been damaged in the storm?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t –’

‘Look,’ Nell said, getting worried. ‘You can tell me. I’m a friend of his. Is he all right?’

‘If you’d like to leave your name and telephone number, I’ll see that Mr Hayhoe gets back to you.’

Fat chance of that if he’s lying dead under a squashed caravan! Nell thought, but told the woman her name and the shop’s number anyway, and put the phone down, feeling anxious.

At lunchtime, ARTFUL
^L
was closed briefly while Nell went out to buy a sandwich, as Sibyl had the afternoon off and had hurried away. Nell skirted round the fallen debris on the pavements, looking down to see where she was going, and at a junction she looked up to cross the road, and saw a pink furry house.

She stopped in amazement and did a double take. It was definitely pink, but the ‘fur’ was only the still-attached stalks of the Virginia creeper which covered the walls, and whose leaves had all been blown off in the storm, leaving just their pink petioles behind. Nell stared at it smiling, and thought, Sibyl would love this! I must tell her about it. But then she remembered that Sibyl had already left for the afternoon, so there was nobody to tell. I wish I had someone to share things with, she thought, unlocking the shop door again and flipping the ‘Open’ sign to the front. Maybe even a
lodger would be better than no one at all.

The sound of the telephone made her jump. It was Rob. ‘I gather you rang,’ he said. ‘How’s the cottage? Any damage?’

‘Only a few tiles, and one tree down. How about you?’

‘Well, actually it was a bit on the breezy side. My caravan fell over.’

‘But… are you all right?’

‘Oh, you know, bruises, the odd cracked rib, nothing life-threatening.’

‘But that’s awful. It must have been terrifying. You’re not at work, are you?’

‘No, I’m at the hospital. I phoned the office and they gave me your message. So, do you need any help with your tiles?’

‘Well… yes … but you won’t be fit enough, will you?’

‘I’m fine now. I was only in overnight for observation, but there’s no concussion or anything, and they’ve said I can go.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Let’s see, it’s Saturday tomorrow, isn’t it? I could pop round in the morning if you like.’

‘That would be great, but what about your children?’

‘Long story. Tell you when I see you, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Nell said. ‘Thanks.’

None of the other caravans on Rob’s site was occupied during the winter season, which was just as well, as most of them had been wrecked by the storm. The site was covered in pieces of them and their contents, as though a giant rubbish heap had been dropped on it from above. Some vans on the boundary had been crushed by falling trees, and Rob, going over the damage with the site owner, counted his blessings. His Land Rover in the car park was undamaged. He had managed to salvage most of his belongings from his overturned van. And the owner and his wife were willing to put him up in their own house until the area could be cleared and new caravans brought in.

‘Thank God we’re insured,’ the owner said to Rob, shaking his head in wonderment over the mess. ‘I’ve been here over thirty years, you know. Never seen anything like this. Don’t you worry though. I’ll get you a new van soon’s I can. The rest might take a little longer to replace …’ He blew his cheeks out. ‘Never seen anything like it…’

‘I’ll give you a hand with the clearing up later,’ Rob offered. ‘I’ve just got to go and help a friend put some tiles back on her roof, but I won’t be long.’

‘Aye, aye!’ The owner raised an eyebrow.
‘Her
roof, eh? Sure you wouldn’t rather stay with her too?’

‘Not at all. I doubt if she’d have me. And anyway, it’s not like that.’

As Rob drove towards Bottom Cottage he wondered idly whether in fact Nell would welcome a temporary lodger, but then dismissed the thought out of hand. She
might expect more of him, and he couldn’t face those sort of complications, not now, whilst he was still disentangling himself from the Mad Cow, and probably not for some time afterwards either.

But, driving along the top road from Boxcombe and looking down at Thrushton Hall and the curve of the River Torrent, he was affected with such emotion that it brought tears to his eyes. It’s a great mistake to come back, he thought. Why am I doing this? Maybe it’s because
my
cottage needs me!

Nell came out as he was turning the Land Rover by her front door. The big ladder on its roof was attached by orange baler twine, and stuck out over the bonnet and beyond. ‘You look as though you’ve been in a war,’ she said, seeing his face. ‘Poor you.’

Rob touched his forehead. ‘Probably looks worse than it is.’

‘Well, it’s very kind of you … Come in.’

He followed her into the kitchen, and looked about in some surprise. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Poncy.’

‘D’you like the new look?’

‘Not bad. I should have had the wit to do it myself. Then I could have sold the place for twice the price!’

Nell laughed. ‘Coffee first, or afterwards?’

‘Now would be good.’ He sat down at Nell’s kitchen table and took in the transformation all around him. ‘Did you do all this yourself?’

‘Mostly, yes. I like practical challenges.’

‘So I see. Thanks.’ He took a mug of coffee and held both hands round it.

Nell sat down opposite him. ‘This is very good of you,’ she began, ‘but why…’ No, I can’t ask that. ‘What I mean is, where did you get that long ladder from?’