Pastures New (12 page)

Amy had never flung clothes on so fast. She didn’t want to compound the mistakes of last night by pitching up
in her dressing gown. Her first thought was to leave the doorbell ringing, but Josh was already talking to Ben through the letterbox, so she thought better of it. Besides, she would have to face him sooner or later. Sooner got it over and done with quickly. Perhaps she should just brazen it out.

She flung open the door, bold as brass. ‘Ben, what a nice surprise,’ she said, in tones as bright as she could muster, but her confidence instantly deserted her. Something had subtly changed last night. This man, this
gorgeous
man (it was no use hiding it any longer), had been in her house only a few hours ago, listening to schmoozy music with her. He had seen her asleep, and found her a duvet. It took their relationship to a new sort of intimacy, and she wasn’t quite sure how to proceed from here.

Ben was feeling equally awkward. Now he was here, he was beginning to wonder whether this was a good idea. Ostensibly he told himself he was just being neighbourly, and checking she was all right, but he knew he was hiding the real reason. He simply had to see her again. Last night he had glimpsed a side to Amy he hadn’t seen before. A playful, vivacious side that seemed at odds with her generally serious demeanour. Damn it, she was too young to play the grieving widow forever. He wanted to be the one to tease her playful self out more. But how to proceed? And would she let him?

‘Would you – er – like to come in?’ Amy was conscious she couldn’t leave the poor man on the doorstep, but reluctant to offer coffee, for it had too many connotations, even in the morning with her
five-year-old son by her side. Come to think of it, she hadn’t offered it last night, he had just assumed. (Masterful
was
the right word, no doubt about it.) And when she had let him, it had seemed quite natural to do so. He had been to her house several times, but never that late. If she hadn’t been so out of practice in the dating game she would have seen trouble coming.

‘I only dropped by to check you were okay,’ said Ben.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Amy. ‘Bit hung over. But fine.’

‘You were pretty drunk,’ said Ben.

‘And don’t I know it,’ said Amy. Oh God, this was excruciating. The best thing to do was to spit out what she had to say, if only to clear the air. She knew she liked Ben, but last night she had been drunk, today she was sober, and much as she was attracted to him, she still wasn’t sure that she wanted to move on that quickly.

‘I think I made a bit of a fool of myself last night,’ she said, as Ben followed her into the lounge. ‘It’s ages since I’ve been that drunk, and I think I got a bit carried away.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I thought you were very funny.’ Ben looked at her with amusement in his eyes.

‘Well, anyway, the thing is …’ Amy felt more and more awkward. She had to admit to herself that Ben was very attractive, but catching a sight of Jamie’s photo on the mantelpiece reminded her she wasn’t free. Not really. ‘I think I may have said some things, which I didn’t mean, well, not exactly didn’t mean – I like you a lot, but –’

‘– you were very drunk and you still aren’t over Jamie.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Oh, call it intuition,’ said Ben. ‘It’s all right, really. I like you a lot, but I’m not looking for anything serious at the moment.’

‘That’s okay then.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, I’m glad we cleared that up,’ said Amy. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Tea would be lovely.’

‘We can still be friends?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good.’

There was a pause before Amy said ‘good’ again. She went to the kitchen to boil the kettle, and couldn’t work out, as she stood looking at the garden from the kitchen window, why her overwhelming feeling was one of disappointment.

In the allotment:
Dig over the ground, rake and prepare for new
growth, plant out first crops
.

State of the heart:
Tender, fresh and leaning towards the sun
.

‘Blimey, this is hard work.’ Saffron paused from her digging and wiped her brow. From a reasonably mild November, the temperature had swiftly dropped. She and Amy were wrapped up well, but their breath steamed out of them, and Saffron’s fingers were numb.

‘Should we call it a day?’ Amy looked in dismay at the small patch of earth they had dug over. The fruits of their labours hadn’t yielded much, but the earth was hard as rock. A week earlier and they’d have had this flowerbed turned over in no time. The trouble was, they’d got so caught up with Christmas floral arrangements they’d run out of time. Still, Amy wasn’t complaining. Business was picking up slowly, and Saffron seemed pleased with the results of Amy’s suggestion to leaflet the local nail bars and hair salons. And, thanks to Caroline’s continued lack of communication as far as the business was concerned, Saffron seemed to be relying on Amy more and more. Her confidence was growing as a result, and she knew – at
least as far as her career was concerned – she had made the right choice to start afresh.

‘I did promise Mrs Meadows we’d finish it before Christmas,’ said Saffron. ‘And she is one of our best clients.’

‘You’re a hard taskmaster and no mistake,’ Amy laughed. ‘Can I at least pause for a hot chocolate?’

Mrs Meadows usually kept them well-supplied with tea and biscuits, but since the weather had turned so cold Amy had taken to making up a flask of something hot to bring with her as well. Not all their clients were as accommodating as Mrs Meadows.

‘Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm,’ said Saffron, pouring them both a drink. ‘By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what are you doing for Christmas?’

‘Good question,’ said Amy, hugging her fleece round her. ‘The last few years we’ve always been with Mary, but this year …’

That really wasn’t on the cards. Since their meeting early in the autumn, Amy had only seen Mary once. She and Josh had gone to visit Mary’s flat in North London in the middle of November, but things had been strained and awkward, and since then Mary was resolutely not answering calls. Amy was on the verge of giving up, except that she didn’t think it would be fair on Josh, who kept clamouring to know when they could see Granny again. Anyway, Christmas at Mary’s was evidently not on offer, and Amy didn’t have the courage to broach the subject.

‘… my brother and his wife have invited me,’ she continued. ‘They usually do, they’re such loves. But I
know for a fact that it’s the first time in years they haven’t had Sue’s parents, and I think they really want a family Christmas just for them, so I’m a bit reluctant to muscle in. I expect Josh and I will just pig out in front of the telly.’

Amy tried and failed not to feel that this was a rather sad way to spend Christmas.

‘You will do no such thing,’ said Saffron. ‘What I was going to say was, if you’re free, why don’t you come to us?’

‘What, really? Are you sure?’ Amy said. ‘It seems like a huge imposition.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Saffron. ‘We love having lots of people at Christmas, and we can never bear the thought of anyone being on their own. So we tend to gather all the waifs and strays together under one roof.’

‘Thanks!’ said Amy, laughing.

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ said Saffron. ‘Anyway, Harry’s already said yes. Sometimes he goes to his cousin’s at Eastbourne, but this year he’s said he can’t be bothered. I get the impression that he’s not that keen on them. Clive and Keith are coming, and my mum, and Pete’s sister – oh, and,’ with a sly look at Amy, ‘I’m hoping to persuade Ben to come.’

‘So?’

‘And won’t that seal the deal?’ said Saffron with a grin. Amy had mentioned the events of the bonfire night to Saffron, though she hadn’t been quite transparent about her own confused feelings.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Amy. ‘Ben and I are friends. That’s all.’

‘Right,’ said Saffron, without conviction.

‘Anyway, Josh and I would love to come. Ben or no Ben. I really can’t contemplate anything more grim than trying to entertain a five-year-old on my own on Christmas Day. It’s been bad enough when we’ve been with his granny. You’re always aware there’s someone missing. It would be great to break that particular tradition.’

Amy sighed, and tried not to think about Christmases with Jamie, in the days before Josh was born, when he would come bowling in late from work on Christmas Eve, merry, his arms full of last-minute purchases. They used to spend the evening in the pub, before sitting up to the early hours wrapping presents for Jamie’s family. Then, after champagne in bed, it had been off round to Mary’s in the morning, where she would have gathered a motley crew of family members for whom she would provide a vast and very welcome turkey. Every Christmas Amy had ever spent with Jamie had been nigh on perfect. The last two had been dreadful. It would be good to do something different.

‘Good, that’s settled then,’ said Saffron, contemplating Mrs Meadows’ flowerbeds once more. ‘Always supposing we manage to get this finished by then, of course!’

‘So what’s the problem then, Harry?’

Ben was used to Harry asking his advice on minor matters, but Harry had specifically sought him out on
the allotments and Ben had the idea that something was really bothering him. They were now sitting in Harry’s cosy little hut, complete with primus stove and kettle, sipping steaming cups of hot tea.

‘It’s probably nothing –’ began Harry.

‘But it’s enough to worry you,’ said Ben.

‘Well, in a word, yes,’ said Harry. ‘I think I might be suffering from epilepsy.’

‘Why?’

‘A couple of times, I’ve been out on the allotments, and it’s like my mind has gone blank. Not for long. Usually a couple of seconds. But a kind of blackness descends briefly, and then it’s over. Do you think I could be having fits?’

‘Has anything else happened?’

‘Well, I did stumble into my bonfire one day, but that might be because I’d had rather too much elderberry wine.’

Ben laughed. But he was concerned.

‘Harry, I really think you should check this out with your GP. You may be having something called TIAs.’

‘What are they?’

‘Transient Ischemic Attacks. They can pre-empt a stroke. It would be advisable to get some blood tests, and check your blood pressure. You already know it’s too high. And if I were you I’d cut down on your drinking, it can’t be helping.’

Harry pulled a face. ‘I have so few pleasures left in life, are you even going to rob me of that one?’

‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘Because otherwise I can’t promise how long you’ll stay around for.’

Harry had a peculiar look on his face. ‘Who says I want to stay around?’

‘You can’t mean that, surely?’

‘Ben,’ said Harry, ‘I’m old, I’m widowed, my body can’t do what it used to. I have no children or grandchildren to worry about. Who is going to miss me when I’m gone?’

‘Me, for a start,’ said Ben. ‘Who will I get advice about my runner beans from if you’re not here? And you might not have a grandchild of your own, but isn’t Josh becoming a good substitute?’

‘True,’ said Harry. ‘Look, old boy, I’m not actively going to hasten my demise. So I promise to go and see my quack and get all the advice I should. All I’m saying is that, quite frankly, I’m an old dog who’s had his day. We only get so much time allotted to us, and I’m more than happy to take my chances.’

‘Would that all my patients were as philosophical as you,’ said Ben, making a mental note that he was going to keep a closer eye on Harry in future.

‘On another subject entirely,’ said Harry, ‘have you decided what to do about Christmas yet?’

Amy had made it clear to Ben that there was no future in any relationship with her, so he didn’t quite know why he was prevaricating about going skiing. The fact that Pete had invited him for Christmas lunch, and he was hoping Amy might be there too, might have something to do with it.

‘Well, I’m going to Saffron and Pete’s,’ announced Harry. ‘Where I intend to stuff myself full of turkey, drink far too much, especially the port, and stagger
drunkenly home at around six. What about you?’

‘I still haven’t sorted anything out yet,’ said Ben. ‘I was going to go home for Christmas, and Caroline’s been badgering me for ages to go skiing with her –’

‘But –?’

‘Turns out I’m on call. One of the other partners was meant to do it, but he has some family crisis he has to deal with. And everyone else had already made plans. So it’s fallen to me.’

‘So will you come to Saffron’s then?’ said Harry.

‘Don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘Maybe. Christmas isn’t really my thing. And I’m only on call for Christmas and Boxing Day. I still haven’t ruled out skiing completely.’

‘Amy and Josh are going,’ said Harry with a sly smile.

‘Are they?’ Ben affected nonchalance, but felt a little leap in his heart. Maybe he should go. He wasn’t very good at watching other people playing happy families, but if Amy was going things might be different. It was definitely worth thinking about …

‘Saffron!’ Pete was shouting up the stairs. ‘Do you know where the pepper is?’

‘Same place I always keep it,’ Saffron sputtered as she danced around their bedroom, trying to pull the basque she bought around her ever-increasing tum. If anything the damned thing seemed even tighter than when she had bought it. It was Saturday night, and Gerry had the children for the night. Ellie was already down and with any luck would sleep till at least
midnight. Once or twice recently Ellie had managed a whole night, but Saffron had learned not to count on it.

Pete had offered to make dinner, and Saffron had decided that tonight was the night she would practise her seduction skills and get down to business. Hence her prancing round their room like an overweight rhinoceros, trying to get lacy bits round her that seemed to be slipping from her grasp at a rate of knots.

The doorbell rang, just as Saffron’s suspender had pinged off her stocking for the hundredth time.

Damn, who could that be? It was gone eight o’clock and they weren’t expecting anyone.

‘Can you get it?’ Pete shouted. ‘I can’t leave the kitchen.’

Pete was an infrequent and therefore nervous cook. He had to hover over the stove even when the only thing that was happening was the potatoes were boiling. He had still been known to boil them dry.

‘Coming,’ shouted Saffron, throwing a dressing gown around her, before flying down the stairs to fling open the door.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said flatly.

Gerry was standing at the doorstep with a very pale Matt in his arms and a disconsolate Becky by his side.

‘Sorry to do this to you,’ he said, ‘but Matt said he wasn’t feeling too good, and he wanted you. Thought it best he should be with his mum, if he was coming down with something.’

More like you don’t want the inconvenience of your son throwing up on the shag-pile carpet that the blonde
bimbo’s imported into your house, was Saffron’s silent retort.

‘But we were going to watch DVDs,’ moaned Becky, her disappointment visible.

‘Couldn’t Becky stay?’ said Saffron, having gathered Matt into her arms. He did look a bit pale, and he was tired and teary. Not surprising really. His normal bedtime was six thirty.

‘Well, the thing is,’ said Gerry in conspiratorial tones, ‘it seems I’ve double-booked myself. I’m supposed to be at the golf club’s AGM, and I didn’t really want to leave Becky with Maddy. You know she’s not used to children. You know how it is.’

‘Yes, Gerry, I do,’ said Saffron, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She had to restrain an urge to go and fetch a saucepan from the kitchen and hit him over the head with it. Furious as she was with him, it wasn’t fair to have a slanging match in front of the children.

‘I’ll come and fetch them tomorrow, then,’ said Gerry with a bright smile.

‘You do that,’ said Saffron, hoping against hope that Matt would spend the whole day throwing up on Gerry’s Armani suit, but knowing that she wouldn’t be able to send him out if he were that ill.

She closed the door with a heavy heart. Bang went her romantic evening. By the time she’d got these two settled, there probably wouldn’t be much of an evening left. Becky was notoriously bad for getting to bed when it was already late in the evening. And, having been let down by her dad – again – she would no doubt be unsettled tonight. Besides, if Matt was feeling as ill as he was
beginning to look, it seemed that a full-on vomit-fest was in order. Great. Thanks for nothing, Gerry.