Pastures New (8 page)

Amy sat bolt upright in bed, sweating profusely. Her heart was beating wildly and her breathing was erratic. She turned the light on and looked at the alarm clock. It was 2 a.m. Beside her in the bed, Josh muttered and moaned. Damn. When had he come in? Amy would have taken him back to bed, but the dream had unsettled her. She felt like company tonight. And the sight of Josh lying safe next to her did a lot to dispel the
awful dream picture of him falling, falling, falling. Amy shivered. The thought of losing Josh as well was too much to bear. She couldn’t face trying to sleep again, so she got out a book and read until she could read no more, and the book slid out of her hands.

The morning dawned grey and miserable. Amy felt tired and listless, and Josh, seeming to pick up on her mood, was crabby and badly behaved. She let him watch
Spiderman
again while she cooked lunch, and then decided they both needed to get out of the house. In her wanderings the previous week, Amy had discovered a little park just before you hit the high street. And as Josh had gone into Spidey overdrive, attacking her at every opportunity, she also decided that it was time she gave Ben his DVD back. If they cut up through the graveyard, Ben’s house was on the way back. So, putting the DVD in her pocket and making a resolute decision to try to be cheerful, Amy and Josh set off.

Ben had just come in from the allotments and was in the shower, when the doorbell rang.

Damn, who could that be? he wondered. He wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. Caroline had just emailed to invite him to spend Christmas skiing with her in Colorado.
Dave behind the Bar will B there 2!
she had said.
It will b great!
He was sorely tempted by the skiing. But the idea of being used in one of Caroline’s silly games really didn’t appeal. He was probably on call anyway.

The doorbell rang again. It was most likely Harry, who was about the only person besides Pete who ever came to see him. Ben hadn’t lived in Nevermorewell long, and
his job meant he was always slightly wary about making new friends too close to home. Harry tended to pop over sometimes on Sunday evenings, often to ask him to come for a pint. Ben knew Harry was lonely, and found his war stories fascinating, so he never said no. Besides, Ben rarely went to the pub with his own dad, and going out with Harry fulfilled some deep need.

Despite his inclination to leave whoever it was out there, Ben felt he’d better answer it. He shouted, ‘Hang on a sec’, flung a towel around his waist and raced down the stairs to the door.

‘What can I do for you today, Harry?’ he was halfway through saying, when he realised it wasn’t Harry.

There on the doorstep stood a very disconcerted Amy and Josh.

‘Er – we’ll come back another time,’ said Amy, blushing. Up close and personal it was a sudden shock to discover that Ben was, well … sexy. She hadn’t noticed before quite how firm his chest was, or how strong his arms … It must be all that digging.

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Ben, thinking how pretty she looked when she blushed. ‘I’ll – just throw some clothes on. Why don’t you make yourself at home? I’ll bung the kettle on.’

‘Well, if you’re sure …’ Amy sounded doubtful. ‘I was just bringing the DVD back. We can come back another time.’ She seemed destined to always meet this man in the most awkward of circumstances.

‘Why, have you got any better offers?’ he said.

Amy laughed. ‘Hardly,’ she replied. ‘Go on then, where do you keep your teabags?’

While Amy hunted for mugs, Josh was getting bored.

‘Can I go in the garden?’ he asked.

‘Yes, so long as you don’t get into mischief,’ said Amy, ‘and remember, it’s not our lawn so don’t scuff it up.’

Two minutes later, Ben appeared just as Amy was taking two cups of tea into the lounge. Casually dressed in blue shirt and jeans, with his hair still slightly damp from the shower, Amy was totally unprepared for the effect he had on her. Maybe it was the thought of having seen that body so recently unclothed, but Amy was coming out in a cold sweat. She must have been blind not to have noticed how gorgeous he was.

His dark hair was slightly mussed up, and his brown eyes were lively and curious, while his mouth – which seemed to be shaping words that for some reason Amy wasn’t hearing – his mouth was eminently kissable. Her heart beat a little faster and she felt faintly sick. She hadn’t felt like this – well, since she’d met Jamie. Jamie’s face shot into her head. And she felt a sudden lurch of guilt.

They reached the doorway of the lounge at the same time, and Ben stood aside to let her pass. The guilty tension she felt was churned up with a desire she couldn’t repress. She felt dizzy. Then the words he was forming seemed to make sense.

‘Ladies first,’ he said, his smile illuminating his face.

Squeezing past him, a sudden vision hit her of being held by those arms, kissed by that mouth, pressed close to that chest. What
was
going on?

Understanding for perhaps the first time in her life
what was meant by going weak at the knees, Amy mumbled something about tea being ready, before collapsing thankfully on the sofa.

Ben perched on a chair opposite her. There was a long silence, neither of them knowing quite what to say.

‘So, did you enjoy the film?’

‘Have you been on the allotments?’

They spoke simultaneously, and then laughed.

‘You first,’ said Ben.

‘No, you,’ said Amy.

‘After you,’ said Ben. ‘I insist.’

‘I was just making small talk,’ said Amy, feeling faintly silly. ‘But yes, we did. Well, Josh did.’

‘Me too,’ said Ben. ‘But as it happens, I have been on the allotments.’

They sat for a moment, saying nothing and sipping their tea. After a few moments the silence between them grew in magnitude. Amy felt paralysed by the strangeness of her new feelings, and totally unable to say another word. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a teenager any more. And she had no interest in Ben. None at all.

‘So what do we talk about when we run out of small talk?’ asked Ben eventually.

‘Ooh, I don’t know,’ said Amy. ‘The weather?’

‘Whatever turns you on,’ said Ben, laughing. Then thought, damn, that was a crass thing to say.

Luckily, Amy didn’t seem offended.

‘We-e-ell, I can’t say that the weather is a topic that really gets me going,’ she said, ‘but now you’ve made me curious. What does interest you?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, all sorts,’ said Ben. ‘Formula One.’ Amy pulled a face. ‘Okay, we won’t talk about cars. I’m interested in health issues, which we won’t discuss because that’s work. I like politics, but if we think differently we might fall out. Books are usually a safe bet. Oh, and I’m also keen on local history –’

‘Ah, now
there
you have found a subject close to my heart,’ said Amy. ‘I find local history fascinating. I had to research a lot about Barnet for school trips with Year5. It was really interesting. The kids always laughed when I told them the origin of the phrase “a barnet” for a haircut.’

‘Which is?’

‘Cockney rhyming slang – Barnet Fair, hair,’ said Amy.

‘Right,’ said Ben, laughing. ‘If you’re interested, I’ve got lots of books on Nevermorewell. They reckon there was a hamlet here as far back as Anglo-Saxon times, but the town didn’t really get going till Norman times. They built on a river for obvious reasons, but in olden days it was reckoned to be a healthy sort of place to live. “You’re Never More Well than when you’re in Nevermorewell”, is the saying around here.’

‘Saffron mentioned that,’ said Amy. ‘I’ll have to come back and borrow a few books sometime.’

They smiled at one another, pleased to have found some common ground. Amy glanced at her watch.

‘Sheesh! Is that the time? I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘I need to sort Josh’s tea out.’

‘You could both eat here if you like? I can rustle up a mean stir-fry.’

‘No, thanks, it’s very kind of you,’ Amy said, sorely tempted at the prospect of company as well as someone cooking for her, ‘but he’s got school tomorrow and needs an early night. I really ought to drag him in from the garden.’

They both got up and had another moment’s awkwardness while they nearly fell over each other trying to negotiate round Ben’s tiny table.

Amy’s confusion made her slightly jumpy. Once outside, when they couldn’t find Josh, she started to panic, until Ben laughed and said, ‘I see you’ve found my prized possession.’

At the bottom of Ben’s garden in the far corner was a small garage. With a gleaming black and silver motorbike in it. Amy hadn’t thought about the bike since their first meeting. And there was Josh, sitting triumphantly on the seat, his legs dangling down at the sides. Amy took a deep breath. She should be over this paranoia about motorbikes. Really she should. But she wasn’t. What was it with men and motorbikes? It was Jamie’s obsession with his that had led to his death.

‘Look Mummy, isn’t it cool?’ Josh said. ‘Brmmm, brmm.’

It felt as though he and Ben were laughing at her. Amy screamed, ‘Get off there at once!’

‘It’s all right,’ said Ben. ‘He’s only playing. He won’t come to any harm.’

‘No it is
not
all right,’ said Amy. ‘Motorbikes are lethal machines used by stupid blokes whose dicks are too small. It is
so
not all right for my son to play on one. Come on, Josh, we’re going home.’

She grabbed Josh and tore past Ben, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes, slamming the garden gate shut.

Ben stood watching her go, his mouth wide open. ‘Now what have I done?’ he said.

Saffron peeked left and right, making sure there was no one to watch her, before diving into Nevermorewell’s answer to Ann Summers: a discreet ‘lingerie’ shop that sold sex toys to make your mother blush. She had the pram with her. Oh lord, how dumb was that? Did other women take their babies out to buy sexy underwear? Was it some kind of bad parenting to take your newborn into an atmosphere rife with passion; a place that boasted Licked Up Love Juice and Pump Up Your Volume Potion? What if someone had seen her? She hadn’t even looked at anything yet and already paroxysms of embarrassment were screwing her up. Two cheerful French girls were chattering away, fingering lacy garments Saffron could barely look at, let alone touch, and she envied their insouciance.

‘Can I help you?’ Saffron nearly jumped out of her skin.

The slim, twenty-something shop assistant appeared friendly enough, but to Saffron it seemed that there was a sneer in her smile: a sneer that seemed to say,
What on earth is some fat middle-aged frump like you doing in a place like this? Who do you think you’re kidding?

Who indeed? Saffron already knew this was a big mistake. But, happening to have heard a slot on the Jeremy Vine show about spicing up your sex life, she’d discovered that all she really needed to get her libido going again was to buy some sexy underwear. ‘
You will
feel sexy, he will feel sexy, and before you know it you’ll
be falling all over each other
,’ the cheery doctor chatting to Jeremy had promised, and heaven knows there’d been precious little of that in the Cairns household of late. So Saffron had decided that sexy underwear was a must.

After a first nervous flit into the lingerie department in M&S, where she had spotted three mums from school, Saffron had lost her nerve and nearly called it a day. But the lingerie shop was on her way home, and even the sexy underwear in M&S seemed somewhat on the chaste side. Instinctively, Saffron felt chaste wasn’t what she was after.

Which was how she’d found herself feeling like a total prat in front of a sneering girl nearly young enough to be her daughter, whose waistline was invisible, although her thong was not, and who oozed sexuality from every pore. Being the age she was, she probably took it for granted. You just wait, Saffron wanted to say, one day you too will turn to blubber.

‘Well?’ The girl was not just sneering, but impatient. Jeez, didn’t they send them on customer-care courses –
Remember, ninety-five per cent of your customers are
going to be embarrassed, so do try to put them at their
ease (the other five per cent will be so uninhibited you
will be hiding under the table
).

‘Erm – well, er, canitrythatonplease?’ Saffron pointed to a busty black basque, complete with lacy bits and suspender belt. She hadn’t worn anything like it in years.

‘What size are you?’ The girl, who was all of a size eight, looked Saffron up and down in the certain knowledge that she must be at least an eighteen.

‘Er – fourteen, I think,’ said Saffron. Once upon a time she would have said ten, and after Becky and Matt she had trimmed back down to size twelve. At the moment she was nearer sixteen, but she was damned if she was going to admit that to this jumped-up ten-year-old.

‘Here you are.’ The girl handed over the basque. ‘Do you want anything else?’

‘No, that will be all,’ said Saffron, practically pulling the offending item out of the woman’s grasp. She pushed the pram to the changing rooms, and squeezed into a cubicle. She undressed, wincing a little at the sight of her naked body. Why were changing-room mirrors always so unflattering? She blobbed and sagged in places she didn’t know she had.

She placed the basque over her head, and immediately got entangled in bits of lace and ribbon. She tried to pull it off and realised to her horror it was stuck. She pulled it this way and that, just making out a vision of herself in the mirror, a big fat blob with a bright red face incarcerated in a mesh of black lace. Tugging just that bit harder, she heard a ping, and a button
popped off, but it was enough to give her the leeway she needed. She pulled the basque over her head, and panting in disgust she looked at it more closely. On a second glance, she realised she could actually undo the basque at the front, so she duly popped it round her, and tried to do it up again. It was tight going round her tummy, but by the time she had got to her boobs she could barely breathe. It looked like every blobby bit of her was straining to jump out of the bloody thing. Sexy it was not.

‘Are you all right in there?’ the ten-year-old called. ‘I can get you a size sixteen if you want.’

‘Over my dead body,’ muttered Saffron, before calling, ‘Fine, thanks.’

Size sixteen?
Size sixteen?
She was buggered if she was going to buy size sixteen. What did it matter what she looked like anyway? Pete was only going to take the wretched thing off. Well, with any luck he was – that was unless he’d died laughing first. With the last remaining shreds of her dignity just about intact, Saffron swept out of the changing room, saying, ‘I’ll take it’, and in a totally unwarranted spirit of bravado she grabbed two pairs of silk stockings, some Licked Up Love Juice and a bottle of Pump Up Your Volume Potion, while staring the ten-year-old out. The ten-year-old, sensing the change in temperature, sensibly demurred, and if she had been going to point out the missing button, she was quickly stilled by Saffron’s icy look. Saffron grabbed the bag, and shoved it under the pram, before walking out of the shop with her head high. It was only when she rounded the corner that
she glanced at the receipt. Christ, she’d spent a fortune. She just hoped Pete would think it was worth it.

‘So, you’ve no idea what caused Amy to run off?’ Harry and Ben were sitting in Harry’s shed on the allotments sharing a cup of tea, staring out onto the plots, which were bathed in the cold bright light of a low winter sun. Ben had had a late surgery that morning and had sought Harry out.

‘None whatsoever,’ said Ben. ‘One minute we were getting on like a house on fire, the next she’d run off. She seemed to be upset about Josh going on my motorbike.’

‘There must be some reason,’ said Harry. ‘Amy doesn’t strike me as the hysterical type. But she has been through a lot. Maybe there are things we don’t know.’

‘You might be right,’ Ben conceded. ‘She tore my head off the first time we met because I nearly ran Josh over on the bike.’

‘Amy’s very vulnerable,’ said Harry. ‘She could do with the support of a fine young man.’

‘Harry, if I didn’t know you better, I’d suspect you of matchmaking,’ said Ben.

‘Now would I do a thing like that?’ replied Harry, his eyes twinkling. ‘Mind you, now you come to mention it, you’re a good-looking young chap. She’s a beautiful young woman …’

‘A beautiful young woman who is also still grieving,’
said Ben. ‘I doubt very much she’s even thought of me like that.’

‘There’s always time,’ Harry reassured him.

‘As I haven’t heard from her since Sunday, I think it’s unlikely she’ll be speaking to me again in a hurry,’ said Ben.

‘Hmm, that is a pity,’ said Harry. ‘Joking aside, I do think Amy needs help. Maybe you should make the first move?’

Ben, who had been thinking exactly the same thing, but who had been too anxious about Amy’s reaction if he had called round, shook his head.

‘Harry, you’re incorrigible,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right. I’ve got to go and walk Meg before work, but I’ll try and catch her later.’

‘Good man,’ Harry replied. ‘Ah, Bill, have you got some elderberries for me?’

One of Harry’s winemaking buddies was poking his nose round the door, so Ben made his excuses and left. Harry was right. Amy was vulnerable. Something had set her off like that. It wouldn’t do any harm to discover what.

Amy sat on the bench in the graveyard overlooking town. It was a peaceful spot, high on the only hill in the area, and from her vantage point she could see the River Bourne gleaming brightly in the bright winter sunlight. The graveyard itself was ramshackle and meandering, with old paths winding their way between
moss-stained graves. The bench she was sitting on was under an ancient yew. Amy found it restful here, so different from the sterile modern cemetery where Jamie’s urn was interred in a wall, with just a simple plaque to remember him by. She wished she’d stood firm against Mary and buried Jamie somewhere like this, but like so many things she and Jamie had never discussed their preferred method of interment and Mary had insisted cremation was more practical and what Jamie would have wanted. At the time, Amy hadn’t thought it mattered.

Amy had been sitting here for an hour already, but she seemed unable to move from the spot. She’d had a fairly useless start to the day. Josh’s teacher had called her in to tell her that Josh didn’t appear to be settling very well, and, worse still, seemed to be hitting a lot of the smaller children. Amy was shocked and upset. Josh had never behaved like that at nursery. The move must have unsettled him more than she had thought. Promising to have a word with him, Amy had gone home to start work on Saffron’s leaflet, only to discover her printer had run out of ink. So now she was ostensibly on the way into town to get some more, but the need to sit still and think had become overwhelming.

So she had sat down and stared at Nevermorewell below her, wondering again if she had made the right decision to come here. Josh was unsettled. She was unsettled. Her reaction to Josh sitting on Ben’s bike now seemed over-the-top and hysterical. Was she losing it completely? Meeting the first person she had even liked since Jamie’s death had set her out of kilter
somehow. Ben was a magnetic presence, and despite her embarrassment at the thought of seeing him again, she knew that she did want to see him again. And that inevitably created a conflict. Could she allow herself to be attracted to Ben? She’d never thought there would be anyone but Jamie. And now suddenly there was. And Jamie wasn’t here …

Ben was walking Meg through the graveyard, as he normally did, when he stopped short. Sitting with her back to him, on the bench, below the tall yew tree that dwarfed the graveyard, was Amy. Ben paused. She might not want to see him. He should turn round and go before she noticed he was there. Then she turned to look at him, and the look pierced him so completely that it no longer mattered whether she wanted to see him. He wanted to make things right between them more badly than he had wanted anything in a long time.

‘Sorry, I’m disturbing you,’ he said.

‘It’s okay,’ Amy replied. ‘I was just thinking I owed you an apology.’

‘What for?’

‘The other day,’ said Amy. ‘I’m really sorry I overreacted.’

‘I suppose you did a little,’ said Ben.

‘A little is very kind,’ said Amy. ‘But I think I owe you an explanation.’

‘Explain away,’ said Ben, hovering awkwardly, before Amy motioned for him to sit down.

‘I never told you how Jamie died, did I?’ Amy said.

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Jamie was always keen on bikes, you see,’ said Amy, dreamily remembering her first meeting with him, when he’d roared up to the pub she was sitting outside, astride a Suzuki, a vision of unrepentant bad-boy glory. She was pretty much smitten from that moment, and when the bad-boy bit turned out to be an act, it made her like him all the more. ‘He’d always ridden them. The bigger the better. I used to get a buzz out of it when I was younger, but I don’t know, as time went on I got more nervous about the bike, and kept hoping he would grow out of it – especially when Josh came along.’