The Nothing Girl (25 page)

Kevin signed up for his course. Mrs Crisp seemed more focused and there was no more talk of her leaving. Sharon was putting a business plan together and Russell painted. He wasn’t happy with most of it and once or twice, something came sailing out of the windows to land in the garden below, but on the whole we were a happy little bunch. I was beginning to enjoy my life but then time put on an unwanted burst of speed and suddenly it was autumn.

Kevin and I had cleared most of the garden. We’d kept one or two things, but most had been uprooted. Kevin, complaining loudly about his back, dug it over, and I, complaining loudly about the smell, wheeled over the manure heap and forked it in.

We’d found the fountain and scraped out the thick, black, stagnant contents. ‘Good job we don’t sleep together,’ said Russell. ‘It would be rude to kick you out of my bed, but I have to say, Jenny, you’re a bit of a whiffy wife!’ This from a man who smelled, in varying combinations, of horse, lemons, linseed oil, fabric conditioner, and beer. We filled it with water and were dismayed to find it empty again the next morning.

‘You need a liner,’ shouted Russell from his window. ‘Don’t bother trying to patch it with cement. That never works. Get a liner and then make a new edge with bricks. Something we can sit on. Hold on. I’m coming down.’

So for a week we had Russell leaping everywhere, but he knew what he was doing and at the end of it, we were drenched and dirty, but we had a waterproof basin with a smart new brick coping that could double as a seat. I have to say they did most of the work but I was allowed to hold the hose.

Kevin found the hussy in one of the outhouses, mostly undamaged, although her clothes were still falling off. Russell patted her fondly.

‘Pervert,’ I said.

‘No, no. She formed an important part of my education.’

‘She’s deformed. It’s a … miracle she can even stand up straight. No wonder her clothes are always falling off.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kevin, staring.

I left them trying to get her back on her plinth in the middle of the basin, manhandling her slightly more than I thought necessary.

Summery autumn slid slowly into wintry autumn. The leaves turned. We woke up to the odd frost. I’d been married nearly nine months. I was a veteran. Russell was trying to put together a body of work to show to local galleries. He grew tense and harassed and busy. I took to riding on my own.

‘Yes, of course you can,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the canvas in front of him. ‘Thomas has enough sense for both of you. Just always tell someone here and make sure you’re back before dusk. I mean that, Jenny. It all looks very different up there in the dark.’

I nodded. I didn’t go far the first time, but grew a little braver with each expedition. And there was a long, straight bit, just before Pen Tor where we could pick up speed as well.

I didn’t mean to have such an enormous row. He was tired and wound-up and I, conscious that time was ticking by, had got some property details and accidentally left them on the table. He went up like a rocket. I’ve no idea why. And then I went up too, because I was worried about my future and he slammed into his studio, shouting that if that was the way I felt, the sooner I left the better, and I said in that case I’d be gone by the end of the month, and he said good, and I said right then, and saddled up Thomas, told Kevin that I’d only be an hour, and set off at a brisk trot.

Once up on the moor I was in no mood to hang around. The day was crisp and cold and Thomas lengthened his stride. I leaned low over his neck, enjoying the wind in my face.

I opened my eyes to a darkening sky. The bleary lights resolved themselves into emerging stars. And it was very, very cold.

I lay on my back on hard ground, tried to lift my head, convulsed and threw up, but afterwards the pain in my head receded a little. Wiping my mouth, I rolled slowly on to my stomach, and, keeping my head as still as possible, tried to get up. My hip hurt and my arm and my shoulder. I’d fallen. Up here on the moor. How had that happened? A small sound made me turn. Thomas stood nearby, head hanging, his saddle slipping to one side.

I took a step towards him and vomited again, which was no fun, but again, I felt a little better. Afterwards, I could see more clearly. Clearly enough to make out the tangle of wire wrapped around his forelegs and the dark patches of blood. Again, he made that small sound of distress.

My first instinct was to run home and get someone to help. This was serious. I didn’t know what to do. But I couldn’t do that. If I left him Thomas would try to follow me and fall again. I had a terrible picture of him, hobbled by the wire, trying to struggle after me as I left him behind. Crying in pain. Frightened and alone.

I needed to free him and I had to do it now. Before the light went completely. Focusing on my twenty-seven fingers, I sat in front of him and tried to find the end. As with the cat, I thought if I explained what I was doing then it would help to keep him calm. And me as well. The wire was very thin which was good because it was flexible and bad because it seemed to have cut his legs quite badly.

I was trying not to cry, because then I wouldn’t be able to see at all and I didn’t want to upset Thomas any further. And he was so good. He stood stock still while I worked. Initially I was grateful, but then I started to worry, wondering how badly was he hurt and whether he would even be able to move at all. If that was the case then I should have gone for help at once. While it was still light. I’d made the wrong decision. I’d got it wrong. I panicked, pulled at the wire, and he uttered a little whinny of pain.

I made myself slow down. It seemed to me that I’d loosened it sufficiently to be able, maybe, to lift his foot free.

Running my hand gently down his leg, I couldn’t feel anything wrong and best of all, he didn’t flinch, so I stood carefully, bent even more carefully, and lifted his foot. Bless him, he shifted his weight and let me. I pulled the wire away and did the same for the other foot and at last, he was free.

I just wanted to sling the wire as far away as possible, but that would be stupid so I coiled it and stuffed it into my pocket. Then I took off my coat because although I was cold, when I touched his ears, Thomas was even colder. I pulled off his saddle, left it lying, and laid my coat over his back.

‘There you go,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful. I tidied his forelock as I always did, stroked his nose, and looked around me.

Since I couldn’t remember the accident, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was on this featureless moorland. I worried I’d got turned around somehow. So easy to do. I was just off the path and there were rocky outcrops. I couldn’t have come off in a worse place. It was a miracle I wasn’t more badly hurt, but someone was looking out for me, that was for sure. There were a lot of rocks around and I’d managed to miss every single one of them.

Piecing things together, I remembered going through the gate, following the path, picking up speed – and then – nothing.

‘What about you, Thomas?’ I said. ‘Any idea where we are?’

He lifted his head a little and again made the small noise that frightened me so much. I looked round. Night was coming. The sky was clear. The wind had dropped. It was cold and it was going to get colder. More faint stars appeared. Cold, hard chips of light. Like diamonds in the sky.

I took off his bridle to make him more comfortable – he would follow me without it.

At least, he would if I could get him moving. Not surprisingly, he was reluctant to try. I put my hand under his chin, made the chirping sound I used to encourage him, and said firmly, ‘Come on, Thomas.’ It was important that at least one of us looked and sounded as if we knew what we were doing. I stepped forward as if I took it for granted he would follow.

He took one careful step and then another.

‘Good boy,’ I said and his ears twitched. ‘And another step for me, there’s a good boy.’

It hurt him and he was reluctant to move, but he followed me. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. He trusted me. No one had ever trusted me before. I hoped he didn’t think I knew the way home, because I was lost. I had no idea where we were. I was in pain. My head throbbed. My vision came and went. And I was cold. Cold to the bone. I shivered violently, although that might have been shock. I let Thomas choose the way. I rested a hand on his neck, leaned on him occasionally and told him we were nearly home.

We picked our way out of the rocks and reached the path. I looked left into the gathering gloom. I looked right into the same gathering gloom. Thomas turned right.

‘Clever boy,’ I said and we started again. So slowly, but neither of us was in any condition to hurry which was unfortunate because I was growing colder by the minute. I started to shiver and seriously thought about taking my coat back, but poor Thomas looked so shocked and frightened, and he was my responsibility. He was my horse, and it was up to me to get him home. To get us both back home. There was no one else. I had to do this.

‘It’s up to me,’ I told him and the words beat out a little rhythm in my mind in time with our steps. Up to me. Up to me.

I was just beginning to think we didn’t have far to go after all, when he stopped dead and refused to take another step.

‘No,’ I said, panicking because we were so close now. ‘You mustn’t stop, Thomas. You must keep walking. Come on, now, there’s my good boy. Just a little further.’

But he wouldn’t move.

I tried everything. I coaxed, I commanded, I shouted, I cried, I pleaded. Nothing. He stood as still as stone. And as silent. And eventually, so was I. I stared helplessly. I couldn’t carry him and I wasn’t going to leave him, so I did the only thing I could and sat down.

It was now almost completely dark. I put my aching head in my hands and listened to the surrounding silence.

No I didn’t. I could hear water. Water, trickling and gurgling not too far from us. I clambered to my feet, said to Thomas, ‘Stay here,’ as if he wouldn’t anyway, but it gave me the illusion of control, and headed towards the sound.

I could see the stream, catching the starlight as it bounced over the rocks. And then, then I remembered Russell’s words so long ago. ‘If you get lost then find water and follow it down.’

Unfortunately, it was too dark to see which way the water was flowing, but I found an old tissue in my pocket, tossed it in and watched the light blob swirl away to my left.

We were going the wrong way.

All that painful effort and we were going the wrong way. I nearly sat down and cried. How stupid was I? I should have stayed put and waited to be found. Other people always knew what to do. Why was I so –?

And then I thought – not stupid at all. I’d followed Thomas who had brought me here to this stream and if we followed it down, we’d get off the moor and to safety. Probably much more quickly than if we’d followed the path. Which would be hard to make out in the dark. I’d trusted him and now he trusted me to get us home.

And I would. I splashed my face with water, and took a little in cupped hands for him.

‘Come on, sunshine,’ I said, cheerfully. ‘You and I are much too clever to die up here. Let’s get back and tell them our adventures, shall we?’

So we followed the stream down. The way was rougher, so we took it very slowly. I kept a hand on Thomas the whole time. I told him about my childhood. About school. About my aunt and uncle. I told him about Francesca. I told him about Russell – that took a long time. Occasionally, his ears twitched towards me. He was listening.

‘We’re going to do this,’ I told him. ‘We are going to get home. And you, my clever friend, will have a warm stable, a special treat, and a story to tell the other two. We will do this, Thomas. We will get home. I promise you.’

But it was very dark now. There were no lights anywhere. A bitter wind blew over the empty loneliness. There was no moon yet. I had no torch. And I was frozen. I stuffed my hands in my armpits and pulled up my hood. It didn’t help.

Now I had to decide whether to risk injury by stumbling on in the dark or sit and wait here for possible rescue. If we kept moving one of us might fall again and this time there would be no getting up. But if we stayed put, we’d freeze.

Thomas took the decision out of my hands. He stopped. There was a finality about it. This time I knew he could go no further.

I had no thought of leaving him. That was never going to happen. Well, at least this solved the problem of what I was going to do when I left Russell. Moulder in a grave was the answer to that one. Still, it worked out well for him. He’d get the money and the house.

I pulled my coat an inch or two higher on his withers. His head hung lower than ever. I rubbed the spot behind his ears with icy hands.

‘Please, Thomas,’ I whispered. ‘Could you not manage just a little further?’

Suddenly, he lifted his head. His nostrils flared. He pricked his ears, flung up his head and whinnied, long and loud. And then, exhausted, he dropped his head again.

In the distance, I heard a shout. Whistles blew. Engines started. Headlights appeared over the hill, cutting great swathes through the darkness.

‘It’s the cavalry,’ I told him. ‘Don’t give up now. They’re coming, Thomas. They’ve found us. We’ll soon be home.’

Now the tears did flow.

And over all the racket, down in the valley, I could hear a little donkey calling us home.

Chapter Thirteen

Subsequent events are a little blurred in my mind. I know I refused to go to hospital until I saw Thomas safely into his box. After that, Russell swept me away and we pulled into the hospital car park, clattering like an old sewing machine. There was a lot of shouting – from Russell, obviously. I just closed my eyes and let them all get on with it.

Everyone was very kind, but I soon discovered that if I opened my eyes then lots of people wanted to talk to me about lots of things, so it seemed better for everyone if I just lay quietly with my eyes shut, so I did.

I used the time to think.

I thought about what had just happened. I thought about our dinner party. Russell had been at the other end of the table. Not exactly miles away, but certainly I had been out of his reach. Then I thought about Kevin upsetting the water jug and the ensuing confusion. Everyone lifted up plates and glasses while things were mopped up. It would have been easy to slip something in a glass – any glass – and then put that glass in front of me when the table was put back together. We were all drinking the same wine and, in the state I was in, I certainly wouldn’t have noticed. It would have been easy. And if Kevin hadn’t knocked over the water some other opportunity would have occurred, I was sure.

I thought about falling down the stairs. I remembered my foot, sliding away from me and my frantic grab for the banisters. I remembered the sickening impact as I fell backwards. It was a miracle I hadn’t cracked my head open. And so I would have if the little pool of oil had been spilled on a lower stair. My head would have crashed back onto the bare wooden staircase and at the speed I was going, it would have been nasty.

Just two normal household incidents. A stomach upset and falling down the stairs. Both easily explained away.

But this – this was different. This was a tangle of wire left across a path where I rode. And not just me. It was Thomas too. My precious Thomas, who had looked to me to get us home and who stood so patiently while I untangled that filthy wire with cold, shaking fingers.

Yes, this last incident was very different. An escalation. Much more difficult to explain away. Especially since I’d kept the wire.

The question was, what was I going to do about it? Love and loyalty can only take you so far. The safest place for me would apparently be Uncle Richard’s house. Aunt Julia would ostentatiously throw a Total Exclusion Zone of about a hundred miles around the house and Russell Checkland wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near me. Ever again. And if Russell was far away then I would seem to be safe. But that really wasn’t what I wanted. That wouldn’t solve anything. And it wasn’t just me any more.

More than ever, I missed big, golden Thomas, who would have stood beside the bed, swishing his tail and who would certainly have had something to say about all this. But he’d gone. He’d left me. Because, supposedly, I was grown-up now and able to deal with this on my own. I wondered if he’d foreseen all this. Of course he had. Yet, still he’d left me. Because he thought I could do this by myself. So I’d better get on with it then.

They let me go the next day. Russell went charging off to bring the car to the patient loading bay and I was awaiting his return. The doctor, whose name I have now forgotten, came to stand alongside me.

‘You take care now, Mrs Checkland.’

‘I will. Thanks for everything. I appreciate it.’

We both watched Russell pull up on double yellow lines and smile blindingly at the parking attendant.

‘Yes,’ she said, in amusement. ‘Do you think he’s disastrously charming or just charmingly disastrous?’

What I would have said to this was never known, because the subject of the conversation was suddenly with us, grabbing my bag, thanking the doctor and whirling me away before I could properly gather what passed for my wits these days.

Russell chattered all the way home, but drove (comparatively) slowly back to Frogmorton, where I ignored his instructions and went straight to see Thomas.

Poor old Thomas. The sight of him brought home to me the seriousness of what had happened in a way that my own injuries hadn’t. They’d piled up his bedding and he was well rugged, but he still looked cold and miserable. His head hung low and his eyes were half-closed.

‘Thomas?’

He lifted his head and made a little sound of greeting that nearly had me in tears. But he didn’t move towards me. I stared anxiously.

‘Which part of go straight into the house and keep warm didn’t you understand? Why won’t you do as I tell you? I swear you are the most troublesome wife I’ve ever had,’ said Russell, materialising unnervingly beside me.

‘Well, never mind. Not much longer now.’

Was there the slightest pause?

‘No. No, as you say, not much longer now.’

The silence thickened.

‘What does Andrew say?’

‘Andrew says he’ll be fine in a week or so. Stop changing the subject.’

‘What subject?’

‘Us. Our future. What we’re going to do.’

I remembered that arguing about our future was what had sent me flying out of the house in the first place.

‘Cheer up, Russell. If this … keeps up, I’m not going to have much of a future. I’ll probably be struck by lightning next Tuesday and all your troubles will be over.’

He stepped back, suddenly very tight around the mouth.

‘What?’

‘If anything happens to me while we’re still married then you get everything. House. Money. Francesca, if you still … want her. Everything.’

He grew, if anything, even tighter. I braced myself.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that you need to be very, very careful, Russell. I’ve worked out what’s going on. You know what I’m talking about.’

‘How long have you known?’

I pulled out the coil of wire and laid it gently on the table in from of him. He stared at it, picked it up, turned it over, and laid it back down again. His eyes were very watchful.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Nothing. I don’t want anyone else involved in this. There’s enough gossip about us already. I think, and I’m sure you will agree, that this was one “accident” too many. I don’t think there will be any more of them now. If you think about it carefully, I’m sure you will agree.’

He picked up the wire again, seemingly unable to leave it alone.

‘I do.’

‘As things stand at the moment, you’re in much more danger from them than I am.’

‘Well,’ he said lightly, balancing the coil of wire on the palm of his hand, ‘we’d better make sure nothing happens to you then, hadn’t we? Now for heaven’s sake, come inside and let Mrs Crisp start looking after you.’

They were so pleased to see me. I couldn’t believe it. Mrs Crisp forgot my bruises, hugged me tightly, apologised, and hugged me again. She was warm and soft and smelled of sherry.

Sharon, remembering my bruises, hugged me not so tightly. She was warm and soft and smelled of vanilla.

Kevin shook my hand in a very manly way, so I hugged him anyway. He smelled of horses.

The cat unwound himself from the range, jumped into my arms, and head-butted me. He smelled of tinned salmon.

‘Bloody animal,’ said Russell. ‘Every time I go near him he bites me. I don’t know why he’s still here, Jenny. I gave particular instructions he was to be shown the door. Why does no one ever take any notice of anything I say? You lot do realise you work for me, don’t you?’

His workforce regarded him stoically. He changed the subject.

‘I’m hungry.’

They left us to have a quiet meal together. Afterwards I snoozed on the sofa and he went out. I woke up hours later, just in time to go to bed.

Of course, having slept most of the day, I was restless and couldn’t get off again. The painkillers had worn off and the ibuprofen they’d given me really wasn’t cutting the mustard. I shifted painfully around the bed, and, unable to get comfortable, picked up a book.

I heard Russell come home, heard him clumping quietly (for him) up the stairs, and heard his footsteps along the passage. He must have seen the light under my door, because he paused and then tapped.

‘Jenny?’

He stuck his head around the door. ‘Everything all right?’

I nodded. ‘Not sleepy.’

‘Do you want some tea? I’ve got something to show you.’

I nodded and he disappeared, coming back with a tray containing the wrong mugs, the leaky teapot, no spoons, and a photo album. He dropped the whole lot on the table, poured out two mugs and made himself comfortable on the bed.

‘Move over a bit.’

I shunted over and he stretched out beside me.

‘Don’t spill it. Here you are. Good God, what’s the matter with your feet?’

‘The cat.’

‘He sleeps in here?’

‘Absolutely not. Never. At all.’

‘Well, if you catch some dreadful disease and your feet fall off, don’t come running to me.’

I promised I wouldn’t.

We sipped tea together, just like a normal married couple.

‘So what have you got for me?’

‘Oh. Yes. Andrew dug this out the other day. There’s something in here I think will interest you.’ He began to leaf through. ‘Yes, here we are.’

He passed over a very elderly photo album.

‘That’s our garden.’

‘Yes, these were taken in my grandfather’s time. I never knew him, but I thought you’d like to see what the garden used to look like. The photos are black and white, but you’ll get the idea.’

It had been beautiful. Roses, lavender, geraniums, stocks, foxgloves, lupins, and many more that I couldn’t name spilled untidily over gravel paths. Looking at it, you could hear the lazily droning bees and feel the summer sun beating down. In the centre of her fountain, the hussy clutched her clothes in vain.

‘And,’ he said, setting down his tea and taking the book off me. ‘Recognise anyone here?’

He passed it back. I saw a very old photo of four children sitting on the grass. Christopher glowered from the background. Francesca and Russell sat at the front, smiling at each other. She was making a daisy chain. I was off to one side, staring out of the picture, in my own world as usual.

‘I don’t remember this.’

‘Me neither, but that’s us. You’ve got short hair so you’re what ten, eleven?’

I nodded.

‘And there’s another.’

He turned the page. And there we were, just the two of us. Russell was holding a bucket and I was peering in.

‘Even then with the buckets,’ he said. ‘An omen.’

It was an effort to smile. I looked at my younger self, sighed, and gently closed the book. He put it on the floor. And his mug. And my mug.

‘Jenny. I’m just going to come right out and say this. I’d rather kick myself for being an insensitive idiot now than kick myself in years to come for not saying what I … The thing is, I don’t want you to go. I would be very pleased and proud and – honoured – if you would stay. I know the last months have been pretty bad for you, but I think we’re both agreed that’s finished now. I don’t care about the money. Leave it to the cat for all I care. You can do the garden, fix up the house, learn to cook, ride with me, do the accounts, scrape egg off the walls, bring home dodgy livestock – what woman could resist such a lifestyle?’

Well not this one, certainly. I really didn’t want to go. I thought of what I would leave behind. But if I stayed – and there was another accident – and they took Russell away – what then? I knew what people said about him. Had always said about him. He was his own worst enemy.

I sighed with the weight of it all. I really wanted to stay. The situation was not beyond recall. Take a chance. Take a chance and stay.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’d like to stay.’

He squeezed my hand, very tightly. ‘That’s my girl.’

To overcome the embarrassment of the moment, I leaned back against the pillows and found his arm there. He made no attempt to move it.

‘I’m going to push my luck, now.’

Of course he was. When wouldn’t he?

‘I’d like to stay, too.’

I didn’t get it to begin with. Then I did. Or I thought I did. Maybe I was wrong. My heart began to thump. Was he saying …?

‘If you want me to leave, then I will. But I warn you, I’ll be back tomorrow night and the night after, until one day, Jenny … We know each other a little better now and the last weeks have been … difficult for me. I rather hoped … but if you don’t want … I mean I’ll quite understand. Just say no and I’ll …’ he sighed heavily and continued in a voice that led me to believe he was labouring under some huge, dark, nameless sorrow. ‘… I’ll drag myself back to my own room, trying not to think of you, here, soft and warm, without me … Because I’ll be next door, all alone, cruelly abandoned to the dubious pleasures of night-time manipulation and potential blindness. So no pressure then, Jenny.’

Trying not to laugh, I buried my head in his shoulder.

‘Is that a yes? I know I’m a Checkland, and we like a challenge, but I need more to work with than just the top of your head. Look at me. That’s better. Now there’s no cause for alarm. In the last ten seconds, I’ve thought all this over very carefully indeed, and for the purposes of this exercise, I propose we divide into two groups: the kisser and the kissee. You, Jenny, are the kissee and all you have to do is stare up at me with your disturbingly trustful eyes. Yes, that’s very good. The kisser, that’s me, by the way, takes a deep breath, tries to remember who he is, lifts the kissee’s chin gently, like so, and has at it.’

‘Has at it?’

‘Yes. The kisser, having set the scene to his satisfaction, now makes his move.’

He bent his head and kissed me, very gently. For a long time. His lips were warm and soft. My head swam. I put it down to concussion.

I wondered, briefly, whether he felt the same. It seemed unlikely. For all I knew, he did this every day of the week.

After a while, I opened my eyes. He watched me carefully, a small smile on his face, but the fingers pushing back my hair were trembling slightly.

‘Mastering his relief that the kissee has not leaped screaming from the bed or walloped him over the head with the bedside lamp, the kisser, slightly unsure which planet he’s on, makes his next move.’