The Sweetest Thing (22 page)

‘I’m sorry for what happened to your brother-in-law the other night, Jennie,’ Guy begins. ‘Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.’

‘It wasn’t your fault Hugo banged his head – he tripped. What’s more, there really was no reason for you to wade in like a caveman,’ I say, smiling.

‘I’d have done it for any woman,’ Guy stammers.

‘Of course.’ I’m disappointed, unreasonably so, that he didn’t do it especially for me.

‘The man is a boor,’ Guy growls.

I can’t disagree. Hugo is the kind of person you can’t play Scrabble with because he makes words up as he goes along.

‘I apologise for saying that about one of your friends, but I couldn’t stand him.’

‘He isn’t a friend. He’s family.’ I hesitate, on my way to fetch the brandy from the top shelf. ‘Guy, why are you so angry?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You are.’ I can see his fingers blanching on the coffee mug as he talks about my brother-in-law.

‘I heard you say “no” to him, and he wasn’t taking “no” for an answer. It was no way to treat a lady.’

I’m flattered that he thinks me a lady, and even more pleased when, gazing into my eyes, he adds hesitantly, ‘You’re a lovely woman, Jennie …’

I touch my throat. My pulse seems to skip a beat. A compliment, awkwardly made, but a compliment all the same.

‘He reminds me of my brother. No respect for women or anyone else for that matter.’ Guy goes on gruffly, ‘I can’t understand why every female in Talyton fell in love with him. I guess women are like that. Fickle. Tasha certainly was …’ His voice trails off.

‘You can’t generalise,’ I admonish him. ‘We aren’t all the same, you know.’ There’s no way I’d run off with someone like Hugo, or Guy’s brother, or with anyone, in fact – not even Guy. Yes, I might have experienced a frisson of lust, seeing him remove his boiler-suit, and enjoyed the compliment, but there’s nothing more than a growing friendship between us. Whether he’s with this Ruthie woman or not, Guy still doesn’t appear to be over his ex-wife. He often talks about her, which makes me think he was so badly hurt that he might never get over the break-up.

‘I don’t usually have such a short fuse,’ he says, returning to the cause of his anger. ‘Perhaps it was my
father’s influence. He was a control freak, always losing it when things were out of his control – my brother, the weather, rain on the hay crop. I remember him running around a field in the rain once, the hay cut and supposedly drying before we could bale it. Dad was yelling and shaking his fist at the clouds.’ Guy smiles ruefully. ‘It’s no wonder he ended up with heart disease, he was always completely stressed out.’ He pauses then says, ‘I respected my father, but I never loved him. I don’t want to be like him.’ He gazes at me, his gaze searching. ‘I don’t want anyone being afraid of me.’

I’m not afraid, I muse. I feel protected by him.

Guy continues, ‘Mum was scared of him. When he died, she blossomed – but then her freedom was cut short. She started forgetting silly things – it wasn’t like her.’

I’m not sure what to say in the ensuing silence, so I concentrate on running a skewer repeatedly through the three tiers of wedding cake.

‘I’ve let Mum down,’ he begins again. ‘She wanted to stay at home – she made me promise her she could, and I’ve failed her. Packing her things and moving her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’

‘It must be impossible to run the farm and be a full-time carer. Couldn’t you have had someone living in?’

‘I tried to find someone, but live-in carers who are trained to look after dementia sufferers are few and far between, especially around here.’

‘At least, from what I’ve heard, you can say that you did all that you could.’ I take the cap off the brandy bottle and pour some out on to each tier of cake, watching it soak away through the holes left by the skewer.

‘Yes, but I still wonder if I could have done more.
Could I have been more patient? Could I have given her a few more months here on the farm?’ He shakes his head. ‘It got to the point where she was violent and abusive. She couldn’t help it. Anyway one day she pushed me to the limit. She kept wandering off – people were very kind, bringing her back when they found her in town or walking the fields. Fifi tried to help, tried to make me see sense, that I wasn’t coping, but I sent her packing.

‘I had to lock Mum indoors while I went out. One day she escaped, made her way into the barn, lit a match and set the hay alight. I can only assume she was feeling cold. She was wearing just a tatty old nightie at the time because she refused to wear anything else. It was a miracle she didn’t go up in flames. I lost most of the winter’s feed for the cattle, but worst of all, I lost a cow and several calves. I realised then that I couldn’t do it any more. I looked at her, this empty shell of an old woman, and thought, I want to kill her.’

‘Did you?’ I say apprehensively.

‘I didn’t hit her,’ he says, ‘although I came close. You won’t understand, no one does until they’ve been in that position. It wasn’t her. It was the illness I wanted to hurt … to destroy as it had destroyed her.’

Guy buries his head in his hands, and I suppress an impulse to hold him and tell him it will be all right. He looks up again after a while. ‘I had to put her in a home, and I felt like a traitor.’

‘You don’t have to tell me all this,’ I say gently. He seems upset by raking up the past. ‘But if it helps to talk …’

‘I shouldn’t be unloading this on you.’

‘What else are friends for?’

‘Thanks, Jennie.’ Guy reaches across and touches my
hand very briefly. ‘I thought I might have gone and wrecked everything the other night, spoiled the party, so to speak.’

‘Don’t be silly. Let’s forget it.’ If anything, it’s helped to improve neighbourly relations, I think. Guy is far from insensitive. He might be shy at times, but he’s also passionate and caring.

I rewrap the cakes in greaseproof paper and foil, and put them away until it’s feeding time again. Then, after Guy has gone back to the farm, I turn my mind to developing a signature product for my brand.

It’s the first Monday in September. The branches of the trees are bowing under the weight of the ripening apples, the mist has come sweeping in from the coast and there’s dew on the grass, which is a brilliant green. The excitement of the party has fizzled out, the children have gone to their new schools, and I’m having a lonesome moment. I was so proud of them when I dropped them off, wearing their new uniforms. Georgia told me to make lots of cakes, Sophie shed a couple of crocodile tears and exhorted me to check on the chickens during the day, while Adam didn’t look back.

I am in experimental mode in the kitchen, planning a marbled chocolate and raspberry cake. You see, I’m still looking for that unique selling point, a signature product for my brand. It should work, but I’m not sure it’s quite what I’m after.

I smile as I stir the mix, thinking of Guy. I divide the finished mixture into two bowls, one for the addition of vanilla essence and raspberry jam, the other for cocoa, then combine them in the cake tin, using a fork
to swirl them together, before sticking the cake into the Aga. I clear up, then decide to call Summer.

‘I thought you might be finding it rather quiet now we’ve all gone home and the kids are at school,’ she says. ‘What’s the gossip?’

‘There isn’t much to say.’

‘Hasn’t Guy been round?’

‘Actually, he has.’

‘There you go. As I said before, he has the hots for you.’

‘Summer, you are incorrigible. We’re friends, that’s all.’

‘Well, you know what I think. And your sister’s the same.’

It’s true that my sister can’t believe that it’s possible to be friends with a member of the opposite sex. ‘There’s always a sexual subtext’, is one of her favourite phrases.

‘Jennie, your radar’s stopped working, that’s what’s happened. You wouldn’t have a clue that a man fancied you – unless he came out and told you to your face.’

‘And then I wouldn’t believe him,’ I say regretfully.

‘Are you sure he didn’t give you any other clues?’

‘He did say he thought I was a lovely woman—’

‘There you are,’ Summer interrupts.

‘It isn’t a great chat-up line, if that’s what it was meant to be. “Lovely”. It’s almost a non-word, noncommittal. It doesn’t speak of a grand passion.’

‘That’s because Guy is the strong, silent type. He won’t be outside your bedroom window, serenading you with “
Nessun Dorma
”, like David did when you first met,’ Summer says. ‘I expect it took him a lot of courage to say what he felt.’

Perturbed that I might have misread the signs, I change the subject. ‘Have you managed to arrange any work experience yet?’

‘Indeed I have. I’m going into Jade’s school two mornings a week, and as soon as a teaching assistant post comes up, I’m going to apply. If I like it, I’ll enrol on a teaching course to start next September.’

‘You’ll love it.’

‘I know. I’m really excited and dead nervous at the same time, but I’ve seen what you’ve done and it’s inspired me to go for it, to change my life before it’s too late. I don’t want to wake up one morning and find it’s passed me by.’ She pauses. ‘I’d better go – I’ve got to get my car in for its MOT and then I’m off to do a bit of shopping in town.’

I feel a pang of homesickness, a sudden yearning to be back in London with Summer, treading pavements dotted with gum and crowded with people instead of walking the lanes with only a scruffy little dog for company. I do talk to him, but it isn’t the same.

Does Lucky ever listen to me? Occasionally, in between sniffing and chasing after rabbits, he deigns to cock one ear in my direction, but I don’t find him all that interactive. He has a much better relationship with Adam than with me, and thinking of Adam …

‘Jennie, are you still there?’ Summer says.

‘Yes,’ I say, forcing brightness into my reply. I don’t want to worry her.

‘You’ll have to come and stay with us sometime,’ she goes on. ‘Remember, the offer’s always there if you should tire of country living, or just want a trip to IKEA.’

I look around the kitchen, and out through the window where the chickens are pooping on the lawn,
and realise the impossibility of getting away. Who will look after the animals? Who will bake for Jennie’s Cakes?

‘Keep your chin up, Jennie. I’ll ring you later in the week.’

‘Okay, Summer. Keep in touch.’

I check the clock. Still four hours until I go and collect the children.

I turn my attention to preparing for the Farmers’ Market which is at the end of the week, on Saturday morning. Before that, though, I have to organise the children so they’re ready to go to David’s for their second weekend back in London since we moved away. I know some people say they love the freedom they have when their kids are away with their ex-partner, but I’ve never looked forward to it.

‘What was it like?’ I say on the way home from school the same day.

‘All right,’ says Georgia.

‘One of the boys swored at the dinner lady,’ says Sophie happily.

‘Adam?’ I say.

He shrugs.

‘Any homework?’

He shrugs again.

I don’t ask any more questions. This isn’t going well. Since Josh returned home, Adam’s been giving me the silent treatment. I wish I knew what was going on in his head.

On Friday afternoon, Georgia is hanging around the kitchen after school, waiting to pounce on the icing bowl as soon as I’ve finished decorating the first batch – or should it be a group? – of gingerbread
people. I’ll make a fresh lot of icing for the next ones.

‘When you’ve had that, will you go and pack your things for the weekend, please? We’ve got to meet your dad at eight.’ I’ve arranged to meet David halfway this time.

‘I’m glad you’re taking us some of the way. We always seem to get to places quicker when you’re driving,’ says Georgia. ‘Can we have a McDonald’s?’

‘No, Georgia, you’ve just had your tea here, and Dad will be in a hurry to get home.’

‘Camilla at school is having some friends round to her house this weekend, and she’s going to show everyone her pony. I want to see Dad, but I’d like to go to the party as well.’

I am racked by guilt, hearing this. Georgia needs to fit in, to make new friends, and her parents have made that impossible this weekend. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want, but are those sacrifices too much? I miss them all so much when they’re away.

I wouldn’t have chosen this for my children, but it happened and we’ll have to deal with it as best we can, I tell myself.

Georgia reverts to her favourite subject.

‘Mum, where are we going to get a pony from? I’ve asked at school and Camilla’s mum bought her pony in Wales, but if that’s too far for you to go and look, there’s a riding school near Talysands. She says they often have ponies for sale.’

‘All right. I’ll ring them.’

‘When?’

‘Sometime. I can’t do it right now – I’m in the middle of something.’