The Sweetest Thing (30 page)

‘I’m not. You are,’ Sophie says indignantly.

‘Not,’ says Georgia.

‘In that case, you won’t mind me borrowing your mobile,’ I say, taking it from her. ‘Thank you.’

‘Jennie, there you are,’ Guy says, joining us. ‘The fuse box is in the hall cupboard. This place needs rewiring.’

‘It’s a pity the previous owner didn’t let me know before, then I could have knocked a bit off the asking price,’ I say lightly. I can’t afford to have the house rewired. My situation has changed. When we were married, David might have moaned that there was no money left in the current account but he’d always have some hidden in reserve that he could transfer. I didn’t ever have to worry. I’ve lost that security with the end of my marriage. I wouldn’t go back now though. I like
my independence. In fact, looking back, I wonder what I was ever scared of.

I show Guy through to the hall and open the cupboard. I don’t know why. He’s probably more familiar with Uphill House – no, Jennie’s Folly – than I am.

‘Would you like the torch?’ I ask him as he squats down and leans into the cupboard.

‘You hold it for me.’ His teeth flash in the darkness. ‘You’ll have to come closer …’

I stand behind him and shine the mobile’s beam over his shoulder.

‘Closer than that,’ he whispers, and I shuffle another small step towards him, catching his heel and losing my balance. I grab his shoulder to steady myself and his hand lands on top of mine. Guy turns his face to me, his eyes gleaming. ‘There’s definitely some electricity here, don’t you think?’

‘Well, I hope so …’ I relax my grip on his shoulder, but leave my hand where it is.

‘We aren’t talking at cross-purposes here, are we?’ he asks hoarsely. ‘I mean, I’m not referring to the fuse box as such.’ His fingers are stroking mine, sending my pulse rate steadily higher.

I’d like to say something clever, seductive, but his mouth is on mine and I’ve lost the power of speech and rational thought. Until I notice the sound of footsteps behind us, and the beam of a more powerful torch bobbing up and down then sweeping across the hall.

‘Is there a problem?’ It’s Adam and he’s unusually short with Guy.

‘Shine your torch in here,’ I say, stepping back. ‘It’s impossible to see.’

‘I can see perfectly well,’ he says quietly.

‘You keep eating your mum’s carrot cake,’ Guy says, as if he’s trying to cover up some embarrassment.

‘I don’t like carrot cake,’ Adam says, and I can hear the mutiny in his voice: I am not a child, so don’t treat me like one. But he shines the torch into the cupboard for Guy so he can fix the fuses, and within ten minutes we have light once more.

It has been an enlightening evening all round, I think later, when Guy has gone home. I can’t stop grinning. I might have ended up with a thieving dog and a psychotic pony, but I’m sure now. Guy does like me, more than like me, and I like him, and I’m ready to take the next step, whatever that may be. I’m worried though about Adam. What did he see? What does he think he saw? I resolve to talk to him as soon as I get a quiet moment. Once he’s over the shock of realising that his mum’s ready to enter a new relationship, I hope he’ll come round to accepting the situation.

To be honest, I’m nervous about speaking to Adam, afraid of his reaction because I can guess what it’s going to be, which is why I still haven’t said anything a few days later. Not to worry. Guy and I are taking things slowly. It feels right. So right.

A couple of mornings after, once I’ve taken the children to school, I get baking. I confess that I look out of the window quite often, hoping to catch a glimpse of Guy, and there he is, striding towards me. I open the window and say hi. He looks great, his hair ruffled where he’s taken off his cap, fresh and wide awake, and I wonder how he manages to look so well on all this early rising. And then I think, That’s very naughty, Jennie Copeland, and find I’m dusting the Victoria sponges with flour instead of icing sugar. That’ll teach me to keep my mind on the job in future.

‘Hi. Something smells good,’ he adds, moving closer.

‘I’m cooking.’

‘I guessed. You’ve got flour on your nose.’ He
reaches out one hand as if he’s going to wipe it off, but I’m out of reach.

‘Have you got time for a coffee?’ I ask.

‘All the time in the world,’ he says, smiling his slow, heart-stopping smile, and soon he’s ensconced in the kitchen, leaning back in a chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

‘Jennie, I’ve been meaning to ask,’ he says after a while. ‘About Adam.’

‘What’s he done?’

‘Nothing – he’s a good worker. No, I found him up the far field the other evening.’

‘I expect he was taking Lucky for a walk. The novelty of having a dog hasn’t worn off yet.’

‘He didn’t have the dog with him.’

I feel my brow tighten into a frown. ‘Did you ask him what he was doing?’

‘Yeah, but one minute he said he was up there looking for mushrooms, the next that he was releasing mice back into the wild, which seemed completely far-fetched to me. I mean, who traps mice only to let them go again?’

I clear my throat.

‘Um, that might have been me …’

‘Jennie?’

‘I’ve put a couple of humane traps in the barn – I can’t have vermin around, you see. The chickens haven’t caught any mice as far as I’m aware, but we’ve trapped a handful and I haven’t liked to murder them, so I thought …’

‘You thought you’d let them go again?’ Guy laughs. ‘Why didn’t you knock them on the head?’

‘Because it seems so cruel. They’re tiny and look so defenceless. It would be murder.’

Guy is holding his sides now, tears rolling down his cheeks.

‘I’ve told you before – you’re completely mad, Jennie.’

‘I read somewhere that they wouldn’t come back as long as you released them at least two or three miles away,’ I go on, unsure whether to be affronted or to laugh along with him. Relocating mice? It is ridiculous. Laughter wins out.

‘Where have you been letting them go then?’

‘In the lane on the way into Talyton.’ My shoulders shake and my face begins to ache. ‘I leave them in the hedge with some food and hope they’ll make themselves a new home.’ I don’t tell Guy, but I do worry that the rest of their mouse family might miss them when they find out that they’re gone.

‘Only a townie could think of that,’ he goes on, wiping his eyes. ‘Oh, Jennie, I’m sorry. I haven’t laughed like that for ages.’

‘Neither have I,’ I splutter.

‘If Adam’s really been letting mice go up in my field, they’ll be straight down to set up home at mine.’

‘So you don’t think he was doing his bit for animal rights then?’ I say, sobering up a little.

Guy looks at me, his expression turning serious. ‘He seemed a bit down.’

‘All teenagers can be moody. Adam’s no different.’

‘When I went back to see if he’d gone, I found a couple of empty lager cans in the ditch.’

‘What teenager hasn’t had the odd drink with their mates now and again?’

Guy is staring at me now, and I realise I’m in denial. ‘He was drinking alone.’

‘Alone?’ I hesitate, letting this significant fact sink in.
‘Why?’ All kinds of questions run through my mind. Is this a one-off? Is my son taking his first steps on to the slippery slope towards becoming an alcoholic? Why did he do it? Where did he get hold of it?

‘What can I do?’ I exclaim. ‘I can’t keep him under lock and key.’ I can’t keep him away from drink either – it’s everywhere, even in Talyton St George where the good ladies of the church and WI encourage sobriety.

‘Would you like me to have a word with him? Man to man.’

It’s what I suggested to David, but I think man to boy is more apt. Adam’s just a boy.

‘Please tell me to mind my own business if you think I’m interfering, but I like Adam. He’s a good boy and I’d hate to see him take the wrong path.’

It should be down to David to speak to our son, but I’m worried what he would say, especially after the way he went on at me when Georgia came off the pony. And anyway, this is probably an isolated incident. It hasn’t happened before. I don’t see why it should happen again.

‘I don’t believe it’s such a problem as you’re making out, Guy. I can’t think of a single teenager who didn’t experiment with alcohol at one time or another.’

‘I didn’t because my job’s always depended on me being able to drive,’ Guy says. ‘That makes me sound like I’ve always been a boring old fart – unlike you with your sense of adventure and willingness to embrace new things.’ He pauses expectantly, and my heart thumps in my chest, and I wonder if he’s thinking of how he embraced me in the cupboard last night. ‘This is where you’re supposed to say, “But you’re not a boring old …” ’ He straightens, holds up his hands, and in self-mocking tones goes on, ‘No, I don’t want you to
feel obliged to lie on my behalf, to protect my feelings, because the truth is I’m a very dull man.’

‘Oh, Guy, you’re great company,’ I protest. ‘Does Adam really talk to you?’ I go on, returning to the subject of my son. ‘I mean, open up to you? He doesn’t share anything with me. He blames me for moving the family here, for uprooting him from school, friends … And his dad.’

‘You don’t regret moving though, do you?’ Guy says.

‘No …’

‘Adam does talk about his father. We talk about his mother too.’ Guy grins and I blush. ‘It’s all right, I said I wouldn’t hear a bad word about her.

‘Now, I don’t know if you still want it,’ he says, changing the subject and sparing my blushes, ‘but I’ve got a trailer-load of nicely rotted manure for the vegetable plot. I can drop it round this afternoon.’ He raises one hand. ‘Before you say anything, I don’t want payment. It’s a gift.’

Later, he returns, parking a tractor and trailer in the yard and calling me out of the kitchen.

‘Leave that Aga alone for a minute,’ he says. ‘Come and have a go at driving the tractor – I’ll see you back.’

I wipe my hands then slip my wellies on outside the back door, Bracken trotting up and down the fence alternately whinnying at me and snorting at the tractor.

Guy holds the cabin door open.

‘Hop in and adjust the seat.’ He pinches my bum as I clamber up into the cab. ‘Then turn the key. Don’t worry – it can’t go much faster than thirty unless it’s running downhill.’ He smiles as the engine growls into life.

‘Okay, put it into gear.’

‘Which one?’ I shout.

‘You need to go forward in the lowest gear, then reverse.’ Guy slams the door shut, so we have to converse through the open window.

It’s noisy and throbbing in the confined space and I find it difficult to concentrate. Going forward is fine. Reversing with the trailer isn’t.

‘Left hand down,’ Guy yells. ‘Too much. Right hand down! Stop! Straighten her up again.’

Soon we’re both laughing at my incompetence, but eventually I have the trailer backed on to the vegetable patch and a stinking heap of manure standing in the middle. I move the tractor forward, stop it in the yard and turn off the engine.

‘That was fun,’ I say. ‘What a lovely present.’

I open the door and slide out, falling into Guy’s waiting arms. I’m not sure exactly how it happens, but his hands end up on the curve of my waist and we’re standing so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.

‘Jennie?’ Guy murmurs.

‘We’re alone,’ I whisper, and he leans towards me, his eyes half closed, his lips brushing against mine. I reach up and gather the material of his sweatshirt, so it tightens across his chest. Guy’s hands slide around my back, pulling me close until my body is pressed against the length of his. I can hear my heart, his heart – I’m not sure which – pounding in my ears.

Guy deepens the kiss and I respond, quaking with excitement and anticipation. I am desirable and desired, and capable of desire again.

Then, suddenly, he steps away.

‘What’s wrong?’ I stammer. Is it me, or him?

‘Get your hands off my mother!’

It’s Adam. He’s standing a few feet away, dressed in his school uniform and holding his backpack with one hand as if he’s about to drop it on the cobbles.

‘Adam, what are you doing here?’ I move towards him, but he flings his backpack over one shoulder and marches past, disappearing into the house. I turn to Guy who’s turned a deep shade of puce. ‘I’m sorry …’

Guy’s lips curve into a rueful smile. ‘You’d better go after him.’

‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ I say, touching my cheeks.

Adam hasn’t gone far. He’s in the larder, rifling through the cake boxes. At least seeing Guy kissing me hasn’t affected his appetite, I think.

‘Adam, we need to talk.’ I lean against the wall just outside. ‘What’s the problem here, love?’

‘Don’t call me “love”, Mother. That’s sick. Actually, everything about you’s pretty sick at the moment.’

‘Adam!’ His words hurt me, even if they are said in the heat of the moment. ‘There’s no need to speak to me like that.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I realise you’ve had a hard time, love—’