Torn (43 page)

‘Can I get Woody out of the bag again, Mummy?'

‘Do you want any more of your burger?'

‘No, I'm stuffed!'

‘Here you are then.' With Rory's attention taken up by the plastic figurine, Danny and Jessica were able to talk.

‘A cowboy? I thought you wanted to be an eco-warrior?'

‘It was Pete's fault. He was always into Westerns. Had loads of videos and DVDs at home. Whenever he visited he'd encourage me to watch with him. Even took me to the cinema. I expect I was a kind of excuse for him. S'ppose those films gave me a romantic view. All that open space. Being a free agent. Just you and your horse. No one breathing down your neck. No expectations.' He narrowed his eyes and would have looked into the distance if a wall had not intercepted his view. ‘The man with no name.'

‘Even with the dreadlocks?'

‘Buffalo soldier!' He smiled his familiar, self-deprecating smile. ‘What am I like? Sad, or what. But I had to grow up. Pete got me the job on Gore Farm. And suddenly I faced facts. This is it. This is my life from now on.'

‘I thought you enjoyed working on the farm?'

‘I do, more than any other job I can think of, but too many of the animals go for slaughter. And I'm not my own boss.'

‘Few people are in this world.'

‘I know it's unrealistic. It's tough being a farmer these days. I'm the last person who could run a farm like James Warwick does. Doesn't stop me dreaming, though.'

‘Can I get you anything else?' the waitress asked Jess. She shook her head. ‘What about you, Danny?'

‘No thanks, Cass.'

Of course, Jessica had thought she looked familiar. The overall she wore covered a skinny, black lace garment. Her hair was done up in little plaits twisted into knots and clipped against her scalp with fancy grips. She was one of the gang he hung out with. The girl scribbled on her pad and slapped down the bill rather nearer to Danny than to Jessica.

‘How much is it?' Jess asked pulling out her purse. Danny squinted at the bill; he blinked a few times, pulling his chin back as if to gain a longer view.

‘Uh … It's too dark in here!'

Jessica plucked the bill from his hand. ‘Give it here.' It was dark, and Cass's writing was fairly crabby, but
she
could read the bottom line of figures.

‘Seriously Danny, do you think you need your eyesight tested?'

His gaze shifted up, towards the ceiling. ‘Just leave it, Jess.'

‘You're being ridiculous! If your sight is bad, no wonder –'

‘No wonder what?'

‘No wonder you can't read the bill. And you couldn't see my stud when it fell onto Sasha's book.'

‘That was because of the glare!'

‘What glare?'

‘The glare off the white page. The stud got mixed up with the black print! It kind of flickers, doesn't it?'

‘You're talking rubbish. What flickers? It must be your eyesight!'

‘So? What is it to you?'

‘I worry about you fumbling around like Mr Magoo!'

‘Thanks a bunch! Just get off my case, Jess!'

‘Mummy! Mummy! Can I have my eyes tested?'

‘Good idea!' Jess breathed in and smiled tightly. ‘There's an optician just up the road. Let's go and make an appointment now!' She pushed back her chair, slapped a twenty-pound note onto the table, and stalked out of the café, Rory trotting confusedly beside her.

‘Jess. Jess, I'm sorry. Please?' She stopped out on the pavement. ‘I'm sorry, Jess. But, I'm not a child. And I get a bit touchy about being patronised.'

She sighed and nodded. ‘I was probably coming on like … a mother!'

‘I wouldn't know.'

‘I do care about you, Danny, it just frustrates me that you can be so obdurate.'

‘My eyes are fine.'

‘So why are you worried about getting them checked?'

‘I'm not! Are you really going to make an appointment for Rory now?'

‘Yes. I'm sure he's OK but it's a good idea to start eye checks early.'

‘But how does that work with children? I mean … like … if they can't read?'

Jessica knew that nagging Danny about his eyesight had been the wrong tactic. He was obstinate and strong willed; she should have known he would resist being pressurised. After making Rory's appointment she asked the girl how they tested the eyes of people – like the very young – who couldn't read. Assuming this was a mother's concern about her own young child's ability to respond to the usual tests, the woman called out the optician to speak to her.

‘We are well used to dealing with people who can't read … children or adults. Of course, even the severely dyslexic usually know their alphabet,' the optician added, saving her the trouble of asking the follow up question. ‘It's the mass of letters projected at once they have difficulty with. They find it hard to pick out the individual letters. So we can highlight the letters one at a time, or we can project a series of Es facing in different directions. For young children like your son we can use symbols …'

Chapter Twenty-six

True to his word James had offered the farmhouse for Rory's party and Jessica had accepted. Even so, it wasn't quite as riotous or as expensive as Sasha's had been. This time the paper plates, napkins, cups, and other ephemera were bought off the shelf. The balloons were inflated at home with an air pump. The party bags contained just a handful of penny sweets, a novelty, and a blower. The food was laboriously home-made by Jessica over a period of days. An entertainer was dispensed with.

None of the children seemed aware of the deficiencies of the occasion – if they did Jessica didn't care. Only the games were the same as those played at Sasha's party, and were joined in with as much enthusiasm by Sasha's dad. Jessica was too busy to see much of him, but Danny was about this time. He led those who were willing to put on a hard hat around the small paddock on Violet, or supervised small groups who wanted more intimate contact with the other young animals. But thankfully there was no elaborate dinner party to attend after the children had gone home, and though Jessica did stay the night, she retired relatively early to the guest room and slept well. The next day an outing had been arranged by James, just for the two of them.

There were not as many bikes or students or head-in-the-clouds academics as she'd expected to see, but then what should a student or an academic look like these days? Influenced, perhaps by watching the TV adaptations of
Inspector Morse
, Jessica had conjured a slightly archaic picture of the hushed and ancient streets flapping with black gowns as students cycled or walked with earnest purpose from lectures to seminars to tutorials. That was until James reminded her they were visiting the town in the summer vacation, and even in term time these days, gowns were not generally worn, except for prescribed occasions. And anyway, why had she expected the denizens of Oxford to look any different from those of her own university town?

Even so, she was unprepared for this busy city centre, gridlocked traffic, and jostling crowds. The high street stores were those you might expect in any large town. The people who blocked the pavements were either here to shop or to see the sights. Some, more annoyingly – because their meanderings around the town were random and unfocused – were apparently here to do both.

But soon James had led her away from the main shopping centre and into the back streets and alleyways, pointing out the colleges – their quadrangles and chapels – the libraries, museums, and theatres. Everywhere had a story attached. This was a favourite pub where many a riotous and extended evening had been spent. A flat in that house was where he'd lived in his second year. They walked around the public areas of Christ Church where he'd studied, and visited its picture gallery, and then on to the cathedral, where he'd often attended the services – “just for the music”. And strolling on down across the sloping lawns of Christ Church Meadow he pointed out where he and his friends would sit to watch the rowers sculling up and down the Isis. There was the spot where Piers had fallen in when they'd hired a punt, and this was a favourite picnicking place.

They put down the bag and spread out the rug. They were not alone; many others had had the same idea. But Jessica felt privileged to be with someone who knew the town intimately, and for whom it meant so much. For a while they simply enjoyed the sunshine in silence. Then James asked: ‘So … are you going away anywhere on holiday?'

Jessica had been lying down, eyes closed. At his question she sat up, laughing.

‘You sound like my hairdresser.'

‘Sorry.'

‘Not this summer. Anyway, it's a bit late now. What about you?'

‘Me neither. The finances are a bit …' James lapsed into silence. They watched a scull slide by on the river, propelled by four powerful rowers.

‘Did you row?' Jess asked when it became clear he wasn't going to say any more on the subject.

‘I have rowed, but not competitively. Never played rugger or cricket either. Not here. I was always happy to watch others exert themselves.'

She leant back, supporting herself on her elbows. ‘What was your dream, amongst these dreaming spires?'

‘I wanted to travel.' Another boat slid by. James watched it out of sight. ‘After I graduated … I showed you the Sheldonian Theatre, where the graduation ceremonies are held, didn't I? In Broad Street, next to the Bodleian and the Radcliffe Camera …'

Jess nodded. Her feet and brain still ached from the long tour. If she forgot all other buildings she'd been shown today she would remember the Sheldonian. Its semi-circular perimeter was bounded by a wall topped by metal railings. At intervals, high stone pillars intersected the railings, each one surmounted by a large carved head. The emperors' heads, James had called them. The row of austere, curly locked, and bearded faces peered down with classical disdain at the gawping tourists.

‘So, after I graduated, I took off,' James continued. ‘Some of the bits of furniture around the farmhouse are from that time.'

‘The coffee table?'

‘Came from Bali. But even more than travelling my ambition was always to write. I kept a notebook while I was away and when I got back, I started on my magnum opus. My parents supported me while I worked on the book, which I had no shadow of doubt would make my name and my fortune. Looking back I can hardly credit how confident I was. I must have inspired them with a similar confidence. But my Dad was quite a bit older than my mother. Although only in his late fifties, he suffered a completely unexpected, fatal heart attack. I knew I couldn't sponge off Gilda any longer, it just wasn't fair. Piers, who was employed by the ad agency straight from uni, was always pestering me to join him. Said it was money for old rope. So I eventually took him up on it, and eighteen months after Oxford got my first job.'

‘Gilda told me you still do work for Piers, freelance.'

‘For my sins. The gilt has gone off the gingerbread just a tad. The public are so much more savvy these days. You can't just be humorous, you've got to be ironic. Then irony isn't good enough, you've got to be post-modern, post-ironic. You know I'm trying to sell you something. I know you know I'm trying to sell you something. You know I know you know I'm trying to sell you something. And if your ad doesn't go viral on the internet, like … do you remember that drumming gorilla, which came out when I was still a full-time employee in the business? …  then you've failed. It can get a bit tiresome.'

‘Sounds like it. I wouldn't know where to start.'

‘Don't even bother to think about it. Life's too short to worry about how to pitch the next deodorant campaign.'

Jessica laughed. ‘Did you carry on with your serious writing?'

‘Only sporadically from then on. I met and married Serena. Then we inherited the farm. It's only in the last couple of years I've seriously tried to get back into it.'

‘What type of book? Travel? Fiction?'

‘A thriller, though it's singularly failed to thrill anyone I've shown it to.' They sat in silence for a while continuing to watch the river and the other people who'd also come to bask on this sunny riverside meadow.

‘So, how did you end up a City whiz-kid, Jessica Avery?'

‘Like you I was diverted from my original intentions by a friend. I was nearing the end of my PGCE. At a party I met an old friend who'd gone straight into the City after graduating. He was making megabucks and said I could too. I had all the right attributes, apparently. I'd find it a doddle and make a mint. I went for an interview with the investment bank and that was it. I probably made more money in those few years than I'd have made in a lifetime teaching. Although I have the certificate, I've never actually earned my living teaching, hence my plan to go back to college.'

‘You're still determined on that? Do you actually need to work?'

‘I'd rather not rely on investment income to keep me going for the rest of my natural life. Anyway, I want to work. I've been fortunate. . Others are not so lucky. I want to put something back.'

‘But in the state sector? By all accounts it's a pretty soul-destroying occupation these days.'

‘But somebody's got to do it. And with our little ones on the brink of the education treadmill, we of all people know how desperately needed good teachers are.' She lay back on the rug again, feeling the warmth on her cheeks and eyelids.

‘Jess, why are you smiling?'

‘Just enjoying the sunshine. And picturing the first day of school. Just think, in a matter of weeks Sash and Rory will already be at that first important milestone? My son's life has gone by in such a flash.'

‘True. You'd think our perception of time would be stretched rather than contracted given how much has happened to us both in those few years. Don't you think it's strange? Both our kids the same age, give or take a few months. Both have lost a parent in one way or another. Isn't there a weird kind of symmetry in that?'