Читать книгу Pastures New - Julia Williams - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

‘It’s okay, it doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t.’

Pete’s words should have been reassuring to Saffron, but somehow they weren’t. She lay in the darkness, listening to his breathing and the snuffles of Ellie next to her in the baby basket, and fretted. She should be trying to sleep, but judging by the way she was leaking like an old milk cow (an unsavoury aspect to breastfeeding, which she particularly hated), Ellie was probably on the verge of waking up. Which would have put paid to any extracurricular activity anyway, even if she could have risen to the occasion.

Pete had been lovely about it, as usual, but she couldn’t help the gnawing anxiety which ate into her after yet another aborted attempt at sex. After all, that was what had done for her and Gerry in the end. And they had managed it a lot more often after Becky and Matt were born than she and Pete had done so far.

Pete’s not Gerry.

Now that was a better thought. Saffron smiled. Gerry had done her a favour really. Having dumped her for a blonde floozie, Gerry had floored Saffron completely for a while. With Becky only two and Matt a baby, life had been tough. Without the amiable and supportive friendship of Pete, whose allotment bordered hers, Saffron doubted whether she would have hung on to her sanity. She had always got on well with him, but during that dark period she came to value his steadiness and depend upon his gentle humour to lighten up her day.

Saffron hadn’t been looking for love. Her heart had been so shattered by Gerry’s infidelity she had thought she could never trust anyone again. But one day, looking across at Pete planting his runner beans, it suddenly dawned on her that love had snuck up on her when she wasn’t looking. After that, everything was simple. They moved in together and within months Pete had proposed. And when Ellie was born, Saffron’s happiness was complete. And here they were. Simple.

Saffron sighed. Things didn’t feel simple now.

She could probably count on one hand the number of times that she and Pete had made love since Ellie’s arrival. Despite Gerry’s taunts, being with Pete had proved to her that she wasn’t frigid. But now, for the first time since they’d been together, Saffron felt they were struggling. She was struggling.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It was just – well, she felt betrayed by her body. For a start, she had forgotten how much she hated breastfeeding. She resented the fact that her nipples, previously portals of pleasure, were now so engorged with milk, cracked and swollen that they resembled an ageing cow’s udders. Anything less sexy she couldn’t imagine.

And the rest of her body wasn’t much better. Her stomach flopped and flapped about, lined with purple veins that seemed to have arrived from nowhere. From experience she knew they would fade in time and leave faint silver lines to go with the ones she already had from Becky and Matt. But now, she felt like a beached whale.

‘It doesn’t matter what you look like,’ Pete had declared the first time she had tried and failed to seduce him after Ellie was born. ‘You’ll always be a sex goddess to me.’

But it wasn’t enough. Her libido was practically nonexistent. Somewhere between getting pregnant, giving birth and coping with those enormously painful stitches (sitting on shards of glass might have been marginally more comfortable), it had gone AWOL. And with the added complications of sleepless nights, an ex-husband who kept causing her childcare headaches, and a business partner who had scooted off halfway round the world, it was showing no sign of returning in the immediate future.

The snuffles in the Moses basket got louder, indicating that Ellie was getting ready for a full-scale roaring attack. Saffron got out of bed, determined to pre-empt events – at least one of them could have a good night’s sleep. She picked the baby up, sorted her pillows out, and plonked Ellie on her breast. She didn’t even attempt to try and read, as she used to when Becky and Matt were small. This time around she had perfected the art of breastfeeding in a semi-doze, and, despite a slight anxiety that she might drop the baby, so far it seemed to have worked.

As she sat in a state of numbed stupefaction, trying not to wince when Ellie suckled too hard, Saffron thought about how different this week was supposed to have been.

Gerry had whisked the kids off to Florida. She hadn’t been too happy about it, particularly as it meant Becky missing the first week at junior school, but at least it had given her and Pete some much-needed time together. Pete had taken a week off work, and the idea was that they would relax and enjoy their new baby without the demands of the older two. But somehow it hadn’t quite worked out like that.

For a start, thanks to Caroline’s decision to bugger off round the world earlier in the summer, the business was in a huge mess. Saffron had been relying on Caroline to cover her for at least some of the early weeks with Ellie. As it was, because of Caroline’s departure, Saffron had ended up doing some minor jobs up until a week before Ellie was born. Now, eight weeks later, she realised that clients were haemorrhaging away from them at a rate of three or four per week. Their fledgling gardening business, Green Fingers, couldn’t afford to lose customers at such a rate. And given that summer should have been a time for gaining new business, Saffron was going to have her work cut out this autumn to make up the lost ground.

Bugger Caroline! she thought grumpily, quickly followed by the thought that she should have known better. When they had first met on the gardening course they had taken together three years earlier, Saffron had been dazzled by Caroline’s enthusiasm and creativity. But then, it was easy to be taken in by Caroline. She talked the talk so well. The reality, which Saffron had only realised once they became business partners, was that although Caroline was a great saleswoman, and had a genius for planning people’s gardens, she was also incredibly lazy, and most of the work had fallen onto Saffron’s shoulders.

And then, just when Saffron needed her the most, Caroline had decided to do her moonlit flit. Something to do with a bloke, no doubt, knowing Caroline, but she hadn’t thought it necessary to furnish Saffron with the details.

So instead of lazy days in the sun with Pete and Ellie (not that there had been much sun, but still …), Saffron had spent the week poring over figures and ringing disgruntled clients, to reassure them that yes, gardens would be weeded, hedges would be trimmed and lawns would be mowed – eventually. Pete had been a great help, going out on a couple of occasions to tackle some particularly difficult jobs in between his work as a marketing manager for a computer firm, but at best his help was a sop to the real problem. There was simply too much work for Saffron alone. Added to which, Caroline might be flaky as hell, but she had a good eye for design and the clients liked her. Her loss to the business was incalculable. And even supposing Saffron was to find a new partner who matched up, she probably didn’t have the funds to pay for the help anyway.

A contented sigh indicated that Ellie had had enough. Saffron picked her up, burped her, checked her nappy and popped her back into her basket. Then she climbed back into bed and snuggled up to Pete, who cuddled reassuringly back. There would be other nights for sex. There was no point staying awake brooding on her problems – she was getting little enough sleep as it was. Maybe tomorrow everything would look different. And maybe pigs would grow wings.

‘That’s the lot then.’ The removal man poked his head round the door, where Mary and Amy were sipping a final cup of tea, sitting on the last few boxes, which Amy was planning to shove in the back of the car. Josh was running round in circles, impersonating an aeroplane, and Amy was doing her best not to let it get under her skin. She could tell Mary was thinking the same thing.

‘Right.’ Amy took a deep breath and gave a bright smile. ‘Well. See you in Suffolk then.’

The removal man nodded and left the room.

‘Come on, Josh,’ said Amy, ‘we’d best get going.’

She staggered out to the car with the remaining boxes, while Mary washed the teacups up. She’d brought her own kettle and cups, as Amy had already packed hers. Amy hadn’t wanted Mary to come over, but Mary had insisted. As Mary in full flow had the unstoppable force of an erupting volcano, Amy knew better than to try to dissuade her.

The trouble was, now it was finally time to go, last-minute doubts were beginning to creep in, and Amy didn’t want Mary witnessing her weakness. Only this morning, Amy had folded up the sheets on her bed, packed away the photo of Jamie that always sat by her bedside, and burst into tears at the thought of leaving the flat. She remembered the first night they had moved in: Jamie mucking about, insisting he carry her over the threshold.

‘But we’re not married yet,’ Amy had laughed.

‘Doesn’t matter, we’re as good as,’ was Jamie’s response, before picking her up and swinging her through into the lounge, mock-complaining all the while that she’d put on weight.

He wouldn’t be saying that now. Amy was aware of how painfully thin she had become since Jamie had died. Stick insect, he’d be calling her, if he were still here. He had welcomed the extra curves that came with Josh, but they’d all fallen away in the months since he’d gone.

And what would he make of her face? He’d always teased her about her long corkscrew curls and called her his pre-Raphaelite beauty. It was true her long fair curls could still be classed as such, but she knew there was a slightly haunted look in her face now – actually, haggard would probably be a better word for it. Would he find her beautiful any more? Amy didn’t think so. She felt pale and wan; a shadow of her former self.

Amy made her way back into the flat. The empty flat. Shorn of all its homeliness. Every last vestige of her life with Jamie had been removed. She felt as though she had ripped out its soul. And, with it, hers. Oh God, what was she doing?

Amy shut the door with a decisive bang. This was no good. Mary had spent the morning making polite conversation with barely suppressed fury. If Amy lost it now, it would give her mother-in-law the perfect opportunity to say ‘I told you so’.

Josh ran towards her. ‘Is it time to go yet?’ he said. ‘I’m bored.’

‘Yup, sweetheart, it is,’ Amy replied. ‘Have you been to the loo?’

Josh pulled a face. ‘Granny made me,’ he grumbled.

‘Well, it’s a long journey,’ said Amy. ‘Granny was right.’

Mary was ostentatiously clattering around in the kitchen. Her heels echoed on the bare floor. Amy was aware once again of the emptiness of the flat. Of the emptiness of Mary’s life now she was taking Josh out of it.

‘So, this is it.’ Mary finished what she was doing and came and stood, stiffly and formally, holding out her hand. As if they meant no more to each other than polite strangers. As if they hadn’t shared all that grief, all that heartache.

‘Yes.’ Amy swallowed. She wanted to give Mary a long hug, but the negative vibes that were bristling off Jamie’s mother gave her little choice.

‘Josh, come and say goodbye to the flat.’

Josh ran in and out of the bedrooms, the small lounge and the tiny kitchen diner.

‘Goodbye-goodbye-goodbye,’ he called, not appreciating the enormity of what he was saying before descending once more into aeroplane territory.

‘Josh, do be quiet!’ Mary snapped.

Unused to Mary telling him off, Josh stopped short and his little face puckered up with tears.

‘Was that strictly necessary?’ Amy couldn’t help but rise to her son’s defence.

‘He needed to be told,’ said Mary. ‘You’re too soft on him.’

‘And you’re being too hard.’ Amy regretted the comment as soon as it was out. Mary was a doting granny, and without her Amy wouldn’t have coped over the last two years.

‘I see,’ said Mary. ‘I was too hard all the times I cuddled him while he cried when you went out to work. I was too hard the times I took him to the doctor when you couldn’t. I’m not the one taking him away from everything he knows and loves. I wouldn’t say I was the hard one, would you?’

Amy looked at Mary aghast. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said shakily.

Mary shrugged her shoulders and turned to give Josh a cuddle. Josh had stopped crying now and started being an aeroplane again. Oh to have the resilience of a child, thought Amy in silent dismay. She couldn’t leave Mary like this. For Jamie’s sake, she couldn’t. A sudden memory of Jamie laughing at her one day when she had been fuming about his mother’s interference took her breath away.

‘Come on, Ames,’ he had said. ‘She means well. And we’re all she’s got. Give her a break.’

Jamie would never have wanted this.

‘Mary, I’m sorry,’ said Amy. ‘Please don’t let’s fall out.’

Mary said nothing and looked away. If Amy hadn’t known better she could have sworn that a tear trickled down Mary’s face. But Amy had never seen Mary cry. Not even at Jamie’s funeral. She was the strong silent type – whatever crying she may have done over her son, she had done it alone.

‘Please, Mary,’ said Amy. ‘For Jamie’s sake. And Josh’s. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t let’s spoil it.’

Mary turned around, her eyes glittering bright, her back ramrod-straight, and for the first time Amy caught a fleeting glimpse of the emotion she was struggling to contain.

‘Apology accepted,’ she said stiffly. ‘Now, I think it’s time you were both going.’

She shooed them out of the flat into the car as if the previous exchange hadn’t happened.

‘You will visit, won’t you?’ Amy said.

‘Of course,’ Mary replied, but there was a wariness about her. Amy doubted very much if she would come anytime soon.

‘Damn.’ Amy hunted around for her handbag.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I think I’ve left my handbag inside. Can you just keep an eye on Josh while I go and get it?’

She ran up the path, and opened the front door to the flat. She was eager to get off now. Hanging around was only prolonging the agony. She raced into the flat and found her bag on the kitchen worktop where she had left it. Then she paused and looked around her.

Memories crowded in. Of her and Jamie putting the new kitchen in together; of Jamie coming home with a huge bouquet of flowers the day she told him she was pregnant; the strangeness of leaving the flat as two and coming back with Josh as a family … So many memories. And she was leaving them all behind. She was saying goodbye to her old life. She was saying goodbye to Jamie. A stab of guilt shot through her, and a sense of loss so overwhelming she was stunned by the force of it. Jamie was gone. It was just her and Josh now. She doubted she’d ever get used to it.

Eyes full, she turned her back on the home where she had been happy for so long, and mechanically went back to the car, saying her goodbyes while hoping that Mary couldn’t detect the tears she was trying to hide. She started the car and sped off round the corner, Josh still waving and shouting goodbye till Mary was long gone. Then she allowed the silent tears to fall.

Amy closed the door behind the last removal man. It banged shut with a horrible finality. Well, she’d done it. She and Josh were on their own, properly on their own for the first time since Jamie had died – in a new town, where they knew no one.

‘Can I go in the garden?’ Josh had just twigged that there was more to his new home than just four walls.

‘Of course,’ said Amy, smiling to banish her gloomy thoughts. ‘Let’s get our coats and have an explore.’

Despite it being only early September, there was already an autumnal chill in the air, and the impression of summer being over was further enhanced by the smell of bonfires. The leaves weren’t quite turning yellow, but it wouldn’t be long. Amy shivered as she watched Josh running wild in their new garden. A pang of longing shot unexpectedly through her, and tears came to her eyes.

‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’ A little hand came and found hers.

‘I was just thinking about how much Daddy would have liked it here,’ Amy said. She had always been open with Josh about everything, despite Mary’s feeling that children should be protected from too much heartache.

Josh looked at her thoughtfully.

‘But if Daddy’s in heaven, he can see where we are, and he’ll like it too,’ he replied.

‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ said Amy, laughing through her tears.

Josh looked at her puzzled, but Amy just smiled at him.

‘It’s all right, Josh, you’ve just managed to cheer me up. Come on, let’s go and get some tea.’

The next morning, Amy wasn’t feeling quite so sanguine. She had had a lousy night’s sleep on her landlady’s rather lumpy double bed. Josh had had a nightmare, and ended up in bed with her. It was a while since he’d done that. When he had been very little, just after Jamie had died, he’d come in with her every night, but she had gradually weaned him off it. Maybe the move had unsettled him again. Oh lord, was she doing the right thing?

Amy had lain in bed worrying about that – and whether she had irrevocably offended Mary. She didn’t want to cut the ties completely – just loosen them a little. Was that so very wrong? What would Jamie have done in her shoes? She was still learning to appreciate that one of the worst aspects of her situation was making decisions alone, and realising there was no way she could truly know what Jamie would have thought.

She turned over, determined to get some sleep, but then her mind went into overdrive about money. Her demons were back and running amok. Money. Her overriding preoccupation since Jamie’s death. She had thought they were reasonably well off. She had thought they’d made adequate provision. But the idea of either of them dying had seemed so remote that they had never got round to doing the obvious stuff. It had always felt as though there would be plenty of time for that.

If only she and Jamie had got married, or written a will, as they always intended. Everything would have been so much more straightforward. But they hadn’t, so the taxman had come to claim both his share of the computer business Jamie had run with his partner, Giles, and their property. Added to which, Amy hadn’t appreciated how much debt the business itself was in – or how difficult it would be to sell Jamie’s share of it. It had taken all this time to sort it out.

Amy had survived by carrying on teaching, until Grace’s money had solved her problems. And now that she had sold the flat as well, things would be easier. She planned to settle in before buying somewhere, but at least she could think about buying a house in Suffolk. Although maybe she should have consolidated a bit, before taking the plunge to move and start a new career. She had enough to tide her over for the next few months, and supply-teaching at schools would help … but would it be enough?

The thoughts swirled round in her head. Nights were always a bad time for Amy. The demons couldn’t be as easily dispatched as during the day. And the suffocating blackness of her new room, with its thick velvet curtains, didn’t help either. She was used to having a neon streetlight outside her window and found total darkness oppressive.

She turned on the light. Grabbing a book usually helped – something light and funny, like Terry Pratchett, was a must. Gradually the feelings of panic subsided, and her heart stopped racing at a rate of knots. She read, and eventually fell asleep, head propped against her pillow, the light still on.

Amy spent the morning unpacking. She felt as if she had been hit over the head with a brick. As usual after a bad night, her thoughts were muzzy and unfocused. She had managed to find Josh’s train set and set it up in the front room, along with snacks and a pile of DVDs, just to keep him occupied while she got on with trying to create some semblance of normality.

She dug out a radio, which she switched on in the kitchen. It was pre-tuned to Radio 2. Amy had grown up thinking Radio 2 was the preserve of sad middle-aged people far removed from the cutting edge of life, until Jamie had made her listen to it one Saturday lunchtime. ‘Honestly, they play really good music on Radio 2,’ he had promised her. And to Amy’s surprise, he was right. Not only were the DJs highly entertaining, the music was great, and after that she and Jamie had often tuned in together. After he had died, she had listened to the radio obsessively – as if in some strange way it still linked them. She woke up to Wogan’s gentle warblings, and dipped in and out all day. Radio 2 was an essential part of her now – a soundtrack to her life, now she no longer had one.

Sunday-morning love songs was on. Sometimes Amy found all the people ringing in with messages for their loved ones too painful for words, but of late she’d found it comforting to know that not everyone was as lonely as she was, and it was easy listening as she started shoving books onto shelves. As the room slowly got cleared up, and things began to fall into place, Amy started to feel better again, and she gradually felt that she was getting things under control.

‘And this is for Bev Peters, who’s away at uni, and missing her boyfriend Colin very much,’ Steve Wright was saying, before Amy heard the first haunting bars of a familiar tune.

She paused in the middle of her new living room. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. That song – how many years ago was it? In the early days of their relationship, Amy had still been at teacher-training college, and they had spent a year apart. Jamie had compiled a tape of ‘their’ songs, which she had played endlessly, missing him so much it had hurt. Her favourite track on it had been ‘Forever Autumn’ – at the time it seemed to sum up the way she felt. How could she have known that her feelings then would be a pale shadow of the real thing – of what it was like knowing that she would never see Jamie again? The song could have been written for her, and seemed cruelly apposite now. It was all gone. Everything. The only good thing left was Josh. All the rest was dust.

‘Anyone home?’ There was a knock at the side door that led to the garden, and Amy pulled herself together. Her life might be over, but she still had Josh, and she had to make a go of this, for his sake.

A tall elderly man was standing on the doorstep bearing a pot with a geranium in it and holding a plastic bag with some shopping in. She remembered him as the man she had seen pushing the wheelbarrow on the day she had come to look round.

‘Hello,’ said Amy, with something like relief. In the early days she had found any social interaction excruciatingly difficult, but now, having to put on a show of politeness was a welcome distraction from her misery. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Good morning,’ the man said. ‘I’m Harry Hartswood, your neighbour. I just popped over to see if you needed anything, and to bring you this.’ He proffered the geranium.

‘Thanks,’ said Amy, taking it. ‘I’m Amy Nicolson. Can I make you a cup of tea?’

‘That would be lovely, my dear,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t suppose you have had time to get to the shops yet. I’ve brought a few provisions.’

‘That is extremely kind of you,’ said Amy, touched at his thoughtfulness. ‘It’s on my “to do” list. Sorry about the mess, I’m still unpacking.’

‘Mummy, who is it?’ Josh flew out to see what was going on, then hid behind Amy’s legs when he realised it was a stranger.

‘This is Mr Hartswood,’ said Amy. ‘He lives next door.’

‘He’s very old,’ said Josh, peeking out from behind her.

‘Josh!’ Amy was scandalised, but Harry just laughed.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘But then, you are very young. So everyone must be old to you.’

Josh looked at him quizzically for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got a train set,’ he announced. ‘Would you like to see it?’

‘I’m sure Mr Hartswood doesn’t want to be bothered with your train set,’ began Amy, but her neighbour would hear none of it.

‘That sounds wonderful, Josh, I’d love to,’ he said, letting himself be led by the hand into the front room, ‘and everyone calls me Harry.’

When Amy returned with the tea, she discovered the pair of them playing happily on the floor.

‘I can see you’re going to be a favoured guest,’ she said. ‘Mummy is normally too busy to play trains.’

‘Ah, well, that’s Mummy’s prerogative,’ said Harry. ‘And my pleasure.’

‘You’re very good with him,’ Amy said, watching how naturally Josh played. Josh didn’t warm to everyone, and it was rare for him to latch on to a stranger like this. ‘Do you have grandchildren?’

‘No.’ Harry’s smile was tinged with sadness. ‘Unfortunately, my wife and I weren’t able to have children.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy.

‘No need to be, my dear,’ said Harry. ‘We had a happy and full life together.’

Amy, who had acquired an instinct for picking up on these things since Jamie’s death, asked, ‘Had?’

‘My wife died a few years ago,’ said Harry, a shadow passing across his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy again, and meant it. She felt an immediate kinship with this man, stranger though he was, and yet, even though she shared his grief, it was still hard to know what to say. ‘You must get very lonely.’

‘Well, sometimes,’ said Harry. ‘But I have my army reunions, and lots of friends here. And there’s a great deal of support to be found on the allotments, as I’m sure you will discover. I survive somewhat better than everyone had predicted.’

‘I shall have to take lessons from you in being positive,’ replied Amy. ‘Jamie, my …’ – she was going to say partner, and then paused, wondering whether Harry would approve of her unmarried status – ‘Josh’s dad died two and a half years ago, and this is a big move for me.’

‘Oh my dear, how very sad for you,’ sympathised Harry.

Amy felt herself dissolve into floods of tears. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t. It was a dreadful mistake. There was no way she was going to manage on her own. That song was right. Her life would always be autumn now – because Jamie wasn’t there, and however much she longed for him, he never could be again.