by Ali Carter
If Jenny was a journalist she must have gone to uni or at least college. Brains and beauty then, she thought sipping her drink. Still, it was her shoulders beneath Andrew’s arm, not Jenny’s, and he was just as attentive as ever – but for how long?
Molly took everything in, despite having reached both ends of the bar and served half a dozen new customers in the process. She knew exactly what her best friend was thinking, but she also knew Andrew adored the very bones of her. The woman was beautiful it was true, but Andrew would never cheat on Gina. Molly smiled knowingly as she dried a glass and set it back on a shelf. Gina would no doubt have a long and involved rant about it after work where Molly would put her friend’s mind very firmly at rest.
“Are we eating today then?” she asked the trio on the other side of the bar.
“Too right,” replied Andrew, “I’ll have your mum’s shepherd’s pie and special spicy beans, how about you two?” He turned to the others. Gina studied Jenny more closely now and wondered just exactly where she would put even a small portion of Maisie Fields’ pies, whichever one she chose.
“Me too sweetheart,” Gina said looking up at him, thinking she should probably have a salad but knew she wasn’t going to. He grinned at her and gently brushed her nose with the bar menu, then looked at Jenny.
“Molly’s mum makes the best shepherd’s pie in the village, you really should try it.” Jenny hesitated, her eyes darted to the lunchtime chalkboard on the wall desperately searching for a light menu. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. Pale even, Gina thought as she sat quietly, almost like a rat in a trap. She awaited her delayed reply with interest. Sensing an atmosphere, Molly came to Jenny’s rescue and offered her a range of freshly prepared sandwiches for which the new girl was extremely grateful.
Fifteen minutes later there were two huge plates of Maisie Fields’ shepherd’s pie and beans sitting on the bar, together with a tuna mayonnaise on brown and salad garnish. It looked very small and pathetic despite being made with chunky granary bread and enjoying a generous filling. Jenny felt the familiar hard knot in her stomach. She now wished she’d just gone along with the damned pie – it really made very little difference in the end.
The three chatted as they ate. Gina and Andrew devoured Maisie’s familiar homemade food whilst Jenny quietly picked at her tuna and mayo. The granary bread grated all the way down.
The lunch hour passed very quickly during which work issues were discussed, hobbies and interests swapped, and a new friendship tentatively made. Gina began to relax which was in no small part due to Andrew ensuring she felt entirely at ease. He’d sensed her initial discomfort regarding Jenny and made sure she had nothing to feel insecure about. A protective Molly had also kept a sisterly eye whilst she managed her side of the bar. She was as observant as she was intuitive and it wasn’t lost on her that Jenny had left the group to find the loo immediately after she’d eaten. In fact she never did actually finish her lunch. On her return, she couldn’t help but notice the tiny pale fleck on the lapel of her dark navy suit. For a brief moment their eyes met, it was then that the attractive newcomer checked her watch and reminded Andrew she didn’t want to be late back on her first day.
By the time they left the rain had stopped, the sun was out and had tried its best to dry the little puddles in the furrows of the garden’s flagstones. Andrew reminded Gina of the film they were going to see that evening then kissed her goodbye before they walked in opposite directions. Now that lunch was over, Gina wasn’t entirely happy at her man walking side by side with a slim, stunningly sophisticated career woman. Next time it would be the salad she decided firmly.
Jenny felt infuriated at her carelessness and wished her head had not started to thump so relentlessly since Molly had noticed. She also wished that her life could have been different; but it wasn’t, it couldn’t and now she was here.
As she walked alongside him headed back to work, the blue-eyed dark-haired woman slid a sideways glance at Andrew. His endless chatter floated completely over her head. He didn’t seem to notice she wasn’t contributing too much to the conversation – or that she had just wiped a small speck of vomit from her collar.
THREE
The enormous wrought iron gates to Kirkdale Riverside Park loomed in front of the two young journalists. Two huge posters, one on each of the gate’s concrete pillars, advertised the annual country show to be held there that weekend.
Andrew nodded his head towards them and Jenny followed his glance, glad any attention given to her stained collar earlier, appeared to have gone unnoticed – by Andrew at least.
Although new to the area, she’d already received the spec on the event from Stella who’d broached the subject that morning after she found them comforting Rachel in the kitchen. A piece covering the four-day event with some pictures alongside was to be her first real assignment.
As they made their way back to the Courier’s office, Jenny silently acknowledged just how much she was looking forward to that assignment, in more ways than one.
For Andrew the rest of the day passed uneventfully. He’d enjoyed the film that evening, a dark creepy thriller, and Gina’s reaction to spend most of it clung to him in all its scariest places, however sexist that made him, was enjoyable too!
Jenny had meanwhile continued to unpack and got herself sorted in a rented flat on the outskirts of town. She’d managed to eat and keep down, a very small plain salad for dinner, an achievement in itself, but then she knew she was going to need it to keep her strength up.
Molly had enjoyed a break in the afternoon and was back on the bar that evening when Charlotte and Miles Peterson walked through the Carpenters’ door.
The Inn was a hive of activity, the Petersons had to squeeze past a couple of darts players as they passed through the ‘Snug’ doorway at the side of the pub. This was not their usual watering hole as they lived on the other side of the village on the outskirts of town; in fact Miles couldn’t remember the last time they’d drunk there. The Wheat Sheaf was their local, not far from their Victorian farmhouse at Willows Copse and therefore convenient at the end of a long day.
This evening, however, Miles was keen to placate his long-suffering wife in an endeavour to divert her attention away from his recent night-time absences. Things had got a little too close for comfort that morning – he didn’t want the boat rocked too violently. Another move just wasn’t feasible, nor did he think Charlotte would tolerate knowledge of a fourth full-blown affair. He’d also been advised by friends who’d been equally disparaging of their marriage vows, that divorce could be exceedingly expensive. Miles was not in any way ready to relinquish a large Victorian home and six acres of land, nor a very healthy ‘pension plan’ by way of future inheritance from Charlotte’s filthy rich parents.
No, this restless village doctor had every intention he would have his cake and eat it for as long as possible. It was just a case of being one step ahead, or as Miles liked to think of it, the amount of cake eaten balanced with the amount replaced – at speed – before the missed piece was noticed.
Charlotte found a table whilst Miles waited on a couple of drinks from the crowded bar.
In the corner by a large oak fireplace, a couple of women chatted intently, heads bent over a small round table full of glasses and a couple of bottles of wine. One bottle was already empty and the other well down. It didn’t take long for Miles to lock eyes with the eye-catching thirty-something blonde with large baby doll eyes and short denim skirt. She seemed a little quieter than her friend, a touch upset and almost…… needy.
He shifted his position and now had his back to Charlotte. His short-lived ‘decency’ obliterated from his mind, he smiled invitingly into the sad blue eyes of Rachel Dern. Just for a moment her tired expression brightened and full red mouth lifted at the corners as she caught his approval. The familiar low flutter now active, she raised her ruby filled glass to matched lips and drank d
eeply as she held his gaze. Against her better judgement, Rachel began to wish that her evening was not going to end at her friend Josie’s house that night, a friend who’d followed Rachel’s equally inviting eyeline, and sighed heavily.
Even through the busy evening trade, Miles and Rachel, who could no longer even see each other in the crowd, still sensed a strong, physical and distinctive link. It was an invisible connection, almost painful in its need; an electrically charged cord that ran in and around the crowds that mingled between their tables. This was no surprise to either of them. As seasoned veterans in affairs of the heart, they were both well aware of the situation.
People like Miles and Rachel needed very little in the way of small talk or introduction, they just knew. It didn’t take long for the opportunity to present itself, after all when a lady needs to ‘go’ she needs to go.
The minute Charlotte had entered the female cloakroom, Miles negotiated his way swiftly back to Rachel’s table where once again their eyes locked. With sleight of hand he delivered a small note discreetly into her lap. Like a scene from a Bond movie, one second he was there and the next he was gone. Back at his table in seconds, he’d sashayed through a surge of chattering diners, ignorant of the moment as at breakneck speed they shovelled hot roasted meats and various buttered vegetables down their throats.
Rachel unfolded the small white square and entered the number of Miles’ spare mobile into her own, her latest hurtful break up already eased as the proverbial warm glow slowly enveloped her body. That weekend might now see a new comfort. It wouldn’t last she knew that, she didn’t expect much in the way of real relationships anymore, but at least she could enjoy the short time they would have……and pretend that it might.
Molly, rushed off her feet behind the bar, seriously wished she’d also been at the cinema that night.
The new menu had certainly proved popular, its reputation must have spread wide enough to bring the Petersons across town she thought wryly. Gina had told Molly many times of Miles’ flirty looks towards her at work, and Molly too had felt uncomfortable in his company when she’d met Gina from the surgery.
As she served customer after customer, cleared the bar of used glasses and wiped the tables, the continuous ‘ching’ of the cash register and hubbub of the throng began to sound very loud and buzzy in her tired head.
She watched the Peterson table as she worked, tried hard not to stare, but Charlotte caught her eyes and just for a second Molly was hit by that lead-eyed, dead-eyed expression Gina had warned her about. Shark-like and cold as steel, it induced a shudder from that young barmaid in a hot summer pub. For the second time that day she felt distinctly uncomfortable about her environment with no real explanation as to why.
An hour’s train ride away, a troubled and moody young man watched over a dark concrete landscape. From the open window of his soulless high-rise flat, he could hear some youths laugh and swear below as they kicked out the headlights of a resident’s parked car. He leant out a little and saw they’d ensured the lamps were rendered useless before they ran off to find some more illegal fun.
Jason Flood turned away from the view feeling utterly despondent. It was what he saw regularly, several times every week…and he hated it. His home was on the worst estate in Bradenthorpe, but at twenty-two he couldn’t afford anything else on a supermarket wage.
Jason knew he wasn’t exactly whiter than white himself, but to commit vandalism for kicks was definitely not his thing. Due to his medical condition he probably wouldn’t have the energy to kick the crap out of a paper bag anyway, let alone a set of car headlights.
At the age of sixteen following his parents’ death in a plane crash, he’d dabbled with cannabis to help deal with his anger and grief, and discovered how well it subdued his frustration at the world. It relaxed his mind, allowed him to smile occasionally and left him with some breathing spaces of calm and peace. Unfortunately it had also led to his heavier and more regular usage and the development of schizophrenia. By nineteen an official diagnosis had been made, and permanent anti-psychotic medication prescribed.
Jen was wonderful, his sister had practically monitored his condition single-handed for the last three years, now she deserved the very best… and that definitely wasn’t Miles Peterson. That bastard had devastated her, practically destroyed her that spring six years ago when he’d left her high and dry and disappeared to God knows where with that sullen wife of his. If only things had been different. If only his parents hadn’t died maybe he wouldn’t have gotten ill, maybe he could’ve gone to uni, got a good job, made something of himself. Maybe Jen wouldn’t have got involved with that user Doctor. If, if, if… maybe, maybe, maybe!
As things stood, his Clozapine tablets made him sleepy a lot of the time, driving or operating any machinery was impossible, concentration and therefore study wasn’t easy and the weight gain and sometimes the shakes affected him adversely too. And Jen hadn’t had a relationship in six years.
No – life hadn’t been that great for either of them, and without his sister around he had a feeling it was about to be even tougher for him than he thought. Especially as he’d also promised Jenny he’d be fine if she left town and took up the chance of a more senior post in Kirkdale.
“Hey – Jase! You cummin’ out tonight man?” flatmate Stevie Ross called out from the bathroom, then stuck his head round the door as he rubbed his spiky orange hair dry with a pink towel. Jason looked up from his left hand as it trembled and managed a smile at the tenth white towel to be mixed in with Stevie’s red underwear that month.
“No you’re alright Steve, I’m gonna do me some packing, goin’ away for a couple of days. Can you square it with the boss? He knows I’m due some leave.” Stevie took the towel off his head, let it hang down beside him and smiled.
“No probs. You tell Jenny hi from me, okay?” He turned and disappeared back into the steamy bathroom as Jason walked into his bedroom, took down a holdall from the top of his wardrobe and began to pack.
That night Molly had difficulty in sleeping. She’d tried to read, tried a sheep count, a flick through her Facebook newsfeed, but her head fuzzy from the packed bar and restaurant, had developed into a right stonker of a migraine. She knew her phone had made it worse. When she’d finally felt she might drift off it was a blessed relief – until…
Suddenly her eyes flew open! She was wide awake and alert now – her head still pounded but she barely noticed as beads of cold sweat broke out across her forehead and ran down her face.
It was dark outside, the car park lamp was blown but the moon reflected on the river which sent a glimmer of light through her flimsy curtains. Lying prostrate across the foot of the bed with her head thrown back, face distraught and suspended in a desperate, agonised scream, was the image of a young woman. Her eyes were wild yet still – her blonde blood-spattered hair framed moonlit skin, porcelain white in stark and final shock.
And the hole in her chest was like nothing Molly had ever seen.
FOUR
That weekend, the first day of the country show dawned dry and not too hot. This, thought Charlotte as she let herself into the stable, would be a great deal easier for the livestock that would be there, including Greta. The only thing in her life that was constant, had kept her sane for the past six years were her horses.
With Miles’ affairs seemingly behind them, their relocation from the city of Bradenthorpe at her insistence, and the arrival of Greta and Gizmo soon after had been a real life-saver for her.
As she began to use the body brush on Greta’s strong muscular neck she became aware of Miles’ muffled voice from the house. Charlotte sighed heavily then appeared from inside the stable to acknowledge him as he walked down towards the cars.
“Charlotte! Charlotte – can you hear m –? Oh, you’re there.”
“Yeah – I hear you.” Her eyes narrowed as she eyed him keenly, took in his smarter than
usual ‘travelling to gym’ clothes, his body language – his fake smile. Her heart missed a beat and she waited for the thoughtful caring comment. It always started that way…
“I’m going now sweetness, I’ll see you later okay? Good luck – no, no need, you’re gonna do great!” He gave her a brief wave before she could respond with anything, jumped into his Morgan and drove smartly out of the drive. Charlotte remained where she was and watched him go. One eye started to twitch.
She could hear the scrunch of the tyres on the gravel even from the paddock, like another dirty graze it scraped grittily across her heart. Her damaged ego tortured her equally shattered confidence. Was he really meeting up with Bill? It bounced around her head like all those times before – like the other night.
Charlotte stepped back inside the stable, walked over to the mare and ran her hand over Greta’s black velvet coat. Gradually she began to feel soothed. With them she could be herself; calm, relaxed and at peace with her world. No patients, no black clouds, no anxiety… no Miles. Nonetheless – a tiny seed was planted, started to germinate, and began to take root deep in the insecurities of her mind. As she worked, Gizmo’s head appeared over his stall to remind her of his existence. Charlotte turned round to rub his nose softly and brought her face close to his dark wide nostrils where his breath warmed her cheeks.
“Hello my gorgeous boy, you’d never let me down would you? No……course not.” She patted Gizmo’s rich chestnut neck, smoothed his mane and then returned to brushing her show girl.
With Greta basically ready, she carefully led her into the horse box in the courtyard, then returned to the stables to turn Gizmo out into the field. She’d already double checked her tack box for a complete kit, and with the paddock gate securely locked was ready to leave.
