Michelle Vernal Box Set

by Michelle Vernal

  Marian ignored the comment. “Have you met him then, this pig farmer friend of Jessica’s, Brianna?”

  Jess’s knife hovered over her plate; she wished her mother wouldn’t use that tone of voice each time she referred to Owen’s profession.

  “No, not as yet but I am sure I will get to do so in the near future. I am looking forward to it. He sounds divine.”

  “Do you think so?” Marian raised a haughty eyebrow and Jess’s leg twitched violently under the table with the urge to kick her.

  Oblivious of her daughter’s leg spasm, she cut into her chicken breast to reveal the ham and cheese stuffing inside; then not giving Brianna a chance to answer, she popped it in her mouth, chewed and declared it to be delicious. “Is there any chance of passing some cooking tips on to my daughter? I always say a woman needs to be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom.” She tittered in that irritating “all girls together” giggle of hers, except they weren’t—all girls together.

  “Mum! That’s Jerry Hall’s quote, not yours, and remember who else is at the table.” Her eyes flicked toward Harry, who was looking perplexed once more by the strange adult conversation going on over the top of his head.

  “Mam, what’s a whore?”

  After dessert and with Harry out of earshot, a lively chat between Marian and Brianna had ensued about all the horrible things little boys get up to. Marian had come up trumps with her tale of how her grandsons Ethan and Elliott’s favourite pastime was crossing swords in the shower in order to pee all over one another but Brianna had been the hands-down winner with the Harry and the poo on the compost pile story. The three women had stared in silence at the empty bowl of home-grown carrots and then Jess had announced that if they were going to catch the eight p.m. train, then they had best be making a move.

  As they made to leave, Brianna pulled Jessica to one side, whispering out the corner of her mouth, “I like your Mam, Jess, I really do. Once you get beneath that front she tries to put on, she’s a sweetie but I tell you what, if Harry decides to tell his class all about whores and herpes for news tomorrow, I will hold her personally responsible.”

  JESS HAD ARRANGED TO take her mother into the Guardian’s Office for the grand tour on Friday and when it rolled round, it was much to her relief that this was one outing they managed to get through with no further faux pas on Marian’s part.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Brianna had received no complaints from Harry’s teacher about the use of inappropriate language when she went to pick him up from school on Friday, she agreed to keep her promise regarding her car. The freak snowstorm that would render the roads impassable that Jess had been praying hard for did not eventuate and when she drew her curtains on Saturday morning, she saw the day had dawned cold but clear. There wasn’t so much as frost on the ground.

  The route North was more familiar to Jess this time round, with no hidden surprises in the form of gardai eating their lunch roadside. She noticed her mother, who had maintained a running commentary since they left Bray and to which she had tuned out by the time they passed through Drogheda, grew quiet. They were driving alongside the outskirts of Newry with its rows of duplicate houses, Irish flags flapping brazenly on the breeze.

  They were making good time, Jess thought, glancing at the dashboard before turning her attention back to the road in front of her. At least the weather being good meant that her mother was seeing the Irish countryside at its best. She tapped her foot gently on the brake to slow as they arrived at Dundrum and couldn’t resist pulling over for a spot of morning tea. It was such a pretty village and Marian seemed quite smitten by it as she peered out the window at the ruins of the castle.

  However, as they drove down the hill a short while later and Ballymcguinness popped into view, her feeling of impending doom deepened. Owen’s little village was more functional than aesthetic and she didn’t want to give her mother any more negative ammunition with which to fire.

  In an effort to endear her to the delights of small Irish village life, she pointed out Katie Adams puffing away on her perpetual ciggy as she stood outside the pub and Billy Peterson, who was arranging pears this time outside his grocers—they must be in season, Jess said cheerfully as she spotted Old Ned still sitting on the wall. He raised his stick to them in salute and Marian tittered in the passenger seat.

  “Goodness, this place reminds me of that old nursery rhyme, you know the one? The butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker. It’s certainly not somewhere I could ever picture you living, Jessica. You take after me in so much as you are a city girl. What on earth would you find to write about living here?” Her mouth dropped open and Jess followed her gaze to the left, where she spied Mad Bridie in her dressing gown and slippers, trying to get on a bicycle.

  “There you go, Mum, see—there’s plenty to write about in the country when you look a little closer. There’s always a lot more going on than meets the eye in a small community.” Jess had no idea whether this was true or not but she wasn’t going to sit by in silence and let her get away with making unfavourable remarks to do with a way of life she was clueless about. “And for your information, I happen to like the country. You can’t beat all that clean, fresh air.”

  “All that methane, you mean.” Marian shot a disparaging look at the cows happily chomping at the lush grass in the fields they were now driving past. “And since when did you like the country?”

  Jess thought for a moment and then the answer came to her clear as a bell. “Ever since I met Wilbur.” It was true, she realised; that little piggy had brought her and Owen together and had inadvertently put a lot of things into perspective for her about what was important in life and what wasn’t.

  Marian frowned and shook her head in that way of hers that spoke volumes and as they wound their way around the hedgerow lanes, Jess sent up a silent prayer for today to go well. She might well be approaching her mid-thirties but that didn’t mean she didn’t still need her Mum’s approval.

  Brianna’s Golf Estate bounced up the driveway, hitting every puddle along the way, and Jess made a mental note to pop it through the car wash before she returned it. Glenariff came into view and did her proud by looking every inch the storybook farm cottage with its lime-washed walls nestling against a backdrop of green.

  “Oh, Jess, it’s lovely. I feel like we’ve just driven in to the pages of a Beatrix Potter book.” Marian dropped her defences as she clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh and look, there’s even ducks!”

  As if on cue, Jemima and her cronies had picked that moment to come waddling around the side of the cottage for a dip in the pond.

  “Actually, Mum, they are not ducks—they are geese and watch the mean-looking one in the middle. She’s their ringleader. I call her Jemima, and I wouldn’t trust her so far as I could throw her and believe me, I’d like to.”

  Marian laughed. “Jemima Puddle Duck? You loved that book when you were a little girl. Come to think of it, you loved anything by Beatrix Potter but then you moved on to fairies and Enid Blyton. Do you remember all that hoo-ha over Noddy and Big Ears?”

  Jess wasn’t listening; she was busy leaning over into the back seat. “Here you go, Mum. You might want to take your heels off and put these on. They’ll save your shoes.” Jess handed her a pair of blue plastic wellies. Cheap and cheerful but they’d do for the day.

  “I will not wear gumboots!” Marian looked at them aghast before climbing out of the car. She stood and smoothed her trouser suit down before squelching straight into a pothole-filled puddle.

  Oh dear—Jess would have giggled if she wasn’t wound so tight—they were not off to a good start. With lemony lips, Marian took the proffered boots and sat back down to change into them just as Owen appeared in the doorway. Waving over, he pushed his sock-clad feet into his own set of boots and strode forth to greet them.

  As he approached, Jess’s tummy did that strange flip-floppy thing it always did when she saw him. He looke
d so ruggedly handsome; she’d never known a man who could carry off cords and a woolly jumper the way he did. She watched amazed as his face broke into a welcoming grin before he took her startled mother by both hands and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Welcome to Glenariff Farm. It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Baré.” He took a step back, still holding her hands in his as he studied her face. “Jessica, you told me it was your mother who was coming, not your sister.”

  It might have been a line as old as the nearby hills of the Mourne Mountains but it worked and the lemon lips disappeared, to be replaced by a flirtatious smile along with a bat of the eyelashes.

  “It’s lovely to meet you too, Owen, and thank you for inviting us up for the day.”

  “Come on, don’t be standing about in the cold.” Owen took Marian by the elbow and gently steered her around the potholes and into the waiting house.

  Jess lingered behind for a moment, not quite believing what she had just witnessed. Surely that charming chap who had just wooed her mother couldn’t be the taciturn farmer she was fairly sure she had fallen head over heels with? As Marian disappeared into the warmth of the cottage, Owen looked back over his shoulder at her and winked before mouthing, “Told you so.”

  It was easy for Jess to tell her mother was impressed by the cottage as Owen ushered her around by the way in which she held her back straight as she peered at the various furnishings, recognising them for the quality pieces they were. She lingered over the photos on the mantelpiece before picking one up and asking, “Is this your sister, Owen?”

  With her nerves jangling as to what his reaction would be, Jess went and stood beside him in silent support but he simply nodded, bemused as Marian continued to stare intently at it.

  “What a beautiful, beautiful girl,” she said finally. “Jessica’s told me so much about her, you know, and of course I’ve heard all about the wonderful article she put together for her newspaper.” Marian put the photo back before looking up at him with watery eyes. Then resting her hand on his arm, she murmured, “Such a tragedy, young man; my heart goes out to you and your family.”

  “Aye, well thank you, Marian—it’s alright if I call you that, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes, please do.”

  She was such a phony! Jess stared at her mother in disbelief—not once since she had arrived in Ireland had she asked about Amy nor had she shown any interest in the piece she had written. All she had been concerned about was the fact that Owen must be some kind of depressive because of it all and made non-stop snide remarks about his career choice.

  Marian’s nose twitched and her smile was warm as the unshed tears quickly evaporated. “Now tell me, Owen, what is that wonderful smell?”

  “I hope you’re both hungry because I have made a pie that could feed the five hundred, so I have.” His eyes twinkled, enjoying his role of the benevolent farmer.

  Jess felt so edgy she didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing. She trooped behind him and her mother into the kitchen, feeling like she was going to the gallows. The trusty Aga was putting out the heat and true to his word, a steaming casserole dish topped with a dense golden pastry sat in the middle of the table alongside a bowl of salad and a cob loaf. Her mother looked as if she was in love as Owen pulled a chair out for her and asked her what her preference was. “White or red?”

  Hoping it would help take the edge off, Jess opted for a glass of red, which she downed in next to no time while Owen dished up the pie. It was as she’d known it would be, delicious, and she managed a few bites while listening to the conversational banter bounce back and forth between Owen and Marian. Her hand froze, a piece of bread mid-way to her mouth, as without warning Marian moved from the innocuous swapping of pie recipes to the business at hand. Helping herself to a second serving of salad, she began drilling Owen about the farm.

  Jess put the bread down, knowing it would taste like sawdust to her now and sitting back in her chair, she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her nails digging into her palms as Owen explained to Marian how long the farm had been in his family and what being able to keep it going by free-farming the pigs meant to him. It was money that talked where Marian was concerned and his familial, free-range sentiments would score no brownie points with her, so Jess decided to knock the conversation right off course. “Hey, Mum, did I tell you that Owen was a very successful commercial law solicitor in London for years?” She didn’t need to add not just a pig farmer because it lay thick on the air and on the tip of her tongue.

  Marian shot her daughter a peculiar look but Jess didn’t notice nor did she register Owen’s furrowed brows.

  “No, you didn’t tell me that. It wasn’t for you then, Owen?”

  Jess wasn’t going to give him the chance to open his mouth again just yet and waving her hand airily, she said, “Oh, he needed a career break, that’s all. London’s London—it will always be there.” Pushing her chair back, she stood up to clear her plate. With a glance at her mother’s stunned face, she was satisfied she had successfully sold Owen’s earning capabilities to her. He was, she had implied with her clever phrasing, a “professional” who chose to masquerade as a farmer for the time being. Plate in hand, she gestured toward the garden and suggested they head outside to see Wilbur.

  “Aye, that’s a good idea, Jess. Marian, do you want to come with us or would you like to stay here in the warm?”

  Jess crossed a finger behind her back but there was no contest where Marian was concerned—another cup of coffee in a cosy kitchen or traipsing across muddy fields in order to see some pigs?

  Jess virtually skipped along behind Owen as he led the way to the barn. It felt like months, not just a few days, since they had last been alone together and she couldn’t wait for some one on one time with him and to see Wilbur, of course. If he didn’t slow down, though, she’d need a rest, not a snog fest, by the time they got to the barn. Crikey, he was setting one heck of a pace as he cut across the mushy paddock. She smiled to herself, thinking he was obviously as keen as she was to be away from the eagle-eyed Marian.

  As he heaved open the barn door, she finally managed to catch up to him. In her eagerness to see Wilbur, though, she pushed past him and made her way down the barn, passing the sow and her piglet housed in the stall next to where Wilbur’s box was. Where were all the other piglets? she wondered briefly but then seeing the heat lamp had been turned off and that the box was empty, her eyes flailed round the barn bewilderedly. As her gaze settled back on the fat sow lying on her side, hungry piglet suckling greedily at her, an understanding suddenly dawned. That piglet was Wilbur. She looked over to where Owen was still standing in the doorway for confirmation and he nodded.

  Jess wandered closer to the stall but not too close because she didn’t want to disturb the little family and she stood silently watching the wondrous scene. He had made it—Wilbur was out of the danger zone; just look at him being nursed by his mother! Before long, he’d be up to size and joining his siblings foraging outside in the paddock. It was a beautiful sight, watching him bond with his Mummy like that and she wanted to share it with Owen but he still hadn’t moved. She looked across at him, intending to beckon him over but the look on his face stopped her and with a sense of trepidation, she left the happy scene to find out what was wrong.

  “Are you okay? I know Mum can be hard work with her airs and graces but you just have to take her with a pinch of salt. Don’t let her get to you.”

  “It’s not your mother who has the problem, Jess—it’s you.”

  “What do you mean?” Jess looked up at him, puzzled, and reaching out, she touched his arm for reassurance but he brushed her away, his irritation palpable. Taking a step back, she looked up at him, her face demanding to know what the problem was because she was damned if she knew.

  “What was all that malarkey in there about me being a lawyer? I am a pig farmer, Jess. It’s what I do and it’s what I love. I won’t apologise to anyone for my life because it’s a good one
and it’s an honest one.”

  Jess opened her mouth to protest but he shook his head and held up his hand to keep her at arm’s length. “No, let me finish what I have to say. If you can’t accept me for who I am, how do you expect your mother to? Jaysus, Jess, the reason I left London in the first place was to get away from people who were so caught up in worrying about what others thought. It’s not for me, that kind of life, and I didn’t think it was for you either but I have read you all wrong.”

  “But I’m not like...”

  He didn’t stick around to hear her explanation, flashing a look of disgust at her before striding down the paddock away from the cottage and away from her. By the set of his shoulders, Jess knew there was no point in going after him. Besides, what would she say? What he had said was true. She had been trying to make him out to be someone he no longer was and if he were still that person, she probably wouldn’t want to be with him anyway. So why had she done it? To keep her bloody mother happy, that was why. She wanted him to be someone she would approve of for once. As his figure grew smaller, she felt sick with the realisation that he had trusted in her and despite everything she had said about not hurting him, she had done exactly that.

  Jess used the time it took her to squelch back across the field to the cottage to get mad. As she stomped back into the kitchen, oblivious of the trail of muddy footprints she was leaving behind her, Marian demanded, “What’s happened, Jessica? You’ve got a face on you that looks like a smacked bum and where’s Owen gotten to?” She looked over Jess’s shoulder to the empty garden behind her.

  “Come on, Mum. Get your bag—we’re going.” Jess snatched up her own handbag and headed back out the door.

  “But where’s Owen?” her mother asked again as she scurried out after her daughter in her pop socks, pausing at the front entrance to climb back into her wellies.

  “He’s out looking after his pigs, which is what he does for a living and if you weren’t so damned well hoity-toity about people and their professions, then he wouldn’t be so damned well pissed off at me!” Jess stormed across the driveway toward the car, determined not to cry and not waiting to hear her reply, just as Owen hadn’t waited around to hear hers. She was oblivious of the fact that Jemima was stealthily bringing up her rear, and she’d clambered inside the car, slamming the door shut before the goose got the chance to lunge and peck. So Jemima arched her long neck in Marian’s direction instead and made a beeline for the older woman. She was standing transfixed by the advancing goose, semi-defenceless in the no-man’s-land between cottage and car.