by Jenny Kane
It had become rare for Tina to consider her appearance. If she wasn’t about to visit a long-standing and rather old-fashioned Trust client who she knew set a lot of store by appearance (equating a smart appearance with capability), she wouldn’t have thought about it now. Yet, now the issue of appearance had occurred to her, Tina stood over her open suitcases, wondering what she’d wear if they ever went to see Sam’s parents.
Staring into the age-spotted mirror hanging on the wall, she had a sudden urge to undo her plaits. Only children wear plaits. Tugging off the elastic ties that kept them in place, Tina teased her fingers through each blonde strand until her hair was loose around her shoulders.
Checking her watch to make sure there was enough time before she had to leave for the farmhouse that was expecting her to sort out their accounts, she picked up the suitcase containing her smartest clothes and emptied it onto her bed.
Trailing her fingertips over the collection of velvet, satin, denim, cotton and silk outfits, Tina felt a stab of sadness. These had been her going-out clothes. Her dating clothes. What use were they now? Sam couldn’t take her out on dates that didn’t include wrapping up against the elements. She needed thermals, thick jackets and hiking boots, not flimsy short-sleeved tops, light cardigans and strappy sandals.
‘It won’t always be like that.’ Tina held up her favourite velvet jacket and hugged it to her chest. ‘Sam will get better and we’ll go out like a normal couple.’
Even as she said it, Tina realised she couldn’t picture him in a restaurant or a wine bar. The pub perhaps, but somehow Sam didn’t fit an inside setting, even within the confines of her imagination.
Thinking that at least he’d see her dressed up when they visited his parents, and that her best jeans and the velvet jacket might do for that, knowing the dress she’d have preferred to wear was impractical for sitting outside to eat now autumn was making itself felt. Tina wondered how they’d get there. She knew Sam was alright on trains while they were moving, and he could face short car trips, but Worcestershire was at least three hours’ drive away, and she’d put money on their being no direct trains. And, even if there were, what if the train broke down or was delayed due to signal failure and he couldn’t get off while they waited?
Moving to the window, looking out over the grounds and beyond to the woods, Tina felt a wave of helplessness threatening to overtake her. She badly wanted to help Sam, but she had no idea how.
As she watched a pheasant meander haphazardly across the lawn, Woody and Dave came into view. Although she couldn’t hear them, she could see that they were laughing. Seconds later, Sam joined them. He was laughing too.
A sensation of being unnecessary hit her in a wave of self-disgust. She should be pleased for Sam, not jealous that he had friends who understood his situation because they’d been through similar nightmares themselves. Yet, Tina still found herself feeling like the schoolgirl she’d been twenty years ago; the girl who’d never quite fitted in. Cross with herself for letting her childhood insecurities get the better of her, Tina put on her jacket and grabbed the paperwork she needed for the afternoon ahead. ‘Stop being so pathetic. You just feel left out. Sam loves you, and not only is this is good for him, but it’s vital he tests his ideas for the business. So stop it.’ Tina hooked her bag onto her shoulder. ‘You need a night out with Thea to help put things in perspective.’
Returning to the window, Tina watched as Thea joined the group of men. Helen was with her.
‘Then again, perhaps Thea’s a bit busy for me right now as well.’ The sense of illogical jealousy she’d brushed away when Thea had told her she’d been for scones with Helen, without her, suddenly returned with a sigh.
Tina’s fingers automatically went to play with her plaits, but they weren’t there.
Nineteen
September 10th
The far wall of the walled garden, shrouded in denuded, yet clinging, branches of trailing apple trees, had an almost ghostly presence in the early morning light. Its gothic beauty, however, couldn’t disguise how badly it needed repointing; the spread of ivy at the far right end of the wall was doing nothing for its long-term health.
As Sam pulled a short tendril of ivy away, he felt the wall’s resistance, as if it didn’t want its protective covering removed before the full frosts of winter kicked in. Looking closely, Sam saw that the pocked cement mix that had originally been used to hold the stone wall together had been all but replaced by an intricate root system. Take away the ivy, and he risked losing the wall.
Patting the stonework, he murmured, ‘Okay, I’ll leave the ivy until the spring, but it has to go, or you’ll fall down eventually.’
Sam surveyed the run of the land before him. The chickens, now living as one group, with only the occasional skirmish for supremacy between Mavis and Gertrude, still needed more space, and the rows of vegetable beds needed digging out and expanding.
‘That’s today’s tasks then.’ He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or a smug Gertrude, but he didn’t care. A sense of satisfaction filled him as he contemplated working with Ann, Dave and Woody that day.
The week was passing fast. His friends would be leaving tomorrow evening, and so far, although they’d helped around the grounds, been for a few walks across the moor, and had proved far better cooks when it came to the evening meals than he’d remembered, they hadn’t so much as touched the fortlet.
Ever since Helen had mentioned sponsorship and Thea had talked about using a tutor to teach archaeology skills, Sam had been determined to make the fortlet work for Mill Grange. Perhaps, in time, they could even develop a certificate to attest to his guests’ new-found skills. He’d hoped to talk to Tina about it, but she’d been very quiet last night, heading for an early night after a busy day.
Glancing at the bruised purple sky, muttering words of hope that it wouldn’t rain and spoil his plans for the day, Sam considered waking Tina. He wanted to talk about Helen’s ideas, but he knew Tina had another day of Trust work ahead, and wouldn’t appreciate being woken at six in the morning. Especially as they couldn’t act upon any ideas for the fortlet until he’d had word from Shaun about a definite start date for the filming.
It was a shame that Woody, Dave and Ann wouldn’t get to see the first cuts of the dig. Sam had a feeling that Woody in particular would have happily got stuck into the task. Resolving to call Shaun about a definite start time, the sponsorship idea, and the lucrative offers they’d got from Treasure Hunters, Sam pulled a tape measure from his pocket. It was time to stake out the extension of the chicken run.
*
Helen lifted her rucksack into the back of the Land Rover and said a farewell to the Stag and Hound. Moira had told her it was a shame she couldn’t stay longer, and Helen had almost changed her mind and paid for another night there and then. Her sense of duty was strong, however. She was expected back at work on Monday, and there were a few jobs she wanted to do at home over the weekend. Admittedly, she didn’t really want to do them, but there was no escaping the fact that over the last few years she’d let her home fall into a state of disrepair.
Seeing the work that Thea, Tina and Mabel had done on Mill Grange, with its many bedrooms, bathrooms and reception rooms, made her ashamed of her tatty two-bedroom terrace in Bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered hoovering. There never seemed to be any point. Helen lived alone, and as she was a self-confessed workaholic, she was always at the Baths. Any mess made at home could safely be ignored for ages before it was cleaned up.
Not being at home didn’t stop the paintwork needing refreshing or the curtains washing. Now Helen took the time to think, she wasn’t sure if she’d dusted this month, or last month. Her mind just didn’t have room for housework.
Clambering into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover, Helen’s eyes fell on Sybil’s Tea Rooms. Yesterday’s visit with Thea already seemed ages ago. Helen wondered if she should have been more honest about her snap decision to take a week off work. The proble
m was that she’d have to be honest with herself first, and she wasn’t ready for that yet.
So far she’d just labelled the situation ‘almost-forty-itis’. Beyond that, Helen didn’t care to dissect the root of her dissatisfaction. Firmly believing that Thea being sorry for her was worse than feeling sorry for herself, Helen buckled up her seatbelt. Far better to go home, get back to work and get on with it. She was British for goodness’ sake. That’s what you did wasn’t it? Starch the upper lip, make a cup of tea, stick your shoulders back and crack on!
Anyway, who wants to spend time with someone who’s lonely? Just the word was enough to make people awkward and send them heading for the hills.
Helen started the engine. Enough thinking. ‘I’ll drop in at the manor to say goodbye, then I’ll go home via the supermarket and buy some cleaning supplies. By tomorrow night I should be able to see what colour the carpet is!’
*
Thea laid out the Ordnance Survey map of the area on the picnic bench next to the geology map, her home-made plan of the garden, and the official plans of Mill Grange and grounds as drown up by the Exmoor Trust during their ownership of the property. Next to these she placed some aerial photographs of the property taken in the 1970s and some pictures of the fortlet site that she’d taken herself. Last of all, she picked up the survey results that Ajay had given her.
With a sense of excitement, only dampened by the fact she’d imagined doing this with Shaun and not on her own, Thea opened a new notebook and poised her pen over the page.
‘Let me guess.’ Helen rounded the corner of the house, striding up to Thea, a huge grin on her face. ‘New notebook for a new dig plan?’
‘Got it in one.’ Thea give her friend a hug before gesturing to the pile of information on the table. ‘Help me?’
‘You sure?’ Helen focused her eyes on the maps. ‘This is your gig not mine.’
‘Don’t be daft, I’d value your opinion.’ Thea picked up the geophysics plan and placed it over the geological plans. ‘The ground is largely clay – that’ll make it hard going.’
‘Depends how much topsoil was brought in by the Victorian gardeners when they terraced the place. It’s a miracle they didn’t touch this bit.’
‘Shaun reckoned it’s because the soil was so bad, being close to the woods, that they used it as a natural boundary as the edge of the formal part of the garden.’
Helen looked across the garden to the area in question. ‘Were those trees always there?’
‘The ones that bank the side of the drive? I think so. Why?’
‘The root systems have probably played havoc with the dig. Your stratigraphic layers could be mixed that side of the fortlet.’
‘My what now?’ Sam plonked himself onto the opposite side of the picnic table. ‘Morning, Helen, sleep well at the Stag?’
‘Very well, thanks.’ Helen blushed, suddenly conscious that it sounded as if she was taking over. ‘Don’t worry, I will be out of your hair soon. I came to say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ Thea and Sam spoke in unison.
‘Yes. I have to go back to work on Monday.’
‘It’s only Thursday.’
‘Well, yes, but you’ve got visitors to care for and things to do, and I’m in the way.’
Sam looked worried. ‘We haven’t made you feel you’re in the way, have we?’
‘Not a bit of it.’ Helen spoke quickly, afraid she’d inadvertently offended him. ‘I’m just aware of how much you have going on here. I didn’t want to add to that burden.’
Thea smiled. ‘If you went home now, what would you do until Monday?’
‘Clean the carpets and dust.’
‘Housework?’ Thea cocked her head to one side. ‘Well you could do that, or you could stay here.’
Sam waved a hand toward the manor. ‘We’re not short of bedrooms. Assuming you want to, and have already booked out of the pub of course.’
‘Well I… I mean; are you sure?’
‘Yes!’ They spoke together, before Thea added, ‘I would value a second opinion on all this. I’ve worked on lots of digs, even run a few, but not one as potentially important as this. I need an expert on side. Who better than the curator of the world famous Roman Baths?’
Sam agreed, ‘I’d like to pick your brains about that sponsorship idea as well, if you don’t mind. And about archaeological training – I’ve had a certificate idea.’
‘You have?’
Thea grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘Do stay, Helen; it’ll be fun. Better than scrubbing carpets for the next two days.’
Fighting the urge to give Thea another hug, Helen nodded. ‘I’d love to. Thank you.’
‘I wouldn’t thank us too soon.’ Sam got back to his feet. ‘You’ll be working for your supper. Talking of which, I’ll let Mabel know there’ll be another person to feed until Sunday.’
‘You’re all so kind.’ Helen stared at the maps in case her friends spotted the treacherous tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. ‘You’re sure Tina won’t mind?’
‘Of course she won’t.’ Sam spoke with confidence. ‘Tina never minds anything.’
Twenty
September 10th
The scent of roast chicken and vegetables wrapped itself around Tina as she kicked off her shoes, and placed them in the rack Sam had built to hold the hiking boots and wellingtons regularly dropped by the front door. Slipping on her indoor trainers, so her feet didn’t freeze against the stone-tiled floor, she headed to the bathroom.
Her morning, at the furthest farm from her base in Upwich, had turned into a full day, due to a combination of ill-kept accounts, tractors blocking the roads and a huddle of sheep who refused to move off the road to let her pass.
Now, tired and hungry, Tina savoured the aroma. Perhaps having guests who were willing to cook her dinner every night wasn’t so awful.
Washing her hands in the cloakroom sink, trying to expunge the remnants of grubbiness that had hung around the farmhouse she’d been sat in for the best part of six hours, Tina decided to go straight to the kitchen rather than head upstairs to change first.
During her long drive home, she had given herself a stern talking-to, and come to the unpalatable conclusion that blaming her experiences of childhood bullying for her recent insecurity was little more than an excuse. To her shame, she’d been privately resentful. Not just of their guests’ shared past with Sam, but of Thea’s friendship with Helen. From tonight Tina was determined to join in and start acting like the partner in the business Sam had said she was.
Her resolve faltered the moment she stepped across the kitchen’s threshold. Rather than finding Woody or Ann slaving over a hot Aga, she discovered Helen there instead. Her rainbow-striped jumper sleeves rolled up, a tea towel tucked into the bib of her dungarees, her face shiny from the heat of the stove.
‘Helen?’ Knowing the single word had come out as an accusation and not an enquiry as to why she was not only still there, but cooking their evening meal, Tina quickly added, ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here. It smells amazing.’
‘Thank you and thank you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘For the compliment on the cooking, although that may be premature; I haven’t cooked a roast dinner in years. And for not hating that I’m still here.’
Instantly feeling guilty, Tina hid her face by going to fill up the kettle. ‘Why would I hate you being here?’
‘Another person to cater for, another bedroom to sort before the real guests arrive.’
Realising she hadn’t factored that Helen was Thea’s friend into her thinking; feeling even more ashamed, Tina asked, ‘Are you staying in the manor tonight?’
‘Yes.’ Helen stirred the saucepan of boiling carrots, wondering if she’d already missed the fine line between them being properly cooked and overdone. ‘Sam didn’t tell you?’
‘No.’ Tina fished her phone from her pocket. ‘I’ve been out of range for most of the day. Any texts would only just have
reached me.’ Checking her screen, seeing nothing waiting her attention, Tina reminded herself of her recent decision, and tried not to mind that Sam hadn’t consulted her about Helen staying. ‘I expect he intended to tell me when I got back. I’m hours later than planned.’
‘Tough day?’
‘Difficult client. Luckily I only have to visit them twice a year.’
‘Why don’t you put your feet up? The others will be down in a minute.’
Tina poured herself a coffee and headed to the door. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll go and change into something warmer.’
*
‘You weren’t going to change. You were going to join in.’ Tina thumped the bed in her attic room. ‘And the clothes you’d usually wear to keep warm while eating outside aren’t in here, they’re in the tent.’
The pillow seemed to be calling to her, and she fell onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Unlike the walls, it hadn’t had a coat of paint in the recent renovation. It was off-yellow compared to the rest of the room.
Yawning widely, Tina wished she could cuddle up with Sam and talk to him. She wanted to tell him how uneasy she felt, although she didn’t know why.
She pulled the quilt up over her shoulder. ‘I’ll just be cosy for a while. I can have ten minutes before I go down again. I didn’t walk out on Helen. I went to change. And I don’t mind Helen being here.’
Knowing that was strictly true, but not sure why, she wondered what the Roman Baths curator was still doing there. Assuming it was connected to the forthcoming excavation, Tina decided to ask Thea out for drink and a chat once Helen had gone away again. Shivering, Tina tucked further into the bed. There was no doubt the evenings were getting colder. Her car’s temperature gauge had pointed at two degrees as she’d turned into the driveway at six o’clock. It was going to be almost freezing by the time they crawled into the tent.
Tina closed her eyes. Winter was coming, and the idea of being under canvas at night was becoming less appealing by the day, however much she loved Sam.
