by Emlyn Rees
‘Why?’ she asked him.
‘Because, otherwise,’ he said, his eyes no longer wavering from hers, ‘you might as well just go out with people because of their image, say because they wear expensive clothes, or because they’ve got a fast’ – he’d been about to say motorbike, but managed to stop himself just in time – ‘car, or a stack of cash, or whatever …’
Denny. Even though he’d said car, he still might as well have been spelling it out for her. But that’s what he wanted her to know, that if she never looked past possessions and status symbols, then she’d never see him, Jimmy Jones, because he couldn’t afford a single one. Because even though he’d give her all he had, all he really had to give her was himself.
‘I suppose,’ Verity said, but she seemed noncommittal.
Jimmy turned away. He wondered what restaurant or bar Denny had taken her to after the audition. He wondered if he’d taken her out since.
‘What about you, Jimmy?’ Verity asked. ‘Who are you going out with at the moment?’
Jimmy felt torn, flattered by Verity’s assumption what he was the kind of guy who did have a girlfriend, but unsure how to set her right without making himself look like a loser. He needn’t have worried, though, as Scott stepped in to save him his blushes.
‘Anyways,’ Scott interrupted, peeling himself off the wall and slipping his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, ‘that’s enough idle chit-chat from you two lazy buggers. Here comes the boss, so let’s look lively, eh?’
Across the lawn, in the distance, Jimmy saw Ellen walking towards them with a man at her side. Jimmy hurried over to the doorway and picked up his top hat and coat from where he’d left them.
‘Jimmy!’ Ellen called over to him.
Quickly, Jimmy brushed the brick dust off the coat, hoping that Ellen hadn’t noticed. When he turned, he saw that she was still walking towards him, but her companion had held back and now stood stationary on the lawn.
‘Ned wants a quick word,’ she informed him as she reached him.
‘Eh?’
Without any further explanation, she pointed across the lawn, before walking over to talk to Roy, who was lying on a low wall nearby, fast asleep.
As Jimmy crossed the lawn and the distance between himself and Ned diminished, the name and face slotted clearly into place. ‘All right, again,’ Jimmy said, remembering how messed up Ned had seemed when he’d seen him the day before yesterday. ‘Ellen said you wanted to talk to me.’
Up close, Ned looked younger than he had done on South Beach in the rain. The nuttiness had gone from his eyes, as well. There was a confidence to his stance, a relaxed way of standing here on his own turf, which caused Jimmy to decide straight away that it was probably best not to mention the beach episode at all.
But Ned thought otherwise. ‘Thanks for yesterday,’ he began. His smile made him appear younger still. ‘For bringing my dog back,’ Ned went on. ‘And’ – he cleared his throat, embarrassed – ‘of course, for informing me of the local meteorological conditions.’
‘No problem,’ Jimmy assured him.
Ned nodded in gratitude and then removed his spectacles, before starting to clean their lenses on one of the loose tails of his shirt. He looked at his hands and not Jimmy as he spoke. ‘The family chapel over on the cliff-side,’ he said. ‘I know you and some of your mates hang out there. And there’s a lock on it, so I suppose you probably keep stuff in there, too,’ Ned continued, still polishing. ‘Which is fine. And has been fine. Up until now, that is,’ he added, finally looking up and putting his glasses back on.
Jimmy didn’t answer. From the businesslike tone which Ned’s voice had transposed into, it didn’t sound like one was required. Jimmy found himself checking out the older man’s clothes: the worn jeans, mid-range Adidas trainers, untucked, nothing-special shirt and the dodgy brown corduroy jacket. Scott sure was right about surface and everything. This guy dressed like a gardener, but he was the boss.
Ned frowned and Jimmy looked down at his shoes, waiting for the pay-off. ‘I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re going to have to clear out of there. And soon. We’re starting work there two weeks on Monday. That’s two days after the concert that Ellen’s just been telling me you’re all going to be filming.’
A silence followed, which Jimmy knew he was meant to fill. He’d been dreading this moment since he’d first watched the builders arrive. He’d been wondering every day how long it would take them to come and invade that small part of the world he and Ryan had made their own.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ned was saying, ‘but that’s just the way it is.’
Jimmy stared evenly into Ned’s eyes. ‘To tell the truth,’ he told him, ‘I’d kind of been expecting it.’
And to tell the truth, now that it had finally happened, he felt nothing but relief.
Chapter XII
‘WHERE HAS THIS week gone?’ Ellen asked Scott, as they packed up the equipment on Castle Hill. They’d taken advantage of the afternoon sun to film the ruins of Shoresby Castle and the panoramic view that Castle Hill afforded over the town and along the coastline.
Now, in the late afternoon, the light was gradually fading. There wouldn’t be a sunset tonight, but the overcast light-grey sky was getting darker by degrees, like some giant swathe of blotting paper, soaking up ink.
‘We’re getting there,’ Scott said, fastening the metal clips on the camera case and hauling it towards the car.
Ellen smiled at him. She knew he’d put himself out again, staying to complete the shots, when she knew he was keen to get going on a trip down to Cornwall to see the Eden Project.
‘At least we’ve got Michael Francis, the vicar and Clive in the can,’ Ellen said, following him and consulting the thick pile of notes on her clipboard. ‘And there’s three more interviews planned for next week already, so don’t get too wrecked this weekend.’
Ellen’s phone beeped with a text message as Scott rolled his eyes at her fussing.
‘That’s good,’ she said, reading it. ‘Roy’s confirmed that he’s coming down again next Thursday to do sound, so we’ll be able to do the bower scene we planned out and two of the interviews. God! There’s so much to do.’
‘You can’t do very much more this weekend,’ Scott said, fixing her with a calming stare. ‘Why don’t you come with me? It’ll be fun.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave all that tourist thing to you. I think I’ll just hang around here.’
‘But won’t you be bored?’ Scott asked. ‘Why don’t you go home and catch up with some friends or something?’
Ellen groaned. ‘I haven’t got the energy,’ she said, meaning it. She’d already been back and forth to London yesterday and she was exhausted. ‘Besides, I hate being in the flat when Jason is away,’ she added, thinking that if she went back there now just for the comfort of sleeping in a double bed, she knew she’d end up losing her whole weekend to a dozen household chores. She might as well make life simple for herself and go to the launderette in Shoresby. She followed Scott to her car, which she was lending him for the weekend.
‘I’ll drop the camera back at the cottage and then I’m going straight off. Do you want a lift?’
‘No, I think I’ll walk.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Scott checked again. ‘What are you going to do?’
Ellen smiled affectionately at him, appreciating his concern. ‘Sleep, probably. I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll come back safely on Sunday?’ she said, resting her hand on the open window ledge of the driver’s door.
‘Yes, Mum,’ Scott said, before starting the engine and revving it, so that Ellen stepped back, laughing.
‘Have a good time,’ she called, as she waved.
Ellen hadn’t been at a loose end on a Friday night for as long as she could recall. Last Friday, after she’d rescued Clara and had argued with Ned, she’d been out with Scott who had calmed her down by getting her drunk in the curry house. Since then she ha
dn’t had a moment to herself. As she opened the door of the Sapphire’s saloon bar, a few hours later, it occurred to her that it had been even longer since she’d been to a pub on her own. But, having soaked for an hour in the bath and seen the pitiful choice on the television, she’d felt like a change of scene. And since her mobile phone didn’t work in the cottage, it also gave her the chance to sit in a quiet corner and finally make a few calls.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Beth said, when Ellen called her oldest friend. ‘I thought you’d dropped off the planet. Where have you been?’
‘Sorry,’ Ellen said, feeling guilty. ‘I’ve been meaning to call and I was going to come back this weekend and pop round, but things have been so hectic, I’ve decided to stay here.’
‘How’s it going? You must be going crazy, mixing with all the yokels. Are you dying without shops?’
‘No,’ Ellen said, surprising herself with how defensive she felt. ‘I’m enjoying myself. Shoresby’s not what I expected, but I like it here.’
‘Can we come down for a weekend?’ asked Beth, enthusiastically.
‘Well ….’ Ellen began, feeling put on the spot. She’d known Beth since she’d shared a room with her when they’d been studying at Oxford Poly. She’d been a bridesmaid at her wedding when Beth had married Sim and was godmother to their five year olds, George and Harry. ‘I’d love to see you, but –’
‘That’s a no, then.’
Ellen tried to laugh off her friend’s disappointment. ‘There’s not much space in the cottage and I’m afraid my schedule is very tight, and what with all the bloody driving up and down to London …’
‘Oh, yes, the busy schedule ruse,’ Beth teased, not taking her seriously. ‘What are you hiding down there?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Divine Jason? How’s he?’
‘Away again. South America.’
‘Ellen!’ Beth berated her. ‘How are you two ever going to have kids and stuff when you’re never in the same continent?’
‘I know, I know,’ Ellen said, exasperated.
It was the same ear-bashing she got from all her friends, most of whom were married and breeding like crazy. But Ellen had always been secretly proud of her unconventional relationship with Jason and she was glad she was with someone who travelled the world and had incredible stories to tell, rather than a stuffy nine-to-five bloke. That was part of Jason’s attraction, Ellen had always argued. It just meant that when they did spend time together it was amazing.
But this last trip, Ellen had been running out of reasons to justify what it was about her and Jason’s lifestyle that was so great. The truth was that the time they did spend together wasn’t amazing any more. She couldn’t just drop everything and spend long days in bed with him, ordering in their favourite food and giggling together into the small hours, as she once had. She had a career now, and if she was honest, she resented the fact that she had to take all the responsibility for paying the bills and keeping the flat together, while Jason came and went as he pleased. She couldn’t put her finger on when it had started to change, but more often than not, when Jason came home these days, rather than bouncing in with presents and kisses, he was tired and irritable, and always making preparations to go away again. So when he was around, Ellen spent most of the time being annoyed with him because he was about to go again.
But Ellen couldn’t share any of this with Beth. She knew that Beth wouldn’t hear a word spoken against Jason, whom she regularly declared to be one of the most attractive men in the world. And she was too proud to admit to her friend that things between her and Jason were anything other than perfect. Beth wouldn’t understand. She would interpret it as some sort of crisis, when it wasn’t at all. It was just circumstantial and Ellen was sure it would all change in time.
Five minutes later, Ellen switched her phone off, poured the rest of the little bottle of tonic into her glass and flicked through the local paper. She’d been planning on calling some of her other friends, but speaking to Beth had exhausted her. She couldn’t face explaining to anyone else why she was apart from Jason and alone on a Friday night in a pub in the middle of nowhere.
Well, she might as well make the most of it, she thought, standing up to go to the bar. She smiled at the huge landlord, who was polishing glasses, his sleeves rolled up.
‘Stood you up, has he?’ he joked, nodding at her phone on the table.
‘Yep. Looks like it,’ Ellen replied, not bothering to explain.
‘Can’t understand it. Pretty girl like you,’ the landlord continued. ‘Same again, then?’
She laughed, embarrassed and flattered at being described as a girl. She leant on the bar as the landlord squeezed a clean glass against the optic of gin and she glanced through the bar to the other part of the pub. The pool table was surrounded by scruffy teenagers and the games machines bleeped incessantly above the crackle of the log fire. Yet there was still something unique and quaint about it, not like the soulless chain pubs she was used to in town.
Suddenly, just out of sight by the slot machine, a glass smashed and there were raised voices, and, startled, Ellen strained to get a better view. Then she saw Ned. He looked dishevelled. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messy, and Ellen could tell at a glance that he was drunk. She watched him walk towards the door.
‘You’re drunk,’ she said, a moment later, catching up with him outside.
‘So sue me!’ Ned laughed. ‘Oh,’ he continued, ‘you already are.’ Then he pulled out his car keys from his pocket and strode off into the road. ‘So long,’ he called, throwing his jacket over his shoulder.
‘You’re not thinking of driving?’ she asked, horrified. ‘Give me those,’ Ellen said, catching up with him and trying to snatch the keys.
‘Ah, ah,’ Ned said, shaking his head. ‘I’ve seen your driving. You’re not coming in my precious car,’ he warned, reaching the Beetle and putting his hand on the curved wing.
Ellen lunged for the keys and, finally wrestling them from Ned’s grip, opened the driver’s door. Then, unlocking the passenger door from inside, she pushed it open. ‘Just get in,’ she said.
She had no idea why Ned was still driving around in this ancient student contraption, when he was obviously quite successful and could afford a grown-up car. It was almost as if he were stuck in time, she thought, as she looked around the cold dark interior.
Ned got into the passenger seat. Ellen put the clutch down, but something was obstructing it and, leaning down in the cramped space, she unearthed a dog chew, which she threw into Ned’s lap. Even worse, an old sandwich was lodged under the handbrake and Ellen turned up her nose, having second thoughts about her mercy mission. ‘Where do you live?’ she asked.
‘Ah … first, I want to know where you live.’
‘I’m staying over there, in the harbour cottages,’ Ellen said calmly, pointing down towards Quayside Row. ‘The one with the blue door. Satisfied?’
Ned peered out of the window to try to see her cottage, but she could see he wasn’t really focusing.
‘Now you,’ Ellen prompted.
Ned waved his hand up towards the top of the town. ‘Up there. I’ll show you,’ he said. He leant forward to open the glove compartment, grabbing ancient tapes one by one and throwing them over his shoulder into the back, until he found one he was looking for. Ellen laughed, despite herself.
‘Ah, this is it. Pulp!’ Ned declared, holding up a tape triumphantly. ‘Last album I bought.’
‘But this was out in 1995,’ Ellen said, recognising the label. ‘Haven’t you bought anything since?’ Ellen had to help him line up the tape, to get it into the cranky player.
‘Nope.’
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t know. I just got old.’
Ned turned the music up and Ellen winced.
‘Definitely a time warp,’ she said, although Ned didn’t hear her. Then she added to herself, ‘I must be crazy.’
It took ages for her to elicit dire
ctions out of Ned and even longer for her to find his house. Ned was singing along at the top of his voice and, although Ellen hadn’t heard the album for years, she was too nervous to think about joining in. She wasn’t used to manoeuvring in a left-hand-drive car and, after the Land-Rover, she felt as if she were driving a baked-bean can. With her concentration divided between the road and Ned, who kept showing off into an imaginary microphone and making Ellen laugh, the journey was somewhat haphazard. Eventually, however, Ned pointed out of the windscreen and, with relief, Ellen parked by a row of Victorian cottages.
Once the clatter of the engine and the tape player had cut to silence, Ned sighed heavily. Then he looked at her with bloodshot eyes and she remembered how he’d looked when she’d left him on Tuesday in that pub near the beach.
‘How much did you drink?’ she asked him gently.
‘Enough.’
He leant back against the seat, then covered his face with his hands, as if he were about to wash something away.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you ever need to lose control?’ he said wearily, sitting up and staring out of the window ahead. ‘To forget everything?’ he asked, his eyes seeming to glaze with sadness. ‘Just for a bit?’ He turned to Ellen then. ‘Or is that terribly, terribly wrong?’
‘I’m not judging you, Ned,’ she said, but before she could say anything more, Ned had lurched forward to get out of the car.
Ellen stepped out of the driver’s seat and locked the door, before handing the keys back to Ned. He didn’t look at her as he took them in his hand.
‘You’re a good woman, Ellen Morris,’ he said quietly. ‘Too good to be wasting your time looking after a bad man like me.’ He stared at her with an intensity that filled her with panic, as if he’d seen something deep inside her which made him want to cry. But then it was gone and he shook his head. ‘Do you want to know what the worst thing about life is?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Timing,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes its timing is shit.’
*
The next day Ellen couldn’t get Ned out of her head. Something about their encounter had deeply unsettled her and despite trying to analyse it, she couldn’t pin down her feelings. As she mooched around the stalls in the covered market by the old railway station, she told herself to stop being ridiculous, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop trying to make sense of it.
