A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  ‘ Five thou…’ Lenny could hardly speak. ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve a little wad in my pocket as evidence of their good faith… I think this calls for a celebration, my little shortcake.’

  ‘You’re on,’ said Lenny.

  ‘It’ll take us another hour to finish the field, so let’s crack on. I’ll tell you what they want on our way to the pub…’

  ‘What about Stevie?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you gonna tell him about the deal?’

  Charlie thoughtfully stroked a sideburn. He knew he should tell Stephen, but he knew his brother, and he realised that the strain of keeping anything like this a secret from the rest of the family would be too much for him. ‘I’ll tell him about it when it’s all over.’ He climbed up into his tractor and turned on the ignition. ‘From next week, though, we keep him away from here – there’s no reason for him to come up here, anyway.’

  * * *

  Alison sat at her desk, her head in her hands, her mobile next to her elbow, the text message winking insistently.

  ‘Back Sat. Same place 7. Y/N Have fun. Al’

  She felt bleak. No money, so no top-up, so no way of texting, and no other way of getting in touch.

  ‘Oh sod it!’ she shouted at the top of her voice, but felt no better.

  Elsie and Jenny, in the sitting-room below, heard her.

  ‘That girl needs to control her temper,’ said Elsie, grimly.

  ‘I think she gets a bit fed up. Stuck in her room like that, with those books. Can’t be healthy. She needs to get out more, poor Ali.’ Jenny placidly clicked away at her knitting.

  The memory of Alison slipping across the farmyard in the early hours of the morning flitted through Elsie’s thoughts and for a moment she toyed with destroying Jenny’s peace of mind, but she was feeling tired and the thought of the fuss and recriminations that would follow made her snap instead, ‘Then why doesn’t she? Girl of her age should be out meeting people, doing things, having lots of friends. What’s wrong with the girl?’

  ‘She’s got lots of friends but says she if she starts sponging off them, they won’t stay friends for long.’

  ‘Quite right. But why should she sponge? She has her allowance, and a very generous one it is too, considering the state of the farm’s finances.’

  Jenny, suddenly alarmed, said nothing. They had tacitly agreed not to tell Elsie that Alison had not received her allowance. Elsie had a nasty habit of using facts like that to reinforce her never-ending diatribe about how useless they all were. She concentrated very hard on the knitting pattern.

  Elsie, watching her, was not deceived. She could read Jenny so well.

  ‘She did have her allowance this month, didn’t she Jenny? Whose turn was it to pay her? Stephen’s? Not like him to let her down…what is this farm coming too? I despair, I really do…’

  ‘It wasn’t Stephen’s fault, ‘said Jenny, defensively, ‘He needed to buy something for the dairy. He had to have it, otherwise there’d be no milk for sale, and where would we be? And Charlie’s got Lenny working on the harvest with him, so he didn’t have any spare cash. It’s just this month. Ali understands. It’s just a bit unfortunate that it’s the holidays and she’s promised to study and not get a job, which she did last year, of course. When the money for my jumper comes through, I’ll be able to help her out a little bit. She posted it for me on Saturday, so I should get paid soon. That’s why Ali didn’t phone to tell us where she was. She hasn’t got any credit on that phone you so kindly bought her. It wasn’t her fault. I shouldn’t have made such a fuss. But I expect that’s why she’s so fed up.’ She put her knitting down and rose to her feet. ‘I’ll go and make her a nice cup of tea. Would you like one, Elsie? Perhaps I can persuade her to come down and watch The Weakest Link with us…’

  Elsie, now deep in thought, said nothing.

  * * *

  ‘Li-ver-ree lord, madam, I took him for a captin he’s so be…be…diz…diz…’ Stephen swallowed. He was hating every minute of this.

  ‘Bedizened,’ June was getting impatient. ‘He’s so bedizened with lace.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Just do the moves, Stephen; then skip to Mrs Sullen’s cue. Oh I do hope we find someone to play Scrub soon. This is really slowing us down.’

  Stephen flushed. He hated reading in for missing actors. They still hadn’t managed to cast Scrub, the manservant, and it had fallen to him to walk through the part so that the rest of the cast could accommodate the missing character. Every time he opened his mouth, Stephen, struggling with the unspeakable text, sensed that the actors were either laughing at him or growing impatient. His only consolation was that the scene in which he was making this guest appearance involved Nicola as well, and it was her encouraging smiles that kept him from throwing the book down and refusing to be humiliated further.

  He had been very subdued since the farm meeting. The possibility that they might lose the farm had horrified him; he knew of no other way in which he could earn a living. Although he and Charlie rarely discussed it, he knew that the herd was not the money earner it once was, that they might make more if they concentrated on cereal production, but the thought of the farm without animals was appalling. He loved his beasts and would not consider letting them go, however counter-productive that might be. He didn’t have a great imagination, but Jenny’s suggestion that they might think about rare breeds had stirred him. He had read about ostrich farming some while ago and had only suggested it because, at that point, he had no other contribution to make. He had been surprised when the others took it seriously, and when the meeting was over, he resolved to consult Jeff Babbington.

  He confided a little of what had passed to Angela when he gave her a lift to the rehearsal. She was interested.

  ‘Do you want me to look up ostrich farms on the Internet – see if there are any nearby? Then you could go and check them out… I could look up rare-breed farms, too – see what there are…’

  ‘That’s really kind of you, Angela,’ Stephen replied, warmly; he was touched. ‘You’ve got enough to do…’

  ‘No, really, I’d love to help. And it’s easy, being at the library,’ Angela went slightly pink. ‘You’ve been so…so unlike yourself; I knew you were worried about something. If only I could do more.’

  Stephen made no reply and glancing at him, Angela saw that he was shyly smiling in the direction of Nicola, who was standing in the road, flagging them down. Their conversation ended there.

  Stephen pulled over and got out.

  ‘Oh Stephen,’ Nicola’s eyes were wide with relief. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. She was standing beside a bright red Golf convertible. ‘It’s my stupid car, it’s broken down. Can you give me a lift to the rehearsal?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ Stephen flushed at the touch of Nicola’s hand on his arm. She looked so pretty, in a simple cotton dress that showed off her tan and her long shapely legs to perfection. He stammered a little, ‘But what about your car – do you want me to look at it, see if I can sort out whatever’s wrong?’

  She smiled, fetchingly, ‘You’re so kind, Stephen, but it’s full of complicated bits of technology. I’ve given my brother a ring and he’s going to come over later and tow it to the garage. It should be safe enough if I leave it here. But if you could give me a lift? Oh, hi Angela.’ Nicola registered Angela, standing by Stephen’s side, for the first time.

  These days, Stephen drove the farm’s only Land Rover, and a battered old affair it was, too. It had just two seats in the front. Stephen opened the passenger door, ‘I’m afraid it will be a bit of a squeeze, but if you don’t mind squashing up?’

  ‘Of course not. Neither of us is particularly large, are we Angela?’ And Nicola climbed into the cab, leaving Angela to follow after. Stephen shut the door and resumed his position in the driver’s seat in a state of bliss. The
two girls sharing the passenger seat meant that although Angela obligingly squashed herself as much against the door as she could, Nicola was almost on top of Stephen. Her scent filled his nostrils; every time he changed gear, his hand brushed her thigh and he’d blush his apology; if she turned her head to address Angela, which was rarely, her hair tickled his face, and when she turned back to say something to him, (Angela getting a faceful of hair every time) her breath softly patted his cheek.

  Before they arrived at the church hall, in a rare demonstration of assertiveness, Stephen offered to give her a lift home when the rehearsal had finished. She accepted his offer and Stephen arrived at the rehearsal in a state of euphoria.

  That had evaporated when Scrub was inflicted on him. He threw agonised looks in Angela’s direction, hoping to catch her eye, knowing that she would sympathise, hoping that she might offer to take his place. But she was always looking in the opposite direction, or busy doing something else.

  At the end of the evening’s rehearsal, Stephen’s humiliation was compounded by June’s dismissive: ‘You’ve all done very well this evening, darlings, but please, please, everyone, be on the lookout for a Scrub. We’re not looking for a Laurence Olivier, just someone who can read the Queen’s English. I know dear Stephen won’t thank us if he ends up having to don makeup.’

  There were titters and then the cry went up: ‘Who’s for the pub? June? Nicola? Gerald? And how about our little Cherry?’

  Angela hovered, waiting for Stephen as he rushed around clearing up. Nicola had gone off with the rest of the company, and for a moment, the two of them were alone in the hall. Stephen, crestfallen, registered this, and joining Angela, he said, indecisively, ‘Do you think Nicola expects us to follow them to the pub? I thought I was going to give her a lift back…’

  ‘Perhaps she’s got a lift from someone else, Stephen, and forgot to tell you. But we could go to the pub, if you like?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m tired. What about you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind giving it a miss. I’m tired myself and we’ve a new exhibition to put up tomorrow.’

  ‘Stephen, where are you?’ It was Nicola, standing by the exit. ‘I hope you’ve not forgotten you’re giving me a lift? Come on. It’s Robin’s round and I don’t know what you drink.’

  Stephen beamed. Angela, suddenly feeling the tiredness she had feigned moments earlier, refused to join them and walked home, alone.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t phone me up straightaway – what sort of friend are you, Ali Tucker! I can’t believe it!’ Hannah shrieked away at the other end of the phone. ‘You’ve been out with Al twice, and you didn’t tell me…’

  Alison was curled up on a battered old sofa in the sitting room, the phone pulled through from the hall on an extension lead that Alison had bought with her earnings the year before so that she could conduct her telephone calls with a degree of privacy. It was late. Her mother and Gran had gone to bed, as had, as far as she knew, Stephen and Charlie. Alison had just finished an essay and, needing some contact with the real world, had slipped downstairs to have a chat with Hannah.

  ‘The first time was by chance, Hannah. There was nothing to tell, and Sunday, well, nothing happened. We just went out on his bike for the afternoon; nothing more.’

  ‘Well, are you going to see him again?’

  Alison sighed, ‘He’s gone off for a few days. But he’s given me his mobile number…’

  ‘Great, so text him!’

  ‘Easier said than done, Hannah. It’s a sod, but earlier this evening he sent me a message to meet up on Saturday…’

  ‘Wicked. What’s the problem? Have you changed your mind, or summat? You don’t sound too happy about it…’

  ‘No, I am…it’s cool; what’s not cool is that I’ve no money, not a cent; and no credit on my phone, so I can’t text him back. What’s he gonna make of that?’

  Hannah whistled, ‘I see your point, Ali. D’yer want me to text him for you?’

  ‘No, it’s early days, Hannah. I don’t want him to know I’ve told anyone else about him in case he gets the wrong idea; and in case I have, if you see what I mean. I guess, if it comes to the worst, I’ll have to phone him from home, and pretend there’s something wrong with my mobile. It’s so humiliating!’

  Hannah commiserated but then shrieked, ‘Hey, Ali, you’ve got to get some money from somewhere. Remember I told you Nick was babbling on about a disco event the other evening? Well, it’s happening. He got a call this evening. He’s on a commission to sell tickets. It’ll be wild!’

  ‘When’s it happening?’

  ‘A week next Saturday, the bank holiday weekend. The tickets are twenty quid…’

  ‘Wow, that’s a lot.’

  ‘Maybe, but Nick says they bring in top DJs, and it’s all night, Ali. You’ve got to come. Hey, why don’t you see if Al wants to come – that would be really cool…’ She sounded plaintive, ‘ Ali, you can’t not come – it’s gonna be the best thing.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ali, wretchedly, ‘it sounds fantastic. I’ll ask Al when he gets back…’

  ‘Great. Nick gets a bonus if he sells more than a hundred tickets.’

  ‘Does he know a hundred people?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. It’s all done by word of mouth. When the word gets out, the tickets will be gold dust… Oh Ali, you’ve got to come!’

  ‘Don’t wuz, I’ll get the money somehow. Do we know where it’s gonna be held?’

  ‘No, not yet. They don’t distribute the tickets and say where it’s gonna be held till the last possible moment. They keep the venue a secret in case of objections and gatecrashers, that sort of thing…’

  ‘Are you gonna tell your Mum?’

  ‘You must be kidding, Alison Tucker. There’s no way she’d let me stay out all night, let alone go to an event like this…’

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud crash from the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Blimey! What the bloody hell is that…? Hannah, I’ve got to go, I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  ‘That’ was the sound made by Charlie, barely able to see through the Jack Daniels swishing around his brain, falling through the kitchen door and landing on Gip in her basket. The dog, woken so violently, set up a howl, and Charlie, unable to get out of the basket, started giggling helplessly.

  Alison rushed into the kitchen, and tried to quieten Gip. She regarded her eldest brother with fury. ‘It’s not surprising the farm is going to the wall with you in charge. How much did your little booze-up cost tonight, eh? How are we ever going to make money if you’re gonna drink it all away? You make me sick!’

  Charlie looked up at her, grinning lopsidedly, his knees framing his chin. ‘If you knew what I knew…’ he sang, then placed a wavering finger to his lips. ‘Shush, Charlie boy, not a word. Not a word unless it’s Mum. Hey, I like that – Mum it is…’ Alison turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, turning the light out as she went. Charlie held out his arm, plaintively, and called after her, ‘Ali, Ali, don’t leave me like this; give us a hand, I’m stuck!’

  * * *

  Paula was deep in dreamland when Lenny landed on the bed. She was not best pleased.

  ‘Gawd, you stink, Lenny Spinks. Where the hell you been?’

  ‘Sorry to wake you my, little flower. You just turn over and gets back to slumberland and I’ll…’

  ‘Get your bloody boots out of my back. Aw Lenny, you’re still in yer overalls… I’ve got a mouthful o’ barley dust. Where ’ave you been? You was meant to be back here at six to go and see Mr Lester…’

  ‘Sorry my darlin’. Me and Charlie had to have a little celebration and by the time I remembered Hughie, I thought he wouldn’t be so pleased to see me. So I decided to cut my losses and have another Jack Daniels.’

  ‘Jack Daniels? You
’ve been on Jack Daniels? Why didn’t you come and get me? We could’ve got Mrs Long in to sit with the kiddies. I’ve been stuck here all evening, wonderin’ where you was, with old Hughie belly-achin’ down the phone ’cos he waited ages for you to turn up… What was you celebratin’?’

  ‘Can’t tell you, it’s a secret. Charlie’s sworn me to secrecy….’

  Paula unzipped Lenny’s overalls; the moonlight filtering through the uncurtained windows glanced across her naked, glistening body, deep shadows silhouetting the full outline of her breasts. She buried her head in the soft hair below his navel.

  He groaned.

  ‘If you don’t tell me,’ she whispered, ‘you can sod off and sleep on the sofa downstairs.’

  10

  From Tuesday to Thursday, Stephen found his attention torn between animals and Nicola.

  She had been so nice to him in the pub, insisting Gerald O’Donovan make room for him on the banquette next to her, and including him in the conversation, although he had little to say…

  He hadn’t wanted it to end, but the best of the evening was to come. When she had finally consented to be driven home, she had leaned across the passenger’s seat and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft and cool; her scent, the fleeting fragrance of primroses; and her soft dark curls drifted lightly across his face as she leaned on his shoulder. He didn’t know how he managed to drive in a straight line, let alone change gear. His whole body underwent a sort of metamorphosis: he tingled from head to toe, as if he was undergoing some mild electric shock; his genitals gently throbbed; small drops of perspiration welled up on his brow and top lip, and his arm pits prickled. When she had said goodnight, she had kissed him once more, briefly, lightly, before sliding from the car into the dark.

  Stephen didn’t remember a single thing about the journey back to Marsh Farm. Too excited to sleep, he had lain in bed reading a book on rare breeds that he’d found on the kitchen table; and when he’d finally fallen asleep, his dreams were a jumble of cattle, Nicola, Angela and rehearsals of The Beaux Stratagem. When he tried to put milking teats on the udders of a temperamental Longhorn, the long suffering cow had lowed, ‘I’ll open his breast, I warrant you,’ and turning her massive head, had revealed the face of his Dorinda, his Nicola.