A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  The whole company stared at Stephen. This was a side of him none had seen before. Angela flushed with pride.

  ‘Hurrah,’ cried Nicola, mocking. ‘The workers are revolting!’

  June Pagett was flustered. ‘Oh, well, if that’s your attitude…Angela, read Scrub, please.’

  ‘No.’ Stephen cut across Angela before she could agree. ‘Ange has got enough to do, promptin’, makin’ the tea, doin’ props and generally runnin’ around after you. You’ve had long enough, Mrs Pagett, to find someone to play Scrub. It’s up to you, not us, to fill the part. Come on, Ange,’ he continued, turning his back on the speechless producer, ‘I’ll help you finish setting your props.’

  No-one had ever stood up to Mrs Pagett quite so openly before; her face turned from pink to a blotchy red which seemed to accentuate the gingeriness of her freckles, slight beads of perspiration appeared on her top lip; her eyes, frog-like, protruded in their sockets, and although she tried to regain the upper hand by shouting and blustering her way through the evening, a number of the actors slipped over to Stephen’s corner to congratulate him on his stand, including the amiable Mrs Brownsword who, rummaging in the bottom of her bag, pressed a handful of Quality Street on him ‘to share with little Angela at the coffee break’; and Nicola, who took him by surprise by putting an arm casually round his shoulder and whispering in his ear, ‘I didn’t know you’d got it in you. Well done. You put the old battleaxe in her place. Coming for a drink after?’

  Stephen, aware that Angela was watching, agonised, removed Nicola’s arm. ‘No thanks, Nicola. I’ve promised to see Angela home. Did you know you’re the wrong side of the stage for your entrance?’

  * * *

  Having put the phone down, Jenny had rushed into the kitchen to remove all trace of cooking and dirty crockery. If she wasn’t tone-deaf and very self-conscious about it, she would have burst into song. Jeff had asked her to go out with him, to a Chinese!

  ‘I’ve only just got back from a call,’ he’d explained. ‘I don’t feel much like cooking. Have you eaten yet? ‘’Cos if you haven’t, I thought we could go out for a Chinese. Or an Indian, whichever you prefer.’

  For a second, Jenny thought of the rather large portion of cauliflower cheese she’d just eaten. ‘I’d love to, Jeff.’ Visions of the last Chinese meal she’d eaten, years and years ago, swam before her eyes. All she could remember was some lovely soup, with bits of chicken and lots of sweetcorn, and as she didn’t like spicy food at all, the decision was easy. ‘ Chinese, that’d be a real treat. Are you sure?’

  He was sure, but there was no way that Jenny would jeopardise the invitation by letting him know she’d eaten already, so the kitchen had to be cleared before she got herself ready.

  In the privacy of her bedroom, Jenny stood in her underwear and critically surveyed her body. She shook her head, despairing. What was she doing? Two meals in one evening, how would she ever lose weight? ‘Look at you,’ she scolded herself in the mirror. Her breasts were large, sagging rather than pert; a bulging, crinkly stomach – if she breathed in hard, she could almost flatten it, but she couldn’t hold her breath like that for long; heavy dimply thighs, and legs criss-crossed with veins.

  She and Jeff had had a bit to drink when they tumbled into bed together last Saturday night, so he couldn’t have taken too much notice of what she looked like. But if, as she so hoped, they ended up back at his place after the Chinese, she’d have to make sure they went to bed in the dark. That, or she’d have to keep her clothes on.

  * * *

  In the pub after the rehearsal, it was inevitable that Stephen’s stand should be a major topic of conversation among the Merlin Players. There was much laughter at June Pagett’s discomfiture and shrieks when Nicola and Gerald, wickedly and accurately, mimicked Stephen and Angela’s double act.

  ‘But,’ asked one girl, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, ‘what does it all mean? Are Stephen and Angela an item? After having been so in love with you, darling, all these years, I wouldn’t have thought he’d be so fickle.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicola coldly, remembering the afternoon at the Tuckers. ‘But you forget, he’s desperate.’

  ‘The old granny’s threat – of course! Spurned by the lovely princess, desperate, he casts around and then his eyes fall on the humble servant girl. She won’t say no. This is better than Beaux Stratagem, any day, isn’t it, my sweet cherry?’ Robert Robins nuzzled the neck of Roxanne, who was sitting on his lap, very much enjoying his attentions.

  ‘Me? I think it is so romantic. He will marry her, no? And get the terrible granny’s farm?’

  ‘Do you think he’s told her?’ Gerald asked.

  Nicola frowned. ‘He didn’t tell me, did he? I only found out because I bumped into his brother.’

  ‘Don’t you think she ought to know?’

  ‘Of course she should, but…’

  ‘Really, you’d have thought she was bright enough to have wondered, herself, at his sudden transfer of affections,’ Gerald drawled. ‘He’s quite unscrupulous, I would never have thought it of him. He’s a dark horse, all right. Do you think he plans to marry Angela, get the farm, then ditch her?’

  ‘That’s what I’d do, in his situation,’ chuckled Robert. ‘Imagine being married to little Angela. One has to have sympathy for the poor fellow.’

  ‘I don’t agree. I think it’s a really rotten trick to pull on anyone. Poor Angela. I think we should tell her.’

  ‘Well you’re the one to do it, darling. Give her a ring.’

  Nicola sighed, heavily. ‘Well, I shall. I’m not going to let Stephen get away with it. Does anyone know her number?’

  * * *

  Simon walked Alison home. The sky was completely clear and full of stars; the balmy night air of summer had gone, and as they talked, the vapour of their breath hung like ghosts on the air. Their mood was subdued. Alison had not been able to raise any response whatever from Al’s mobile, and though she tried to put a brave face on it, she couldn’t conceal from Simon quite how miserable she felt.

  ‘There’s probably a simple explanation, Ali. Don’t despair. And if his mobile is a no-through route, we can find other ways of contacting him. After all, when he’s finished in France, you know he’s going back to Durham to study zoology. It won’t be difficult to trace him.’

  Alison was silent for a short while, then she said, fiercely, ‘You make me so ashamed, Simon. After all you’ve been through and here I am, whingeing and snivelling over what must seem to you a petty, adolescent affair.’

  ‘I know how painful it is, Ali. It’s not petty. You’re not an adolescent any more and the first real love affair means a lot. I must have been about Al’s age when I first met Helen.’

  ‘How did you meet her?’

  ‘We were at university together. I didn’t know her. We were studying such completely different subjects…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, I was doing modern languages and she was studying archeology.’

  ‘So how did you meet?’ Alison was aware that Simon, picking his words with great care, was prepared to confide in her, and she was so touched she didn’t want to breathe in case he stopped. She held tightly onto his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked down the dark and empty High Street.

  ‘Through our grandmothers. My mother died when I was young. My father was a soldier, so I was brought up by my grandmother, Great Aunt Merfield’s younger sister. Grandmother’s great friend happened to be Helen’s grandmother and when the two realised we were at the same university, the order went out that I was to invite Helen to tea.’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘I was so green. But she was very nice to me. She came from a large, jolly family, and before long, I was in love with them and deeply in love with her.’

  ‘Was she in love with you?’

  He sighed. ‘I thought so, but I don’t think
I stopped to find out. You know what it’s like, Alison. You’re going through it right now. The difference between us is that, in my own way, I was an arrogant little shit. I was an only child, you see, so I never really had to share, or think too much about what other people wanted. I wanted Helen. Ergo, she wanted me. In hindsight, she was undecided and I…I convinced her that I was right, that we were made for each other. With the help of the grandmothers, of course, I finally persuaded her to get married. I was so sure that once we were together all the time, any doubts she had would disappear. Instead, I think they just grew.’

  ‘So why did she become pregnant? I’m sorry, that’s sounds a bit…but she must have…’

  ‘I was dead keen to have children. Cement the relationship and all that. Then I had to go away, on a six-week business trip. While I was away, Helen said she’d have her coil taken out. She had decided to try and make our marriage work; to commit herself, once and for all. Thing is, Alison, the humbling thing is, I didn’t know she was thinking like that. I thought she was as happy as I was.’

  For a moment, he stopped talking, and arm in arm, they continued until they reached Summerstoke Bridge, where they stood, looking down at the black, rushing water. His face in shadow, staring down at the torrent, Simon quietly picked up his story. ‘Shortly before I returned, she met someone at a party. He was an archaeologist, like her. They hit it off straightaway and became lovers almost immediately. She told me, later, she had never been more sure of herself.’

  ‘Then why did she not tell you when you returned?’

  ‘That was my fault again, Ali. I was so pleased to see her, so keen to start our family, I brushed aside any possible obstacle and she, feeling guilty in the face of my…me, thought she would try. The rest is history. She was probably pregnant before I returned.’

  Alison’s eyes were full of tears. She touched his arm. ‘Simon.’ He turned, and by the silvery light of the night, she could see the tears coursing down his cheeks. She flung her arms around him and hugging each other tightly, they both wept.

  The vicar of Summerstoke, returning home after a solitary late night ramble (ever since the flood fiasco, he had resorted to taking his daily constitutional under the cover of darkness), froze at the sight and sound of the sobbing couple on the bridge.

  He retreated quietly, back over the stile onto the footpath below the bridge, out of sight and stood there, tortured with indecision about what he should do next. Should he intervene? Offer words of comfort? Supposing they had made a suicide pact and were about to jump into the river? His ears strained for the sound of a loud splash. What would he do if that happened? Should he try and pull them out, or run for help? And if they drowned, would the village blame him, like he’d been blamed for the non-appearance of the flood? He dropped to his knees on the muddy path and fervently prayed for guidance.

  ‘Good evening, vicar.’ It was a pleasant male voice, and looking up, the vicar saw the young couple staring down at him curiously.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t you want to?’ Jeff asked plaintively, as Jenny stopped him unbuttoning her blouse.

  Jenny was on fire, and couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she whispered, as if afraid someone might hear in Jeff’s empty house, ‘it’s just that…’

  ‘What?’ He thrust his hand through the half-opened garment, to cup her lovely round breast in his hand. ‘What is it Jenny?’

  ‘I’m so fat!’ She hung her head. ‘When you see what I really look like, you won’t want…you won’t want it any more…and I’d be so upset.’

  ‘What?’ Jeff looked at her in amazement. ‘What are you talking about, woman?’

  ‘I’m getting old Jeff. My body sags where it shouldn’t. And I’ve tried to lose weight, I really have. I looked at myself in the mirror before I came out. You don’t want me.’

  ‘Oh yes I do. Jenny, I’ve been thinking of nothing else since Saturday. All these wasted years. I can’t wait to make love to you again. I think you’re lovely. So you’re fatter and wrinklier than you used to be. So am I. So what? I don’t want some scrawny chicken, I want voluptuous maturity, and that’s you. Come on, I’ll race you, and you can see my paunch and my wrinkles. Last one with their clothes on has to make a cup of tea, when the rumpty-tumpty is done!’

  * * *

  In another part of Summerbridge, outside Angela’s bedsit, Stephen and Angela were in the Land Rover having a cuddle. They, too, were having a giggle at June Pagett’s discomfiture.

  ‘Well,’ said Stephen stoutly, ‘she’s a bully. It’s about time someone gave her what for…’

  Angela was quiet for a moment, and Stephen knew what she was thinking about. ‘You don’t have to worry about me and Nicola, Ange…’

  ‘It’s just when I saw her come over to you and put her arm round you… She’s so pretty. I…’

  ‘Listen, Ange, she might be pretty outside, but it’s prettiness inside what counts. And that’s what you are, pretty inside. You’re the one I want to be with. It took me a long time to realise it, I was bloody stupid, but you and Nicola – no contest!’

  ‘Oh, Stephen!’ Angela was almost faint with happiness.

  It was Stephen’s turn to fall quiet. Holding Angela in his arms, he felt not just happy, but more than that – excited, ecstatic. His life had taken on a new shape and the future became something that he could look forward to without dread. He felt lighter, stronger than he had ever done, and it was all due to this frail, brave, little creature, whom he had undervalued for years. He remembered the expression on her face, last Saturday, when he had suggested they go out after their visit to Weston. She had glowed and blossomed. The same thing was happening to him – he felt as if he was blossoming too.

  He kissed her and whispered, ‘Ange?’

  ‘Yes, Stephen?’

  ‘How about you and me? You know? You like the farm, don’t you? And my Mum? And the cows?’

  ‘Yes, Stephen, I like them all.’

  ‘Then why don’t we…’ he seemed to be finding it difficult to finish his sentence, and Angela, for the first and only time in their relationship, did not help him out.

  ‘Why don’t we… Oh heck, Ange, why don’t we get married? I mean I don’t know if you want to…if you think it’s a good idea that is…’

  ‘Oh, Stephen!’

  22

  For two days, Charlie had tried to get hold of Hugh Lester, without success.

  ‘Must have gone off on holiday,’ he muttered to Lenny. ‘’S all right for some.’

  They were working in the yard at Charlie’s insistence, trying to tidy it up prior to the agent’s arrival. Lenny was not his usual cheerful self. He disapproved of Charlie’s latest idea, and the suspicion that he knew what was behind Charlie’s sudden enthusiasm for selling the farm exacerbated that disapproval.

  ‘Are you sure you’re doin’ the right thing, here Charlie? I can’t see your family givin’ up this place without a fight.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Lenny,’ Charlie repeated his argument with a conviction he was far from feeling. ‘Better to give it up with money in our pockets than be forced to give it up for nothing. When I tell lem the lengths old Hugh is prepared to go to get it, they’ll see sense. Particularly Gran. She’s got a good business head, has Gran, and she’ll see the time has come to put sentiment on one side.’

  ‘I just can’t bear the thought of Hugh Lester getting his grubby little hands on this place.’

  ‘But at a price, my boy, at a price. We’ll be the ones laughing.’

  ‘I just never thought you’d give in to Hugh Lester. I reckon it’s your whiskers what done it…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s like that bible story we was told at school, Samson and Delia.’

  ‘Delilah. What are you rabbiting on about? What have my whiskers and Hugh Lester got to do
with Samson and Delilah?’

  ‘Lin tells you to get your whiskers cut off and you gives in to Hugh Lester.’

  ‘She did not tell me to get them cut off; leastways, she wasn’t the only one, and it’s got absolutely nothing to do with my decision to sell to Hugh Lester. I’ve told you why, Lenny. I really don’t see as there is any other way…’

  Lenny was not convinced. ‘Did Stephen go off to market?’

  ‘Yeah, I saw him load up some calves, straight after milking. He won’t be back for a while, yet.’

  ‘What about Elsie, and yer mum?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Mum’ll believe anything I tell her and Gran’s gone off to Bath. Oh ho, here, unless I’m very much mistaken, is our man.’

  A brand new, sparkling clean Mondeo splashed through a puddle and was clean no more. A suited man, every inch a salesman, got out of the car and looked around him with a faint air of distaste.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ muttered Lenny. ‘I’ll catch up in The Grapes later.’

  The inspection of the farm and house went smoothly. Neither Elsie nor Stephen returned unexpectedly. Jenny was on the phone, deep in conversation with Rita, and although she looked puzzled at the sight of Charlie’s companion, she didn’t break off her call. However, possibly because he hadn’t really seen her since Saturday, Charlie had completely forgotten about Alison.

  After drawing a blank with Al’s mobile last night, Alison had tried again this morning, but with the same result: ‘number unobtainable’ and ‘message failed’. Puzzled, frustrated and rather desperate, she couldn’t understand why the text was not getting through – unless, of course, she speculated gloomily, Al, wanting to cut off any possible line of communication, had thrown his mobile into the sea.

  Unable to get down to any schoolwork, she had taken herself off to Bumble’s small stable. She was giving her pony the most thorough grooming he’d had in years when she was disturbed by the sound of her brother’s voice.