Second Hand Jane

by Michelle Vernal

The sharp tone was an anomaly for Brianna and it shocked Jess into doing what she was told.

  “Good girl; now take another one. That’s it and again, one more for me. Right now, are you calm?”

  “Yes.” No, she bloody wasn’t calm, Jess thought, snorting through her nostrils and exhaling noisily out of her mouth as she wondered why Brianna was using the routine she usually saved for Harry when he got a graze on his knee or stubbed his toe on her.

  “Jess, sweetie, I want you to put things into perspective. Wilbur is a pig, okay?”

  “I thought you, of all people, understood, Brie. He’s not just a pig to me.”

  “If you say he’s your baby, I will have you committed. Anyway, you don’t have to be Einstein to work out that it’s not this Wilbur you’re breaking your neck to go up and see. It’s a pretty convenient excuse if you ask me. Did Owen ask you to come?”

  “No, not exactly and I don’t know what you mean about it being a convenient excuse—it is Wilbur I am going up to see.” Jess studied her thumbnail before beginning to chew on it agitatedly. She might have been playing dumb but she had a fair old idea what her friend was implying and maybe there was more than a grain of truth in it, but she was still hurt. Wilbur was so small and vulnerable and he needed her to be on his side. Okay, so her feelings for Wilbur might be seen by some as irrational—but not by Brianna, surely? She could always count on Brie to take her side. So what if she was unconsciously misplacing her maternal instincts? She couldn’t help how she felt.

  Sensing she might have gone too far, Brianna suddenly backtracked and announced that yes, alright, Jess could borrow her car so long as she had it back to her that evening because she had a meeting to go to. Jess had wasted no time and so, grabbing her purse and shoving her feet into a pair of trainers, she’d slammed the front door behind her and headed for Bray.

  It took her well over half an hour to get to Tara Station and as she stared out the window while the familiar scenery she normally adored whizzed by, she didn’t see any of it. She was too busy mulling over why it was that when you really needed to get somewhere in a hurry, things always seemed to conspire to hold you up. Like the group of American tourists she had gotten stuck behind on the Quays. She’d had to bite her lip to stop herself from yelling at them to “move their fat arses!” By the time they did and she made it to the station, the train she wanted to be on had just been pulling out and she’d had to wait an age for the next one. Now, it was with a sigh of relief that she felt the train slow as they pulled into Bray Station.

  Jess spied Brianna’s familiar blue Golf Estate in the car park and was pleased her friend had driven down to meet her, as it meant she wouldn’t have a ten-minute jog up to her house.

  “Brie!” She waved and as she made her way over to the car, Brianna climbed out to greet her.

  “Hi, you made it then.”

  “I nearly assaulted a group of Americans on my way but yes, I made it at last without causing them grievous bodily injury. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long?”

  “I brought my book so it wasn’t a problem.” Brianna grinned, handing over the keys, and then looked shamefaced. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I had no right to pass judgement like that. It’s that time of the month and you know what I get like. Pete always says I’m like Jekyll and Hyde when I’m due on. He reckons he can see the evil change in my eyes.”

  “I know where you’re coming from. God help anyone who tries to get between me and a bar of chocolate round that time. Besides, if it was you haring off into the wilds of County Down to see some piglet, I think I would have something to say too.”

  The two women giggled and then hugged quickly before Jess slid behind the wheel of Brianna’s car. “Do you want me to drop you home?”

  “No, you get going. A walk will do me good. Exercise is supposed to ease PMS, isn’t it? Mind how you go and I’ll see you tonight.”

  Jess slammed the door shut and gave her friend a wave before sliding the gear stick into drive and putting the pedal to the metal.

  She only slowed once during her journey, having been flashed a warning by an oncoming vehicle that there were gardai up ahead. She took her foot off the accelerator and by the time she spied their vehicle half hidden on the side of the road by shrubs, she was driving at a sedate pace. A sideways glance as she drove past revealed they were far more interested in the contents of their sarnies than her. Good, she thought, revving up again; the last thing she needed was the holdup of being issued a speeding ticket. She doubted the gardai would grasp the gravity of her circumstances if she were to tell them she were speeding because she had to get to Ballymcguinness lickety-split to see a sick pig.

  The rest of the journey was a blur of tarmac until she at last slowed to drive down the main street of Ballymcguinness. It was like Groundhog Day, she thought, casting her eyes left and right, soaking up the familiar sight of Katie Adams chuffing on a ciggy outside the hairdressers and Billy Peterson arranging his fruit and vege outside the grocers. Old Ned was sitting on the wall and he raised his stick as she drove past in greeting. There was something strangely comforting about the familiarity of it all, Jess thought, driving past the school. It was deserted; class must be in, she decided, as she wound her way out onto the country lanes that would take her to Glenariff.

  Owen must have heard the car’s tyres crunching on the gravel, she thought, wrenching the hand brake up and climbing out of the car. Either that or he had been peering out the living room window in anticipation of her arrival. She hoped it was the latter, comforted by the sight of his rangy frame clad in a familiar Aran jumper and cords tucked into his wellies as he strode toward her. Jess’s eyes narrowed as something darted out behind him. It was Jemima. Arching her slender white neck, she fixed her beady black eyes on Jess and hissed.

  Right, Jess thought, slamming the car door shut, in no mood for the snotty goose’s shenanigans; two could play at that game. She met Jemima’s imperious gaze with her own flinty one and sent a mental message that if she didn’t watch it, she’d fix it so she saw her on her dinner plate this Christmas with lashings of stuffing and gravy. There was a momentary standoff and you could have heard a pin drop but it was Jemima who dropped her gaze first and, seemingly haven gotten the message, waddled off round the back of the cottage. “Just call me the goose whisperer,” Jess muttered under her breath, turning her attention back to a bemused Owen.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Oh, nothing. Jemima and I just came to a private understanding, that’s all.” Jess smiled sweetly at him, waiting for him to tell her that he was glad she’d come. His face, however, had darkened.

  “You didn’t need to come all this way,” he growled and then gesturing at the car, he asked, “Whose is that?”

  “My friend Brianna’s and yes actually, I did need to come.” It wasn’t the greeting she had been looking forward to as she risked life and limb driving up here and her own mood dipped. What had happened to, “Jessica, thank God you came!” Followed by a tight bear hug from which he would only break away to steer her over to the barn where they would talk in grave and hushed tones beside Wilbur’s sickbed. Huh! she thought, taking in his furrowed brow; it didn’t look like that was about to happen. Trying to impress the drama of the situation on him, she told him, “Wilbur’s sick—there was no way I couldn’t not come. I have to see him. Where is he?”

  It was a stupid question, she admonished herself, beginning to head over in the direction of the barn. Where did she think he would be—tucked up in Owen’s bed with a hot-water bottle, a thermometer hanging out of his mouth?

  From behind her, Jess heard Owen mutter something and she swung round, not quite catching what it was he had said. By the look on his face, however, she was fairly certain she wasn’t meant to have either. Okay then, she told herself, if that was the way he wanted to behave, he could sod off. Picking up her pace, she promptly stood in something brown and squishy. She didn’t turn around to see whether he had not
iced; instead, she hastily scraped her trainer back and forth on the grass before marching onwards. Asshole, she said to herself, as though it was his fault she had trod in whatever it was she had just smeared all over the grass. If he wanted to be an ass, well, that was his problem. Besides, it wasn’t him she had driven all this way to see. Nope, she decided, pushing open the barn door; as far as she was concerned, Owen bloody Aherne could just stick his bad mood where the sun don’t shine.

  When she stepped inside, she was greeted with a cacophony of squealing from an overexcited mummy pig and her piglets housed inside the first stall. “Hello girls, calm down. It’s only me, Jessica. I’ve come to see young Wilbur again.” They paid no attention and carried on with their ruckus. Making her way down the barn, she saw the light under which sat Wilbur’s little box and, raising her eyes heavenward, she asked that he, “Please, please be alright.” Kneeling down next to the box, she was oblivious of the hardness or the cold of the concrete floor as she reached in and gently stroked the piglet’s little tummy. Beneath her hand, she could feel his body trembling with the effort it took to raise his head to see who it was that was rubbing his tummy. “It’s me, Wilbur—Jess. I’ve come back to see you.”

  He dropped his head back down apathetically and Jess watched his laboured breathing for a moment before sensing Owen’s presence behind her. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, her own voice tremulous.

  “Like I told you over the phone, I am fairly certain it’s just a cold. There was no need for you to come all this way.”

  “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? So stop going on,” Jess snapped. “And what do you mean when you say that you’re fairly certain it’s only a cold? Have you not had the vet out? What if it’s the flu?” A thought crossed Jess’s mind then and her hand shot off Wilbur’s quivering stomach as though she had been scalded. What if he had swine flu? All her maternal instincts were momentarily forgotten because—and this caused her to break out in a sweat—what if she now had it! She cast her eyes around the barn, half expecting the men in white space suits to appear, announcing they were now in a no-go zone and that the barn had been cordoned off until the risk of infecting the outside world had cleared.

  Owen must have read her mind. “It’s not the flu. I am not going to be responsible for a pandemic across all of Ireland, so you can relax.”

  “Well, how can you be certain if you haven’t had the vet out?” she asked, her mouth setting in a stubborn line.

  “I do have some experience in looking after pigs, you know.”

  Jess knew she had reached a crossroads. She could continue to pursue the subject by stating that yes, he was a pig farmer but that did not make him a vet or she could have a bit of faith in him and concentrate on why she had come. She decided to let it go and turned her attention back to her reason for coming in the first place.

  “Come on, Wilbur; rally round, mate. Do it for me, please.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ve given him the equivalent of paracetamol to take his temperature down and he’s been having plenty of fluids.” Owen shrugged. “Aside from keeping him warm, that’s all I can do.”

  “What about chicken soup?”

  “What?”

  “Chicken soup—that’s what you’re supposed to feed people with fevers, isn’t it?”

  “You do know that Wilbur’s a pig, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I do. I only thought…” Actually, she didn’t know what she had thought. It was the shock of seeing Wilbur so poorly, that was all. She felt tears beginning to sting her eyes and was annoyed with herself. The last thing she wanted to do was show weakness in front of Owen. He wasn’t a tea-and-sympathy sort of a guy.

  True to form, though, he decided to prove her wrong and his perma-frown softened. “Why don’t we go up to the house? I’ll make you a cuppa. You probably need one after the drive up here.”

  Jess swiped angrily at her eyes. Why did he always have to turn around and be nice just when she’d decided once and for all that he was a total arse? Standing up, she picked the bits of hay stuck to her elephant pants off. He was right; she was parched but not quite ready to defrost. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she stated with a formal sniff.

  “Aye, it’s no bother. A spot of company would be good,” Owen replied, walking out of the barn without a backward glance.

  Jess stood there for a moment longer, thinking back to the last meal they’d shared. He could have fooled her. And did he mean he liked her company or just company in general? “The man’s a complete mystery to me, Wilbur,” she muttered, bending down to give him one last scratch behind his ear. “I’ll come back down to see you in a little while; rest up now, little one.”

  The Aga was on as Jess stepped inside the kitchen and the warmth made her feel instantly at home. Owen was bustling around at the kitchen bench, a study of domesticity as he asked, “White and one? That’s how you take your tea, isn’t it?”

  “Yes please,” Jess replied and not waiting to be asked, she pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Her nose twitched as she realised it wasn’t just the warmth from the Aga that gave the kitchen such a homely feel; it was the smell of fresh baking permeating the room. When Owen turned round a moment later, he had a plate of buttered scones in one hand and her cup of tea in the other.

  “You didn’t make those, did you?” Jess asked, her mouth dropping open.

  “Aye,” he replied, placing the tea down in front of her and the scones in the middle of the table before pulling a seat out opposite her and sitting down.

  “How on earth did you learn how to bake scones? They are supposed to be a Kiwi staple right up there with pikelets and I can’t even bake them.” Mind you, thought Jess, helping herself to one, that wasn’t saying much.

  “Me Ma. Amy wasn’t interested in cooking and the like, only licking the bowl, but I used to follow Ma round the kitchen like a shadow. She was forever telling me to get out from under her feet.”

  Jess soaked in this information, trying to imagine a much younger version of the man before her trailing around after his mother as she whipped up wholesome treats for her family. She couldn’t so she bit into her scone instead. The butter dribbled down her chin; it was delicious. There was nothing so comforting as a cup of hot sugary tea and a scone, she thought, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.

  “Not quite chicken soup but I think it will do the trick,” Owen said with a smirk.

  “They’re fantastic,” Jess mumbled between bites. “My Mum’s a great baker, too. She makes these biscuits called Yo-Yos that are my absolute favourite. They’re horrifically fattening, though, and a complete cholesterol nightmare but so, so yummy. I didn’t inherit her baking gene, I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “I’m a lost cause. I couldn’t even get my fudge to set in third form home ec.”

  “It’s not hard; it’s basic science. I’ll show you sometime.” Owen’s normally tan colouring turned ruddy and before Jess could respond, he changed the subject. “Any word for definite on when the article will run?”

  “Niall, that’s my editor, said it will be going in the weekend paper this Saturday, October the twentieth. I was going to ring you and let you know that it was definitely going ahead but you beat me to it.”

  “Thirty years to the day.”

  “Yes, thirty years to the day. I think I mentioned that Niall felt running it on the anniversary of Amy’s death made her story all the more poignant.” Jess cringed, seeing his face, and instinctively reached across the table to rest her hand on his arm. “Sorry, poignant sounds so trite, I know, but it does seem right somehow to run it then, don’t you think?”

  “Aye.”

  Her hand resting on his arm suddenly seemed a trite gesture in itself and removing it, she busied herself picking at the remains of her scone. “I’ve arranged for a copy of the Express to be couriered to you on the Saturday morning.”

  She desperately wanted to ask how he really felt about having it all raked
up but his expression didn’t invite the question, so they sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought. For Jess’s part, she was surprised to realise that on this visit, she hadn’t felt the ghost of Amy between them until now. In fact, she hadn’t thought of her at all and she hoped that didn’t make her disrespectful in any way; it was just that her purpose for coming had nothing to do with Amy.

  It was true that life did go on but it startled her to realise that perhaps for Owen his sister’s shadow was always there. When he looked up from his teacup, he had obviously decided to change the subject. “So what have you been doing with yourself since I saw you in Malahide?”

  It was a poor attempt at small talk, Jess thought, gazing at the bottom of her own cup. “Oh not much—working, catching up with my girlfriends.” She was reluctant to mention Nick, deciding it was none of his business anyway. “What about you?”

  “Looking after the pigs.”

  Well, if ever there was a conversation stopper, that was it. Jess shifted uncomfortably in her seat before helping herself to one last scone. As she hoed it down, “Barracuda” erupted from the depths of her handbag. Owen’s eyes widened as she fished it out and put a stop to the blaring tune:

  “What the feck do you think you are doing at the pig farmer’s again?” a voice shrilled down the line at her.

  It was Nora.

  Adopting a sweetness and light tone, Jess replied, “Yes, I got here without any problems. Thanks again for letting me use the car. I’ll have it back to you by six tonight at the latest. Bye and thanks again.” She thought she heard Nora shriek her name as she hung up but she couldn’t be sure.

  “That’s an interesting choice of ringtone.”

  “What? Oh yeah. That was my friend Nora’s idea of a little joke. It’s beginning to wear thin. I can’t bake and I am pretty much a technophobe, so now you know all my secrets.”

  Owen looked blank but Jess couldn’t be bothered explaining. She suddenly felt drained by the day’s events and with a sinking sensation, she knew she’d only be able to avoid Nora for so long before she got short shrift from her. As for Owen—well, his moods were like the shifting tides and she had had enough. “Look, like I said, I have to have the car back for six so I might just go out and say my goodbyes to Wilbur now before I head away, if that’s okay?”