She quickly changed and he helped her to the car with one of the boxes from the landing. They decided it wouldn’t be worth him patching up the hole in the barn roof, as the whole thing was to be replaced, and he should concentrate on finishing clearing the yard.
‘OK, see you then. I’ll be back by lunchtime at the latest.’
She moved towards the car, but he called her; she paused and looked back.
‘The joys of country living, hey? Don’t you lock up round here?’
He sounded genuinely surprised, and she hoped her cheeks weren’t reddening.
‘Oh, I…won’t there be things you need inside?’
He shrugged. ‘The tools are all out here, aren’t they? Leave me a biscuit or two, perhaps. Apart from that, I’ve got my baccy in here,’ he patted his jacket pocket, ‘and I can drink from the stream there, if I need to.’
She locked the door as he suggested.
Marilyn’s meeting at the shop went well. Despite having played it down to Jay, it was important to her, and she felt buoyed up on the way home, deciding as she drove through Holdwick to call on Matt to update him. Nevertheless, as she parked the car and walked over to Barton Mill, she found herself wishing Jay was there. She shook her head, annoyed that she still felt anything around Matt, as well as for thinking that a near stranger like Jay would make any difference. Inside the building, she made her way past the ground-floor units and up the solid stone stairs to the shop that had once been partly hers.
The traditional brass bell rang out, and the familiar board creaked as if to warn of her presence. When they’d taken over the place they’d hardly believed that such thick, heavy floorboards could move, but the mill had its voices like any other building. The clanging faded into a background of atmospheric music. Marilyn recognised it and briefly wondered whether to ask for the CD back as she made her way between the shelves towards the empty counter, plucking up courage. The items on sale were the same but different. She let her eyes linger on the homely colours of a stoneware bowl. One of hers. She swallowed her resentment together with her nerves.
The storeroom door was ajar. Voices floated through to the shop, the sound of boxes being moved. A woman laughing. Matt teasing. Dust was in the air, in her nose, catching in the back of her throat. Like the early days. Marilyn coughed.
‘Customer,’ Matt muttered to the other, then in a raised voice: ‘Be with you right away.’
His footsteps approached from the depths of the storeroom. She leaned on the counter, stood tall, leaned again, hating herself for feeling nervous.
‘Marilyn. To what do we owe the pleasure?’
‘I’d like a quick word. With you.’
She glanced pointedly towards the storeroom. She had nothing against Lucy and grudgingly liked her, despite everything, but didn’t particularly want her there.
‘Fancy coming up to the flat for a coffee?’
Not like him to be so tactful; Lucy must be having a positive effect. He called through to the back that he’d be gone for a short while and she followed him out.
The top floor of the small mill made a lovely flat and she felt an insane surge of jealousy as she thought of their plans for it. Plans that would now benefit someone else, while much of the fruit of her labours lay under a heap of soil.
‘No need for coffee; I won’t stay long.’
‘Ah, just wanted a nosy?’
She bristled. ‘I wouldn’t be here at all if my phone was working.’
He waved her to a seat and looked round. ‘We’ve nearly finished, though you wouldn’t believe it with all this mess.’
There were a couple of boxes in a corner, one unpainted wall with some paint cans and dust sheets. Otherwise the place looked good, and she felt as if he was mocking her inability to be in a room for more than half an hour without filling it with clutter.
‘I just thought I’d better let you know – that storm Saturday night? It’s caused a few problems.’
‘Hence no phone.’
‘And still no electricity, plus it caused a landslip against the barn.’
‘Sorry to hear it. Any structural damage?’
‘A bit to the barn; nothing that wasn’t going to be rebuilt anyway. But that’s not why I’m here. I came to say that Alan won’t be able to start this week as planned.’
‘Saw him in the pub last night. He told me he’d spoken to you and you didn’t seem happy. He’s started on the Grants’ place, hasn’t he? You’ve got to admit, Lynnie, he’s bound to give them priority. It’s their home, they’ve got three young kids—’
‘Did I say I was complaining? And I’ve asked you to stop calling me that.’
‘Sorry on both counts.’ He held his hands up and she wondered how she’d ever found the familiar gesture and accompanying expression anything other than patronising.
‘I just wanted to say I’ll probably be needing the spare workshop a bit longer than we planned.’
‘Hm. We could do with letting it out before too long. We’d hoped it’d be free in the next couple of months. But I do understand the position you’re in.’
‘I’ll be leaving it in a far better state than when I came. It was a wreck.’
‘Merely cosmetic.’
‘A wreck and you know it. And don’t forget it’s in lieu of my share in the business.’
Matt laughed. ‘How much do you think we’re making here? If it was a market rent it’d already take months of your “share” to balance it out. Of course I wouldn’t dream of asking for money, seeing as it’s you, but… I’m sure you know where I’m coming from.’
Only too well; he never tired of reminding her what a favour he was doing her.
‘Listen, Lynnie – Marilyn – since Alan told me the news I’ve been thinking. What have you told the insurance? Could you get them to cough up some rent for the extra period?’
‘I haven’t mentioned it as such,’ she said.
‘“As such”. You haven’t contacted them, have you? I’d have thought even you—’
‘We’ve been too busy clearing the yard and getting the car out – no phone, remember? – and I had an appointment this morning. I’m going over to the brokers’ now. I wanted to update you first. And…make sure it was all right for me to stay on at the unit a bit longer.’
‘If you say so. Good luck, then. So who’s “we”?’
‘What? Oh, I’ve had a friend over to help me.’
‘Anyone I know?’
‘No.’ She smiled and stood. ‘Right, I’ll be off. Thanks for being OK about me staying on.’
‘And for reminding you about the insurance.’
For once his smug insistence on having the last word didn’t bother her. As she left she thought that, rent aside, the insurance might enable her to give Jay a decent wage. Perhaps she wouldn’t even need Matt’s mate Alan at all.
Chapter 8
The hole in the roof was still bothering him. Try as he might to ignore it, it was there. Even if he concentrated determinedly on the view, the solid stone house across the yard with its pretty but neglected garden, the dwindling pile of rubble at his feet, it was still there, seared into his imagination like a brand. Every piece of damaged, broken timber pointing accusations through the grey-skied hole. He wished he’d insisted on patching it up. As soon as she’d gone he’d even got the ladder back out and checked the rest of the roof in random places. It seemed fine. Those builders were deceiving her, suggesting work that didn’t need doing, for extra money. He wouldn’t deceive her. Not about that. Not about…
He forced himself to concentrate. A few more shovelfuls and he’d be ready to take the barrow with another load of debris to the pile. Past the gap in the barn wall with its glimpse of the hole in the roof. He kept shovelling. Soil was overflowing. Go. More shovelling. You weren’t going to think about it. He picked up the handles and the creaky wheel was part comforting, part menace. He breathed deeply and headed up the yard to the pile. Wonder what she’ll want to do with all that soil?
Better. Don’t think…He should insist, sooner rather than later, patch it up. The hole in the roof. Don’t think about it. He glanced up and his heart lurched as he saw the boy sitting on the stone wall between the yard and the fields beyond. The drystone wall that was just like the drystone walls from back then. He put the barrow down, stared hard at its contents. Don’t be stupid, a drystone wall is a drystone wall. The land around is totally different. Can’t you smell it? Hear it? Different. He tipped the barrow. As the crunching slithering of soil and gravel stopped he glanced nervously at the base of the wall. Stop it. There’s nothing there, only trees, grass and a bit of dying bracken. And looked up. The boy was still watching.
‘There’s nothing for you here, can’t you see? You might as well go. Leave me.’
He forced himself to turn his back, grabbed the barrow and made for the barn and the next load. No good. Need a rest. Getting old. If only that was all. The bench against the side wall of the house beckoned. He sat and filled his pipe as purposefully as he could with shaking hands. Just need a break, that’s all. Scary: had he spoken out loud just then? He had before, in the night, that was for sure. Šojka. So why hadn’t he taken her cue, told her… Told her what? he thought irritably, what for? Why tell her? Because she seems like someone who’ll listen? What makes you think…? He drew deeply on his pipe, looking up as the boy jumped from the wall and turned away. And him – what was that about last night? Christ, he was giving the little bastard stories now. That’s right, off you go into the woods. The cheery birdsong harmonised with the breeze-rustled leaves. Where were the ravens when you needed them?
He made himself put the pipe aside and went back to work. She trusted him to do a good job, better do one. Or? Why not walk away? He’d laid it on a bit; yes, earning something decent would be good, but he managed. With no responsibilities it was amazing what you could get by on. But something regular. Nice change. Or even… You can’t run forever. And – come on, admit it – she was worth getting to know. Pretty, too, though he suspected she wasn’t confident of that. Which was nice in itself. It was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t eye him with distrust all the time, even if he deserved it – hell, she wasn’t even going to lock the door this morning! Apart from their first meeting – hadn’t she as good as blamed him for losing something? Only natural. Even though it could have been anyone in that crowd.
The sound of a vehicle crunching up the track made him tense up. He instinctively turned to face it, irrational fear giving the air around him a harsh glare. Her car. He made himself breathe deeply and deliberately unclenched his fingers muscle by muscle from the handle of the shovel. With a dirty hand he wiped sweat from his brow that wasn’t only from exertion, and thought what a sight he must look. That sort of thing didn’t usually bother him unduly, but he used his forearm, hopefully less muddy, to wipe again.
She was smiling and waving something as she got out of the car.
‘Hey, you’ve been busy, well done! Look at this!’
A shiny purse with a giant cat’s face motif. Was it supposed to mean something? He recalled the pickpocket incident but she was talking fifteen-to-the-dozen before he had chance to comment.
‘The police left a message on my mobile say it had been handed in, so I called to collect it, seeing as I was over that way. The money’s gone – there wasn’t much anyway – but nothing else, not even my card, though I’d cancelled it anyway so it’ll still be a load of hassle. But someone handed it in! Restores your faith, doesn’t it?’
He frowned, nodded, amazed that the handing-in could so easily cancel out the fact of it being nicked in the first place. He could do with sharing in some of that optimism.
‘Nice one.’ Feeling calmer now, he stuck the shovel in the dirt pile and walked over to the car. ‘How d’you get on at that shop?’
‘Great, thanks. They like my things and it looks like the sort of place that could shift plenty, too. It’ll mean a lot of work, but it’s wonderful news.’
‘Congratulations.’ He spread his muddy hands. ‘Forgive me if I don’t…shake your hand.’
Had he really been going to say ‘give you a hug’? She frowned and he was telling himself no, of course she couldn’t read his mind, when she said, ‘So that’s all the good news. It’s downhill from there, I’m afraid.’
‘Problems?’
She shrugged. ‘Trivial, I guess. Shouldn’t complain. Come in and I’ll tell you over lunch.’
He wiped his hands on his jeans, followed her in and sat at the kitchen table as she made a plate of sandwiches and told him about her visit to Matt – he noticed how the man still seemed to bother her, though she insisted he meant nothing – and then the insurance broker’s.
‘Of course Matt’s hoping I can pay him some rent from it. A legitimate claim, seeing as it’ll be longer before I get my own place. And I want to be able to pay you properly, so we can get on with it – if you agree. I just want all this done, so I can get myself established.’
‘So do you think they’ll accept the claim?’
‘The broker was helpful enough, but…’
She shook her head, biting her lip.
‘Don’t tell me. “Act of God”,’ he said and noticed her looking across as if wondering how someone like him knew about the technicalities of insurance. ‘You can argue it, you know.’
‘I know. But it could take ages, and whatever happens there’ll be a huge excess to pay.’
He tutted in sympathy. She placed the sandwiches and two plates on the table and sat opposite him. He helped himself as she indicated and began eating, watching her stare at her plate. He was surprised and nonplussed to see she was fighting tears.
‘It seemed such a good idea. But it seems I’ll have to wait after all. I can do it, of course I can; I really shouldn’t be complaining, but I just know Matt’s going to make things difficult. I’m going to say something I regret and lose that place, and then… Well, it’ll just be back to square one.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s stupid, but on my way to the broker’s I’d even got to thinking I might not need a loan. I can’t really afford it; there’s no way I’ll be making much to start with. I did a business plan – on Matt’s advice, of course – to get the loan offer in the first place, but that’s all up the spout now because of the delay. I probably won’t even get anything, and then…’ The tears got the better of her; she tried to sniff them back. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t know what’s got into me. I think I’m just tired.’
‘Steady on.’ He fished in his pocket and produced a grubby tissue, looked at it, and sheepishly put it back, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
‘Thought that counts,’ she muttered, looking at his hands. He’d forgotten to wash them. She got up and grabbed a piece of kitchen towel to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ he said. ‘No need to worry; I’ll still stay and get on with as much as I can till your guy’s ready to start.’
‘You don’t understand; thinking about it in the cold light of day, I’m not even sure I could afford to pay you at all. You ought to think about going to find some decent work.’
‘I said don’t worry about it. Call it a loan. And…and, well, if you have trouble with the bank, I could…I could probably contribute a bit myself.’
‘You?’
‘Yeah. Help you get on your feet. A kind of investment; I like what you do.’
‘But—’
‘We can talk about it. After this afternoon’s work.’
With a smile, he got up to belatedly wash his hands.
Chapter 9
Another unfamiliar house and another bout of nerves. Vinko had been on an early shift and, the previous day’s meeting with Novak still nagging like a wasp in his head, had made himself come before he changed his mind. Whatever happened here, he wouldn’t be any worse off. He walked up the drive. The angry insect buzz of a lawnmower reached him from the next-door garden, someone making the most of the failing light and the gap in the changeable autumn weat
her. A woven-wood fence and a line of shrubs saved him from the neighbours’ suspicious looks.
He knocked at the door, waited, nearly walked away, tried the bell. The thumping of his heart almost drowned the sound of footsteps approaching from within. He heard the noises of someone fumbling with a lock, and a grey-haired woman with a friendly, lined face opened the door as far as the safety chain allowed.
‘Hello,’ he said before his nerve left him. ‘Anja Pranjić?’
She nodded.
‘I’m your grandson,’ he said in his own language.
She stared at him in silence.
‘Your grandson,’ he repeated, ‘Vinko.’
‘Ivan’s son?’ Her eyes widened and the hand that wasn’t clutching the door went to her cheek.
‘I’m sorry I surprised you,’ he said.
She stared a moment longer, then unhitched the chain and opened the door wide.
‘Come in, srećo moja.’
His grandmother drew him in, closed the door and held him in her arms. He returned her embrace awkwardly. He hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not the feel of warm arms enfolding him, or the endearment he hadn’t heard since his mother died.
She released him and led him through into a homely sitting room full of chintz, heavy old furniture, ornaments and pictures.
‘Your mother wrote to us, told us she was expecting Ivan’s baby. So long ago.’ She looked as if she was on the verge of tears. ‘And now here you are!’
He nodded, surprised by his own emotion. ‘I didn’t know if I should come.’
‘Of course you should.’ She moved as if to embrace him again, but he stood impassive. She hesitated, embarrassed, and motioned him to sit, joining him on the sofa. ‘And how is your mother?’
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