Someone Else's Conflict

by Alison Layland

  He finished his wine and topped up both of their glasses.

  ‘I never saw him or spoke to him again.’ He said it as if that was an achievement to be proud of. ‘I spent my A Level year dossing on a series of mates’ floors. Mainly Ivan’s. He was…he was my best mate, the one I’d been on holiday with, when it all started.’ He paused, long enough for her to wonder if ‘it all’ was more than merely a restless lifestyle, and whether his friend, whose name he’d pronounced in the foreign way, ee-van, could have anything to do with the mysterious inheritance. He continued before she had chance to ask. ‘I had a tent, of course, and used it whenever the weather was good enough – I’m not one to impose, as I tried to tell you.’ He glanced across the room and she half-expected him to go and get his bag. ‘I suppose you don’t believe any of that either?’

  ‘It sounds… extreme. Are you implying I shouldn’t believe you?’

  ‘Up to you. You asked for explanations.’

  His manner suggested denial of all responsibility for tall tales and truth-stretching – it was she who’d made him do it.

  ‘Why won’t you just tell me?’

  He shrugged. ‘The way I look at it, if you think a story’s obscure, you should take it as a compliment.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘It means the person telling it is crediting you with enough intelligence to work it out.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever… I can honestly tell you the money I’m offering you is mine to give. There’s nothing dodgy about it.’

  ‘And, as an intelligent person, I can take your word about that, can I?’

  It came out more harshly than she’d intended. He sat forward, his expression more serious than she’d yet seen it. ‘I’ve told you as much as I tell anyone. More. Just think on this. If I were a scammer, would I be offering to give instead of take? You’ve said yourself you probably won’t be able to pay me for a while – not that I’m complaining. Just saying.’ He got up, crouched by the fire and tapped his pipe into the grate. ‘If it was dirty money I was trying to lose, I’d hardly call repairing a barn in the middle of nowhere a viable money-laundering scheme.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Wouldn’t your average confidence trickster behave in a way…in a way that would actually inspire confidence?’

  He sat back down, picked up his wine glass and drank deeply.

  ‘Jay, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But surely you can understand.’

  ‘Of course I do! I just thought for a while there…oh, never mind what I thought.’

  He drained the glass, put it heavily on the table beside him. The silence was now definitely not comfortable. Her head was foggy with questions, with doubts. But she didn’t have the words to put voice to any of them. She felt him watching her, looked across.

  ‘Penny for them,’ he ventured.

  She shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking.’

  ‘My offer still stands – the other one, where I get up this instant, pack my bag, walk away and leave you in peace.’

  A gust of wind blew a rattle of rain against the window.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘It’s the most serious I’ve been all day.’

  She believed he meant it, and also knew it was not what she wanted.

  ‘I’ll get on up to bed; leave you to your thoughts.’

  He was on his feet wishing her goodnight, giving her no chance to object. As she listened to his feet on the stairs, the door softly closing, faint rustlings as he prepared his makeshift bed, she wondered whether the spare room had been such a good idea. He could obviously look after himself; she had no reason to feel sorry for him. He’d never once asked her to. But had he been playing her like he played his audiences? Was he doing so now? Perhaps he was right, perhaps she should be asking him to sleep outside. They were supposed to be working on the barn floor the next day, so that would soon be out of the question, but he seemed to enjoy telling her he was fine with his tent.

  She remembered his obsession with that hole in the roof he’d spent the afternoon patching up. For a few moments there had been something strange, distracted about his manner when she’d arrived home that morning. As if something had happened while she was away. Staring into the flames, she shook her head. Must have been listening to too many stories.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Marilyn sent Jay off to the builders’ merchant to pick up supplies and hire some equipment while she stayed to make the preparations at home. He knew what he needed and she’d be more use clearing the few remaining bits from the barn than going along for the ride. She briefly wondered whether she’d ever see her car again, but told herself a decision to trust someone involved more than words. He wouldn’t get far in any case. She smiled to herself as she shifted half-empty sacks and an assortment of gardening equipment out of the barn to clear the floor.

  He was back before she had time to begin worrying, the old jeep groaning under the weight of the hired trailer. They spent the morning excavating the soil floor with a mini-digger. He began by teaching her how to operate it, freeing him to do the heavier work on the ground. She became aware of how well they worked together, often even anticipating one another’s movements. Jay took charge, but in a way that didn’t make her instantly want to contradict him, and listened to her suggestions with a respect Matt had rarely shown her, not latterly at least.

  It was warm work, and when the autumn sun broke through the steely clouds, a touch of gold glinting in the iron grey, Jay paused to remove his jumper. His T-shirt rucked up slightly and she thought she glimpsed a scar on his side before he pulled it back down. He glanced over and caught her watching him.

  ‘I…I thought I’d go and make us a drink,’ she said. ‘Shall I take that in out of the way?’

  He passed the jumper over to her with a smile. A warm feeling suffused her, but she stopped the train of thought in its tracks by asking, awkwardly, whether he wanted tea or cordial and walking briskly in to the kitchen.

  When she came out with two mugs of tea he stopped work and joined her on the rickety bench against the front wall of the house. It creaked as he sat down.

  ‘This could do with a bit of work,’ he said. ‘Couple of rotten bits need patching up, a brace or two on the wobbliest joints. I’ll add it to the list of jobs if you like – it’s not as if we’re short of timber.’

  ‘That’d be great, thanks.’

  They sat gazing out through the trees, the song of the curlews bubbling up into the sky over the moors beyond.

  ‘This is an amazing place to live,’ he said.

  ‘I still stop regularly and think how lucky I am. Sorry about my little outburst yesterday. At least I’ve got a week off from my other job to enjoy it.’

  ‘Your other job?’

  ‘A friend of mine runs a pub – small hotel, really – in the next dale. I help out behind the bar; at least it’s something regular until I get established. Though it’s only temporary – Sue’s doing me a favour, really. I bet she’ll be happy not to have to pay my wages this week. All the more reason to make sure I get my own business going sooner rather than later.’

  ‘You will. I can see you’ve got determination. And self-respect.’ He was suddenly serious. ‘If you don’t respect yourself, who knows where it might lead?’ Wondering how to reply, she watched him staring towards the horizon. He picked up his tea mug and drained it in a couple of gulps. ‘Just listen to me! What do I know?’

  He stood abruptly and reached for her mug to take into the kitchen with his own. On his way back out he paused on the doorstep.

  ‘See, no self-respect. Or respect of any kind. I forgot to take my muddy boots off.’

  ‘It doesn’t—’

  ‘I’ll learn. Listen, I want to thank you, Polly.’

  ‘I should be thanking you for all you’re doing.’

  ‘No, I mean it. Thank you for…for trusting me.’

  ‘I—’ />
  ‘It means a lot to me.’

  He moved past her and she tried to think of a reply as she followed.

  ‘Now then,’ he said with a grin and a theatrical clap of his hands, ‘where were we?’

  They worked hard, the chuntering of the digger limiting conversation to planning the next move and the give-and-take of instructions in the welcome pauses. He was a man on a mission, she thought as they worked. They stopped only for a brief lunch and a mid-afternoon cup of tea, determined to have the digger ready to take back and exchange for a concrete mixer the following day. By the end of the afternoon, shortly before their self-imposed deadline of the first signs of dusk, they had the floor excavated and much of the soil at the back cleared.

  ‘There,’ he said as they stood back and surveyed the gutted space. ‘It’s amazing what you can achieve when it matters.’

  ‘Matters?’

  He turned to her. ‘Oh, you know. Job satisfaction. Didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘I…I didn’t think for a second that you did.’

  They stood looking at one another for an awkward moment and she hoped the flush she felt on her face was the result of the afternoon’s work and fresh air.

  ‘It’ll be getting dark soon,’ she said. ‘We should be thinking about getting cleaned up and making some dinner.’

  ‘Why don’t we go out?’

  ‘We could…’ She hesitated.

  ‘I’ll pay; I know you’re strapped. Oh, hang on, you said you had a freezer full to deal with. Sorry, bad idea.’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘That was just me trying to impress. I’m not that efficient. A few bits but nothing that goes together. Should’ve done more of a shop when I was out yesterday. My head was all over the place, sorry.’

  ‘That settles it. Where’s good nearby – this place where you work?’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday,’ he said without hesitation. She was mildly surprised he kept track.

  ‘She doesn’t do food on Mondays or Tuesdays at this time of year. There’s one over the moors does. A bit of a drive, but I’ve always fancied trying it.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ He grinned, gestured towards the car. ‘I really liked getting behind the wheel this morning. I hadn’t driven for ages before that. Can I offer to be your chauffeur for the evening?’

  It wasn’t a pub she’d ever been to; Matt had never fancied it. It was surprisingly busy for the time of year, but they managed to find a quiet corner. She felt good in her favourite flowing skirt, with her hair loose, freed from the plaits she braided whenever she was working. Jay had called them ‘sweet’ and she was fairly sure from his tone that it was a compliment.

  The beer was excellent and the food plain but good. As they ate she told Jay more about her plans and listened to some anecdotes from his nomadic life. He insisted on paying for them both and she watched him at the bar, chatting easily with the barman, looking over to their table every now and again and catching her eye. He was wearing the clothes they’d washed on the first night, a cotton shirt and cargo trousers – plenty of useful pockets for his travels, she thought. He’d laughed when she’d apologised for being unable to iron them as the electricity was off, and she smiled now as she thought how the creases actually suited him. She noticed he paid with plastic and commented on it when he returned with last drinks for the road.

  ‘I don’t always carry pockets of change around,’ he said. ‘Could give the wrong impression, especially on a first date.’

  She felt a little tug of surprise. ‘Is that what this is?’

  ‘If you’re happy about it, I’m honoured. If I’ve misunderstood I apologise – I’d be quite happy to think of the investment I want to make in your pottery venture and call it a business dinner.’

  ‘I think I prefer the first option.’

  She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but was happy to play along for a while and see where it led. Their hands touched as he passed her drink over. He took hers, leaned across the table and brought her fingers to his lips in an old-fashioned gesture. Marilyn laughed gently, but savoured the tingle that his touch sent through her. She looked at their hands, fingers lightly intertwined, on the table in front of them. His long fingers looked used to work, unadorned but for a small gold band on his little finger that seemed to have grown there. He noticed her looking.

  ‘I just saw it and liked it. It doesn’t mean anything.’ His expression was serious. ‘I’ve never been married, and believe me when I say I’m not one of those rover types with a no-strings-attached woman in every town.’ He relaxed. ‘I mean, honestly, who in their right mind would have the likes of me?’

  ‘Are you doubting my sanity?’ she teased.

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know. You must have had a serious relationship or two.’

  He nodded. ‘But I’m a man. I don’t talk about things like that. Seriously, there was someone once, yes, but it was a long time ago. Things didn’t work out. My fault mainly, I can see that now. I’m older and wiser. Well, older.’

  ‘And no better at selling yourself, obviously.’ She smiled. ‘Was that when you were still living in that house of yours?’

  ‘In Winchester? Yes.’

  She picked up her glass and drank. ‘Is that where you’re from originally?’

  He grinned. ‘I knew you weren’t listening to a word I’ve said. I’ve never lived in one place long enough to call myself “from” anywhere.’ He shrugged. ‘The opposite. I think I liked the fact that Winchester was somewhere I had even less connection with than anywhere else. I don’t really do connections, as you may have gathered. I send my sister a Christmas card every year; I doubt she wants it but it’s become tradition. And that’s it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for years; she moves around, works for a hotel chain so it’s been hell tracking her down at times. It’s obviously in the blood. She’s married now, though, so at least that means they stay put a bit longer. Not that I’ve ever met the guy. Haven’t seen her for years.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make you sad?’

  ‘Not really. Suits us both. She thinks I’m an irresponsible waste of skin and I…I don’t care to be thought of in those terms.’

  ‘There you go, over-selling yourself again.’

  ‘I have an e-mail address so Cath can let me know if anything important happens, though it’s rare she gets in touch and even rarer that I seek out a library with a computer. Especially since I didn’t turn up to Dad’s funeral. I just couldn’t face it. It was ten years ago, and I was still…in a bad place.’

  ‘What—’

  ‘No excuses; if I’m honest I’m not even sure I could have faced it now. All those people I used to know. Having to pretend… Anyway, that’s it for contact.’

  And that’s it for explanations, Marilyn thought as he brushed aside another interjection: ‘I reckon if she gets an annual card from me with a postmark that isn’t a prison one she knows I’m safe and reasonably well. Duty done. So what about you? Haven’t you got family you could’ve asked to help you out?’

  ‘I’m as likely to do that as you are,’ she said. ‘I don’t want any more lectures about “getting a proper job.” But I must say I do better than you at keeping in touch.’

  ‘Granted; most people do.’

  ‘Mum and Phil, my stepdad, moved to the south of France a couple of years ago. We phone and I go over when I can afford it – you can imagine how often that is. Dad’s in London. We may see each other more often now Matt’s out of my life; they never got on. Likewise, Laurie, my brother. We’re quite different, but we get together once in a while. Hopefully you’ll meet one day. You’d be good for him.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘He needs shaking out of unbearable conventionality from time to time.’

  Jay grinned. ‘So, while we’re on the subject of real life… Are you going to let me help you out? Financially, I mean?’ She hesitated. ‘It honestly has c
ome from saving up rents. OK, I originally bought that house by using money I probably shouldn’t have. But I’ve paid back every penny I owed.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘That was said with feeling.’

  ‘Just…years of having a great big debt hanging over me. Paying it back bit by bit. It’s been good to be free of it, is all.’

  He fished his pipe and tobacco from his pocket, and began the fiddly business of packing the bowl. Marilyn watched him. She’d never really believed he was trying to swindle her, but it had crossed her mind that he might be on the run from something. She dismissed that idea whenever she thought of him performing publicly in the marketplace, and she wondered now if it was himself he was trying to hide from.

  Sensing she’d never get anywhere by pushing, she stopped herself from asking by suggesting they went to finish their drinks outside so he could enjoy his pipe. The autumn evening wasn’t cold and she savoured the enhanced flavour of the beer in the night air, breathing in the soft, nutty fragrance of his smoke as it floated away. They watched occasional car headlights wind their way down from the lonely moorland road to get swallowed up in the valley below where she knew, but couldn’t see, that a village nestled.

  ‘Where does that road go?’ he asked.