Kate's Progress

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  Kay came to the door one day and looked in. ‘It’s gone quiet,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘I wondered if you were all right.’

  ‘I’m sorry – has the noise been a nuisance? The really bad bit’s finished now.’

  ‘Oh no – it’s not a problem,’ Kay said quickly. ‘You’re that far away, I can only just hear it. It don’t bother me.’ She looked round the stripped and devastated room. ‘My Lord, you’ve really been working hard! Funny, it looks bigger this way. You keeping that old fireplace?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to put a log-burning stove in when I’m done. Those night storage heaters give a background warmth all right, but they’re expensive, and they’re not very cosy. You can’t sit round one on a chilly evening.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Kay, without enthusiasm. ‘We had our fireplace taken out and plastered over. Don’t want the bother of fires, and cleaning out the ash and everything, these days. I like everything modern, me.’

  Kate smiled. ‘Ah well, I suppose I’m just an old-fashioned girl. It was the log-pile out the back that made me think of it.’

  ‘Oh, that’s been there ages,’ said Kay. ‘Margie and Wilf never had a real fire in donkey’s. Margie had a ’lectric one for when it was cold. Those logs’ll be years old,’ she concluded doubtfully, apparently worrying that they might go off, like milk.

  ‘Never mind,’ Kate said, ‘I’m sure there’ll be lots of suppliers in a place like this. Did you want anything in particular?’

  ‘Well,’ Kay said, looking shy, ‘I was thinking ’bout what you said, ’bout watching the kids. Did you mean it?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ Kate said quickly. ‘When?’

  ‘Well, Saturday night, if you’re not doing anything else. Course, you might have a date …’

  ‘I don’t know anyone to have a date with,’ Kate said.

  ‘Only,’ Kay went on, ‘it’s the darts final Saturday, down the Royal Oak, Withypool.’ There were lots of Royal Oaks on Exmoor. ‘They’re having a pie-and-pea supper after, and I wouldn’t half like to go. Darren’s playing, and he says we ought to win this year.’

  ‘Of course you should go. I’ll be happy to babysit for you,’ Kate said – though darts and a pie supper sounded so attractive, she’d have liked to go herself, had she known about it. But a promise was a promise.

  Kay looked relieved. ‘Oh, look at you, you’re so nice! Are you sure? Listen, d’you want to come over tonight and have your tea with us? Then you can see the kids. You’ve not met ’em yet.’ She grinned. ‘Our Dommie can be a cheeky little monkey. You might change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Kate promised. ‘But yes, thanks, I’d love to come.’

  ‘It’s only shepherd’s pie. We have it half past six when Darren gets home from work, then he can see the kids ’fore they go to bed, otherwise he only sees ’em weekends. How you managing for washing?’

  ‘I’m not, at the moment.’ The abrupt change of question caught Kate off guard. In fact, she had been wondering how to cope with clothes-washing, not having a machine. Bursford or any of the other local villages were not the sort of places to have a launderette, and having to go into somewhere like Taunton or Minehead for it was going to be a nuisance.

  ‘Well, you give it to me, and I’ll put it in with ours. No, go on, you’re all right,’ she continued against Kate’s instant protest. ‘I got so much your little bit more won’t make any difference.’

  ‘But my work clothes are filthy,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t want to break your machine.’

  ‘No, you won’t. I’ll do what I do with Darren’s – his get filthy at work just the same. I soak ’em first in a big tub out the back. Listen, I’ll swap a bit o’ washing for babysitting any day of the week. D’you know how hard it is to find anyone round here? Feels like years since Darren and me got out. His mum used to come over sometimes, but she doesn’t drive any more.’

  At the end of the week Kate had a trip into Taunton in the car, to the B&Q in Heron Gate, to buy materials: plaster, wood filler, some lintel timber, quadrant and architrave, more sandpaper. Feeling optimistic about her progress, she also bought size, lining paper and paste, and wax for the doors. Then she did a Morrison’s food shop, and drove home laden to the gunwales. The cottage looked more familiar as she drew up in front of it: not exactly a home yet, but at least definitely hers. The sun had come out, and the tortoiseshell cat was sitting neatly on the gatepost, squeezing its eyes in pleasure at the warmth. It stood up politely as she approached, four cinnamon feet bunched together on the small space, arched its back and gave her a cheek in greeting.

  ‘You wait till I’ve got a wood-burning stove,’ she informed it. ‘You’ll be knocking at my door to come in, then.’

  The cat, offering an astonishingly loud purr, seemed to agree.

  Five

  When Kate arrived on Saturday evening, Kay said, ‘They’re fed and bathed, and Dommie can play for half an hour while you put Hayley to bed. Are you sure you’re all right doing that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. As long as she doesn’t mind,’ Kate said. Four-year-old Hayley, playing with a Barbie doll at the kitchen table, was giving her another of the long, considering stares that had attended their first meeting. Six-year-old Dominic was drawing at the other side of the table and didn’t even look up as Kate came in.

  ‘No, she’ll be all right. She’s no trouble. I usually sing her a song when I put her down,’ Kay added doubtfully.

  ‘I can do that. What does she like?’

  ‘I usually do “You are my sunshine”. My mum used to sing that to me. But it don’t matter – anything’ll do.’

  ‘I can do “You are my sunshine”,’ Kate said. ‘What about Dommie?’

  ‘He gets one story. You be strict about it, or he’ll have you reading all night. You are a love to do this! I’m that excited about going out, you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘Kay!’ came Darren’s voice from upstairs. ‘Are you ready? I can’t be late.’

  ‘I’m all done but me shoes and coat,’ she shouted back.

  ‘You look very nice,’ Kate said.

  Kay smiled shyly, and touched her hair. ‘I need to get these old roots done. I must make an appointment, only I’ve got to go all the way to Minehead, and what with the washing and shopping there never seems to be enough time between taking the kids to school and picking ’em up.’

  ‘I could pick them up for you one day, if you like.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t keep imposing on you.’

  ‘You’re doing my washing. I don’t call that imposing.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure …’

  Darren appeared in the doorway. ‘Got your shoes on? Come on, girl, get a move on!’

  In a flurry of movement and goodbyes they were gone. Kate heard the car start up and drive off down the road, and then the silence outside swirled to a halt, lapping round the house and settling. For a moment Kate felt daunted, very alone, and worryingly responsible for two little strangers. She caught Hayley staring at her again, and shook herself. Sixteen year olds babysat all over the country, so there couldn’t be anything to it she couldn’t handle, could there?

  There was no difficulty about putting Hayley to bed, except for withstanding the continued silent stares. She sang ‘You are My Sunshine’ to apparent approval, since Hayley demanded two encores, and was opening her mouth to request a third when Kate decided she was being made a monkey of, gave her a firm, ‘Goodnight,’ instead and beat a hasty retreat.

  When she got back downstairs, she discovered that Dommie had decided to accept her, and while she helped him clear away his drawings and pencils, he chatted away about school and his friends and his plastic Power Rangers set and something he watched on the television that she’d never heard of. He even generously gave her one of his drawings, for which she expressed suitable gratitude without being able to tell what it was meant to be: caterpillar, spaceship, ray gun – possibly even a Power Ranger, for all she knew.

  When it came
to the story he asked for The Gingerbread Man, and she read it from the battered book on the shelf beside his bed, noting that the shelf was crooked and had been put up on too short a bracket, so it sagged forward as well. I could fix that in a jiffy, she thought, and banked the idea against further washing favours from Kay.

  Once she had settled Dommie and looked in on Hayley, there was nothing to do but go downstairs and wait out the evening. She had brought a book with her, but yielded instead to the lure of the television. Without a fixed aerial, her own little portable only got two channels, and then only fuzzily, so it was nice to have a wider choice and a clear picture. She’d have to see about getting an aerial put in – but not until she’d repointed the chimney, she reminded herself. She ought to get on and do that while the weather was fine – and finish the outside windows. Put off the indoor work for a rainy day. There were bound to be plenty of those.

  She was surprised when the front door bell rang, and glancing up, saw the time was ten past nine. She got up automatically, but had a moment of shivery worry as she went to answer it, thinking of the dark outside – she still found the countryside night-time vaguely threatening. But it was silly to be nervous, she told herself firmly, and opened the door to find Ollie standing there, with Gyp at his heels. Gyp surged forward in welcome, tail wagging and tongue at the ready, but Ollie looked startled.

  ‘Oh – it’s you.’ He stared. ‘Um – is Darren in, then?’

  ‘They’ve gone to the darts final. I’m babysitting,’ Kate explained.

  ‘Oh, yeah. I forgot the darts.’

  ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘No, you’re all right. I just wanted a word.’ He didn’t seem inclined to go, or to come in. He leaned against the door jamb, looking at her with interest. He was in his mid-twenties, she guessed, lean but strong around the shoulders as a farm worker should be, clad now in his leisure wear of clean jeans, plain white T-shirt and leather jacket. His hair had been dressed into spikes with gel, and the smell of aftershave was competing with the smell of beer as he breathed through his mouth.

  ‘Been to the Royal Oak?’ she asked conversationally, to fill the silence.

  ‘Yeah. Haven’t seen much of you there lately.’

  ‘I’m working hard – too tired at the end of the day to do anything but fall into bed.’

  ‘Oh, yeah – you said that to Phil Kingdon when he asked you out.’ A sudden grin. ‘Didn’t like you saying no, did he?’ She assumed this was a rhetorical question. ‘So how’s it coming along, then?’

  ‘The house? Oh, slowly. But I’m getting there.’

  ‘Doing it all yourself,’ he said. ‘Funny thing that. Don’t expect women to be any good at that sort of thing.’

  ‘My father was a builder,’ she said, wondering how she could get rid of him politely.

  But her last comment had sparked something. His face was lighting up with a dawning realization. ‘Not Jennings of Exford?’ he asked excitedly. ‘Dave down the Oak said your name was Jennings.’

  ‘That was my grandfather’s business. My dad set up on his own, but he worked for his dad for a bit when he was younger.’

  ‘My Uncle Tim worked for Jennings,’ Ollie said delightedly. Gyp, sensing the excitement, got to his feet again with an eager look, wagging and staring from face to face. ‘He was a roofer. Tim Bentley, his name was. Did you know him?’

  ‘My grandparents died when I was a kid,’ she said, and then, hating to disappoint him, ‘but I bet my father knew him. I’ll ask him when I write to him next time.’

  ‘I bet he did,’ Ollie said happily. ‘Everyone knew Uncle Tim. Well, fancy that! Makes you nearly family.’

  Kate didn’t know what to do with this sudden kinship, but she smiled, and wondered if she ought to invite him in – though it was not her house, which made it a bit awkward. ‘Look …’ she began.

  But at the same moment a thought seemed to cross Ollie’s mind and he also said, ‘Look …’

  They both smiled, and she said, ‘You first.’

  ‘Well, I was going to say – about Phil Kingdon asking you out.’ He chewed his lip awkwardly. ‘None o’ my business, but you did right to turn him down.’

  ‘Did I? I must say, I wasn’t really tempted. Not my type.’

  ‘Well,’ Ollie said hesitantly, ‘he’s kind of my boss, in a way, so I shouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t want it to get back to him …’

  ‘I won’t say a thing. Promise. But why shouldn’t I go out with him? Is he married?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ Ollie seemed startled by the idea. ‘Could’ve been before, I s’pose – before he come here. I wouldn’t know. But he’s not – well, not a very nice man, not for a girl to get mixed up with.’ He seemed embarrassed by having to say this, and she put on an interested face and made helpful noises. ‘See him in Taunton and Minehead, different girl all the time, and not nice girls like you, if you get my drift. And he’s a hard case. Mixes with some dodgy characters. I shouldn’t be saying this, but you’d do best to steer clear of him. I mean he’s all right as a boss, if you don’t get on the wrong side of him, but …’

  ‘He’s not the type of man a girl would take home to meet her mother?’ she said lightly, to get him out of the pickle he seemed to be in.

  His frown lightened. ‘That’s it. Just thought I’d mention.’

  ‘I appreciate it. But like I said, he’s not my type anyway.’

  ‘Right. Nuff said, then. Well, I’d better be gettin’ on.’ He seemed eager to escape the embarrassing intimacy now.

  ‘OK. See you around, I expect.’

  ‘Yeah. C’mon, Gyp.’ He turned away, dog at his heels, but turned again at the end of the path to said, ‘You won’t – like – say anything?’

  ‘Not a word. Promise.’

  ‘Only …’

  ‘I understand. Thanks for the heads up.’

  He didn’t seem to understand the expression, looked quizzical for a moment, then worked it out, smiled, lifted his hand in an uncompleted gesture, and took himself off into the night.

  Kate went back indoors, thinking, well, what was all that about? But just before she shut the door she stopped, opened it again, and looked cautiously out. She thought she had seen something, a dark shape – someone moving just beyond her garden wall, at the end where the road joined the track, where there was no street light. A darker shape among the shadows. But now she looked again she saw no shape and no movement. Must have been mistaken. A trick of the light – or rather a trick of the dark. She went in, shutting the door, and telling herself that she wasn’t yet used to living in the country. She’d have to stop getting jitters like that if she was to stay sane and balanced.

  Kay and Darren came home in festival mood, the Bursford team having won the trophy. Company, supper and several drinks had added to Kay’s simple delight in getting out of the house, and she was as flushed with pleasure as Darren was with triumph.

  ‘Did you have any trouble with my two monkeys?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a bit,’ Kate said. ‘I think they were a bit overawed at having a stranger look after them. Dommie gave me one of his drawings.’

  ‘Well, we’re ever so grateful to you,’ Kay began.

  To cut short renewed effusions, Kate said, ‘Oh, by the way, Ollie called, looking for Darren.’

  ‘What, Ollie Fewings?’ Darren asked, looking puzzled. ‘What’d he want?’

  ‘He just said he wanted a word.’

  Darren continued to seem perplexed, but Kay, easing off her shoes, looked up sharply. ‘What, come to the door, did he? The cheeky so-and-so. He didn’t want no Darren. He wanted to have a crack at you. I bet that’s what it was. He knew you was here alone, wanted to get chatting to you.’

  Kate said, ‘He seems a nice lad, but he’s not my sort.’

  ‘Course he’s not. I’ll give him what-for when I see him,’ Kay threatened.

  ‘But how would he know I was here?’ Kate wanted to know.

  ‘He’s thick as
thieves with that Denny Foss, that works at Wansbrough’s, same as Darren. Darren gives him a lift to and from work – pick him up and drop him off at the Royal Oak, don’t you, love?’

  Darren looked sheepish. ‘Told him Friday you were babysitting for Kay. He must’ve gone straight in the Oak.’

  ‘Course he did,’ Kay confirmed. ‘Well, I like that Ollie’s cheek!’

  ‘It’s rather flattering, really,’ Kate said with a laugh. ‘Anyway, that solves the mystery.’

  They saw her off with renewed thanks; but between the closing of their front door and the opening of her own was a piece of darkness in which only the strange, vague shapes of things could be seen, and the silence was invested with strange small rustlings and murmurs. She thought about the man she had thought she’d seen lurking, and quickly unthought it again. As she fumbled with her key and struggled with the door, which still stuck a bit, she suppressed the urgent desire to look over her shoulder to see that no-one was creeping up on her. Only when she got the door open and was ready to dart inside did she look round. Her heart gave a painful thump as she saw something on the track that ran past her house – a dark shape just visible against the slightly less dark sky. A man’s shape, she thought. She strained her eyes, trying to work out if it was still or moving; and the next minute she had lost it. Someone walking home along the track, perhaps, passing out of sight behind the trees. Nothing to get antsy about.

  She hurried inside, closed the door behind her, told herself not to be foolish – and made a mental note to leave a light on inside next time she went out in the evening.

  On Sunday she decided to take a break from work, and went for a long walk over the moors. It was a fine, breezy day of sunshine and shadows, and she thought it would be absurd to move all the way to Exmoor and not sample its outdoor pleasures.

  First she tried to discover exactly where her five acres were. She had seen it marked on a map, but it was not so easy to identify in reality. The fences had gone – or perhaps in some places had never existed – and the wild had crept – or rather rushed – back in. She could see a difference in vegetation in the part immediately across the track from her house, which presumably had been cultivated for longer than the rest, and she discovered a rusty iron water-trough hidden in the bracken which seemed to mark one corner of that field. But that was all. Standing back to get an overall impression of it, she saw that her five acres – if she was guessing right about how much an acre was – occupied the flat top of Lar Common, just about the only flat land in the immediate vicinity. But without any hope of planning permission, it was valueless – except to a member of the Irish diaspora suffering from land-hunger, of course. A vague thought wandered through her mind that, in deference to her people, she really ought not to waste it, she ought to clear the land and cultivate it …