by S. C. Howe
Tom smiled at her, and they started laughing, great gusts of laughter, which woke up Whistle and he stared at them, his ears forward.
‘I think you two will make superb parents,’ Tom said.
‘I might have to stop delivering leaflets in a few months,’ said Alice. ‘I don’t think people will take me very seriously when I’m waddling around like a tank.’
‘What will you and Barr– Charles do, work-wise?’
‘We’ve discussed it, and we’re going to take a leaf out of your book. We’ve signed up to rent out one of the small holdings the government is setting up, not too far from here.’
‘You know you’d both be very welcome to come over and see what we’re doing,’ Tom said, and realised that he was back. He sat up straighter, looked at Alice, she nodded, also noticing what he had just said.
‘We’d love to,’ she said. ‘Charles has to work out his notice in the accounts office he’s recently joined, which will coincide with the smallholding coming up. I have this picture of us in a few years in the country with our lovely daughters.’
‘Do you know it’s a girl?’ he asked.
‘I feel it. But I don’t know it.’
Joss had been stranded for over a day now. He had received the odd postcard from Tom and thought about going to Cleobury Mortimer to see if he could track him down. But if he went and Tom arrived, what then? And something like a heavy inertia had settled over him, so he sat in front of the range and tried to think what he should do. What he had wanted to do was to get the opiate box out and descend into further oblivion, but the presence of the Greeners, who were keeping an irritatingly respectful distance, and the fact that the farm animals and Nico needed feeding, stopped him, and made him feel oddly self-conscious about his depression and the hurt reaching up to engulf him. The hurt because Tom hadn’t even given him a chance to sort things out, just assumed...what exactly? A stab of anger that he was left feeling this helpless, as though he was being nudged out, as though he was merely the good-time lover, who you ran away from when you needed help.
The sound of footsteps coming over the courtyard made him bolt over to the kitchen door and he stepped back when he saw Barratt. His presence made no sense.
‘Deerman!’ said Barratt. ‘We’ve found Tom.’
Joss tried to think why Tom would have contacted Barratt. Why would he? The previous evening’s opiates still made his mind sluggish.
‘Alice and her father are bringing him over,’ Barratt was continuing in a quick, awkward voice. ‘We need to get a room sorted out for him. Tom has gastroenteritis.’ He walked into the kitchen looking this way and that, as though for hot water, towels and dressings.
Joss leant back against the wall. ‘Tom? He’s all right?’ he whispered.
Barratt looked round, swiftly. Joss turned away.
‘Come on, Deerman, let’s get things ready for him,’ Barratt said curtly. ‘You go up and sort things upstairs, and I’ll get some water to boil.’ In truth, now he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to say or do. Joss loped upstairs; he had to get away, to be alone with this great wrench of emotion. He began crying, great tears streaming down his sweating face as he stripped the bed, found clean sheets and made it clumsily, dragging the blankets up, trying to make it look tidy. Then he sat down on it and wept like a child. Gulping to a stop, he opened the window, shoved his clothes out into the other room, loathing the fact he felt he had to, but knowing why he did. Then he stacked the grate with kindling and eased a fire, the few temporary puffs of smoke taken away by the breeze coming through the window. He wanted to stay up here, suddenly awkward when he thought of Barratt. A car crunching on the gravel made him jump to his feet. He plunged down the stairs and out into the courtyard, and, as the car came to a stop, opened the door next to Tom, sank onto his knees and buried his face in Tom’s hair, weeping openly in a naked display of emotion. Tom tried to comfort him, his eyes blearing. The others sat, looking out of the windows. At last Joss seemed to realise they were not alone. Barratt came forward to help him up, as Joss pulled himself to his feet using the car’s doorframe.
‘I think we can say Mr Deerman here is glad to ‘ave you back, mate,’ Sykes addressed Tom, and unfolded himself from the car. Whistle shot out and careered off with Nico, who had been barking and trying to shake hands with anyone who would notice. Alice laughed and walked over to Barratt who put his arm around her waist. For once he didn’t know what to say, then decided he didn’t need to say anything. Dr Cole took Joss aside as Sykes helped Tom into the house and up the stairs.
It was late when the others left and Joss had stoked the range downstairs and walked upstairs with meals and hot drinks on trays. Now they were finally alone with each other. The wind was whipping up outside, but the bedroom was warm, safe, their cocoon. Joss put more coal on the fire and sat against the bed, resting his head on Tom’s arm, which draped down.
‘Did your brother tell you what happened?’ Tom asked. His heart seemed to be banging suddenly in his head, in his ears, drowning everything out.
‘Yes, as soon as he heard you were missing.’
Tom squirmed, looked away.
‘You have nothing to feel ashamed about,’ Joss tried to get him to look at him. ‘You’re a young man. I’m a young man. We all have moments of indiscretion. And in your case, Roger owned up to the fact he added something to your drinks, the reverse of bromide.’
Tom looked back at him suddenly. ‘That would explain a lot.’
‘Roger’s the one with the problem, Tom, not you. He duped you and he used you.’
Tom considered the statement. ‘He must have gone to a lot of effort with that hotel.’
‘Oh, he did!’ Joss said and an edge of palpable loathing nudged into his voice. ‘Booked the hotel, the woman, paid for the place to be cleaned top to bottom, paid for new sheets...’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Oh Mother thought it would do him good to get involved in local politics, so now he’s left the army–’
‘Has he!’
‘Hmm... His decision, so I’m told... he’s now on Kidderminster and district town council, doing good for the community.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m not.’
There was an awkward silence. ‘I still can’t believe I went with that woman,’ Tom said, anxiety working back into his expression.
Joss turned to face him, still sitting on the rug by the bed.
‘Are you going to let that determine the rest of your life? Our lives together?’
‘All I want is just to get back to how things were... In fact, for me to stop striving so bloody hard and just enjoy life with you.’
Joss knelt up and held him; they stayed like that for several minutes.
‘I don’t think the Greeners will be staying on,’ Joss said gently. ‘I think they’ve had a better offer and don’t quite know how to tell us.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I walked in on a conversation in the barn – they stopped immediately when they saw me.’
Tom thought. ‘Well, maybe that’s what you and I need to do. If they want to go, then why don’t we reduce the farm’s productivity? We won’t need to produce so much, as we won’t need to find wages.’
Joss looked up at him with large dark blue eyes. Tom’s heart gave a thud.
‘Just you and me, as it was,’ Joss said. Tom smiled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Congratulations on your forthcoming fatherhood,’ Tom said as he sat beside Barratt in the entrance of the cave. Sykes was sitting stroking Whistle’s gleaming black head. The sun was shining directly into the cave. Several fields away a figure watched them through field glasses, but no-one saw, or indeed expected such interest.
‘When’s the baby due?’ asked Joss, rather tactlessly Tom thought.
Barratt looked momentarily blank then, ‘Late summer, we think.’
‘Shows he’s not firing blanks,’ announced Sykes ch
eerfully.
‘In fact we may be having twins,’ Barratt continued, ignoring him.
Sykes widened his eyes. ‘You’ve been launching whizzbangs, mate!’
‘Will you shut up!’ Barratt glared at him.
Sykes sat back against the wall, grinning. A movement in the opening of the cave made them all look up. Alice was standing there, laughing, holding her sides against a stitch.
‘Did you tell them?’ Tom asked later as the others were watching Whistle racing around the meadow down the slope. Alice and he sat in the opening to the cave. The sun was surprisingly strong, even though it was mid-March; there was clarity in the air, the world had been rain-washed overnight.
‘I had an hour-long lecture from Father,’ Alice said. ‘Mother had to lie down and then had a two-day headache.’
‘Oh.’
‘I told Father I was going to continue with my studies. “But Alicia!” he announced, “You’re going to be a mother.” ‘Father,’ I said, ‘I will still have a brain.’
Tom smiled. ‘What are you studying?’
‘Medicine. I’m working to become a doctor, and then take over Father’s practice when he retires.’
‘That’s impressive.’
‘Mother thought I should immediately abandon all plans and become inert, surrounded by a doctor and nurses from Harley Street and, no doubt when the baby is born, a nanny. They’ve been making such a fuss. You would have thought that after four years of young people dying, our society would be pleased by the birth of a child, whether it’s in or out of marriage, but it appears nothing has changed.’
Tom nodded. ‘You’re right there.’
‘The news I wanted to bring was that Charles and I are marrying next week and we would like you and John and Sykes to be among our guests of honour.’
‘We’d love to...What is Sykes going to do?’ Tom asked.
Alice shrugged. ‘Charles has talked with him but he really wants to stay like this. Being a Nomad he calls it. It seems as long as he has this place, his dog and the freedom to roam, that’s all he wants. Although I wonder if this happy-go-lucky exterior isn’t a front.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, but sometimes it seems to me Sykes tries a little too hard in pretending he doesn’t care.’
The wedding was a small but joyous affair. Both sets of parents were determined not to be the ones who showed their surprise, shock even, at the unplanned pregnancy, and so they greeted each other with openness and warmth, straining – it must be said – to appear gracious. Both sets would also be quite happy to pass the impending birth off as premature at the time, as both were relieved Alice might be expecting twins to explain the fact she would be showing before too long. At intervals throughout the wedding tea, Mrs Cole looked above the groups of guests for her daughter, for what, neither Tom or Joss could guess. On several occasions, Tom noticed Mrs Cole speaking animatedly with Alice, away from guests, and could sense the tone was lecturing, as though she was speaking to a wilful child who might at any minute stand on her head or do cartwheels across the lawn. Alice caught Tom’s eye as he passed with more drinks for himself and Joss and, in the moment Mrs Cole looked away, rolled her eyes at him and pulled a face. Tom laughed. It was obvious to him why Barratt was so smitten.
Joss was in a deckchair in the sun, outside the marquee that had been put up in the Cole’s extensive back garden. He was sitting, loose-limbed, and buoyant with good health, and Tom’s heart jumped as Joss peered up and smiled, patting the empty deckchair next to him. ‘I’ve been keeping this for you – fighting off the others so I can have the best-looking man sitting by me.’
‘Flatterer.’
Joss grinned and, for an alarming moment, Tom thought he was going to forget where he was and kiss him, but he merely moved towards him and whispered, ‘Tonight,’ in his ear.
Sykes came loping over with Whistle who moved with the peculiar sinuous gait of a greyhound at walking place. Tom glanced over at the hosts nervously.
‘S’all right,’ Sykes said, sitting by them on the grass. ‘Barratt said I could bring him.’ Whistle sniffed at the marquee and Sykes immediately leapt up and pulled him over to the hedge where Whistle cocked his leg and urinated profusely.
‘Bloody hell, that was close!’ he said, slumping back down. ‘Don’t know what Ma Coles would say if Whis pissed up the marquee.’
Tom stifled a laugh.
‘Who’d have believed it,’ Joss said sitting back in the deckchair and letting the sun warm his face, ‘that we’d all be doing this a year ago.’
Sykes’ grin vanished. ‘Yeah,’ was all he said.
Barratt and Alice strolled over to them, arm-in-arm. Whistle was lying upside down in the sun but, on seeing Alice, sprang to his feet and leaned against her, looking up at her with big liquid eyes and faintly clacking his teeth.
‘Whis likes you,’ said Sykes, back in his usual mode. ‘As I said, he only clacks at people he likes.’
Barratt looked over to him. ‘You really must think about looking forward,’ he said. ‘You can’t live in a cave for the rest of your life.’
‘Why not?’
Barratt was momentarily thrown. ‘Well, you don’t own it. It’s not secure.’
‘Nothing is, mate.’
‘It may be fine in the summer but what about next winter?’
‘We managed all right when it was cold.’
‘That was probably a transitory result of being in the trenches,’ Barratt said.
‘It’s in my blood,’ said Sykes.
It was about a week later when Tom went into Kidderminster and ordered more strawberry plants and seeds for beans, peas, tomatoes and lettuces. The order would be delivered at the halt in a few days’ time. The seedsman had become used to Tom’s visits and his keenness to get the plants in the ground early. He had re-established links with the wholesalers he had met on that appalling day in January and Tom had explained their reduced plans. The wholesalers were still keen, sensing that he would be a good, reliable supplier, and the position of the farm so close to the railway was ideal. Thus, on that bright March afternoon, Tom had slipped into the Market Arms for a pint before walking up the long hill to the railway station. It was always busy on that hill, with horses and carts, trams and omnibuses. There was even a noticeable number of motor cars appearing, belching out their exhaust like some deadly miasma behind them, as they ground up the hill. But for now, Tom was leaning against the bar, wishing Joss was with him. Joss had an unusual antipathy towards towns and cities these days, and wanted to stay back at the farm. Tom had asked him to come along a few times, but Joss had become uncharacteristically quiet, saying in a sullen tone that he wanted to get on with cleaning down the shelving in the glasshouses, or some other task, which could plainly have been done at any time. It occurred to Tom that perhaps Joss was conscious of his limp, which was noticeable but not unusual among demobilized men – demobilized, that had a different meaning, didn’t it! However, Tom didn’t pursue it and, when he saw how easily Joss had mixed at the wedding, his fears were calmed. People were always drawn to Joss’s open, sunny nature, and he had talked and laughed with ease all afternoon to lots of men and women. In fact, they had downed rather too many pints; Tom had vague memories of trying to be on his very best behaviour when they left as he thanked his hostess repeatedly and Joss had kicked the back of his heel to shut him up.
Now at The Market Arms, he stood with two farm labourers at the bar; they talked with friendly disinterest. From the dark corner of the room, Deerman watched them and his face drew in. At one stage, Tom’s gaze flitted over to him, but he did not see him. Deerman moved to a table close to the door and, as Tom walked out, he knocked Deerman’s cap to the ground that he had left jutting out deliberately. It was only then that Tom even seemed to register who it was. Stooping he picked the cap up and handed it back to Deerman with a look that seemed to ask, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Deerman flicked a smile at him. Tom looked
away and, as he walked out, he was aware of Deerman moving over to talk to the two men at the bar.
It was early April and the sun was up and getting warm. It shone across the dormant, gloomy heath. Tom knelt down and looked at the light sprinkles of new growth, which were like fresh green blood amidst the dried, lost heath of the last year. Tom carried on walking with Nico at his side, with head up and his unruly flag of a tail rippling in the breeze. Joss was still sleeping. Last night had not been good. In the early hours Joss had woken in the darkness, the pain from his back and neck, leaving him sweating and nauseous; pain flashing down his legs and over his feet, and it felt as though someone was kicking him in the back of his neck. He tried to lay this way and that, but he could not get any relief. So he’d levered himself out of bed and tried to walk quietly down the stairs, but his damaged foot caught on a step and he’d fallen, catching himself on the hefty rope rail they had secured to the staircase wall which had sent another, and altogether different pain, searing through him. He somehow opened the kitchen door and reached his armchair by the fire, sat on the floor using the chair as a backrest. Then he heard movement from their room above and the gentle padding of Tom’s footsteps as he descended the stairs. Moments later a warm blanket was being draped around his shoulders and Tom was leaning forward, whispering. ‘It’ll be all right, Joss, I’ll make you a draught. Hold the blanket round you. We’ll get you right.’ Nico shuffled up to Joss, as though trying to keep him warm. Then came the sound of the kettle being put on the hotplate of the range, of a pestle in a mortar, and soon a mug of hot liquid was held to his mouth and Joss knew it would drain the pain away, make him drift into sleep. Tom helped Joss steady himself as he drank.
‘Thanks,’ Joss said, getting his voice back. He held Tom’s arm.
Tom had assisted Joss to his feet, got him back up the stairs and into their warm bed. Joss had felt the sheets and blankets being drawn up carefully around him and then Tom’s warm body moulding into his, with his arms protectively around him as they drifted into sleep, a delicious, promised oblivion that would last for hours.
