by Jodi Taylor
Heads swivelled towards the suddenly devastated Russell.
I looked up at him and whispered, ‘Ruddell,’ willing him to understand.
He looked down at me for a moment. I whispered, ‘Ruddell,’ again. You could have heard a pin drop at that moment.
He seemed to make a huge effort and in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, he said, ‘You’re right, Auntie Lizzie, of course I need you. I’ll always need you, but any day now I’m going to grow up and it’s time I started to look after myself and my family. So you go ahead and marry your Bill – if you want to, of course. If you don’t, just say the word and I’ll happily throw him out – although actually, I do think you should marry him and have a home and a life of your own. It’s about time. And, don’t forget, he has his own handcuffs.’
She said, ‘Oh Russell,’ and groped for another handkerchief.
He put his arm around her and kissed her hair. ‘I’ve never thanked you properly for your love and care over all these years, and this is the best way for me to do it. Marry your Bill, Auntie Lizzie. Start your business again, and live happily ever after.’
She was crying. ‘Russell ... I...’
He wasn’t far off himself. Clearing his throat, he patted her vigorously on the shoulder in a manner rather reminiscent of encouraging Boxer past a menacing butterfly, and said, ‘You’re not doing this properly at all, are you? This is supposed to be the happiest moment of your life. Doesn’t say much for the rest of it, does it?’ He turned to Bill. ‘You’d better take good care of her, or I’ll be around to have a word. Oh, and for your own sake, don’t ever let her near a fireman because she loses all control.’
Francesca seemed unable to move on. ‘You named a chicken after me? Why would you do that?’
‘She has hairy legs,’ said a voice that no one was ever able to identify afterwards, but I suspected might be the insurance industry’s revenge.
Her bosom heaved impressively. ‘You named your chicken Francesca because she has hairy legs?’
‘It was a compliment,’ said Russell, indignantly.
‘How?’ she demanded. ‘How could having hairy legs possibly be a compliment?’
‘Well, two of them dig holes and wallow in the dirt. A couple more sneak under the hen house and secretly eat worms, and the cockerel shits in the water trough. Which one of those do you prefer to hairy legs?’
Daniel winked at me. Neither of us had any objections to the pair of them arguing.
Sgt Bates, however, had obviously decided that lesser mortals could be left to sort out these minor issues and was shunting her charges towards the exit. ‘Miss Bauer, tomorrow afternoon, then.’ She looked at Russell. ‘There will be no need for Mr Checkland to accompany you.’
‘Let no one ever accuse me of neglecting my husbandly responsibilities,’ said Russell, grandly. ‘I shall be there, to facilitate the proceedings to the best of my ability.’
Thomas snorted.
‘Language,’ I said, possibly a little punch drunk by now.
Bill turned to go. ‘Lizzie, I have to go with the sergeant, now. We can talk about this tomorrow, if you like.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Crisp.
How about tomorrow afternoon, then? Shall I call around?’
‘No, I said yes.’
‘I fear you may have lived with Russell Checkland for far too long,’ said Bill gravely, looking down at her. ‘No, you said yes – what?’
She clutched her handbag even more tightly, squeezed her eyes shut and said, ‘No, I said yes, I’ll marry you.’
There was a round of applause from the other side of the cubicle.
Chapter Twenty
Russell was right. It did sting the next morning. I awoke to a face like a rainbow.
‘Good heavens,’ said Thomas, ostentatiously not reeling back in horror. ‘Aren’t you the colourful one?’
I peered at myself in the mirror. ‘Actually, it looks much worse than it feels. I’m looking forward to lots of sympathy today.’
‘I think it would be best if you stayed away from young children, those of a nervous disposition, and horses who panic easily.’
‘That’s almost everyone I know, then.’ I pulled up the covers. ‘I shall stay in bed today.’
‘No,’ said Thomas firmly. ‘You should get up and move about. Exercise can be very beneficial you know.’
‘Even for my face?’
‘Especially for your face. Up you get.’
Grumbling, I showered, dressed slowly and made my way downstairs.
Russell was feeding Joy. He’d collected her last night on our eventual return from the hospital. She’d shown no signs of missing her parents.
‘I don’t know,’ said Russell. ‘One rusk and she’s anyone’s.’
We had a peaceful breakfast. As Russell said, no one had kidnapped his wife in the night, all the livestock were present and correct, and his housekeeper hadn’t nipped off and married someone, and what a pleasant change that made, didn’t it?
Mrs Crisp put an enormous breakfast in front of him and he heaved a tragic sigh. ‘I’m not sure I have the strength to eat this. Treachery and desertion are so undermining, don’t you think?’
I was wiping Joy’s mouth and when I turned back most of the breakfast had disappeared and he’d started on the toast and marmalade as well, so I don’t think anyone was in any danger of taking him too seriously.
‘Right,’ he announced, pouring himself another cup of tea. ‘Plans for the day. Jenny. I had a quiet word with Mrs Balasana last night. She knows about Bundle and she’s coming along later this morning to collect her.’
‘But...’ I stopped, remembering the last time I’d seen the little dog.
‘No, it’s all right. I nipped out and collected her first thing this morning while you were still snoring. She’s in the stable, wrapped in one of Joy’s old blankets. I’ve tidied her up a bit and she’s quite presentable.’
I smiled at him. ‘That was a nice ... thing to do.’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Just don’t tell anyone. It’s bad for my image as a hard-drinking, care for nobody, womanising artist with the devil in his soul and a bottle in his pocket. Is there any cake left over from yesterday?’
With no expression at all, Mrs Crisp placed the biscuit tin in front of him, caught my eye and retired to the sink.
He whipped off the lid, still talking. ‘Then this afternoon, of course, we have to present ourselves...’ he died away, staring at the wriggling mealworms and then looked up at her.
‘Is this your method of giving in your notice? A normal woman would say, “I’m very sorry Mr Checkland, but I’m leaving at the end of the month to get married. While I realise my disloyal behaviour leaves you destitute and alone, I really can’t pass up the opportunity to marry a man with his own handcuffs. Please accept my notice to leave your employment and never mind about my last month’s salary.” Not to scatter the table with the larval form of Tenebrio molitor. I’ll admit I don’t have any fond feelings for either the insurance industry or its workforce, but I can’t help wondering if I shouldn’t take the poor man aside and explain about you and your little ways.’
‘So he’s resigned to her leaving, then?’ said Thomas.
‘It would appear so. I think he’s still very upset about it, though.’
‘I don’t blame him. How are the cooking skills coming along?’
‘My cooking is slightly worse than my driving.’
‘My heart goes out to him. How about a short walk? I think we should leave them to have a little chat, don’t you?’
*
I left Joy with Russell. I think I thought she might be a calming influence. Instead of heading for the gate to the lane, however, Thomas took me around the back of the stables. Past the spot where Russell parks his Land Rover. Past the scorched area where we have our bonfires. Past the manure heap, and on to the crumbling wall that marks the edge of our property. A couple of very ancient apple trees grew nearby that Russell
said he remembered climbing in his youth. They were bent and gnarly and covered in mistletoe. One of them had only one working branch left. A few windfalls lay on the ground and I picked them up and slipped them into my pocket for Marilyn and Boxer later on.
The weather was sunny and warm. Fluffy white clouds littered the sky. The air was still and smelled of grass and dust and horses. Everything was very quiet. I sat on the old garden roller, half buried in the long grass and closed my eyes. So long as you sat upwind of the manure heap, this was a very peaceful spot.
Thomas stood beside me, swishing his tail. I thought about everything that had happened yesterday, about how much can change in just twenty-four hours. Russell and Joy were safe. Mrs Crisp was getting married. And I thought about poor Mrs Balasana – the one person who wasn’t going to get her happy ending.
I don’t know how long I sat there, surrounded by silence, feeling the warm sun on my head and the heat from the metal roller on my bottom. This afternoon promised to be messy, noisy and complicated. I should enjoy this moment of tranquillity while I could.
I heard footsteps approaching and opened my eyes, expecting to see Russell coming around the corner, but it wasn’t him. An elderly lady I had never seen before stood only a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I could see she wore a scruffy old mac, disreputable wellies, and leaned heavily on an ancient walking stick. I could see her pink scalp through her wispy, white hair. She stood quite quietly, a tatty wicker basket over her arm, seemingly waiting for something.
I stood up quietly so as not to alarm her and said, ‘I’m ... sorry, I didn’t ... know you were here. Can I help you?’
She ignored me. I wondered if perhaps she hadn’t heard me and went to approach her.
‘Just give it a minute,’ said Thomas softly.
She looked about her, smiled a little, thumped her stick on the ground, and said in a creaky voice, ‘Now then, Jack. Where’s my boy?’
I heard a gentle footfall behind me and Jack appeared from around the corner. He stood still for a moment, then lifted his head, pricking up his ears. For the first time that I could remember, he made a slight sound of recognition and then trotted daintily towards her. I could hear the sound of his little hooves hitting the ground. Slowly, very carefully, he stretched out his head towards her.
Settling her weight on her stick with one hand, she gently stroked his ears with the other. First the left one and then the right and then back again. He stood quietly with his eyes closed, and it was very obvious that both of them were enjoying every moment of it. If donkeys could purr, then Jack would be vibrating like a sewing machine. Still with his eyes closed, he rubbed his head against her but very, very carefully as if he was aware of her fragility. She laughed and said, ‘That’s my boy, Jack.’
Opening his eyes, he began to root around in her basket. She stood perfectly still while he did it. I suspected this was a big game for both of them, and one in which they both found a great deal of pleasure. He was gentle but thorough. It was obvious they both knew there was something in there worth finding.
And there was. He found an apple. A big, red, shiny apple.
She laughed softly and held it out to him. Taking it delicately, he began to crunch away.
The sun made a halo around both of them and I squinted into the bright light, eyes watering. What was I seeing here?
‘Thomas...’
‘Ssshhh...’
Even as he finished the apple, the old lady began to fade. Jack nuzzled her gently, but she was fading in front of my eyes. Leaning forwards, she whispered something I didn’t catch. Only Jack heard her final words. And then a small, sharp breeze blew out of nowhere and when I blinked the water out of my eyes, she had disappeared.
I said to Thomas, ‘Was that ...?’
He rubbed himself gently against my arm. ‘Sometimes Jenny, all that’s needed is a chance to say goodbye.’
I stood in that quiet little place and thought of all the hundreds of thousands of people, every day, who never have a chance to say goodbye. Russell to his mother as she drove away, never to return. Or Mrs Crisp to her family. Or Mrs Balasana to her Gerald. Or to Bundle. We all, every day, have the opportunity to say the things that really matter and we never say them. We always think there will be a tomorrow, but tomorrow doesn’t always happen. I tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat.
For a long, long time, Jack watched the space where he had last seen her, and then, ears drooping, he slowly turned and plodded back into the yard. Back into this world. Ignoring everything around him, he took up his usual position by the wall, his head hanging low. All by himself again.
We stood together, watching him. I said again, ‘Thomas...’
‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Something important is going to happen.’
I held my peace, but it seemed to me that whatever Thomas had done, it hadn’t worked. To me, Jack looked even more unhappy than he had before.
I sighed. ‘Mrs Balasana will be here soon. Russell went out and found Bundle first thing this morning. He’s put her in the stable. She’s going to be very distressed. I’m not sure I want to stay for this.’
‘Too late,’ said Thomas, as we heard the gate click. I looked around to see Russell holding it open for Mrs Balasana.
She looked tired and tear-stained. She wasn’t dressed with anything like her usual care. I could see jeans and a plain top under a light jacket, and her hair was loose. I thought it made her look younger and nicer. She was carrying a basket in which, presumably, to take Bundle home for the last time.
‘Hello Mrs ... Balasana. Ananda.’
Her manners were still intact. ‘Good morning ... Jenny. I’ve come to...’ she stopped, clutched her basket, and stared at her feet.
I didn’t know what to do. Or say. I stared at Russell, who said gently, ‘She’s just in here,’ and held open the stable door. She set down her basket and followed him inside.
I didn’t go in. Thomas and I stood in the doorway.
Russell is wonderful. Not only had he gone out and found her little dog, cut her down, and brought her back, but he’d cleaned her up, brushed out her coat and re-tied her top-knot. Then he’d carefully wrapped her in such a way that anyone looking at her would think she was just asleep in her favourite blanket.
‘We’ll be just outside when you want us,’ he said quietly, and I felt a sudden surge of love for him.
We sat on the bench by the back door, enjoying the sun. He took my hand. ‘All right?’
I nodded and leaned against him.
Mrs Balasana reappeared a few minutes later, stuffing a tissue back into her pocket.
Russell stood up.
She picked up her basket. ‘I’ve brought something to carry her home in. I wonder, Mr Checkland, if you would be kind enough to...’ she stopped, struggling.
‘Of course,’ said Russell, very gently. ‘But would it be easier for you if I brought her up myself, later on? You could take the time to choose a spot ... you know, somewhere she liked ... and I can bring a spade as well.’
She nodded, staring at her feet again. ‘Thank you. That would be ... Thank you very much.’
We stood in an awkward silence until she said, ‘Well, I should be going.’
I said, ‘Would you ... like me to ... walk with you?’
‘Oh, no, but thank you for the offer. You don’t look well, Mrs Checkland. Jenny. I should have asked – how are you feeling this morning?’
I was about to respond that, contrary to all appearances, I was very well thank you, when Russell nudged me.
‘Could we all stand very still, please?’
I saw Mrs Balasana’s look of faint alarm. Best behaviour notwithstanding, this was still Russell Checkland and Frogmorton Farm, and anything could be about to happen.
I peered around Mrs Balasana. Jack was approaching. I could hear his hooves on the concrete. In deference to the solemnity of the occasion, Boxer and Marilyn were in their field and the chickens were firmly shut
in their multi-coloured hen house. There was only Jack. And, for the first time ever, he appeared to be initiating some sort of contact.
I stared suspiciously at Thomas who was inspecting the brickwork around the stable door, seemingly oblivious to what was happening over here.
Jack halted a few feet away, pricked up his ears just as he had done before, and stretched out his neck to Mrs Balasana.
All credit to her, she didn’t flinch. She patted him gingerly, saying, ‘Hello old fellow, who are you?’
‘His name is Jack,’ I said. ‘He likes his ears ... stroked. First one, then the other.’
‘Oh.’ She stretched out her hand and gently stroked his ears, one at a time, slowly gaining confidence. He closed his eyes and sighed a deep, donkey sigh.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ said Russell. ‘Jenny, are you seeing this?’
I said, ‘Thomas, what’s happening?
‘They have both said goodbye to someone they love this morning. Now they can begin to look to the future.’ He looked at me through his forelock. ‘What a shame we don’t have an apple.’
Everything fell into place. ‘Oh.’ I pulled one out of my pocket and slipped it into her basket.
Mrs Balasana gave him one last, lingering pat. ‘Well, I suppose I had better ... Oh, what’s he doing?’
Jack had his head in her basket and was apple hunting.
‘It’s his ... game,’ I said. ‘It’s what he and his last owner used to do. He’s looking for his apple.’
‘Well, he won’t find one in there.’
Very, very gently, Jack removed his apple. To the general astonishment of all. All except two of us, perhaps.
‘Good heavens, how did that get in there?’
‘I wonder,’ I said, looking at Thomas, who had moved on to an inspection of the woodwork, because obviously none of this was anything to do with him.
I know my duty, however. ‘Why Ananda, how ... clever of you. That’s his party trick, and he ... doesn’t do it for just anyone.’
‘Really?’ She looked down at Jack, solemnly chomping away at his apple. ‘He’s a very clever boy.’
‘He’s a very lonely ... boy,’ I said softly, nudging Russell before he could queer my sales pitch.
