The First Time I Saw Your Face

by Hazel Osmond

  Doug said something and laughed and Jennifer was bumped back into the reality of sitting across a table from a good-looking man who a) had a girlfriend and b) probably wouldn’t go for someone who looked like a dropped vase.

  ‘Sorry, Doug?’ she asked and he repeated what he’d just said about Angus.

  ‘It was like watching some barfly perving your old auntie.’

  Jennifer understood they were picking over Angus’s performance again. Somehow, since the last rehearsal, Angus had decided to play the Duke as himself: a slightly past-it ladies’ man, unaware that his large gut and aged patter had tipped him over into a parody of the fanciable, cheeky lad he used to be. It had been a master class in making a tit of yourself.

  Finlay was now making him stay behind to apologise to Lisa and Jocelyn, one of whom was not put out at all, while the other was snarking for Britain.

  Jennifer looked towards Matt to see what he thought. He had his mobile in his hand and was frowning down at it.

  ‘Sorry, need to answer this,’ he said, getting up and going out. Jennifer felt his knee still against hers and realised it had been the table leg all along.

  Doug appeared to be checking who else was in the pub, and she wondered if he was searching for Pat. There were just the old guys playing dominoes over near the window and a couple doing synchronised crisp-eating in what looked like an excuse not to talk to each other. Someone was playing the slot machine and there was a steady beat of blips and buzzing.

  Doug pursed his lips. ‘Doesn’t look promising,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. ‘Told me on the way here, she’s giving him a hard time. Sounds like round two’s just starting.’

  From that whole speech, Jennifer only heard, ‘she’ and ‘hard time’. Picking up her glass, she fumbled it to her lips, hoping the cool orange juice would meet the rising heat in her chest and somehow cancel it out. She wasn’t sure what emotion she was feeling: it could be fear.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself; it’s simply a bit of trouble with the girlfriend.

  Doug was frowning so hard he looked all nose and eyebrows. ‘Mind you, seems a bit of a strange relationship. Together two years, yet he never mentions her. It’s like she doesn’t really exist. Divvn’t even know her name. Do you know what she’s called?’

  Lucky. ‘No, I don’t. I get the feeling he’s a bit shy about her.’

  Jennifer needed the cool orange juice again when Matt returned. It was obviously raining outside, and his hair was wet. She watched a droplet of water run down the side of his face until he brushed it away, and she had a sudden picture of him wet in the shower.

  There it was then. She was thinking about him naked. She really had to concentrate hard to listen when Matt said to her, ‘Sorry, explained to Doug, I’m having a bit of argy-bargy with my girlfriend. I was hoping she could come up at the weekend, but no go.’ He made a face and put his phone on the table, and Jennifer felt like a hypocrite when she offered sympathy. She didn’t have time to feel it too much because Doug suddenly asked, ‘What’s she called?’

  Matt looked a little taken aback, said ‘Sonia’ quickly and then shut his mouth.

  ‘Sonia?’ Doug repeated uncertainly.

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Sonia what?’

  Matt picked up his pint and took a large gulp.

  ‘Sonia what?’ Doug repeated. ‘What’s her surname, your Sonia?’

  ‘Hadrian.’

  Doug couldn’t hold in his laughter, and Matt gave him a hurt look.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Doug said, ‘but think about it – Sonia at the shop and Hadrian at the wall, it’s a bit funny. And you had the nerve to laugh at Postwoman Pat.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Matt said gloomily.

  ‘Perhaps she’ll be able to come up another weekend, or for the play?’ Jennifer suggested.

  ‘Doubt it.’ He looked like a kicked puppy. ‘That was her only free weekend for a while. Big case on at the moment. HM Revenue and Customs. Bit hush-hush.’

  Doug gave an impressed whistle and Jennifer wondered if Matt’s girlfriend had a lovely face to go with her important job.

  Matt was on his feet again, pushing away his pint. ‘Sorry. I’m terrible company this evening. I’m going to walk home, clear my head.’

  ‘Are you sure? In this rain?’ she said. ‘It’s really no trouble to drop you off.’ His defeated expression was getting inside her, making her forget that he was out of her reach. So easily, she could just stand up and put her hand on his face and find out what his skin felt like.

  He shook his head; wouldn’t hear of having a lift from either her or Doug and just ambled off. They had to call him back to pick up his phone. On his way out, the barman handed him a notebook, telling him he’d left it in the Gents’.

  ‘Poor bugger.’ Doug looked thoughtful again. ‘You might be right about that shy thing – told me he’d love to have a look round a Northumberland farm, but felt it was too pushy to ask you.’

  I’ll go and get him, take him there now.

  ‘I’ll check with Dad,’ she said, and Doug winked at her. ‘Good lass. Be even better if you could arrange it for this weekend; take his mind off things.’

  ‘You’re a really nice friend to have,’ she said and watched Doug blush, and in all honestly she didn’t know whether she was talking on Matt’s behalf or her own.

  When she returned home later, she made two phone calls. The first was to Alex and she told him slowly and very distinctly that she could not go to the theatre with him, she was sorry, but something had come up that made it impossible.

  The second call had to wait till early morning and even then she dithered, picking up her phone and putting it back on the bedside table next to the glass of water and the copy of Twelfth Night. She was acutely aware of the silence of the house – her mother sleeping, her dad and Danny out in the barn.

  When she picked up the phone again, she did dial, and a sleepy Cressida answered.

  ‘Sorry, Jen, I’m completely knackered. We’ve been doing riding scenes today. Hang on …’ Jennifer guessed Cress was counting the time difference out on her fingers. ‘It’s the middle of the night there, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong … but could you do that thing where you talk until I’m ready to?’

  There was a soft giggle. ‘Hey, there’s nothing I like better than talking about myself. So … let’s see. Filming’s started, of course, got a horse that likes me, the director a real sweetie, and very patient. Most of the cast and crew not bad, although there seem to be a lot of ponytails and beards around. Very 1980s.’

  ‘How’s the temperature?’

  ‘Let’s just say, the climate here was cool for the first few days, with not a cloud in the sky. Well, it was for me, but Rory’s voice coach was getting very hot and bothered and that’s when a nasty storm came up from South America way. Now the poor voice coach has been sent back to LA slightly singed round the edges.’

  ‘She’ll not be helping Rory with his diphthongs anymore?’

  ‘Indeed not. Anna Maria felt it was too much for the poor girl, too hands-on. Consequently there now seems to be a real build-up of heat right over my trailer, which I’m trying to cool down, and South America’s looking stormy again.’

  Jennifer wondered if this sounded like gibberish or whether it was obvious Rory had been pre-occupied with screwing his voice coach until Anna Maria had got her sent home. Now Cress was having to cool Rory’s passion and keep on the right side of his wife.

  ‘Also, that nice Canadian girl,’ Cress said, ‘she’s got a part—’

  ‘Matt’s having trouble with his girlfriend,’ Jennifer got out, all in a rush.

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Cress said, carefully, ‘I see, and … how does that make you feel, sweetie?’

  Jennifer looked around her bedroom as if the wardrobe or even the desk could offer an escape route.

  ‘I’m imagining him naked. He was wet with rain earlier, and I kept seeing him in
the shower. But I shouldn’t, it feels way too much like …’

  ‘… hoping?’

  There it was: Cress was spot on again.

  ‘Much too much like hoping, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. All I know is that I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for months and months and now I’m not. It’s wonderful and painful at the same time.’

  ‘Jen, that’s good. No, brilliant. And remember what I said. Don’t run in the opposite direction if he advances.’

  She looked at the wardrobe again. If she just got in and closed the door, could she stay there?

  ‘He’ll have to come to me, I can’t go to him.’

  ‘Fine, but don’t put him off. Promise?’

  ‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re really bossy?’

  ‘Only all my boyfriends and fellow actors. And, missy, there’s something else you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  ‘Not just bossy, but like a little terrier with a bone. All right, all right. He’s coming to the farm. Well, I have to ask Dad, but I know he’ll say yes.’

  ‘Am I allowed to say “Whoop de whoop”, and “Get in there, Jen”?’

  ‘No, look, he’s just coming as a friend, Cress.’

  There was a loud raspberry noise from Santa Fe. ‘Coming is coming, Jen. Things are moving forward, even if you don’t want to admit it. And very soon you’re going to have to think about “hope”. But we’ll leave that for another time, eh? Let’s take it easy … but, remember I’m here at the end of the phone, sweetie.’

  By the time Jennifer wished Cress goodnight, she felt calmer until she started thinking of Matt naked. Naked and glistening with water. She lay down on the bed and moved the fantasy back a few frames, to helping him undress for that shower. She was pulling his black T-shirt up and over his head and bending to press her lips against his chest and run her tongue down his belly. She could almost feel the smoothness of his skin against her mouth. She remembered the buckle on his belt, saw herself undoing it and then relieving him of those terrible jeans.

  Soon she was lying naked with him and in her fantasy she was the old Jen and he was as she imagined him, lithe, sensitive, a little naughty. She ran her hands over that incredible backside of his and pushed herself against him and his brown eyes looked at her with lust; not pity or revulsion, but dirty, unmistakable lust. She rode the fantasy, stringing out her pleasure, stopping when it got too much, starting again and building up the heat; revelling once again, after so long, in how sexy she felt.

  Mack squelched into the kitchen. The waterproof outer shell did its job on his top half, but his jeans were soaking, and during most of the walk his torch had kept flickering and he had been waiting for the moment when it would go out entirely and whatever was out there would savage him. A four-legged version of O’Dowd probably.

  It had been a nice, sad-lover exit from the pub though, and hopefully that would be the image they would be left with, not the memory of that balls-up with Sonia Hadrian. Sonia ruddy Hadrian! What the Hell had possessed him? He knew the name of his fictitious girlfriend off by heart: the lovely Sara Jeffries, with the slightly scary, suitably mysterious job. But when Doug had put him on the spot like that, his mind had emptied completely. It was only sheer luck he hadn’t said Grace bloody Darling.

  He struggled out of his wet things and wrapped himself inadequately in the kitchen towel. O’Dowd had been right about the effect girlfriend trouble would have: Jennifer’s face had been a picture of sympathetic concern. Doug’s too and, if Mack had got the guy sussed, a few minutes after he had left the pub he was certain Doug would have mentioned to Jennifer about visiting the farm.

  He shivered and took himself upstairs and under the duvet. So, if he’d successfully manipulated Doug, Jennifer would tell him shyly tomorrow that he was welcome to come to the farm. An invitation to the enemy’s camp. He thought back to that long, wet walk home and how the sheep had ‘baa-baa-d’ at him as he’d passed. In the rain it had sounded like ‘baa-stard, baa-stard’. It was a judgement he could only agree with.

  CHAPTER 20

  Jennifer watched Matt struggling into the dark green boilersuit, her father helping him, and wanted to reverse the film and take it off him. His jumper was in her arms, handed to her along with his fleece, and she was very tempted to hold both to her face and breathe him in.

  ‘All set?’ her father asked, patting him on the back and when Matt nodded and looked across at her as if to ask if she was coming too, she said, ‘I just need to help Mum with a few things,’ and went back into the house. She was buying herself time in which to calm down and not turn into a gibbering, self-deluded wreck.

  He was here for the farm, nothing more. Clinging on to that thought, she headed for the kitchen and the straight-backed, full on lemon-drop example of womanhood that was currently her mother. If Ray was pulling out all the stops to be welcoming, Brenda was pushing them back in again, and the way she was relieving the potatoes of their skins suggested just how pleased she was to have this guest.

  ‘Need any help?’ Jennifer asked, draping Matt’s jumper over the back of a chair and seeing her mother turn and look at it.

  ‘No. It’s all under control.’ Brenda nodded at the jumper. ‘He’s all kitted up, is he?’

  ‘Yes. Dad’s been really helpful and friendly with him.’ Jennifer saw her mother turn abruptly back to the potatoes. She went to stand behind her and looped her arms around her shoulders. The steel backbone relented a little.

  ‘Come on, Mum. I know you think you’re protecting me, but it makes me feel like a child. Being like this; visiting Matt … well I’m guessing you weren’t offering him Meals on Wheels?’

  Her mother did laugh at that.

  ‘Is it because you dislike him, or because he’s not Alex?’

  Her mother seemed to consider that before replying. ‘I can’t help liking Alex, or thinking that life would be simpler if you and he—’

  ‘Simpler for you.’ Jennifer let her arms drop, suddenly cross that she’d had to introduce Alex into this shining, exciting day.

  Her mother put the potato she was still holding on the draining board, gave her hands a shake over the bowl and turned around.

  ‘You’re right, love, I guess I do mean that. But, I’m not stupid. I do appreciate that you and Alex, well, you probably can’t reheat what you had.’ Her mother put a wet hand on her arm. ‘I just want you to be wary, that’s all. This Matt’s bright and cheerful enough but there’s something under all that.’ Her mother gave her a querying look. ‘You know what I mean, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m going out now,’ Jennifer said, ‘need to make sure Danny hasn’t played some awful practical joke on him.’

  Mack was glad to be out of the lambing sheds and all that steaming, bleating, ripe-smelling new life. He didn’t know how Danny and Ray stood it. At times they’d been working flat out, delivering lambs, moving ewes, trying to get one lamb from a set of triplets accepted by another mother. Mack had helped deliver a couple of lambs himself, trying not to gag at how squelchy the whole experience was, although he had felt a bit wet-eyed as he watched the ewes slowly licking their new arrivals.

  His nerves had been on high alert all day, but Danny and Ray couldn’t have been friendlier, even if Danny had managed to convince him they gave all the sheep names. He supposed that pulling his leg was a good sign. Better than pummelling him to death for deceit.

  Now he was hanging on to the edge of a high-sided trailer, being towed by Ray on the quad bike. As they bounced downhill to go and feed the sheep out in the fields, he had to soften his knees to stay upright, and he felt a bit like Boadicea in her chariot. He watched the sheepdog running out and back, out and back to the trailer.

  Somewhere Jennifer was walking down to join them, and no doubt she’d laugh when she saw him splattered with mud that had been thrown up at him from the wheels of the bike. He hoped it was mud.

  As they neared the bottom of the valley, they had gathered a long line of sheep behin
d them, and Ray whistled and the dog instantly fell back, not crowding the sheep and sometimes lying on its stomach, its eyes darting left, right, ahead. Ray stopped and uncoupled the trailer, and Mack helped him split open the bags of brown, yeasty sheep nuts that were balanced across the handlebars of the bike. When Ray started up the bike again, he rode in a straight line, letting the nuts spill out on to the ground and soon there was a struggling, shifting line of sheep, heads down, eating. As Jennifer joined them, slightly out of breath, Mack saw Ray’s lips moving.

  ‘Are you counting them?’ he asked, amazed.

  ‘Aye,’ Ray said, ‘but I never get to the end. Always asleep by then.’ He had laughed, but Mack could see he was concentrating on the rising land off to their right where the gorse bushes were particularly dense. His face relaxed when a large ewe, with some arrogance, emerged and started to trot towards the food.

  The dog made a move and Mack asked what it was called.

  ‘Mack,’ Jennifer said and for a second he wondered if he was having his leg pulled before he remembered that was not his name up here.

  Just before the ewe reached the rest of the flock, the dog behind it came too close, and the ewe turned right round and, after a stand-off, headbutted it hard.

  ‘My goodness, do sheep often do that?’ Mack was reassessing everything he had ever believed about sheep being stupid and placid.

  ‘When they’ve got lambs in them they do.’ Ray whistled for the dog to come back. ‘Mack’s still young; bit overeager.’

  On the journey back to the farm, clinging on and trying to keep his weight forward this time as they climbed out of the valley, Mack knew that he and the sheepdog had a lot in common. Here he was, answering to O’Dowd’s whistle, speeding up or falling to his belly as required. And that sheep, he was very afraid that sheep might be Brenda.