by Rebecca Shaw
“Wouldn’t he just. Well, if he wants taking care of all the rest of his life, the compromise can’t be all one-sided. Megan’s a great girl and very attractive; I can see why you want to marry her, but…”
“Yes?”
“I do think that all this business is what is really at the root of your attitude recently. Something has to get sorted. I won’t tolerate it much longer.” Mungo placed his fingertips together and looked at him very directly. “You may be envious of Dan, but with some effort you can be in the same position as him, with a lovely wife and a family. However, in the meantime, no more being abrupt with clients and no more fueling this vendetta with Dan. I know he’s outspoken, but at heart he’s a very fair-minded, kindly man doing a good job, and he’s well liked. Just like you.”
Rhodri looked at his hands as they lay on the desk. Well liked? Kindly? Fair-minded? Well yes, he, Rhodri, was all of those. And in his better moments he knew Dan was all of that too. “You’re right. I’m starting to become a bit cracked over it all. Yes, you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Get your personal life sorted then, and we’ll all feel the benefit. Thank you for dealing so well with old Bert. I need my lunch.” Mungo got to his feet and Rhodri did too. “No hard feelings?”
Rhodri shook his head. “No hard feelings. You’ll have no need to speak about it again.” But in his heart he knew he was defeated before he’d even begun. There wouldn’t be a solution for him and Megan so long as that selfish old man lived.
THAT selfish old man, as Rhodri had called him, was being just that. Demanding and irritable and making Megan feel shredded. She kept her patience as long as she could, hoping that the bad mood would pass, but eventually she snapped.
“Da! That’s the tenth time you’ve called me in all over nothing. I’ve work to do even if you haven’t; please let me get on with it.”
“I think that’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me. How can I work? I want to, but I can’t. And don’t get in the habit of answering me back. I don’t deserve it.”
“You do. This morning, you do. It’s only nine o’clock and I’m worn out, and I’ve a day’s work to face. You’re not being fair to me.”
“Fair? What’s fair about the state I’m in, eh?”
Megan simply looked at him intensely.
“And you can take that sullen look off your face; I don’t need that this morning.”
“I’m thinking of getting some help in.”
“I’m not having strangers wandering about this house pretending to flick a duster and costing a fortune. We’re all right as we are.”
“We’re not. And I wasn’t thinking of someone to dust.”
Mr. Jones’s face went almost purple with rage. “To do what, then?”
“To put you to bed at night and get you up in the morning and do your ablutions and stuff. A nurse, kind of.”
“A nurse? Absolutely not. That would be the end of me trying hard to be a person instead of an invalid. I try, damned hard too.”
“Don’t try to appeal to my better nature; I’m reaching the end of my tether, but I don’t suppose that’s occurred to you. There’s only Mr. Jones in the whole wide world who’s allowed to do that. Well, I’m telling you, Da, it’s me who’s done for, me who’s exhausted, me who’s—”
“What’s got into you, girl? That Rhodri been at you again, trying to get you to marry him? Believe me, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and I should know.”
Megan knew just where this was leading: into a tirade about her mother. But Megan had witnessed her mother weeping in the kitchen when her father was out in the fields. She knew about the physical revulsion her mother felt, the hatred when he’d raised his hand to her, never striking her but leaving her with the threat of it. The compassion Megan felt for his predicament flew out of the window on days like this.
“Da, for heaven’s sake, don’t start down that line. I’m sick of it. Now, I’m getting on with my work; you’ll have to read the paper while I do.” She turned to leave the room, knowing he’d think of one more thing as she left.
“Don’t forget my morning coffee, I—”
“When I’m good and ready, Da.” As she crossed the passage into the kitchen, she heard him shuffling about on his table for his glasses and the rustle of the paper as he picked it up. For two pins she’d escape this very day. Leave him to rot. She looked around the kitchen and thought, there’s nothing here that can’t wait until tomorrow. She’d do it, just for the day. She put out on the worktop all the things for lunch, put the kettle on to boil for the coffee, and then raced upstairs to get changed.
“Here we are then, Da, coffee with a piece of your favorite shortbread. I’ve left everything out for lunch; I’ll have a word with Gab before I go.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet, but somewhere, because if I don’t I shall go mad.”
“But what about me?”
“I’ve told you—I’ll ask Gab to keep an eye.”
“But I don’t want Gab to keep an eye. I—”
“Just for today. Be seeing you.”
As she opened the door to go find Gab before she left, she heard him say, “When will you be back?” but she didn’t answer.
Gab was taking a break in the old tack room, and his eyes lit up when he saw her in the doorway. “Hello, Meggie, my love, what can I do for you? Dressed up and off somewhere to see that feeble Welsh lover of yours, I’ve no doubt.”
“Right first time, but he’s not feeble, not feeble at all. I’m leaving Da. Everything’s out for lunch; could you see to him for me, Gab?”
Gab stood up and moved closer. “Of course.” He put a hand on the door frame, just above her head, which placed him only a foot away from her. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Wish I was coming with you. Need a chauffeur? Eh? Though we’d have to go in your car—couldn’t ask a lovely girl like you to ride in my old ramshackle thing. My, but you’re beautiful. This morning there’s a light of rebellion in your eyes, and well do I like it.”
Megan pushed his hand off the door frame. “Much more from you and I shall tell your mother about you and your fast ways.”
A slight blush had come on her cheeks, and Gab reveled in it. “Ooh! You wouldn’t! She’s fiercesome, she is.”
“So am I. Now make sure the lad does some work today. I caught him in the hay loft yesterday, in the middle of the morning, reading an obscene publication.”
“It’s what boys do at his age.”
“Well, not on my time, not when I’m paying him to work. See!” She prodded his chest to emphasize her point and found her hand being taken to his mouth and kissed. “Stop that, Gab! You need the money and I need you for the work and that’s it. Full stop.”
Megan turned on her heel and marched to her car. The drive into Barleybridge cooled her temper. It was a wonderful morning, and here and there shades of autumn were on all the trees, just enough to let you know winter wasn’t far away. First she went to find Rhodri, an unprecedented move on her part. In the car park she met a neighbor. “Hi there, Megan, come to see Rhodri, have you? He’s busy, but I expect he’ll find time for you!”
She met a receptionist from the medical practice just coming out of the main door; she put down her dog and said, “Hello, Megan. How’s your da at the moment? Keeping well?”
“Very well, thanks.”
“He’s a lovely vet that Rhodri of yours—treated my Duke something lovely he has.” She twinkled her fingers teasingly at Megan and went around to the car park.
Honestly, thought Megan, your life isn’t your own. They know everything. After a talk with Joy, who didn’t seem to be her usual happy self, and a natter with Mungo, she began to feel like a person again, and seeing Rhodri lifted her heart to such an extent that she kissed him in full view of the waiting clients and embarrassed him to death. But she didn’t care and neither did he when he thought about it. They lunched at the Askew Arms and thought about going
away for a weekend together, so they collected brochures from the travel agents. They were standing outside discussing where to go when Rhodri looked at his watch and said with horror, “My God! I should have been back a quarter of an hour ago!” They fled hand in hand for the car park, zoomed down the slope to the exit with more speed than sense, and then raced off down the road to the practice.
They were greeted with a round of applause by the clients in reception, which embarrassed them both.
“He’s getting as bad as that Scott, he is.”
“Where’ve you two been then?”
“I don’t know what it is to be in love.”
An old man, with a grin on his face, asked Megan, “Does your father know you’re out?”
Rhodri beat a hasty retreat to his consulting room, slipped on his white coat, and when he saw who was the first on his list, he almost groaned. “Goliath Costello.”
Megan apologized for their late arrival to Joy, but she simply laughed and said, “Don’t worry. I’m glad you’ve put a smile on his face; he’s badly in need of it.”
“I know. Something has to be done.” But she didn’t enlighten Joy about what it should be.
Megan’s last words echoed around Joy’s head long after she had left. Had the time come to do something positive about Duncan’s being missing, but was he actually missing? Or had he kind of mislaid himself for a while because he needed time alone? He’d been dreadfully distraught and exceedingly frank the night she’d admitted she tried to love him. What a stupid, hurtful thing that was to have said.
When Joy got home that night, she searched frantically for his passport, first in the place they always kept them, namely the secret drawer in his desk, but it wasn’t there. They’d both renewed their passports at the same time, so she checked her own and saw it was another two years before they needed renewing again, so it wasn’t because he’d sent his off for renewal. But he wouldn’t anyway without hers. So the truth dawned on her: He’d decided before he left that he might go abroad. A grown man in his right mind was free to go where he wished. It didn’t mean he was in danger, did it?
Money! Did he have access to money? She checked the small amount of mail that had accumulated since he left. They’d always been scrupulous about not opening each other’s mail, but she overrode her feelings on the matter and stuck her thumb in the flap of the envelope from his bank and took out the statement. He’d withdrawn all the money and closed the account. This was when she began to think she should contact the police.
THE next morning she went straight up to the flat to find Miriam. Mungo, she knew, had already gone downstairs to begin work, so this was her chance. She found Miriam still at the breakfast table, reading the morning paper.
“Hello! What can I do for you, Joy?”
“Just need a word.” Perkins hurtled in to have a word before she could say anything. “Hello, my best dog. And how are you this morning?”
She found comfort in his greeting, but it did nothing to lighten the pain in her heart.
Miriam put down the paper. “Tea?”
Joy shook her head. “Tea, no. Sympathy, yes.”
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s Duncan.”
“Yes?” Miriam realized Joy didn’t look her usual self this morning and dreaded what she might hear.
“He’s gone.”
Relieved, Miriam said, “Oh! Is that all? He often does. How many times have you told me that? In the middle of a project, can’t sort it, goes out for long walk, comes back. Resolved! Hey presto!”
“He’s been gone for days and days. Taken his passport, clothes, and hasn’t been in touch once.”
“Why?”
“We had a row.” She told the whole story in detail and then, surprisingly, broke down in tears.
Miriam pulled a tissue from the box on the windowsill and handed it to her. “He is a grown man, well used to surviving on his own. Accustomed to solitude. Just because he’s taken his passport doesn’t mean he’s gone abroad. He’s taken it just in case he decides to, I expect.”
Joy looked up at her and said sharply, “Don’t take it so calmly. He’s a missing person, don’t you understand?”
“But, Joy—”
“Never mind ‘But, Joy.’ That’s what he is: a missing person. I just want to know where he is. If he’s all right. You’d think the least he could do is ring me.”
“Joy! Joy! You should never have asked him to have sympathy for Mungo, of all people. No wonder he disappeared. He’s probably sitting in some mountain hut somewhere in Switzerland, enjoying the sun, eating his breakfast, wishing you were with him.”
“Ever the optimist.” Joy wiped her tears away. “I’m going to the police. Just to say he’s kind of missing.”
“If it makes you feel better, you do just that. Take photographs, in case.”
“Do you think he’s lying on a mortuary slab somewhere, and no one knows who he is?”
“You’ve watched too many TV hospital dramas, you have, Joy Bastable. He’s got his passport, you said so yourself. Of course he’s not, but if it puts your mind at rest, then go to the police and inform them.”
“I will. At lunchtime.”
“Go now. I’ll keep an eye downstairs. Look, I’m fully dressed; I’ll fling the breakfast things in the dishwasher and be down there in two ticks.”
“Don’t tell them where I’ve gone. Say it’s a doctor’s appointment. OK?”
“OK.” Miriam stood up, hugged Joy, and said, “Why shouldn’t they know, though? You’ve a right to be anxious about your husband, surely? Go in our bathroom and adjust your makeup. I feel quietly confident he’ll be all right. There’s no need to worry.”
THE police took it calmly too. Her husband was adult, in his right mind, and free to come and go as he chose. But yes, they’d keep an eye. Let them know if he came back. Description? Ah! A photo. Good. Well, it was on the records now, madam. With a lovely lady like you to come back to, he’ll soon be home. Don’t worry.
What else could she do but worry? The fool. In her heart she knew she’d have a long wait. Why on earth should Duncan want to come back to her? She looked in her rearview mirror at herself. She didn’t look like a lovely lady this morning…more like an old hag. To have said she tried to love him! She was such a fool. As she swung into the practice car park, Joy braced herself to face everyone.
Chapter
• 11 •
Dan was on veterinary duty at the weekly cattle market, so Rose had arranged to collect Mr. Jones and take him to see it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to one and was up and about early to make sure he didn’t delay Rose. Megan was flustered, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t turn vicious on Rose, as he often did on her; some mornings the slightest thing could set him off. But he appeared too enthusiastic about his trip to bother being aggravating.
“You’ll be all right on your own today? I’ll be back before lunch, though.”
“I shall be fine. Absolutely fine. You go and enjoy yourself. More toast?”
“I think I will. Now you’re sure Rose will have room in her car for me? And the chair?”
Megan nodded. “Of course. I’ve told you—they have a huge Mercedes sedan. They’ve room for two wheelchairs.”
“Is the baby going, did she say?”
“No, the cleaner’s taking care of him.”
“Pity, I’d have liked to see him. Rose is a lovely girl. Full of zest about everything.”
“She’s very beautiful too. Such poise. Yet she doesn’t rub your face in it like some people would do when they know they’re lovely to look at.”
“Can’t think why she fell for that ugly beggar. She could have had anyone she liked.”
“Da! He isn’t ugly. Not at all. Just a bit craggy. He’s lovely when he smiles.” Megan paused with her teacup almost at her lips and looked far away into the distance. Her da looked up and saw what he called her “Rhodri look” on her face. He was about to say somethi
ng cruel that would hurt her, but he changed his mind. He’d realized she was just as beautiful as Rose, but she hadn’t been given the opportunity to glow with love as Rose had. And that would make the difference. And why didn’t she glow with love? He didn’t get time to answer his own question because Rose was at the door calling, “I’m here. Are you ready?”
They left for the market in a flurry of fitting in the wheelchair. Had he got his blanket for his knees? Would he need a hat? Should he…? Impatient of Megan’s concern, he said abruptly, “Let’s be off, Rose, or it will all be over.”
Rose kissed Megan good-bye and whispered, “Have a quiet morning to yourself.”
Megan waved them off and went indoors, glad to be alone.
ROSE parked her car in a space reserved for the disabled and got Mr. Jones out and ensconced in his chair. He was so eager to see what was going on, he didn’t complain once about her ineptitude with the wheelchair nor the fact that she hadn’t Megan’s strength when it came to helping him out of the car. Mr. Jones could taste the sounds and sights of the market before he could even see it, and he was looking forward to a reminder of life as it used to be.
He relished the goat pens; admired the cows; studied the chickens, ducks, and geese; saw some pigs he rather fancied; and thoroughly enjoyed listening to the farmers and the farming community exchanging news and views.
They spotted Dan after a while near the sheep. He was arguing with a farmer about a dozen or so sheep in a pen in front of them. “I’m sorry, I’m saying this for the last time: These ewes are not fit. I have to insist you withdraw them from the sale.”
The farmer, Bernard Wilson, a big burly man, unshaven and unkempt with a noticeably prominent broad nose, folded his arms across his chest and said belligerently, “I’m damn well not listening to a load of soft-in-the-head, do-gooding tripe. There’s nothing wrong wi’ ’em that some good food won’t cure.”
“I shall need to examine each one, and if I find that any of them are unfit to travel, then I’m afraid I shall have to put them down.”
