by Laura Kemp
‘What exactly are you saying?’ she said, not wanting to believe what she now suspected. But it all made sense. Lew leaving the village, Lew’s lies about not finding Ryan, so he could put the blame on him. He’d let everyone believe it for so long. Was it him who’d started it? Poor Ryan. Poor Annie. Her dad. And she felt the old fury anew. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to be in the same airspace as him. That was it. She snapped and began to walk away from him.
‘Wanda!’ he said. Then again and again as she picked up speed, scrambling down, feeling her heart in her throat, and he began to shout to call her back. ‘Let me explain!’
All that crap about making amends, doing up the shepherd’s hut, even teaching her to make a fire again! The gall of it! No wonder he’d wanted her to leave! Pretending that he was glad she was around. And then he’d forgotten himself, thinking with his dick. All because he felt guilty. Her legs worked harder to put more distance between them, and she looked back to see if he was chasing her.
Instead he was stood quite still, watching her. ‘Go on then, Wanda, run! Run again! Like you always do!’
She had felt with her fingers the damage to his skin from that night – the connection, of touching the past, of touching his lies.
‘I will not leave this place until I’m ready,’ she yelled back. ‘But until then, I want nothing to do with you again. Nothing.’
They faced one another across the mountain – she waited to make sure he wouldn’t move. And then once she was sure of it, she turned her back on him forever.
27
With an ‘enough’s enough’, Blod had insisted Teg should come to stay.
Having a four-legged guest had never been specifically outlawed by her – she was simply too kind a person to do that. It was just that Annie hadn’t wanted to impose another inconvenience on her.
Even though she paid rent – Blod would only take peanuts, admittedly – it weighed heavily on Annie that she’d been living with her since January. Blod never suggested she wasn’t happy about the arrangement; in fact she was grateful, she said, for the company of an evening. But it felt to Annie as if she was taking advantage, putting on Blod, making her feel the force of her mistakes. She was a grown woman, she shouldn’t be depending on a pensioner to put her up. When shame came calling, it either came in the night when the sunken velvet sofa was making her back ache or in the day when her back ached even more. Folding her sheet and duvet and stacking them with a pillow on top behind the chair each morning was always a reminder, too.
Annie tried to ease her guilt by making herself useful. Yet it was a fine line not to make Blod feel redundant: people had their own ways of doing things. She was the queen of her realm and Annie didn’t want to dethrone her.
Add Teg into the mix and it wouldn’t be something benign – it would be actual disruption. And so it had proven to be.
The house was a teeny-tiny thing anyway and Teg made it feel like it was bursting at the seams. Overnight the territory had become divided like Korea – the cats were confined to the kitchen, having access to the garden for their toilet business, and the dog was on a short lead in the sitting room with the front door her only way in and out. Should anyone make a break for it, they’d have to get past a baby gate first. It was hard enough for the humans, checking the coast was clear when going from one room to the other, especially with cups of tea and biscuits.
It was unsustainable. One wag of Teg’s tail and bits went flying – she’d already taken out one of Blod’s china figurines. Emotionally there was an effect, too. The cats no longer had the run of the two floors and were not only deprived of a lap of an evening but a snuggle with Blod at night. From Teg’s absence, Annie knew only too well how big the gap was when the animal you were used to curling up beside you wasn’t there. Teg had taken to refusing her bed so she’d have her enormous body on hers all night – Teg was feeling insecure and that also meant accidents, both wet and solid, plus barking at strange noises and the meows of the cats.
Mostly, though, she knew her upset was at being moved on yet again, particularly away from her best mate, Arthur. Annie had felt like the Wicked Witch of the East when she’d turned up at Spike’s the day after the showdown with Dean at the disco.
Spike had opened the door and the joy on his face – the beautiful joy – told her he was hoping she’d come to tell him she’d made a mistake, that she would take this on with him, together. He’d quickly gathered not when she’d told him she’d come to get Teg. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life: resisting her heart’s urge to be with Spike, to fall on him and never let him go. She’d had to feel the ground beneath her feet, stay firm and zone out to get through it.
‘It’ll break ’is heart,’ Spike had said, not manipulatively, but stating the obvious.
‘I can’t risk something happening here in Arthur’s home, where he feels safe.’ She’d sounded robotic but the alternative was a breakdown.
‘Teg is part of that.’ He’d almost pleaded.
‘But she’d also be the thing that caused trouble. I hate doing this, taking her away. But we can’t take the gamble.’
‘It feels like we’re giving in to Dean.’
How easy it was for a man to say that: they had physical power when push came to shove. Women only looked for an exit or how to hunch into a ball to lessen the blows.
‘I’m trying to protect Arthur.’
‘Dean won’t come back, we sorted ’im out.’
‘I won’t believe it until I’m divorced.’ More silent calls had come that morning. She couldn’t take it any more – she was going to have to change her number.
Spike acquiesced with a soul-deep sigh. But proving himself to be the good guy he was, he had put on a united front when they’d sat with Arthur to break the news. Without even discussing it, they’d said nothing about Dean – just that it was time for Teg to be with Annie again. Arthur’s high from staying the night at Nathan’s was punctured and he’d cried and cried and clung onto his furry pal like a teddy bear, whispering goodbyes. Annie had had tears too: the last thing she wanted to do was to take this little boy’s best mate away. But she’d be responsible if anything happened – who knew, Dean could be watching them right now. She’d left, promising walks together and invites for tea – but it’d be like inviting giants into a doll’s house. That was the thing about any such relationship with Spike, too – how could she do it when she had nothing? She could hardly invite him for a night of passion under a crochet blanket with a dog in the audience. There were too many obstacles, and that told her she had made the right decision.
The weight of worrying about Arthur’s safety might have lessened from her shoulders but her heart was still heavy. A couple of hours at the community garden after work in the days since had helped in terms of distraction. Teg could have some freedom and the cats could have a fuss off Blod.
Arriving there again tonight, she parked the van, shifted her wheelbarrow out of the boot and began to fill it with her tools, soaking up the gorgeous evening, which was warm, still, sunny and dry.
This was her happy place: where duty didn’t come into it. Nearly two months in, it had gone from grassland to Gardeners’ World. Thanks to the kids, the blank canvas was now full of colourful flowers, of violets and reds, blues and oranges. The borders buzzed with bees, the runner-bean teepee was actually being used as a chill-out spot and the veggies were well on their way. Spike had worked wonders with the pallets, creating an outside living room which the children had painted rainbow-style. All that was left to do was the barbecue area, which Spike would tackle next, and then christen it with burgers and bangers. Annie couldn’t wait for that day, nor their produce sale – the Grow Up gang had already been able to harvest lettuce and broad beans to take home. Okay, they’d pulled yucky faces at the prospect of eating their greens but they’d admitted later that they’d tried them and q
uite liked them. That was what it was about: from farm to fork, having an end result and a sense of achievement. The frenzy of growth that came with mild weather and enough rain meant it required a lot of maintenance, which was lucky for her when she needed the escape.
She breathed in the greenery with zest and felt herself relaxing with every step. She saw someone was already there, and as she got closer, it became clear that it was Spike. The spin and stop of her stomach was inevitable; but this was the consequence of her decision and she would stick to it, so she put on a smile and called out a hello, expecting a wave in return. But she saw now he had his hands on his head and was looking around him with agitation. What was up? And then she saw it for herself and dropped the wheelbarrow dead, covering her mouth in distress.
The garden had been wrecked – completely and utterly destroyed. With horror she took in the plants ripped from their beds and trampled on; the teepee had been pulled down with force, judging by the broken canes, the pallets splintered by stomping feet and the vegetables disinterred from their compost.
‘I just got ’ere,’ Spike said, white as anything. ‘I was going to prepare the ground for the barbecue. I can’t believe it.’
Rage consumed her. ‘Now you see what he’s capable of! Now you see it! I told you!’
The apologies came thick and fast then. ‘I’m sorry, Spike,’ she said, her shoulders shuddering with gulps of breath, ‘I didn’t mean to take it out on you. This is devastating, for the kids, for us, and all because of me. Dean Pincher will haunt me forever.’
Spike grabbed hold of her. ‘Listen, we’re going to make this bigger and better than it was before. I refuse to let that bastard do this to us.’
‘He’ll do it again.’
‘I won’t let ’im!’
‘How? How are we going to stop him? We can’t patrol it day and night!’
Another punch hit her between the eyes when she saw the smashed-in-two Grow Up Garden sign which the kids had designed by themselves, the letters made out of hand-drawn leaves, flowers, animals and vegetables on a wooden board.
‘This could only have happened last night or this morning,’ Annie said. ‘Thank God Arthur isn’t here to see this.’
‘I know. This would be too much on top of … everything.’
‘Teg misses him so much,’ Annie admitted. ‘So do I.’ She hadn’t exactly avoided Arthur but she hadn’t gone to visit since she took Teg away – she’d reasoned that it would make him feel worse. ‘How is he?’
‘All right,’ Spike said in what would be an understatement. ‘But I don’t want you to feel bad, I see this now and you were right, I underestimated Dean.’
‘Maybe I could pop round?’ she suggested, wanting to make it all better.
‘I dunno. He’s off school at the moment.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Stomach upset, ’e says. And don’t get me wrong, he isn’t eating and he’s had a bit of a temperature, but he’s still up and about. Well, I left ’im just now in front of the Xbox to be truthful. I was only going to be here an hour.’
Annie felt like torturer-in-chief. She’d done this to him by taking Teg.
‘It’s all my fault.’
‘Kids get bugs all the time.’ Spike had no need to appease her – but he still tried to, such was the gent he was.
‘I wish I could see him.’ It was self-indulgent of her and she immediately wished she could undo it.
‘It’s probably best you don’t at the moment.’ He winced, knowing that would cause Annie pain.
‘Of course.’ She’d only wanted to make sure Arthur wasn’t involved in any of this nastiness, but it had bitten her on the arse.
‘The fing is,’ he scratched his stubble, and she knew he was about to deliver something which would pile on more torment, ‘about the other night, he kind of asked me if you and me were … you know … more than friends. And I had to tell him the truth, that we’d decided to put things on hold for the moment. He’s upset …’
‘Oh no,’ Annie said, her posture collapsing, worry back on her shoulders.
‘I think it’s brought back the feelings of losing Lucy.’
That was understandable and he needed to know she got it. ‘I never wanted to replace her, Spike. How could I?’
‘No, I know, Annie,’ he said, putting his hands on his chest, ‘but it seemed so easy the way you fitted into our lives. As if it was convenient … no, that’s the wrong word …’
No matter. The damage was done. Annie blinked back her devastation and looked up at the sky.
‘I mean, it felt right, you being wiv us.’
He could be backtracking because of her obvious upset. Whatever, the point was she couldn’t take any meaning from it – he was all over the place.
‘It’s okay, Spike,’ she said, staring at him now, her eyes probably communicating her broken heart, but she could only be true to herself: ‘You don’t need to explain any more.’
‘I just can’t let Arthur down, if it didn’t work out. He adores you, we both do, but it’s a whole other thing to take on a child and he would see you as a mother figure and—’
‘Please … it’s okay.’ Annie felt weak because actually, this was what she wanted: to be with Spike and Arthur as a package. She wasn’t scared: motherhood was what she had wanted for so long. It wasn’t that she had got involved with them to fulfil this need – she had come to terms with never being a mum. It had just grown as she’d become part of their lives.
Spike and Annie stared at one another. Before their kiss, before anything had happened romantically, a conversation between them like this would have ended in a hug. How very much she wanted to comfort him and herself in each other’s arms. But there were new rules now. They had to learn new steps and that meant space. It was the cruellest conclusion of all.
‘You go,’ she said, holding herself to stop herself from falling apart. ‘Arthur needs you. I can clear this lot up.’
She expected him to protest but he cleared his throat and nodded, leaving her to survey the mess of the garden and the wreckage of her heart.
28
We came here as ‘mystery guests’ for Happy Campers magazine and we’re delighted to say Under A Starry Sky passed with flying colours! Our review will be in next month’s edition.
‘Mr and Mrs Brown’, Worcester
Campsite Visitors’ Book
Sara and Wanda’s weekly curry had been on ice lately.
Life had become incredibly busy after all – busier for Sara though, nudge nudge, wink wink. So for Wanda to have pinned her friend down for a long-overdue girls’ night in over wine and a takeaway was a treat. And a necessity, such was the burden Wanda was carrying around with her.
Adulthood gave you an insight into life’s greys but try as she might, Wanda felt like she’d regressed since finding out Lew had been involved with the fire. He’d admitted it. Black. Yet how could it be possible? White. What other reasons, what greys, could there be to explain how he’d been injured? Because if there were, surely he would’ve been open about it right from that night? Instead he’d left Gobaith and had never mentioned to anyone that he’d been there with Ryan. It had to be guilt. It had to be. But marrying that with who she knew him to be – or had been – was impossible. Then there was the fact he had helped out on the campsite – was this out of conscience? Yet why had he come back at all to rebuild The Bunkhouse if he was responsible? Wouldn’t it be foolish to return to the scene of your crime?
She could ask Lew, obviously. As soon as her shock and rage had subsided to below volcano level, she’d realised she hadn’t asked him anything about it all. It had been too much for her to bear his company. Going to him now to ask ‘why?’ and ‘how?’ was out of the question. She wouldn’t be able to look him squarely in the eyes she’d surrendered to during their sexy hug on the mountain at sunrise. He ma
de her feel so much stuff – and whatever it was, whether frustration, anger or love, it was at top volume and full heat. Her fingers could still feel his damaged skin and the way he’d recoiled.
Wanda couldn’t confide in her mother, she’d go marching up to Lew with bells on without question. Carys was out of bounds too. On the verge of entering the third trimester, she needed no excitement: the consultant had warned her the twins could be born at any moment from now on. Annie didn’t even know Lew had been with Ryan that night – hearing that her substitute brother had been in cahoots with Ryan would be devastating on top of the community garden being vandalised by her ex. It was all too premature to raise. That left Sara, and Wanda knew she could trust her. Even if they hadn’t had any decent one-on-one time lately, they always picked up as if they were carrying on a conversation from five minutes ago. There was such comfort in that while things changed, their friendship never did. Neither did their little routines.
Sara had turned her lounge into an Indian restaurant – as she always did. And the set-up was the same: her round coffee table was spread with a gorgeous multicoloured silk throw Wanda had given her after she received it in a tourist-board promotion of India. Waiting were two candles, napkins, glasses, a bottle on chill, bowls, cutlery and side plates and an Indian playlist off Spotify set the scene. By the delicious spicy smell of it, Amir from Keep Calm and Curry On had delivered their usual – all they had to do was ring up, announce their names and he’d know what they wanted. And in came Sara with a tray laden with steaming-hot chicken biryani, veggie balti and naan, plus poppadoms and mango chutney. To finish off they’d have After Eights from Blod’s and microwaved flannels for the old face rub. Once they’d laid it all out, they sat cross-legged on the floor, their eyes smiling at each other and the grub and they tucked in with big spoonfuls of one another’s dishes.
‘Bloody lush!’ Sara said, threatening to spray rice all over the place.
