by Jenny Kane
Ten
Saturday March 21st
As they walked through Mill Grange’s garden, down to the woods, and along the path that led from Sam’s land towards the Tarr Steps and the open plains of Exmoor, Helen was reminded of the first time she’d met Tom on the manor’s fortlet excavation.
The conversation then had veered between awkward small talk and no talk at all. Today, with the weight of their non-date hanging unspoken between them, Helen could feel the words no one was saying bouncing in the air, ricocheting off the trees, hitting them everywhere but their vocal chords.
Hitching her backpack higher onto her shoulder, Helen knew if Tom didn’t break the silence soon, she’d have to, but a childish part of her didn’t want to be the one who went first.
And whatever she thought of saying seemed to reflect on them as a couple – or more on them not being a couple. Even mentioning that she and Tina had a good evening last night wasn’t possible without bringing up why she’d been with Tina and not him.
But we did have a good night. Helen looked along the stretch of the River Barle as they wove along its banks. Tina cheered me up, even though she made me see that I’ve been kidding myself. Helen risked a glance at Tom, and immediately had a feeling he’d been glancing at her only a second before. I don’t just want this man to be a friend with benefits. I was just afraid of the alternative. Helen swallowed. I’m still afraid – and so is he.
*
Tom stared at the path beneath his feet. This had felt like such a good idea earlier, but now, as each new step took them further from Mill Grange, and still neither of them had spoken, he was regretting his decision.
I could talk about Dylan. Ask Helen’s opinion about him living at Mill Grange sometimes. I ought to ask what it was she wanted to talk about over dinner… but if that’s us then…
‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ Tom was surprised to hear himself say the words rather than think them as he stopped walking and dropped his rucksack to the ground.
Her heart beating fast, Helen stopped too. ‘It is. Utterly ridiculous.’
‘Yes, it is. We are.’ Tom burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. ‘Look at us! We’re supposed to be grown-ups and we can’t even have a conversation about why we aren’t having a conversation.’
Helen’s shoulders relaxed in relief. ‘We’re as bad as each other. I’ve been thinking about what to say, but it’s all so trite. So corny!’
‘Same here.’ Tom looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Not a soul was in sight. ‘I want to tell you about last night, about Dylan, and I want to ask what you did, and about whatever you wanted to talk about and most of all, I want to kiss you. But I’m a nightmare with women, Helen. You deserve so much more, yet I can’t offer you more. I wish I could but this is it. This is me. An ex-squaddie with more baggage than an airport.’
Stopping abruptly, Tom was out of breath. His words had tumbled out at such a pace that they’d left Helen open mouthed and temporarily speechless. A voice was yelling at the back of her head; telling her that if this was the movies they’d be kissing by now.
But this isn’t the movies.
Instead, Helen reached down to the dropped bag and passed it back to Tom. ‘How about you start by telling me what Sue wanted last night, and we walk as we talk? That was the plan today, wasn’t it, for you and me to chat as we enjoyed the scenery?’
Tom simply nodded. He knew if Helen hadn’t spoken he’d have tried to kiss her. Perhaps it was as well he didn’t. As he’d said, she deserved better. Slinging his bag onto his back, he gestured forward. ‘Then let’s walk and talk.’
*
‘What did your mum say?’
Tina paused in the act of baking a batch of muffins to be frozen and used for future guest breakfasts.
‘That she and Father were delighted to be invited. They haven’t confirmed a date yet though.’
Adding some sugar to her mix, Tina asked, ‘Did either of you mention the wedding or where it would be held?’
‘No. As Mum didn’t, I didn’t.’
‘Ummm. Right.’
‘That was a loaded ummm.’
‘Perhaps they think we’re inviting them here to discuss the wedding, and have assumed you’ll cave and have it in Worcestershire.’
‘Possibly, but I did say we were inviting them because we wanted to show them our home.’
Tina plugged the electric whisk into the wall. ‘I’m glad they’re coming. If they fall for the house, then it’ll be much easier. I really don’t want them to be at our wedding feeling hurt because we turned down the offer of their home as a venue.’
‘Let’s face it, it wasn’t so much of an offer as a royal command – presumably from my father, even though Mum was the messenger. This has his stuffiness written all over it.’ Sam sighed. ‘But you’re right. I don’t want any sort of cloud hanging over the wedding.’ He pointed to the muffin mixture. ‘How long until you’re done here?’
‘About an hour, I’ve got a cake to do after these, then they have to bake.’
‘Fancy heading into the village to see Bert and Mabel afterwards?’
‘Via Sybil’s to ask if she’ll cater for the wedding tea?’
‘Deal.’
*
‘A book? That’s fantastic!’
Helen wasn’t so sure. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ve written countless papers and site reports and so on, but a book… I’m honestly not sure I have it in me. And I’m damn sure I have no idea where to start.’
‘Of course you do! You just said, you’ve written papers, presumably on aspects of Roman Britain and Romano-British life. Just tackle each chapter as if it were a paper.’
‘History books don’t read like academic papers though, do they?’
‘Well, no, okay, but if you had something down, then it would be easier to adapt into the style the publisher wanted.’ Tom hung back so Helen could climb over a stile before him. ‘It’s really exciting. Who asked you to do this?’
‘Batsford, they’re—’
‘The leading publishers of archaeological site-based history books. Wow. Go you!’
Helen shook her head. ‘I think I’ll have to say no, or at least see if Thea wants to be co-author with me; or maybe even do the whole thing instead of me. She knows as much about the subject as I do, and well… I’m not sure I’ll have time with work as well.’
‘But they asked you, not Thea.’
‘The article I did for Currently Archaeology about the fortlet got noticed. If Thea had written it, she’d be the one with the book offer.’
‘Or, perhaps, the paper wouldn’t have been so good, and there wouldn’t be an offer at all.’
‘You’re biased.’
‘True.’ Tom said nothing, before, without looking at her, he reached out and took Helen’s hand.
Neither of them mentioned how right it felt as their fingers linked.
‘When do you need to tell them if you’re going to write it or not?’
‘Next week.’ Helen kept her eyes forward, despite her desire to glance down at their hands. ‘If I agree, they want a chapter by chapter breakdown of the subject matter and a brief outline of how I’d tackle the book.’
‘That sounds really professional.’
‘It sounds really grown up and scary.’ Helen risked a peep at Tom. His face was staring straight ahead, making her wonder if he was also not allowing himself to look at their entwined fingers. ‘What chapters would I include?’
‘An introduction, about how the site was found I suppose, then the site’s chronological development, each chapter being about a new phase of the site and comparing them with other similar sites elsewhere in the UK. Maybe with separate chapters on Roman military life and why the fort would have been built at Upwich in the first place.’
Helen stopped walking and, squeezing his palm tighter, looked directly at him. ‘That’s it. How did you think of that, just like that?’
He gave a suggestive wink
, sending a funny feeling through Helen’s nervous system. ‘I’ve read a lot of Batsford history books. It’s how they’re laid out.’
‘I’ve been going around in mental circles thinking about it.’ Helen stared out across the beautiful landscape. ‘I should have just asked you in the first place. Maybe we should write this together.’
‘Don’t be daft, I’m dyslexic and failed my English GCSE with a style that would be the envy of none. Clever, I’m not.’
Swivelling on the spot, Helen met Tom’s gaze, her expression serious. ‘That’s the first and last time you put yourself down like that. There are many different types of clever, and when the hell did being able to spell brilliantly have anything to do with cleverness anyway? It’s just a skill like any other, but we’re all good at different things in different measures. You had a rough start, you got through it, and you’re here. Got it!’
Tom was too stunned to speak, as Helen pointed along the path. ‘Yes, well. Enough said. The steps are only half a mile away. Come on, I could do with a sit down.’
Despite it being a Saturday, the prehistoric clapper bridge, known as the Tarr Steps, was fairly quiet. Helen could see a few families ahead of them, on the other side of the water. Several dog walkers passed them as they sat on the grass in the sunshine, looking at the ancient spectacle.
‘I think Sam and Tina would be fine about Dylan staying at the manor for a while.’ Helen unhooked her bag, and passed Tom a slice of cake left over from the previous week’s guests. ‘Here, Tina said it was still edible, although I can’t vouch for that yet.’
Smiling into the sunshine, Tom took it. ‘Tina’s lemon cake is always edible. I can’t believe there was some left to bring.’ He held up a flask. ‘Coffee?’
‘Please.’ Helen took a mouthful of cake, murmuring her approval as she chewed. ‘It’s perfect.’
‘Do you think Mabel might like to help me find somewhere to rent?’ He passed Helen a plastic mug of coffee. ‘I’m not bailing on sorting it out myself. I just thought it would be good to give her something to do. She must be bored stiff at home with Bert.’
Helen tilted her head as she regarded Tom carefully.
‘What is it?’ Tom ran a hand over his face. ‘Have I got mud on me or something?’
‘No. I was just thinking that you’re a lot nicer man than you think you are.’ She looked away abruptly. ‘I think Mabel would enjoy that. She’d feel part of things again. And let’s face it, not only does Mabel love to help people, she also has local knowledge. There aren’t many places around Upwich for let, but I bet Mabel knows everyone that owns rented property in the area.’
Tom thought of his small attic room. ‘My bedroom at Mill Grange has two singles in it, so Dylan would be fine for now, assuming Sam was agreeable to him staying. But it’s not a sound long term solution. Dylan has toys and clothes and it won’t be long before he needs his own computer. Schools seem to run homework from them these days. And he’ll want his own space, as will I.’
Helen didn’t voice the thought that popped into her head. Telling him that Dylan could have his room, and he could sleep with her, would only have complicated things. Especially as they hadn’t so much as hugged yet. ‘It will be strange without you living in, although I suppose…’
‘What?’
Helen checked the date on her phone. ‘It depends on how soon Dylan is going to move in with you. What was the plan again, Wednesday to Saturday one week, and Sunday to Wednesday the next?’
‘Yes, that was it.’ Tom put down his empty cup. ‘From the beginning of April. Seemed easiest to start at the beginning of the month.’
‘In that case, you’d only have to share with Dylan for ten or so days before you could have a room each.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My sabbatical ends on April 10th. I have a holiday off over Easter, but then I have to go back to the Roman Baths. That’s why I’m worried about not having time to write the book. I won’t be here to do it.’
Eleven
Saturday March 21st
Tina spotted the note sticky-taped to the front door of Mabel and Bert’s cottage as she and Sam walked down the drive.
‘Mabel must have gone out for a walk. Probably got a delivery coming or something and doesn’t want Bert disturbed.’
‘I didn’t have Mabel down as an online shopper.’ Sam fished in his pocket for his key ring. ‘Don’t worry, Bert gave me a spare key months ago in case of emergency. We can keep him company while Mabel’s out.’
Tina froze as she got within reading distance of the front door. ‘They’re both out.’ She reached out her arm and grabbed Sam. ‘Oh god. The note’s for us.’
Sam was already reading over Tina’s shoulder. The handwriting was erratic, a far cry from Mabel’s usual neat script.
Sam and Tina, Bert was rushed to Musgrove in night. Didn’t want to call and wake you. M x
‘In the Musgrove.’ Sam slipped his keys back into his pocket and began to walk with purpose back to Mill Grange.
‘But he was so much better yesterday. Why would Bert be in hospital now?’ The clammy hand of fear gripped at Tina’s dry throat.
‘We’ll drive to Taunton right now and find out.’
‘But…’ Tina had to jog to catch up with him. ‘Sam, please! Stop a minute.’
He paused, holding Tina to his side. ‘We must go and find them. Mabel will be in pieces if—’
‘We aren’t family. We’ll have to wait until visiting hours, and then there’s the other thing…’ Tina hesitated, not sure if she should mention the thought that had crossed her mind or not.
‘Other thing?’
‘You’re getting good at going inside downstairs in Mill Grange, and in Bert’s cottage you’re fine because it’s become familiar, but—’
Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat as his old enemy reared its head. ‘Damn!’
Tina jumped at the unexpected shout. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought better to bring it up here, rather than you fainting in the hospital and becoming a patient too.’
‘Bloody claustrophobia! How many more years will I have to cope with this damn thing!?’ Sam’s tone dropped to an apologetic mumble. ‘Maybe I’d be okay.’ But even as he said it, Sam could feel the images of the hospitals sterile whiteness closing in on him and a perspiration that was only partly down to his concern for Bert coated his back.
‘We’ll phone the hospital. Come on.’ Tina gently tugged at Sam’s hand to get him to move again. ‘Hopefully, Bert will be in a ward on the ground floor and you can wave through the window.’
‘Fat chance!’ Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they walked. ‘Tina, he’s been rushed into hospital with pneumonia. That’s serious at any age, but Bert’s… He might be in intensive care.’
Tina’s pale face blanched. ‘I know. I just didn’t want to think about that. First my parents, and now—’
‘Don’t say it. Bert hasn’t gone anywhere yet.’
*
‘It can’t be six months already?’
‘It’s nearly seven. My sabbatical has already been extended by a month. You know what they say about time flying when you’re enjoying yourself.’
Tom picked up a stone from by his foot and threw it into the river, where it made a satisfying plop. ‘And have you, enjoyed yourself?’
‘You know I have.’ Helen felt the awkwardness they’d managed to shake off start to descend again as she saw Tom fix his attention on a young family on the opposite side of the water. ‘If it helps, I don’t particularly want to go back.’
As Tom didn’t look as if he was willing, or able, to reply, Helen kept talking, not wanting a new silence to fall between them.
‘I hadn’t realised how much I needed a break from work when I came to Mill Grange. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job at the Roman Baths. It is hard work, demanding, and full on – but so rewarding. Have you ever been?’
‘I took Dylan last year.’
Helen imagined the
wonder on the little boy’s face. ‘He must have been four then. Already taking after his dad.’
‘A week before he was five. It was his birthday treat. I’d read him a Ladybird book on the Romans I’d got from the library. The book was almost as old as the subject matter, but Dylan loved it. He said he could imagine the soldiers marching and getting cross when the roads weren’t straight enough.’
Laughing, Helen could picture the lad saying so. ‘Shame I didn’t know you then. I’d have given him a behind the scenes tour. Loads more to see in the workshops and storerooms.’
‘He’d have liked that.’ Tom resumed his observation of the family opposite. The father was holding a young boy, of about three years old, over his head, whizzing him round like an aeroplane. ‘So would I.’
‘Maybe you could come. Both of you.’ Helen found herself staring at her hands as they sat in her lap. ‘There are some artefacts Dylan could help clean if he wanted to.’
‘You know he’d want to.’
‘Yes… He’s good at it too. He’s helped me before.’ Helen winced at the stilted nature of their conversation. ‘I’d like him to. I’d like you both to come and visit.’
‘You or the Baths?’
‘Both.’ Helen reached for the flask, hoping there was some coffee left. ‘It isn’t that far to Bath. You could—’
‘It’s a two-hour drive.’ Tom shook his head. ‘Going once for a visit, I could do that with Dylan. But I have work here, I have a son I’m finally getting to spend more time with and, let’s be honest, next to no money to spend on petrol. I try very hard not to live beyond my means.’
‘Right, yes, of course.’ She stared into the plastic beaker in her hand.
‘And how often do you have weekends off, Helen? Rarely, I imagine. And I only get weekends off and never week days, so—’
‘Okay, I get it.’ Pouring the dregs of the coffee between their cups, she passed one to Tom. ‘What would you have me do, then? It’s my job, and it’s a good one. I have a home in Bath that will be goodness knows how deep in dust and cobwebs by now. And I have colleagues that are relying on me to come back. Plus, Sam and Tina only employed me until mid-April, and that time is almost up. They don’t have the money to spend on me for any longer.’
