No Going Back (7 page)

“This stupid, stupid hip,” she groaned and for once she didn't shrug me away.

S
AM

T
he sound of the lawnmower woke me up the next morning, its throaty rumble chugging right beneath my window. “Do something about that, will you?” I groaned at Dad, pulling the pillow over my head.

There was no reply. I peeked out. He was nowhere to be seen. I turned over and tried to get back to sleep, tried not to worry about where he was, but it was no good. I had to go and find him. To make sure that he was still here.

“You've got serious trust issues, Laura,” I said to myself as, remembering Gran's instructions from the previous night, I pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt. On my way downstairs I peered out of the long, rectangular landing window but there was no sign of the gardener and no sign of Dad either. The mower had stopped and there was such an unusual
sound coming from the kitchen – it was Gran laughing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard her laugh. In fact, I couldn't remember ever hearing her laugh quite like that. I pushed open the kitchen door and there he was, the gardener, sitting at the table, sipping a mug of almost black coffee and eating one of the ginger flapjacks Dad had watched me make the day before.

“Ah, Laura!” Gran positively twinkled. “This is Sam, my gardener.”

I must have looked completely gormless with my mouth hanging open and my eyes popping in disbelief. I'd expected someone old and crusty, all stooped and gnarled with weather-beaten skin and baggy trousers. Instead, there was the boy from the churchyard, his really long legs wrapped underneath the old oak chair, as if he didn't quite know what to do with them.

“Hi again!” He stood up and held out his hand.

“Hi,” I whispered, acutely aware of the warmth of his palm against mine.

What sort of a teenager shook hands? I thought. Dad was right – he must be a bit strange.

Talking of which – where was Dad? My eyes darted all around the kitchen, even underneath the table and out of the windows, but either he had dematerialised or he really wasn't around. Briefly, I wondered where he had gone.

“Where's Mum?” I asked Gran, as Sam slid back onto his chair and took another piece of flapjack.

I moved to the range and put the kettle on the hot plate, hoping that if I stood there, Sam might think my puce face was due to the heat and not to shyness.

“She's gone to do a bit of shopping,” Gran said. “I told her that I'd be fine while Sam's here to check I don't fall over or do anything silly.”

She threw back her head and gave a girlish laugh. One of the tortoiseshell combs that she used in her upswept grey hair slipped slightly. I dragged my eyes away from Sam's leg where one brown knee was poking through a rip in his jeans.

“And me,” I intercepted. “I can look after you too, you know.”

She looked taken aback. “Yes, yes of course you can.”

But I could tell she didn't mean it, didn't rate my
caring abilities. Sometimes I felt as if it wasn't just Dad who thought of me as four years old. It was as if I had a label stuck across my forehead – poor little Laura, the girl whose father was killed in an accident, the one whose life stopped when she was in reception at primary school.

“How are you settling in?” Sam asked, directing that clear blue gaze straight at me.

I felt so hot I wondered if I was about to spontaneously combust. I swear I saw Gran's ears prick up as she nibbled at one of her favourite shortbread biscuits and waited for my reply.

Get it right, Laura, I said to myself. Don't mess up with this. You can't tell the truth or she'll have it in for you even more and he'll think you're an absolute cow.

“It's fine.”

No, no! Fine's not the right word. It's so noncommittal. Say something else, say something more meaningful.

“I've been coming here on holiday for years. It's like my second home.”

I swear Gran almost smiled at me, unless it
was just a leftover from her gaze at Sam or maybe a touch of wind. I decided to allow myself a bit of brief congratulation anyway.

Better, Laura. Well done!

“Lucky you,” he said.

Gran absolutely beamed then. I reckon if she could have got out of that chair without a struggle, she'd have leaped up and kissed him. Normally I'd have felt like putting my fingers down my throat and pretending to be sick but he really sounded as if he meant it. I sloshed some water into my mug and pressed down on the teabag.

“So, why haven't I seen you around before?” I asked.

“Oh Sam and his father only moved to the village just after Easter,” Gran chirped up. “His father's our new vicar.”

She was radiating approval now. Sam looked a bit embarrassed.

“Oh,
that's
why you were in the churchyard.”

“Yeah!” He grinned. “I bet you thought I was a real nerd.”

“No, of course not,” I protested.

He raised one eyebrow.

“Well, maybe a bit,” I confessed.

“I get paid a pittance to tidy around the gravestones,” he explained, “and your gran's kindly given me some work as well. Now the holidays are here I can come earlier in the day instead of after school.”

“That's nice,” I said, aware that I sounded a complete and utter drip.

The back door creaked.

“Bang on cue,” Gran muttered and a few seconds later the kitchen door was flung open. Liberty swanned in, all freshly washed hair and Optrexed eyes by the look of it.

“Granny!” she exclaimed, swooping towards her. “How
are
you today?”

She bent over and kissed Gran on the forehead.

“Much the same,” Gran replied. “This is a nice surprise. You usually pop by in the afternoons.”

“It's the holidays now, Granny, so I thought I'd come earlier.”

“Fancy that!” Gran murmured. “And Sam's here early too.”

Was Liberty the only person in the room who didn't pick up on the sarcasm?

“We were just on our way to the shop and Mum wondered if there was anything you wanted?”

“That's very kind, dear, but Laura nips down for me if I need anything.”

“Oh!” Liberty said. “Of course. That's what I said to Mum but you know what she's like. She just wanted to double check.”

She sent me a half smile before twirling around, her hair following in a glistening arc.

“Sam,” she virtually chirruped, “I'd completely forgotten you'd be here today.”

Yeah right, I thought, and accidentally dropped my spoon into the sink from quite a height. The clatter didn't put her off at all.

“How are you?” she cooed.

“Good, thanks.”

Was it my imagination or did he look a bit uncomfortable? Were his hands clutching his mug a little more tightly, his feet crossed over one another in an unnatural pose, toes pressing down against the flagstone floor? He fancies her, I thought, but he
doesn't want to admit it, at least not in front of Gran and me.

“I haven't seen you around much,” she said, throwing him a coy smile.

“No, I've been busy.”

“Oh me too,” Liberty replied.

I leaned back against the metal rail of the range and blew the steam away from my tea. It was like being at the theatre and watching a scene playing out. Sam stared into his mug. There was one of those awkward silences that make the air feel as if it's made of thin, brittle glass.

“Actually I wanted to speak to Laura,” Liberty said at last, her face falling, “to say I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. And about the other day – I was in a bit of a mood. Sorry.”

Nobody looked at me but I knew that they were waiting for my reply. She obviously hadn't really come around to see me so it took a while to summon up an element of grace from the depths of my soul.

“It's okay,” I mumbled. “It was probably my fault.”

“No. It was mine. All mine. Everything's been so stressful for us but it's not been easy for you either, moving up here. I should have been more understanding. I should have put all of
my
problems to one side.”

Her voice was weaving us all into its compassionate web. She came over and hugged me while I wondered how pressing her problems really were. I could smell the grassy notes of her new perfume and the fruity scent of her shampoo. She was just so glossy and glamorous and I felt like a tramp beside her. I also had this feeling, deep down, that she was putting on a bit of an act, but Gran was beaming, so she seemed convinced of Liberty's sincerity.

“So, Sam,” Liberty turned away but linked her arm through mine, “have you got plans for the summer? Are you going away?”

“No,” he said. “Dad can't afford the time off, as we've just moved here.”

“Oh that's a shame,” Liberty sympathised, “but never mind, you can always give me a call if you're stuck for things to do.”

He smiled and I thought that I detected the
slightest hint of colour rising behind his freckles.

“Thanks, Liberty. I'll remember that.” He turned to look at me. “And there's Laura too, of course.”

I started with surprise that he should include me. Liberty tensed. Imperceptible if we hadn't been in bodily contact but it was definitely there.

“Yes, of course,” she said, “we mustn't leave Laura out, must we?”

Sam scraped back his chair. “I'd better be getting on,” he said to Gran. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Oh don't rush off because of me,” Liberty protested.

He smiled and turned, looking her square in the face. “I'm not. I've got work to do.” He headed for the door. “Great flapjack by the way, Laura.”

“Thanks,” I said, any pleasure at his praise evaporating as a result of the way Liberty yanked her arm away from mine.

P
ROTECTION

“
H
ave you been all right?”

Dad rushed across the garden while Mum was still emptying shopping bags from the car. I was lying on a rug reading a book.

“Yes,” I hissed. “Of course I have. Where have you been?”

He flopped down beside me. “I thought I'd take a trip into town with your mother, just for old times' sake.” He looked at my watch. “We've been so much longer than I thought. Her driving hasn't got any better.”

“I don't know what you mean. Mum's a good driver, most of the time.”

“Just so slow,” Dad groaned, “and I kept thinking of you here, all on your own.”

I laughed and Mum looked over towards me.

“Something funny in the book,” I called back.
“Do you want a hand with those bags?”

She shook her head. “This is the last one.”

“I wasn't on my own,” I whispered to Dad, “Gran was here.”

“Well she wouldn't be any good if anything happened.”

“Dad, I'm not still a baby. What could happen?”

“All sorts of things. Your world is full of danger.”

I reached out a hand. “You mustn't worry so much. Uncle Pete's probably within shouting distance somewhere on the farm. Besides, Sam was here and Liberty popped around for a while so I haven't been lonely.”

He straightened up. “Who's Sam?”

“Gran's gardener.”

He relaxed again and lay back down. It was weird because I could almost see the red checked pattern of the rug through his body.

“He's the boy we saw at the churchyard.”

That was a mistake. He was sitting up again in no time at all.

“I knew that he was going to be trouble the minute I set eyes on him.”

“He's not trouble. He's nice.”

“How old is he?”

“I don't know. I didn't ask.”

Dad raked his hands through his hair. “Did he ask you out?”

“No, of course not. He's not going to be interested in me when Liberty's around, is he?”

“Why on earth do you say that? Of course he is,” Dad insisted.

I smiled at him. “Thanks, but I know I'm not in her league in the looks department.”

“Yes, you are,” Dad said vehemently. “You're beautiful.”

“You
are
a bit biased.”

He looked at me and sighed. “My beautiful Laura – that's what I used to call you.”

“I don't remember that.”

“No, I don't suppose you do.” He frowned. “Anyway, boys aren't totally fixated on how pretty a girl is. It's not just about looks.”

“Isn't it? You could have fooled me.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “Hasn't your mother taught you anything? Boys like girls with a bit
of character, a sense of humour, kindness shining out of them – girls just like you, Laura.”

I blushed. “I think you're a bit out of date there, Dad. Maybe back in the dark ages but—”

He sat bolt upright, making me jump.

“I forbid you to see him.”

“Don't be silly. You can't do that. We're not in the Victorian era. Besides, I'm bound to see him around the village.”

I peered up at him.

“You're jealous.”

“I am not. I am just a concerned and responsible father.”

“Well there's no need to be – concerned, I mean. Liberty's obviously claimed him already. Her tongue was virtually hanging out.”

“Laura, that's a horrible expression!”

“Well it's true. You're easily shocked, aren't you?”

He frowned. “I just want what's best for my favourite daughter.”

“You've only got one daughter, haven't you?” I teased. “So I've got to be your favourite, haven't I?”

He was very still suddenly and had a slightly strange look on his face. It was only for a second or two, one of those instances that stirs up a slight sense of unease but it's so fractional, and the feeling is so deep, that you bury it almost straight away. Besides, Dad blew me a kiss and summoned up one of his broad smiles.

“Of, course you're my favourite girl, Laura. Never, ever doubt it.”

So I didn't. I never had.