Someone Else's Conflict (9 page)

‘All part of the service. Hope you don't feel I'm interfering.'

‘Not at all.'

She poured them both a coffee and he joined her at the table, drying his hands on a teatowel.

‘I didn't sleep well. Eventually decided I might as well put the time to good use.'

‘I thought I heard you shout out in the night.'

His expression clouded again. ‘Did you?'

It was out before she could stop herself: ‘What does “shoiker” mean?'

‘Shoiker?'

She nodded, regretting her intrusion. He was still wringing the teatowel, though his hands must have been long dry. He paused, began to fold it.

‘You know, one of these days I'll really get myself into trouble, rambling in my sleep like that! What on earth else did I say?'

‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. But your voice was raised, and… That was all I heard, honestly. You just said something like “I'm not shoiker,” loudly. It intrigued me, that's all.'

‘Sorry if I disturbed you. It's coming back to me now you say it.' He leaned back and hung the teatowel on the rail of the Rayburn. ‘It meant “jay”. My name. In another language.'

‘So why would you say you
weren't
Shoiker?'

‘Search me.'

He stood and went over to the sink to finish off the pots. ‘You know what dreams are like. Weird.' Still with his back to her, he scrubbed vigorously and upended a pan on the draining board. When he turned, teatowel back in hand like a security blanket, it was as if the dream and its darkness had melted away like a wisp of morning mist.

‘Time for me to get you some breakfast,' he said, breezily. ‘Tell me what you want and where it is. We ought to get moving – haven't you got an important appointment this morning?'

‘It's a shop I know, Jay. They might sell my stuff. Hardly an exam or a major job interview.'

He grinned. ‘Whatever. But
I've
got work to be doing.'

‘Work out there; it doesn't include you waiting on me hand and foot. Aren't you supposed to be the guest here? Sit down, drink your coffee and I'll see to breakfast.'

He seemed restless, edgy, and it occurred to her that his offer might have more to do with keeping himself busy than doing her any favours. She wondered briefly about the wisdom of leaving him here while she went to Skipton, and tried to think of a plausible excuse for locking the door while he worked outside. Nothing occurred to her that didn't involve offending him, and in any case she thought that getting into locked houses could easily be one of his many talents. Chiding herself for overreacting, she recalled how the previous night had passed without incident and she'd actually enjoyed his company. By the time he'd finished several slices of toast and jam as quickly as the Rayburn could brown them, she had decided to trust him.

She quickly changed and he helped her to the car with one of the boxes from the landing. They decided it wouldn't be worth him patching up the hole in the barn roof, as the whole thing was to be replaced, and he should concentrate on finishing clearing the yard.

‘OK, see you then. I'll be back by lunchtime at the latest.'

She moved towards the car, but he called her; she paused and looked back.

‘The joys of country living, hey? Don't you lock up round here?'

He sounded genuinely surprised, and she hoped her cheeks weren't reddening.

‘Oh, I…won't there be things you need inside?'

He shrugged. ‘The tools are all out here, aren't they? Leave me a biscuit or two, perhaps. Apart from that, I've got my baccy in here,' he patted his jacket pocket, ‘and I can drink from the stream there, if I need to.'

She locked the door as he suggested.

Marilyn's meeting at the shop went well. Despite having played it down to Jay, it was important to her, and she felt buoyed up on the way home, deciding as she drove through Holdwick to call on Matt to update him. Nevertheless, as she parked the car and walked over to Barton Mill, she found herself wishing Jay was there. She shook her head, annoyed that she still felt anything around Matt, as well as for thinking that a near stranger like Jay would make any difference. Inside the building, she made her way past the ground-floor units and up the solid stone stairs to the shop that had once been partly hers.

The traditional brass bell rang out, and the familiar board creaked as if to warn of her presence. When they'd taken over the place they'd hardly believed that such thick, heavy floorboards could move, but the mill had its voices like any other building. The clanging faded into a background of atmospheric music. Marilyn recognised it and briefly wondered whether to ask for the CD back as she made her way between the shelves towards the empty counter, plucking up courage. The items on sale were the same but different. She let her eyes linger on the homely colours of a stoneware bowl. One of hers. She swallowed her resentment together with her nerves.

The storeroom door was ajar. Voices floated through to the shop, the sound of boxes being moved. A woman laughing. Matt teasing. Dust was in the air, in her nose, catching in the back of her throat. Like the early days. Marilyn coughed.

‘Customer,' Matt muttered to the other, then in a raised voice: ‘Be with you right away.'

His footsteps approached from the depths of the storeroom. She leaned on the counter, stood tall, leaned again, hating herself for feeling nervous.

‘Marilyn. To what do we owe the pleasure?'

‘I'd like a quick word. With you.'

She glanced pointedly towards the storeroom. She had nothing against Lucy and grudgingly liked her, despite everything, but didn't particularly want her there.

‘Fancy coming up to the flat for a coffee?'

Not like him to be so tactful; Lucy must be having a positive effect. He called through to the back that he'd be gone for a short while and she followed him out.

The top floor of the small mill made a lovely flat and she felt an insane surge of jealousy as she thought of their plans for it. Plans that would now benefit someone else, while much of the fruit of her labours lay under a heap of soil.

‘No need for coffee; I won't stay long.'

‘Ah, just wanted a nosy?'

She bristled. ‘I wouldn't be here at all if my phone was working.'

He waved her to a seat and looked round. ‘We've nearly finished, though you wouldn't believe it with all this mess.'

There were a couple of boxes in a corner, one unpainted wall with some paint cans and dust sheets. Otherwise the place looked good, and she felt as if he was mocking her inability to be in a room for more than half an hour without filling it with clutter.

‘I just thought I'd better let you know – that storm Saturday night? It's caused a few problems.'

‘Hence no phone.'

‘And still no electricity, plus it caused a landslip against the barn.'

‘Sorry to hear it. Any structural damage?'

‘A bit to the barn; nothing that wasn't going to be rebuilt anyway. But that's not why I'm here. I came to say that Alan won't be able to start this week as planned.'

‘Saw him in the pub last night. He told me he'd spoken to you and you didn't seem happy. He's started on the Grants' place, hasn't he? You've got to admit, Lynnie, he's bound to give them priority. It's their home, they've got three young kids—'

‘Did I say I was complaining? And I've asked you to stop calling me that.'

‘Sorry on both counts.' He held his hands up and she wondered how she'd ever found the familiar gesture and accompanying expression anything other than patronising.

‘I just wanted to say I'll probably be needing the spare workshop a bit longer than we planned.'

‘Hm. We could do with letting it out before too long. We'd hoped it'd be free in the next couple of months. But I do understand the position you're in.'

‘I'll be leaving it in a far better state than when I came. It was a wreck.'

‘Merely cosmetic.'

‘A wreck and you know it. And don't forget it's in lieu of my share in the business.'

Matt laughed. ‘How much do you think we're making here? If it was a market rent it'd already take months of your “share” to balance it out. Of course I wouldn't dream of asking for money, seeing as it's you, but… I'm sure you know where I'm coming from.'

Only too well; he never tired of reminding her what a favour he was doing her.

‘Listen, Lynnie – Marilyn – since Alan told me the news I've been thinking. What have you told the insurance? Could you get them to cough up some rent for the extra period?'

‘I haven't mentioned it as such,' she said.

‘“As such”. You haven't contacted them, have you? I'd have thought even you—'

‘We've been too busy clearing the yard and getting the car out – no phone, remember? – and I had an appointment this morning. I'm going over to the brokers' now. I wanted to update you first. And…make sure it was all right for me to stay on at the unit a bit longer.'

‘If you say so. Good luck, then. So who's “we”?'

‘What? Oh, I've had a friend over to help me.'

‘Anyone I know?'

‘No.' She smiled and stood. ‘Right, I'll be off. Thanks for being OK about me staying on.'

‘And for reminding you about the insurance.'

For once his smug insistence on having the last word didn't bother her. As she left she thought that, rent aside, the insurance might enable her to give Jay a decent wage. Perhaps she wouldn't even need Matt's mate Alan at all.

Chapter 8

The hole in the roof was still bothering him. Try as he might to ignore it, it was there. Even if he concentrated determinedly on the view, the solid stone house across the yard with its pretty but neglected garden, the dwindling pile of rubble at his feet, it was still there, seared into his imagination like a brand. Every piece of damaged, broken timber pointing accusations through the grey-skied hole. He wished he'd insisted on patching it up. As soon as she'd gone he'd even got the ladder back out and checked the rest of the roof in random places. It seemed fine. Those builders were deceiving her, suggesting work that didn't need doing, for extra money. He wouldn't deceive her. Not about that. Not about…

He forced himself to concentrate. A few more shovelfuls and he'd be ready to take the barrow with another load of debris to the pile. Past the gap in the barn wall with its glimpse of the hole in the roof. He kept shovelling. Soil was overflowing. Go. More shovelling. You weren't going to think about it. He picked up the handles and the creaky wheel was part comforting, part menace. He breathed deeply and headed up the yard to the pile. Wonder what she'll want to do with all that soil? Better. Don't think…He should insist, sooner rather than later, patch it up. The hole in the roof. Don't think about it. He glanced up and his heart lurched as he saw the boy sitting on the stone wall between the yard and the fields beyond. The drystone wall that was just like the drystone walls from back then. He put the barrow down, stared hard at its contents. Don't be stupid, a drystone wall is a drystone wall. The land around is totally different. Can't you smell it? Hear it? Different. He tipped the barrow. As the crunching slithering of soil and gravel stopped he glanced nervously at the base of the wall. Stop it. There's nothing there, only trees, grass and a bit of dying bracken. And looked up. The boy was still watching.

‘There's nothing for you here, can't you see? You might as well go. Leave me.'

He forced himself to turn his back, grabbed the barrow and made for the barn and the next load. No good. Need a rest. Getting old. If only that was all. The bench against the side wall of the house beckoned. He sat and filled his pipe as purposefully as he could with shaking hands. Just need a break, that's all. Scary: had he spoken out loud just then? He had before, in the night, that was for sure. Šojka. So why hadn't he taken her cue, told her… Told her what? he thought irritably, what for? Why tell her? Because she seems like someone who'll listen? What makes you think…? He drew deeply on his pipe, looking up as the boy jumped from the wall and turned away. And him – what was that about last night? Christ, he was giving the little bastard stories now. That's right, off you go into the woods. The cheery birdsong harmonised with the breeze-rustled leaves. Where were the ravens when you needed them?

He made himself put the pipe aside and went back to work. She trusted him to do a good job, better do one. Or? Why not walk away? He'd laid it on a bit; yes, earning something decent would be good, but he managed. With no responsibilities it was amazing what you could get by on. But something regular. Nice change. Or even…
You can't run forever
. And – come on, admit it – she was worth getting to know. Pretty, too, though he suspected she wasn't confident of that. Which was nice in itself. It was refreshing to meet someone who didn't eye him with distrust all the time, even if he deserved it – hell, she wasn't even going to lock the door this morning! Apart from their first meeting – hadn't she as good as blamed him for losing something? Only natural. Even though it could have been anyone in that crowd.