Starting Over (38 page)

Tess trailed upstairs, heart bruised. Coming back, far from solving everything, had left her in a place she hadn’t bargained for.

In the wrong.

She’d gone away. Left Ratty going bananas. Failed to cope with the facts of life, that sex causes babies and accidents happen. Which was, as it had been bluntly pointed out, exactly what had happened between her and Olly. Unprotected sex to which she hadn’t objected, at the time.

Landmines she’d laid kept blowing up under her feet.

And now she couldn’t expect to be welcomed back by her friends with their arms open, nor to rekindle the love between her and Ratty.

Although, well, yes, actually, she
had
kind of expected both those things.

She drove down to see James and Mari through an evening of ragged apricot and pink clouds flung across the sky.

Her mother dropped a hot plate and screamed when Tess walked into the kitchen. ‘
Tess
!’

Tess flushed. ‘Sorry I haven’t …’

‘
Therese
!’ Her father actually ran downstairs at Mari’s scream, ashen-faced and ludicrously hopeful.

To Tess’s acute discomfort and guilt, James gently placed his arms around her, drew the still-stunned Mari into the circle and they all stood there clutching each other like American kids doing a ‘group hug’ thing on telly. She almost died when she realised that the tears plopping down onto all their clothes originated with James.

And if she’d earned a quid for each of their questions after the initial touching moment, she could have taken six months off on the proceeds.

Mari kicked off, holding Tess’s arm as if she might disintegrate. ‘Why didn’t you just send us a card, for God’s sake? Did you have to put us through this? Where have you been for so long? Have you been all right? Did you lose another baby?’

‘I needed space,’ Tess muttered. ‘Sorry I didn’t get in touch but I didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. It was a false alarm with the baby.’

Then she was dancing back in shock as James suddenly lunged forward and roared in her face, ‘
For God’s sake have you
any
idea what we’ve been going through
? Couldn’t you have just phoned us
once
?’

And then she sat there in cold horror while Mari sank down at the kitchen table and, head in arms, gave way to sobs, and James knelt beside her, saying, ‘Shush,’ and, ‘She’s back, she’s back, she’s OK!’

Looking up at Tess, suddenly he was older. ‘One of us must telephone young Rattenbury. He’s been out of his head.’

The blush that crackled into Tess’s face was like an inferno. ‘I’ve been in touch,’ she said, shortly. Then she found herself muttering, ‘Sorry, I’m sorry’ contritely, as she realised that life had not been fun for her parents whilst she hid herself away.

At the end of two hours of joy and recrimination and sticking up for herself, Tess climbed back into the Freelander.

‘
Please
keep in touch.’ Mari hesitated. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK in Middledip? So near to … him?’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Tess declared touchily. ‘I made a mess of everything, but it’s my mess and I’ll sort it!’

Her phone was ringing when she got home. James had wasted no time in passing on the good news to Olly. ‘You really piss me off, you do. You could’ve let me know you were OK.’

‘I suppose I could.’

‘Are you and Caveman back together?’

She caught her breath on a jab of pain. ‘No.’

‘Good.’ He put the phone down.

It rang again a minute later. ‘When I’m not quite so pissed off with you, how about dinner?’

Dinner with Olly? She could. Odd, but Olly now seemed to represent safety and familiarity; if she went out with him, it would be a break from the hostility and accusation from everyone else. But he would still be Olly. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But no.’

Later, just as she was trudging up to bed, it was Guy’s turn to phone. He, at least, seemed to feel no need to scold her. ‘I said you’d show up! I told Uncle James you weren’t doing it on purpose, you just don’t always think of other people.’

She winced. ‘It must run in the family.’

‘Good one! And Ratty’s kicked you out of bed, has he?’

She felt tears queue up in her throat and spill out of her eyes.

Middledip’s pathways and lanes were still there for her to stride, watching the countryside, the men in the fields and toy-like machinery.

Her work was still there to bury her, her workroom with her paints and pastels, pencils and ink. Something to take over from the lizards must be dreamt up, the brief for her new commission read through. She stuck the old sketch of lizard-man Farny – Ratty so grim and sexy – underneath the choked heart on the wall, defiantly. Sod them all, no one was likely to see it.

And, happily, there were the kids. Toby and Jenna soon warmed to her again, eager-eyed whenever she appeared. Toby was ready for school in September and Jenna for playgroup. Despite the coolness between her and Angel, she still volunteered to entertain the kids whilst Angel did someone’s hair, still went in smelling of
Dior
and left smelling of buttery toast.

The first time she offered to help, timid and tentative, Angel stared. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘But I want to!’

So it was permitted, as a daytime thing if Ratty was at work. Because, evenings, it went without saying Angel and Pete had to choose between her and Ratty. And they chose Ratty.

Even her offer of babysitting one evening when Angel’s regular girl was busy, was treated gingerly.

‘I didn’t want to ask you.’ Angel folded mouse-strewn pyjamas.

‘Don’t you trust me any more?’

Angel’s eyes confronted hers. ‘It’s not a matter of trust, it’s awkwardness. We’re going out with Jos, Miranda, Ratty and “partner”. D’you see?’

In the sofa, an arm around each child and a book across her knees, Tess shook her hair forward. It took several breaths to stay a sudden giddiness. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she admitted unsteadily. ‘How stupid of me. How
stupid
!’

But she still agreed to babysit because she loved the kids, bath time, the bedtime story, the cuddles. They loved her – a rare thing these days. Angel assured her that, unlike the days of The Great Franca Plan, Ratty’s girlfriend would not be paraded under the babysitter’s nose.

‘But, Tess, it’s not a repeat performance of the
Franca
thing. It’s a date, like it always was. Ratty’s hitting on someone. It’s not an attempt to make you jealous. The days when Ratty would scheme to make the world what you wanted are over.’

Ow-ow-ouch. ‘OK. Got it.’ Did she sound breezy? She meant to sound breezy.

‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to sit. I’ll wait until Kelly from the village is free.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she declared, staunchly, falsely. ‘I’ll cope.’

But, in Angel’s pretty, comfortable home, the children asleep upstairs, she was overcome with memories of the days when she would have been glued to Ratty’s side while he played with a strand of her hair and called her Princess.

The worst thing about staying in Middledip was Ratty.

But she was going to stay, just because she wanted to prove that she could do it.

Though it meant constant toothache in her chest, watching him pass her house, seeing his set face through folded-back garage doors. Exactly as when she first came to Middledip. Smiles for everyone else, wary tolerance for her when their paths crossed.

The only person who called on her as friendly as ever with her charity envelope, was Carola. ‘Funnily enough,’ she said, plonking herself down. ‘I’m collecting for women seeking refuge. I know
you’ll
give generously!’ She grinned.

Tess accepted the irony and delved in her purse, relieved that someone mentioned her antics without condemnation. ‘Everyone’s so damning, Carola. What can I do?’

‘Sit it out, they’ll forget. Mind, I don’t suppose anything will wash with Ratty now, will it? Bringing a man like him to your side once is an achievement. Twice? Impossible. I’m having a coffee morning on Tuesday to raise more money for the refugees, can you come?’

‘No. Well,’ she corrected herself, thinking about the honesty everyone seemed to want from her, ‘I can but I don’t want to!’

The last bastion was the pub. The chattery, beery warmth.

Right, a test. Walk in and buy a drink, say hello, and if there was no welcome, well fine, she’d drink alone. Scary, but it had to be regarded as a challenge rather than a problem.

It was warm, smoky, the cosy groups were made up mainly of men. Ratty and Jos were slouched in the seat just by the door. Well, they just would be. She skidded to a halt. Her feet almost acted independently to spin and rush her back out but she got a grip. She knew her colour was up, but coughed and said, ‘Hi.’

Then she saw Lester in a further corner and sent him a small smile. He nodded before his eyes flickered to his son.

A sudden hush as she approached the bar and Tubb slunk forward to serve her himself. ‘Where the hell’ve you been, then?’

‘Working away.’

He laughed. ‘Is that what you call it?’ With a sneer that showed his sharky, backward-slanting teeth, he nodded in Ratty’s direction. ‘Forget to tell him, did you?’

Cutting him off, she snapped loudly, ‘What do you have to do to get a drink in this pub?’ The drink arrived in silence, a frosted half-pint of lager. Why hadn’t she ordered wine? She could’ve drunk it more quickly. She gritted her teeth and stuck it out until her drink was gone. Several people managed a hello. When she left, both Ratty and Jos nodded goodbye.

Back down
Main Road
she pondered what it was she’d just seen in Ratty’s expression, something that had lately been missing. Respect, maybe.

In the lee of the Freelander, accepting its shelter from the blustering wind, Tess watched the water hurrying along the deep drainage ditch at the roadside. Beyond, the
Fens
unrolled themselves in a grid-work of fields and hedges, a pastiche of greens, browns and golds marred by steel pylons marching along with their nasty little arms out. A bridge crossed a dyke in the distance.

Gulls, wings spread and bills gaping, formed a chaotic wake behind a methodically ploughing tractor. What could instil such greedy urgency? Seed? Fishy fertiliser?

Though she’d been brought up with a living carpet of farmland around her, Tess had never learnt much about it. Nothing more than the basic facts, anyway: oilseed rape makes fields brilliant yellow, other crops ripen green-to-gold. Tractors and combines are out until ten at night during the harvest. Silage stinks and so do cows. Bulls are dangerous. Farmers’ sons usually have money and a car.

‘In trouble?’

She whipped round, holding her hair back. The wrecker had pulled up facing the Freelander and Ratty was leaning out of the window.

‘Car trouble?’ he asked again at her astounded silence.

Mind racing, she nodded. He’d get out. If he hitched up her vehicle she’d get a ride in the cab of the breakdown truck. With him. ‘Completely dead,’ she sighed. ‘Any chance of a tow?’

Jumping out, rolling on the top part of his overalls from around his waist, he opened her door. ‘Try it.’

Hell. Impassive face, strong, stubbled chin, bright eyes. The whorl of hair in the hollow of his throat, the tattoos where his sleeves ought to be. She swallowed, surfing such a breaking wave of wanting and longing that she could hardly think straight. ‘Sorry?’

‘Try and start her again.’

She bit her lip. It would start, of course; she’d only stopped to look at the scenery. Then he’d shrug, ‘Bring her in sometime and I’ll check her out.’ Climb into the cab alone and proceed with whatever errand she’d interrupted. No ride in the wrecker for her.

‘It won’t start.’

‘Try it,’ he repeated impatiently.

‘It won’t start,’ she declared defiantly. Snatching her keys out of her pocket she hurled them into the bustling water of the drainage ditch and watched the bright green algae close up as if the keys had never passed through. ‘See?’

He looked from her to the water, and back, frowning horribly, with the once-familiar air of trying to weigh her up. ‘Have you gone quite mad?’

A big shrug and she stuffed belligerent hands into her pockets and waited to see what he’d do, certain he wouldn’t abandon her. ‘How about a tow home?’ she suggested again.

Gazing into the drainage ditch, he seemed hypnotised by the scurrying water. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said at last, ‘I’m on my way to fetch a car. You’ll have to ring someone to ferry you. Or,’ he offered, tepidly, ‘tag along. Got to get this car so it’s the round trip or nothing.’

‘Round trip, I suppose.’ She left the Freelander unlocked, waltzing ahead of him to the wrecker, skipping up into the cab, moving a leather holdall from the seat and into the space behind. And, as he buckled himself in, she dared, ‘Thanks for stopping.’