Torn (8 page)

He slept like Rory often did. Arms flung back on the pillow, hands limp and relaxed. His face was turned away, against his shoulder, but she could see his profile; the tousled ashy hair, the straight nose, the fan of long eyelashes, the concave plane beneath the cheekbone heavily stubbled with soft blonde whiskers – almost, but not quite a beard. The beaded chokers were still around his throat, the beads dragging to one side, caught in the crease between neck and collar-bone. A part of his smooth chest was exposed, the nipple dark and small against the creamy, fine grained skin. Jessica found herself mentally mapping each detail; the pull of the deltoid against the bicep, the perfect rounded form of his shoulder. When he turned his head she could study his mouth, the mouth she had kissed over and over again; she was now perfectly able to recall that part of the evening. What struck her more forcibly than his beauty, was his youth. Jess had realised he was younger than her, but now she wondered by how much. Tentatively she touched his upper arm; the skin felt silky and cool.

His eyes opened – clear, blue-grey, the iris ringed with indigo. She saw the sudden widening of the pupil, but by no other gesture did he display surprise at finding himself under scrutiny. He stretched and smiled and withdrew his arms from their up-flung position.

‘Hello Jess. You all right?'

‘Think so,' she said, truthfully. ‘What about you?'

‘Could be better. Chest's a bit tight. Your damn cat! You might think you keep him out of the bedrooms but he's definitely been up here.' He pulled himself up so that he was half-sitting against the pillows. ‘Had to get up in the night and help myself to one of your son's inhalers. You did say …?'

‘That's all right. I meant to find one for you before, before … Danny! I'm so sorry I was sick! I can't imagine why you stayed after my disgusting display.'

‘It's OK. We've all been there.'

‘Maybe, but to add to your revulsion I don't suppose you've walked into too many houses smothered in flea powder.'

‘Look, I'm the last person to be upset by something like that. I deal with mucky stuff most days of the week.'

‘What do you do?'

‘I'm a farm worker. I work with animals – sheep mostly.'

‘You're a shepherd? I didn't know they still existed!'

‘They don't, not really, not in the old sense of walking about all day with a crook, a lamb tucked under your arm, and a dog at your side, look.'

Jess now noticed what she hadn't noticed the previous evening. Danny had a marked country accent. The reactions of her London circle to this situation flashed up in her imagination – easy to predict the range of patronising insults. That Jessica Avery had found herself in bed with a yokel, a bumpkin, a wurzel, would be greeted with delighted, sneering hilarity. She fell back against her pillows and looked up at the raked ceiling. What was she going to do? If nothing had happened last night, and she felt increasingly confident it hadn't, it would be better not to let anything happen now. Draw a line. Nice to meet you, but …

Rory's potty – these days hardly used – was on the floor next to her side of the bed, presumably found by Danny in the bathroom and put there in case she was sick again. And her dressing gown was on a chair within reach of her outstretched hand. Danny had relaxed back; his eyes were closed again, his face turned slightly away. A wave of shame for her cowardice, for her superficiality, washed over her. Though she might not be able to admit her feelings of guilt to Danny, she could demonstrate her thanks with a hug. But she was naked. Best not do anything to stir up desire on either side. Desire was a treacherous force.

Chapter Six

The smoky smell of grilling bacon filled the kitchen and the kettle was boiling. Still in her dressing gown, but with a pinafore tied over it, Jess slopped to the bottom of the stairs in her trodden down slippers. ‘Tea or coffee?'

‘Tea, thanks,' came the answer from above. Though happy to make him breakfast and give him a lift home, Jess was still in a quandary over what to do with this man. Her policy in the past, pre-Sean, had always been to take their phone numbers, promise to ring, then get rid of them fast. There hadn't been too many she'd called later. She'd been totally honest when talking to Sheila, despite how her subsequent behaviour at the party must have been construed. She really had no intention of embarking on any form of relationship so soon, even the short and purely physical variety.

‘And how do you fancy a bacon sandwich?' she called again.

‘Um, sorry. Don't eat meat.'

Of course he didn't. Thank God there was some muesli in the cupboard. Being vegetarian went with the old image, the ‘locks' and wispy Gandalf beard. As she piled all the bacon from the grill tray onto one slice of bread, she decided it was actually quite lucky she'd been ill before going to sleep. Apart from avoiding the complication of sex, she was not now hung-over, only a little spaced out, and very, very hungry. Just as well, she thought, looking at the precariously balanced sandwich.

She heard his footfalls coming down the stairs. Waking up next to him in her dim bedroom was one thing, but any moment now they would have to face one another in the cold light of day, and the delicate business of where they went from here would have to be negotiated. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. There was no guarantee that Danny himself was in the market for a relationship of any kind. Alcohol-fuelled desire was not a reliable gauge of sober intentions. Perhaps all he had really wanted was a lift and a bed for the night. He'd made no amorous advance this morning. Better to wait, see how the land lay, play it by ear. Jess chuckled to herself.

Danny emerged through the door from the stairs into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt from the hem up over his bare chest. ‘What's funny?' He paused midway, unaware he'd missed out a buttonhole and the shirt hung askew. It was easy to stiffen her resolve when he was out of sight, but seeing him afresh, that pulse of attraction twanged through her. Her welcoming smile was entirely involuntary.

‘I was laughing at myself. Can't explain. Did you say you wanted tea? There's muesli and toast.' She took off her pinny and sat down. He pulled out the chair opposite and they gazed at one another.

‘Last night …' Jessica faltered, as a slow, knowing smile spread across his features, creasing his eyes. Her instant and very physical response recalled only too vividly how she came to find herself in this situation. ‘Er … the party?'

‘Yeah?' he nodded, still smiling. Jess cleared her throat.

‘Was the only reason you approached me because you recognised me? From the pub, I mean.'

‘No-o! I liked the look of you! I mean, yeah I recognised you, but that's why I recognised you. That night, before all the trouble, I'd been watching you. After your friend left you went up to the bar. It was classy the way you got the barman's attention immediately, even though there was a crush of people.' A skill you needed to learn in the wine bars of London, or else go thirsty. ‘I thought – she's got style, she's sure of herself. Confidence. I like that.'

‘Then you heard me called a bitch and a slag …' she paused. ‘That must have broken the spell.'

‘I can't take abuse and bullying. The man's obviously a fool.'

‘Thanks for coming to my rescue. It was brave of you. And … I'm sorry I offered the money. As soon as I'd done it I realised it was wrong.'

‘Forget it.'

‘But I couldn't think how else to show my appreciation immediately.' Jess considered the way he'd looked that night. The woollen hat pulled down over his dreadlocks, giving his head an enlarged, hydrocephalic appearance – the tasselled flaps of the hat hanging over his cheeks; the fair tendrils of moustache and beard obscuring mouth and jaw line. ‘Hardly surprising I didn't recognise you after you'd had your locks cut off. Why did you do it? It must have taken considerable time and dedication to grow.'

‘Since I was about fourteen, when I decided I wanted to be an eco-warrior, I just let my hair grow and never shaved … not until recently.'

Jessica had wanted to know why he'd cut them off not why he'd grown them, but she let it pass. ‘Most boys want to be train drivers. But you wanted to be an eco-warrior?' She couldn't help the teasing tone in her voice.

He smiled. ‘In those days, while I was still young and there was nothing local to protest about, best I could do was look the part.'

‘You don't want to be an eco-warrior anymore?'

‘I still believe in the power of people banding together to take direct action against big business and devel'pers. Protecting the envir'ment from global warming, but …' he frowned. Jessica tried to supply the qualification he seemed to be searching for.

‘So, you're a bit of an anarchist? But you don't need the dreadlocks any more to prove it?'

‘Something like that. But the hair's irrelevant. What I was trying to say … I don't believe in violence.'

‘I see. It's the warrior bit you've out-grown. You'd prefer to be seen as an eco-campaigner these days?' He nodded. ‘So when did you have the locks cut?'

‘Christmas. When I went back across the river to see my folks in the Forest.'

He had crossed the river to his home in the Forest? Gandalf beard was right. This was beginning to sound like a fairy tale.

‘Forest?'

Danny looked mildly surprised at her ignorance. ‘Forest of Dean. East … I mean west of here. Across the Severn.'

‘Is it a real forest?'

‘A lot is, some of it's farmland, like here.'

‘And that's where you learnt husbandry?'

Danny looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Hus … what?'

‘Farming, looking after animals.'

‘Sorry. I'm not very educated, Jess. Spent too much time down the lane, helping on Earl's, our neighbour's, farm. So yeah, that's where I learnt …'

‘Husbandry. Danny? I'm sorry, this may sound rude but, how old are you?'

He gave her that narrow-eyed appraising look she remembered from the party, as if trying to second-guess her reaction.

‘Twenty,' he said, tilting his head back, jutting his chin.

‘You're twenty! Danny!'

‘Nearly,' he added. Jess dipped her face into her hands. Last night she'd accepted he was possibly younger than her, if not by an unbridgeable margin. Even in daylight his age was difficult to judge. But there was something about the way he expressed himself, a kind of innocence, which had revived the suspicion that he was even younger than she'd first estimated. But nineteen, for God sake! No need to agonise any further about what she should do. This revelation had made up her mind for her. Even without the additional difficulty of her being the mother of a young child, there was no way she would pursue a relationship with a nineteen year old. It was ridiculous. Out of the question. Jess raised her head and looked at him. His face, at first serious, broke into a grin. Again that zap of electricity.

‘Is it a problem?'

‘Danny, I'm over thirty!'

‘So? What's age got to do with anything? If you like someone you like them. I hadn't even thought about your age.'

‘I'd never have guessed.' Jess spoke as if to herself, still lost in contemplation of his face. ‘Danny? How long have you been back from the Forest?'

‘Coupl'a days.'

‘And did your friends recognise you?'

‘When they came to collect me for the party they were a bit surprised.'

‘Yesterday was the first time they'd seen you?'

He nodded. ‘But it was the boss who completely blanked me. Ordered me off his land. Even though he apologised after. I was a bit miffed seeing it was him told me to get my lousy hair cut in the first place!'

‘He what? Employers can't lay down the law about hair-styles. Not unless you're dealing with the public.'

‘P'raps. But it's not like I could afford to stand up to him, particularly when he was accusing me of infecting his daughter.' Her heart missed a beat, but apparently unaware of how this remark could be interpreted Danny continued. ‘She shows me her books. We sit on the steps … and look at them, you know, heads together. And she got nits.'

Head lice! Phew! ‘So, he really did mean “lousy”?'

‘I was a bit insulted. It's not like I didn't wash my hair ever!'

‘Is this the daughter with asthma?'

‘You can understand him losing his rag. She's not four yet and his only child.'

‘Are you sure it was your fault?'

‘After Dad cut my hair I got him to go through it, and there they were, the little devils. I could hardly get on my high horse about your flea powder last night when I've been reg'l'y washing my own hair in some foul chemical brew.' He looked suddenly uncertain. ‘Now you'll not want any more to do with me?'

Already disarmed by his honesty, Jess was further surprised by this last unguarded comment, which suggested he did indeed have expectations of the relationship.

‘Danny, head lice prefer clean hair, or so I've heard. You could just as easily have caught them from her as she from you. It's rife in nurseries, and primary schools. If you'd looked more carefully at the contents of my bathroom cabinet last night, you'd probably have spotted the same shampoo. I'm always having to check Rory's hair.' To demonstrate she had no qualms about his cleanliness Jess circled the table. From behind his chair she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his fair head. ‘A friend said recently that I might have felt pressurised to have my own hair cut, but that it's a great success.'

Danny turned to look up at her. ‘It is. It's really cool.'

‘Well so is yours, and I'm the beneficiary.'

‘You're the …?'

‘I scooped you up first, before anyone else had a chance to.'