The following morning, Dee drifted towards consciousness, her body floating in that tempting half-space between sleep and waking when she couldn’t feel all the aches and niggling pains of being a woman approaching sixty. She held on tight to her dream state, feeling Pammy’s arms around her midriff, snuggled up against her back, the way they’d woken every morning for years in the big tester bed Art had made for them. She clung on to Pammy’s scent, the seductive combination of lemon verbena and tea tree oil. But then consciousness crowded in on her, and the small dresser beside the bed came into focus.
Pammy’s keys, her purse and the hairbands she took out just before going to bed each evening were still gone, replaced by the novel Dee had been reading the night before to take her mind off all the thoughts that kept circling in her brain about Ellie’s return.
The scent of lemon verbena disappeared, overwhelmed by the scent of the lavender laundry detergent she’d used on the sheets the day before. And the echo of Pammy’s off-key whistle – as she showered and got ready to head down to the office and start filing and ordering and doing all those mysterious tasks that Dee had never bothered to know about – faded into silence.
Pammy, I need you here, so much.
Grief hit Dee like a punch to the stomach as she let the miserable memories in: the endless, tedious waits in uncomfortable hospital chairs; Pammy’s once vibrant red hair falling out in clumps as she brushed it one morning; and those miserable final days of standing over her partner’s bed in Magnolia Ward and willing the woman she no longer recognised to die, so she could be without pain.
Dee rolled over, the clutching pain accompanied by the dull ache in the middle of her back caused by a day spent cooking to welcome Ellie home.
Except this wasn’t Ellie’s home, and whatever Dee had been hoping for – that Ellie’s decision to come visit meant she was eager to try to build a new relationship – seemed even further out of reach now than it had been four years ago when Pam had found an email address for Ellie’s event-planning business and suggested contacting her in America.
Ellie and she didn’t know each other. And four years of Christmas cards and polite emails and handmade gifts, and a fevered attempt to bribe her way into her daughter’s affections with fresh paint and newly made gingham curtains wasn’t going to change that. Or absolve Dee of her selfishness that summer, when she’d chosen her lover over her daughter.
She couldn’t regret that choice, because she had loved Pam so much. But ever since she’d lost Pam, she’d imagined winning Ellie back. And now she could see exactly how selfish that was too. Especially now she suspected the reasons Ellie had come to visit had nothing to do with her.
Why had her daughter been so exhausted when she’d arrived? She looked as if she hadn’t slept properly in weeks. And why hadn’t she mentioned her husband, Josh’s father? Why hadn’t he come with them?
Oh, Pammy, what if we were wrong about this? What if Ellie’s never ready to forgive me? What if I’m not even ready to forgive myself?
Dee breathed, waiting for the sting behind her eyelids to subside, before pulling back the bedclothes and padding to the bathroom. After getting dressed, she went to wake Ellie, but her gentle tap received no answer.
Feeling like an intruder, she pushed open the door, and saw her daughter curled in the bed, so sound asleep she reminded Dee of the little girl she’d once known, and had invested so much in.
Dee’s heart expanded, with yearning and emptiness, but then she closed the door behind her. She had to make sure she didn’t do that again – expect her daughter to fill the gaps in her own life. If Ellie was only here because she was running away from something then Dee could provide a safe haven. No questions asked. After all, Dee knew exactly what it was like to be so desperately unhappy that running away seemed like the only option.
*
Ellie woke up with a start, to discover that she’d overslept. It was nearly noon.
Was her mother still here? Or had she left for Salisbury already? Ellie showered, feeling better rested than she had in weeks. Months even. She’d help herself to breakfast and then head into Salisbury. She had a vague idea where the main square was, hopefully the market would be there.
She could smell the yeasty aroma of freshly baked bread as she headed down the stairs, but jerked to a stop as she entered the farmhouse kitchen.
Heat swept through her system, making her feel like a voyeur, but she could not detach her gaze from the sight in front of her.
Wow, hotness alert.
The young couple she had met the day before were bent over the sink in an embrace that, even though they were both fully clothed, looked pretty close to requiring birth control.
The guy’s hands were kneading the girl’s backside, while her leg was hooked round his hip and her hands were fisted in his hair as if she were about to launch herself up his torso. Their lips were achieving the sort of suction that would impress a vacuum cleaner convention.
Apparently the country air around here wasn’t only good for rest and relaxation. So the activist element may have left the farm, but the free-love element hadn’t? What if Josh had walked in on them? Her son would have had a sex-ed lesson almost as graphic as the one she’d had nineteen years ago, when she’d spied on Art by the millpond.
Ellie cleared her throat, loudly.
The girl squealed, and the couple sprung apart as if Ellie had just lobbed a grenade into the room.
‘Hi, um, I’m Ellie, Dee’s daughter.’ She stumbled over the new introductions.
I can’t even remember their names and I may well have just prevented them creating their firstborn.
‘We met yesterday,’ she added.
‘This is so embarrassing.’ The girl palmed her face. ‘I’m Maddy. This is Jacob.’ She jogged her thumb towards her boyfriend, who was looking more sheepish than embarrassed. ‘And contrary to appearances we’re not into exhibitionism. We thought you’d left with your mum.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’ The guy finally spoke, the dimple forming in his cheek suggesting he wasn’t that sorry. ‘Maddy’s insatiable, she can’t keep her hands off me.’
Maddy elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Shut up, Jay. You’re only making it worse.’ The girl rolled her eyes. ‘I’m really sorry. Jay thinks he’s being funny.’
‘Hey?’ Jacob said, placing his hands on her hips to draw her back against him. ‘Who kissed who first?’
‘Stop it.’ Maddy slapped his hands away. ‘You douche canoe.’
‘Douche… What? Now?’
Ellie covered her mouth, but the laugh popped out anyway – at the silly insult and Jacob’s comical reaction. Maddy chuckled too.
‘Why is that funny and I’m not?’ Jacob wanted to know.
‘Will you do us a favour?’ Maddy said, when they had stopped laughing.
‘Sure,’ Ellie said, liking the couple, who were actually cute, in a pornographic sort of way, and feeling about a million years old.
When had she become such a prude?
If Josh had interrupted them, he would have been absolutely fine after he’d got over the shock.
And the only reason Josh would have found it shocking was because she doubted he’d ever caught Dan and her kissing. The thought made her feel a bit sad. But at least he had never caught them arguing either, that was the main thing. Somewhere in the last ten years, she’d stopped wanting to kiss Dan, or do much of anything else with him, but they had both made sure to protect their son from the fallout of that loss of love. Unfortunately, they’d done such a good job, Ellie was finding it next to impossible to broach the subject of the divorce with her son.
If Josh would be shocked at finding two healthy young adults kissing, he would be even more shocked by that news, and somehow explaining the situation felt like having to rob him of the last of his childhood. He’d weathered so much in recent years, thanks to the bullies at middle school, and she wanted to be able to give him a summer without stress. If things worked out in Wiltshire, why not keep him away from that truth until they returned to New York? Because she knew for sure Dan, the king of avoidance, wasn’t going to raise the subject in the weekly Skype chats they’d arranged.
‘Don’t mention you caught us to Art,’ Maddy said, interrupting Ellie’s thoughts. ‘I’m sure he already thinks I’m a nymphomaniac.’
‘Better than being a douche canoe,’ Jacob pointed out.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Art.’ Not a hard promise to keep seeing as she intended to speak to Art as seldom as possible. ‘But I wouldn’t worry,’ she added. ‘Art’s not the shockable type.’ Or he certainly hadn’t been at fifteen. Ellie could still remember all the girls who had hung around the farm that summer trying to get his attention – and the long list of ones who had succeeded.
‘You know Art?’ Maddy’s eyes lit with interest.
‘We met when we were teenagers. I spent a summer here in the nineties,’ Ellie replied.
‘How intriguing,’ Maddy said. ‘Was he as scary then as he is now?’
Ellie coughed out a laugh, enjoying the girl’s directness – and her accurate opinion of Art. ‘Actually yes.’
‘Art’s not scary,’ Jacob said. ‘He’s a cool guy.’
‘Didn’t say he wasn’t cool,’ Maddy replied. ‘But he is intimidating. He does the whole strong silent moody thing better than Christian Bale’s Batman. Even without the aid of a black rubber onesie.’
Ellie laughed again, pleased to discover she wasn’t the only one who found Art intimidating – while trying not to imagine him in black rubber.
‘Time to haul arse, Miss Nosey Pants.’ Jacob took Maddy’s hand. ‘We’re supposed to be helping Rob bring the heifers down from the hill pasture.’
‘Nice talking to you, Ellie,’ Maddy said as Jacob dragged her towards the door. ‘We’ll keep our PDAs on the down low from now on. I promise.’
Ellie doubted that when she heard a loud slap followed by Maddy’s giggle of protest before the front door slammed.
Locating a jar of granola in the pantry, Ellie ladled out a generous helping of the toasted nuts and seeds then topped it off with some yoghurt and a selection of the freshly picked berries she found in punnets in the fridge.
Five minutes later, she was rinsing her bowl in the sink, when the crash of the door slamming open made her jump.
Batman himself charged into the kitchen holding his hand aloft, blood dripping down his forearm and splattering Dee’s sand-blasted stone.
‘Move,’ he said as he nudged her aside at the sink.
‘What happened to your hand?’ Ellie asked, as he thrust his hand under the tap.
‘I was sharpening one of the rotary blades and I nicked myself.’
Cold water gushed out, and ran red into the sink.
‘That’s more than a nick.’ Ellie leant over his shoulder – the deep ten-centimetre gash bisected his palm and sliced under his thumb. So much for Art’s useful skills, the guy couldn’t even sharpen a rotary blade without sawing off a hand.
He shot Ellie a caustic look over his shoulder, then shifted to block her view. ‘Get me a tea towel. It’ll be fine once it’s wrapped up.’
‘You’re going to need more than a tea towel,’ she said, as she checked the drawers, finally finding a pile of clean towels and fishing out a fistful. She lifted one from the top of the pile – ominously decorated with pictures of Druid worship at Stonehenge – and handed it to him, the metallic smell of fresh blood making her head swim.
Art wound the towel round his hand, tying the makeshift bandage off with his teeth. The blood started to seep through the fabric.
‘You are not serious?’ Ellie stepped into his path as he went to leave. ‘You need to get that stitched to stop the bleeding.’
‘It’s fine,’ he said through gritted teeth, the mutinous scowl reminding her of Josh when he’d been a fractious toddler. Josh, though, had never been this stubborn, or this stupid.
‘Plus it could get infected,’ she added. ‘And then you’ll lose it.’
‘Get a grip, Princess Drama.’ The old insult might have had more impact if she couldn’t see the greasy pallor beneath his scowl.
‘No I won’t, Captain Dickhead,’ she replied.
What was the guy trying to prove? That he could saw off his hand and keep on going? This was beyond ridiculous.
‘I’m not kidding,’ she continued. ‘You need to go to A and E.’
His face paled even more.
Whipping another tea towel off the pile, she took his hand and bound it more tightly in a vain attempt to stem the blood flow. His breath gushed out against her forehead. She tied two more towels together to create a makeshift sling.
‘Keep it elevated,’ she said, as she knotted the towels at his nape. ‘Until we get to Gratesbury.’
If she remembered correctly, there was a minor injuries unit there. Hopefully it was still there or they’d have to carry on to Salisbury, which was at least an hour away.
‘I’m not going to a hospital,’ he said.
‘Yes, you are, because I refuse to let you bleed out all over my mum’s kitchen.’ Taking his elbow, she led him towards the door. ‘Getting the stains out of these flagstones would be a total bitch.’
He shrugged out of her hold. ‘If I’ve got to go, I’ll drive myself.’
‘With one hand? I don’t think so.’ She grabbed his elbow again and tugged him towards the door, her temper riding roughshod over the ego slap.
So Art would rather lose a hand then spend twenty minutes in a confined space with her.
‘Wait there.’ She left him standing in the hallway, as she took the stairs two at a time to get her car keys. ‘And stop being a douche canoe.’
‘What the hell’s a douche canoe?’ he shouted after her.
‘A guy with way too much testosterone and not nearly enough common sense,’ she shouted back, taking a wild guess.