The Cheesemaker's House (8 page)

Owen and Margaret clearly didn't buy my explanation about the tablets and have decided I need watching. I am curiously ambivalent about their assumption; on the one hand it is acutely embarrassing, but on the other it's quite nice to be made a fuss of for a change.

Margaret spends most of the next day working in my garden and popping in and out of the house, so I tell her I'm planning to go to Leeds so that she doesn't feel she has to do it again. Of course, then I really do have to go, but apart from getting lost on the ring road, I actually enjoy my day in the big city and treat myself to a very expensive facial at Harvey Nichols.

In the evening Owen calls and we take the dogs for a walk to Scruton. He is cheerful, solicitous and charming; when he hears I've been to Leeds he makes me laugh with stories about his student days, but he can't hide the black circles beneath his eyes.

On Friday they bring Adam into the campaign and he drops by for an hour on his way back from work to deliver a batch of pasties for my freezer and to ask me to supper the next night. It is he who tells me how busy the café has been and asks if I'd mind helping out on Monday because Owen won't be around. I have the feeling it's another ploy to keep me occupied and under observation, but I am very happy to accept.

I dress up a little for supper on Saturday; nothing over the top, but it's nice get out of my decorating gear and put on a skirt and a fancy T-shirt. Margaret is invited too and I can't see her turning up in her gardening trousers. I've been hanging wallpaper in my bedroom all day, so it's lovely to sink into the bath for an hour, dress in clean clothes, grab a bottle of wine from the rack and make my way up the village.

William is invited too but he instantly disgraces himself by emitting a low growl when Owen opens the door.

“You really must cut that out,” I tell him, “Owen was helping me, not hurting me. Can't you get that into your thick head?” But I guess spaniels aren't exactly noted for their intelligence.

Owen takes it in good part and leads me to a small patio at the back of the house, where the table is set and Margaret already has a glass in her hand. Kylie is lying in the shade half way up the lawn and I shoo William off to join her.

Owen disappears into the kitchen leaving Margaret and me alone. We wander up the garden to look at her flower bed and I am amazed at the array of scent and colour. Stocks, towering gladioli, gerberas in soft, muted colours. I have a strong suspicion she also knows how to arrange them properly.

Closer to the kitchen is a large border given completely over to herbs. I don't pretend to recognise many of them, but the bed is neatly tended and each plant carefully labelled.

“Do you grow these as well?” I ask Margaret.

“No – this bit's down to Owen.”

“I expect Adam finds them useful in the kitchen.”

“Actually, they're nothing to do with Adam. They've been here as long as I can remember. Owen's grandmother...”

Owen materialises beside us and thrusts a glass of wine into my hand. “Dry white, isn't it?” he asks.

“I was just admiring your herbs.”

“Oh, they're very much the poor relation next to Margaret's glads. Come on, let's sit down – Adam's getting some of his gorgeous nibbly bits out of the oven.”

The food is excellent. The nibbly bits turn out to be melt in the mouth savoury palmiers and tiny cheese straws. Next there is pasta, with a creamy sauce full of delicate herbal flavours and shreds of parma ham. The dessert is naturally the piece de resistance; mille feuille packed full of fresh apricots and peaches, nestling in the lightest whipped cream I've ever tasted.

“Where on earth did you learn to cook?” I ask Adam.

“When Owen and I were sharing a flat in Leeds, at first I didn't have a job so I watched loads of daytime TV and found I was really interested in the cookery programmes. I managed to find work as a kitchen porter in a restaurant and I absolutely loved it. Luckily the owner had a bit of faith in me and sent me on day release to learn how to be a pastry chef. I worked for him until Owen's gran got ill, then I got a job as sous-chef at Crathorne Hall so I could be around to help Owen out. I learnt an unbelievable amount there and ended up doing the cakes for their afternoon teas. It's what I'm best at, but I still like doing other things.”

“You're so lucky having a job you love.”

“I know. I just wish Owen...”

“I do love the café, Adam, you know that.”

“But you're wasted there.”

“It's what I want to do.”

Owen clenches his jaw and I'm scared they are about to argue, but Adam just pats his hand and says, “Sorry mate. I didn't mean to be ungrateful,” and Owen offers to make some peppermint tea. I am surprised when he walks over to the herb patch and picks the mint fresh, but I don't know why I should be. If the herbs were his grandmother's he's probably been doing it all his life.

I have drunk just a fraction too much wine and I lean back in my chair. Adam and Margaret are talking about a TV programme I've never seen and I let my mind drift, trying to imagine what Owen's childhood was like. I half close my eyes and I can see a fair haired boy following an old woman along the herb garden. They seem to be playing a game where she hides the labels on the plants and he tells her what they are and I find myself drawn in, intrigued. I can hear the whispering of their voices, but not catch the words. Then Owen puts the teapot and mugs down on the table with a clatter and I wake up.

Adam picks me up just after eight on Monday morning.

“You're bright and early,” I say as I jump into the car.

He snorts. “I've already been into town once – Owen got the six o'clock train.”

“Where's he gone?”

“London.”

“He went before, didn't he? Does he have friends there?”

“No; it's business.”

“What, to do with the café?”

In response, Adam turns up the radio. “It's too early for all these bloody questions,” he tells me. Perhaps he's not a morning person.

Within a couple of hours he is perfectly cheerful. I prepare the café for the day then help him to make sandwiches ready for the lunchtime take out trade. Adam explains he'd really prefer each one to be made to order, but now the café is getting busier it's just not possible. He's not wrong; from eleven o'clock onwards I am rushed off my feet, but I wouldn't want it any other way.

By the time Adam and I wash up and put everything away it's pretty late.

Adam leans back against the kitchen table. “Fancy a quick pint?” he asks.

“I do – but I really can't leave William any longer. Margaret was popping in to let him out at lunchtime, but he won't be very happy by now.” I have a sudden thought. “Perhaps we can walk the dogs to The Black Horse instead.”

“I'd like that. For a moment there, Alice, I thought you were going to turn me down because you had a date.”

I have a vague suspicion his question might be loaded. I pick my words carefully. “No date, no boyfriend.”

“Really? Owen thought you and Richard...”

“He's not my boyfriend,” I snort. “He's not my type at all.”

Adam can barely keep the look of triumph from his face.

I wait outside with the dogs while Adam goes into the pub for the drinks, the evening sun warming my bare arms and face. For the last hour or so I have been positively fizzing inside, wondering if Adam's rather artificial question could possibly mean what I hope it does. I am eager to turn the conversation towards Owen and when Adam sits down opposite me I lose no time in asking him how they became friends.

“The stock answer is when Owen was at uni in Leeds. But the full version is rather longer, and not something either of us talks about.”

“Oh, that's OK, I didn't mean to pry,” I say, trying not to sound too disappointed.

“No, I am going to tell you, because I want you to understand what a special guy Owen is. He's a bit tired and stressed at the moment – it's making him moody, but it's not his fault – and I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression about what he's really like.

“I didn't settle very well at school and I was always in trouble as a teenager. By the time I was eighteen I was into drugs and got caught selling some to a young lass so I ended up in prison. That's where I met Owen. Not that Owen was inside, obviously, but the Christian Union at Leeds Uni ran a prison visiting programme and Owen signed up for it.

“Prison was awful for me. I'd thought I was tough, but life inside for a young gay man was brutal, to say the least. But I had a good social worker who put me forward for this visiting. The first bloke they sent was a complete arsehole, really condescending, and I nearly didn't give it another go, so I was ready to fight back all guns blazing when Owen turned up.

“At least, I'd meant to, but instead of some bigoted do-gooder I was confronted with a little lad trying to stop his voice from shaking as he pushed a bar of chocolate across the table and said ‘I didn't know what to bring – if you'd prefer something different next time, let me know – if you decide you want me to come again, that is'. His whole attitude was so unlike the guy before; there was no question that he didn't see me as an equal, and that persuaded me to give it a real go. I was pretty desperate for a friend, anyway.

“When I look back on it now, Owen was the first person who had been genuinely interested in me for who I was. He was such an innocent he'd never met anyone remotely like me; and I'd never met anyone like him either. Well, Alice, he's kindness personified and once I began to realise there were no hidden agendas, I let myself trust him and we got on like a house on fire.

“My release date coincided with the start of Owen's second year and before I even came out we'd decided we were going to share a flat. Owen had plenty of student friends but he was far too serious to get involved with all the normal horseplay and he said he wanted a life outside the university as well.

“We had really high hopes but initially it was a disaster. I'd expected Owen to have all the time in the world for me but the reality was that he had to study very hard. I didn't have a job and I soon fell back in with my old crowd and old ways. I don't know, maybe I was pushing Owen to make me his number one priority and show the sort of commitment I felt for him. Only back then I wasn't canny enough to realise it.

“It came to a head one night when I came back to find him waiting up, absolutely furious. He accused me of taking drugs, and when I denied it he actually ripped the sleeve off my shirt to expose the needle marks. I was gobsmacked – I didn't know he had it in him. The next thing I knew he was throwing my stuff onto the landing and we were yelling at each other like a couple of banshees until one of the neighbours came out and told us in no uncertain terms to put a sock in it or he'd throw a bucket of cold water over us.

“It made me realise how much I had to lose. We sat up all night and well into the next day, talking about what we both needed to do to put things right. I agreed to go on a rehab programme, and he agreed to give me all the support I needed while I did it. I promised not to see my old friends again, so I wouldn't get drawn back into crime. He explained he couldn't watch me rip my life apart – he was training to be a pharmacist – he knew more about drugs than most people, after all.

“And he stuck to his word – despite all the studying he had to do he was always there for me. You see, Alice, without Owen I'd have just pissed my life away. And I'm not the only person around here who owes him a great deal.”

“How so?”

Adam shakes his head. “That's for him to tell you when he's good and ready. All I've done is share my story, not his.”

My voice sounds very small. “I'd like to hear Owen's story, get to know him better...”

“You care about Owen, don't you?”

I nod. This is no time to lie; not to Adam and not to myself.

“Not in a just-good-friends sort of way?”

I nod again.

“Well thank fuck for that.”

I start to giggle uncontrollably. Then Adam joins in with a horrible noisy cackle that makes William jump up from my feet and bark. So we laugh even more, until the tears are rolling down our cheeks. I finally manage to stand up.

“Come on,” I tell him, “time I was getting back – William's hungry.”

As we round the last bend into Great Fencote I am surprised to see Owen striding along the edge of the green towards us.

“Adam – it's Owen.”

“Where?”

“There, you idi...”

But when I look again, Owen isn't there. With a horrible sense of déjà vu I break into a run, dragging William behind me. The only place Owen can be is behind one of the trees and I am determined to prove to myself he's there. I keep them in my line of vision as I run – it's only a couple of hundred yards – and when I get to the green William and I circle them. No Owen. No-one there at all. But then William lets out a low growl.

Adam has caught me up. “Alice – what are you on about? I'm not picking Owen up from the station until eleven o'clock tonight. He'd have phoned me if he was getting an earlier train.”

“I saw him, Adam, I know I did. He was walking towards us, under the trees.”

“It must have been a trick of the light, pet.”

But I know it wasn't. I also know that I don't understand what I've seen – it makes no sense. I am fully awake, I have taken not a single tablet and I have drunk all of half a pint of beer. I say goodnight to Adam, feed William, and start to cook my supper, all on autopilot.

If it hadn't happened before it might be different. But this is the third time; and two of them in broad daylight. I turn off the heat under my pasta. All the elation of the early evening has disappeared. What the hell is going on?