Second Hand Jane (15 page)

“Oh,” was all
Jess said. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

They had both
gotten out of the vehicle that obviously wasn’t going anywhere and
Owen kicked the door. “Damned thing.”

He looked so
annoyed that Jessica found herself saying, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s
one of those things; don’t worry about it.” Actually, she thought,
it wasn’t okay because she was bloody well marooned.

“I’m sorry
about this,” he muttered brusquely in that tone that implied
apologising was a foreign concept to him. “Come on, it’s getting
too cold to be standing around out here. I’ll phone Mick from the
garage and get him to come out with a new motor. There’s a bus that
swings through just after ten tomorrow morning. I’ll have you on
that.”

“Oh,” was all
Jess could come up with again as she stayed where she was.

He looked back.
“Well, you’ll have to stay the night, won’t you?”

Jeepers, Jess
thought, taking in his surly expression. He was as enamoured at the
thought of having her stay over as she was about staying. She
didn’t think she could face the long evening that stretched ahead
alone with him and his moods. She didn’t want to have to make
conversation with him. What she needed was to be alone with her
thoughts to process what she’d learnt about Amy today.

Owen was right,
though; the temperature had dropped and the air was filled with
that real autumnal chill that had begun setting in every afternoon
once four o’clock rolled around. It was a taste of the winter yet
to come. She thought of that blazing fire he had going inside the
cottage and reluctantly followed him back inside. Spying Jemima a
safe distance away under the rose bushes, she poked her tongue out
at her before closing the front door firmly behind her, just as the
pudgy white goose charged.

This was so not
what she had planned. She should be sitting on the bus:
boobs-a-bouncing, evil-eyeballing Leery Len as he drove her back to
Dublin. Yes, by rights, she should be well on her way home to her
own cosy apartment with all the noises of city life wafting in
thanks to the building’s crap soundproofing. She should be looking
ahead to an evening spent slopping around in her elephant suit as
she dined on beans on toast with a big handful of grated cheese on
top for dinner. After which she’d pour herself a nice milky cuppa
and curl up on the settee to think about Amy and begin writing her
story while the emotions were raw and fresh.

She didn’t
suppose there was much point in telling Owen that she couldn’t
possibly stay overnight because she hadn’t a clean pair of knickers
with her, either. She had never been a very good Brownie, never
quite getting that whole “be prepared” bit. Oh well, there was
nothing she could do about it, she thought with a sigh as she
followed him through the lounge and out through a door she hadn’t
ventured past since arriving.

Jess found
herself in a hall with a huge skylight in the middle of it. If it
weren’t for that and the electric light coming in through the
lounge with the remnants of daylight thrown in from the three other
rooms all running off the hall, she guessed it would be pretty much
pitch black.

“
That’s my room,” Owen stated, pointing to
the first door that was ajar. She paused to catch a glimpse inside
what was a surprisingly big room. It was spacious and painted white
with a big overstuffed armchair placed by a picture window that
looked out at the gardens to the side of the cottage. An ottoman
was placed at the foot of the chair. Though the light was fading,
she could make out a book resting open on top of it and Jess
wondered what he was reading—
A Guide to Rearing Healthy Pigs
perhaps? A huge double bed dominated the
room and it was neatly made up with a masculine chocolate duvet
with cream piping around the edges.

The next room
was a large bathroom, complete with a gorgeous claw-foot bath and a
walk-in shower. The room next door was to be hers.

“It’s always
made up. I have friends who pop over from London regularly,” he
told her, opening the door.

Jessica
couldn’t imagine him having friends who “popped” in but there you
go—as she had discovered earlier, Owen Aherne was by no means a
straightforward man.

This room, too,
was large but had been made to feel warm and welcoming with a
double bed made up with a plain white bedspread; there was a folded
patchwork quilt at the bottom of it. At the end of the bed sat an
old sea chest.

“You’ll find
towels and an extra blanket in there if you need it,” Owen said,
pointing to it. “There’s an unopened toothbrush in there too.”

She hoped he
wasn’t implying she had bad breath. “The room is lovely, thank
you.” She wondered whether this was Amy’s old room.

“I knocked the
wall out between what was mine and Amy’s old rooms and turned it
into the master bedroom,” he said as though having read her mind
and then, turning on his heel, he left her to it.

Ah, so this
room had once upon a time been his parents’, she thought, noticing
that it was well and truly evening outside now. Jess pulled the
heavy white drapes, too, before tossing her bag down on the bed and
switching the little bedside lamp on. She should text the girls and
let them know what was happening; otherwise, the pair of them would
put two and two together and come up with five. Wresting her phone
from her bag, she perched on the end of the bed and tapped out a
message explaining what had happened. Sending it off, she sat there
for a moment, unwilling to go through to the kitchen and face the
long evening that stretched ahead. What on earth would she find to
talk about other than Amy between now and nine—which was the
earliest she’d be able to sneak off to bed without appearing rude.
She sensed Owen, too, was exhausted from trawling his memories and
would have liked nothing more than to wave her on her way so he
could reflect on the day. Sighing, she got to her feet. She
couldn’t hide away in here all night; besides which, she was
getting peckish. It must be all that fresh country air.

Owen was in the
kitchen, making up a baby’s bottle. “Would you mind taking this out
to feed Wilbur? Mick said he’d be here in the next half hour and
that was fifteen minutes ago.”

Jess took the
bottle from him happily. She was glad of the escape hatch and more
than happy to go and see her little baby again.

***

The cacophony
from the stall next door settled down as the sow, and her demanding
brood, grew used to her presence. They couldn’t see her but they
certainly sensed she was there, she thought, crouching down and
stroking Wilbur.

“Hello, little
man,” she whispered, picking him up, sure that the squeal he
emitted, although weak, was one of delight. As she settled down to
feed him, her mind played over what Owen had told her that day. She
was still trying to process the sadness of Amy’s story and she
didn’t want to make that the sole focus of her article. She wanted
to paint the picture of a girl who had laughed and made others
laugh with her for the short time she was here. The article began
to take shape in her mind as Wilbur drained the rest of the bottle
and so, settling him back into his box, she stood up. It must be
around five thirty, which would mean he would be due another feed
around seven thirty. She could handle that one—even the nine thirty
feeding—but she was grateful that she wouldn’t be pulling an
all-nighter thanks to the drip bottle. She really did take her hat
off to all new mothers, she thought, making her way back to the
cottage.

An outside
light was on and she could make out the shape of what looked like a
Ute parked next to Owen’s Land Rover. The bonnet was up and Owen
stood next to it, talking to a little roly-poly man.

That must be
Mick, she decided, registering the surprise on his face as he
clocked her making her way toward them. Owen waved her over.

“Mick, this is
Jessica Baré—she’s a writer up from Dublin. She’s doing a piece on
Amy for her paper. I was supposed to drop her back in the village
to get the bus back to Dublin but the old beast died on me.”

Mick nodded and
the knowing twinkle in his eye as he gave her the once-over
reminded her of a beardless Santa Claus. “Pleased to meet you. Aye,
she was a bright spark, Amy. Terrible thing. Terrible thing.” He
shook his head then and turned away to make himself busy under the
bonnet.

“Right, well,
I’ll leave you to it. Owen, is there anything I can get underway in
the kitchen for you?” She was fairly sure it would be a simple
dinner of chops and mashed spud or some such farming fare.

“You could top
and tail the beans, thanks. I’ve knocked up a smoked chicken pasta
bake; it’s in the oven. We should be eating in half an hour or so,
alright?”

Jess was
gobsmacked and Owen looked bemusedly at her for a moment before
turning away to help Mick.

He probably got
the sauce from a jar, she thought, going back inside and having a
quick look around to see whether she could spy the evidence of
this. There was an empty cream bottle and a block of parmesan on
the bench, as well as half a bunch of fresh herbs. He’d made the
sauce from scratch. It was her turn to look bemused as she picked
up a knife and began doing as she’d been told to the beans. They
were freshly picked and obviously home-grown. Just who was this
guy—a distant relative of Gordon Ramsay? He certainly had the same
cranky demeanour but thankfully he didn’t use bad language and he
was definitely better looking.

She’d just
finished the beans when she heard an engine revving outside. Owen
appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, looking pleased with
himself as he headed over to the sink to wash his hands.

“All sorted
then?”

“Aye,” he
grunted, drying his hands off before opening the Aga’s door,
sending out a waft of something delicious as he did so.

Jess’s tummy
rumbled. “Shall I set the table?”

“Aye. I’m
heading off for a shower. Do you want one?”

Jess must have
looked shocked because Owen’s face flushed a mottled red and he
stammered, “I, uh, meant after me, of course. There’s time before
dinner’s ready.”

It was quite
fun seeing this normally reserved man flustered, she thought with a
grin before answering. “Oh, right, yes, I suppose I probably
should.” She had spent the best part of her day wandering around a
pig farm, after all, even if they were extremely clean animals.

Owen recovered
himself and pointed to where she’d find the cutlery, plates, and
glasses before disappearing down the hall.

By the time
she’d laid the table, he had reappeared, heading straight over to
the stovetop to put the beans on. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

He had changed
into a clean pair of jeans and a loose sweater. Without the thick
corduroy pants and gumboots on, he looked a different man. He’d
lost the farmer look and for the first time she caught a glimpse of
the man who had been a successful lawyer in London. His hair was
freshly washed and he had that scrubbed look of someone who had
done a hard day’s work and earned a hot shower at the end of it. I
bet he wears Old Spice, she thought, her nose twitching to identify
the cheap aftershave that had been a Father’s Day staple when she
was growing up. Instead, she received a whiff of something citrusy
but fresh and rather delish.

“Er, thanks. I
won’t be long,” Jess said, feeling slightly awkward about her
silent inventory as she made a hasty retreat through the door. She
checked her phone on her way through to the bathroom to find as
expected that there were two messages—both from the girls. She read
Brianna’s first:

Take care
sweetie behave yourself and phone me as soon as you get home xox
PS: Harry’s in big trouble he used my Coco Chanel as toilet
freshener

Jess smiled.
Poor Harry—he would be in the poo! Grinning at her inadvertent pun,
she opened Nora’s message next which was as usual indecipherable at
first glance:

Wht u doin on pg frm - wnt xtrme
mntain bking 2day feckn scry – wld hve bn lkin fwd 2 xtreme actn of
anthr knd 2nite but cnt wlk
Bloody hell, she’s getting worse, Jess thought, re-reading
it and slowly beginning to make sense of what she was
saying:

What are you
doing on a pig farm– I went extreme mountain biking today with Ewan
– would have been looking forward to extreme action of another kind
tonight but can’t walk.

God—movie star
or not, this Ewan Reid would be the end of Nora, she thought,
grabbing a towel out of the chest. What would be next—abseiling
down the Empire State Building? She shook her head at the thought
of Nora leaping off tall buildings—before heading off for her
shower.

Owen was
pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge when Jess came back in,
feeling refreshed and pleased with herself for having the nous to
turn her knickers inside out. Maybe she could have gone on to the
Girl Guides after all.

“Have a seat,”
he said, placing the bottle on the table. “I’ve got juice or a soft
drink if you’d rather that?”

Jess sat down
and leaned forward to read the label on the wine.

“Are you
kidding? Oyster Bay is my favourite sav.” The grapes were a taste
of home. “Pour away,” she said, holding out her glass.

“Aye, well, you
Kiwis do produce a good drop,” Owen replied, doing as he was
told.

The meal was
even scrummier than it had promised to be. Owen had poured
lemon-infused vinaigrette over the beans and tossed a sprinkling of
roasted walnuts on the top. There was a crusty loaf of garlic bread
on a wooden bread board for them to share and as for the pasta, it
was carb heaven. She hoped he wouldn’t think her too much of a
pig—whoops, better make that glutton, she quickly admonished
herself—if she helped herself to seconds.