Someone Else's Conflict (6 page)

‘You haven't been here long?'

‘Several years. Just not on my own. My partner, Matt, and I split up early this summer.'

‘Oh. Sorry.'

‘Nothing for you to apologise about. We did up an old mill in Holdwick, ran a craft centre there. Since we split he's been converting the top floor to a flat. I stayed here.' She stared, unseeing, into the jumble of boxes in the spare room. ‘Well, in a manner of speaking. Actually, I went off to Ireland for a while. Stayed with a friend from college who's living the good life in the wilds of Donegal. She runs a pottery, too, so it was a chance to get some experience working with someone else. It was great for a while. Exchanging ideas, all that. But I began to feel I was overstaying my welcome. She never said anything; I dare say she'd be mortified to hear me say it, but…it felt right to come back. You can't run away for ever.'

She looked up, caught him frowning.

‘You know about running away, too, then?' she ventured.

‘Figuratively, you mean?' She felt a sudden unease that the question had even occurred to him. ‘I believe it's part of the human condition.' He shrugged, laughed softly and ran an appreciative hand over the plaque before passing it to her carefully. ‘Now then, you'd better tell me where you want these boxes.'

He'd got the two of them moving before she found her voice to press him further. By the time they'd finished, the small landing was crowded but there was a space in the bedroom big enough for one person to sleep in.

‘We can bring cushions up from the chairs, later, and I'll get you a spare duvet.'

‘Thanks, but my sleeping bag's all I need.'

After sorting out candles and lamps before it got fully dark, she packed him off to the bathroom with some old clothes Matt had left behind. She insisted Jay gave her his things to wash, despite his protests that she shouldn't feel obliged.

She'd left his two sets of scruffy clothes to soak and was contemplating the contents of the fridge when she heard the low hum of an engine approaching. Out in the rain her neighbour, Richard Harrington, appraised the landslide and its effects and was most apologetic about being unable to come and help sooner.

‘I see you've managed admirably, though,' he said, nodding towards the jeep.

‘It wasn't as bad as it looked.' She found herself somehow unwilling to mention the help she'd had, or reveal to Richard her impulsiveness in inviting a stranger to stay the night. If there was a wrong impression to get, he'd probably get it. ‘The car started, thank goodness, so I've got a lifeline. There's still a lot of work to do though.'

Despite the rain and deepening dusk, he insisted they walked up the hillside to inspect the slip. He knew this land far better than she or Jay did and she was reassured when he confirmed their verdict that it was probably safe from further movement.

‘Dot said to tell you you're welcome to come over and stay with us while the electric's off, love.'

‘Thanks, but I'll be fine. I've got far too much to do; I should stay here. There's the cat to think of as well.'

‘I'm afraid I can't really come up and help you for a few days. I promised to take Dot over to her mother's tomorrow. She's not well. Tom'll be keeping an eye on the farm, so we'll be away till the end of the week. I could drop her off and come back, though, and—'

‘Don't feel you have do anything of the sort. I can manage. If the phone's still off next weekend I'll pop down and see you so you know I'm still here.'

‘I have to admire your independence, love.' He laughed, but sounded relieved.

She watched his tail lights disappear down the lane through the trees, went indoors and began to think about cooking. Her guest eventually emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Matt's clothes looking slightly big on him. He appeared to have made a real effort.

‘Sorry to have been so long. Dozed off.' He grinned sheepishly and with brushed damp hair, neatly-trimmed beard and clean face seemed quite at home. He glanced over to his own clothes in the sink. ‘It occurred to me, your washing machine won't be working. I can't believe you made an offer like that.'

‘I've been thinking the same thing myself.'

She left him with instructions to prepare the vegetables he'd brought and went to enjoy the luxury of a hot bath. A short time later she returned to a scene of candlelit domesticity, the table laid, a row of clothes strung up and steaming above the Rayburn, the occasional spitting hiss as a drip hit the hob, lidded pans bubbling away. A bottle of wine was open on the table; she was looking at it as Jay came through from lighting the living room fire.

‘Hope you don't mind,' he said, waving a hand towards her wine rack. ‘I know as a dinner guest I should've brought something, but…' he gave her another of his disarming smiles, ‘I wasn't sure where the nearest off-licence was. I'll make up for it tomorrow.'

‘Um, don't worry, I'd have opened one anyway,' she lied as he picked up the bottle and poured two glasses with a flourish.

‘Here's to good old-fashioned hospitality,' he said, raising a glass.

She chinked hers against it and as she sipped heard heavy rain battering against the window. A wind had risen. She felt vindicated; she'd never have forgiven herself for turning anyone out on a night like this. She went to the stove and gave the casserole a final stir.

‘I really appreciate this,' he said as he sat to the table. ‘You don't want to know how long it is since I had a hot bath. And a square meal, let alone a dinner half as good as this.'

‘You haven't tasted it yet.' She brought the pot over to the table.

‘A proper roof over my head,' he continued, ‘and a pretty woman for company.'

‘Less of the sweet talk,' she said, turning back to drain the vegetables and put them in serving dishes he'd left to warm with two plates.

‘Only being appreciative.' He grinned. ‘But I'd better shut up or you'll have me out in that barn before you can say
garrulus glandarius
.'

‘I'm not likely to do either of those. What did you say that meant?'

‘Posh name for the jay.'

She laughed. ‘Suits you.'

‘Garrulous? That's why I remember it.'

He reached out and took the plate she handed him, put it down quickly and shook his hands dramatically. ‘Ouch – hot.'

As she watched him begin to attack the food on his plate – there was no other way to think of it – she wondered just who it was she'd taken in.

‘What were your plans? Before…this.'

‘I don't usually do plans,' he said as if that answered everything, before devoting his full attention to his long-awaited square meal.

She watched Genghis make his cautious way round the edge of the kitchen, drawn through to the living room by the warmth of the fire. He eventually settled in its warm glow, tucking paws and tail in neatly but keeping his head alert, like a ship about to set sail across the rug. Marilyn thought that if the cat could accept the presence of this man in the house, perhaps she should put away her doubts. They ate in a not-uncomfortable silence. Jay wolfed his plate clear in no time and glanced at her, eyebrows raised, hand already on its way to the pot.

‘Help yourself to more.'

He made short work of a second helping, sitting back satisfied as she finished her first.

‘Thanks for all this, Polly,' he said as she topped up their wine glasses.

‘Marilyn.'

‘Polly originally comes from Mary, did you know that? Mary – or Marilyn – became Molly became Polly. I think it suits you.'

‘Makes me sound like an old woman.'

He drank. ‘Age is the product of one thing alone – the time that's gone by from when you were born to the present. I don't see that what people call you has anything to do with it.'

Chapter 5

Vinko walked quickly along litter-strewn streets towards the house he currently called home, hands shoved in his pockets. After a couple of hours in his room catching up on some sleep, he intended to take himself off to the multiplex where he'd slide in for free under cover of a rowdy group, beneath notice of the ticket collectors. He'd often lose himself in the cathartic bombardment of sight and sound offered by an action film. It was especially appealing today. He felt on edge. Angry with himself. Whatever his grandparents' new address meant, he should have gone to see them. He wasn't scared of the meeting, of course he wasn't, merely angry with himself for being over-cautious.

He rounded a corner and came within view of the house. A silver car he hadn't seen for months was parked alongside the kerb. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see it now. Fairly certain he wouldn't have been noticed, he paused, then made himself continue walking. Didn't he want answers? He'd done enough putting-off this weekend. The windows were tinted and he peered in vain as he approached, checking involuntarily for the knife in his pocket. His uncle, Mihal Novak, had always been as good to him as he could have expected, but nothing was certain; it paid to be alert. The driver's window swished down as he approached and an arm beckoned him over to the passenger door. Vinko walked resolutely up to the driver's side. He wanted answers, but he'd do this on his own terms. Novak greeted him in Croatian and Vinko replied courteously enough in the same language, standing close to the car with his hands still shoved into his pockets.

‘Haven't seen you for a while,' Vinko said.

‘Sorry about that. I've been busy. I tried to call but you weren't answering.'

‘My phone died. I got a new one.'

‘You didn't think to give me your number?'

‘I texted it. Didn't you get it?'

He knew Novak would recognise the lie for what it was.

‘You'd better give it to me now.'

Vinko rattled off a set of random digits – he'd felt abandoned; this time he'd be in control of any communication. A petty victory, but any victory at all was a rare treat.

‘Where've you been?' he asked as his uncle entered the number.

‘It's not important. I'm here now, aren't I?'

‘I assumed you'd gone. Done your bit for me and left me to it.'

‘That's why you changed your number – sulking, hey?'

‘I'm not some little kid,' Vinko muttered.

‘Look, there's absolutely no reason why I should justify myself to you, but an old friend called. Important job, needed my help. OK?'

‘You're obviously a very unselfish man. Always off helping people.'

Novak gave no indication he'd noticed the irony in Vinko's voice. ‘I'll make it up to you. Go and smarten yourself up. We'll have a meal, then we can go back to mine for some beers and a film.'

Vinko didn't argue. A free meal was enticing and his uncle's DVD collection was at least as good as what was usually on offer at the cinema. The house itself was nothing special, but better than anywhere he'd ever lived. On the few occasions he'd been he'd found it a decent enough place to spend an evening.

‘I'll be right back.'

The restaurant was half-empty, a few lunch-time parties lingering, not yet time for the early evening sitting, and Vinko made a conscious effort not to feel out of place. He tucked into his steak greedily, glancing occasionally at the man he'd once thought of as his saviour. Mihal Novak had found them in Dresden and offered to help. He'd been too late for Vinko's mother, but had eventually arranged for him to come to England, even getting him a job and a place to live. It wasn't much of a job, not much of a place to live, but last year he'd welcomed both as a new start.

‘Have you seen them yet?'

Vinko knew without asking who he meant.

‘It was the wrong address.'

‘Can't you get anything right?' A flash of anger Vinko had seen before briefly crossed Novak's face. ‘What do you mean, the wrong address?'

‘They moved. The woman who lives there now—'

‘What woman?'

‘I don't know; the woman who lives there. She said they moved a few months ago. How come you didn't tell me?'

‘I didn't know, did I?' His tone added, do you think I'm stupid? ‘Why would I? I'm not in touch with them anymore; their precious daughter divorced me, remember? So, did this woman give you the new address?' Vinko nodded. ‘Where are they living now?'

‘Some place I'd never heard of. I can't remember and it's in my other pocket, sorry.' He patted the jeans he'd changed into, to emphasise the point. In fact it was next to his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he chose not to pass it on just yet.

‘I take it you didn't go?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Why not?'

‘It was only this morning. I'll go when I'm ready.' Something inside him had always kept him away, as if preserving the dream until reality crept in to spoil it. The new address prolonged the respite. ‘Look, it doesn't matter. Whether or not they accept me you don't need to feel responsible. I can look after myself.'