Exchange of Love, page 15
There was a problem – the ‘path’ gradually faded away and the ground got boggier.
“No go, John. Just a sheep track. Let’s turn back.”
He consulted the phone’s screen. “I’m sure this is right,” he said.
“I’m not… this looks like Fox Tor Mire.”
John could tell Judith was becoming increasingly anxious. “We just turn left, go west and find your path,” he suggested.
“Not good, John. We’re getting more and more lost.”
John felt annoyed with himself, and Judith, for getting in this situation. They should have been more cautious once the weather became terrible. Deciding that following the GPS was their safest option, he strode off, without realising he had left Judith still staring at her map and compass.
The first few steps were on firm ground and his confidence started to grow. Then, his right boot squelched down into a pit of bog water between two tussocks of marsh grass. Desperately, he threw himself to the left, arm flailing in a futile attempt for balance. He was on his left side in stinking bog water, scrambling to get up, both boots overtopped. John had lost his grip on the phone and it disappeared into the murky water between tufts of marsh grass. Standing now up to his ankles, he turned slowly to face the way he had come. No sign of Judith; no footprints; the phone lost in the mire. He doubted he could see twenty metres.
Cold fear and panic gripped him. He was stupidly alone, boot-deep in the largest mire on Dartmoor, and with no navigation. The urge to run back and find Judith was strong, but enough common sense prevailed. The first rule of hiking in the mountains was to remain calm, and during bad weather, the key was to find shelter, hole up, and wait for conditions to improve. Or, if shelter was unavailable, stay where you were and make the best of it. There was no shelter, but at least he wasn’t sinking.
He suddenly remembered that there was a miniature, almost ornamental, compass on his rucksack strap: a joke present from his ex-wife. If he could walk northwards back uphill and to the west, he should find solid ground. Judith would probably do the same – it was what she had wanted to do all along. With trembling fingers and some difficulty, he detached the compass and groped in the rucksack’s side pocket for his whistle. Even before he released it, he heard a shrill blast from Judith’s whistle, muffled in the mist, off to one side. Six short blasts – an internationally recognised distress signal. He replied and took several careful steps. He looped the string of the whistle and the compass around his wrist and waited for Judith to signal again. Then he saw her, barely fifteen metres away.
They linked up, Judith swearing, “You bloody bastard. If you run off on me again, I’ll leave you to it!”
“Sorry, I thought you were following.”
“What, down into the bog? You’ll smell of sheep shit for days.” Despite her harsh words, she looked at him with fierce concern. “John, you could have drowned.” She gave him a hug, squeezing bog water from his clothes. “I would kiss you, but I don’t want to catch anything!”
They stood silently for a moment, listening to the water running through the peat channels beneath their feet.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“It alright. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. Though I suggest we follow my lead from now on.”
“My mobile’s in the mire anyway, though I do have a compass.”
She grinned at the tiny compass and John gently nudged her side.
“Oi, it’s a perfectly good compass. You just need a magnifier to read it, that’s all.”
Judith laughed and hugged him fondly.
Once they had decided on a bearing, they walked for thirty metres then turned north, only to hit the mire again. It was hardly dangerous walking, but they were both wet and chilly, and in desperate need of somewhere warm and dry. Eventually, almost in despair and miles off the planned route, they came across the Nun’s Cross path again and headed back to Princetown and the Plume of Feathers. Suddenly, as the track became visible and distinct, the mist cleared. Or, more accurately, it was washed away by sheeting rain.
The deluge continued without ceasing as they squelched the last few miles back to a waterlogged Plume of Feathers campsite, where pools of water lay suspended in the grass. Several smaller tents had collapsed under the impact of the downpour, including John’s. Inside there was about an inch of water. The sleeping mat was floating and the sleeping bag saturated. He shuddered at the mere thought of it.
“Mine’s not too bad,” commented Judith. “Perhaps we could make do with one tent?”
“I’m wet through and bloody cold,” replied John. “Much as I’d like to be in there with you, I think I’ll decline and sleep in the car.”
“Come off it, John. You’re six foot two and the seats in your Fiesta don’t even recline properly! Perhaps there’s room in the bunkhouse. Let’s ask—”
Judith was interrupted by an excited squeal. The larger, more substantial family tents all seemed intact, and out of one – an enormous canvas bell tent – a small naked boy appeared, rapidly pursued by a man in Speedos and flip-flops. They were followed more slowly by a woman in a bikini with a pregnancy support belt worn around a well-developed baby bump. She carried a rucksack with a bright orange waterproof covering.
“Bath time,” she commented to Judith with a smile. “Must keep the routine!”
“He’ll need it,” Judith laughed.
The boy and his father had been jumping up and down on a patch of waterlogged grass, and now ‘accidentally’ slipped over and lay full length on their backs, driving their heels into the mud, shouting with laughter.
“Jumping up and down in muddy puddles,” said the woman with a chuckle. “I knew this would happen.”
“Too much Peppa Pig,” Judith quipped.
“Peppa Pig?” asked John, as the pregnant mother herded the boys towards the toilet block.
“Children’s cartoon on TV,” Judith replied. “I’ve seen it with Simon’s kids. Often ends with splashing in muddy puddles like that.”
“Whatever turns you on,” said John.
“Strangely, it does,” replied Judith. “Seeing them having fun together – not the cartoon.” She turned John to face her. “Now I understand. That’s why you dived into the bog, isn’t it? Practising for fatherhood.”
“Let’s try for a hot meal and a room in the Plume,” John suggested, putting his arm around Judith, “and I’ll show you exactly how I practise for fatherhood.”
Any tension between them had already been washed away by the deluge, and seeing the happiness of the other family had lifted their spirits.
With so many ruined barbecues and swamped trek tents, the pub was full to overflowing. There were no rooms in the bunkhouse or the pub itself.
“Sorry, mate,” explained the harassed landlord, “but we’re already topped up with orders for food, and every bed’s taken…”
“We could manage on the kitchen floor of the bunkhouse,” suggested Judith.
“Four are booked into that already. I’m well over the fire certificate limit for the building.”
“Fire being very likely on a night like this,” John said sarcastically under his breath.
“It is,” countered Judith. “Too many people crowding in, trying to cook and dry clothes.”
“Perhaps we could get a quick meal and head back to Bath,” John suggested.
“Sorry, mate, hate to be a moan but food’s booked solid until ten, then I quit. I’m trying to help out as much—”
“I’m sure,” apologised John. “Sorry to grouch. Is there any other place we could try, after I’ve had a pint of Jail Ale.” He looked to Judith. “Do you want a drink?”
“Only if I’m not driving. A large glass of red – Merlot, thanks.”
“A lady with taste!”
As he turned to get the wine, the landlord added, “We’ve friends in Tavi who run a B&B-style guesthouse. I know they had a room vacant – a cancellation due to the weather – when we spoke at five, but they are expensive, over a hundred pounds a night, no evening meal—”
“How far?” asked John
“He’ll take it,” said Judith. “It’s his tent that fell in.”
“Sorry, ma’am, thought you was a couple.”
“With him? Not a chance!”
“The tower was built in the thirteen hundreds to adorn the prior’s residence,” the owner of the guesthouse was explaining to John. “This section is much later.”
“I can see by the style of the stonework—” John started to say, but Judith cut in.
“I know this is riveting stuff but it’s getting late and it’s raining. I need a shower and food.”
The owner had been giving a running commentary to John as he led them through the hall and into the ‘Queen Room’, supposedly decorated in Elizabethan style, but with a totally modern en suite shower room.
Even after using the facilities and changing into drier clothes, neither John nor Judith felt like searching for a restaurant or pub. They ordered an Indian set meal for two, a side order each, and two large bottles of Cobra. By now the weather had improved considerably, so they delayed the food and took a stroll along the River Tavy to take advantage of the weak evening sun. Judith suspected they could have reinstated the tents, but John had emphatically refused to ‘rough it’ in a soggy sleeping bag, despite Judith’s assurance that he would warm up as the night progressed.
“Was there any ulterior motive in arranging this trip?” John asked warily with a smile, as they sat down cosily together at the small oak table in their bedroom. “Was it an endurance test? Or an assassination by exposure, with a phoney will already written, leaving you all my worldly wealth?”
“Hardly,” Judith chuckled. “With what Mum and Dad left me, I’ve far more than your business is worth. Even without Peverell.”
“Immoral purposes, then?” he asked with a grin. He sipped his beer with appreciation.
“I hope so, but no need for a holiday to get that started. Just a minute, need to rinse this curry sauce off my hands.” She retreated into the bathroom and came back, almost at once flicking water at John. “The plan – my plan – was for several days of relaxed walking together; no interruptions or serious navigating.” She paused for a moment and took a peach they had bought at a corner shop from her bag. “Wanted to discuss a few things without it getting too heavy or intense.”
“Or Simon screaming for a babysitter.”
“Exactly.”
They finished most of the meal and John settled back into his chair with some trepidation.
“OK, have you got a list?”
“In here, John, in here.” She tapped her forehead and took a deep breath. “I wondered how you think we get on together. Are we a long-term item? Do you think of us as being in a relationship?”
John shivered inwardly. This was a lot more direct than he had expected. His beer seemed a long time gone and he wished he’d bought them two bottles each.
“I’m not sure about the future, but I don’t want to wreck anything,” he said hesitantly.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, changing things, either big decisions or—”
Judith got up for a moment to wash her sticky fingers after the peach. She sat down again and slowly continued. “You want to drift on as we are?”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I don’t want things drifting on and fading out.” He got up and sat beside her, gave her a big hug, and confessed, “I’m happier than I can ever remember, but there are some issues. It’s difficult.”
“I know. There’s your snoring, for one…”
“What? You are the one—” He stopped – this was not about ‘issues’ in bed, or snoring. He made himself speak calmly. “I was thinking that we’ve both been mangled emotionally. Probably my fault in my case. And you—”
She interrupted him curtly, “There’s an elephant in the room to discuss, John – the baby elephant. You’ll never be happy without children, will you? When you saw that dad with his little boy at the Plume campsite you were green with envy.”
“It’s not jealousy; I just felt happy for them. I can’t explain it, but that’s how I wanted to be with my ex-wife. I just—”
“I know, I know. That’s why I feel we need to discuss the future. We could never live together, John – one of us would commit murder within the first six months.”
He knew it would be difficult, but they could get a big place – separate bedrooms. What about the family bit? Was she afraid of having children?
They sat in silence for a while until John whispered, “So, are you suggesting we split up? Is this a gentle let-down?”
“No! Christ, no. Being with you is great. I don’t want to give it up.”
“And Mark?”
“Yeah, well. I’ve realised what a controlling, dominating rat he was. Me getting promoted ahead of him was probably just too much for him.”
“So what’s your solution?” John asked warily, afraid and tense.
“That’s what I wanted to talk about.” A brief hesitation and then, “What would you think of co-parenting?” Her last words came out in a rush, almost like she was embarrassed.
John was taken aback. “What, living like divorced parents but not bothering with the marriage and break-up first?
“Not how I would have put it, but I suppose so…” Her voice trailed off.
Lost for words, John stared at Judith. She was trying to look nonchalant but John knew she must be trembling inside, awaiting his reaction. There had been a growing affection between them, sure, but never a hint of discussing a family. He needed time to get his head around this… or did he? This was what he had always wanted, after all. What he had always missed in his previous relationship. Yes, it wouldn’t be the same as living together full time, but he would still be a dad. John felt a surge of warmth inside.
Judith, desperate to fill the silence, blurted out, “More like when one parent is weekending for work – separate houses but sharing the parenting evenly.”
John took both her hands in his and smiled reassuringly. “I can’t believe you want to do this with me,” he said stupidly.
Smiling, she pushed him gently away. “John, this is serious! We’ve got to discuss this rationally.”
“I don’t feel rational!” His voice was all choked up. “I’m just so happy.”
They sat looking at each other, until John hugged Judith tightly to him.
“Do I get to stay over some nights?” he asked.
“Not a chance! I’m not putting up with your snoring any more than I have to.”
John laughed. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with Judith’s snoring either. Then he sobered. “Surely that would be very disruptive for a child?”
“It needn’t be. It’s a much better situation than most military families, or when one parent works away. There’s even an agency for mature-ish professionals who want to do this; people who cannot find romance, don’t want marriage, but do want a family. Haven’t you heard of Cupid’s Bow?” She couldn’t believe she was bringing up that ridiculous website.
“You’re kidding, really?” John shook his head, baffled by the idea. “Seriously though, our own natural children, not adopted or anything?”
“I hope not. It’s a bit of a step and would need planning, but it’s better than hoping for a condom failure. That’s why I wanted to lead you into the idea gently.”
John pulled Judith into his lap and kissed her softly. “Had you any timeframe in mind?”
“In a few years, I suppose? Just to give me time to get my career on track, build up some maternity leave.”
“Well, I suppose we can have fun practising!”
CHAPTER 21
In the plush four-poster bed at The Priory Guest House, Judith slept like a tormented soul in the grip of hideous nightmares. However often John turned her over in bed, her thrashing and rolling soon brought her to sleeping flat on her back in the snoring position. It was amazing to John that such a small chest could produce such prodigious volumes of sound.
Eventually, driven by the fatigue of the day and helped by the beer, he did fall asleep, only to be woken by Judith roughly shaking him.
“John! Can’t you lie still and quiet? I can’t sleep through that din!”
He retreated to one of the square upholstered chairs for the rest of the night, pulling a spare coverlet over himself. The high back of the chair was supportive and absorbed much of the sound from the bed. The heavy tapestry bed curtains also muffled the noise, and John finally slept well.
Suddenly, it felt as though the room tilted and shook. Startled, he roused. Judith was now more or less quiet; just producing the occasional snuffle. Weak with dizziness, he looked around him. Sitting in an identical chair to his own, dressed in a white lacy nightgown, was Penny Peverell, her mass of red hair trapped under a white lace cap. What was she doing in Devon? How long had she been there? How much had she seen of him and Judith together?
“So, this is how men keep their vows of love.”
John gasped. “You rejected me.”
“And when I did offer myself to you, you rejected me ‘out of honour’. Now I see why: you were saving your strength to debauch poor broken-hearted Judith.”
Momentarily confused, he almost reacted angrily, before he realised that Penny was teasing. Beside her chair a tall candlestick shed a flickering, eerie light, picking out the smile and features that left him breathless. He had spent several hours discussing parenthood with Judith and the first part of the night practising how to create the children they would share. Now, all his pent-up passion for Penny was returning. Did she still want him to make love to her?
“Step into my space, John,” Penny said, almost coyly. “My space or my time. We don’t want to awaken your… mistress.”
John stood, as though lifted by an invisible force, and took a few paces towards Penny. Turning back to the bed for a moment, he realised he was no longer in The Priory Guest House, but in Penny’s own time. His mind was whirling in complete confusion – he felt dizzy and delighted. Was it the flight back through time, or the overwhelming emotion of being with Penny once again? The en suite bathroom of his era was now a sizeable dressing room to the side of Penny’s bedroom, dimly lit by a single candle. In another time, Judith must be thrashing and snoring, closed off by an ornate painted door that John had passed through.
