The Recipe for Happiness, page 8
While they portioned up the open day, and, as usual, everyone volunteered to run the cake stall, I shuffled my way through to the back of the room towards Ned. ‘Have you really got a house on the moors?’ I asked. ‘Because, if your living arrangements are… difficult you are quite welcome to borrow the shower up in the flat. Now and again. By appointment.’
He straightened away from setting the puzzles on their shelf. ‘What on earth makes you think that there’s something odd about my living arrangements?’
It was another sotto voce conversation. Anything Ned and I ever had to say to one another seemed always to be said in hasty whispers.
‘It’s all right, you don’t need to tell me. I just wanted to say that the day’s leftovers always go in the big tin on the top of the fridge – not the dinners and such, I have to budget for those so there aren’t leftovers – but the baking and the sandwich bread. If you’re hungry, take from there. I can turn a blind eye and massage the spending.’
Ned looked frozen in an astonished way, and I was acutely aware that Holly had finished talking, so I backed out of the corner and turned my attention to admiring Margaret’s knitting.
I didn’t know what had made me make the offer. The coming together of the clues, possibly. Ned’s ‘no fixed abode’ look, with the crumpled clothes and messy hair. His being here at all hours, as though the alternative was the cramped loneliness of living in his car. The proximity, and general nosiness, of our clients meant that a more in-depth conversation would have to wait until we were alone.
What had made him flinch at Holly’s mention of overtime? Didn’t he want anyone to notice how hard he worked? Most people of my acquaintance, (all right, that was practically down to Andrew and Greg, but I still knew them), went on and on about the extra hours they put in in the gallery or workshop. Andrew seemed to regard it as contravening his human rights if he needed to be in after hours to supervise the delivery of some over-framed portrait of a young girl holding an improbable sunflower, and whilst Greg enjoyed getting his hands covered in furniture wax, he didn’t much seem to like it happening on public holidays, weekends or evenings.
But then, I didn’t want to provoke Ned with questions. Partly because the question of his murdering and dismembering me still hung in the air, but also… There was something about him that made me think ‘fragile’. Oh, not in a ‘might snap arms or legs or topple over’ way, not like, say, John, whose ability to fall backwards was almost legendary, and had made us consider inventing him a ‘wrap around’ walking frame. More in a way that made me reluctant to give him a list of jobs that needed doing around the hall and its environs for fear of overloading him. So I’d been carefully feeding the information about broken elements and wobbly chair legs, one item at a time.
It now struck me as a slightly ridiculous way to carry on. Which made me feel awkward, which, in turn, made me feel embarrassed, so I avoided Ned for the rest of the day. I took Kez for a swift walk down the road when Ned was out with the minibus, so I didn’t have to risk him wanting to come with me and provoking more awkwardness, and I was so keen to get the job done that it didn’t really occur to me that the street was still busy. My attention was mostly focused on the dog anyway. He moved like a shoal of fish through a coral reef, winding his way through the legs of tourists who hung around the little town after everything had closed as though they were hopeful that, once the shops shut and the last steam train chuffed its cheerful way back from the moors, we’d suddenly unfold an open-air theatre, two cinemas and a host of cosmopolitan venues. In reality, we had several pubs and a handful of restaurants, and that was their lot.
The presence of Kez gave me something else to focus on, apart from my own vague worry, which helped. I didn’t enjoy the drifting groups of people, but neither did they fill me with the worry that had clouded my existence since I could remember. I tightened my fingers on Kez’s lead, as he towed me, unerringly, back to the field we’d visited in the early morning sun, and I wondered how he remembered. He probably regarded it as an oasis of off-lead running in a desert of being expected to piddle on bollards or fence posts, and he certainly behaved that way when we arrived, circling me with little yips of joy until I released the lead clip and let him dash away.
Why did I have this fear of the outside? Idly, I watched Kez and a black Labrador, which seemed to be unattended by humans, chasing one another through the grass, and let my thoughts run. I’d never been involved in any accidents, or any traumatic incidents that might have led to my reluctance to be outside. In fact, once our parents had died, Andrew had been very, very careful about making sure that I was always secure, never pushed into situations that scared me.
Maybe that was why? Maybe having Kez would make me keener to go out and about, and break out of my overprotective brother’s shell?
Then I thought about how Andrew had wanted me to play Dungeons & Dragons, take up Internet dating and his unspoken but present desire to try to hook me up with one or more of the hairy, heavy-metal-band boys. None of that could be regarded as overprotective. Plus, his desire for me to ‘get a life’ had, so far, only resulted in me getting a temporary dog. No sign of a hobby, boyfriend, or any kind of life that didn’t involve picking up poo and throwing slobbery tennis balls.
I sighed. The field was very pleasant, I had to admit. Fringed on three sides by woodland, and with the train track squaring off the bottom end, it had a shallow, reedy stream running through the middle and patches of exposed sandy soil that were providing trainee rabbits with digging opportunities. It looked like an illustration in a children’s book, green and overhung with trees, and the sparkling water in the centre.
Kez clearly thought it was idyllic and I felt a bit mean when I clipped his lead on again and indicated that it was time to go home. There was an air of sagging disappointment manifesting around his ears, and a distinct slump to the black and white shoulders. ‘It’s all right,’ I found myself whispering to him. ‘We’re going out tomorrow for a really good run.’
Great, I thought, as I wandered back to the flat, behind the homing dog. Now I’ve promised Kez that we’re going out. I can’t even pretend I have a headache and cancel on Ned, because it would disappoint the dog.
I needed to have a word with myself about anthropomorphisation.
9
The next morning I was up early, which surprised me. Usually, on my day off, I wallowed around, heavy with sleep, until mid-morning. My bedroom was so small that there was only room for my bed and me, no space for a bedside table on which to rest a cup of tea, so if I wanted breakfast or a hot drink I really had to get up, and this would eventually persuade me to the kitchen by lunchtime.
Today, sunlight-assisted, I was up by eight. It struck me that Ned had said he’d be over at nine, and I nearly talked myself into going back to bed, but the thought of him pounding on the door, and Kez’s rotating desire for a wee, hauled me up. I gave Kez a quick sprint around the car park, which he clearly regarded as less than optimal because he positively planted his paws when it came to going back in, but was eventually persuaded with a mention of food, and I showered and dressed.
Then I sat and worried a bit. All right, following someone’s car made it easier to go somewhere. But what if he lost me? What if other cars got between us and he turned off somewhere along the road and I missed it because I was behind a pantechnicon moving slowly along a rural road? What if he lured me to some out-of-the-way place for nefarious purposes? I thought about dialling 99 on my phone and leaving it in my pocket requiring only the final digit, then realised that I was allowing neurosis to get the better of me. For all Ned knew, I’d told the entire population of the county that I was going out with him. Not ‘going out’, obviously, this most definitely wasn’t a date, just going ‘out’, which sounded better, in my head.
At my knee, Kez whined. He’d eaten his breakfast and was virtually pointing at a contract that had ‘big, exciting outing’ pencilled in for this morning.
‘All right.’ I opened the flat door, surprising Ned, who had his hand raised, ready to knock, and I realised that Kez had been telling me someone was out there. He hadn’t barked, though. I wondered what Tony and family had done to train him out of barking at knocks on the door, then decided I really didn’t want to know, and gave Kez a quick cuddle, which also had the advantage of meaning that I didn’t need to look at Ned.
‘Ready for the off?’ Ned asked cheerfully.
Kez licked my cheek and waved his tail at Ned.
‘I’ll just find his lead…’ I knew exactly where it was, I’d only taken it off a few minutes ago. But I felt odd, confused, at Ned’s sudden presence, even though I’d been expecting it, and I wanted to get some air to my face before I showed it to him.
Kez was nudging at Ned’s hand with his bullet-tapered muzzle. ‘I’ll wait here, it’s all right.’ Ned stroked the dog’s head in an unthinking way, as though he was so used to having a dog by his side that he could pet it without paying attention. ‘I’m keen to get going while the weather holds.’
‘Is it meant to rain?’ I dragged the lead off the table, where it lay coiled like a snake. Was I certain I wanted to do this? My heart seemed to have lodged itself somewhere just above my stomach, and the two organs were in league to make me feel faint and slightly sick, but, on the other hand, Kez was almost airborne with delight at the sight of his lead coming out again and the implied walk. I couldn’t disappoint that eager-eyed intensity. Anyway, he needed a really good run or he’d start reassembling my furniture upside down or something. I couldn’t help the guilt that I was keeping an illicit dog in a flat that was slightly too small, even if it was saving him from lonely boredom in rescue-centre kennels – or worse.
‘I’m not sure.’ Ned led the way down the main stairs, Kez’s paws sliding with eagerness on the lino. ‘But even my limited experience of Yorkshire leads me to expect that it’s not going to be unmitigated sunshine for the next six months.’
‘How far are we going?’ I stopped, four steps from the bottom, and Kez nearly pulled me over onto my face.
Ned laughed. ‘No, no, I just meant that we can’t rely on the weather so we might as well make the most of it while it’s nice.’
‘Oh.’ I felt stupid again. At a disadvantage. It all made me realise how unused I was to casual conversation that didn’t involve questions about what I’d changed in the shepherd’s pie and who had hidden the Scrabble board.
Ned didn’t seem to notice. He held the main door for Kez and me, and we precipitated outwards into the gleaming day.
‘You leave the door open?’ Ned pointed to the side door, which opened directly from the car park into the hall and was ajar.
‘On Sundays, yes.’ I hitched my car keys out of my pocket.
‘Aren’t you worried about burglars?’
‘Roger will keep an eye open. Besides, there’s nothing really to steal, and nobody’s going to break in in broad daylight. The connecting door is locked, so it’s only the hall open.’
‘Is that… better?’ Ned looked cautious and also startled.
‘Means nobody can get into my flat or the kitchen. Unless there’s a particularly brazen burglar with a taste for jigsaws and really old magazines, they wouldn’t get much. One of the clients might turn up, getting the day wrong or just wanting to get away from home or something. I leave a plate of biscuits in a hidden location – they all know where they are, just in case.’
He gave me a long and considered look, but didn’t say anything else. He’d parked his car next to mine and, as we both got in, I gave his car a quick glance. It was a small Audi, clean and presentable, and no sign of sleeping bags on the back seat or all his belongings crammed into cardboard boxes in the boot. So he probably wasn’t living in there, then. Actually, today he looked rather less crumpled, in a nicely fitting T-shirt and jeans, with desert-type boots on. He hadn’t shaved, but it gave his thin cheeks a more even appearance than when they were dotted with random stubble; today it was all-over dark growth, which made him look a little less fey and a bit more – no. It was just Ned.
‘I thought we’d head over to the coast,’ Ned called through his open window. ‘Just follow me. I won’t go fast.’
It’s not the speed that worries me, I thought as I started the car and nudged out of the car park after Ned. It’s the getting lost or the being a long way from home and something happening. But, from the boot of the car, Kez whined eagerly and smeared his nose along the rear window, and I realised that having a dog was not concomitant with staying at home all the time. Besides, that field was getting boring already and we’d only been there twice. In a week we would have mapped every single molehill and grass blade. Then I shook myself. No, in a week, Kez would be rehomed, of course he would, and I made a mental note to ring Mattie when we got back. I couldn’t keep a collie, it was ridiculous.
Ned led the way up onto the moors. Despite my nervousness, I had to appreciate the scenery; whenever I could look away from the rear end of the Audi both sides of the road were draped in exuberant shades of purple and yellow as heather and gorse flowered frivolously into the sunlight. There wasn’t much traffic so I needn’t have panicked about the view-blocking juggernauts or the speeding sports cars getting between us. It was still too early for the tourist traffic and nobody else seemed to be about.
It had been a long time since I’d been out here, I realised as the hills suddenly opened to reveal a huge vista of moorland spread out below us as we crested a rise. A tapestry blanket of shades, covering an uneven bed of streams and hillsides, the heather boomed with the sound of bees and I could smell the honey-scent even from inside the car. It was glorious. But after that moment of appreciation, I felt the weight of the sky again, the sheer disorientating loneliness of the road stretching long and grey into the distance, and I speeded up again to stick more firmly to Ned’s bumper. He had slowed down a little too, as a procession of motorbikes passed us and whirred their irritated engines into the horizon, so we continued almost joined together, down a steep hill that made Kez slide up against the back seat, and then on over another rise, until I could see that the blue line hugging my right side wasn’t mist, but the sea.
Down again, now through narrow lanes, and I was glad Ned was in front because there was no way of seeing if anything was coming round the tight bends and past the hedgerows. My hands were tight on the wheel and my palms were slippery with sweat by the time we crawled our way into a two-car parking space of beaten earth under some trees and Ned got out.
‘Here we are,’ he said brightly.
I looked around. ‘Where the hell are we?’ Soft green hills rose among loosely stoned walls, and the trees were small and mostly made of branch. ‘It looks like the Shire.’
‘No hobbits here.’ He pulled a rucksack from the back seat of his car. ‘There’s a beach just down there.’ A vaguely pointed finger indicated somewhere that could be the edge of a cliff. ‘And you can let Kez run here. There’s no road and no animals.’
Cautiously I unstuck my hands from the steering wheel, got out of my car and went round to open the boot. Kez leaped out, circled me twice, and then stuck his head into the undergrowth beneath the tree. I hoped that now wasn’t going to be the moment that Ned produced the machete, because Kez had got too much mouse going on to defend me. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much of anything,’ I said, still cautious.
‘Well, you can’t take dogs on the major beaches at this time of year.’ Ned pulled the rucksack between his shoulders. ‘I looked it up,’ he finished, slightly smugly.
‘So, what we’ve got is a minor beach? How does that work? Does the tide only come halfway in?’
Ned looked puzzled. ‘Er. It’s just not a tourist beach, that’s all.’
I looked around, slightly ostentatiously. ‘The lack of anybody else sort of gave that away.’
A beaming smile. ‘Come on. Down this way. I came by the other day to take some pictures of the sun setting over the hills and I found this place – thought it would be perfect for the dog to have a run and…’ He stopped talking so suddenly that I half looked for the whipping out of the giant knife.
‘And?’ I asked when he obviously wasn’t going to dismember me.
‘Nothing. Only, I brought a picnic. Just a small one,’ he added hastily when he saw my mouth open. ‘I just thought, you’re always cooking for everyone else, you might like not to have to worry about food?’ His head tipped to one side, questioning, and in exactly the same way as Kez was currently regarding me, although Ned wasn’t peeing on a stick.
I swallowed. Murder wasn’t usually accompanied by sandwiches and chocolate biscuits, was it? ‘That’s really very kind of you,’ I said faintly. ‘And you’re right. It would be nice not to have to think about food for once.’
Another bright smile and Ned set off, leading the way down a muddied footpath where the trees closed behind us as though to prevent anyone seeing our exit. Kez trotted on ahead with his tail high, nosing at the grassy sides to the lane, and pretending that he knew exactly where we were going, but with one eye on our movements, should we suddenly decide to duck off the track.
The lane arched steeply over the brow of a hill and then curled down, opening out to reveal the edge of a small rocky inlet. A smooth curve of sand cushioned the waves that were rolling in to break softly against the sides of the bay and cliffs rose vertiginously to either hand. Beyond them, the open sea mumbled against boulders and wore its way under the edge of the land.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, without thinking.
Ned slung the rucksack down onto a black rock, which edged a pool so clear that I could see tiny fish swimming away from his shadow. ‘It’s not bad, is it? And deserted too.’
‘Stop saying creepy things.’ I felt a bit more confident now that I really had stopped suspecting him of wanting to isolate me.
‘Sorry.’ Ned gave a grin that made him look boyish. ‘I realise that this has been hard for you, but you’ve done brilliantly to get this far.’
