“And you? Are you living here now?” Dinny asks, at length.
“Oh, no. I don’t know. Probably not. For the time being; for Christmas, anyway. We’ve inherited the house, Beth and I…” How pompous I sound.
“Beth’s here?” Dinny interrupts, turning to face me.
“Yes, but… yes, she’s here.” I was going to say but she’s different, but she won’t come out. “You should come up to the house and say hello,” I say, knowing that he won’t.
There are six vehicles in the camp-more than there used to be. Two minibuses, two campervans, a big old horse hauler and a converted army ambulance, which Dinny says is his. Coils of smoke shred away from chimney pipes, and circles of cold ash scatter the ground. Harry strides ahead to sit on a stump of wood, picking something up from the ground and setting to work intently upon it. As we approach, three dogs race over to us, barking in apparent savagery. I know this drill. I stand still, let my arms hang, wait for them to reach us, to sniff me, to see me not run.
“Yours?”
“Only two of them-the black and tan belongs to my cousin Patrick. This is Blot,” Dinny scuffs the ears of a vicious-looking black mongrel, toothy and scarred, “and this is Popeye.” A smaller, gentler dog; a rough brown coat and kind eyes. Popeye licks the fingers Dinny offers to him.
“So… um, are you working around here? What do you do?” I fall back on a party stalwart, and Dinny shrugs. For a second I think that perhaps he draws endless benefits, that he steals, sells drugs. But these are Meredith’s thoughts, and I’m ashamed to have them.
“Nothing right now. We follow work around the country for most of the year. Farm work, bar work, festivals. This time of year is pretty dead.”
“That must be hard.”
Dinny gives me a quick glance. “It’s fine, Erica,” he tells me mildly. He doesn’t ask me what I do. In the short walk to the camp I seem to have used up all the credit a childhood acquaintance afforded me.
“I like your ambulance,” I say, desperate. As I speak, the ambulance door bangs open and a girl climbs awkwardly out. She puts her hands in the small of her back, stretches with a grimace. I recognize her at once-the pregnant girl from the barrow. But she can only be fifteen, sixteen. Dinny is the same age as Beth: thirty-five. I look at the girl again and try to make her eighteen, maybe nineteen, but I can’t.
The girl with the bubble-curls, a bright natural blonde that you rarely see these days. Her skin is pale and there are blue smudges under her eyes. In a tight, stripy jersey it is very clear how close to term she is. She sees me standing with Dinny and she comes across to us, scowling. I try to smile, to seem comfortable there. She looks fiercer than Blot.
“Who’s this?” she demands, hands on hips. She talks to Dinny, not to me.
“Erica, this is Honey. Honey, Erica.”
“Honey? Pleased to meet you. I’m sorry for scaring you, up at the barrow the other day,” I say, in a cheery tone I secretly, horrified, think is my teaching voice.
Honey gazes at me with flat, tired eyes. “That was you? You didn’t scare me.” A noticeable Wiltshire burr to her speech.
“No, well. Not scare, but…” I shrug. She looks at me for a long moment. Such hard scrutiny from one so young. Palpable relief when she dismisses me, looks back at Dinny.
“The stove’s not drawing right,” she says.
Dinny sighs, crouches down to put his hands through Popeye’s coat. The first drops of rain land on our hands and faces.
“I’ll see to it in a minute,” he tells her, soothingly. She stares at him then turns away, goes back inside without another glance. I am momentarily dumbstruck by her.
“So… when’s the due date? Must be soon?” I ask awkwardly, hoping she won’t hear me from inside.
“A little after Christmas,” Dinny says, looking away across the clearing.
“So close! You must be very excited. Has she got her overnight bag ready and everything? For the hospital?” Dinny shakes his head.
“No hospital. She wants to have it here, she says.” At this Dinny pauses, stands up and turns to me. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Do you know anything about babies?” he sounds anxious.
“Me? No, not really. I’ve never… But the government are always on about the merits of home births these days. Every woman’s right, apparently. Have you got a good midwife?”
“No midwife, no home birth-she wants to have it out there, in the woods.”
“In the woods? But… it’s December! Is she mad?”
“I know it’s December, Erica. But it’s her right to choose, as you say,” he says flatly. There’s a hint of exasperation there, beneath the surface. “She’s taking the idea of a natural birth about as far as she possibly can.”
“Well, you have a right to choose, too. The father has a right too. First babies can take their time, you know. Beth was in labor for thirty-six hours with Eddie…”
“Beth has a baby?”
“Had a baby. He’s eleven now. He’s coming for Christmas, so you’ll probably meet him… Eddie. He’s a fantastic kid.”
“So she’s married?”
“Was married. Not married now,” I say shortly. He has questions about Beth, but none about me.
The rain is coming down harder again. I hunch, push my hands deeper into my pockets, but Dinny doesn’t seem to notice it. I think about offering to talk to Honey, then I remember her hard eyes and I hope Dinny won’t ask me to. A compromise, then.
“Well, if Honey wants to talk to somebody about it, maybe she could talk to Beth? Her experience could be a good cautionary tale.”
“She won’t talk to anybody about it. She’s… strong willed,” Dinny sighs.
“So I noticed,” I murmur. I can’t stand another silence. I want to ask him about Christmas. About names for the baby. I want to ask about his travels, his life, our past. “Well, I should be getting back. Getting out of this rain,” is all I can say. “It was really good to see you again, Dinny. I’m glad you’re back. And nice to meet Honey, too. I’ll… well, we’re up at the house, if you need anything…”
“It’s good to see you too, Erica.” Dinny looks at me with his head on one side, but his eyes are troubled, not glad.
“OK. Well, bye.” I go, as casually as I can.
I don’t tell Beth about Dinny when I find her, watching TV in the study. I’m not sure why not. There will be a reaction, I think, when I tell her. And I am not sure what it will be. I am agitated suddenly. I feel like we’re no longer alone. I can feel Dinny’s presence out there, beyond the trees. Like a niggling something in the corner of my eye. The third corner of our triangle. I switch off the TV, throw open the curtains.
“Come on. We’re going out,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to go out. Go where?”
“Shopping. I’m sick to death of canned soup. Plus, it’s about to be Christmas. Mum and Dad are coming for lunch, and what are you going to feed Eddie on Christmas day? Meredith’s old Hovis crackers?” Beth considers this for a moment, then stands up quickly, puts her hands on her hips.
“God, you’re right. You’re right!”
“I know.”
“We need lots of things… turkey, sausages, potatoes, puddings…” she counts items off on her long fingers. Christmas is ten days away yet-we have plenty of time. But I don’t say that. I make the most of her sudden animation, point to the door. “And decorations!” she cries.
“Come on. You can make a list in the car.”
Devizes is prettied up for Christmas. Little fir trees lean out from the sides of shops and hotels along the High Street, strung with white lights; there’s a brass band playing, and a man roasting chestnuts, plumes of acrid smoke rising from his cart. I wonder what he does for the rest of the year. Here, the darkness and the sleet draw us in, make us part of the huddled crowd. We wrap our scarves around our ears and window-shop, basking in the warm yellow light. Back in the world, the pair of us, after the solitude of the manor. It feels good, exciting, and I miss London. Inside each shop, Beth hums along to the taped carols, and as we walk I loop my arm through hers, holding her tight.