She walked along the ridge, following the path as it snaked between the stones and through small streams where hart’s tongue fern lapped at the water’s edge. She let her thoughts roam as free as she was. Ruminating upon Joe. Was he interested in her? In a relationship? He said his children lived with him, was it a permanent set-up? It sounded like it. What had happened to their mother? Had she left? Divorced him, died?
Jeff had left her for another woman. The hurt of that had never really gone away. Shelley was right, it had shadowed the relationships she’d had since and made her cling to her independence. If she didn’t give them much then little could be taken away. But it was a half-life however much she tried to make of it. In time, and not so long from now, Owen would go out into the world. She would be alone. Walking the dog, delivering babies, climbing hills. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more, she wanted love and intimacy.
Joe seemed interested. I’d love to hold your hand. But that will have to wait till this is all over. He might be stringing her along, happy to let her believe there might be more to come so she would do her best as a witness. That possibility and the suspicion behind it rankled with her and she scolded herself. When her thoughts lit on the trial, the pleasure she felt at seeing Joe again was dampened by a wave of anxiety. She felt the squirt of panic in her stomach, the clamouring of her mind. She was dreading it. She quickly drew on the CBT techniques that she’d learnt. Stood still and focused on her physiology, her breathing, the set of her muscles, and derailed those responses. It worked; she stopped the panic from growing, from devouring her.
She walked on another mile and found a natural picnic area, a bowl surrounded by a horseshoe of rocks. She took her rucksack off and lay down, stretched out on the grass, wriggling until she found the most comfortable position. Ziggy ran to her and sniffed at her face which tickled and made her laugh. She pushed him away.
The sun was warm on her skin and even with her eyes closed the world was full of light. She could still hear the fluting cadence of the larks and fainter, further away, the piercing, eerie cry of a hawk. She rubbed the palms of her hands over the springy tufts of grass and smelt the sweet, peaty aroma of the earth. She was drifting, lulled into a doze with the warmth and peace of the place.
An aeroplane woke her; she blinked and scanned its jet trail chalked through the blue above. Ziggy was lying a little way away, head on his paws. Fiona sat up and got the water bottle from her rucksack, drank deep. She threw Ziggy a dog biscuit, then ate the apple she’d packed.
The rest of the route took her to the end of the ridge and down through a forested valley, sown with conifers and oak, rowan, silver birch and beech trees, the ground underfoot crunchy with beech mast and pine cones. They passed a waterfall which roared over a cliff and thundered its way on to a plateau of large stones below. Twisted trees and huge ferns at either side of the force were slick with green slime. Fiona sat and watched the sheets of water for a while, the mizzle of spray settling on her hair and clothes. Ziggy drank from a pool near the bottom. They tracked the stream back to the road, the way dappled with shadows from the trees and the golden sunlight.
By the time she reached the car, the blister on her heel had popped, a bite with each step, reminding her how long it had been since she’d given the boots a good outing.
She was honest with herself: those moments with Joe had been a glimpse of the life she hungered for. She might – she hoped she would – live another forty years, that was almost a lifetime for generations who had come before. She would not waste it. It’s all there is, she thought, and then we die. She would not let fear or false humility or convenience trap her into a lonely existence. She wanted to share it with somebody. If not Joe, then she would find someone else, actively look for love. Other people did it, dating sites and the like; she would too, a promise to herself. She finished her water and put Ziggy in the car. The dog was shattered, he fell asleep immediately. Then she drove home, the sun, a glorious blood-red blaze, setting in her rear-view mirror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cheryl
Cheryl waited until Nana had been in bed for an hour then she went into the bathroom with the kit. She’d taken forever to buy it, hanging round the pharmacy until the girl behind the counter was giving her funny looks, like she was going to nick something.
After a week of being sick she finally clocked this was not a bug. And it wasn’t down to nerves about the trial. The smell of food, meat particularly, brought water to her mouth and convulsions to her stomach. She had to hold her breath when she changed Milo’s nappies too, turning her head away to gasp lungfuls of air. And her boobs hurt, tight and tender.
Cheryl unwrapped the stick and peed on it. She closed her eyes and waited. Counted to ten. She was numb and tired, her feet were cold. If the result was negative, what then? Relief. Life would go on in the same old way. She’d get past going to court on Monday then be back to normal. Milo would start nursery school part-time in the New Year. Cheryl would check out the model agency, get a fresh portfolio together. Have a bit more money and not be fretting so much. She’d stopped the nails since the thing with the benefit fraud people. Cancelled those she’d already booked in. Maybe she’d take up Jeri’s offer of putting her in touch with some of those video makers.
She’d had to wait for her benefit to go in until she could afford to buy the testing kit. Eight quid a pop. If the test was negative she’d have more freedom, more choices, stuff she could do. Get to know Jeri better, work out if they were heading for something serious, or if they were just having fun for a while.
He’d sent her some music, a compilation from the festivals he’d guested at. Awesome stuff. He texted her most days now, called too. Touching base, he said. Never the other way – she had to watch her credit.
Last night he’d called: how did she fancy a night out on Sunday. He could get a flight late afternoon, be in Manchester for six, fly back Monday night. He was eager, giddy like.
Monday was the trial.
‘Oh, Jeri, I’m sorry, I can’t. Monday I’m busy.’
‘How come?’ His voice had gone flat.
She wanted to tell him, imagined the way the weight would lift if she could share this with him. ‘I’ve got an interview at the Jobcentre first thing. If I don’t go they cut me off.’ She hoped he wouldn’t realize that she didn’t have regular visits to the Jobcentre.
‘That’s cool,’ he said, sounding more relaxed, ‘I can keep the bed warm.’
‘But Nana’s out Sunday too, so I’ll have Milo.’ The lies were sour in her mouth.
‘Man! Don’t they have babysitters up there?’ He sounded mean now, the first time he’d ever expressed a cross word to her.
‘We’ll do it another time, Milo’s not used to other people, I wouldn’t feel right. It’s been so long but I really can’t make this weekend, babe. Hey, maybe we’ll come to you when you get home, a few days like you said, but I’ll have to bring Milo.’
‘Deal. And my niece is a highly accomplished babyminder, so once he’s settled we can do our own thing.’
He had chatted on and Cheryl squashed any thought of a possible pregnancy into a tight corner at the back of her head. He told her about the advertising company who wanted one of his tunes for an online campaign and the possibility of a Jamaican gig in the summer. ‘You could come, catch up with your roots.’