Page 38 of Once Upon a Thyme
Simon’s attention was thankfully diverted. He was watching the band forming at the far end of the garden, each member floating in from various places to where Mika was standing. It was like watching planets form around a sun, a solar system around their star.
I handed the key to Zeb who had the door open in moments and we burst through into the kitchen which still smelled slightly of cleaning fluid although that was now overlaid by perfume, crushed leaves and curry.
‘What did you need to talk to me about?’ Zeb began filling the kettle. I was still struck dumb and my eyes kept swivelling to the window.
‘I… err… we’ve just about finished filming now.’ Simon stood awkwardly in the doorway. ‘We need to finalise payment and agree on publicity – what we’ll put up on the site for you for example.’
‘I was thinking – what about buying us a new barn?’ Zeb asked quickly. ‘I mean,’ he added, throwing me a look, ‘as a lasting legacy of your visit. We might even get a bird of prey or two, you know, goshawk or something? And then it becomes an attraction in its own right and it will help us through the winter months.’ He stopped, finally running out of breath.
I stared at him. ‘I thought the new barn and more animals was for the future?’
But Simon was looking out of the window too now. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said slowly. ‘Well, as long as you don’t want it to happen overnight…’
‘Oh no, there will be planning permission for the barn extension and insurances to look into first,’ Zeb said happily. ‘But it would be something you could come and visit. The Goshawk Tradersin a lovely garden with an actual goshawk, great photo opportunities.’
I stared at Simon now.Too easy. It was too easy. This wasn’t how life worked, that you wanted something and someone rich came along and made it happen. Was it?
‘Well, I would like to come back and visit occasionally.’ Simon seemed to be talking to the scenery. ‘I really like it here. There’s something so… sopeacefulabout Drycott. And,’ he added suddenly, almost as though he’d just thought of it, ‘it will be nice to see what you do with the place.’
‘Are you blackmailing him?’ I asked, when Simon had gone back to join the band. ‘Because if you are, the cottage needs a new roof and we could do with some more gravel for the car park.’
Zeb laughed. We were still sitting at the table in the long rays of afternoon sunshine, while the band packed up equipment and generally messed about like schoolchildren. I didn’t want to go out. I didn’t want to say goodbye.
Mika had kissed me. I didn’t know what it had been, a promise of more, a farewell or just the sort of thing he did all the time. I’d watched him swinging Tessa around and draping himself over Genevra, careless and physical and affectionate. It seemed to be how he was: touchy-feely with everyone and I was nothing special. I kept trying to tell myself that the kiss had been nothing.To him.To me it had been like someone half-opening a gate into Arcadia and showing me a glimpse of what could be.
‘Shall I ring Ollie and tell him to come back tomorrow?’ Zeb broke into my wistful dream-life.
‘What? Why would you do that?’
‘Because I work here. You employ me. Remember?’
I looked at Zeb now. He was draped too but not nearly as picturesquely as Mika, and over the chair rather than another person. Long limbs that seemed to have taken him by surprise by being hinged in unexpected places. Zeb always looked slightly physically awkward.
‘Do you really think you want to work here? With animals? When you’re a trained chef and qualified financial consultant? Isn’t it a bit of a waste of education and experience? I worry that you’re going to stick it for a fortnight and then realise that it’s actually just shovelling shit and moving a pig and you’d rather be somewhere where you get to use your brain.’
There was a long pause. A stem of basil flopped exhaustedly in its pot and there was a short scratchy sound from behind the dresser. Otherwise everything was quiet.
‘Well done,’ Zeb said at last. His tone was level, not sarcastic or even particularly congratulatory, but it sounded as though he meant those two words.
I blinked. The sun had moved and was shining between us now, so I could only see him as a golden outline broken by swirling dust. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
He sighed. ‘You asked me a serious question. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you ask something about how someone else might feel. I know you said you were trained out of asking questions but I hadn’t realised it was so serious.’
I blinked again. It really was hard to focus on him with the sun glancing in at such an angle. It caught the edge of a bowl, reflected and refracted and hit me straight in the eye. ‘Don’t be daft.’ I tried to sound authoritative and like an employer. ‘I ask things like that all the time.’
‘You ask superficial questions. “What’s the weather like?” “How old are you?” “Would you like some milk in that?” That kind of thing. But you don’t ask anything where the answer might really be important.’
I stood up. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ I pushed away from the table and over to the sink where I began running water to wash up our recently used tea mugs. It kept my back to the glaring light which was giving me a headache, but it meant that I could see out of the window. I could see Mika too, leaning against the wall of the barn with that half-amused expression on his face, watching something I couldn’t see at the far side of the garden. He was undeniably gorgeous but all of a sudden there was something calculating about him. Something about the way he stood, as though he were waiting to be admired, and his easy arrogance prickled at my skin. Behind the beauty there was something showing that looked like overconfidence. Did he really like me at all? Or had I been an entertainment to distract him in his downtime? A silly girl to dally with under the trees amid the birdsong.
You don’t ask anything where the answer might really be important.Zeb’s words echoed in my head, and I felt all those unasked questions from the past surging through me on a lava-raft of boiling anger. My veins solidified with it, my blood burned. Ineverfelt angry, never. I might be cross, mildly annoyed, possibly suffer from that mixture of disappointment and thwarted intentions that can feel like anger, but never this fierce, driving rage that was forcing into me now.
‘Stay there,’ I said to Zeb.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘There’s something I’ve got to do.’ I pushed off from the worktop I’d been leaning against. I had to do this, and I had to do it now, while the unaccustomed fury was still in the driving seat. I marched out of the cottage and across the garden.
I’d never beenallowedto feel anger. Any extreme emotion had been kept well tamped down, the embers smouldering and giving off the occasional whiff of infuriation like a too-damp bonfire. Granny and Mum hadn’t just trained me out of questions, they’d trained me out of showing my feelings too. It would upset Mum and send her to bed for a week if I permitted myself any more than a momentary bite of annoyance. She couldn’t cope with me being anything other than calm and reassuring. So, no tantrums, no teenage door slamming, no thrown accusations; I had had to stay calm and sit on my emotions.
