Pastures New

‘A beautiful young woman who is also still grieving,’ said Ben. ‘I doubt very much she’s even thought of me like that.’

‘There’s always time,’ Harry reassured him.

‘As I haven’t heard from her since Sunday, I think it’s unlikely she’ll be speaking to me again in a hurry,’ said Ben.

‘Hmm, that is a pity,’ said Harry. ‘Joking aside, I do think Amy needs help. Maybe you should make the first move?’

Ben, who had been thinking exactly the same thing, but who had been too anxious about Amy’s reaction if he had called round, shook his head.

‘Harry, you’re incorrigible,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right. I’ve got to go and walk Meg before work, but I’ll try and catch her later.’

‘Good man,’ Harry replied. ‘Ah, Bill, have you got some elderberries for me?’

One of Harry’s winemaking buddies was poking his nose round the door, so Ben made his excuses and left. Harry was right. Amy was vulnerable. Something had set her off like that. It wouldn’t do any harm to discover what.

Amy sat on the bench in the graveyard overlooking town. It was a peaceful spot, high on the only hill in the area, and from her vantage point she could see the River Bourne gleaming brightly in the bright winter sunlight. The graveyard itself was ramshackle and meandering, with old paths winding their way between moss-stained graves. The bench she was sitting on was under an ancient yew. Amy found it restful here, so different from the sterile modern cemetery where Jamie’s urn was interred in a wall, with just a simple plaque to remember him by. She wished she’d stood firm against Mary and buried Jamie somewhere like this, but like so many things she and Jamie had never discussed their preferred method of interment and Mary had insisted cremation was more practical and what Jamie would have wanted. At the time, Amy hadn’t thought it mattered.

Amy had been sitting here for an hour already, but she seemed unable to move from the spot. She’d had a fairly useless start to the day. Josh’s teacher had called her in to tell her that Josh didn’t appear to be settling very well, and, worse still, seemed to be hitting a lot of the smaller children. Amy was shocked and upset. Josh had never behaved like that at nursery. The move must have unsettled him more than she had thought. Promising to have a word with him, Amy had gone home to start work on Saffron’s leaflet, only to discover her printer had run out of ink. So now she was ostensibly on the way into town to get some more, but the need to sit still and think had become overwhelming.

So she had sat down and stared at Nevermorewell below her, wondering again if she had made the right decision to come here. Josh was unsettled. She was unsettled. Her reaction to Josh sitting on Ben’s bike now seemed over-the-top and hysterical. Was she losing it completely? Meeting the first person she had even liked since Jamie’s death had set her out of kilter somehow. Ben was a magnetic presence, and despite her embarrassment at the thought of seeing him again, she knew that she did want to see him again. And that inevitably created a conflict. Could she allow herself to be attracted to Ben? She’d never thought there would be anyone but Jamie. And now suddenly there was. And Jamie wasn’t here …

Ben was walking Meg through the graveyard, as he normally did, when he stopped short. Sitting with her back to him, on the bench, below the tall yew tree that dwarfed the graveyard, was Amy. Ben paused. She might not want to see him. He should turn round and go before she noticed he was there. Then she turned to look at him, and the look pierced him so completely that it no longer mattered whether she wanted to see him. He wanted to make things right between them more badly than he had wanted anything in a long time.

‘Sorry, I’m disturbing you,’ he said.

‘It’s okay,’ Amy replied. ‘I was just thinking I owed you an apology.’

‘What for?’

‘The other day,’ said Amy. ‘I’m really sorry I overreacted.’

‘I suppose you did a little,’ said Ben.

‘A little is very kind,’ said Amy. ‘But I think I owe you an explanation.’

‘Explain away,’ said Ben, hovering awkwardly, before Amy motioned for him to sit down.

‘I never told you how Jamie died, did I?’ Amy said.

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘Jamie was always keen on bikes, you see,’ said Amy, dreamily remembering her first meeting with him, when he’d roared up to the pub she was sitting outside, astride a Suzuki, a vision of unrepentant bad-boy glory. She was pretty much smitten from that moment, and when the bad-boy bit turned out to be an act, it made her like him all the more. ‘He’d always ridden them. The bigger the better. I used to get a buzz out of it when I was younger, but I don’t know, as time went on I got more nervous about the bike, and kept hoping he would grow out of it – especially when Josh came along.’

‘But he didn’t?’ prompted Ben.

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Amy. ‘More’s the pity. If he had, he’d still be here …’ She trailed off. Was it ever going to be easy to tell this story?

‘… Anyway, to cut to the chase. He came off it one day. They said he died instantly, which was something of a comfort. I haven’t gone near a motorbike since. And I certainly won’t let Josh near one.’

‘So when I let him climb on my bike …’ began Ben.

‘… I went off at the deep end,’ finished Amy. ‘Oh God, I feel such a fool. You weren’t to know.’

‘Don’t even think about it for a second,’ said Ben. ‘I was cross because I thought you didn’t trust me with Josh.’

‘Oh God, no,’ said Amy. ‘Of course I do. Despite being the most neurotic mother in the universe, I do recognise it’s good for him to have male role models.’

‘I think you’re more entitled than most to be a neurotic mum,’ said Ben. ‘And you’re not that bad. You should see some of my patients. I’ve got one woman who comes in every week with her baby. So far it’s had asthma, peanut allergies and a haematoma. I keep telling her the baby is fine. And still she comes.’

‘That makes me feels so much better,’ laughed Amy. ‘I didn’t want you thinking I was the madwoman on the allotments.’

‘Far from it,’ Ben assured her. ‘You’ve had a rough time. I don’t want to intrude, but have you ever had counselling or anything? It can help sometimes.’

Amy pulled a face.

‘I did go and see someone for a while, but, well, I don’t know … It helped to talk about Jamie. And you get to the point when you think you’re boring people, so it was nice to offload on a total stranger. But then it seemed a bit pointless, after a while. No amount of talking will ever bring him back.’

She looked so sad as she said this that Ben had to resist an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms. But he knew that resist he must. It was clear Amy was a long way from getting over Jamie.

‘Sorry,’ Amy said. ‘I shouldn’t go on about it so much. Really, it’s fine. And things are much better since I’ve been here.’

‘I don’t think you should be sorry about anything,’ said Ben. ‘Grieving isn’t a finite process. And however hard you bury it, it has a habit of resurfacing. I should know.’

He paused, as if he were about to say something else, and Amy looked at him expectantly.

‘Oh?’ she said.

‘Oh, I’ve seen it happen to many of my patients,’ said Ben. He had been on the verge of confiding in her about Sarah, but thought better of it. Amy had enough troubles of her own. She didn’t need to be burdened with his problems. ‘All the clichés are true, you know: time is a great healer, things do get better. But any time you want to talk, you know where I am.’

‘That’s really kind of you,’ said Amy. ‘You don’t know how much better that makes me feel.’

‘My pleasure,’ said Ben, smiling. ‘I’d best be off now. I’ve got surgery in a minute.’

‘Go on,’ said Amy. ‘We don’t want to keep the good folk of Nevermorewell waiting.’

Ben laughed and, whistling to Meg, who had wandered off and was rooting about in the bushes, he left Amy sitting there. He cast a look back as he made his way out of the graveyard. She seemed so lonely and fragile. He just wished there was a way of making her happy once and for all.

Saffron was fuming. Sodding Gerry had been supposed to have the kids the previous weekend, and he had let them down again. Something to do with his mum, he said, but Saffron suspected it was more to do with her replacement in Gerry’s bed – the third leggy blonde he had been with since leaving Saffron, who was definitely not the childrearing type. The net result was that Becky had sobbed herself to sleep for the previous two nights and Matt had wet the bed again – something he always did at the slightest introduction of emotional stress.

All of which had put paid to Saffron’s best-laid plans in the bedroom department, which hadn’t been helped by her attempt to introduce Pump Up Your Volume Potion. She had managed to spill it all over a towel, and discovering that it stained everything a rather delicate shade of pink, Saffron had ended up chucking it away. She hadn’t dared try the Licked Up Love Juice. Lord alone knew what that would do.

Gerry really was the limit, and he had just rung up to say airily that he couldn’t have them for the next two weekends either because of work commitments, and did she mind explaining. When she had told him he could tell them himself, he had just got cross and said that as usual she was being unreasonable. Unable to cope with his idiotic intransigence any longer, she had simply put the phone down on him. The guy was a total moron. She couldn’t imagine now what she had ever seen in him.

A ring at the door heralded Amy, swiftly followed by Saffron’s mum, Elizabeth (after whom Ellie was named), who had come to babysit. Elizabeth had high Gerry Alert Antennae, and promptly asked what That Man had done now. When Saffron told them both, trying to make it appear funnier than it was, they spent the next ten minutes devising ways of punishing Gerry, mostly involving his genitalia and lots of boiling oil. As a result, when she and Amy finally left the house, Saffron was feeling much better.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Gerry always has that effect on me. Does your ex do the same to you?’

With a shock, Amy realised that she hadn’t got round to telling Saffron the true state of affairs in her home. She had kind of been relying on Josh to do it for her. He had a tendency to announce rather matter-of-factly to perfect strangers that his daddy was in heaven with baby Jesus.

‘Oh, I thought Harry or Ben might have told you,’ she said. ‘I don’t have an ex. Jamie – that’s Josh’s dad – died two years ago.’

‘Oh lord, I am so sorry,’ said Saffron, her hand going to her mouth. ‘And there’s me ranting on about my little worries – I’m always putting my foot in it.’

‘Please don’t worry,’ said Amy. ‘I should have told you sooner. It’s just not a very easy thing to say sometimes.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Saffron. ‘Bloody hell, Amy. That’s awful. How on earth do you cope? You always seem so incredibly together.’

‘I’m better since I’ve been here,’ said Amy. ‘But there are times when I think I’ll never get over it. I always felt like Jamie was my soul mate. I was only nineteen when we met. He was older – twenty-four. Neither of us had dads – mine left years ago, and his died when he was young – so it brought us together. And apart from my brother, I have no family here, so we became everything to each other. Jamie and Amy – “the rhyming couple” was what my mother-in-law always called us. I thought we’d be together forever …’

Saffron shivered, thinking of how she would feel if something happened to Pete. She couldn’t imagine life without him. It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Have you ever thought you might meet someone else?’ she asked gently.

Amy shook her head. ‘I really couldn’t imagine it,’ she said simply. ‘I just can’t see how anyone else would match up. Maybe I’ll feel differently one day, but not now.’

‘Oh Amy, that’s so sad!’ said Saffron. ‘I wish I could do something to make it better.’

‘You already have,’ said Amy, taking her arm. ‘You’ve given me a chance of a new start, and been a good friend to me already. It’s all right really, I am so much better than I was even six months ago. Now come on, we have a job to do.’

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

Ben and Harry were outside Amy’s house, carrying plastic bags, flowers (Ben) and a bottle of wine (Harry). Ben felt stupidly nervous about this impromptu visit. Harry, on the other hand, had been very insistent, saying that he felt Amy needed company. Ben again had the sneaking suspicion that Harry was trying to manoeuvre him and Amy together, and he had to admit that the idea pleased him.

Amy had just put Josh to bed, and was sitting down with a glass of wine, when she heard the doorbell go.

‘Hi,’ said Ben as she opened the door.

‘Hi,’ said Amy.

‘Here, have these.’ Ben thrust the flowers into her hand. ‘By way of apology for the other day.’

‘Thanks, but really, you shouldn’t have,’ said Amy, a little overwhelmed.

‘We’ve also got a surplus of stuff from our allotments,’ Ben said, holding up his plastic bags. ‘Would you like some marrows? I’ve got a surfeit, and there’re only so many ways you can cook a marrow.’

‘And I thought you might like to try some of my elderberry wine,’ said Harry, peeking out from behind Ben.

‘Be warned, it’s lethal,’ said Ben, laughing.

‘We thought that as you can’t get out much with young Josh, you might like some company,’ said Harry.

‘But this is too much,’ protested Amy.

‘Of course, if you’d rather be on your own …’ Harry said, but the concern in his eyes spoke for itself. Sensing an ambush, and feeling that neither of them would give in without a fight, Amy let them in. She was touched by their thoughtfulness – she was often lonely in the evenings once Josh was in bed, particularly as the nights were starting to draw in. It would be nice to have some adults around for a change.

‘Have either of you eaten?’ Amy asked. ‘I do a great spag bol.’

‘That sounds delicious,’ said Harry. ‘Here, let me open the wine.’

‘I hope you don’t mind the invasion,’ Ben said, following her into the kitchen, ‘but after we talked the other day, Harry and I, well, we both figured you might be lonely sometimes.’

‘Well, you figured right,’ said Amy. ‘Thanks for your concern.’

There was a warm glowing feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was being looked after and cosseted by these two unlikely friends. It was a long time since she had felt so cared for.

‘And go easy on Harry’s wine, if you don’t want a sore head,’ added Ben, while Amy carried glasses through to the lounge.

‘Nonsense, old boy,’ said Harry, who already seemed half-cut. ‘Nectar of the gods, even though I say it myself.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the taste,’ said Ben. ‘It’s just the morning after that isn’t so pleasant. And you know you should be careful with your blood pressure the way it is.’

‘Oh, tosh,’ said Harry, waving Ben away. ‘You worry too much. And after all, I only have myself to please. If I overindulge it serves me right.’

The warm glow crept over the whole of Amy. Looking at the pair of them laughing and joking in her lounge was like having a breath of fresh air blowing into her life. She might never learn to love again, but Harry and Ben were both right: she could learn to live again. And a little chink of light had just wormed its way into her cold and barren heart. It was a start.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Mamas & the Papas were crooning from Ben’s car stereo as he headed up the motorway from his parents’ house. The leaves were less brown than non-existent, but Mama Cass had one thing right: the sky was an irredeemably awful muted grey. The colour of which fitted his mood right now – a sort of sad and subdued melancholy that always lingered with him after a visit home.

He hated this annual pilgrimage down to his parents – the purpose of which was ostensibly to celebrate their wedding anniversary, instead of the act of commemoration and remembrance that it really was. It had been so many years that they had played out this godawful charade that Ben could scarcely remember a time when they had actually mentioned Sarah by name. It must have been a long time ago. But not mentioning her now made it worse. His father’s forced jollity as he held his mother’s hand and toasted another happy year of marriage, and his mother’s cheery smile, couldn’t quite hide the pain in their eyes. The pain that he had put there; the pain that he could never talk to them about. They had both tried so hard to eradicate the past, and yet the more they forced it away, the more it seemed to come back to haunt them.

Still, who was he to criticise? Would he have done anything differently in their place? And as his dad had said on many occasions, ‘We still had you two boys, you know. You needed us too.’ But Ben’s brother was older, and now lived up north, busy with his own family. So it was left up to Ben, year after year, to face this increasingly hollow and empty ritual. How he wished he could cut through the flannel and talk to them about what had happened, but to do that would be to really open a can of worms. He still wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

Before he left for good, though, he had to perform one last ritual. His own annual act of remembrance and penance. The church of St Barnabas had been a feature of his childhood, from the days when he and Sarah had spent Sunday mornings scribbling on bits of paper at their mother’s feet. As he walked through the familiar door, went to the front of the church, and sat down in a pew, memories crowded in on him. He had been nearly three, and Sarah a baby, but he could still recall with clarity the moment the vicar poured water on her head, and she had squawked loudly. He remembered too how proud he had been watching David, his senior by five years, marching down the aisle at Harvest Festival, holding the banner for the Scouts, and how he had longed for it to be his turn. But by the time his turn came, the world had changed, the church had become a place of mourning, and his memories were spoilt by the horror of Sarah’s funeral, and the awful pitiful wail of anguish that had come unbidden and uncontrolled from his mother’s lips, and the weird and unsettling sight of his father crying. By the time that Ben had held the banner for the Scouts, such things didn’t seem to matter any more.

Ben stared up at the high altar, a welter of emotions swirling around him. Why did he put himself through this annual torture? The rest of the year he could hold all this at bay quite easily – and he didn’t have to come here, his parents probably never even knew he came. But somehow, he felt he owed it to Sarah – a mark of atonement almost.

He went to light the candle he lit every year, and remade the promise he had first made all those years ago so that Sarah’s death would mean something. He couldn’t save her, but he could and would save others. Ben wasn’t particularly religious, but this simple act of remembrance, while immensely painful, always did him good. And his heart was somewhat lighter when he emerged into the grey wintry day.

When he got back in the car, he realised he had missed the end of the song, and so he replayed it. On second hearing it didn’t seem quite so gloomy – offering more hope than sadness. Caroline had emailed him again to ask if he would come out at Christmas. He thought fleetingly of Amy. It might be nice to see more of her during the holidays, but her reaction to the bike incident had only served to remind him how vulnerable she was. Did he really want to get involved? And what was he to her anyway? Nothing, probably. And what was there here for him at Christmas? His parents always went to David’s and Ben tended to work through. Maybe skiing in Colorado was a good idea. Perhaps he would take Caroline up on her offer after all.

‘Well, that’s the lot then.’ Amy sat back and looked in satisfaction at the winter table displays piled up on Saffron’s kitchen table. Fronds of leaves and bits of green littered the floor, along with the odd discarded red and white chrysanthemum, a couple of bunches of red roses, several poinsettia and copious amounts of ribbon. There were two empty cans of gold paint spray heading for the bin, and one half-full can of silver paint left. It had been a good morning’s work, and Amy was about to set off for the neighbouring town of Upper Langley to hand them out to the rich and pampered good ladies of the parish, who seemed to have oodles of time to visit the local nail bar, but rather less for tedious things like flower displays. Thanks to Amy’s bright idea to put her leaflet into beauty salons as well as hairdressers the phone hadn’t stopped ringing.

‘I don’t think I want to see another pine cone ever again,’ said Saffron with a groan. ‘Remind me, who wants this lot?’

‘It’s for Linda Lovelace.’

Saffron snorted. ‘That’s not her real name, surely?’

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