“All right,” Zach agreed. Wilf nodded briefly. “But don’t let the fact that I’ve seen you stop you… if you were going down to see her. I think she’s lonely, down there. It’s not good for a person, to be alone so much of the time.”
“No more it is, but it’s her choice,” Wilf said sadly. “I have tried to see her, though not for a long time. Tried and been turned away. So, no. I think now is not the time, either.”
They carried on in silence to the top of the track, where Wilf turned off and took his leave with a faint nod of his head. Zach watched until he was just a distant, lonely figure; a dark shape against the narrow road, bent with the weight of all his memories. Zach carried on towards the pub, feeling lost and uneasy after his conversation with Dimity. At the door to the Spout Lantern, his phone buzzed, surprising him. He took it from his pocket and saw one rare bar of signal. The text was from Hannah, and the sight of her name startled him. Pub later? Lambing all done. He pressed reply, and then paused. The prospect of seeing her caused him a bewildering mixture of feelings. It had been three days since he last had, and he missed her, but he couldn’t ignore what he knew. He knew she wouldn’t answer his questions, and would be angry and intractable when he confronted her. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her tightly, and at the same time shake her until some answers fell out. Sure, he replied, and left it at that for the time being.
Dusk came very early that evening. A veil of glowering clouds settled over the coast, and as Zach came down to the bar the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, just as Dimity had said they would. Zach had already finished his first pint when Hannah and Ilir arrived, leaving their wet, muddy boots by the door and padding over to him in thick socks. The sight of Hannah’s small, strong face, her carefully controlled expression, gave Zach an uncomfortable ache, like despair. But with Ilir beside her, there could be no question of starting a row. Zach couldn’t air his feelings so freely. Hannah bought them all a drink and sat down, smiling. She looked tired and preoccupied, but highly alert. That same underlying current of nerves that he’d noticed before. There was a strained pause before any of them spoke.
“So, how’s everything? Any trouble with the ewes?” Zach asked. The pair of them shook their heads, and Zach thought he saw Hannah relax minutely.
“No trouble,” said Ilir, running his hands through the thick, damp thatch of his hair. The deep color of his skin seemed to soak up the low light. “Twins to finish with-two sets of twins. No wonder the sheep did not want to give birth. Hard work for them.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it? Two lambs for the price of one?”
“Sort of. You have to keep an eye on them, though. One is always bigger than the other, and the littlest never does as well, or gets as fat,” said Hannah.
“But that’s lambing done now, right? At least now you can get some sleep,” said Zach. Hannah and Ilir exchanged a quick, almost furtive look, and then agreed with him. Zach smiled with gritted teeth and raised his glass. “To the new generation of Southern Farm Portlands,” he toasted.
“And to new beginnings,” Hannah added. They drank, and Zach glanced at Ilir in time to see a fleeting look of something near panic cross his face, a spasm of desperation that gripped him, and then passed.
“New beginnings,” Ilir echoed heavily. Hannah put her hand on his arm for a second, and a sudden flash of intuition made Zach ask:
“Do you get homesick, Ilir?”
The Roma man looked up at him appraisingly, and waited a heartbeat before answering. “Yes, of course.” He shrugged. “Some days more than others. Where you are born is always your home, even if it is not such a good place.”
“What’s Kosovo like? I’ve never been… I mean, I don’t think I even know anyone who’s ever been. I suppose it’s not really on the tourist map just yet,” Zach said apologetically.
“Of course, for years people only hear of it because of the war. It is a young country with a very old heart. Great beauty there, but also great hardship. Troubles, still. Not enough work to go around. Not enough money, sometimes not enough electricity, even. And the people still fight each other. We are meant to be one nation, but it does not feel that way.”
“It sounds like a tough place to live,” said Zach.
“Tough compared to Dorset, for sure. And I would not want to go back, it is true. But I have left much behind to come here. I left many precious things behind.” For a second, Ilir’s sorrow hung all around them, almost palpable.
“But it was the right decision,” said Hannah staunchly.
“Yes. For my people, life there is even more hard. There are more problems, even less money, even less work. The Roma are not loved. England is a good country. A good place to live. I listen to the news here and sometimes I think you do not know how good it is.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But people will always find something to complain about. That’s what my father used to say, and he was one of life’s great optimists. Although I think now that he might have been mostly talking about my mother. He used to say that if she went up to heaven, she’d be the first to let God know that the clouds were too soft.” Zach smiled weakly, and Ilir nodded.
“I think your mother and mine would find much to talk about,” he said.
“Come on, enough of the doom and gloom. Drink,” Hannah commanded them, knocking the base of her glass against each of theirs.
Much later, when Ilir had pushed his way through the throng and gone up to the bar, Zach leaned over and kissed Hannah, holding her head in one hand in case she should pull away. She didn’t, and he pressed his forehead against hers, shutting his eyes, enjoying the smell of her. Warm and earthy and richly animal. The beer was mixing with his tiredness, producing a languor that made it hard to think. When he let her go, she was smiling, warily.
“What is this, Hannah?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Is this just sex, to you? Am I just… a holiday fling?” She leaned back from him and took a long swig of beer before answering.
“I’m not on holiday,” she said.
“You know what I mean. What happens when I leave here? Is that it, over?”
“Are you leaving?” she said. The question caught him off balance, and he realized he’d given no thought as to when or whether he might be finished in Blacknowle.
“Well, I can’t stay here in a room above a pub forever, can I?”
“I really don’t know, Zach,” she said, and he wasn’t sure which of his questions she was answering. He drew his finger through several drops of beer on the tabletop, linking them up into a shape like a starfish.
“I know you’re keeping secrets,” he said quietly. Beside him, Hannah went very still in her seat. “I know you’re involved in… something.”
“I thought you were here to research Charles Aubrey, not me?” she said, her voice turning hard.
“I was. I am… and I think you know, the two have… closer links than we’ve discussed yet.” They locked eyes; Hannah didn’t blink. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” said Zach, eventually. Hannah looked down at her hands, and gouged a strip of dirt out from under one thumbnail. She frowned.
“Don’t push it, Zach,” she murmured.
“Don’t push it?” he echoed incredulously. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”
“Zach, I like you. I do. But… you have no idea what I’m involved in-”
“I might have more idea than you think-”
“No.” She shook her head. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t know the full story. And I can’t tell you, Zach. I can’t. So don’t push it, because if we can’t be together without you having to know, then we can’t be together. Do you understand?” She stared into his eyes, and her expression was sad, but tempered with steel. The flare of anger Zach had felt died down to nothing, melted into confusion.