“She’s got amazing natural balance. I know these things, Bex. You have to spot the promise early on. Well, Minnie has astounding promise!”
“But, Suze…” I trail off helplessly. Where do I start? I can’t say, You’re mad; all she did was hold on to a sheep.
“It’s a bit early days, I’d say.” Luke smiles kindly at Suze.
“Luke, let me do this!” she persists, with sudden passion. “Let me turn Minnie into a champion. My marriage might be over, my life might be ruined—but I can do this.”
“Your marriage is over?” exclaims Luke, in shock. “What are you talking about?”
OK, this is why Suze is fixating on Minnie.
“Suze, stop it!” I grab her shoulders. “You don’t know your marriage is over.”
“I do! The tree’s a withered stump of charcoal,” says Suze with a sob. “I’m sure it is.”
“The tree?” Luke looks baffled. “Why are you still going on about trees?”
“No, it isn’t!” I say to Suze, as confidently as I can. “It’s leafy and green. With fruit. And…and birds tweeting on the branches.”
Suze is silent, and I grip her shoulders harder, trying to inject some positivity into her.
“Maybe,” she whispers at last.
“Come on,” says Luke. “I’m getting everyone a drink. Including myself.” Taking Minnie by the hand, he strides off, and I hurry to catch him up. “What the hell is going on?” he adds in a murmur.
“Bryce,” I whisper back, trying to be discreet.
“Bryce?”
“Shh!” I mutter. “Blackmail. Tarkie. Tree. Owl’s Tower.”
I jerk my head significantly, hoping he’ll read between the lines, but he just gives me a blank look.
“No. Idea,” he says. “What. Fuck. Going. On. About.”
Sometimes I despair of Luke. I really do.
From: dsmeath@locostinternet.com
To: Brandon, Rebecca
Subject: Re: Would you like a hat from a county fair?
Dear Mrs. Brandon,
Thank you very much for your offer of a personalized Stetson reading “Smeathie” on one side and “Is a Star” on the other. Although this is very kind of you, I must decline. I’m sure you are right that it would look “fabulous” while I am gardening, but I am not sure it is a “look” I can quite carry off in East Horsley.
On another note, I am truly glad to hear that you and Lady Cleath-Stuart have gone some way to mending your differences and hope you have success with your other endeavors.
Yours sincerely,
Derek Smeath
ELEVEN
OK, here’s my verdict on county fairs. They’re really fun and interesting and have millions of different types of pig. Which, you know, is good if you’re into pigs. The only tiny downside is, it’s absolutely exhausting spending all day at one.
It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, and we’re all totally fried. We’ve done two turns each at staking out the ceramics tent, but no one has seen even a shadow of Raymond. Nor has Suze heard anything more from Tarkie, but she’s being very brave and not talking about it. She spent ages on the phone to her children this afternoon, and I could hear her trying to sound merry—but she wasn’t doing the most brilliant job of it. This is our third day away now, and Suze isn’t great at leaving the children at the best of times. (And this is hardly the best of times.)
Now Danny is doing another stint in the ceramics tent, Mum and Janice have gone shopping, and I’m feeding Minnie French fries in the That Western Feelin’ tent, which has bales of hay and a dance floor. At the same time, I’m giving Suze a pep talk about her meeting later on with Bryce.
“Don’t get into conversation,” I instruct her firmly. “Tell Bryce you’re not playing ball. And if he wants to get confrontational, then you’ll play hardball.”
“I thought I wasn’t playing ball.” Suze looks confused.
“Er…you’re not,” I say, a bit confused myself. “You’re playing hardball. It’s different.”
“Right.” Suze still looks perplexed. “Bex, will you come along too?”
“Really? Are you sure you want me there?”
“Please,” she begs. “I need moral support. I’m afraid I might go to pieces when I see him again.”
“OK, then. I’ll be there.” I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes it back gratefully.
It’s been restorative, just wandering round the fair with Suze, drifting and chatting and pointing things out to each other. I’ve missed her so much.
As if she can read my mind, Suze gives me a sudden hug. “Today’s been lovely,” she says. “Even despite everything.”
The band is playing some jaunty Western tune, and a woman in a leather vest has climbed on to the stage. She’s giving instructions on how to line dance, and about twenty people are out on the floor. “Come on, Minnie,” Suze says. “Dance with me!”
I can’t help smiling as Suze leads Minnie away. This afternoon she bought Minnie a teeny pair of cowboy boots, and the pair of them look like proper Western girls, doing heel-toe-kick-swivel.
Well, Suze is swiveling and kicking. Minnie’s just kind of hopping from foot to foot.
“May I have this dance?” Luke’s voice takes me by surprise, and I look up with a laugh. He’s been doing some massive great work email all afternoon, so I’ve barely seen him. But here he is, smiling down, his face tanned from spending so much time in the sun.
“Do you know how to line dance?” I parry.
“We’ll learn! Come on.” He takes my hand, pulls me up, and leads me onto the dance floor. It’s filled with people now, and everyone’s moving backward and forward together in sync. I start trying to follow the instructions, but it’s a bit difficult in flip-flops. Your heel doesn’t hit the ground properly. And you can’t swivel. And one of my flip-flops keeps falling off altogether.
At last I give up and gesture over the music to Luke that I’m sitting down again. As he follows me off the floor, he looks puzzled.
“What’s up?”
“My flip-flops.” I shrug. “I don’t think they’re designed for line dancing.”
A moment later, Suze and Minnie join us at the table.
“Come and have a go, Bex!” Suze holds out a hand, her eyes bright.
“I can’t dance in my flip-flops. It doesn’t matter.” I’m expecting Suze to shrug and return to the dance floor, but instead she glares at me, almost angrily.
“Suze?” I say in surprise.
“It does matter!” she bursts out. “I tried to buy you cowboy boots.” She turns to Luke. “But she wouldn’t let me. And now she can’t dance!”
“Look, it’s no big deal,” I say, feeling rattled. “Leave me alone.”
“Bex has gone all weird.” Suze appeals to Luke. “She won’t even let me give her a present. Bex—why?”
She and Luke are both surveying me now, and I can see the concern in their faces.
“I don’t know, OK?” With no warning, tears spring to my eyes. “I just don’t feel like it. Look, I want to do something useful. I’m going back to the ceramics tent. Luke, why not go and catch up with some more work? I know you need to. I’ll see you later, Suze. Seven P.M. at the hog-roast tent, right?” And before either of them can reply, I hurry away.
—
As I stride toward the ceramics tent, my mind is miserably whirling. I don’t know why I wouldn’t let Suze get me the cowboy boots. I know she could easily afford to. Am I punishing her? Or am I punishing myself? Or am I punishing…er…
Actually, I don’t know who else I could be punishing. All I know is that Suze is right: I’m a bit messed up inside. I got it all wrong with my job, with Dad, with everything—I feel like I’ve made mistake after mistake without even realizing it. And then, as I reach the ceramics tent, it suddenly hits me: I’m scared. Deep down, I’m scared I’m going to screw up even more. Some people lose their nerve for riding or skiing or driving; well, I’ve lost my nerve for life.