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The cottage feels stuffy and oppressive, and I suddenly need to be out of here. I head for the front door, slipping my feet into my wellies and pulling on a thick coat.
‘Where are you going?’ James asks.
‘Out. I need some fresh air.’
‘But what about dinner?’
‘Fix it yourself. Or take some of your twenty grand and go to the pub. I don’t care.’
I grab my keys and dash out, closing the door firmly behind me.
10
I cross the yard, heading for the cow shed. I don’t know what it is about cows, but I find their presence incredibly soothing. They raise their heads with curiosity as I approach, taking me in with their big, soft brown eyes. Their mouths make slow, chewing motions and they twitch their tails occasionally, as if swatting invisible flies. Once they’ve satisfied themselves that I’m not particularly interesting, they lower their heads and resume eating the silage that’s been spread out in the troughs in front of them. Every so often, one of them nudges another out of the way to get to a particularly tasty bit, but they paint a pretty harmonious picture on the whole.
I’m so angry with James. To be fair, I would have said no if he’d asked me, but to go behind my back like that, and then get such a pitiful price, that’s unforgiveable. It’s pretty ungrateful of him to have sold the watch my parents gave him too, but at least that was his.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ I ask the cows. A couple of them look up at the noise, but of course they have no answer. After what feels like an age, but is probably only around ten minutes, I start to shiver from the cold and reluctantly head back towards the cottage. James’ truck has gone; I guess he’s taken my suggestion and gone to the pub.
I go upstairs to the bedroom, where I take off the wedding lingerie, return it carefully to its box, and slip back into my everyday underwear. I carefully remove my make-up and then head back downstairs. I no longer have any appetite, so I remove the burned chips from the oven, along with the mushrooms and tomatoes, and put them in the bin. The dogs are instantly alert when I grab their bowls and hover expectantly as I chop up the raw steak. As soon as I put it down, they fall on it as if they’ve never been fed, and it’s all gone in just a few mouthfuls.
I open the bottle and pour myself a generous glass of wine, taking the odd sip as I clear everything away. Part of me acknowledges that James may have a point, however stupid he’s been. If I hadn’t decided to wear it tonight, that necklace might have just sat in the box doing nothing for ever. At least this way it’s done some good. Oh, I don’t know. He’s done the wrong thing and he definitely knows that but, unlike the Becky saga, at least his intentions were good this time. We need to have a proper chat and talk this through now that I’ve calmed down a bit.
This last thought energises me and, leaving my half-drunk glass of wine on the side, I put my coat back on, grab the keys to the Land Rover and head back out, locking the door behind me. The Land Rover is another ancient and temperamental piece of equipment that has been foisted on me. When I moved down here, it quickly became apparent that my Mazda MX-5 was totally unsuited to life on a farm. I used to scrape the bottom of it regularly on the way up and down the track and it was permanently filthy, so James sold it and got me this Land Rover instead. I can see that it’s more practical, but it is a horrible thing to drive. It’s heavy, stinks of diesel and, on the rare occasions that I’ve managed to get it to go faster than forty miles an hour, it’s sounded like the world was ending. It’s also prone to breaking down, and Tony has spent a lot of time showing me how to fix basic problems. It’s amazing how many of his little tutorials required him to stand behind me while I was leaning into the engine bay, and I had to tell him off once when he put his hands on my hips to ‘move me into a better position’. The engine starts with its customary death rattle, and I ram it into gear and set off down the track. The headlights are little better than candles, so I creep along carefully in low gear in case anything comes darting out of the hedge. James accidentally impaled a deer on one of the tractor implements once, and I can still hear the pitiful noise it made until he dispatched it with his rifle. Once I reach the road, I turn left towards the village.
It’s around a five-minute drive from the farm into the village, which is pretty much in darkness apart from the blaze of lights coming from the pub. The car park is nearly full, but I manage to find one of the last spaces and squeeze the Land Rover into it. I can’t see James’ truck, but he may have parked it out on the road; I wasn’t really looking for it. I climb down and wrap my coat tighter around me; it’s really starting to get cold now.
I’m hit with a blast of heat and noise as I pull open the pub door. The bar is crowded with people enjoying a drink, and a few of them are watching the football match that’s showing on the giant screen against one wall. I can’t see James, so I head for the steps that lead down to the dining area.
‘Hello, Sophie,’ one of the waitresses says as I approach. ‘Are you eating with us tonight? I didn’t see your name in the book.’
‘Hi, Libby. I’m just looking for James. Is he here?’
‘I haven’t seen him, I’m afraid. He might be in the bar – did you check?’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll go and have another look up there.’
My scan of the bar comes up with nothing either, so I approach the counter where Chris, the landlord, is unloading glasses from the dishwasher.
‘Hi, Sophie, what can I get you?’ he asks.
‘Nothing, thank you. Tell me, has James been in this evening?’
‘I don’t think so. Have you checked the dining room?’
‘Yes. They haven’t seen him either.’
‘He’s definitely not been up to the bar, sorry.’
‘Okay, thank you. If you see him, can you tell him I’m looking for him?’
‘Will do.’
I thank him and head back out to the car park. Maybe James has gone back home. I try to think if I passed anyone on the way here, but I honestly can’t remember. I think there were a couple of cars coming the other way, so perhaps one of them was him. I clamber back into the Land Rover and start the engine. As I pull out of the car park, my headlights sweep across the cars parked over the road. One of them looks instantly familiar; James’ truck is parked right opposite the pub. This stops me in my tracks. I must have made a mistake, or maybe he’s just arrived. I carefully reverse back into the space and go back into the pub, checking everywhere carefully. He’s definitely not in here, so where on earth is he?
I wrack my brains to think where else he could be, but this is the only pub in the village and everywhere else is shut. A niggle of doubt creeps into my head, but I push it out firmly. Even James wouldn’t do that to me, would he?
The problem with niggles is that, without proof to convince you otherwise, they grow. There is a place he could be, but I can’t believe he’d be that stupid. Nevertheless, now that I’ve had the thought, I won’t have any peace until I’m sure. Wrapping my coat tightly around me, I set off down the street towards Becky’s house.
