Poppet

Ghosts

MELANIE GETS BACK to the cottage at eight. AJ is out throwing a stick for Stewart, in the front field because it’s enclosed and the dog can’t run away. He’s checked the hedgerows for his missing shirt and found nothing. If Patience did chuck it then maybe she’s got the fury out of her system. He’s not sure whether to be flattered by or annoyed with her. All that her anger has really given away is exactly what’s been in the back of his head: that if Mel still has feelings for Jonathan then AJ could wind up getting hurt.

The second morning at her house AJ found himself alone in her bedroom while she was taking a shower. There were so many temptations in the house – her handbag left open on the kitchen table, her phone on the bedstand. He remembers now rolling on to his side, plumping up the pillow under his head and gazing at the slim blue profile of it, his pulse tick-ticking away in his temples. Every atom of him bearing down on that sliver of rubberized polymer casing.

What information did it harbour? What windows into Melanie’s head could it unlock? Something about Jonathan Keay? Would his name and photograph appear on her recents screen? Would there be text conversations, emails or even her own ruminations about him noted somewhere? AJ was eaten up with curiosity, but he hadn’t acted on it. Eventually he’d turned away, picked up his own phone and started playing a mindless app to distract himself.

Now, when Melanie’s car headlights sweep up the drive, he attaches Stewart’s lead and comes over to the car to help with her bag. He keeps sneaking glances at her. She is so so pretty. Patience is right. He’s got to be so careful here.

Inside the house is warm, condensation gathering on the windows. Melanie comes in and gives Patience a kiss that leaves AJ’s aunt completely stunned. She says nothing, but turns away and spoons kedgeree on the plate she’s been warming on the Aga. She doesn’t go crazy with the amount of food, she keeps it civilized, and maybe the conversation she’s had earlier with AJ has softened her a bit, because she’s polite and even chatty, asking Melanie about work.

Everything is rolling along nicely, and AJ is so relaxed he cracks open a demijohn of the cider he made last year.

‘Kingston Blacks. Proper cider apples.’ He fills up three Duralex glasses taken from the wonky old cupboard above the sink. ‘Scrumped from over Old Man Athey’s field.’

Melanie gives the rim of her glass a quick wipe with the sleeve of her blouse and sips politely. She’d prefer vodka, but she’s too much of a lady to say it. Patience downs her glass in one. Sets it on the table for AJ to refill. ‘You mean where Stewart thinks he wants to go and live. With the ghosts.’

AJ shoots her a look – he doesn’t want the mood spoiled, but Melanie doesn’t appear to have picked up on the reference to Upton Farm.

‘Does he still want to go in the woods?’ she asks, smiling down at Stewart, who is dozing next to the Aga. ‘He seems quieter today.’

‘I’ve just taken him in the top field. He can’t get out, but he didn’t seem to be interested in going anywhere, tonight, did you, boy?’

‘Well, he wanted to go somewhere this morning.’ Patience knocks back her second glass of cider as if it’s a thimbleful. ‘Couldn’t get him settled. Ended up taking him into town. He helped me shop for the haddock for the kedgeree.’

It’s only when she reaches the word ‘haddock’ that AJ realizes what she’s said. This morning, to cover for going back to DI Caffery, he told Melanie he’d walked Stewart. He checks over the rim of his glass to see if Melanie has registered this. He can’t tell. Her expression is steady. So he quickly changes the subject, he finds anything to talk about, imagining a huge red light bulb flashing over his head, flashing LIAR. LIAR.

Melanie appears to be oblivious. She smiles and engages. She laughs at his stupid jokes and compliments Patience’s cooking. It’s only when the evening moves on and they get into the bedroom that he knows he hasn’t got away with it. Instead of coming to bed she stands at the window, staring outside. There is no moon tonight and no stars, the world seems sealed shut by the clouds. The bean trellises and the potting shed are just visible in the pale electric light from the kitchen windows; beyond that almost nothing.

AJ comes to her and touches her shoulder tentatively. ‘Mel?’

‘You told me you came home to walk Stewart.’

‘I know – I’m sorry – I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He puts a hand on the window frame so he can lean forward and look into her face. It is stony and controlled. ‘Melanie, I was so stupid. I don’t usually lie – that was crazy of me. I was … I’m embarrassed to say why I lied.’

‘You can always try.’

‘I was at some stupid home-brew shop in town. They’d just got some special handles for my old screw press – difficult to find. I didn’t want to miss out. Cider, you know, it can take over a man’s life.’

Melanie turns her eyes to him. She studies his face shrewdly, not finding any humour. A part of him inside wants to shrink.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

‘Melanie? You think I’m a hairy old hobbit already.’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Well, no – but in case you’d noticed the … you know … hairy hobbit inclinations – I sort of didn’t want to reinforce that image. That – stereotype.’

‘I don’t see stereotypes. I just see people.’

‘And so should we all. That’s what’s so good about you.’ He gives a sheepish smile. ‘I’m sorry? Am I forgiven?’

‘I don’t think I can remember one relationship I had where my boyfriend didn’t lie to me.’

‘Jonathan, you mean?’

He’s jumped in too fast. He waits for her to react, but instead of fury she nods. Admitting it.

‘It nearly destroyed me – being lied to. I know I’ve told lies too – the whole thing with Isaac’s tribunal – so I can’t really complain, but when it happens to me …?’ She clenches her fists helplessly. ‘Somehow I’ve got this weak spot about it. I don’t know why. Maybe my dad and his cancer – Mum never told me he was dying, she lied – said he was coming out of hospital, and of course …’ She shrugs. ‘Well, he never did.’

The part of AJ that felt like shrinking now gives up and shrivels into a tight ball. It pulls up its knees and wraps its hands round its ears and rocks back and forward. ‘I tell you what.’ He clears his throat. ‘How about we make a deal? If I promise never to lie to you again, will you promise not to notice my hairy-hobbit, real-ale, tree-hugging proclivities?’

There’s a long silence. And then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Melanie smiles. ‘Oh, AJ,’ she says sorrowfully. ‘Can’t you see – it doesn’t matter to me? It’s you I’m interested in. Not what you wear or drink or eat. I’m only interested in you.’