“Don’t want any friends,” he replied, without taking his eyes off the game.
“Why did you bite him?”
“He started it.”
“I don’t care who started it. You can’t go around bullying people. Do you want to be kicked out and go to boarding school early?”
“No,” he replied hastily, looking up. He didn’t want to go to boarding school at all. “Are you going to make me go back to school today?”
“No,” she replied, reluctantly changing her mind. She didn’t have the heart to send him back. “I’ve got to go into town and post a notice in the cake shop. You can hang out here, if you like. I’ll put some fish cakes in the oven.”
“Can I watch Lord of the Rings?” Gus had discarded his sulk like a coat that was no longer necessary.
“If you promise not to bully other children.”
“I promise,” he said lightly, climbing down from the bench.
Miranda gave him a hug. “I love you,” she gushed, repeating the three words that always made up for the lack of time she gave her son. Gus didn’t reply but hurried off to the playroom. Miranda went to telephone the school to inform them that Gus had been found but wouldn’t be returning on account of a stomachache and to arrange for an older child to look out for Storm on the school bus. She would send Gus to meet her at the end of the lane. It was the least he could do.
Jeremy whistled for his dogs and walked back to the field. Charlie was still standing in the corner. “Come on, old boy,” he said, taking off his glove and pulling out the carrot. He liked to feel that velvet muzzle near to his skin. It took a few moments for the donkey to realize that Jeremy was alone. When he did he tossed his head and galloped across the field. He snorted at Jeremy and nuzzled his soft nose into his hand, taking the carrot carefully so as not to bite his master’s fingers. Jeremy rubbed the short fur between the animal’s eyes and smiled at him affectionately. “What’s the matter with you, Charlie? Why were you standing over there in the corner? It’s not like you to decline the offer of a carrot.” Jeremy set off up the field towards the woods. Charlie followed. He wanted more than anything to go with him, to the safety of Manor Farm where he used to live with Whisper. But Jeremy simply patted him again and closed the gate behind him, leaving Charlie at the mercy of the horrid little boy who chased him with a stick.
II
Wild winds whistling around the house at night like playful spirits
Miranda drove down the narrow, winding lane into town. Hartington was a charming, old-fashioned settlement dating back to the sixteenth century built on the river Hart. The bridge at the top of the town was said to have been constructed especially for Queen Elizabeth I so that her carriage did not get stuck in the mud as she traveled to the castle, now a ruin, that was a five-minute walk from the other side of town. The people of Hartington were proud of their heritage and there was a fete every June in celebration of its royal visitor.
The high street was barely wide enough for a car. The small shops gave the impression of leaning in like trees along hedgerows making the road look even narrower. There was Troy’s hair salon, Cate’s Cake Shop, a gift shop, antique shop, delicatessen and a bookshop. Then the street opened into a large green which boasted a pond with ducks and a cricket pitch. Along one side stood the town hall, a classical sandstone building with imposing pillars and tall green doors, and the Duck and Dapple inn with dark Tudor beams and small windows. Along the other side was Hartington Primary School where young Adam Hudson still smarted from his bite, and Mr. Marlow still fumed at the audacity of Gus Claybourne’s running off. St. Hilda’s Church and the rectory dominated the green where the Reverend Freda Beeley held services and prayer meetings and old Colonel Pike complained weekly about the fact that the vicar was a woman.
Since moving to Hartington House, Miranda had ventured into town on the odd occasion that she needed something, like a gift for her mother-in-law’s birthday or a can of baked beans. She hadn’t bothered to speak to the locals although it was plain from the way they looked at her that they all knew who she was. After all, she had moved into Hartington House, the big estate on the other side of the river. Surrounded by winding lanes and hills, the house was hidden away like a secret, detached from the town that seemed not to have moved with the times. In London, people didn’t stop to chat in the street and neighbors who had lived in the same building for years were unacquainted. Miranda recoiled at the thought of everyone knowing things about her and judging her. Of being invited to coffee mornings at the town hall or having to go to church and shake hands with people she had no desire to meet. It was bad enough that the children were at school and would start bringing their new friends home, though, judging by Gus’s recent attempts at striking up friendships she doubted he’d find anyone to invite. As she parked her jeep at the top of the street, in the car park behind the gift shop, she shuddered at the thought of having to butter up the lady who owned the cake shop. The last thing she needed was to get sucked into local life. Indeed, the word “community” made her stomach churn, conjuring up images of provincial women in headscarves sitting around cups of tea discussing fund-raising for the new church roof. Well, she resolved, I’ll stick up my notice, smile sweetly and shoot off.