He’d already discovered from Harry that Peta had visited Hattie-often. He’d learned that Hattie’s presence had meant that the children were allowed to stay on the farm when their father died. But apparently Hattie had been a weak woman who’d cared for Peta but hadn’t been able to stand up for her against her own son.
‘I can’t remember much about Charles,’ Harry had told him. ‘I was too little when he went away. But Daniel says Charles was a real creep. He hit everyone who got in his way. Auntie Hattie had to stay here when Charles was a kid because there was nowhere else to go, but Charles hated it. He hated us. Everyone was really pleased when he went away and it was awful when he came home. Dan says he just came home looking for money and he made Auntie Hattie cry. There was never enough money for him. That made Peta angry; she wouldn’t let him hit Auntie Hattie so he used to hit Peta. A lot.’
The bleak little outline fitted exactly with what Marcus knew of Charles, but it made him see red just to think of the creep hitting Peta.
Of anyone hitting Peta.
Marcus had never really thought about it but, if forced, maybe he would have said he’d had an appalling childhood. But apparently there were others who’d had appalling childhoods. More appalling childhoods than his.
So? Other people had got over it. So why couldn’t he?
The image of his mother and her series of boyfriends still made him cringe, but it was more than just his childhood holding him apart from the human race, he thought. He knew what happened when he got attached to people. Dreadful things. It was so much better to stay apart…
His feet kept walking. The moonlight played on his face. He wasn’t in the least tired.
He walked closer. Closer to Peta’s sad little house. Closer to the veranda. She’d be solidly asleep, he told himself. No one would wake.
The dogs were his undoing.
They came out of nowhere, not vicious, not snapping, but ecstatic to see a human being awake. Harry- informative Harry, whom Marcus had pumped unashamedly during curry-making-had told him that the dogs had stayed here while Peta was away, fed by the businesslike neighbour who did things for money. To have Peta and Harry home was obviously wonderful in the dogs’ eyes, but Peta and Harry had gone to bed, which was really boring, and here was the friend who’d fed them scraps from his curry.
Marcus’s plan on walking unnoticed round the farm counted for nothing. As an ex-soldier he should have known better. The dogs were yapping and yelping and bounding, and then a voice called out of the night.
‘Tip. Bryson. Who’s out there? Come here, boys.’
Peta. He’d scared her, Marcus thought, dismayed. He hadn’t meant…
‘If that’s you, Marcus, watch your feet for cow pats. We’ve let the cows graze in the home yard.’
Cow pats. So much for terror!
What was a man to say to that? It seemed the lady wasn’t scared at all. ‘I’m watching,’ he managed, stunned.
‘Good for you,’ she called and, astonishingly, there was laughter in her voice. ‘Come here, boys.’
She meant the dogs, he thought. Only the dogs.
‘Are you in bed?’ he called.
‘I surely am.’ This was really strange, like speaking to a disembodied head. ‘Which is where you should be.’
‘I’m not tired. Why aren’t you asleep?’
‘Maybe I would be but strange men keep wandering around in my cow pats.’
‘You don’t sound as if you’re even near sleep,’ he complained. ‘Are you saying it’s my fault you’re awake?’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she said cautiously. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What would you say?’
‘That I’m really happy to be home.’
‘Even if it means you’re sleeping on the veranda?’
‘I like sleeping on the veranda.’
‘Seriously…’
‘Seriously.’ There was a moment’s hesitation and then obviously a decision. ‘Come on up and see.’
‘You’re inviting me into your bedroom?’
‘I’m inviting you onto my veranda. There’s a difference.’
‘And the dogs get to play chaperon.’
‘Hey, I’m hardly about to get swept away on a tide of girlish passion here,’ she said with some asperity. ‘And if you’re thinking of indulging in the same…’
‘Girlish passion?’
‘That’s the one. I have a pitcher full of cold water and I’m prepared to use it.’
He choked. ‘It’s a great invitation.’
‘And it’s only made once. Are you coming up or not?’
Was he? His feet were already moving.
She looked about twelve years old.
Marcus reached the end of the veranda and stopped in astonishment. He wasn’t sure what he had thought he’d find but it wasn’t this.
Her bed was a single bed pressed hard against the far wall. So far so good. That was what he’d thought she’d have. But he’d expected a barren little cot. What he found were…
Cushions. Pillows. Quilts. A vast mound of glorious bedclothes in semi-ordered chaos. In the dim moonlight he could scarcely make out colours but he could see enough to know that this was a mad and vibrant mix, an eclectic scattering of whatever Peta fancied. There must be a dozen huge pillows mounded up beside her, spilling over onto the floor. The oldest of the farm dogs, a greying old collie called Ted-dog, was curled up beside the bed. As Marcus approached he gave his tail a faint wag as if to say, I’m very pleased to see you and I’ll be even more pleased if you don’t expect me to get up.
Marcus could see where he was coming from. If he was curled up on a mound like this…
So much for his pea.
‘It’s great, isn’t it?’ Peta said. She wiggled farther down under her bedclothes so only her nose emerged from the gorgeous quilts.
‘I thought you were deprived,’ Marcus said before he could stop himself and she pushed the quilt down a fraction.
‘Deprived?’
‘Abusive father. Dead mother. Made to sleep outdoors…’
‘My dad wasn’t abusive. He never liked girls but he didn’t take it out on me. He simply didn’t have time for me.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She wasn’t much interested, either. I have really scant memories of her. She stayed inside and had babies.’
‘Something you would never do?’
‘If I had babies I might make a push to make sure they were happy,’ she told him. ‘Our mother really liked babies but as soon as we started being messy it was outside and get on with our lives.’ She pushed herself up on her cushions and looked past him out to where the moon hung over the sea. ‘It was just as well it was a great outside. How lucky were we?’
‘Lucky?’
‘We had this.’ She put a hand down and fondled Ted-dog’s ears. ‘We had the dogs. We had each other. We had a great childhood.’
‘You didn’t have any money.’
‘I don’t see you happy,’ she said softly. ‘Because you have money. Where would you prefer to sleep? In that sterile, awful Manhattan apartment, or here? This is the best bedroom in the world.’
‘And if it rains?’
‘I hang plastic from the veranda rails. And if it gets really, really cold I might even let a dog or two in for
