‘I might know someone who might be able to help. When the time comes, let’s talk again. You must be proud of him, Naresh.’
Amy has never seen Seymour out of the environs of the farm before. She knows he is charming and has a knack for making life exciting. But now she sees another side. A man able to put others at ease. He makes Naresh feel special. Perhaps it’s what makes him a good photographer.
The men discuss the political situation in a part of India with which they both seem familiar. Will she ever have the chance to travel so far afield? She’ll never have the money. Anyway she’s not sure she’ll ever wants to leave Wyld Farm. It’s where she belongs.
How sorry she feels for all the people who live in towns and cities and have boring routine jobs. They might be able to cope with the crowds and bustle. But she can’t; she will not! Her father accuses her of escaping life, of being unrealistic. But he’s just straight. She and her friends are creating another way of being, a better one. They will everyone that life can be different.
When the men dissect the failures of a local football team, she wanders around the shop. In one corner there are joss sticks and scarves and ointments. She picks happily through the stuff on display.
‘Why don’t we get these for Eleanor? It says this salve is good for “tensions of the heart” and the tea “enhances harmony and well-being”.’
‘I’m not sure they’re the sort of things Eleanor likes. Eleanor’s got her drugs from the chemist. But I’ll get them for you if you’d like, Amy. And some of those delicious Indian sweets, Naresh.’
Outside, the thinnest sliver of the moon sits in a velvet sky encrusted with stars. She pauses for a moment and looks up.
‘What a stunning evening. Do we have to go straight back to the farm?’
‘No, I suppose we don’t. Why don’t we drive to Exmoor? I know a pub. A quick drink.’ Taking her elbow, Seymour guides her to the passenger side of the car. ‘I’ll drive now.’ He gallantly opens the door and she dips her head in assent.
It is exhilarating to be pressed back in the leather seat as the car accelerates along pitch-black lanes. Seymour switches on the radio. The liquid tones of a woman, singing of her beloved’s face, fills the car.
‘Roberta has a perfect voice, doesn’t she?’ Seymour says, turning up the volume.
She closes her eyes and loses herself in the music.
After a time, the car slows down. ‘A proper old pub,’ Seymour says, and he swings the car off the road.
The murmur of voices and crackle of burning wood. Seymour indicates for her to sit while he goes to bar, returning with glasses of whisky. They chat for a while, then he asks: ‘Haven’t seen you since Christmas. How did it work out?’
‘It was strange, Seymour. We always used to open our presents sitting on Mum and Dad’s bed. But Mum wasn’t there. We didn’t really know what to do. And the turkey. Dad bought one that was much too big. It sat in the fridge almost untouched, a horrid daily reminder that there are only two of us in the family now.’
She’s aware he’s listening closely. She’s not used to such attention; David would have accused her of being maudlin by now or worse, neurotic.
‘Then I asked Dad if I could meet her…his girlfriend. That was weird. He let me drive his car to her house which he’s never done before. I didn’t like her. I don’t know why, really. She was… too normal.’
The remark makes Seymour laugh.
‘And then it became obvious that Dad had bought us both the same item of clothing for a Christmas present.’ Amy indicates the cardigan she’s wearing.
‘I hope she looks as fabulous in it as you do,’ he says. That makes her laugh. ‘But now you’re back at Wyld Farm.’ He lightly presses her arm.
‘What did you do? I know you went away somewhere sunny after New Year.’
‘Had to get away. I’d describe my Christmas as just a tad fraught. I’ll get us another drink.’
He comes back with another round of whisky. ‘Put it this way, I made some pretty stupid mistakes.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, you see, I had an affair, well no, actually, only the briefest of flings… with Stella.’
He watches for her reaction. She toys momentarily with the idea of appearing surprised, then says: ‘I spotted it right away the night you arrived with her and the decorations. Discretion is not your strong suit, Seymour. But did Julian find out?’
‘He did unfortunately. When she went and revealed everything to him, silly girl. I didn’t mean for them to break up, did I? Anyway, I’d already hightailed it back to London when all hell broke loose. I gatecrashed one of my dearest friend’s Christmas lunches and got so drunk that I fell into the tree and broke a very fine table.’
She couldn’t help finding it all very funny. ‘And now you’re with Eleanor?’
‘Or Eleanor is with me, I’m not sure which. ’
‘One for the road, then.’ At the bar, Amy searches for the pound note she squirrelled away for emergencies. The little leather purse is worn and curled at the edge. It once belonged to Shirley. She can hear her mother whispering in her ear, urging caution, but she ignores it. She buys two whiskies and a packet of peanuts.
‘To us’, she says, and they chink glasses.
She insists on sharing the nuts equally and that means splitting one in half. Is it flirtatious to hold his bit in her palm? Their eyes meet. He lifts her hand to his mouth and, with a languorous lick of his tongue, picks up the nut.
‘Here’s to 1973,’ he says.
18
Amy handles the seedlings with careful fingers. Only
