Trying Not To Love You - Part Two

Part Two

Martha ordered another drink; aware that she’d downed the inch of whisky in a few seconds, but she’d never felt pressure like this. She swore to herself that she could hear comments about her passing around, but when she moved, studied people, all she saw were smiles. Another drink and she’d leave, she’d humoured James, but had no intention of staying for food, if she managed another half an hour she could disappear, her father was ill, she was sure she could muster a few tears to command, they had been very close to falling all evening anyway. He’d understand that.

                “Martha,” Mr Richards her primary school headmaster approached asking about her father, then he was joined by Pat, the shopkeeper. She tried to smile, to be genial, but her heart was elsewhere.

As she drank her second whisky Martha spotted a lull in the attention she was getting and dragged James into the conservatory, pulling him square in front of her.

                “Seems my father has been lying to me, and so have you. Oldbury! You said he’d not been seen. Spill!” Her ex fiancé was the last person she wanted to discuss, but he was also the most dangerous person she knew, so she wanted and needed to be forewarned.

James looked sick, “he’s not been seen for months.”

She raised an eyebrow, “really? Lucy said he was at the farm last week.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, “someone said they saw him, but I haven’t honest. I thought he was away.”

“You sure? Cos this wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve tried to manipulate that relationship.”

He watched the argument unravel from his seat in the corner through the doorway to the back of the pub. James looked embarrassed, flushed, and that made him laugh. He liked this girl, she had fire in her belly. But when she looked up, spoke beseechingly to the chinless man, he saw fear in her eyes. She was scared of something, and she was fronting it out.

He drained his drink, then contemplated another, but as he glanced towards her again, he locked eyes with James, there it was, that knowing scowl, the cocky warning in his glare. It infuriated him beyond belief, and fighting with him here, now, was not the right thing to do. The way he was feeling this day would never end well. So he threw the glass back onto the table and stormed out. He’d get a game in the snooker hall. Hopefully hustling some money from the other losers hanging out there would ease his tension.

                “It was a mistake last time Martha, I swear, he told me he was desperate to see you. I believed him.”

Martha looked at James, his ‘mistake’ five years ago had had grave consequences, not that she was keen to remember that time.  She wanted to get out of there, she’d not wanted to think about Scott Oldbury since she’d left, or the chaos that James had caused by orchestrating that final meeting with him.

James looked sick, and though she may live to regret it, she believed him. This time.

Escape, she thought as she followed him back into the bar, and then groaned, as in through the door came Helen, her best friend from school. They had barely spoken since she’d left town, but via facebook, no one was a stranger anymore.

                “Oh-My-God Martha! You look amazing!” As she pulled her friend into a hug, Helen spotted James rolling his eyes and suddenly apologised, “I’m SO sorry, obviously you’d look so much better without the stress of your dad. Shall I order us some wine?”

Without waiting for an answer, Helen ordered a bottle of chardonnay, and with three glasses, James led the girls out into the conservatory, where it was a little quieter and away from the prying eyes of the gossips.

He’d lost twenty quid in three games of pool, he never lost, he was the best player by a mile here, and it had done nothing to lighten his mood. He’d go home, sleep, there was a lot to do the following day, he could do with some uninterrupted rest. That was the best plan, so far he’d kept himself under control, he hadn’t give in to the frustration or anger of the day. Saying his goodbyes he headed back out onto the High Street and made for home. As he passed the pub a gang of girls called to him from the beer garden. Turning around he immediately relaxed Gemma Arthur. Blonde, tall, slim, and one of the good time girls, SHE could be the distraction he was looking for. She’d been hounding him for weeks. She occasionally worked behind the bar with that letch James, this could be a double win situation.

Turning back towards them he gave a wink then headed inside. By the time he’d reached the bar, she’d entered the pub from the beer garden and met him there.

                “Are you on your own?” She asked staring at him. He’d been told he was good looking by women in the past, but he wasn’t stupid, his aloofness and disinterest was one of the main reasons women threw themselves at him, it had been happening since he was fifteen. And tonight was no exception. Gemma and her friends were good time girls, out most nights looking for fun, his reputation was well known, there’d be no confusion between them, and she smiled at him, as he nodded.

                “Drink?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer he turned towards the barman to order for them, and it was then he connected with the most beautiful yet unexpectedly blue pair of eyes from the other side of the bar.

Martha couldn’t see her finishing the third bottle of wine, she was shattered, but the other two were full on reminiscing and the wine had been free-flowing, so she had to go along really and this was her round. As she waited for Mick the barman to open the bottle, she felt more than saw something to her right, glancing that way, across the serving area to the bar she’d been in earlier she suddenly froze. All she could see were brown eyes, and she felt as though she was drowning in them, leaning back she just about managed to focus on the face they belonged to, angled cheek bones, a strong jaw darkened by stubble, and short dark hair.  She’d never seen him before in her life, but there was something absorbing about him. Then like a clapboard on a movie set, a skinny overly made-up blonde female, snapped the link between their eyes by thrusting her face to his. Martha almost recoiled in shock as the man, and he was a man, started to kiss the blonde. Not a peck, not even a snog, this was a full on face eating, hands wandering, ‘get a room’ event...completely inappropriate for the bar.

He had been wrong footed by Gemma’s apparent ardour, but angling his head without ending the kiss, he sought to find those eyes again, he was desperate to see her again. But it was as he reconnected with her that he saw the look of distaste, disgust even as she snatched at the wine and moved away from the bar as quickly as she could, and it was with the memory of that look that he dragged Gemma out of the pub away from Miss Holier-than-thou and in the direction of his bed...if they made it that far.

She hadn’t slept, that was inevitable, she had so many things to worry about, once she got to the restaurant, got control of things, she’d have more of an idea about what was going on, until then she had to try and fathom what the hell was going on here, she had to keep things running smoothly for her dad. She owed him that.

Martha left the kitchen via the side door into the utility room, passing the washing machine, dryer and large open sink, she moved into the feed room, in it were large sacks of feed, labelled for the various recipients, and above them a chart, stating the times of feeds for the dogs, cats and horses, an A3 poster of how to run the farm house, then there were rental prices, contract details for all the fields that were rented by various members of the local community. Smiling at his organisation she found her boots, old black rubber soled boots that still fitted her like a second skin, then went out to start the day.

By eight am she’d familiarised herself with everything at the farm, she still had to visit her father, and then get to the restaurant, but she felt as though she’d made a decent start. Hearing voices she looked up to see Eamonn her father’s right hand man. She’d known him for years and he used several of the fields for his own purposes, as payment he helped her father out with his own.

                “Eamonn.” She hugged him as hard as he hugged her.

                “How’s your da?” He asked, she was always amazed that his Irish accent was still as strong as he’d lived in town since he was a youth.

                “They say he’s stable, I’m going there later, then I’ll know. Is everything running well?” Martha asked, “I don’t know how long my father is going to be out of action...”

Eamonn smiled, “this place runs itself, I can manage everything...”

                “But?”

He sighed, “things haven’t been easy for your father.”

It was not what she wanted to hear, a common theme was emerging and it wasn’t settling her nerves at all, “Eamonn?”

                “You’ve seen this town Martha, this is the only farm left, and there are people who want to develop more of the area. This farm is the closest land left near town. It’s prime land, in demand. Your father’s been under a lot of pressure from parties to sell.”

Martha sighed, she’d been right to worry. She knew how ‘persuasive’ people could be, especially people with money if they wanted something. Then there were the horses. These were the huge investment her father had staked his future on, she’d ridden Pumpkin, her pony as a kid, but didn’t have a clue how to manage stud horses, foals...breeding cycles.

With a sigh of frustration she made for the house, she needed breakfast before going to the hospital. When she got back she’d deal with things. There was only so much she could do.

                “Sleep well?” Aunt Lucy was sat in the kitchen, a cigarette smouldering in the ashtray in front of her.

Martha wrinkled her nose for a moment, then shrugged, not keen to make small talk. Her head hurt, but this was nothing to do with alcohol. “I’ve been trying to sort things out here.”

Her aunt nodded, “your father hasn’t been on top of things lately.”

That surprised her, she was confident that her father could manage everything. She’d seen his filing, his plans, his rotas, he seemed ultra organised. Her aunt had a love hate relationship with him, so she tried to take the comment with a pinch of salt. Filling the coffee machine, she toasted some bread whilst she waited for it to brew thinking all the time. Eventually she turned to her aunt.

                “Why?”

Aunt Lucy looked up, “why what?”

                “Why is Dad struggling?”

Aunt Lucy lit another cigarette then smiled at her, “lots of things, he thinks I don’t see things. But I do. He’s too old to keep doing all that he does really. And then there’s the lodger.”

Martha sipped at her coffee for a moment, “you mentioned this last night. Yet you don’t tell me the full story.”

Her aunt laughed, “he’s always been soft, too soft! I mean he let all those things happen to you, then he let you leave. Now he’s got some criminal living rent free in the coach house. Rent free I tell you! He has no idea what people think about him, and this illness...well it’s been a long time coming.”

She thought about that all the way to the hospital. Herman her MG was bogged in mud, so she’d had to drive her father’s Land Rover, that was years older than even her dated vehicle. She’d not driven this lump of metal for a long time, and it was hard work, there was no such thing as power steering, a ninety degree left turn took a ton of effort and elbow grease, turning out onto the main road was harder than pumping metal for three hours at the gym.

A lodger, that was so like her father, but there was tension from Aunt Lucy that was worse than normal. She was concerned.

Not for the first time Martha wished she had a crystal ball to see how this would all play out. Instead she was miles from her own life floundering like a fish out of water.

By the time she got to the hospital she’d lost any confidence that she had at the thought of seeing her father. Her legs barely functioned as she climbed the stairs to the ward that housed her father. He was asleep, the doctor came to see her, attempted to fill her in on all that happened. The man seemed optimistic, but all she could see was her father, pale, limp and unresponsive in bed. And it was about to break her in two.

He opened an eye, the first thing he saw were the blonde locks of a woman draped across his arm. Gemma. He groaned, he wanted her gone, what happened to waking alone? When he’d lived in London he’d always gone home with women, his home was a sanctuary, if they did come back to his they had always disappeared in the middle of the night, never wanting to be the wrong side of town when the morning came, but they were different here. Rolling to his side he glanced at the room, though it was barely that, he had a bed, a table and a small fridge. That was it.

Sitting up he found his boxer shorts and untangled them from the rest of the debris of his night with Gemma, a black dress, a lacy bra that he remembered dragging off with his teeth, and five condom wrappers - a fair display from him, all things considered. Sex, like alcohol or bad behaviour gave him a high, but like waking up with broken ribs or in a eight by twelve police cell, or with the hangover from hell, there was always a come down, and her still being there wanting more from him was today’s treat.

He knew he was selfish, but that was part of the deal. He gave women a good time, no one could ever deny that. But with it came the distinct promise that there were no ties, no comebacks, and no cups of tea in the morning. It may show a lack of morals, but he was up front about it, he wasn’t kidding anyone.  

His bathroom was a cold water shower as the boiler was broken, and a toilet downstairs, and whilst it was getting late in the year and generally cold, he found the dumping of ice cold water every morning invigorating.

He was dressed in dark jeans and a long sleeved black t-shirt, hair still damp when he climbed the stairs, his watch told him it was almost ten o’clock, he had places to be.

                “Gemma,” he shoved her gently, “I’ve gotta get going.”

As much as he had nothing worth stealing he had no intention of leaving her here whilst he left, this was HIS space, all he had and the sooner she was gone the better.

He was stood drinking a glass of water as she finally opened her eyes, pulled herself into sitting. The light duvet fell away from her body to reveal her lithe, almost childlike figure, childlike except for the larger than a handful fake breasts that she’d had great pleasure in telling him cost three thousand pounds. With her messy hair and sleepy face he felt a moment of endearment, she wasn’t a bad kid. Then she reached for him, pulling him close, hands ripping at his jeans, pulling them down, and her lips expertly fastening around his rapidly growing erection.

She could stay a few more minutes he thought as he closed his eyes.

                “Can we meet tonight?”

He shook his head, “I’m in town tonight, things on...work.”

She was pulling on her muddy heeled sandals, and with last night’s dress and damaged underwear she didn’t look the best, but that wasn’t his problem. Leaning against the doorway he dragged on a cigarette as he watched her unfold to her full height. “Call me?”

He shrugged, “I’m not promising anything, ok?”

Gemma tried a pouty look, then sighed when he didn’t respond to it, “what is it with you? We have a night like that and you won’t plan a repeat?”

She didn’t need to know that it was years since he’d planned ahead of the day in front of him, “I’ve got to work, ok?”

He led her down to the front door, it was a sunny morning, as he pulled back the door he flinched at the bright light shining in at him, she stepped down onto the cobbles of the farmyard  that housed the coach house he called home, then turned to him, “you won’t change your mind.”

He laughed, “it was a great night, but that’s it, it was a night, ok? I won’t make false promises.”

Nodding she threw her arms around his neck, “I can appreciate that.” Then she threw her lips on his.

For a moment the kiss was almost aggressive and she was moaning in delirium, writhing up against him, but he had no intention of this deepening, they were not taking a step back upstairs. Instead he gave her a gentle push away, “see you round.”

As she teetered across the yard making for the path back to town he felt eyes on him. Looking up he saw her, there again. Across the yard next to the old beaten up Land Rover that Carl used to get around. And she was staring at him again with that look of disgust, as though he was shit she’d found on her shoe.

Instead of letting it get to him, he did what he always did, plastered on an arrogant smile and waved at her. As her eyes widened indignantly, he closed the door behind him and headed back upstairs.

Ten minutes later he’d had a phone call and was about to be picked up, today was going to be another busy day.