Cold Revenge (Willis/Carter #6)(7)
Nicola smoothed Murphy’s neck and threaded her fingers through his mane.
‘Who’s a lucky horse, then?’ He twitched as she pulled. ‘You know, Heather, if you ever need me, I will be there for you. You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, thank you, Nicola.’ Heather didn’t ever tell anyone about her problems at home but Nicola must know of them from Truscott. He knew them because they slept together. ‘I will stand by you, no matter what. I won’t let anyone hurt you.’
Heather looked down, embarrassed, and resumed grooming Murphy with long slow brushes of his glossy flanks. Every time she looked up at Nicola she had the image of Nicola in bed with her uncle. Millie said Nicola had sex with everyone, including Gavin. Millie said it didn’t mean anything, it was just sex and Gavin was just ticking women off his list. Heather stayed clear of Gavin. She hated the thought of him near her, of him thinking she might ever be one of those on his list.
‘We’re having a barbecue tonight, why don’t you try to come?’ Nicola addressed Heather. ‘Just for an hour or so?’
Heather shook her head. ‘Sorry, I have to go in a minute.’
‘Heather’s got her exams coming up, haven’t you?’ said Millie, moving around to stand next to Heather as if protecting her. ‘But I’m coming.’
‘Good, it’s the first one of the season, going to make it a good one. Gavin’s coming, aren’t you, Gav?’ Nicola called over to Gavin who was moving bales of straw across for the horse’s beds. ‘Yvonne’s coming too.’
Gavin grinned and nodded, his eyes on Nicola, and Heather could almost feel Millie’s sadness as she stood beside her.
‘Okay, well, you know where I am,’ said Nicola, as she walked away. ‘You look after yourself, don’t work too hard, and shout if you need me. Millie, I’ll see you later, honey.’
Nicola turned and walked across to the others who were getting ready to stop work. They watched as she kissed Gavin on the cheek and teased him about his hair, whispered in his ear. She hugged Yvonne.
Heather looked at her watch. It was twenty to seven and she had to be home by seven. It was only a five-minute jog but she didn’t dare be late. She was hanging on for Ash, but he seemed to know it, and appeared from the lane, running, out of breath.
‘Sorry, I tried to get away but Mum was being difficult.’ His eyes were full of worry.
‘That’s okay.’
‘Stay with me for a while.’ Ash smiled.
‘I can’t, I have to go home,’ she said. ‘My father said I have to be in by seven.’
‘On Saturday night?’
‘I know, but it’s been worse since he saw us together.’
‘We weren’t doing anything.’
‘I have to go, Ash, I’ll try to come tomorrow.’
‘Heather, I’ve got my wages, do you want to go into town tomorrow?’
‘I’ll try. It all depends; I may not be allowed out tomorrow. I’ll try my best, promise. Will you put Murphy in his stable for me, put his rug on?’ Heather leaned her head against Murphy’s smooth and shiny neck as she watched Ash. Ash never looked at her weirdly like grown men did, he never made jokes about things she didn’t understand, never talked about sex the way everyone in the yard did. Heather felt safe with Ash. She blamed herself for the fact that men whistled at her as she passed in her school uniform, or waggled their tongues at her as they leered out of car windows. She thought it was something in her that they saw and, although she didn’t understand it, she could see that they did, and it was trouble. But Ash only looked at her with love and, when the time came, they wanted to be the first for one another.
When she got home her father was raking out the fire in the grate in the sitting room. He looked up at the mantelpiece clock as Heather walked in.
‘Cutting it fine; I said seven at the latest.’
Heather had stopped answering her father some time ago because she knew there was no right answer and to give a wrong answer led to a slap. It was five to seven.
He paused, his fingers covered in soot. ‘What do you say?’
‘Sorry?’ Heather always tried that answer first when prompted.
He stood and strode across and smacked her across the face. Heather toppled backwards.
‘Don’t you give me that tone. Go and get bathed and then you can help your mother with the tea.’ Heather was grateful to be dismissed. ‘But, Heather.’ He called her back. ‘I’ve told your uncle if he wants you to keep helping at the farm he has to send that boy and his hippy mother packing. I don’t want any daughter of mine associating with gypsies, travellers, or whatever you call them. Do you hear me? Take those clothes off outside the back door, don’t be traipsing straw everywhere. I’ve told you before about it. Do you want another one?’ He held up his fist.
She stood her ground. ‘There was no towel for me to use, I can’t strip outside.’
‘In the scullery, not outside, you know what I mean.’ He glared at her. ‘What’s been going on at that farm? You’re changing, and not for the better. Take off your clothes in the scullery and go and bathe. Do it now.’
Heather went back through the kitchen into the scullery where the washing was done. She had forgotten to strip off in her haste to get up to her room; now she pulled off her breeches and T-shirt and stood barefoot on the cold flagstone floor in her knickers and tried to cover herself as her father walked in carrying the coal scuttle. He stopped and looked at her and waved her away dismissively. ‘Get up those stairs, like I said.’ Heather felt his eyes watch as she passed.