Paula Hillman, author

This was a London scene that didn’t make it to the final novel, even in draft form. I was playing around with how I could show Jill’s despair at the way her university life had turned out. I also wrote the one with her and Bonnie, at the same time, and that did make it to the final novel…it had much more emotion, in the end. Poor old Rick…whoever he was!

February 1984.

Jill pulled up the hood of her anorak and dashed towards the coach. Freezing rainwater was beginning to pool on the pavements and the hems of her jeans were already soaked. Little choice had been given about helping with the elm planting project. Students were expected to take part or risk being ousted. The last thing she needed. Even after three years at King’s, she felt tolerated rather than accepted.

           She swung herself through the open doorway and into the aisle. Almost every seat was occupied, bright faces turned towards each other, chatting and laughing and not seeing her.

           ‘Jill, up here.’

Rick called to her from the back of the coach. She let her rucksack slide off her shoulder then walked towards him.

           ‘Hi.’ She slumped down into the seat he was patting. ‘I nearly didn’t come.’ She tilted her head towards the window. ‘Look at the weather.’

           Rick frowned. ‘You know what Dr Cooper said.’

           ‘I do.’

           ‘Well then. What’s a little bit of rain amongst friends?’

Jill sighed and ran a hand across her face. The smell of old vomit and diesel fumes was already turning her stomach. Now she was going to have to suffer Rick’s preaching. Letting herself become involved with a guy she hardly liked had been a mistake. But she’d been lonely enough to fall for the comfort of his brown eyes and friendly smile.

            With an uneven hiss, the doors closed, and the driver began to pull out into the stream of slow-moving traffic.

           ‘Did you get your assignment done?’ Rick began to unbutton his duffle coat and tug at his college scarf. ‘I tried knocking for you last night, thought you might need some help.’

           ‘Oh, sorry.’ A flush spread across Jill’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t hear you. Must have been asleep.’

           ‘It was only seven o’clock. Were you that tired?’

           ‘I can’t remember. But I did finish the essay. That’s the main thing.’

In truth, Jill had heard Rick knocking on the door of her room. But spending another night with him was the last thing she wanted.

           ‘Good,’ he said, and grinned. Jill was starting to hate that grin. It represented everything she disliked about herself and her underhanded treatment of his feelings. She blinked away those thoughts and did what she always did; she grinned back.

           Outside, the sky had darkened enough so that every vehicle on the road flashed headlights and slowed to a safer pace. White sticks of rain pelted against the windows of the coach and Jill’s mood dipped further. Where the other students sprawled and shared loud jokes, she and Rick sat in a bubble of their own. Whether her friendship with him was the cause of this, she wasn’t quite sure. 

           The journey to Tudeley Woods took more than two hours. Jill watched the landscape flash by, a blur of grainy buildings melting into grey countryside. The sky was as thick as wool, soaked in at least a day’s worth of water. While her fellow students shared boiled sweets and corny jokes, Jill listened to Rick talking about things she could hardly understand: science fiction films, Dutch Elm Disease and his visit to New York as a teenager. Acid sloshed about in her stomach, sending waves of sour saliva to the back of her throat. Her temples throbbed. She wanted to go home; not to her tiny student bedsit, but to the northern town where she felt part of something, to the island and the sea and the wide-open skies. May couldn’t come quickly enough.

           ‘There’s Dr Cooper,’ Rick said, jolting her out of her misery. ‘I bet he’s walked here. He lives in the village, apparently.’

Jill didn’t care where he lived, only wished he had the sense to call off this whole tree-planting escapade and send them all away again.

           ‘Lucky him,’ she groaned and lifted her rucksack onto her shoulder, waiting for the aisle to clear. With Rick following close behind, she climbed down the steps of the coach and out into the teeming rain.

           ‘Grab yourself some extra waterproofs,’ Dr Cooper called, holding open a huge woven sack, though all that protected him from the weather was a threadbare canvas overcoat and a flat tweed cap. His hands were lilac with cold.

           Within minutes, all twenty students were wearing sets of bright-orange waterproof coats and leggings. Jill spied a large cluster of saplings, roots wrapped in plastic, leaning against a wall at the edge of the carpark. She wondered if they would be expected to plant them all. While she was enthusiastic about the repopulation project, motion-sickness had drained her energy. Rain dripped from her hood and splattered across her shoulders, carrying with it any heat she might have had in her body. Dr Cooper busied himself with gathering groups of students together. None of which included her or Rick.

           ‘Are you and Mr Evans going to be a two-man team?’ Dr Cooper was calling to her. ‘Miss Holland?’

           She gave a weak nod. ‘Sure.’

Rick lifted his thumbs, and her heart sank.

           Armed with spades and turf cutters, the group made their way across an area of wide heathland. Jill’s feet were already soaking wet. The saplings she carried were hardly substantial, but the root balls were heavy and unwieldy. She heaved them up onto her shoulder and staggered a little. Rick was at her side in an instant.

           ‘Let’s do a swap,’ he said. His hood was down, and his hair stood in clotted spikes of dark blond. ‘You take these.’ He held out a short spade and trowel. ‘I’ll carry the trees.’

           ‘Stop fussing,’ she spat. ‘I can manage a couple of plants. You love telling me what to do, don’t you?’

           Rick stretched his eyes. ‘I think you’ll find that’s back-to-front. Pushing people around is entirely your forte.’

Was it her forte? Wasn’t this what Stoney said to her, all those years ago? Jill thought of herself as a quiet person, not willing to push her needs forward or speak up. Rick was seeing something different.

           ‘I’m sorry, alright?’ she muttered. ‘I’m feeling lousy because of the travelling, that’s all. It’s not your fault.’

           ‘No, it’s not.’ Rick put an arm around her shoulder. ‘But I forgive you.’

Jill didn’t want to be forgiven. She wanted to run ahead with the other students, jostling and laughing and turning the rain into a game.

           By mid-afternoon, all the trees were planted. Three more staff members from the university arrived, bringing flasks of soup and coffee, and bags of rough-cut sandwiches. Rick struck up a conversation with Dr Cooper, leaving Jill clutching a plastic beaker and casting around for someone who might take pity on her. No one did. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing wrong, but for most of her time at college, she was overlooked. There was never any nastiness involved, no deliberate exclusion. She felt as though she was a window: people looked through her, hoping to see something more interesting on the other side.

           ‘Jill. Over here.’ Rick was calling. She gritted her teeth and moved towards him.

           ‘Hello,’ she said, lifting her chin towards Dr Cooper. ‘Not the best weather for tree planting, is it?’

           ‘No, my dear,’ came the reply. ‘Which is why I’ve told young Rick here, and the others of course, to come back to my home and get warmed up. Before you all head back to London.

           ‘That’s kind, isn’t it?’ Rick’s tone irritated Jill.

           ‘Yes, very kind.’

           Dr Cooper’s house turned out to be a large, rangy bungalow not far from the woods. He unlocked the front door and ushered them all inside. Jill’s heart lurched, and she was standing again in the hallway of Seaview House, rainwater pooling on floor tiles and misery pooling at the back of her throat.

           ‘I’ve got various bedrooms you can use,’ Dr Cooper was saying. ‘And plenty of towels. Throw your waterproofs back at me and I will hang them up.’

He began pushing open heavy stripped-wood doors. Jill followed Rick into a room empty of furniture apart from a chest-of-drawers pushed against the furthest wall. Dusty heat filtered out from a radiator draped with towels. She unzipped her jacket and slipped it off. Her own anorak was saturated, and the woollen sweater underneath felt damp. She could hear other students talking in the next room and in the hallway, but none came in to join them. She lifted a towel and passed it to Rick.

           ‘Dry your hair,’ she said. ‘It’s about all we can do. We’ve no fresh clothes.’

He took the towel from her hand and slid his grasp to her wrist.

           ‘Give us a kiss,’ he murmured, pulling her towards him. ‘I haven’t had one all day.’

Jill sighed and twisted away from him. She had to end this thing between them. It couldn’t be called a relationship. Not when all she felt was contempt. For herself and the way she’d clung to Rick for company. And for him because he hadn’t realised it.

           ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to kiss you. I don’t even like you, not really.’

Then she picked up the bright-orange waterproof jacket and fled the room.