The Nothing Girl by Jodi Taylor Page A

various bits and pieces and made our way to the stable block on the other side of the yard. Russell led the way, so when he stopped dead, I walked into him and Kevin walked into me. Thomas neatly sidestepped all of us.
    ‘I’ve just thought, do you smoke?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You sure? It’s not a problem if you do, it just means I’ll put you in another room, but I need to know if you smoke.’
    He shook his head. ‘No. Never tried and now I can’t afford it.’
    ‘OK, then.’
    He opened the door to the stable block. In his big box at the end, Boxer stirred and stuck a sleepy but curious head out to look.
    ‘Oh, neat. A horse.’
    Kevin dropped everything onto the tack table and went off to look. Boxer lowered his head and sniffed.
    ‘ Good job he’s had a bath, ’ muttered Thomas. ‘ You have no idea how snooty ex-racehorses can be. ’
    ‘Wow, this is really cool. What’s his name?’
    ‘Boxer.’
    He reached a tentative hand and Boxer deigned to have his nose gently stroked.
    Russell looked at me and wiggled his eyebrows. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
    ‘Come on, Kevin. This way.’
    We climbed a rickety stair and he opened a door at the top and switched on a light. This must, once upon a time, have been the old feed store. It still retained a certain – atmosphere, but being made of wood, it was warm.
    ‘You can sleep here tonight. There’s a sleeping bag and a couple of extra blankets. Jenny has the pillows. I’m sorry there’s no bathroom. If you get caught short nip downstairs and pee in one of the buckets. You can blame it on Boxer.’
    He smiled, but it was a poor effort.
    ‘Don’t rush to get up in the morning. Come over when you’re ready. You can use the bathroom and we’ll give you breakfast.’
    He stopped.
    Kevin was looking at him. I could see him thinking – then what?
    I was wondering that myself.
    ‘OK, got everything you need?’
    He was unpacking his sad little carrier bag. There were a couple of grimy T-shirts which he carefully spread out to dry, three socks (he’s a man, they can only do socks in odd numbers) and a battered Harry Potter with an old photo being used as a book mark. He put this on the floor and stood politely, waiting for us to go.
    Russell seemed to be in another world again, so I pulled his sleeve.
    ‘Oh, right. Good night then.’
    As we crossed the yard, I said, ‘Russell, he’s sleeping in an outbuilding on … the floor.’
    ‘He’s dry, warm, fed, and safe. It’s the best thing that’s happened to him in weeks.’
    ‘What about tomorrow?
    ‘Don’t know, Jenny. I’ll have to think about it. I’ll drive you home.’
    I was glad to go. I was tired too.
    It was well past midnight when we got back. I fumbled anxiously for my key. Russell walked with me to the door. Various lights came on as we walked up the path. Russell stopped and looked around us but said nothing.
    I was too tired to ask.
    Finally, he said in a whisper, ‘It’s very neat, isn’t it?’
    I looked around with new eyes. After the shabby cheerfulness of Frogmorton, I suppose it was. Uncle Richard and Aunt Julia lived in a solid, respectable, detached house on the solid and respectable side of town and their property was immaculate. The extensive gardens, front and back, belonged to the conifer and heather style of horticulture, which means they required minimum maintenance, were always neat and looked exactly the same during all the seasons of the year – dull.
    We tiptoed up the path and Russell opened the door for me. ‘Goodnight, future wife,’ and before I had time to worry about goodnight kisses, and with the unerring sense of timing that all men responsible for unwed females seem instinctively to possess, Uncle Richard appeared. He wore pyjamas and dressing gown and carried the local newspaper. He said nothing at all in a very meaningful way, but Russell remained unabashed.
    ‘Good evening, Richard. Where was I? Oh, yes. Jenny, I’ll pick you up at ten