Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  He steps down and soon everyone starts to drift away. A team of helpers come to pick up litter, fold the blankets, move the hay bales, and put deckchairs away. I stand there feeling quite emotional and more than a little exhausted. It’s been a great day and I’m quite overwhelmed by the generosity on display. We might only get a tiny slice of it, but it will make a huge amount of difference. I’m so pleased about how my team managed, too, and feel quite teary about it. I must find Shelby and thank him properly.

  I’m desperate for a cup of tea and a sit down, but I need to think about loading up the animals and getting them home. Lucas appears at my side with another plate of cupcakes and two cups of tea.

  ‘I’ve left Bev and Alan organising the animals with a few of the parents who are still here. You can take a few minutes out.’

  ‘Can I?’

  ‘Yes. They are able to manage without you every now and again, you know. Plus there’s a nice view at the back that you should see.’ He indicates the copse behind us. ‘Want to sit down for a bit? You’ve been on your feet all afternoon.’

  ‘So have you.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m young and you are very old.’

  ‘Cheeky,’ I say to his grinning face. ‘Come on then, show me this view.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  So I follow Lucas through the narrow band of trees. It’s cool beneath them – a welcome respite from the warmth of the day. On the other side, the sweep of the vale dips down before rising to a gentle hill in the near distance. In the field two jet-black horses chew at the grass. Other than that, the view is largely unbroken by any signs of human habitation.

  ‘Beautiful.’

  Lucas nods and I see a kind of sofa sculpted out of small hay bales. ‘We have someone come in and do it every year,’ he says. ‘An artist that my father knows.’

  ‘It suits the spot perfectly.’ I sit down and he joins me. ‘Perhaps we could do our own version at the farm.’ He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘It would be a good project.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Lucas looks around before he sighs and puts the plate of cakes and the tea between us. ‘It was Mum’s favourite place.’

  ‘I can see why.’ After choosing a cake that has a strawberry on the top, I take a swig of my tea which produces a satisfied ‘Ooooh.’

  ‘Good?’ he asks.

  ‘Great,’ I say. ‘Much needed. It’s very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He pulls his battered packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

  I frown at him. ‘What did I tell you about hay and cigarettes?’

  ‘You told me that they don’t mix,’ he parrots. ‘But this is my turf, my rules. If I want to, I can smoke sixty a day.’

  ‘That would be a very bad idea.’

  He shrugs and lights up. ‘Doing things that no one approves of is the only pleasure I get at my age.’

  ‘It won’t always be like this.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I promise you.’ We both relax back on the hay sofa. I link my arm through his and he doesn’t pull away. ‘Life is good, Lucas. Truly. Look for the small things every day. That’s the way to find happiness.’

  He snorts his derision, but doesn’t otherwise argue. We sit in silence, taking in the view and, even if Lucas doesn’t, I appreciate the few moments of quiet breathing space. Not only have the students and animals done well, but I think I’ve managed all right too given my aversion to being in public and people in general. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face. It would be easy to sit here and rest my bones for a very long time. All I can hear is the song of a skylark and I feel my eyes grow heavy.

  A few moments later, a voice beside me says, ‘I wondered where you two had got to.’

  I jolt awake, not even realising that I’d drifted off. I check my mouth for drool. Thankfully, there is none. Putting my hand up to shade the sun, I see Shelby standing in front of us. ‘Have I been asleep?’

  ‘Only for ten minutes or so,’ Lucas says. ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ Though he sounds pleasant enough, I feel that his demeanour has changed instantly with the appearance of his father. His expression is back to sullen teenager setting.

  ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Shelby says. ‘I just came to say that you did a great job, Molly. That’s a record sum we raised and having the animals here certainly helped.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I said I’d give you a contribution from the donations. How would two thousand pounds suit you?’

  ‘That would be fantastic. I could get a new clutch for the truck with that.’ Shelby laughs even though I don’t think I’ve said anything funny. ‘I didn’t expect so much. That’s very generous. We seem to have quite a lot in our buckets too, if you haven’t counted that.’

  ‘Keep whatever you’ve taken there. Just let me know how much and I can add it to the overall total. I’m pleased it was a success.’

  ‘It was a lovely day,’ I have to agree. ‘My misgivings were completely unfounded.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. You’ll join us for supper? A few of my friends are staying behind.’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so. I need to get the animals back and settle them for the night.’

  ‘Ah.’ He smiles at his son. ‘Lucas, will you eat with us?’

  ‘Have a wild guess,’ Lucas snaps back.

  Shelby’s expression darkens. ‘It’s been a fantastic day for everyone and yet you have to spoil it. You just love to rain on my parade, don’t you?’

  Lucas smirks. ‘It’s my mission in life.’

  His father holds up his hands. ‘I give up. I’ll get some food plated up and left in the kitchen for you.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  Shelby shakes his head sadly, then turns back to me. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. ‘Thanks again, Molly. I’ll see you again sometime.’

  Then he walks away, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped.

  ‘Smug bastard,’ Lucas mutters as he goes.

  I fix him with a sideways glance. ‘You’re better than that.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ he says, defiantly. ‘He’s such a twat.’

  ‘You were one too,’ I tell him straight.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Two wrong twats don’t make a right twat,’ I say, solemnly.

  ‘What’s that?’ He stares blankly at me. ‘Some kind of old wives’ saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lie and, despite Lucas being determined to sulk, we both burst into fits of laughter.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  We load up and trundle home, happy but tired. When I get back to the farm, I feel as if we’ve done a good day’s work and am content. Alan is still waiting patiently for us even though we’re later than I had envisaged. I don’t think he has much to rush home to, but that isn’t the point. He’s stayed and I’m grateful that he has.

  Alan has already settled and fed the chickens and bunnies. Bev lets the tribe out of the truck and I take Tina’s halter. The geese honk their displeasure at being disturbed. My friends must see me yawning behind my hand as they both stay to help me to put the rest of the animals to bed. Little Dog trots at my heel, supervising all of us.

  When they’re all safely tucked up, Bev hugs me. ‘Nice one, Mols. You did really well today.’

  ‘Thanks. I couldn’t have managed without you both.’

  Alan simply nods and heads towards his car. ‘Thank you, Alan,’ I call after him. ‘You’ve been great!’ He holds up a hand.

  ‘He loved every minute,’ Bev says and we both giggle as it’s always hard to tell with Alan.

  ‘What do we reckon for tomorrow?’ Bev asks as we lean on the fence and watch him as he drives out of the gate.

  ‘Hmm. I’m going with The Libertines.’ The upside of not having a telly is that I do listen to a lot of music.

  ‘Nice,’ Bev says. ‘I think I’ll take The Kooks.’

  ‘You might be in with a shout there,’ I admit. ‘We are overdue a sublime victory.
’

  We high-five each other. ‘See you tomorrow, Mols. Love you to the moon and back.’

  ‘Love you too.’ I walk her to her car and lean on the door as she climbs in. ‘Thanks for making me do it. You were right.’

  ‘I’m always right,’ she quips.

  ‘Yeah. Except when it comes to Alan’s band T-shirts.’

  ‘Harsh,’ she says and we both chuckle.

  Closing the door, I then follow her car down to the gate so that I can lock up for the night. Big Dog lies under the van, too hot to be bothered to come on a walk. I do one last round of the animals, taking more time to say goodnight to the ones who haven’t been with us today – Teacup, Sweeney and Carter, Johnny Rotten and Rod Stewart. All of my family.

  Then I take a slow walk back to the caravan. Now that I’m at home again, the tension I’ve been holding is starting to go out of my shoulders. It may have been a great achievement today, but I’m glad that I’m back where I belong. It’s been a long and busy day and I’m completely exhausted. All of my bones ache. Occasionally, I fantasise about a long, hot bath, but it’s so long since I’ve had one that the image is beginning to fade. I used to be able to close my eyes and feel the warm water lapping over my skin, the scent of bubbles. But not any more. Washing now is a purely functional activity. I could certainly do with a shower – hot or cold – but can’t face the rigmarole that involves and so resolve to get up earlier in the morning to do it. I’m just going to have to go to bed smelling of animal.

  A teeny-tiny part of me kind of regrets not being able to stay to supper with Shelby. It’s not as if I get offers like that every day and I would have loved a peek inside his stupendous palace of a house, but I hate social gatherings like that. They all seemed nice enough today, but what would I have had in common with his arty-farty friends? What would I have said to them? Would they have noticed that I carry with me at all times the faint whiff of sheep?

  In the caravan, I force myself to make a cup of tea and a sandwich, both of which I gulp down. Then I sit on the sofa with a heartfelt sigh and, as usual, Little Dog joins me. Sometimes it would be nice to have another person here to talk to. This was a great day, the best, and yet I have no one to share it with. All my happy thoughts are just running round in my own head. I ruffle Little Dog’s ears. ‘You’re not interested, are you, chummie?’

  He pricks up his ears, but just nestles further into my lap. There’s a pile of post on the table that’s been mounting up all week and I really should deal with it. I live in hope that there might be a huge cheque in one of the envelopes. From what, I don’t know. Maybe some mystery donor has left us a legacy in their will. Maybe I’ve won the lottery even though I’ve never actually bought a ticket.

  Pulling the pile towards me, I slit open the envelopes with my thumb. None of it looks terribly interesting. Bills, bills, bills, spam. Bills, bills, spam. Pizza delivery leaflets. Bills. I’m tempted to push the bills down the back of the cushions. Although with our welcome windfall from the charity event today, I do have a chance of paying at least some of them, for once.

  Then one catches my eye that makes me frown. This looks way too official for my liking. Letters like this bring me out in a cold sweat. With mounting trepidation, I open it and unfold the letter inside. As my eyes scan the contents, a knot of dread starts to form in my stomach.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The heading on the letter is NOTICE TO END TENANCY which is never going to be a good start. It’s from our landlord’s solicitor and he is actually issuing a notice to say that we have ninety days to leave our farm. I scan it again just to make sure. Ninety days. To leave.

  I feel like someone has punched the breath out of me. I sit back on the sofa, panting. I don’t think I’ve ever hyperventilated before, but this feels pretty close to it.

  I read on. This can’t be right. I’ve been a good tenant. I’ve always paid the rent on time – quite frequently by the skin of my teeth – but it’s never, ever been even a day late. I always make sure of that. I’ve lived here for years. And not just me, but Hettie before. It’s my home. I’ve made my life here. I’ve never caused him a moment’s trouble. How can he ask me to leave?

  Pressing on, my hands shake as I hold the piece of paper. The land, it seems, has been compulsory purchased as part of the new trainline project, HS2. The track is to go right through here, slicing the farm in two. I have to stop and make myself breathe as I can’t quite believe what I’m reading. I’d heard Bev muttering about the plans for this to be built near here, but it never for a moment occurred to me that it would directly affect us. Perhaps if I paid more attention to the news or read the local paper, then I’d have been in the loop. But we don’t get the local paper delivered here as no one wants to make the trek up our lane.

  I drop the letter onto the table, stunned, shocked. What would Hettie think of all this? What can I do? It looks as if there’s no way of fighting this. It’s very much presented as a done deal. It’s seems as if our landlord has no choice in the matter either. George Brown has, literally, had to sell the land from under us. He must be just as gutted as I am as this farm, this land, has been in his family for generations. Our impending eviction isn’t his fault and I wonder if that’s why he hasn’t come down here to tell me himself.

  Staring out of the caravan window and into the darkness beyond, I can’t get my mind to focus on what we might do. I’m devastated. That much I know. What will happen to the students? The people who depend on me? I can’t fold the charity as I couldn’t manage without it either. What will happen to my beloved animals? Where will we go?

  Crumpling the letter up, I head to my bed. I don’t even get undressed. I just lie on top of the covers and stare at the ceiling. Sensing my despair, Little Dog whimpers as he lies down next to me and I cry myself to sleep for the first time since my dear aunt Hettie died.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I barely sleep at all. At four o’clock I give in to wakefulness and get up. Little Dog isn’t impressed. He drags himself from under the duvet and mopes around the caravan. I can’t face breakfast as my stomach is churning and I feel nauseous, so I don’t even make a pretence of opening the cupboards. I feed the dogs and Fifty. Even the smell of the food makes me want to heave.

  On auto-pilot, I fill the bucket with warm water and take it out to the shower at the back of the barn. I stand under it, but one bucket fails to hit the spot and instead of feeling refreshed, I simply feel bedraggled. It would be nice to have someone here to fill me another bucket.

  I quickly dry myself before the chill sets in. It’s a fresh morning, not ideal for outdoor showering. I feel numb today and, when I go back into the caravan, I sit and have another good cry. My brain is spinning with so many questions that I can’t even think straight.

  When I can’t cry any more and my eyeballs are raw, I go through the early morning chores like a robot. Usually, dealing with the animals soothes my soul. Today, I look at them and just feel guilty. Every time I tend to one or other of them, a big ball of emotion lodges in my throat. Teacup grunts at me in greeting as he struggles from sleep and I could lie on the floor next to him and weep. Who will love him as much as I do? Fifty and Little Dog mooch around after me, sensing my sombre mood. What if I end up in some housing association where I can’t even have a pet? Lots of them don’t allow dogs or even cats. I bet there are precious few that would permit a pet lamb.

  I have three months to raise more money and find a new home for them. Is that even doable? At this moment, it seems like an unsurmountable task. But who will take my babies? I’d have to fall on the mercy of various animal charities and they’d be split up. What if they all ended up in different parts of the country or worse? It may sound stupid, but we’re like a family. We belong together. Except for Anthony the Anti-Social Sheep, who hates everyone. Yet I couldn’t even bear to be parted from him, no matter how many times he tries to headbutt me in the backside.

  I walk up to the top fields and feed the ponies
and Sweeney and Carter. How do you rehome two Shire horses? These two boys love being in their field together. How can I separate them? My head throbs with the pain of thinking and I rest my face against Sweeney’s soft muzzle, whispering to him, ‘What am I going to do?’

  But it seems that he has no answers.

  My mobile rings and it’s Bev’s number.

  ‘Hey,’ she says and her voice is croaky. ‘I’m not well. Must be something I ate.’

  She certainly sounds like death warmed up. Neither of us mention the word hangover. ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll be in later. Can you manage without me for a bit?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Now isn’t the moment to tell her about the letter as I know she’ll be as gutted as I am. Plenty of time for that later. Besides, I’m not sure that I could actually get the words out. I hope her hangover clears quickly as I need her calm and clear-headed so that she might come up with the miraculous solution that’s staring at us right in the face. ‘I’ll see you when you get here.’

  ‘You sound like bum too,’ she notes.

  ‘I feel like bum.’

  ‘I’ll see you as soon as I can get my eyes to focus and we can be bum together.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Laters.’ She hangs up and I sniff back some tears. Bev has no idea what I’m about to hit her with.

  Alan arrives wearing Snow Patrol and I could kick myself for not thinking of them. Still, another day, another band T-shirt.

  ‘All right,’ he says, but heads straight into the barn without waiting for my reply, so I can’t tell him that I’m not all right at all.

  Busying myself, I collect the hen’s eggs, wash them and, generally, kick round the yard getting sadder by the minute. I wish I could marshal my thoughts into some kind of order and then I might be able to formulate a plan. But joined-up thinking is eluding me. I go and cuddle a chicken instead. Sitting in the corner of the coop with Peg-with-one-leg on my lap, the refrain that’s becoming familiar goes on a loop in my head. Who will want a one-legged hen who falls over a lot? Who will take on our blind ladies? For the life of me, I can’t think of anyone who will.