by Nell Grey
Sion scratched his nose.
“Sifting through data all day and testing network systems.”
He needed to do more research into what IT networking consultants did, but no one else appeared to know either and he’d not been busted yet.
“The crazy life you lead, eh?”
“You wouldn’t believe it, if I told you.”
“Bit of a change to spending your days with a gun slung over your shoulder?”
“Hmm. This work’s very dull.”
“I bet.”
He shifted awkwardly, he needed to switch the conversation off his cover story. He hated lying to her.
“At least now, I don’t have people worrying about me when I’m away.”
She took the bait.
“And did you have people worrying about you? Someone special?”
“Yeah.”
He saw her eyes widen on the screen.
“You did? Who?”
“My mam.”
She paused, and he could see her nose scrunching up.
“Hold on… You told me you were in Care? And, that your mam’s dead?”
“Got ya!”
“Ah, Sion, that’s rotten! Plus… you can’t give me half a story.”
“I might’ve had one or two girlfriends near where we were stationed.”
“And no-one now?”
“No, ‘course not.”
He stared straight at her on the screen.
“Why d’ya say that?”
“It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything.”
“No, come on, tell me, why? What is it, Claire?”
“Okay. When you’re on the phone, you always go out to take the call.”
She was observant. He’d never even thought about how that looked.
“Is that why, every time I asked you on a date, you said no.”
She nodded.
“Believe me when I tell you, there’s no one else. The calls I get, they’re all about work.”
He saw her studying his face. She looked embarrassed.
“We are the only place with signal, I s’pose.”
“Exactly. It’s the only time I get to make calls. But, what about you?”
“Split up from my boyfriend last year.”
“Why?... Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
Claire smiled at the screen.
“It’s alright. We wanted different things.”
“Like?”
“Like, he wanted to get married, and I didn’t.”
“Ah.”
“I couldn’t go through with it. Was that wrong?”
“No. It happens. It’d run its course and you were stuck.”
“Exactly. Only, he didn’t see it that way.”
“What d’you mean?”
“He proposed and when I said no, he got upset and asked me to leave. So, I did. That night. Slept on a friend’s sofa, until I got a place to stay.”
She was renting a room in a flat above a hairdresser’s with a single mother now; a friend from school.
“You glad you left?”
“Best thing I ever did.”
Claire shrugged.
“Sounds silly, but I’ve always wanted to travel. I’ve spent the last six months scraping every penny I can together, so’s I can go off, with a pack on my back, travelling the world.”
“Where to?”
“Everywhere.”
He caught her smile.
“I’ve never been abroad. My first ever passport came through last month.”
Sion couldn’t help but laugh at her animated face.
“Where to first, then?”
“I wanna... I wanna…,” she said excitedly, “ I dunno, eat pasta by the leaning tower of Pisa. Swim with dolphins. Lie on the beach in Thailand. Surf in Bondi… And I wanna find my dad.”
“Your dad?”
“He’s from New Zealand, my mum said. I’ve never met him, but I’d like to look him up.”
Sion nodded.
“All great things. You should definitely do them.”
“Wanna come?”
She threw it out casually; by her eyes that shyly studied his on the screen, he could see she was serious.
“I’d love to.”
◆◆◆
“You see that?”
I follow the direction of Jac’s pointed arm and study a heavily pregnant ewe on her own in the field. She’s swinging her head about wildly, disoriented but still trying to eat the grass.
“It’s like she’s dizzy.”
“We’ve got to get the vet out, Jac. Could be a couple of things, but we need to hurry.”
“Like what?”
The ewe is now circling aimlessly in the field. Dammit! I’ve seen it before a couple of times, and it’s not good news.
“What is it, Annie?”
“It could be listeriosis.”
Jac looks at me concerned.
“Do we need to check the silage?”
“Definitely.”
It could mean many more sick sheep and stillborn lambs. That would be a disaster.
“If it is listeriosis, she’ll need a big dose of antibiotic, and even then she might not make it.”
Jac rubs his face with his hands and lets out a deep breath.
“What did I do wrong, Annie?”
“Hey, we don’t know what it is, yet. It might be twin lamb disease, or a brain thing? I’m no vet, I could be totally wrong.”
“But, I should know this.”
I can see he’s upset.
“I’m a rookie, and this poor animal’s suffering because of me.”
“Stop it, Jac,” I snap. “This is not your fault, okay? It happens. It’s farming.”
He’s quiet as we go about getting the ewe in, only speaking to give Jess commands. I can see that he’s privately beating himself up about it; shutting me out, making me feel helpless.
The vet arrives later in the afternoon, approaching the pen to check her out.
“Well, she’s sitting up. That’s a good sign. And you gave her glucose, you say?”
“ thought her breath smelled sweet.”
The ewe gets a little twitchy and shifts as the vet goes in. She’s more lively than earlier on; but she’s still glassy-eyed.
“You were right to give her glucose. I’m pretty sure it’s twin lamb disease, not listeriosis.”
A wave of relief floods through me, even though the diagnosis isn’t great for this ewe. Twin lamb disease is usually fatal unless treated early.
I move to stand alongside Jac. He’s barely uttered a word to me all day.
All afternoon, he’s been checking and rechecking the silage bales for holes.
“I’m gonna induce her so we can get these lambs out.”
“Lambs?” Jac utters. “They were all scanned, and this one’s having a single.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she’s carrying two at least. That’s probably the reason she’s lost condition.”
I touch his hand and he takes it in his, locking his fingers tightly in mine.
“I think your quick actions with the glucose drench might just have saved this one,” the vet says, administering the injection to induce delivery, “Though, it’s early days yet.”
I can’t help but notice the palpable relief on Jac’s face.
“Keep an hourly watch on her,” the vet advises as she walks back to her truck. “She’s weak and she’ll need help getting those lambs out.”
Jac nods.
Another sleepless night.
In the end, we delivered triplets at two in the morning. They’re healthy, and they’ve each taken a drink of the ewe’s colostrum from a small bottle.
Mum’s still pretty weak, and Jac’s given her another dose of glucose. It’ll be touch and go for a day or so. And in the meantime, the three will be kept with her but fed on a bottle every couple of hours.
Jac looks exhausted as we head back to bed.
“What if I do the seven o’c
lock feed,” I offer. “So you can lie in?”
“Deal.”
I end up dozing in and out of a light sleep, conscious that I’m going to be woken up too soon by the alarm. And I am. Just as I’m drifting off into a deep slumber.
Sleepily, I step into my wellies, and with the bottles clinking against each other in the bucket, I head over to the shed.
In the morning light, as I approach the pens I can see that the sick ewe is standing up. And under her, two of the triplets are feeding. I stand well back, amazed; watching her making small beckoning grunts as she bends her head towards her tiny lambs.
It must be from exhaustion, but my eyes are welling up.
She’s made it, and she’s such a good mother.
Trying not to disturb the ewe, I pick up the little lambs one by one and give them a little of the formula colostrum. It’s a top-up because I’m not sure how much milk she’s got and three is a lot to feed, even for a healthy sheep.
Next door, there’s a lamb riot going on, as five, not so little boys and girls have heard me coming and are going mad, calling out for milk and my attention.
I go into their pen next, a bottle in each hand.
The lambs jostle with each other until two succeed in grabbing the bottles and begin sucking hard on the teats, making the milk gurgle. Behind me, the three other lambs are pounding their heads on the back of my legs, trying to get my attention.
“Wait your turn,” I tell them.
I switch bottles and feed the two others, then find number five.
Full to bursting, at last, the lambs move away, and I gather up the detritus of their feed.
The recovering ewe is now nuzzling one of her babies and my heart’s about to burst.
It’s not a bad life here.
Feeling extremely thankful and more than a little smug, I wander back across the yard to the gorgeous man who is fast asleep in my bed.
CHAPTER 20
-----------✸----------
I’ve made us a special meal that evening, as a celebration for saving the ewe and her triplets.
After more glucose and some general TLC, she’s on her feet the whole time and feeding again. The triplets are still strong too.
I thought he’d be happy about it.
And I’ve tried to make an effort. I’ve cooked us fillets of salmon with hollandaise sauce, some asparagus and new potatoes. I’ve even found a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio.
But Jac is still out of sorts, and is sitting in a sulk, moodily eating his food.
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
Taking a good gulp of the chilled dry wine, I launch in.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to put up with your smacked arse face all evening?”
“Leave off, Annie.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
Maybe, we have spent too much time together over the last weeks. It doesn’t help that we’re both working from the crack of dawn all day, and getting up in the night. When you think of it like that, I reason trying hard not to cry, it’s not surprising he’s grumpy. We’re both way beyond tired.
I push my plate away.
“Alright. I’ll do the feeds tonight. Gotta do something to improve that foul mood of yours.”
He takes a drink of wine.
“What is it, Jac?”
A tear escapes despite my best efforts.
“Tell me what’s up?”
He plays with the stem of his wine glass.
“It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. Is he ending it? How have I not seen this coming?
“What’ve I done?”
“Nothing.”
He glances up, surprised to see me upset.
“Hey, Annie. What’s up, hun? Just ignore me, I’m knackered.”
“Is it over between us?”
“God! No.”
He stares at me shocked.
“How could you think that? I want to be with you always.”
“You do?”
“Yeah…I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“Nor me.”
I swallow a sob of relief.
“What is it, then, Jac? Tell me what’s wrong. What’ve I done?”
He stares at the straw-coloured wine and takes a drink.
“You’ve not done anything. It’s… I…”
He struggles to find the words.
“That ewe could’ve died. They all could’ve had listeriosis. And I didn’t have a bloody clue.”
His bitterness makes me shudder, and I stretch my hands across the table, finding his.
“Jac, it’s alright. How could you’ve known? I spent most of my childhood in that shed. There are loads of things you’ve done on the farm that I could never do.”
“Like what?”
“Like, all that fencing for a start. And the stock rotation. The work you’ve done on improving the grass. You’ve researched it, you’ve found better ways of doing things. I’d never have done that.”
He shrugs.
“And those new rams?”
“I guess… But, I couldn’t have done the lambing without you.”
“We make a good team.”
I get up and take our plates over to the sink, wiping my tears away.
He comes over to give me a hand, more relaxed now. I scrub the pans, his words echoing in my brain.
This is the real deal, and it hurts.
“Have you heard from Sion?”
“No. Nothing. Still on that job, I reckon.”
Jac wipes the saucepan dry.
“Before Sion went, he asked me if you’d be interested in him renting the cottage? How d’you feel about me moving in here properly?”
“Makes sense. You spend all your time here anyway.”
His clothes are hanging up in the wardrobe and he’s commandeered one of the chests of drawers.
He puts the pan on the worktop and looks at me steadily.
“Are you sure, though? That you want me here? Like, permanently?”
“Are you sure, Jac?”
He draws me to him. The bubbly suds from my hands cling to his jumper.
“I love you, Annie. It’s a big step, though.”
His hands slip around my waist.
“It’s your farm, it’s your decision.”
“No, Jac… it’s our farm now.”
Enveloping me in his arms, he gazes down at me.
“But how is that a good deal for you?”
I try to speak the words that are singing in my heart.
“I love you and I want us to be together. That’s the deal… You cool with that?”
Leaning down, he kisses me deeply.
“I’m cool with that,” he answers huskily. “Lucky I opened that letter.”
“That’s not quite how Sion remembers it.”
◆◆◆
The pub was packed with a sea of red football shirts. It was derby day. Wrexham had a midweek evening cup draw, playing an arch enemy. It was a classic rivalry. Red versus blue. Wales versus England.
When such honour was at stake, tensions were high; and a little trouble inevitably spilled out between the diehard fans. Even with the heavy police presence around the ground, it was the perfect backdrop for Sion to carry out his mission.
He scanned the crowd. Everyone wearing the same thing made it difficult to spot the dealer. His mark.
Sion was wearing a red and white striped football scarf over his leather jacket, especially for the occasion.
The long, thin misericorde was sheathed and taped to his shin, and a flick knife secreted in his coat, in case of any upfront bother.
His burner phone pinged in his pocket, and his stomach lurched. He was a professional, but still, he’d never done this before.
Death by stabbing.
His hands covered in blood. Literally.
‘I’m at the table by the window. Where are you?’
Si
on spotted him. In the far corner; he was sitting on his own in a booth, staring meanly into his phone.
In front of him was a table of used pint glasses, and beside him a pile of coats, dumped by the punters who preferred to stand.
His mark clocked Sion jostling his way out of the throng of the footie fans.
“About bleedin’ time.”
Sion held out his hand and gave him a disarming smile.
The mark stared at it and reluctantly shook hands.
Shifting the coats, Sion sat down, across from him in the booth.
“So, where you from?”
“Out West. The coast.”
“What? Got no suppliers there, then?”
“Yeah. Plenty,” Sion bluffed. “But I’m building my range. The punters these days, they’ve got more diverse tastes. Coke ‘n doves don’t cut it no more.”
“What you after?”
“Lemon drops?”
“Yeah, easy. I can do you M-cat, Ket, Monkey Dust, Meth… whatever, man.”
“Sweet. You got samples?”
“Yeah. But not here. Bogs in two minutes? Second stall from the door.”
The mark grabbed the zipped bag beside him, and gulping the last of his lager headed without another word through the crowd to the toilets at the back of the pub.
Sion watched the football fans parting, letting him through, sometimes with a nod of acknowledgement. Sion was on this dude’s turf.
The next moves were critical.
He had visualised it so many times, but it was an entirely different thing to do it for real.
His gut twisted again. He wasn’t a hand to hand fighter; he was a sniper.
So, do what you always do before you take the shot, he told himself.
Regulate your pulse. That’s it, slow and steady breaths.
He took his time, breathing in and out, visualising his next steps.
Retrieve the blade.
Open the door.
Spring him.
Grab him and hold his neck fast from behind.
Then stab.
Go on, do it. Do it quickly before he can wriggle out of your grasp.
One blow. Powerful. Precise. Straight through the base of his skull and up into the brainstem.
That’s it. Do it - boom!
Now, stop fannying about, he told himself.
Go get him.
Revved up, Sion sliced swiftly through the crowd to the back of the pub, cutting across to the door by the toilets, pushing through into the corridor.