I try to divert him by talking about the farm, telling him about Leo and the calf.
‘Not Leo again,’ Nick sighs. ‘I’m beginning to think you fancy him.’
‘Nick, that’s a ridiculous thing to say, and you know it.’
‘Do I?’ he says wryly, and I find myself altering what I was going to say from ‘Leo’s advised us to set up a foot bath for the herd’ to ‘We’re going to set up a foot bath for the herd.’
‘A foot spa for cows? Now I’ve heard everything. That’s cheered me up.’ He chuckles. ‘When are you coming home? Have you decided yet? It’s been almost two weeks since I last saw you.’
‘I wondered if you wanted to come down on Sunday. I’m nowhere near finished, but—’
‘I’ll drive down on Sunday morning. We’ll go out for lunch, my treat.’
‘Let me know when you’re on your way,’ I say. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.’
‘Don’t work too hard, darling. Miss you.’
‘Goodnight, Nick.’
When I close the final file at midnight, I wander into the sitting room to check the light switches are off in case the power returns overnight. I think I hear a low thud and the soft whisper of a female voice. My heart misses a beat.
‘Mum,’ I mouth, but it isn’t her, of course. My rational mind says there are no ghosts, but there is a small part of me that wants to believe in a soul that remains once the body has gone. It was the flutter of the curtain in a draught as I opened the door, the shadow of the standard lamp, its fringes like a shawl, the flicker of the flames in the grate and the scent of rose petals that combined to create the illusion of my mother’s presence. I wish she was here.
She was quiet, gentle and painfully shy, and, in many ways, the best mum in the world.
She was ten years younger than my dad and used to tell me how at nineteen she felt she was going to be left on the shelf, because no one noticed her until she caught my dad’s eye at the annual Country Show when she was showing her father’s prize bull. She said she was wearing a white coat and wellington boots and a yellow rose in her long, dark-brown hair. The first time Dad spoke to her, he said he admired the way she handled cattle, and it took her three dates before she plucked up the courage to ask him his name. He gave her yellow roses every year after they married as an anniversary gift.
It must have been hard for her moving onto the farm with her new husband and mother-in-law, and my father was often contrary – if Mum said the grass was green, he would insist it was blue.
I remember I have to feed Pearl. I slip into my wellies and walk across the shadowy yard under the light of the moon and the stars. Some might think it spooky, but to me there’s nothing to be afraid of. I take a deep breath of fresh country air and smile to myself. The chickens are tucked up in their coop inside the run and the cows are in the barn. I am home.
The electricity is back when I turn the light on in the nursery. I grab a bottle of milk I made up earlier, shake it and take it in to the calves, being mugged on the way through to Pearl’s pen. ‘You’ve had enough,’ I tell them, chuckling. ‘Go to bed.’
Pearl is less enthusiastic than the others, but she accepts the teat, chewing on it a couple of times as if she’s forgotten what to do before she drains the bottle. She lets the teat drop out of her mouth and gives me a gentle nudge as if to say thanks, before returning to the corner of her pen and lying down front end first in the straw. I sit down on a spare bale of straw and watch her for a while as she falls asleep, hoping she’s going to make it. She seems cold so I fetch an old sweater of my father’s that I find in the lean-to and, with the aid of a pair of scissors, create a woolly coat for her.
It’s peaceful in the nursery. Out here I can hear myself think. I have a lot on my mind, what with Nick and the farm. I do miss my boyfriend when we’re apart, but not in an all-consuming, can’t-live-without-him way. Is that enough? I don’t think so. I would rather remain single than commit totally to someone I could live without, but how can I tell Nick I can’t marry him? How can I let him down gently?
Grieving for the end of my relationship – because, although I’m being pragmatic, I’m not heartless – I blow my nose on a piece of tissue that I find in my pocket and let my thoughts run on.
If I’m no longer committed to Nick, what is there to keep me in London? There’s India and my other friends. Leaving them and my flat would be a terrible wrench, and my job is special to me – I’d miss everyone at work.
‘Hey, Stevie, what are you doing out here at this time of night?’ Cecil’s voice cuts into my consciousness, making me jump.
‘Cecil, I might say the same of you.’
‘I saw the light,’ he says simply.
I smile to myself. So have I – seen the light, I mean. If I went back to London, I could continue with my career, keep seeing my friends and I could marry Nick. If I stayed here in Devon, I could fight to turn the family business round as a tribute to my mother’s memory, because the fate of Nettlebed Farm lies in my hands.
Chapter Six
Home Is Where the Herd Is
My first thought when I wake at dawn the next day to the sound of the cockerel is how I’m going to tell Nick what I plan to do. I hate to hurt anyone’s feelings, especially those of a man who’s stuck by me through my mum’s death and some tough times at work when a client was pressuring me to falsify their accounts. I suppose it worked both ways, though, because I was there for Nick when he was admitted to hospital with bleeding from a gastric ulcer, and afterwards during a prolonged convalescence. We’ve been through a lot together and I’m very fond of him, but I cannot marry him.
The cockerel crows three more times before I manage to drag myself out of bed. I throw on some clothes and grab a coffee on the way out through the kitchen, then walk across the yard in the pale dawn light to the nursery, wondering if Pearl has made it through the night. I switch the light on and check Pearl’s pen. She’s lying on her side with her limbs sprawled out. My heart stops. It doesn’t look good.
I make my way over to her, pushing aside the other calves, which are hungry for milk. I can’t see her breathing through Dad’s sweater.
‘Pearl?’ I reach down and touch her ear. It flicks, making me start. She opens her eye and stretches. ‘Are you having me on?’ I say lightly as she rolls onto her brisket and yawns. ‘You’ll never make it into the herd if you can’t get up in the mornings.’
I feed all the calves and inject Pearl with her antibiotic. It’s Thursday and she has three more days of treatment, maybe more, if Leo decides she needs it.
‘Good morning, Stevie. Did you sleep in there?’ Cecil asks, popping his head around the door into the nursery.
‘No, but I would have done if I’d thought it would help.’
‘What’s this?’ he says, staring at Pearl. ‘It’s a bit odd, isn’t it, dressing her up like that? I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘She was cold.’
‘Isn’t that Tom’s favourite jumper?’
‘I found it in the lean-to.’
‘He’ll have your guts for garters if he finds out. He wears that one all winter.’
‘I’ll have to hope he doesn’t find out then,’ I say, walking back towards the collecting yard with Cecil. He’s struggling this morning, puffing as he limps across the yard, pressing his fist into his lower back. ‘Are you all right?’
‘It’s my lumbago giving me gip,’ he says.
‘Have you taken something for it?’
‘Like Tom, I don’t believe in taking drugs,’ he grumbles.
‘I’ll do the milking this morning. You can have a break. Go on, put your feet up.’
‘I can’t do that. I’m here and I’m going to get on with it. It’s no good, Stevie. If I sit around doing nothing but whittling, I shall seize up like the tin man.’
‘You never get a break. You can’t have had a holiday for years.’
‘Mary and I went to her cousin’s for a long weekend
in the New Year and we visited my great-niece for her wedding last August.’ He holds the gate open for me. ‘What about you, Stevie?’
‘Nick and I went to Mauritius.’ I’m sure I’ve mentioned it, but Cecil appears to have forgotten.
‘Those islands that are sinking underwater?’
‘It’s the sea level that’s rising,’ I point out. ‘It’s all down to global warming.’
‘I don’t believe in science and scientists. No one will convince me on a frosty winter’s morning that the world is growing hotter.’
‘I’m afraid we’re partly to blame, keeping cows. They produce an awful lot of gas from the fermenting grass in their stomachs.’
‘That’s just daft, Stevie.’
I’ve tried to explain the effect of methane on the ozone layer to Cecil before, but he won’t have it. ‘Go back indoors. I can manage.’
‘You’re here to see your dad, not work yourself to the bone. I bet you can’t wait to get back to your office in London.’
‘What would you think if I said I wasn’t going back to London?’
‘I’d wonder if you were right in the head. Come on, maid, let’s get on with it. These girls don’t milk themselves, more’s the pity.’
We start the milking and settle into the familiar rhythms of the process.
Piskie aims a kick at me as I slip the clusters onto her teats.
‘Hey, what’s up with you?’ I ask her.
‘She isn’t a kicker,’ says Cecil above the sound of the machine.
‘I’ll keep the milk back,’ I decide. I didn’t suspect a problem when I cleaned her udder, except she was slightly more fidgety than usual. ‘We’ll keep her in the yard today. I’ll call Leo.’
When I’m hosing down the parlour later, Cecil chats from the balcony, acting in a supervisory capacity, which suggests his back must really be sore, because usually he won’t let me do it.
‘By the way, Cecil, I don’t think I’ve thanked you for looking after my dad while he’s been ill.’
‘Oh, it’s Mary who’s borne the brunt of it. She feeds him and, before you came back, she’d take him a flask of cocoa last thing of an evening. He can’t do much, but he’s better than he was when it first happened. I thought he was a goner.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you both,’ I say, but actually, when I think about it, I do. Keeping the farm on its feet so they can keep a roof over their heads until the end of their days would be the best reward for their loyalty to my father and his family.
I envy Cecil and Mary. They seem content. I watch how they behave, noticing the little things, how they always have a smile or a touch for each other, and put each other first. I have never heard them undermining each other, or sniping.
‘My Mary is a star. She does everything for me, which makes me want to do the same in return. I reckon that’s the secret to a long and happy marriage. You know, you shouldn’t marry that boyfriend of yours,’ Cecil adds. ‘He told me he asked you to marry him.’ For once, Cecil doesn’t let me get a word in edgeways. ‘He’s too full of himself, worrying about his money and his appearance, and the cows really don’t like him.’
‘I’m not sure I should let my life be ruled by the cows’ opinions,’ I say, amused.
‘They might look stupid on occasions, like when they’re all trying to push through the gate at the same time, but they’re good judges of character. You must turn him down because you deserve better.’
‘Thanks for the advice, but I’ve already decided I’m not going to marry Nick, and when I said I was staying here on the farm, I meant it. I’m needed here.’
‘Have you spoken to Tom and Ray about this? I’m sure they’ll have an opinion.’
‘I’ll speak to Dad later. I’m not sure I need to talk to Ray. He’s made it clear he has his own life and he isn’t interested in what’s going on here.’ As long as he receives his inheritance when my father dies, I think, and it occurs to me that in the long term, I might have to buy my brother out from his share in the farm.
‘Are you really going to milk cows for the rest of your life, Stevie? I know you’re more than capable of doing it, but would it be right? You’ve got more brains than the rest of us put together. Wouldn’t you be wasting your talents staying here?’
‘Don’t worry about that. Saving the farm will stretch my brain beyond anything I’ve done before.’
‘It’s hard manual work that will save the farm, not brainpower,’ says Cecil.
‘We need to make some changes.’
Cecil’s face falls and to my horror, his eyes fill with tears. ‘I suppose it had to come. We can move out …’
‘You and Mary can stay in the cottage for ever. That won’t change.’
He sniffs. ‘I’m afraid you’ll change your mind and we’ll have to find a little place in Talyton, because it’s obvious you can make money renting the cottage, or taking on a younger man than me.’
‘It won’t happen, Cecil. I promise.’ I reach out and touch his arm. ‘You and Mary are part of the family. No, what I’m thinking about are other ways of making money from the farm. The cows, much as I adore them, aren’t paying their way at the moment, and we could do with another source of income.’
‘What, like converting the barns into offices?’ Cecil frowns. ‘I think that’s been done too many times around here and there’s no demand for another farm shop. It would be heartbreaking not to have any animals here.’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking. I was wondering about opening a petting farm for children to come and learn about farming and the environment, and have fun too.’ I pause. ‘What do you think?’
A smile crosses Cecil’s craggy face. ‘I think you should run that past your father. I’d like to see his face when you do.’
‘I’m planning to speak to him this morning.’
‘He isn’t very good in the mornings.’
‘I know.’ I bite my lip as Cecil tips his head to one side and goes on. ‘He isn’t very good in the evenings either, so I’ll wish you the best of luck.’
‘Okay, I’m going in for breakfast,’ I say, turning off the tap. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Mary has something waiting for me at the cottage. It’s our anniversary.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know. Congratulations.’
‘I’ll pick a few flowers from the hedgerow and tie them up with a piece of ribbon, and tonight we’ll have fish and chips at the seaside.’
‘Take the rest of the day off, I insist. Call it a present from me and Dad. Go and enjoy it.’
‘Maybe I shall, Stevie. Maybe I shall.’
I smile, thinking of my parents’ marriage as I watch him go. Mum said her marriage had been a happy one on the whole, although she regretted how she gave way to my father’s wishes and opinions and didn’t stand up for me when he told me I couldn’t stay to work on the farm when I left college. My father chose my brother over me because he was the male heir. The family farm always passed down the male line and he wasn’t going to change the natural order for me, his elder child, because I happened to be born a girl.
I was capable, reliable and would have done anything to keep the family farm running smoothly. I could milk a cow by hand, drive a tractor, show a heifer and lay a hedge. The problem was my brother Ray could do all that too and he carried a Y chromosome.
Mum didn’t believe I’d leave the farm when my father told me I couldn’t work with him and Ray. She thought I’d stay, find some kind of job locally and wait – as she had – for a young farmer to ask me to marry him and take on the role of a farmer’s wife. But I was devastated by my father’s rejection, so I left to seek my fortune in London, far away from Nettlebed Farm. Looking back, that was pretty brave for a eighteen-year-old girl, and possibly foolhardy, but I didn’t think I had anything to lose.
Mum and I didn’t see each other for four years, although we kept in regular contact by phone, and after all Dad’s machinations to install my brother as his successor, Ray married a
nd walked out on the farm.
I return to the house where I find my father burning toast. I cut fresh slices from the loaf and start again.
‘I’ve given Cecil the day off,’ I begin.
‘What did you go and do that for?’ My father’s good hand tightens on his stick as he shuffles his way back to his chair at the table. ‘How do you think the work’s going to get done?’
‘I’ll do it. It’s his wedding anniversary.’
‘I never took a day off for mine,’ Dad grumbles. ‘I worked all day every day, seven days a week—’
‘So you’ve said, many times,’ I cut in, and I wonder if he ever regrets it and whether being a workaholic contributed to the state of his health. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to discuss it. Jack Miller is dropping by later.’
‘I don’t see why he has to keep poking his nose in,’ Dad starts.
‘You’re on probation. He’s coming to check on our progress.’ I think we’ve made a lot of headway, but I’m still worried. ‘I thought we’d turn the cows out tomorrow after morning milking. The forecast is for dry and sunny weather and the grass looks amazing.’
‘I don’t like letting them out till April Fools’ Day.’
‘There’s no reason to delay. It’ll save us money, the cows will pick up quickly on the spring grass and we’ll be able to give the cubicles a deep clean. You’d be an April fool not to go ahead, Dad,’ I warn.
‘It isn’t up to you, Stevie.’
‘I will have my say, whether you like it or not. I have an interest in the business.’
‘I wish you’d never come back.’ Saliva trickles down Dad’s chin. I pass him a tissue but he pushes it away. ‘Go back to London.’
‘I’ve decided to stay on for good. You need me.’
‘I’ve never needed anybody. I’ve always stood on my own two feet.’
I butter a piece of toast and put it in front of him. Bear sits at his feet, his muzzle resting on Dad’s lap. He whines. Dad smiles and breaks off a corner of the crust and feeds it to him.
‘I don’t want the cows going out tomorrow,’ he says.
‘You’ll be telling me we’ll run out of grass next.’
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