Sunshine Through the Rain

by Gilly Stewart

  ‘That’s good.’ It wasn’t too bad, at least. ‘And how are you, Mum? Are you looking after yourself?’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right. It’s you and the children I’m concerned about. I just wish I was down there doing something to help. Do you think I should have them for the Easter holidays?’

  Ellen’s heart rose, but only momentarily. ‘No, Mum. Not if Dad isn’t well. He’s taking up most of your time and energy. I know the kids want to see you but, well, I think they’d want more of your time than you could give them just now.’ Ellen remembered her father as he had been. A calm, composed, reserved background to her mother and sister’s loquaciousness. She had felt rather than been informed that she had his cool approval. He, like her, didn’t get involved. His illness seemed to have made him withdraw even more.

  Her mother sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. But I do miss, well, all of you.’

  Of course. Why hadn’t Ellen thought of that? Jess was forever dashing up to Stirling, keeping in touch. ‘Perhaps we could all come and see you during the Easter holidays. Just briefly. We wouldn’t want to be in the way …’

  ‘Do you think you could?’ Her mother’s voice was raised in hope.

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Well, that would be lovely. Just lovely. But I wish there was something we could do to help you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Mum.’ There was no point in saying anything else.

  ‘Actually, there is one thing. Dad and I have been thinking we should give you some money. It’s not right you having to pay for everything and I doubt the solicitor has sorted Jess and Sam’s finances out. I’ll transfer some into your bank account this very afternoon. How would that be?’

  Ellen was touched. ‘That’s very kind of you Mum. I am managing at the moment, but …’

  ‘We’re pleased to do it. If we can’t help physically, the least we can do is give you money.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Ellen bleakly. She was grateful. The only problem was she would far, far rather have had some of their time.

  ‘We’re glad to help. And now, tell me, how is Angus?’

  ‘Angus?’ Ellen rubbed her face, searching for a reply that was both truthful and comforting. ‘He’s not saying much.’

  ‘Poor, poor boy. He’ll be taking this hard, he takes everything hard, does our Angus.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he’s a good boy underneath. Sam found him a real help around the farm.’

  ‘He’s certainly that.’

  Her mother paused, so Ellen knew that the next words were important. ‘You know that Jessie was worried he was being bullied at school, before – before all this happened? She didn’t think he was happy.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know.’

  ‘But she might have been wrong. Has he said anything?’

  ‘Not about school.’

  ‘Is he willing to go?’

  Ellen tried to think. Mornings were always such a rush. None of the children were exactly eager to go to school, but she had assumed that was normal. ‘I think he’d rather stay here, because of the animals. But he’s never actually tried to avoid going.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  Ellen didn’t know if it was or not. She now had another thing to add to her list of worries.

  ‘Ellen, I don’t mean to nag, but have you had someone in to look at that kitchen roof yet?’

  ‘The kitchen …? No, no, I haven’t. But I will. I’ll look in the Yellow Pages and phone someone.’ Another thing for the list.

  ‘That’s good. I do wish I was closer and could do more to help.’

  ‘Mum, don’t worry about it. You just concentrate on looking after yourself and Dad, I’ll manage down here.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Ellen.’

  Ellen made a noncommittal noise. If her mother knew that what she really wanted to do was throw all her things in the car and hightail it back to Edinburgh she wouldn’t be so complimentary. But giving her even an inkling of that would only trouble her more, so Ellen kept that thought to herself.

  She made herself a coffee and then wandered slowly through the house. When she returned to the kitchen she paged through the most recent Solicitors Property Guide. She needed to get a feel for property prices around here. It was only sensible, wasn’t it? And as she turned the pages, she realised with surprise that Craigallan might be worth quite a lot. When Sam and Jess had moved to this area one of the attractions had been the ridiculously low prices. They had got the house and a couple of hundred acres of land for a very reasonable sum. Now property speculation, or rich southerners, or both, had reached Dumfriesshire and Craigallan could provide a tidy sum to invest for the children.

  She wished she felt happier about that fact. She had to get her head around what they were going to do in the future, and that meant what was best for them and not necessarily what they thought was best. With Monty at her heel, she wandered through the large, if scruffy, downstairs rooms and the quaint, old-fashioned rooms upstairs, avoiding as always the master bedroom. With a little effort the place could be made rather attractive.

  But that wasn’t something she could do today. Today, she was going to take care of those things she never managed to get on top of, like the washing and ironing, the cooking and cleaning. She was beginning to realise just how much work was involved in looking after a house and three children.

  When the children arrived home the house immediately descended into chaos again. A whole day’s tidying undone in minutes. With the three of them all having their different agendas Ellen could never quite keep up. It was after six when she heard Angus come into the back kitchen and she hurried through, determined not to lose track of him again. ‘Angus, do you need to do that now?’ He was filling a bucket at the sink. ‘I’m worried you haven’t done your homework yet.’

  ‘Don’t call me Angus.’ He kept his thin back to her as he spoke, his tone sullen.

  ‘But …?’

  ‘My name’s not Angus, it’s Sam. Call me Sam.’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘It is, you know,’ said Callum conversationally, coming in with a football under his arm. ‘Samuel Angus Moffat.’

  ‘And Angus is a bloody stupid name. It was too confusing to call me Sam when – when Dad was around, but now he’s not, so you can. I’ve told the kids already.’

  ‘I …’ Ellen could feel herself floundering. ‘I suppose we could call you Sam if you wanted, but I think Angus is a lovely name. And so did your Mum and Dad, or they wouldn’t have chosen it.’

  ‘They only chose it as a second name. Samuel is my real name.’

  ‘Yes, but.’ Ellen’s heart ached as she looked at the hunched shoulders. ‘Actually, I think they put the names in that order ’cos it sounded better. You know, Angus Samuel doesn’t run off the tongue quite so well as Samuel Angus, does it? I really think that was the only reason.’

  Angus shrugged. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  She stopped herself snapping, telling him not to be so rude, and said carefully, ‘OK, we’ll talk about it over supper. And I really think you should come in and do your homework now.’

  ‘After I’ve done the sheep. Someone’s got to do them, haven’t they?’

  ‘And then we’ll have to go down to the village,’ said Callum. ‘Can I take my football? We’ll play with it in the park while you’re at that meeting.’

  ‘What …?’ And then Ellen remembered the meeting about school closures. She didn’t know why people expected her to be interested in that, but the kids seemed to want to go down to the park, and it was good to see them keen on something. And maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to find out what was happening with the school. If, coincidentally, it was to be closed down, that could be another good reason for moving them all up to Edinburgh, wouldn’t it? ‘OK, but that means eating your tea quickly. And if you want to come too, Angus …’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘… Sam, then you’ll need to do your homework when we
get back. I hope you haven’t got much.’

  He shrugged, his back still facing towards her.

  Ellen sat silently through the meeting later that evening. She let the discussion drift over her head. What did village politics matter to her? She had so many other things to worry about. Not just Angus, but the next cow that was due to calf, and Lucy’s clinginess, and whether or not to sell Jess and Sam’s old car.

  The school meeting felt as foreign to her as if it had been in another language. All this talk of investment in rural communities, the pros and cons of single-teacher schools, the importance of a new playing field, why did they think it was so important?

  ‘You’ll do the bric-a-brac stall with me, won’t you?’ said Clare suddenly.

  ‘Er … what?’

  ‘At the coffee evening. We always have a bric-a-brac stall. OK to help out?’ Without waiting for an answer she waved her hand to attract the attention of the Chairperson, ‘Ellen and I will take care of that.’

  The woman, who Ellen thought was possibly the school head teacher, nodded her neat, grey head approvingly and noted down their names. A number of people turned and smiled, nudging each other as they whispered her identity.

  Just what Ellen needed. Yet another job.

  The last day before the Easter holidays found Ellen waving a bottle of milk temptingly in front of the newest calf and trying to remember if Angus normally warmed it first. The calf certainly didn’t seem very interested and the mother was taking exception to Ellen’s interference. Didn’t the stupid animal realise she was trying to help? She was glad there were metal railings protecting her. She stuck the enormous rubber teat into the calf’s mouth once more, and it spat it out.

  ‘Bugger,’ she said, and put the bottle down with a bang. She would have to come back to that later. She checked the water and hay and then went outside to have a look at the sheep. She knew she was supposed to be checking that the lambs were ‘pairing up’ with their mothers, but how were you supposed to tell one sheep from another?

  She wished she had thought to leave Monty in the house. He was a liability when it came to counting sheep. He thought it was a great joke to scatter the lambs, after each foray he returned to Ellen with a stupid grin on his face.

  ‘No, you haven’t been a help,’ said Ellen, bending down to pat his wiry head. ‘You’re an idiot, did you know that? Old men like you should be sensible.’

  He butted her ankles gently, pleased with the attention.

  The ewes and lambs were in the two fields nearest the house. Ellen walked among them twice, and decided that as far as she could tell nothing was ailing and every lamb seemed to have a ewe it considered to be its mother. Now, what else was there to do? She tapped one of her new wellies against the gate and went through the list in her mind. Dog fed, mash, and corn put out for the hens, cows and calves not in dire need although she’d have to have another go with that bottle. Sheep all fine and … ah, yes, the horses. Angus and Kit had moved them into one of the upper fields. She opened the gate and let herself and the Monty through. She would go and look them over.

  She could see Kit’s caravan as she climbed higher, and the dark scars in the ground where digging had begun. There was no sign of activity there now, so she supposed he must be at the vet practice today. She hadn’t yet worked out when he did and didn’t work. She knew he was employed by the Dunmuir practice, but sometimes he seemed to be around for days on end.

  He spent quite a bit of time with Angus, and she was grateful for this. The boy seemed happier around him, about the only time that he was. He was still insisting on this ridiculous change of name and she and the children were trying, not very successfully, to comply. She wondered if Angus was bright enough to try for vet college himself. He certainly had the animal skills. She tried to picture herself discussing future careers with him, and failed. Perhaps she could get Kit to sound him out?

  Now, where were the horses? Ellen was sure that they were supposed to be in this field somewhere. It was a sloping, hummocky enclosure, far larger than the neatly dyked paddocks beside the house. Then, as she climbed higher, she thought she heard something. A whinny or a neigh, low and intermittent. She quickened her pace, her breath catching in her throat. Somehow, it didn’t sound right.

  Jess and Sam had had two horses – or rather, one pony for the children to ride and one old mare to keep the pony company and for Jess to ride in her very occasional spare time. The pony was a rather pretty tan gelding called Tony. Lucy adored him and was always asking to be allowed to ride, but Ellen usually tried to avoid the issue. She wasn’t keen to get close to Tony’s strong yellow teeth, which had already given her a nip. Bridget, the mare, was a far calmer animal, but much too big for the children.

  It was Bridget who was in trouble. As Ellen breasted the last rise she saw both horses at once. Tony was circling round and round the larger sloping field, clearly upset. Bridget was down on her side. Then the mare tried to get to her feet, slipped in the mud and fell heavily, with another faint whinny. Ellen ran, at the same time thinking, ‘Not something else going wrong. What am I going to do? And what will Angus say if I don’t do it right?’

  As she drew closer she saw what the problem was. The mare had her front feet entangled in a wire fence and her back ones were sinking deeper and deeper in the mud as she tried to free herself. The ground here was marshy. The twisting and wrestling of the horse had pulled one of the wooden fence posts out of the earth, but it hadn’t freed her. The thick wire was caught between a shoe and hoof, and the more Bridget struggled the more tightly it became trapped.

  Ellen stepped cautiously up to the horse’s head, pushing Tony back so that he wheeled and galloped off.

  ‘Poor Bridgy,’ said Ellen, patting her head shakily. ‘Tony! No! Away from there.’ She jumped back as Bridget struggled to get to her feet again. She didn’t succeed. There was no way she could do so until she was freed from the wire. Ellen edged closer, took hold of the muddy metal, and gave a tentative tug. Nothing happened. She pulled harder. The mare’s leg jolted, but the wire was as firmly stuck as ever. Ellen retreated a few steps. What on earth could she do? She’d have to cut the fence, but for that she needed metal clippers. Where would she find those?

  ‘It’s OK, girl,’ she said, keeping an eye on Tony, who was prancing close again. ‘It’s OK, just give me a minute.’ At that moment Monty tried to greet Tony, causing him to panic and buck, and Bridget made another mammoth effort to get to her feet and out of the way.

  Ellen was caught by one flailing hoof and went over in the mud. Bridget fell back on her side, and Tony wheeled off down the field. Ellen scrambled to her feet, muddy and shaken, but she didn’t think she was hurt. She backed away from Bridget who was breathing heavily, her eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Oh God. Right. I’ll get something, someone. I’ll be right back.’ Ellen began to run down the field. She slipped on the damp grass but managed somehow to keep to her feet. She had to get help.

  She went first into one of the outbuildings where her brother-in-law seemed to have kept his tools. There were rows of implements laid out, a complete mystery to her. How was she supposed to find wire cutters when she didn’t even know what they looked like? Her training had been in economics and accountancy.

  Eventually she grabbed a couple of things that looked like possibilities and then ran across to the house. In the kitchen she came to a stop. The one person she knew would be able to deal with this was Kit Ballantyne, but he was presumably at work, and did she have the nerve to call him there?

  As she stood there, undecided, she heard the sound of a car on the road. It slowed as it approached and Kit’s muddy estate car turned in. A miracle! She pulled open the door and ran out, waving wildly.

  Kit stopped immediately. ‘Are you all right? What is it?’

  ‘I’m fine. I mean, sort of. It’s the horses, can you come? I really need your help.’

  He climbed out and looked her up and down, taking in the mud and torn t
rousers. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes! But Bridget has got herself caught in a fence and I can’t get her free. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so glad to see you. Will you come?’

  ‘A fence? Yes. Hang on a minute.’ He pulled his bag from the car. ‘Still in the top field, yes? Can you show me?’

  Ellen considered herself fit but she had difficulty keeping up with Kit. She followed, panting, giving brief directions. As they breasted the hill they saw Bridget lying where Ellen had left her, now totally still. Tony was standing beside her, pawing the ground. ‘Oh no. Is she …?’

  ‘She’ll be fine.’ Kit covered the last few yards and knelt beside the stricken horse, one large hand on her chest. ‘She’s just resting. Having a bad time of it, aren’t you, old girl? No, don’t try to get up yet.’ To Ellen he said, ‘Can you open my bag and take out some of the tools? I’ll tell you which one I need.’

  ‘Won’t these do?’ She held up the tools she had brought from the shed.

  He didn’t even try to hide his smile. ‘Ah … No. Those are for sheep shearing.’

  She looked down at the heavy rusty scissors in disbelief, then dropped them and began searching through the bag he had brought.

  ‘No, not that. No. Yes, pass that one, I’ll try with those. Keep looking for something similar but bigger.’ He stretched out an arm to take the cutters from her, keeping a pacifying hand on the mare. He adjusted his position so that he could see the wire more clearly, talking softly. Then with a couple of grunts he clipped through the wire and sat back. ‘Excellent. That’s the first part done. She’s not tied down by the fence any more, but I’m worried about all this mud. She’ll struggle to get a foothold. Is there any straw nearby?’ He stood up and looked around, but they were high on the hill and all they could see was grass, reeds, and rock.

  ‘Is she going to survive?’ asked Ellen in hushed tones. Lucy had told her proudly that Bridget was over twenty years old. An accident like this couldn’t be good for her.

  ‘She should survive. I can’t say if there’s any damage ’til we have her back on her feet, but … There, there, girl. No, don’t try …’ But Bridget was kicking wildly again. Once she realised that she was no longer attached to the evil fence, she tried and tried to right herself. She only succeeded in pushing her back hooves further into the dank mud.