‘You need to make the most of every opportunity to—’ he began again.
I held up my refereeing hand. ‘Dad’s right, it is important.’ Although not important enough for Dan to make it to parents’ evening, I thought to myself. ‘But we trust you to do the right thing. Don’t we?’
Dan and Poppy folded their arms at exactly the same moment and I couldn’t hide my smile; she was her father’s daughter all right.
Naomi regarded me for a moment then shook the teapot to see if there was anything left in it. There wasn’t. ‘Let me make you some fresh tea.’
‘Oh, thank you, I’d love one.’
I’d got used to her treating my kitchen like her own a long time ago. Because, of course, this had been hers; this had been the family home until she’d married Tim and moved out to a cottage a couple of miles away. They still lived there, and up until last September when they left for university, their twin boys, Oscar and Otis, had lived there too.
When I’d first moved in, Dan’s mum Viv had still been here and this had been her space. Over the last ten years, since she’d moved out, it had begun to feel more like mine. We had kept the rather utilitarian wooden table which seated sixteen and the huge Ordnance Survey map of the area on the wall above it. But with the addition of curtains to soften the big windows, cushions to soften the hard benches and chairs and my collection of pottery vases for stuffing with wild flowers, these days it reflected my tastes. I’d set two cosy armchairs by the log fire and although the room was cavernous, on a winter’s night with the fire lit there was no cosier spot on the planet.
‘Fill this up as well, while you’re at it,’ said Dan, pulling an ancient Thermos flask out from under the sink. ‘I’m going to sit with that ewe; I don’t like the thought of her struggling on her own.’
Poppy and I pulled ‘ahhh’ faces.
‘And I’d better sort out dinner,’ I said. ‘Though goodness knows what it’ll be now I haven’t done the shopping.’
‘Didn’t I see you making a load of pies?’ Dan scanned the kitchen as if they might be hiding somewhere. He headed for the cake tin while I surveyed the fridge for the makings of a meal. It was slim pickings indeed: a punnet of cherry tomatoes past their best, half a jar of olives and a mottled chunk of mature cheddar.
‘Yes, five sausage and leek and five beef and celeriac. But they were for the old people’s luncheon club,’ I said with a smile, remembering the look of delight on the vicar’s face when I’d delivered them, still warm, to the village hall earlier. He’d only paid me for the ingredients, as agreed, and not my time but the thought of Carsdale’s elderly enjoying my food was reward enough.
‘You are good at pies, Mum,’ said Poppy kindly, looking up from her phone. ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘I’m not just good at pies,’ I replied, seizing my chance to be as inspirational as Naomi. ‘I’m good at …’ I racked my brains to think of something that might impress her. ‘MATHS! Yes, I’m very good at maths.’
‘As long as it’s pie charts,’ Dan said, winking at Poppy.
‘And last time you helped me with my maths homework I got it wrong.’
‘Technically, I was right,’ I said defensively.
But I’d used a more advanced formula to calculate the nth term and the teacher had marked her down because he’d assumed she’d copied it off the internet.
‘Technically, it was me who got in trouble,’ Poppy put in.
Everyone laughed, including me. The joke might have been at my expense but we were all together and happy and, really, what else mattered? So what if I didn’t exactly cut an inspiring figure for Poppy? I was a farmer’s wife and a mum, with a passion for pastry. I’d just have to find other ways to be a role model for her, by being a good person, warm-hearted and kind. I’d have more hope of achieving that than by wowing her with my achievements outside of the home.
Naomi poured some tea into a mug and handed it to me. I carried it over to the old stone larder which was where Dan’s ancestors would have kept food cold and now housed my collection of jams, pickles and tinned foods.
I’d never got as far as having career aspirations; I’d simply planned to do a degree in maths and then see what turned up. But instead, when Dan had arrived in Cornwall to beg me to come back to him, he also had terrible news: his father, lovely Mike Greengrass, had suffered a massive heart attack and died, aged just fifty-five. Dan had been planning to study to be a vet but instead had been named in Mike’s will as the heir to the farm business, while Naomi received the land and buildings on the other side of the farm, which she converted into the farm shop. Dan’s life on the farm became mine and all thoughts of going to university were forgotten. For both of us.
My hunt through the shelves had yielded two tins of baked beans, and they were only there because I’d bought the no-taste, healthy ones by accident and none of us liked them. But we always had fresh eggs and I could probably grate the floury layer off that cheese.
‘So egg, cheese and beans on toast it is, then,’ I said, placing the tins on the table.
‘No bread,’ said Dan, swallowing the last mouthful of cake. ‘I finished the last bit up with some of your jam. Sorry.’
Naomi scooped up the keys to the van. ‘I had a load of sausages to sample from a new supplier today. You could cook them and give me your verdict, if you wouldn’t mind. Plus, I’ve got a tub of potato salad about to go out of date, so eat that and you’ll be doing me a favour. If Poppy comes back with me, we can nip in and get it.’
‘Cool.’ Poppy jumped to her feet and dropped the banana skin in the compost bucket at the door. ‘See, Mum, that’s why she’s my hero.’
She began to recount the earlier conversation between her and Miss Compton, and Naomi’s jaw dropped open in surprise.
‘Thanks, Pops,’ she said, sounding a bit choked. ‘For that I might even find you a tub of ice cream.’
‘And I thought she might say I was her role model,’ I said, only half joking.
‘Oh, Mum,’ said Poppy indulgently, patting my arm. ‘You are funny.’
I watched them leave and let out a deep sigh.
Dan caught my eye. ‘Don’t take it personally, you know what they say: you’re never a hero in your own land.’
‘I’m not even a hero in my own kitchen.’ I smiled wanly at him, appreciating his sentiment, even if he did mean ‘prophet’.
Dan held up the teapot, offering me a refill; his way of showing me that he cared.
He wasn’t the demonstrative type. Neither was the rest of his family. It had been one of the biggest differences I’d noticed between my parents and his when we first met. My dad had never even popped out for a newspaper without giving Mum a peck on the cheek. I’d loved that about their relationship and they were equally loving towards me as well. When Dad died after a complication with heart surgery, Mum’s own heart was broken too. But as she’d said when I flew over to America for the funeral, at least they had had five years of living their dream, and Dad had met Poppy, and had loved his little granddaughter fiercely.
Mum was still living in Cape Cod and had a new companion, a divorcee called Al who treated her like a queen, but she said he didn’t give hugs like Dad did. We Skyped weekly and she visited occasionally, but it wasn’t the same as having her arms around me whenever I needed it, so I’d brought Poppy up on a diet of cuddles and kisses instead. I dreaded the day when she said she was too old for all that fuss.
‘You’ve made a good life for her here, Hetty; she’ll see that when she’s older,’ Dan said, picking up his Thermos flask.
‘But is that enough?’ I said quietly, as much to myself as to him. ‘I want her to shoot for the stars, not put any limits on her aspirations. I sometimes worry that I should have aimed higher myself.’
Dan looked at me sharply. ‘Isn’t the farm enough for you? We both agreed to make sacrifices; it’s a bit late to be having regrets now.’
He was right, all those years ago when we were both eight
een, taking on the farm together had been a massive commitment, we’d both given up our plans for the future, but I’d loved Dan with all my heart, I still did, and whilst I did sacrifice a university education, I’d never regretted it. Besides, it was never too late to try something new if I really, really wanted to, was it?
Dan’s eyes were still searching mine, waiting for an answer, and I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. ‘Of course not, I’m being silly. No regrets at all. Shall I come with you to check on the ewe?’
His face relaxed. ‘You can do; you always help soothe them when they get anxious.’
Another skill to add to my pastry prowess, I thought wryly as I pulled on a pair of mud-caked boots and trudged with Dan across the yard: sheep whisperer …
Chapter 3
‘I saw Bart at school earlier,’ I said, waiting in turn to wash my hands at the sink inside the barn. We’d stopped off to feed Dan’s two dogs and needed to make sure we were germ free before handling the labouring ewe. I handed a towel to Dan as he turned, shaking the drips off. ‘He’s so tall now and turning into a man so fast, not that Anna can see it, I think she’s trying to prolong his childhood as long as possible.’
‘She mollycoddles him.’ He dried his hands roughly while I washed mine. ‘She panics if the lad goes out on his bike without his helmet.’
‘Only natural, I suppose, he’s the centre of her world,’ I said in her defence. ‘Anyway, seeing him looking so grown-up made me think how few male role models he’s had in his life.’
‘Apart from the various “uncles” over the years,’ said Dan wryly. ‘You’re right, he hasn’t had anyone steady, but that’s about to change.’
‘Oh?’
Hands clean, we walked over to the sheep pens while Dan told me that Bart had cycled over after school and had watched while the last family of lambs had been tagged and checked. ‘He seemed keen to help,’ said Dan. ‘He asked if Poppy worked on the farm and when I told him she did, he looked really envious.’
I twinkled my eyes at him, already guessing what was coming. ‘When does he start?’
Dan rubbed a hand through his hair sheepishly. ‘Saturday. I told him it’s a four-week trial and I can only offer minimum wage. I know we can’t really afford it but …’ He shrugged.
‘You big softie.’ I nudged Dan’s arm with mine. ‘That was good of you; I bet he was thrilled.’
He grimaced. ‘He was; I thought he was going to kiss me. Right, let’s see what’s going on in here.’
The sheep pens were housed in an open-sided low barn. Each ewe had her own wooden pen with a thick layer of straw. Only two of them were occupied: the ewe now in labour and the one who’d given birth last night to triplets and had lost one.
‘These beauties can wait until the morning before I turn them back out into the meadow,’ said Dan, entering the pen and picking up each lamb in turn to check it over. Finally, he stooped to examine the ewe’s teats. ‘She’s doing well. Another night’s rest and she’ll be fine.’
He went to wash his hands again while I collected one of the foldout camping stools we kept out here and opened the gate to the pen where the pregnant ewe was lying on her side. I’d hardly had a chance to sit down in the corner when she made a long straining noise and the water sack slid out of her rear end. The lamb was on its way.
‘Dan,’ I called, ‘quick, the head’s out.’
He dashed into the pen and dropped to his knees. The water sack popped and the lamb’s little nose appeared.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, pulling away the mucousy layer from the lamb’s nostrils. He swept his fingers around the ewe’s vulva.
‘Problem?’
‘Only one foot has presented. Can you get me the thin rope and the lubricant?’
‘Sure.’ My heart sank as I leapt to my feet; the poor thing had lost her lamb last year, we didn’t want a repeat performance. A lamb should be born front feet, then nose first – literally diving into the world. If one or two feet were caught behind, its mother would struggle to push the lamb through the birth canal.
‘Are you going to call Sally?’
Dan shook his head. ‘I can manage.’
‘Of course you can.’ My heart swelled with pride as I let myself out of the pen. Dan had such a calm and confident aura about him; there was no doubt in my mind he could do it.
He never said as much but I think he quite relished the challenge of a difficult birth and prided himself on attempting what many farmers would quail at. I headed for the table where he kept various bits of kit. I found what he needed, cutting off several lengths of rope and bringing everything over to him, along with some clean rags.
He poured some lubricant into his hands and massaged it in up to his wrists. I knelt at the ewe’s head to steady her, making soothing noises. The poor thing; if she thought life couldn’t get any more uncomfortable, she was in for a shock.
She bucked a bit and I pushed myself closer, gripping her wool while Dan looped a piece of rope gently around the lamb’s neck. The first time I’d seen this, I’d been worried to death that it would choke, but Dan knew what he was doing.
‘That’s it, in you go.’
Gently, he tucked in the lamb’s ears to streamline the head as much as possible and pushed the lamb back up the birth canal and into the abdominal cavity with all his might. The ewe was strong, her every instinct was to push, and beads of sweat were popping up along Dan’s forehead.
I’d been helping out at lambing for years, and I was a lot less squeamish these days. Even so, I swallowed nervously as Dan struggled against the ewe, feeling around inside her for a foot. ‘Got it,’ he panted.
Slowly he brought out one of the front feet, secured it with rope and went back in for the second.
The ewe was starting to get distressed and heaving to push the lamb out, and it was taking all my strength to hold her steady.
‘Shit.’ Dan knelt back to catch his breath. ‘If she could only understand we need her to work with us.’
My heart was beginning to pound. That lamb would suffocate from lack of oxygen if we didn’t get it out of there soon. And it was too late to call the vet now.
‘What can I do?’ I asked, licking my dry lips.
Dan flicked me a glance. ‘We’re going to have to flip her on to her back, let gravity help us. Can you do that?’
I nodded and rolled the struggling ewe over. Dan managed to keep the lamb from emerging from the birth canal and deftly secured a rope around the other foot. Seconds later the lamb, limp and lifeless, slid out on to the straw.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I said, tears of relief springing to my eyes. ‘Is it okay?’
‘We’ll soon know.’ He lifted the lamb away from its mother, letting the umbilical cord break away, and began rubbing clean straw over its body to help massage its lungs. The lamb’s front feet kicked and Dan smiled at me. ‘It’s breathing. She, I should say. It’s a gimmer.’
I exhaled happily. A female lamb.
He placed it at the ewe’s nose to encourage her to lick her lamb clean and the little thing made a tiny mewing noise.
‘Well done, Mum!’ I said, rubbing the ewe’s neck. ‘You can have a rest now.’
Dan sat back on his heels and wiped an arm across his forehead. ‘Not for long she can’t; she’s carrying twins, according to her scan.’
‘Oh, look at them,’ I whispered, getting up to perch on the stool to give them some space.
For a moment the two of us fell silent, watching as the mother and her new-born bonded, doing exactly as they were supposed to do, naturally. It took me right back to an April night seven years ago when I’d sat in one of the pens with Dan witnessing a much smoother birth than the one we’d just assisted with. Poppy had only been little and she was inside, tucked up in bed. It had been a cold night right at the start of the lambing season and I’d been sitting on the camping stool wrapped up in layers, marvelling at the way the ewe had calmly and quietly delivered her two lambs and won
dering why I couldn’t do the same. It had been only eight weeks since my miscarriage. Physically, I was fine; mentally I was finding the loss of my baby difficult to deal with. My eyes had filled up with tears at the injustice of Mother Nature.
Dan had turned to me suddenly and the look in his eyes told me that he was thinking exactly the same thing.
‘Remind me why we aren’t married?’ he’d said in a low voice.
‘Because I haven’t asked you,’ I’d joked through my tears.
The truth was that we’d always intended to get married but to begin with we’d felt too young, living as teenagers under Viv’s roof. Then we were too busy running the farm and starting a family, not to mention being strapped for cash.
‘Well, I can’t wait any longer.’ He’d knelt in front of me, taken hold of my hands and said, ‘So I’m asking you. Hetty, will you marry me?’
And I knew that what he was really saying was that together we were strong, a team, a family, and that his love for me didn’t depend on anyone or anything else. And whether we had more children or remained parents solely to Poppy it didn’t matter, we had all we needed to be happy.
So I’d said yes.
‘Seven years since you proposed,’ I murmured now, marvelling at how fast time had flown by, how much had happened, and yet despite that how I still felt like the same person inside. Just with a more pillowy bottom.
I dragged myself out of my reverie to find Dan looking at me oddly. ‘Not fed up of me yet, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ I said, shocked. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Just, you know …’ He paused and shrugged. Getting my husband to express himself could be torturous, so I waited patiently. ‘What you said earlier: you should have aimed higher.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said, lowering myself down to the straw and wrapping my arms around his neck. ‘All I want is to be at Sunnybank Farm with you and Poppy.’
He grinned. ‘Glad to hear it. I won’t hug you back because—’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I laughed, ‘because you’ve had your hands up a sheep’s bum, you old romantic.’
Hetty's Farmhouse Bakery Page 3