Sophie felt strangely bereft knowing Ryan had gone. There was embarrassment, too, remembering the way she had behaved, shrinking away from what must only have been a polite, friendly kiss, a farewell, a promise to keep in touch. What was the matter with her that she was so afraid of getting too close that she acted like a child?
She kept busy, trying to wipe out the fear of a lifetime of loneliness that was of her own making. How could she miss him? They hardly knew each other, and he hadn’t written, so he must have forgotten her once he made new friends among the students.
The weather was warm but with a threat of showers, and to cool off after a few hours working in the garden she took her basket and walked through the woods. The clouds darkened the air, and when she came out above the old farmhouse she hesitated, wondering whether to go down or head back home. Tempted by the possibility of some wild strawberries she went down.
The rain when it came was fast and furious, hitting the dusty ground like tiny arrows and making her run towards the farmhouse. To her surprise the door opened under her gentle push, and she went inside.
‘Who’s there?’ a voice called, and, looking up, Sophie saw Sarah coming down the stairs smiling a welcome. ‘Are you sheltering from the rain too?’
The rain brought its chill and they stood at the door clutching their cardigans around them, watching as the ground gradually became covered with water, creating a stream that headed for the lane.
‘You used to live here, didn’t you?’ Sophie said. ‘Are you reliving old memories?’
‘It’s hard for you to imagine Owen being anything but ill-tempered and solitary, but he wasn’t like that then. We were happy, until I messed everything up.’
‘We can usually overcome the consequences of our mistakes, but it was difficult in your case. If you’d talked about it you might have sorted things out.’
‘You’ve seen how he is with Bertie. And having suffered too, you’d think he’d at least be understanding towards the boy, even if he never forgave me.’
‘I thought he was a cousin and had lived with Rachel and Tommy all his life. How could he have suffered?’
‘They’ve always treated him the way he behaves towards Bertie, constantly reminding him of his place and the favour he owes them. They exclude him from meetings where decisions are made about the running of the farm and the only responsibility he has is for the accounts, which he takes to the accountant once a month. Even there he’s treated with suspicion. Tommy goes through every transaction as though Owen is likely to cheat them.
‘When I was with him we treated it as a joke, but after these years alone his resentment is growing. So why doesn’t he sympathize with a child in the same situation? If he’d really loved me he would at least have tried.’
Sophie was curious and longing to know more. But Sarah pushed open the door and saw that the summer shower was over. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘best we go before it starts again – or my dear ex-husband complains about us being here, walking on precious Treweather land.’
At the edge of the wood, a place where he often came to stare down at the place where he’d last been happy, Owen watched the two women leave the house and go their separate ways. Sarah had changed back from the dowdy woman working in the factory, careless about how she looked, into the attractive woman he had married. He stood for a long time after both women had disappeared, wrapped in dreams and memories, before turning and making his solitary way back to the farm.
Sophie had stopped to gather a few of her favourite herbs and picked a saucerful of the tiny wild strawberries growing against the hedge. As she wandered home through the dripping trees she thought about Owen. He was treated by the Treweathers more like a casual labourer than a member of the family, but she hadn’t realized how resentment had stirred his temper and aggressive attitude. If he’d had a childhood lacking in warmth, Sarah was right, it should have made him sympathetic to Bertie, who was jeered at, teased and called names he didn’t understand. Knowing of his sorry start in life, mothers discouraged their children from playing with him, as though he were tainted by his mother’s behaviour. So, seeing the child suffer as he had done, why did Owen show nothing but contempt? Unaware of being watched by the subject of her speculation, she walked home.
Sophie enjoyed helping in the garden, with Bob and occasionally Colin explaining what they were doing, and why. She usually helped with the never-ending task of weeding, sliding the long-handled hoe under the weeds – which she called wild flowers – snapping them as the ground was worked. Bertie was often there, too, especially on Saturdays when Sarah helped at the dress shop. He enjoyed sorting out the dandelions and plantains, ragwort and sow-thistle, pulling at them and occasionally falling backwards as they gave under his determined tugs.
She continued to watch over him at school, although he more or less ignored her there – afraid of teasing, she guessed. She enjoyed working with the children more and more but was still unable to respond to friendly approaches from the teachers and mothers. She tried to analyse how she felt and knew it wasn’t lack of confidence, just a determination never to be close enough for the questions to be asked. She couldn’t imagine ever being able to talk about the deaths of her family. Except maybe one day with Ryan. The only certain way of ensuring that she did not have to was to avoid more than the most brief and casual conversations. Bertie was an exception – she relaxed in the company of children too young to be aware of the horrors of war.
She was pleased to see that he was dressed better, and his shoes, although no longer smart and new, were at least a good fit. He had ‘daps’ – the local name for plimsolls – for PT and games and he carried his lunch in a neat box on a shoulder strap that had once been used to carry a gas mask. Even the teasing seemed less unpleasant. His knowledge of wild flowers and birds and the larger creatures of the woodland gave him a little prestige, which the teachers encouraged.
Bertie was walking to Badgers Brook after school one day when the dirty old farm van stopped and Owen offered him a lift. His first instinct was to run, then he said, ‘I’m not going home, I’m going to Sophie’s.’
‘Hop in and I’ll take you.’
‘No thanks, I expect she’ll be walking up the lane to meet me.’
‘Tell your mother I’ll call and see her, will you?’
‘We don’t like visitors,’ Bertie said firmly. ‘There’s nowhere for them to sit, see.’
With mixed feelings Owen drove on.
He was waiting outside Nerys’s shop at closing time and he opened the van door and called to Sarah. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, a scarf was tied about her head with the ends hanging down on one shoulder and her face was carefully made up. She was wearing a pretty pink summer dress with a second long scarf around her neck. White sandals and a matching handbag, which she had been given by Nerys, added to the perfect outfit for a summer’s day. Owen found he was breathless, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
‘I’m going your way if you’d like a lift. Badgers Brook?’ he added as she hesitated.
She brushed the seat before getting in and he smiled in a surprisingly warm manner as he leaned over and made sure the door was firmly shut. ‘I remember how careless you were about car doors,’ he said.
He said nothing until they were past the shops and turning into the lane. ‘How do you feel about this divorce? he asked, slowing the van and pulling onto the grass verge.
‘After all this time it doesn’t make much difference, does it? Unless you want to marry – I’ve heard you and Daphne Boyd are friendly.’
‘The trouble is, Sarah, I still consider us to be married.’
‘You living in utter comfort at the farm and Bertie and me managing in one dreadful little room? I can’t say I agree with you. You and I stopped being man and wife when I left and you did nothing to stop me.’
‘Would you believe me if I tell you I regret that?’
‘No, I wouldn’t! After nine years? You must think I’m stupid. What’s the real reason for this conversation, Owen?’
‘All right, I’ll tell you, but you must keep it to yourself.’
She reached for the door handle, preparing to get out. ‘I don’t want your confidences.’
He touched her arm and held her back, and she stayed, leaning towards the door as stiff and unyielding as a poker, and listened. Bertie came up, obviously intending to meet her, and he ran towards the van.
‘Go away, boy, I’m talking to your mother,’ Owen said. Bertie stood near the hedge, pulling leaves off and dropping them on the ground.
‘There are going to be some changes at Treweather Farm. Neither of the boys wants to carry on and it’s likely the place will be sold. When it is I’ll be out of a job and a home. I just wondered whether we might make changes all round and try to patch up our marriage instead of going ahead with a divorce. I’ll have the money to make a fresh start, somewhere far away from Cwm Derw. What d’you think? Will you think about it?’
Still with her hand on the door, she turned and glared at him. ‘I won’t have anything to do with a man who could see a small child in such difficulties and do nothing to help him. Knowing your own situation makes it even worse. Your self-absorption has made you evil, and I feel touched by it simply sitting beside you.’
Leaving the door swinging she ran out, hugged Bertie and hurried off down the road, back the way they had come.
As term reached its end, there was a presentation for one of the teachers, who was retiring. The children were at the morning assembly, and when the reading and the hymns finished they were told to wait. Sophie stood near the front row of children and glanced around until she found Bertie.
He wore a new blazer and a clean shirt and she smiled with relief. Sarah was certainly doing her best for him now. She half smiled at him when he looked at her but he turned away quickly.
Murmurs and foot shuffling in the room increased as the children became restless; then they were called to order and Miss Evans was invited up on to the stage. There was a brief announcement that Miss Evans was retiring, then the headmistress made a speech, talking warmly about Miss Evans’s contribution to the school and giving her a bunch of flowers and a rhinestone necklace that sparkled and sent colours darting around the wall. When they all trooped out to the rousing sound of a Sousa march, Bertie was watching Sophie, a frown on his face. Why hadn’t she been given a necklace?
With both Ryan and Gareth gone, the farm was short of help, even though Tommy had employed a full-time labourer, Harry Sutton. Harry was over sixty and had retired when the farm on which he worked had been sold. Since then he had helped in a kennels a couple of mornings a week and was grateful to be invited to return to the work he knew. Owen worked long hours dealing with everything he could and making sure Tommy knew about it, hoping for praise or at least some credit for the hours he put in. He even helped Rachel prepare the meals, which were simple and not up to the standard of her usual fare.
One warm late-July evening, after a humid and exhausting day, Owen drove down to the main road and went into the Ship and Compass. Daphne was in the bar, helping Betty on occasion, and sitting near the bar when she wasn’t needed. Owen sat near her and asked if she would like a drink.
‘Cider, please, but not as strong as that stuff your uncle serves,’ she said with a groan. ‘A headache that lasts twenty-four hours is what that stuff costs.’
She chattered easily and flattered him when he told her that since the boys had gone he was left with a part-timer who had to be told everything and his uncle, who was in a foul temper over the abandonment of his sons.
‘Doesn’t Tommy pull his weight?’ she asked.
‘He’s in such a mood that I hardly dare speak to him. I just get on and do as much as I can without bothering him.’ He deliberately spoke lightly, almost with amusement. He didn’t want Daphne to think he did nothing but complain. ‘I started at five this morning,’ he said as he paid for their drinks, ‘and finished an hour ago, after peeling potatoes till they looked like marbles and shelling some peas.’
‘I don’t suppose I can help, can I? Feed chickens? Count sheep or whatever it is you do with them?’ Her eyes were sparkling with humour, then she said more seriously, ‘I’d love to help if I can. I don’t work at the weekends and I’m at a loss sometimes to fill the time. Even your new man must have a day off. As you can see, I’m no fragile flower.’ She stood up and stretched to her full height. He remembered that she topped him by several inches, and guessed that in weight, too, she was superior, but it didn’t matter. What was important was how well they connected in attitude and humour.
He found her easy to talk to, and they were both unaware of the locals in the crowded bar nodding in their direction, nudging each other and smiling knowingly.
When he invited her to come to the farm and see what was being done, she accepted.
‘Would you like to come?’ she asked Sophie later, but Sophie shook her head. ‘Best I stay away. I was never Rachel’s favourite person,’ she added with a wry laugh. ‘In fact, she blames me for Ryan leaving. As if I could influence him! Nothing more than friends, and hardly that. I only saw him a few times.’ She gave away her disappointment by adding, ‘He hasn’t even bothered to write.’
‘Idiot!’ was the retort.
After that first visit, when she impressed Rachel by the way she dealt with dishes and helped prepare food as though she’d lived there all her life, Daphne went whenever she had a few hours to spare. She walked around the fields with Owen, holding posts while barbed wire was fixed; she fed hens, gathering and washing their eggs, hardly needing to be told what was necessary; she watched and learned and loved it.
Bertie turned up at Badgers Brook after school on the final day of term and offered Sophie an untidily wrapped package. ‘What’s this? A present for your mam? Is it her birthday?’
‘No, miss, it’s for you, a leaving present because you left school for the holidays. Sorry it’s late.’
‘But I’m not leaving, I’ll be there next term. Who is it from? Did your mother send it?’ She thought it might be a thank you for looking after Bertie on Saturdays and was worried, hoping it wasn’t too expensive. He looked anxious as she carefully unwrapped it: string, then crumpled brown paper. Nestled in tissue paper was a brooch: flowers made of rhinestones similar to the necklace the school had given to Miss Evans.
‘Bertie! It’s beautiful, but tell your mother I can’t accept it. It’s far too expensive. What a lovely, kind thought. I’m thrilled with it, but please, take it back and explain to your mam that I love having you and I don’t need anything to thank me for looking after you, will you?’
‘It wasn’t from Mam, it’s from me,’ he said, head down, staring at his shoes.
‘I don’t understand. Where did you get so much money from? It must have cost quite a few shillings.’
‘It’s my money, my dad sent it.’ He called the words as he ran off and Sophie stared at the gift with growing concern. Contact from his father was nothing more than a dream, like his new bicycle had been. She rewrapped it, and, next morning, while Bertie was busy helping Bob and Kitty to paint their fence, she set off for Nerys’s dress shop. Better to talk to Sarah without Bertie being around, in case what she suspected was true and he had stolen either the gift or the money.
Nerys gave Sarah ten minutes to go with her and drink a coffee in the café after Sophie quietly explained what had happened.
‘What should I do?’ Sarah asked helplessly.
Inside, Sophie felt her muscles tighten. Uninvited came the memory of her persuading her family to stay together under the same roof; that was the advice she had given, breezily confident, and they had all died because of it. A sort of panic filled her as Sarah looked to her for a decision. There would be no advice from her, no slick answers, never again. ‘That isn’t for me to say. But I’ll help if I can. You tell me what you want to do and I’ll help, but the decision must be yours.’
‘You’re a teacher, you tell me.’ Sarah’s eyes were filling with tears.
‘Think about it, talk to your friends, but don’t be hard on him. He’s just a child.’
She handed Sarah the brooch and saw her flinch as she gripped it, locking it into her hand, her fingers white with pressure. ‘I could kill him, the idiot. Stealing! Why did he do such a stupid thing? And for you. Not me – his mother – but you!’
Sophie started with shock, the hint of accusation making her heart race with a guilt she knew she didn’t deserve. ‘Take it home and talk to him.’ She didn’t dare say more, although she wanted to tell Sarah to hug the child, tell him she wasn’t angry, just concerned because she loved him. The faces of her dead family ran across her mind. Her advice might lead to worse trouble and she couldn’t take the responsibility.
Knowing that her friend Daphne was seeing a lot of Owen, Sophie told her about the brooch and the mystery of where Bertie had found the money to buy it, hoping she would mention it to Owen. She doubted that he would care, but perhaps, just perhaps, he might try to help. Sarah was on her own and had to face the various problems that arose in dealing with Bertie with little money and without any support.
Owen’s response surprised Daphne. Having so recently been told he was evil by Sarah had been a shock that wouldn’t leave him, and Daphne could see he was upset. She knew that Bertie was not his child, but, after lunch, he led her to a barn and, sitting beside her on hay bales, told her the full story. ‘The worst part was Sarah leaving without giving me a chance to consider what we should do. I hated the gossip and being a joke, a husband who had been cheated on. If she had stayed, well, I might have decided it was better to keep the child, easier to bear than ridicule, d’you understand?’
Daphne touched his hand and nodded.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘knowing there won’t be any second chances, I’m going to see a solicitor about a divorce. It seems the sensible thing to do, tie up all the ends, make our long separation a permanent one in the eyes of the law, giving us both our freedom to build a life again.’ He looked at her, his eyes mysterious in the shaded light of the barn. ‘Then I intend to restart my life, begin to live again after almost nine years of teetering on the edge.’
‘And Bertie?’
His voice was harsh as he replied, ‘He’s never been my responsibility. Sarah walked away taking the child with her without a moment’s discussion, making it quite clear that I wasn’t involved. Nothing has changed there. I couldn’t help, even if I wanted to.’
‘And do you want to?’
‘I might have once, but not any more.’
Daphne waited, knowing from his tense expression that there was more he wanted to say.
‘D’you know, Daphne, although I’ve lived with my aunt and uncle since I was about five, I’m still an outsider, treated with little more respect than a casual labourer. When I offer suggestions about the farm, like adding land drains to give us better fields, or the best position for a new barn, I’m ignored.’
She reached out and put her hand over his and he muttered, ‘Thanks for listening. I don’t usually complain. My father left me when I was a child and I should be grateful for them giving me a home.’
‘You were without a father? Like Bertie?’
‘No, not like Bertie! My circumstances were very different.’ He stood up and walked away from her and she was furious at her stupidity. Why had she reminded him of Bertie? Now he’d never confide in her again.
It didn’t take long for Sarah to discover where Bertie had found the money. She went home, anger building up as she half ran in her eagerness to solve the problem. She grabbed his shoulder and showed him the brooch, held out in a shaking hand, and demanded to know where he’d bought it. She shook him angrily, insisting on answers, and finally he admitted he’d taken five shillings from Kitty and Bob’s house and the rest from her own cash box where she kept money for paying the bills.
She turned him over her knee and spanked him, trying to control her fury and dismay, knowing she was in danger of hitting him too hard. He didn’t cry, just jumped on to his bed and hid himself under the covers. Sarah left him there and, more slowly, walked back to the dress shop trying to hold back sobs that were more guilt than anger.
She still held the brooch and didn’t know what to do with it. Would she get a refund? The bills would have to be paid and Kitty’s money returned. There was money in the post office but she hated the thought of using some of her oh so slowly growing savings.
Bertie rose from his cocoon of blankets, his face red and his eyes bright with humiliation and tears. He knew he had been stupid, but, childlike, managed to find someone to blame. He went to Badgers Brook and threw mud and stones at the kitchen window, then leaned on Bob’s newly painted fence until something snapped.
Sarah needed to explain her long absence to Nerys, and, when the shop was quiet, she told her exactly what had happened. Aware of the woman’s distress, Nerys told her to go at once to the shop where it had been bought and explain. A refund would be the best solution.
After some argument, the item was accepted back and a refund given. While in the same determined mood. Sarah went to see Kitty and Bob. Bob was outside examining the fence, which had a broken support. They went inside and the five shillings was repaid.
‘I won’t say anything to the boy.’ Bob said. ‘He’s had his punishment. We don’t believe in a child having more than one: a telling off, a smack, a loss of pocket money, no sweets – sometimes people don’t know when to stop. A smacking and knowing you’re upset is enough.’
‘It sounds as though he thought it unfair that Miss Evans had a gift and not Sophie,’ Kitty added.
‘I’m so sorry, I never dreamed he’d do anything like this.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t think it will happen again,’ Kitty said. ‘Our boys stole apples from Treweather Farm a few times, and once they came home with a chicken they insisted was wandering and had followed them home. And there was a favourite library book hidden, which they swore was lost.’ It was all said to make Sarah feel better.
Sophie called to see Bertie but, although Sarah coaxed him to speak, he sat on his bed, looking down at his boots, red faced, and refused to move. Sophie was just leaving when there was a knock at the door. With a frown Sarah stood up. ‘I hope this isn’t more trouble,’ she muttered, then Sophie heard her invite someone inside and she stood to leave. It was Owen.
‘Hello, Owen. I’m just leaving,’ she said, patting Bertie’s shoulder as she headed for the door through the over-filled room.
She heard Sarah demand, ‘What do you want? I didn’t think you even knew where we lived.’ The door closed behind her then quickly reopened, and Bertie darted out.
She managed to grab him as he passed her and held him. ‘Bertie, come back with me, will you?’
‘No, miss, I hate you.’
‘I don’t hate you, you’re my best and kindest friend.’ But he pulled free and ran off.
Sophie hoped that with the school holidays starting he wouldn’t be difficult about her looking after him. Sarah didn’t want any problems now she was beginning to sort her life out.
Having coldly discussed with Sarah his intention to seek a divorce, Owen made an appointment with his solicitor for the following Monday. When he explained what he wanted to discuss, Mark Lacy was surprised. ‘With Gareth and Ryan leaving the farm, I thought you’d come to discuss selling up. There’s a growing demand for building land and it’s easier now to get planning permission.’
‘We aren’t selling. I run the farm and with very little help from Gareth and Ryan. Their leaving has made little difference,’ he replied shortly. ‘Now, after such a long separation, my divorce shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’
‘If you’re going for adultery, what took you so long? Where is the other man? Who is he, do you know? He’ll be difficult if not impossible to find after all these years. He hasn’t supported Sarah, has he? If we find him will you demand he pays maintenance? Do we have an address? If he can’t be located, you do intend to continue your support for the child, don’t you?’
The questions came fast and Owen answered abruptly when he answered at all. ‘Just do what you think best. I want to be free again, as soon as possible, right?’
‘Is there someone on the scene?’ Mark asked encouragingly.
‘Maybe, it’s too soon to know.’
‘Then I wish you good luck, Mr Treweather.’ The poor woman will need luck, too, if she marries a misery like you, Mark thought, as he saw Owen out and promised to be in touch.
Sophie was at the hairdresser having her hair cut. Elsie Clements was there, discussing her much delayed wedding with a few friends. She had her hair held in tight waves by the grippers that curved half around her head, and the hairdresser, Lucy Calloway, was arranging curls all around the edges. Weddings being such a popular subject, Sophie was quickly included in the conversation.
‘It will be our third attempt to tie the knot,’ Elsie preened. ‘Poor Ed, he’s been so patient, and me having to make him wait.’ Elsie giggled like an eighteen-year-old.
‘I do hope all will be well next time. When is it to be?’ Sophie asked.
‘Very soon.’ Elsie said coyly.
‘What was the trouble? one lady asked. ‘You look very well at present, so everything should be fine next time.’
‘Only a trapped nerve but it was very painful and we didn’t want anything to spoil our day.’ A young, girl came out from behind a screen and handed Elsie a cup of tea. ‘Thank you, dear, will you put it down for me?’
‘There isn’t anywhere handy, Mrs Clements, it isn’t very hot.’ Ignoring the woman’s protests the cup was pushed into Elsie’s hand and at once her hands shook and the tea spilled over her knees and on to the floor.
On her way home Sophie saw Brenda Morris, the district nurse. ‘Is Mrs Clements still at the hairdressers? I was making my usual call but she isn’t at home.’
‘Yes, she’s just spilled a cup of tea. Such a shame about her problem, isn’t it?’
Presuming she was aware of the facts, Brenda said, ‘The saddest thing is that it will get progressively worse.’
Shocked, sucked into the secret, Sophie didn’t want to embarrass Brenda by making her realize she hadn’t known, so she said, ‘She’s very brave, calling it a trapped nerve.’
‘A lot of sufferers try to pretend it isn’t happening,’ Brenda said. ‘She’ll need a lot of care and very soon.’
‘She does know how serious it is?’
‘Of course. I think Eddie Connors must be a saint, don’t you?’
‘A saint,’ Sophie agreed.
Now what should she do? Tell Betty that Elsie was suffering more than a trapped nerve? Worst of all, what if Ed didn’t know? Should he be told? Why had she allowed herself to become involved with these kindly neighbours? Why hadn’t she stayed outside the community, stayed solitary and lived an uncomplicated life? But when she thought about the years before she had found Cwm Derw she knew she could never go back.
It was when Rachel went to the post office that she first heard the rumours, and Tommy was approached later that day when he called into the Ship and Compass for a lunchtime drink. ‘Of course we aren’t selling,’ was the reply they both gave, but still the story spread. They even had a few enquiries from would-be purchasers. They questioned Owen but he told them to ignore the gossip. ‘Because that’s all it is, people putting two and two together and presuming that because Ryan and Gareth don’t want the farm you’ll be selling up. I explained that I’m not going anywhere, and we can cope perfectly well without them.’
‘It isn’t a case of being without them,’ Tommy said sadly. ‘It’s the continuity. I didn’t dream that they wouldn’t want to carry on the tradition. Treweathers have been here for so long, I thought we were a permanent fixture.’
‘I’m here,’ Owen said. ‘I’m a Treweather. It was my grandfather who worked this land. He was my grandfather as well as Ryan’s and Gareth’s, remember.’
‘It isn’t the same!’ Tommy spoke irritably. ‘Father to son, that’s how it works. The eldest son taking over. Your father was the youngest and he didn’t want to stay. He cleared off years ago and went to America to follow his dream. And died there. It’s our sons who we need running the farm, not strangers.’
He was thinking of Harry Sutton and the other Casuals, but Owen took it that Tommy was referring to him. He said nothing, but his anger was almost impossible to contain. He stood up and left the room. ‘I’ll see that the hens are locked in,’ he called back.
Even at Maes Hir market, where Rachel and Tommy had gone to pick up supplies, they met the same comments – this time from other local farmers.
‘Selling up, I hear. Don’t blame you.’
‘Kids, eh? They let you down, don’t they?’
‘What will you do when you sell?’
‘Ill health, is it?’ And so it went on, making Tommy more and more angry as he described the rumours as rubbish and insisted that, ‘Treweathers will be here for generations yet.’
When he could stand no more, he hurried Rachel through the last of her shopping then almost threw the parcels into the van and started the engine.
‘Slow down, Tommy,’ Rachel warned as he turned a corner dangerously fast.
‘Don’t you start!’ He turned to glare at her. ‘Think I’m too old, do you? Unfit to drive?’
‘No, but I’d prefer that you look at the road and not try to pick a row with me.’
He pushed the accelerator harder and the trees rushed past, the van swerving on the narrow, winding lane. ‘Stop, Tommy! You’re not in a fit state to drive. Get out and I’ll take over.’
‘Take over? Certainly! I’ll walk.’ He skidded to a stop, his hand on the door ready to open it, and misjudged the bank at the side of the lane. The van tilted and almost rolled over, tipping Rachel out of her seat. The driver’s door swung open, and, with the van still moving, Tommy fell out, his leg caught under the scraping metal. Inside the car Rachel’s arm was between the seats, and when she moved the pain was intense.
She called to Tommy, who groaned and called for her to fetch help.
‘I don’t seem able to move,’ she replied. They stayed where they were, attempting to free themselves from time to time, but without success. Rachel tried to find out where Tommy was and how badly he was hurt, but he seemed to be numb. The fact that he couldn’t move and lacked the desire to try was alarming. She knew her arm must be broken. She couldn’t move it, and when she tried the pain was excruciating.
She had no idea how long they were there but at last they heard the sound of an approaching engine and Rachel began to sob with relief. ‘It’s all right, Tommy, love, someone’s coming. You’ll be all right now.’
Owen was on the hill with the sheep when he saw the police car driving towards the farm. Whistling for the dog to follow, he hurried down. Tommy and Rachel were in hospital, Tommy with a broken leg and Rachel with a broken arm. His first thought was how he could make use of the situation to further his own plans.
At the hospital he made all the right noises, sympathized with them and promised to keep everything on track while they were away. It wasn’t until he was driving back that he began to smile.
Once he had finished the routine work, which he dealt with in remarkably good humour, he went to the Ship and Compass and asked to see Daphne. ‘Are you enjoying your job?’ he asked peremptorily.
‘Not really. A greasy garage isn’t really me, but there isn’t anything else I want to do at present,’ she replied, wondering what was behind the abrupt question.
‘Would you consider helping at the farm? Tommy and Rachel are in hospital and I need someone I can rely on to help run things. What d’you say?’
‘Can I think about it?’
‘No. No time.’
‘I need to give a week’s notice.’
‘Not if I talk to your boss and explain my difficulty. I’m sure he’ll agree and probably keep your job open for when things get back to normal if I ask him. Well? Will you help?’
She held out her hand, her loud laughter giving him his answer, and he went at once to see her employer and demand her freedom.
Betty was sorry to see her go. ‘You’re leaving the Ship? I thought you were comfortable here with me?’
‘I am, Betty, and as soon as Rachel and Tommy are fit, I’d like to come back.’
‘I got used to you being here.’
Daphne thought about it for a while, then said, ‘All right. I don’t see why I have to sleep at the farm, I can be there in ten minutes. All right if I sleep here and work there? I won’t disturb you, getting up at some ridiculous hour, will I?’
‘I’ll even get up and make you a cup of tea,’ Betty offered. She had never slept in a house alone, and, like many people, imagined the emptiness, the silence, and felt afraid.
Owen went to the hospital and again reassured his aunt and uncle that everything was running smoothly. ‘Daphne is dealing with the house and the jobs you do, Auntie Rachel, and Harry Sutton and I can manage the rest.’
‘It’s only until Ryan and Gareth get back. You have written, haven’t you?’ Tommy demanded.
‘Of course and I’ll write again now I know exactly what’s happening.’
Tommy had a list of instructions and Owen listened and nodded at each item, telling him that everything was being done exactly as he would want. ‘You don’t have to tell me every little thing, Uncle,’ he said, managing a smile. ‘Who d’you think’s been doing it all these years? We’ll manage fine.’
Tommy didn’t quite believe him but grunted his thanks. ‘I’ll be home in a day or so and then I can keep an eye on things,’ he muttered.
‘No rush. I’m coping perfectly well, I’ve worked with you all my life, remember.’
He took Daphne with him when he went to see his aunt in the women’s ward, and again there was a list of questions and demands. Daphne encouraged laughter, telling Rachel what she had done, admitting a few disasters, asking advice on how to deal with things and making sure Rachel knew she was needed.
‘Don’t rush to get home,’ Owen said, ‘I’m sure the place won’t fall apart in a few days.’
‘I’ll be glad when you’re back, though, even if it’s sitting in a chair and giving instructions,’ Daphne added. ‘I’m such a duffer when it comes to running a busy house.’ Daphne knew she was leaving Rachel feeling content. She was needed, but in the short term she knew Daphne was doing a satisfactory job.
Rachel waved as the two of them left the ward, and her thoughts wandered to Owen’s future. He might do worse than place it in the hands of the cheerful, loudly confident Daphne. She was unaware that Owen’s thoughts were similar.
In the main street later that day Owen went to the post office, where there was the usual queue of people wanting postal orders for sending off their football pools entries. The shop hadn’t reopened after lunch hour and someone was banging on the door and shouting irritably.
Accompanied by Stella’s retorts, a lively discussion about who was actually first, and the barking of Stella’s dog, Scamp, the bolt was pulled and the postmistress scuttled back behind the counter. ‘Next?’ she called loudly, as though she had been the one waiting.
Owen waited patiently in line, the two letters he’d written in his hand. He had delayed writing to his cousins for as long as he dared, and altered the addresses slightly to delay them further, although he suspected that Gareth’s address was out of date, as he had been travelling. This was a perfect opportunity to show his uncle he didn’t need Ryan and Gareth to run the farm. He hoped they wouldn’t hurry home, even when they did hear about the accident – which he had played down, avoiding too many details. He needed them all out of the way for a week at least.
As he stepped outside he almost bumped into Sarah. She was on her way to the dress shop and wore a smart black skirt, a little shorter than was fashionable, and a white blouse that was open at the neck, revealing the swell of her breasts. She wore make-up and her hair had been cleverly cut so it swung round her face, shining like silk. He felt his breathing falter.
‘All dressed up, aren’t you?’ he said, staring at her, a frown on his face in an attempt to hide his admiration. ‘Some new man in your life?’
‘It’s none of your business, Owen. In fact, it stopped being your business years ago. Excuse me, I have to get to work.’ She pushed past impatiently, glaring at him with carefully made-up eyes. ‘Out of my way, and stop glaring at me!’
The sweetly clean, soapy scent of her startled him with its effect. He didn’t walk back to the van, but followed until he saw her step into Nerys’s shop. So she had given up the factory and was a shop assistant. It certainly improved her appearance, if not her temper, he thought with a smile.
Every time Owen went to see his aunt and uncle, their first question was whether he had heard from their sons. He spread his arms in a gesture of dismay and promised to write once again. They had asked him to bring notepaper and their addresses, but he conveniently forgot or couldn’t find them. By the time they were told they could soon go home, there had still been no contact.
‘This accident has been a shock for us both,’ Tommy told him. ‘It’s made us realize the need to get our affairs in order.’
‘What d’you mean? You’ve made a will, haven’t you?’
‘It needs updating.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure there’s no need to bother just yet. It will make you nervous thinking about it. Let it wait.’
‘The farm is left equally between Ryan and Gareth, of course. No need to follow the eldest-son rule any longer. There’s a good living there for them both.’
Owen hoped the shock didn’t show as he nodded and murmured a reply.
‘We’ll keep it running as you’d wish.’
‘Oh, and there’ll be something for you, Owen. A plot of land where you can build yourself a house. You’ve applied for a divorce and you’ll marry one day and make a good life for yourself.’
Owen stumbled from the hospital and, almost unseeing, drove to a small beach. It was almost time for milking and for once he didn’t care. Harry was there. Let him do it. He thought about his uncle’s words: the farm divided two ways, and he was to have nothing. He’d worked on the place all his life, and much harder than the twins, and he was to be rewarded with a plot of land.
He stared out over a choppy sea where the tide was rushing in on both sides of the small island that was cut off at high tide, with a rocky path allowing access when the water went back. He had often crossed the slippery rocks and spent hours out there fishing when he was younger – until the farm had taken all his spare moments, he thought bitterly. I’m thirty and I’ve given most of my life to Treweather Farm, and I’m still thought of as no more than a farm labourer.
A plot to build a house. Damn it all, the cows were better thought of. Where would the money come from to build it? A piece of useless land. What thanks was that for all the years? Coldly and calmly he got back into the van to drive home. Although, he muttered angrily, it wasn’t a home at all, just accommodation provided with the job. His mind was made up, all doubts gone. They owed him and he was going to take what he deserved.
With luck, Ryan and Gareth wouldn’t be home for a while, and if he could persuade his aunt and uncle to go away for a couple of weeks, that might just give him time to do it. If he failed and had to leave, well, he wouldn’t lose much, just a piece of land, which was probably useless, anyway! It was a gamble and the possibility of being found out was an added excitement.
A van was approaching down the narrow lane and he waited for it to pass. It was Geoff and his wife. What could they want at this lonely beach?
‘Hiya,’ Connie called, ‘Want a cup of tea and a sandwich? We always come here when we’ve an hour to spare and there’s enough for three in the picnic bag.’
They parked awkwardly so he’d have difficulty passing them, and he stopped and jumped out. ‘I hope you don’t want me to walk over to the island for it!’
‘No fear, we never risk that, even though Geoff says there’s plenty of time if you catch the tide right.’
The two men discussed their younger days and the fish they had caught, while Connie set out the food. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour that the Treweathers are selling the farm?’ Geoff asked.
Owen laughed as though it was a huge joke. ‘Nonsense. It’ll be left to me and the twins after Tommy’s days, won’t it? Treweathers will be here for a long time yet.’ His laughter was false, his uncle’s words ringing mockingly in his ears. He needed to prepare his own inheritance, and the sooner the better.
When Daphne told Sophie about her work at the farm, she asked her if she would like to help. Sophie happily agreed, especially since, as she wasn’t yet officially a part of the staff at the school, she was earning no money during the holiday.
‘I’ll have to bring Bertie, will that be a problem? I’ve promised to look after him, remember.’
‘I don’t think Owen would complain. Just come and see what happens. They have to face each other sometime.’
Sophie and Bertie arrived at the farm every morning before eight and she started at once preparing breakfast. Feeding the men with sausages and even bacon once a week was something Sophie found difficult. How could they treat pigs and lambs like pets, admire them, care for them, then eat them? She soon found a way of doing something else, happily leaving the cooking to Daphne. She preferred washing dishes and cleaning muddy floors to watching meat being enjoyed.
She said nothing of her abhorrence to Bertie but noticed that he, too, managed with toast and home-made jams. Perhaps loyally following her lead. He was inclined to copy her and listen to her views, which was why she carefully avoided mentioning it.
Owen worked long hours and Daphne, true to her word, arrived soon after five a.m. and helped with the routine chores before getting breakfast for the men. She was very tired, staying to prepare supper before she left to go back to the pub.
Despite all he had to do, Owen helped when he could, and flattered her frequently, singing her praises in front of Rachel and Tommy.
‘What d’you think of the idea of sending my aunt and uncle for a short holiday?’ Owen asked Daphne one day. ‘Before they get back to work properly, a rest would be a good idea. It’s just that I worry about you. I know it’s been hard for you these past weeks and I know I’m asking a lot for you to continue for a while longer.’
‘Another week wouldn’t hurt me. I’m getting over the tiredness – my body’s used to the work now. Yes, I think that’s a good idea. But can I ask Sophie to continue to help? I don’t think I can manage without her.’
‘I’ll ask her myself,’ he promised. ‘And thank you, you’re a blessing.’
Daphne laughed her loud laugh. ‘Never been called that before!’
Bertie was there when he called at Badgers Brook; he could see the boy near the sink obviously standing on a chair, and he almost turned away, but Sophie had seen him coming and called to him as he hesitated.
‘I wonder if I can ask a big favour, on Daphne’s behalf really.’ He stopped a few feet from the open door.
‘It sounds intriguing, come in.’
‘No, I won’t come in, I’m in a hurry and—’
‘Oh come inside, Owen. Neither Bertie nor I will bite!’
He stepped in, trying not to look at the boy, who appeared to be washing jam jars.
‘I hope to persuade my aunt and uncle to go away for a holiday before getting back to a full day’s work. Daphne wondered if you’d consider helping her for a few more weeks. I don’t know what she wants you to do, you’ll have to discuss it with her.’
‘I have to look after Bertie while his mother is working. If he can come too, and he would like to, then, yes, of course I’ll help her.’
‘I’ll let her know.’ Owen backed out and, still not acknowledging the boy, hurried down the path.
Sophie smiled sadly.
‘It’s you and me or neither of us, eh, Bertie?’
‘Have you got any more jars to wash?’ he asked, ignoring the remark.
‘Come on, Bertie, let’s go and see Daphne, shall we? She might have some cake and a drink of pop.’ She saw him hesitate, knowing Owen Treweather didn’t like him, but not understanding why. ‘Come on, there might be some chickens to feed.’
‘You’ll be staying with me, won’t you?’
‘We’ll go together and come home together. Unless the bull tosses you over the wood and into the garden!’ she teased, handing him his coat.
There had been no letters from Gareth. He hadn’t given them a new address, as he was travelling around France. He sent an occasional card but there was no way they could get in touch to tell him about his parents’ accident. He had telephoned once but fortunately Owen had answered and made a pretence of a faulty line and not being able to hear.
Owen had been fielding letters from Ryan, opening them, replying with casual reassurances, telling him his parents were well and back on the farm. He said as little as possible apart from telling him there was no need to come home, reminding him how both Rachel and Tommy hated a lot of fuss. He didn’t mention Harry Sutton being there or Daphne running the household. When they eventually came home he’d only need a few quiet lies to settle the matter. Misunderstandings happen in the closest of families and the Treweathers could hardly be described as close, when they were going to ignore his contribution and family connections and leave him a useless piece of land.