Country Wives (13 page)

Blossom had decked herself out in the skimpiest of leather skirts. Despite the winter wind blowing, her top half was clothed in a short-sleeved pink sweater the color of the invitation card and in her hair was silver tinsel, a precursor of Christmas. “Come in! Come in!” She placed a goose-pimpled arm through Dan’s and hastened him in. Kate followed.

The transformation of the barn was breathtaking. Dan looked round with amazement.

“It was all Phil’s idea. Isn’t it great?” Blossom squeezed his arm and waited eagerly for his reaction. “Phil’s heard your car and he’s gone to get the champagne from the dairy. It’s cold in there. Well?”

“Mrs. Parsons …”

Blossom giggled. “Not Mrs. Parsons! It’s Blossom to you. You’re a friend. Isn’t he, Kate?”

Kate nodded. “Such a transformation! It’s splendid.”

Dan looked at the glowing black beams, the horse brasses nailed like guardsmen on parade along the length of each beam, at the burnished brass catch on the door to Sunny Boy’s stall, the newly painted feeding trough, the snow-white walls and the purple wheelie bins lined up against the far wall.

“I can see you like the bins. It was my idea to paint them purple, royal purple for a royal bull, and do you like the silver stars? That was Hamish’s idea. He stuck them on.”

“I am just gobsmacked. Truly gobsmacked. It is magnificent.”

“Phil’s thrilled to bits.”

“It’s so tidy, so smart, so different. Even the loose stones cemented in.”

Phil came in carrying a chrome tray with glasses and champagne on it, followed by a tall, gangling teenage boy with a head of the reddest hair either Kate or Dan had ever seen. He had the pale-blue eyes and the fair, heavily freckled skin which so often go with real red hair; even his eyelashes were red.

Phil put the tray down carefully on a small side table they’d brought in from the house, saying, “This is Hamish. Come to live with us. He’s helped with this, haven’t you, Hamish?”

Blossom beamed at Hamish and added, “If it hadn’t been for him, we’d never have got finished, would we, Hamish?”

Hamish simply grinned in agreement. But it was a beautiful grin, which lit up the whole of his face and was expressive of his pleasure at their approval.

Behind his back Blossom silently mouthed, “He can’t talk.”

Dan released himself from Blossom’s clutching arm and went to shake Hamish’s hand. “This is a big thank you from me to you for getting all this done. Wonderful job. No one could
be more pleased.” He clapped Hamish on the shoulder and smiled at him. “Brilliant!” Hamish grinned his appreciation.

“Now!” Phil took the champagne bottle and began the removal of the cork. “I’ve left Sunny Boy out of here until we’re ready to drink the toast. Thought the cork shooting out might upset him.”

The cork shot out, hitting the window with a loud ping.

Blossom dissolved into laughter. “God, Phil! Don’t break that bloody window. It took ages to get it clean and painted.”

“Right, Hamish, bring him in. He’s got to be here when we drink the toast.” Phil put down the bottle and proudly opened the newly painted gate to the stall.

“Will Sunny Boy let…” Dan nodded his head toward the open door.

“Of course. They’re buddies, they are.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Tell yer later. Here he comes.”

They stood aside to make space for Hamish to lead Sunny Boy into the stall. Round the bull’s neck was tied a Union Jack ten sizes larger than Scott’s; he was brushed and combed, and spruced up well enough to compete at the Royal Show. The restraint of the rope through his nose ring made him anxious and caused him to toss his head from side to side, and Kate shrank back against the wall, fearful of those great hooves of his. Hamish calmly secured his head rope to a ring in the wall and carefully shut the gate behind him. If Phil had declared he was a champion pedigree bull, no one would have challenged him. He looked magnificent in his newly refurbished quarters.

“A toast!” called Phil. He refilled all their glasses and raised his, saying “To Sunny Boy, to his new quarters and to Hamish, who did all the work!”

They all clinked glasses and drank the toast. Kate studied
Hamish for a moment and wondered about him. It was obvious Phil Parsons didn’t want to explain while he was there. But why couldn’t he talk? Didn’t he want to or couldn’t he talk at all?

“Right then. Tea. Come on, Hamish, go and give Blossom a hand, if you please.”

Hamish shuffled off after Blossom, she small and dainty, he large and shambling. Phil dipped his fingers in his champagne and, leaning over into the stall, pushed them into Sunny Boy’s great mouth. “He’s got to share in the celebrations, hasn’t he? Come on then, have a drop more.”

Dan had to ask: “Who is he, Phil? That Hamish.”

“He’s the one who left the ball that day, the one that Sunny Boy tried to swallow. From the caravan site, he is, been staying there with a group of lads from a home. Came back to get it after you’d gone and wouldn’t leave. Just hung about, not saying anything. I tried to get him to go, but he wouldn’t. Blossom thought he was hungry so she gave him some food and then told him to go, but he wouldn’t and it’s a bit difficult making a big chap like him scat. He just wouldn’t. So, desperate, Blossom said go down and tell ’em. So I did. Well, he went back to the site when they came to get him. They left the next day, and two days later he was back here. He’d hopped it at a motorway service station and walked till he got ’ere.”

“How could he tell you that?”

“Showed me a receipt from a place on the M4 and waved his arms about a bit. That’s what Blossom says happened anyway. He won’t go. I’ve tried, so I thought I’d put him to good use. Blossom’s made a bed up for him and, well, here he is.”

“Shouldn’t someone be told?” Kate asked.

“And send him back to where he doesn’t want to be? He’s no trouble and it does Blossom good to have someone to fuss over. She says love is all he wants, someone who cares, and she’s good at that. We asked about his mum and dad, and he started
shaking and went to bed, and wouldn’t come out for a day and a night. Not till Blossom sat on his bed and told him he could stay and we wouldn’t say a word to the authorities. Terrified, he was.” Phil shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps one day he’ll speak and tell us. He eats like he’s never eaten in years, straight down, whatever it is, and never has an ache or a pain, even though he reg’lar has two full plates of dinner at a sitting.”

Phil’s last sentence reminded Kate about food poisoning and she sent up a little prayer that she’d have as strong a stomach as Hamish apparently had. They heard Blossom’s heels tapping along the yard, accompanied by the solid tread of Hamish’s big feet, and through the door she came with a heavily loaded tray that she placed on the table Hamish had carried in for her.

“Hasn’t she done us proud?”

Dan ate heartily, Kate sparingly, but enough not to give offense. Blossom had certainly done them proud, as Phil had said. Hamish ate as much as the four of them put together with an enthusiasm none of them could match.

They shook hands with Blossom, Phil and Hamish, and thanked them profusely for their hospitality as they left, especially Hamish for all his help with the improvements. He grinned and gave them a thumbs-up.

As Dan turned the Land Rover round in the lane Kate said, “There appear to be a lot of people around with either no parents or only one original one. Me and Oscar and now Hamish. It’s not right, is it, for no one to know where Hamish is?”

Dan thought for a moment and didn’t answer until they were well down the lane close to the main road. “He wouldn’t have done a runner if he’d been happy where he was, and he is happy with Blossom and Phil, isn’t he?”

Kate had to admit he was.

“So I think that adds up to you and me keeping quiet about him and leaving him in peace. He obviously knows exactly
what’s being said to him and understands perfectly, so perhaps the talking will come if he has a chance to feel safe.”

“Mm. You’re wiser than you look. It’s funny this thing about one’s roots. When he told me about my mother, my dad gave me the identification band I’d had round my wrist in the hospital, you know, when I was newborn, and suddenly I felt real, as though I’d come from somewhere and hadn’t simply materialized. I felt I had roots, and identity, kind of. Silly isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

The answer had come crisply and with a finality in the tone of his voice that brooked no further mention of the subject, leaving Kate wondering what lay at the heart of Dan—so full of wisdom and understanding one minute and then up went a blank wall and he’d gone behind it.

In truth, one half of his mind was controlling his driving and the other half was far away on the U. S. eastern seaboard, and he was lying on his back on the sand, watching seabirds swirling in the breeze below a shimmering blue sky, unsuccessfully trying to come to terms with the idea of never seeing Rose again in this life. His world had splintered into a thousand myriad pieces. He’d spoken, then, to himself of his roots. His roots and his need for home. That was when he’d decided to come home to England. Rose. Rose.

He braked heavily as a red traffic light brought him back to reality. “Sorry about that.”

Kate lurched forward, saved only by the tug of her seat belt.

“Very sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“That’s all right, happens to the best of us.” While they waited for the lights to change, she said, “Have you ever wondered how Phil Parsons makes a living from that farm? Because for the life of me I can’t see how he can.”

“Neither can I.”

“He must have some other source of income, mustn’t he?”

His lips twitched as he replied, “One would imagine he must. You can’t help but like them both, can you?”

Kate smiled to herself. “No, you can’t. The food appeared beyond reproach, didn’t it?”

“I shall pass judgment on that tomorrow. Who knows what the night might bring.” Dan glanced at her and laughed. For one bright moment he appeared to her handsome. She thought of Scott when she thought of handsome and for some strange reason had difficulty remembering what he looked like. Then, like a flash, his laughing face focused in her mind and she grinned.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Just thinking of Scott who was before you. You’re braver than him. He refused to eat or drink there. Only whiskey we had once. And he never let Blossom get anywhere near him if he could help it. She was always after his body, he said.”

“The conceit of the man! I fancy she’s after any body, even half presentable, in trousers. I can’t help wondering about his balaclava. It’s there to hide something, isn’t it?”

Kate looked out of the window. “It’s left here after the roadworks. It must be. Maybe he’s an escapee from a home somewhere, and he’s still hiding his identity. Perhaps that’s why he has so much sympathy with Hamish.”

“I’ve an idea it’s deeper than that. Here we are. Thanks for coming, Kate. They would have been affronted if you hadn’t.”

“That’s OK. Thank you for taking me.”

Dan got out and went round to open her door for her.

“Bye. See you tomorrow. Thanks again for the lift.”

“See you.”

Before she had got the front door open, Dan was already charging off down the street.

•   •   •

W
EDNESDAY
was market day in Barleybridge, so not only was there a street market but a cattle market too. Dan, having a morning free because of being on call all night, decided to mingle in the cattle market for an hour, before going to the supermarket to replenish his depleted food stocks.

The sheds and pens at the market were teaming with animals of all kinds: goats and sheep, cows and pigs, chickens and geese. The hustle and bustle, the sights and sounds, were energizing, and he spent a happy hour wandering about looking at the condition of the animals, some good, some poor. He listened to the auctioneer to see what prices were being achieved at the moment and winced when he heard how low the selling prices were.

Here and there the odd farmer acknowledged him, and he them, with a nod or a touch of his cap and a friendly “Good morning.” Some stayed for a chat, mostly to bemoan the low prices that day. He inspected the pigs, checked out the goats—especially some pygmy goats, which at one time he had rather fancied breeding—then went to view the chickens. They were a motley collection of fancy and workaday, and he paused for a while, looking them over with a practiced eye.

Then the rain came down. Not in a drizzle, which a stout heart could ignore, but a thundering, pelting downpour. Dan hastily retreated under the porch over the front door of the Askew Arms, the oldest and most prestigious hotel in the town. As it was twelve o’clock, he decided to take an early lunch and not bother with his supermarket shopping until the following day.

He’d ordered steak and kidney pie with a half bottle of house wine and was awaiting its arrival when he heard the loud voice of Lord Askew in the dining-room entrance. Immediately the manager rushed forward to greet him. To Dan’s eye the man would have done better to have genuflected and have
done with it, for his obsequious bowing and scraping was embarrassing to watch. Lord Askew ignored him and surveyed the dining room with a haughty eye, which wavered over Dan and then came back to him. The manager pointed to a table in the window slightly withdrawn from the others, obviously intending to direct his lordship toward it.

But Lord Askew had other ideas. “This will do!” He headed for Dan’s table and asked if the other chair was free for him to use.

Thinking a bit of courtesy on his behalf would go a long way with a man like Lord Askew, Dan stood up. “I shall be delighted to have your company, my lord. I dislike eating alone.”

Lord Askew ordered steak and kidney pie too, cancelled Dan’s half bottle of house wine and ordered a whole bottle of the most expensive red wine on the list.

They chatted about the state of the market, the need to keep a finger on the pulse, how farmers could survive in the current economic climate and the value of diversifying.

“Callum Tattersall has come up with another hare-brained scheme. Mushrooms this time. The man’s a fool. Tenant farmer of mine, you know, keeps the land and buildings in good trim, better than some, but he’s never going to be rich.”