My question is – will you come with me?
Nellie
I wept as I read the letter. Picturing my strong, proud mother feeling isolated, belittled, so thoroughly out of place, made my heart ache. She’d been thirty-seven before she’d dared to riskit all for love. And perhaps it was no wonder she never took a chance like that again. After four days on the island, I could only imagine how brutal it must have been to have the Hawkinses’ rejection as a permanent housemate. I wondered whether she’d encountered doctored mugs of tea, or worse.
Despite my raw emotions, I felt compelled to read another letter, unable to settle until I knew Gabe’s reply, and trusting that it wouldn’t make me feel even worse.
12 January 1988
My dearest Nellie,
There would only ever be one answer to your question:
Yes.
I would go to the ends of the earth for you, my love. Your doubt on this matter is proof that I am the one who has failed.
(Although, I must help Da with the calving, first.)
With faith, hope and love
Your wretch of a husband,
G
Comforted that, at this point, Gabriel had chosen Mum over his family and the farm, and she’d still had someone on her side, I tucked the letters back in my bag and turned off the light.
20
I gave up my pitiful attempts to sleep once the first rays of dawn illuminated the crack between the curtains. Still feeling squeamish about the refreshments in my bedroom, I showered and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and quietly tiptoed downstairs to the empty kitchen.
After several sniffs and swills of the milk carton in the fridge, I made a mug of tea and slipped outside to sip it on the patio. It was impossible not to feel at least slightly better, soaking up the soft magic of an early-morning summer garden. I distinguished at least four different bird songs, accompanying the distant neigh of horses. The air was fresh like Eden, and dewdrops still quivered on the foliage. I luxuriated in the stillness, doing a better job each morning of shaking off the urge to get on, get going, get busy, replacing it with a sense of peace that, right now, my only task was to enjoy the moment for as long as I wanted to.
A plane buzzed overhead – the early-morning flight to Sherwood Airport. I could picture the rows of business travellers, maybe older children who’d been home for the weekend heading back to school, the stragglers from last week’s wedding returning to the bustle of mainland life.
Did I miss waiting for them, pasties warm, coffee brewing? Knowing how almost every moment of my day would unfold, enveloped by safe and familiar?
I took another sip of tea. Considered the stinky bike, the poopy milk. Weighed this up against picnics with Pip, sea shanties and sun-soaked beaches, and decided that no, I didn’t. Not one second of it.
It did, however, prompt me to check my phone and email.
More messages from Blessing, that I replied to with a phone call that I politely ended once she started grilling me on why I hadn’t snogged the hot farmer yet. Another email from Gregory, unable to hide his irritation behind the professional business-terminology.
I typed a brief reply to say that I hadn’t forgotten about the lease, and would sign by the deadline at the end of the week. I also informed him that the kiosk would remain closed for ten days, as permitted in the current contract (even as I wondered why on earth Mum had bothered with a clause allowing her ten days off, when the most she’d ever taken was two). I deleted it, then took another look at the wide, open sky before retyping it and pressing send.
By the time I’d done this, the children were up and asking if I wanted to help them let the chickens out, and Lily had loaded smoked salmon and cream cheese onto toasted muffins, joining me back on the patio with a notepad and pen to discuss the plans for Thursday’s marital feast.
I was doing my best to concentrate on answering her questions, while at the same time building up the courage to ask her about the milk, knowing how mortified she’d be, when her phone rang.
‘Morning, Da.’
Her cheery expression froze.
‘What?’ She stood up and started pacing down the garden, making it impossible to hear what she was saying, even as the brisk tone made it clear that it was serious.
After less than a minute, she hung up and came to stand on the opposite side of the table to me.
‘The Clover Field cows got out during the night.’ The welcoming B&B smile had been replaced with a hard mask.
