Ah, an arsonist in the making. That’s new for me. We haven’t had one of those before and we’ve had most things. We’ve had kids who have been invited to leave their schools because of bullying, knife crimes, assaulting teachers, indiscriminate use of weed and many more things.
‘He was lucky to escape with only a police caution,’ Mr Dacre continues. ‘I thought we’d be looking at much worse. Thankfully, the school didn’t press charges. They just kicked him out. Now I’ve not a clue what to do. He just stays in his room all day and night. I can’t reach him.’ He lowers his voice further and his distress is evident when he says, ‘I’m at the end of my tether. Please help.’
He looks like a man who likes to be in control, so I can understand why this must be a challenge for him. ‘I can’t promise a miracle fix, much as I’d like to, but we’ll do our best.’
Mr Dacre is slightly embarrassed when he says, ‘I’ve actually no idea what it is that you do here.’
I can’t help but laugh at his candour. ‘We’re kind of the last chance saloon,’ I supply. ‘We help children and adults who have behavioural or mental health issues – sometimes both. I try to run a place that strives to support young people who are struggling by giving them a positive space to learn and grow.’ He nods at that, so I carry on. ‘They learn by helping on the farm – looking after the animals and each other. Because none of our students have the same needs or requirements, we tailor each experience to suit individual needs. We also have some structured education for our students. There’s a supply teacher who comes in every day to cover some basics, but a lot of it is about confidence-building, providing structure and responsibility.’
‘Christ, he needs some of that.’
I don’t mention that so often with our students it can be the parents who are part of the problem. ‘It’s hard to say what exactly your son would be doing if he came here but, generally, the students spend their days involved in different tasks. They might feed the chickens, muck out a stable, groom the horses or feed the lambs.’ And we’ll be getting plenty of those soon as it’s lambing season. ‘They tackle whatever needs to be done. We try to make the days as varied for them as possible. It helps to get them working as a team and it’s quite relaxed. We don’t force anyone to do anything, but they’re encouraged to be fully engaged. Does your son like animals?’
He gives me a reluctant smile. ‘Not that you’d notice.’
‘Then we might have an issue.’ I smile back because what else is there to do? ‘As you’re here, would you and your son like to have a look around? That would be a good starting point.’
‘I’ll see if I can coax him out of the car. It’s fair to say that he’s not exactly thrilled to be here.’
‘We’re used to dealing with that too,’ I assure him. ‘Shall I come and say hello?’
‘Maybe that would help. There are some vestiges of good manners lurking deep within him.’
So we head back to his car and, as we do, Bev appears in the yard, broom in hand, sweeping frantically at nothing in particular. She appears to be wearing red lipstick. A lot of it. As we near the car, she heads us off at the pass.
‘Hi there,’ she says and sounds rather more husky than she normally does.
‘Hello,’ Mr Dacre replies.
‘I’m Bev.’ For some reason, she’s all of a dither and is giggling girlishly and, believe me, Bev isn’t a natural giggler. She generally embraces the more brusque personality type.
Mr Dacre takes her hand and, for a moment, I actually think that she might faint. She goes all swoony and silly.
Behind his back, I mouth, What’s wrong with you?
She winks at me and I’ve no idea why. Or is she winking at him? Does she fancy this man? It appears so and I’ve never known Bev say anything particularly good about the male of the species. When her husband left her for a younger, more East European model it left her heart badly scarred.
When Mr Dacre lets go of her hand, she strikes up a weird pin-up style pose with her broom. The woman’s gone mad. She told me yesterday that she’d accidentally rubbed toothpaste into her arms rather than her HRT gel. Perhaps that’s what’s wrong. The minty fresh approach to menopause isn’t suiting her.
I give her a wide berth and follow Mr Dacre to the shiny car. I hope he doesn’t notice that Little Dog is weeing up against his back tyre. My dog views this as being friendly. I think if you have such a fancy car, you might view it as otherwise. We reach the passenger door and Mr Dacre’s son gives us a sideways glance from beneath his fringe and I can tell that his heart sinks. The poor boy looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
Shelby Dacre opens the passenger door for me. I stick out my hand and put on my perkiest voice. ‘Hi Lucas, I’m Molly. Want to come and have a look around? See what we do here?’
‘It’s a farm,’ he says, exuding boredom. ‘I should be able to work that out for myself.’
‘You’re here now, though,’ I say. ‘Might as well have a look.’
By my side, Mr Dacre is all of a twitch. ‘Give it a go, Lucas. You said you would.’
Lucas glares at his father. Then he sighs deeply, ignores my hand and gets out of the car. His slight frame is entirely clad in black – T-shirt, skinny jeans and boots. His arms are like threads of white cotton. His face, equally pale, is framed by an unruly mop of dark hair. He looks as if he combs it even less than I comb mine. His eyes might be brown, but it’s hard to tell as his hair mostly covers them. I’d guess that he spends a lot of time indoors on his computer rather than running round in the sunshine.
‘It seems as if I have no choice,’ he mutters.
‘Come and see what’s on offer,’ I say brightly. ‘You might find that you’re surprised.’
‘I doubt it.’ Yet he plods off into the farmyard, hands stuffed into his pockets, scuffing up clouds of dust as he goes.
I consider that excellent progress.
Chapter Twelve
In truth, I don’t really want to take on anyone else at the moment. Each student is quite demanding and needs a lot of time, especially newcomers. They usually take a lot of settling in and Lucas certainly looks as if he won’t be the exception that proves the rule. On the other hand, we are desperately short of cash and it’s always a balancing act. If Lucas comes here full-time, and I suspect that’s what Mr Dacre would like, then it would be more than welcome income. My bill for animal feed alone would make your eyes water. The phrase ‘eat like a horse’ is firmly based in truth.
‘Bev, I’m just going to show Mr Dacre and Lucas around the farm.’
‘Could I have a moment of your time please, Molly?’ She snatches at my arm and holds me back.
‘I’ll catch you up in a second,’ I say to them. ‘Do feel free to have a look in some of the pens in the barn over there.’ I point them towards our piggies and our geese, helpfully, usher them there.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, my strangely acting operative hisses, ‘Do you know who that is?’
‘Shelby Dacre and his son, Lucas Dacre?’ I venture.
‘God, you’re hopeless,’ she tuts. I wonder if he’s a local councillor or the mayor. Bev knows these things. Whoever he is, local dignitary or not, he’s got her in a right tizzy. When I continue to look at her blankly, she supplies, ‘It’s Farmer Gordon Flinton, nitwit.’ There’s a slightly drooly expression on her face.
‘Who?’
Bev rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Molly. Gordon Flinton. THE Gordon Flinton.’
I fear I still look vacant.
‘Flinton’s Farm,’ she persists as if saying it over and over will make me understand. ‘The soap opera. The one that everyone has watched three times a week for the last twenty years. Everyone apart from you, obvs.’
‘Ah.’ Still none the wiser really. I have heard of it. I think. But, as Bev said, I’ve never actually watched it. Mainly because I don’t possess a television. I can’t even remember the last time I did have a telly. Not since I�
�ve lived on the farm, that’s for sure. Hettie never had time for anything like that. Which is why all of these things pass me by. I only know what goes on in the Big Brother house or that there even is a Big Brother house because Bev insists on telling me.
‘He’s a bloody massive heart-throb! Surely even you can see that?’
‘Yes,’ I agree. He definitely is heart-throb material. ‘I’d go along with that.’
‘He induces mass hysteria in women of a certain age.’ Bev puts a hand to her forehead. ‘God, my head’s all hot and my flipping legs have gone to jelly. He’d have it all night.’
‘I’m sure he’d be pleased to know.’
‘I’d beg you to get me a date, but sadly he favours the scrawny actress kind of woman.’ She sighs at Shelby Dacre’s back. ‘The man might look fifty shades of fabulous but he clearly hasn’t got any taste.’
‘I’m not sure I’d have any influence over his love life, having met him only ten minutes ago.’
‘A girl can dream,’ Bev sighs somewhat dreamily and leans on her broom in a lovesick manner. ‘His wife died a year or so ago.’
‘In real-life or on the soap?’
‘Keep up, Mols. In real life. Cancer or something. Awful. He’s gone a bit off the rails since then if you believe the TV mags. His current squeeze doesn’t look much older than his kid.’
Hmm. That makes me think. Perhaps there’s a very simple explanation why his son is lost and angry and trying to burn his school down.
‘I’d better catch up with them,’ I say. ‘I’m not after his body, but I could probably do with some of his money. I think we can help Lucas. I hope he’ll agree to coming here.’
‘We weren’t going to take anyone else on.’
‘You should have realised by now that I can’t say no.’
Bev brightens. ‘Excellent. That means Farmer Gordon will be a regular visitor?’
I shrug. ‘I guess so.’
Bev puts her hands together in prayer. ‘There is a God.’
‘I don’t know exactly what you were pretending to do with that broom, but you’d better get back to it. If we don’t impress Mr Dacre, then he might take Lucas elsewhere.’ Though I wonder where that actually might be. I don’t like to show off too much, but we’re kind of unique in our approach here.
I leave Bev and hurry after Mr Dacre and Lucas. They’re both looking into Teacup’s pen when I catch up with them. Little Dog has taken up residence next to Lucas’s leg and is fluttering the lashes of his remaining eye in a puppyish manner. His weird, nervy smile is out in full force. Not even the coldest of hearts could ignore that and, of course, Lucas bends to fuss him. Little Dog is ninja at getting cuddles. There might even be a hint of a smile on Lucas’s lips, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.
‘This is Teacup,’ I supply. ‘We inherited him because he grew too big. Most of our animals come here for similar reasons. Either their owners can’t cope with them or they outgrow their space or usefulness.’ Close to, Shelby Dacre smells very clean and fragrant, especially if you bear in mind that we’re standing next to a pig. Still, I mustn’t be distracted by a bit of posh aftershave. ‘The students who come here are allocated jobs to do throughout the day. It’s busy, Lucas, but can be enjoyable. Everyone does a couple of hours of structured tuition each day too, so that you can keep up with your studies.’
‘Oh, joy,’ he mutters.
‘Lucas,’ Mr Dacre says, sharply.
‘We collected the hen’s eggs this morning, but haven’t changed their bedding yet. Plus the eggs need to be washed and boxed up for sale. Would you like to help out with that? You can meet a couple of the other young people.’
Lucas looks as if he’s about to tell me to get stuffed, but then he lets out a weary sigh and says in a voice loaded with sarcasm, ‘I’d be delighted.’
‘I’m sorry, but I need to leave.’ Shelby Dacre says, glancing anxiously at his watch, and I can tell that he’s itching to get away. Which is a shame as it would do Lucas good if his father could remain and help him to integrate. ‘I do apologise but work calls. You know how it is.’
Lucas’s expression darkens and I suspect that he feels he has far too much experience of his dad putting work before him. To me it seems as if Mr Dacre’s just eager to hand the problem of his ‘difficult’ son onto someone else. I’d prefer that person was me.
‘Lucas can still stay with us. There’s no need for him to rush off too.’ I glance at Lucas. ‘If you want to.’
‘Can you manage without me?’ Shelby asks.
He’s addressing me, but Lucas spits out. ‘I’m perfectly used to managing without you, Father.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ I chip in. ‘You can have a good look round, Lucas, and see what you think of us. Can you collect Lucas at five o’clock?’
‘I’ll send a car.’ Mr Dacre addresses his son through gritted teeth. ‘Try, Lucas. Please. For my sake and for your own.’
‘I’ll love every minute,’ Lucas deadpans.
Shelby Dacre looks as if he’s about to speak, but clearly bites it down. We both watch him as he walks back to his car. He looks as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. And Lucas smirks as he goes.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Tosser,’ Lucas says under his breath as his father drives away. I close the gate behind him.
‘Everyone thinks that about their parents, you know.’
‘In this case I’m right.’ But his face is as sad as it is bitter.
‘We have some great chickens,’ I say to try to distract him. Lucas looks doubtful. ‘Want to come and meet our girls?’
‘If you insist.’
It’s a gentle introduction to farm duties and one that most people enjoy, so I take him over to the chicken run. ‘Grab a basket, just in case there’s a stray egg or two that we missed earlier.’ He does as he’s told without protest – but without much enthusiasm either – and we go towards the enclosure together.
‘We’ve got a few blind hens, so if you move too quickly they panic and run into things,’ I explain to Lucas as we duck beneath the escape netting. ‘Some have only got one leg, so they can over-balance.’
‘You’ve got all of the fun things here,’ he says.
‘We cater for as many needs as we can.’ I show him how to open the coops and look in the straw for eggs. There are one or two in each coop and Lucas collects the eggs with surprising care. ‘We collect the eggs twice in a morning and once again later in the afternoon. Jack did it this morning. It’s his favourite job. You could help him to do it later, if you want to.’
‘Seriously?’
‘It keeps the eggs clean and less likely to become damaged. In hot weather you don’t want them in the nest for too long. We sell the eggs from the tea room to help our income.’
He doesn’t look thrilled by that either.
Next I show Lucas how to refresh the bedding straw and, again, he applies himself without complaint. Perhaps we’re both being on our best behaviour. When everything’s fresh and clean, we head out and I take Lucas to the outhouse so that we can wash the eggs. The rest of the farm might be a little bit untidy and, well, farm-like, but this is the place that we keep spic and span so that our eggs are fit to sell. Jack hasn’t yet prepared the ones from earlier, so Lucas and I stand side by side at the double sink and, together, gently scrub the shells to get all the straw, dirt and unspeakable off them. It’s quite a relaxing, therapeutic job.
‘I’ve only been here an hour and this is making me want to be vegetarian,’ Lucas says.
‘I am. I couldn’t ever contemplate touching chicken, lamb or pork. It would be like eating one of my best friends.’
‘I’m just looking at all the shit.’ He wrinkles his nose as he washes an egg that’s been particularly well christened and I laugh.
‘There’s a lot of that here,’ I tell him. ‘If you decided to stay, you’d better get used to it.’
‘I’m not entirely sure that I’m going to have any say
in the matter.’ And a dark scowl descends on his boyishly handsome face.
We do the rest in what I’d like to call companiable silence, but I can still feel the waves of tension coming from Lucas. I show him how we put the eggs into recycled cartons. Customers get twenty pence back if they return their boxes.
‘Aren’t you going to try and psychoanalyse me?’ he eventually asks. ‘Everyone else does.’
‘I hadn’t planned on it. But I was thinking that we might need a cup of tea and a biscuit before we head up to the big field so that you can see the horses. Are you any good at brewing up?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Let’s find out then. It’s an essential skill if you’re going to fit in here.’
He bristles at that. ‘Who says that I want to fit in?’
I smile softly. ‘Even rebels like a good cuppa. Come on.’
We fall into step across the yard and Little Dog trots along too. He knows that the biscuit tin will be opening and he’s ever hopeful for some crumbs.
Chapter Fourteen
‘He just wants to dump me on you,’ Lucas says as he slams the mugs about on the table. ‘You know that, right? Then he can pretend that he cares.’
‘You think?’ I only asked him an innocuous question and he launched straight into this. He’s obviously been holding onto his anger for some time.
‘I know,’ he says, firmly. He stands fidgeting while the kettle boils and then he crashes about some more. Crashing complete, Lucas hands me a mug of tea and I take a grateful sip. Even though it’s edging closer to lunchtime, I help myself to a chocolate digestive biscuit. I offer the packet to Lucas and, after examining it carefully, he takes one too.
‘Come and sit with me for a minute before I find you something else to do.’
‘I’d rather stand.’ He leans against the wall, sullenly and scowls at his biscuit as if it’s the enemy.
‘Your dad seems to be very concerned about you,’ I venture.
Happiness for Beginners Page 5
