Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  ‘I think, despite how it appears, that he is.’ Though I’m disappointed to hear that he’s gone off to America and has left Lucas alone at a difficult time for him. ‘But I didn’t come here to argue with you. I came to ask you to come back to the farm.’

  ‘What’s the point when you’re going to be closing down soon?’

  ‘I’m still hoping for a miracle,’ I tell him, earnestly.

  He laughs at that, but not too harshly. ‘Christ, you’re nauseatingly optimistic.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I grin at him. ‘That’s me. Ms Glass Half-full.’

  Then he softens for a moment. ‘I wrote a poem about the farm. Want to see it?’

  ‘I’d really love to.’

  He pulls out his phone and clicks on to YouTube to play it. I lean over his shoulder to watch and he doesn’t move away from me.

  On screen, he looks direct to the camera and spits out a rap called ‘Save the Farm’ in which he extols the virtue of our work and pleads for new land for us.

  It’s nothing short of criminal:

  It’s a travesty; a scam.

  We’re another victim of that HS2 to Birmingham.

  Because, despite the work we’ve done here,

  For those with special needs,

  The rich man’s railway still comes first,

  Yes, progress supersedes!

  And that leaves us with a problem,

  As our work here’s far from done,

  Our appeal needs to go viral

  Reach the hearts of everyone.

  All we need is twenty acres,

  At a rent that’s not too steep;

  A place to keep our goats and pigs

  And Tony, the angry sheep.

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  With the alpacas we’ll stand tall!

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Hear us all at Hope Farm call!

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Stand up for what you know is right,

  So the work we do can con-tin-ue

  Come join us in this fight.

  ’Cos the work we do here’s vital,

  It’s a lifeline we provide;

  For those for whom conventional education

  Hasn’t been an easy ride.

  You see alpacas aren’t judgemental,

  And goats don’t take the mick,

  And pigs and sheep don’t badger you

  For being dyslexic.

  They help to normalise anxieties,

  Build the confidence to achieve;

  They encourage us kids to integrate

  And in ourselves believe.

  They’ve been called iconoclastic;

  Revolutionary; unique,

  We’ve got all we need to make this work,

  It’s just the ground space that we seek.

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  With the alpacas we’ll stand tall

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Hear us all at Hope Farm call!

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Stand up for what you know is right,

  So the work we do can con-tin-ue

  Come join us in this fight.

  There are people who depend on us;

  We won’t go down without a fight,

  But we’re an independent entity

  And our finances are tight.

  There’s animal feed and vet bills,

  Day-to-days, and at some stage,

  Molly would like to draw herself at least a living wage.

  So if you’re rich and fancy helping us,

  Or you’ve got some land to spare,

  Or if you know anyone else who has,

  Who could be convinced to care,

  Then get in touch; we’d love to hear, or share my video,

  On all your social media and with everyone you know!

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  With the alpacas we’ll stand tall

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Hear us all at Hope Farm call!

  Save The Farm! Save The Farm!

  Stand up for what you know is right,

  So the work we do can con-tin-ue

  Come join us in this fight.

  I feel my eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Lucas says. ‘You’ll start me off.’

  ‘That’s great.’ I wipe my tears away with my sleeve.

  ‘What bloody use is it?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know. The students will love it though. You’ll be an even bigger hero to them. Plus it’s got a hundred thousand views since you put it up. That’s a lot, right? You must have tons of followers.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’re probably all broke like me.’

  ‘I don’t know if it will do any good, Lucas, but it’s fabulous nevertheless.’ I risk giving him a peck on his cheek and he doesn’t rub it off. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he says reluctantly.

  I look at him and try to do my biggest, most imploring doe eyes. ‘Does this mean that you’re coming back to us?’

  He pouts at me in return and mutters, ‘I suppose so.’

  I punch the air and shout, ‘Yay!’

  Lucas tries not to smile, but he does.

  Chapter Seventy

  So the next day Lucas comes back to the farm and throws himself into his work. I watch him, leaning against the fence, as he fills the feed buckets for the alpacas, keeping them at bay with his elbows when they crowd round him as if he’s been doing it all his life.

  I’ve missed him so much and am so relieved that my visit to him paid off. I feel one tight little knot of tension loosen from round my heart. There are, however, several more still firmly in place. I’ve heard nothing from Shelby and I don’t even like to ask Lucas whether he has or not. I know that his father isn’t back at home yet – which I assume means that his trip to America has been successful.

  The driver drops Lucas off every morning and picks him up every night. He stays late after the others have left, having back-of-the-fridge supper with me in the caravan as I can’t bear for him to go home alone to that massive place. Our comfortable relationship returns and we spend a pleasant few hours with Lucas showing me random stuff on his phone while Little Dog snuggles into his lap. If it’s nice we get out the deckchairs and Big Dog and Fifty join us while we sit and stare at the stars.

  I can tell from Lucas’s demeanour that all he wants is a normal life, with someone at home to cook him a bit of dinner and listen to his day. Simply someone to be there for him. I also realise that I’m looking forward to sharing my evenings with human company rather than just my usual canine companions. I’m making a vegetable stir-fry and Lucas is chattering away about nothing in particular, when I look over at him and feel my heart swell with affection for this lost and lonely boy. Perhaps I see myself in him at that age. I want to tell him that everything will work out fine, but sometimes it doesn’t. I can hardly hold myself up as a story of success springing from adversity. I muddle along at best. Still, I hope that he’ll let me stay alongside him to guide him. My aunt was lovely, but as a confirmed recluse all she wanted to do was keep me on the farm with her. I wonder now if I should have risked going out in the world more. The longer you stay in seclusion, the harder it is to come out of it.

  During the day, we all busy ourselves with the dozens of farm chores that have to be completed over and over like a Sisyphean task and soon the week has gone. Sometimes I wonder why we’re bothering as that only takes us a week nearer to closure. As I’m contemplating our impending doom, our landlord, George Brown, rocks up. Alan is at the gate to let him in and he parks his Range Rover in the yard.

  ‘While I deal with this, can you look after Jack and Seb for a short while, please?’ I say to Lucas.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You can give the goats some linseed tablets.’ It makes their coats nice and shiny, in case you were wondering. ‘The horses can have their treat balls filled up too. Oh, and
the milk powder needs making up for the lamb’s bottles.’

  He takes all that in and answers with a serious nod.

  ‘Thank you.’ Despite recent events, I do know that I can trust Lucas. It’s a testament to his development that I can now assign him tasks like this and know that they will be properly completed.

  Leaving him to find the boys, I stride down to meet George. As I reach him, he holds out a hand and shakes mine, nearly crushing my fingers in the process.

  ‘Hello, Molly. How’s it going?’

  I shrug. ‘We’re being evicted. What can I say?’

  ‘I know. Bloody awful business. I’m sorry that I haven’t been down to see you. This has been a shock for all of us.’ He’s normally quite brusque – but it seems as if this has taken the wind out of his sails too. I mustn’t forget that George’s place is being compulsory-purchased from under him and that can’t be easy to deal with. The difference is that he at least has the compensation to soften the blow and will have the money to be able to buy another property. ‘This farm has been in my family for generations. My great-grandparents planted half of these bloody trees.’ He sweeps his arm towards the big field. ‘All that history gone, so they can put a bulldozer through it. I wouldn’t even mind if it was going to be housing or something useful. But a bloody train?’

  A train that most of us probably won’t even be able to afford to go on. I can’t think when I last went into London, but Bev tells me that the fares are already extortionate.

  George continues, ‘I think the worst thing is being utterly powerless to stop it. There’s strong feeling against it round here and probably in other parts of the country affected by it. But what good does that do us? It’s going ahead and that’s the end of it.’ He puffs out an angry breath. ‘I’ve had one hell of a job sorting out somewhere else to move to. It’s not easy when your heart’s not really in it. How are you faring?’

  ‘Much the same.’ We walk over to the fence together and lean on it, looking out over the sheep paddock. The baby lambs that we’re bottle-feeding are out enjoying the sunshine this afternoon, gambolling in the perky way that only little lambs can. We watch them jump and kick the air for the sheer joy of it.

  ‘That’s really what I came to ask about,’ George says. ‘Any news on when you’ll be moving? I wouldn’t ask but I’m being pressed by the contractors. I know we’ve got an absolute moving date, but it seems they want us both out as soon as possible.’

  ‘Can they force us out early?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘But it won’t stop them from trying.’

  ‘There’s been no progress at all,’ I admit. ‘I’ve been on the council to help, but no go. Stuff that’s commercially available is way out of my price range. If I’m honest, George, I’ve no idea what I’m going to do.’

  ‘That’s tough.’ He has the grace to look concerned. Yet I can’t really blame him, can I? It’s a nightmare for him too.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘We’re actually moving away,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve got a place lined up in Cornwall. Downsizing in a big way. We’re going from all this to a two-bedroomed bungalow.’ He tuts in disbelief. ‘It’s by the sea and all that, so the wife’s pleased.’

  ‘It sounds lovely.’ I had briefly entertained the hope that George might find a little corner for us in his new farm. Another avenue closed to me.

  ‘We haven’t even got half an acre at our new house. It’ll be strange, but I couldn’t face starting over again. Not at my age.’ He shakes his head. ‘What about your animals?’

  ‘If I can’t find any alternative land, I really should be starting to look for new places for them.’ I know that there’s only so much more time that I can stick my head in the sand. I have to start addressing this issue otherwise the bulldozers will be moving in and we’ll still be here.

  ‘I can give you a couple of numbers. People who might be able to take on a few more.’ He glances through the contacts on his phone and then pings some numbers to mine. ‘It’s worth a try.’

  Anything is.

  ‘I appreciate that.’ But who in their right mind would want our blind chickens, our anti-social sheep, our troublesome alpacas? Farmers want commercial animals, not a load of lame ducks. Although the one thing that we don’t actually have is a lame duck.

  ‘I’m sorry about all this, Molly.’ George looks genuinely penitent. ‘You’ve looked after this land well. It’s a shame to see you go. Bastards. If there was anything I could do to halt this, then I would.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It will be terrible if all your good work has to end. There’s no one more dedicated than you are. Your aunt would have been proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She’ll also be turning in her grave now if she can see the state of affairs we’ve come to.

  ‘I’d better go,’ George says. ‘The wife has started packing up already. You should see what’s in the bloody loft alone. We’ve never had a clear-out before. Never needed to. There’s stuff up there from my mam and dad. Where will all that go? I’m dreading the move.’

  ‘I hope it goes as well as it can do.’ I’m reduced to uttering platitudes.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘Absolutely fine. I’m sure.’ But the tone of his voice is distinctly uncertain. ‘Keep me posted on any progress, Molly. If I hear anything that might help, I’ll let you know.’ Then he looks at me, eyes brimming with tears, the brave face he’s putting on it has all but gone. He shakes his head, bewildered. ‘I still can’t believe they’re doing this. It’s like a waking nightmare. I feel as if my heritage is literally being ripped out from under us. And for what?’

  ‘I know.’ I put my arm around George’s burly shoulders and we stand looking out over the beautiful fields together while this rough, gruff mountain of a man has a bloody good cry.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The next morning, Lucas positively bounces out of his car. He dashes over to where I’m trying, without much success, to unblock a drain in the yard and brandishes his phone at me. He’s beaming from ear to ear and Lucas doesn’t do beaming. ‘Have you seen this?’

  ‘Morning, Lucas!’ My urge to instil good manners is never far from the surface. ‘Seen what?’

  ‘This.’ He flicks his screen and holds it up to my face.

  I abandon my drain rods and wipe my hands on my jeans so that I can look properly at what Lucas is trying to show me. I squint at it, the sunshine glaring off the screen. I can just about make out that it’s an online glossy mag and the bold headline reads, Shelby Dacre splits with Scarlett Vincent.

  ‘Oh, gosh.’

  ‘Gosh? Is that all you can say?’ He looks at me aghast. ‘It’s bloody brilliant news. Finally, he’s binned her.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Dunno. Must have been before he went to LA. I thought she’d gone with him, but she hadn’t. These are photographs of her in London.’

  He shows me said photos. She has on a hat and massive sunglasses. To be honest, it could be anyone, really. It’s her customary white attire and plunging neckline that confirm her identity. Only Scarlett Vincent could stand out like a sore thumb while feigning the desire to remain anonymous.

  ‘No wonder he’s been like a bear with a sore head since he got back,’ Lucas adds.

  He’s back? Yet still no word from him.

  ‘If it’s online, it’s probably in the papers too and he hates nothing more than that.’ Lucas closes his phone and sticks it in his pocket, still grinning. ‘Or at least he pretends that he does.’

  ‘Have you had chance to talk to him about it?’

  ‘Nah.’ Lucas shakes his head. ‘He’s back on set now. Out first thing in the morning, back late at night.’

  ‘Oh, Lucas.’

  ‘It’s cool though,’ he says. ‘I can live with that. At least she’s gone.’

  ‘Don’t you want him to be happy too?’

  He reflects for a moment. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. But not with someone h
alf his age who has an aversion to clothing.’

  I have to laugh at that. ‘You are funny.’

  ‘No, I’m weird,’ Lucas says. ‘You only think I’m funny because you’re weird too.’

  ‘Well, it’s nice that we can be weirdos together.’ He still doesn’t know, as far as I’m aware, that I’ve slept with his father. I feel terrible keeping it from him, but it was an aberration and I don’t know how I’d deal with the fallout if he ever did find out. He’d be furious, I’m sure, and I couldn’t bear it if he cut me out of his life again. I can live without Shelby Dacre – I’m sure I can – but I’ve grown very attached to his son.

  It still saddens me that they can’t rebuild their relationship, but perhaps now that Scarlett is out of his life, he’ll have more time for Lucas. I can only hope. I have my fingers and everything else crossed that he doesn’t take up with another younger model straight away. Only for Lucas, you understand. Otherwise, it’s nothing to do with me.

  ‘What have we got to do today?’ Lucas asks.

  ‘Chores this morning, then this afternoon we can sweep out the barn and fill it with fresh hay.’

  The students love these days best of all as they get to do straw-surfing, their favourite pastime. Essentially, they spend hours messing about and diving into the fresh hay. It’s always so great to hear everyone playing and laughing together. I’ve been known to join in a time or two myself.

  ‘Cool,’ Lucas says. ‘I’ll get started.’

  ‘You don’t want a drink first?’

  ‘Nah. I’m good to go.’ And he positively strides across the yard, his usual lazy lope abandoned.

  Bev comes to my side as I’m watching him go. ‘Lucas looks remarkably chipper this morning.’

  ‘Shelby has dumped Scarlett Vincent,’ I report. ‘Or so he tells me.’

  ‘Has he now?’ She taps into her phone. ‘I’m behind the times.’ Bev finds the story and scans it. I resist the urge to read it again over her shoulder. ‘Hmm. Means he’s on the market again.’

  ‘I hope it means that he’s going to make Lucas his main priority. Surely anyone can see that the boy blossoms with a bit of fuss and attention?’