by Rebecca Shaw
“Of course. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. You come to live with me, and you’ll want for nothing. Trips abroad, clothes, money to spend. I’ll buy a flat for you near college. I’m not having you in student accommodation.”
“Oh!”
Her mother leaned across and put a gentle hand on her knee. “You see, you’ve turned out just as I would have wished. You need to lose a bit of weight, say, perhaps a stone, well, half a stone maybe, and then …” She bunched her fingers and kissed them. “With the kind of clothes I can afford for you, you’ll be stunning. More tea, Katrina?”
“Yes, please.” She held out her cup. Noticed the expensive bracelet and ring her mother wore, the long, beautifully lacquered nails, the impeccable cuff of her white shirt and thought about Mia’s neatly filed short nails, and the sweetness of her hands and the healing they seemed to bring when they touched her. “When I’ve drunk this I must be going.”
“But we haven’t talked.”
“What is there to say?”
“You could tell me what Gerry was like as a father. What Mia’s like. How you enjoyed Christmas.”
Kate, shocked by her use of the word “enjoyed” in connection with her first Christmas after her dad’s death, snarled, “Enjoyed Christmas? How could we enjoy it? We’d just lost Dad. It was vile. Absolutely vile. Both of us hated it, but it was better than staying at home, just the two of us without him. Don’t you understand anything at all?” She sprang to her feet, angry with her mother and with herself, and bitterly disappointed. “I’m sorry for shouting, but this, all this that you’re offering me. I can’t help but ask why? After all these years. Why? Why bother?”
Her mother got to her feet to emphasize her point. “Because I thought I should when you’d lost your father. It made you an orphan and it didn’t seem right. Not when I knew about you, saw in the paper you were still living in the same house. I had to do something. I didn’t know how you would be placed, and when I did, I knew something had to be done about it. You can’t live in that dreadful house. You needed rescuing.”
“Rescuing? From what? A stepmother who loves me? A home that’s mine? Where I’m comfortable and happy? Is that what I need rescuing from? Believe me, I don’t.” Kate gathered her bag and coat, looked at the carrier bags holding the clothes she was expected to take with her and decided not to take them. “I’ll be in touch.”
“No, Katrina, no. Don’t go like this. It’s not fair.”
“Not fair?”
“To me. I’ve done my best.” This time the lace handkerchief did come out.
“And another thing: I’m called Kate, not Katrina; I hate it. Thank you for the tea. Do you want me to have the clothes after the way I’ve behaved? I expect you’ll be able to take them back to the shop if you don’t.”
Her mother sat down on the sofa, and looked small and beaten. In a defeated kind of voice she said, “Take them; you may as well as they were bought for you.”
Kate hesitated and decided it would be just too churlish to refuse, and they were all that she longed for but couldn’t afford. At least her mother got that right. “Thank you, then. Thank you very much. I will. Sorry for losing my temper, but I couldn’t help it.”
Her mother looked up, eyes glowing, not a tear in sight, but a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Thank you, Katrin—Kate. Thank you. I don’t mean to be thoughtless. It’s just that I never have anyone else’s feelings to consider, so it’s hard for me. But I’m a quick learner. Forgiven?”
“Forgiven.”
She went with Kate to the car and helped her put the bags on the backseat. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Kate. I didn’t mean to. Will you come again?”
“Of course. Perhaps we could go out for a meal, my treat?”
“That would be lovely. Next weekend?”
“I’m working next weekend, so we’ll make it a fortnight.”
“I’ll pop my diet sheet in the post in the meantime. All right?” Her mother moved as though to kiss her goodbye, but Kate aborted that idea by getting into the car.
“I’ll ring and we’ll make arrangements. Thank you for tea and the clothes, and I’m sorry if I’ve been rude.”
Before her mother could reply Kate pulled away and drove home, churning with conflicting emotions which crisscrossed her mind so rapidly that each was only half formed before another took its place.
KATE threw herself into her work to avoid having to sort out her feelings about her mother. The new clothes she’d flung on hangers and left in the wardrobe, not able to bear to wear them
It was Dan who saved her sanity one night when he got a call to a difficult lambing at Tad Porter’s just as he was about to leave for home. “How about coming with me, Kate? Fancy it? Seen a lambing before?”
“No, I haven’t. Are you sure? I’d love to.”
“Of course.”
He courteously opened the passenger door for her, stored her boots along with his in his giant plastic washing-up bowl and drove off at his usual hell-for-leather pace. They’d driven right out of the town before he spoke. “Take your mind off things.”
Kate continued looking glumly out of the window.
“Is she that bad, this mother of yours? Or isn’t that the problem?”
“Between you and me?”
Dan nodded. They’d turned off the Magnum Percy road onto the lane which ended at Tad Porter’s. He pulled in to allow a car to pass him on the steep narrow road and then replied, “You don’t like her, do you?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like her; we’re just not the same kind of people, and she is trying to buy me. It’s as if I’m being auctioned. Except she’s the only one bidding. I’ll do the gate.”
Dan negotiated the turn into Tad Porter’s, and after Kate had closed the gate behind him, she got back in, saying “Tries to buy me, you know, with clothes and money and things.”
“Ah!”
“But I know why she left me and ran away.”
“You do?”
“She has no feelings whatsoever. Except for herself and what she wants.”
“Ah!” Dan braked.
“I’ll get my boots.”
Despite the cold, Dan stripped down to a short-sleeved shirt and boxer shorts, then he put on his parturition gown, which finished just above his waist, then his waterproof trousers, tied the gown firmly to his lower ribs with a piece of twine kept specially for the purpose and tucked the legs of the trousers into his steel-capped boots.
As Kate put on her boots, Connie Porter came out of the house, wrapped in an enormous tartan blanket carrying a bucket of water and a bar of soap. “Good evening, Dan.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Porter. You know Kate, don’t you?”
“No, but how do you do? I’m Connie to everyone but you.”
“Connie it is, then.”
“Tad won’t be his usual chatty self. He’s been up three nights in succession. The lambs are coming thick and fast. Best year we’ve had since I don’t know when; that many twins you wouldn’t believe. You can wash up in the outside lavvy when you’ve done. I’ve put new soap and clean towels in there, and come in afterward and I’ll find something for you to eat. Tad’s in the lambing shed, in the corner of the first field through the gate. Right problem he’s got.”
Dan led the way across the field, guided by the lights of the lambing shed, with Kate close behind carrying the bucket, accustoming her eyes to the intense dark of the night. The air seemed filled with the sound of calling lambs and their mothers’ answering bleats. Far away down the slope were the scattered twinkling lights of Magnum Percy, where people were cozy by their fires, but Kate wouldn’t have swapped places for anything, even though her cheeks were already numb with cold.
Tad Porter greeted them at the opening of his lambing shed. In the scant light afforded by the lamps hanging at strategic points, Kate saw that the shed was packed full of sheep and bleating lambs: some penned off, others free to wander about knee deep in straw. Closest
to her were twin lambs feeding from their patient mother, long tails waggling briskly as the warm milk gushed down their throats. Here and there lambs were curled asleep, keeping close to their mothers’ warm, comforting bodies. She couldn’t help but let out a long “Aw.”
Dan grinned. “Great, eh? Evening, Tad. Which one’s the problem?”
“This ewe here.” He went to stand by a pen which contained only one ewe with no lamb with her. “I’ve tried to sort her out, but them’s that entangled. Has twins ev’ry year, she does. They’re allus right little goers.”
Dan washed his hands and arms in the bucket of icy water Kate had carried for him, then he pushed aside Tad’s makeshift bed piled high with blankets, climbed over the partition and invited Kate with a jerk of his head to do the same. Despite the shelter of the huge expanse of corrugated-iron roofing and sides protecting the ewes and lambs from the chill, Kate found the icy cold almost intolerable. When she remembered how little money farmers were getting now for lambs at market, she wondered at their tenacity in tolerating such inhuman working conditions.
Dan was on his knees beside the ewe, feeling inside her. “Hold her head for me, Kate.” He concentrated on the job, muttering from time to time. “There’s another head.”
“That’s two heads.”
“Another pair of back legs. Like you said, Tad, what a tangle.”
Kate felt compelled to address the ewe. “There, there, you let Dan give you a hand. Don’t worry, he’ll soon get you sorted.” Then she felt embarrassed and ridiculous.
Dan gave her a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Tad! There’s two in here for sure, like you said, all entangled. I think the first to come out has something wrong with it; it won’t come out at all. I’m going to turn it round and bring it out back end first.”
“Do yer best. That’s what yer here for.” He leaned his lean length against a supporting post, pulled a thick sack more closely round his shoulders and lit up his pipe, preparing for a long wait. “I’ve had fifteen born today so far. One’s in t’oven cos it’s a poor doer, but Connie’ll bring it round.”
Dan, kneeling in the straw struggling to make sense of the lambs, with two thirds of his powerful forearm inside the ewe, suddenly said, “Ah! Here we go. Number one.” Out slid a tiny lamb, wet and messy and lifeless, with both its front legs seriously crippled. He broke its cord with a quick nip of his thumb and forefinger and, laying it to one side, went back to dealing with the second lamb. Kate kept her eyes from the dead lamb. She couldn’t bear to look at it. What should have been a beautiful moment had turned very sour.
The second lamb came the correct way round, its little nose and forefeet arriving first, and with relief Kate saw this one was perfect, but it didn’t breathe immediately.
“Clear its mouth and nose and then rub it, Kate, rub it with that old cloth. Go on. Vigorously. Go on. Do it! Hard! Harder!”
Kate was stunned to find herself with the lamb’s life in her hands. In a daze she heard Dan say, “Hard, harder than that; it won’t break.” So she did as he said and rubbed its chest so vigorously that the lamb was actually moving up and down in the straw with every rub. Just as she was about to admit defeat it took a breath, gave a half-strangled bleat and began breathing regularly. Kate could have cried with relief.
“Good girl! Well done …”
Kate kept rubbing the lamb in case it decided to stop its fight for life. She was in such a panic that any thought of market prices and whether it was worth it had flown from her mind and been replaced by a desperate desire for the tiny thing to live. It just had to! Her first lamb. Her very, very first. This was brilliant.
She wished she could pick it up and hug it, mess and all. It was just so … so … wonderful. That was the word. Wonderful. Kate burst into tears.
Dan gave his attention to the health of the ewe. Feeling round inside her he said, “That’s it, everything all right in there. One good one at least. No point in trying to revive the other, Tad.”
“Ah, well, it ’appens. Yer learn to be philosophical in this game. Ewe’s all right, is she?”
“All clear. I’ll give her an injection to boost her a bit. She’s had a hard time of it.”
Tad observed, “She’s been struggling to deliver for some time, and I tried to help but it was no good.”
“Kate, my bag, please.” Dan spoke sharply because he wanted her to stop crying. When she didn’t react, he added loudly, “Now.”
Kate gulped down her tears and went to get the bag for Dan, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Here you are.” To comfort herself, she knelt down in the straw to stroke the little lamb and to her surprise found that beneath the soft wool its head was hard and almost rocklike, when she’d always imagined lambs’ heads would be soft and woolly.
The ewe, having got rid of her burden, began to take an interest in her lamb and before they left the shed it was trying to get up on its wobbly legs. Kate looked back at the lamb she’d helped to revive before she left the shed and loved it. The sight of its utter sweetness, the absolute beauty of it, was just mind-blowing.
She and Dan struggled across the dark field by the light of Dan’s torch and eventually found the outside lavvy. “You wash up first, Kate.” The water was ice-cold, but the coal tar soap smelled good, and rubbing herself with the hard, rough towel line-dried in the fresh air put life back into her.
As she watched Dan wash his arms and hands, Kate said, “I’m so sorry, Dan. I didn’t know I’d cry.”
“That’s life, as they say. We can’t win every time, Kate. Only most of the time, and it’s something you never quite get used to, losing an animal. I’ll get my clothes on and wash this lot off, then we’ll go in.”
When he was dressed, Dan called, “Come on, then, let’s see what Connie has for us.”
“They all look so sweet. The two of them. I did it, though, for the second one, didn’t I? I made it breathe.”
Dan took her arm, delighted by her pleasure in her triumph. “You did indeed, but like Tad said, we’ve to be philosophical about the failures. Go in. Boots off first. Connie! There were twins, but the first one was a no go, I’m afraid.”
“That’s life. Sit yourselves down. Lamb casserole. OK?”
Kate’s stomach heaved. The very thought: lamb casserole. How could they? Lamb casserole! Those dear little lambs, the one she’d helped to revive! How could they?
Dan saw her horror and for her sake tried to cover the moment by saying, “Smells good, Connie. Is Tad coming in for some?”
“He’ll be in.”
“You’re more than generous. Hadn’t expected a meal, had we, Kate?” Dan nudged her sharply.
“No, we hadn’t. It’s very kind, very kind.” Somewhat painfully she added, “I’m really hungry.”
The casserole was brought out of the oven as soon as they’d seated themselves at Connie’s big pine table. With a clean sack for an oven cloth she carefully placed it on a big hand-woven mat in the middle of the table. On the top of the casserole was a thick layer of thinly sliced wonderfully crisped potatoes, browned and delicious-looking to anyone with even half an appetite, but to someone out in the fields all day and night earning their livelihood it would look like something from paradise. As Connie dug her huge serving spoon into the dish, the rich smell of the thick, shining, brown, herby gravy as it dripped down reached Kate’s nostrils, and hunger overcame her squeamishness. By the time her plate was in front of her, full to the very edge with meat and gravy and glorious vegetables, Kate couldn’t wait to pick up her knife and fork. There was a large glass of foaming homemade beer to accompany it, and the two complemented each other superbly.
“A feast fit for a king,” Dan mumbled through his first mouthful of food.
Connie smiled, well satisfied. “Well, when my Tad’s been out there all day he needs some packing, believe me.”
After the meal, Connie took the lamb from the warming oven and asked Kate if she’d like to feed it, if they had tim
e. Dan agreed they had; the warmth of the fire and the satisfaction of the huge meal he’d consumed made him reluctant to leave, and he was glad of an excuse to enjoy the warmth a while longer.
Kate knelt on the hearthrug and took the bottle from Connie. The frail lamb took a deal of encouragement to persuade it to begin feeding. When it did, it worked hard, but quickly became exhausted and could only finish half the bottle.
“Never mind, that’s better than he’s been doing. You’re a good lass. You’ve a way with animals.”
“How often will you have to feed him?”
“Every two hours night and day till he shapes up.” Connie hitched up the tartan blanket round her shoulders.
Dan stood up. “We’ll be off, then. Thanks for the meal, Connie, much appreciated. Ready, Kate?”
“Every two hours! How do you manage without sleep?”
“Catch up when the lambing season’s done. Same every year. Goodnight and thanks.”
Dan snatched up his bag and headed for the door. He glanced round at the spartan room—the cold stone floor, the ancient oak settle by the fire, the huge old cooking range, the morbidly challenging religious picture over the mantelpiece, the old, old comfortable chairs—and brooded gratefully on the warm hospitality they’d received. “Thanks again, Connie. You’re a remarkable cook. Might be seeing you again soon.”
“More than likely.” Connie followed them out and went into the outside lavvy. They heard the catch snap shut.
Kate whispered, “Have they no inside toilet, then?”
“I don’t expect so.”
“They are so poor and yet so generous.”
“Upland farming is always difficult even in the best of times. OK?”
He put the Land Rover in gear, released the brake and set off to return to Barleybridge. “Care for a drink, Kate?”
“Might as well, if you’ve time. I’d like that.”
They settled themselves in a quiet corner of the Askew Arms. The main bar and the restaurant where Dan had had that awkward lunch with Lord Askew were busy, but they chose to sit in the smaller, relatively quiet bar.
“I think I’ll go to the ladies’ room and tidy up. Coming straight from a lambing, I must look a mess.”
