The Farm Beneath the Water

by Helen Peters

  “Don’t ask,” said Lottie. “It’s been a bad day.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m sorry. Are you coming in?”

  Hannah hesitated for a second. She would have loved to go in, but Lottie and her mum didn’t get much time together.

  “Oh, thanks, but I’d better go.”

  “All right,” said Vanessa. “Well, give my love to everybody.”

  As Hannah walked away up Elm Lane, she could hear Vanessa saying, “Now, darling, I’ve bought loads of treats, so come inside and tell me all about your dreadful day.”

  Hannah dragged her boots along the ground. Imagine having somebody at home, she thought, who asked about your day and was interested in what you had to say.

  At the top of Elm Lane, Hannah crossed the road on to the track that led to Clayhill Farm. She passed the disintegrating wooden gate that sagged permanently open and tried to push Miranda’s smug face out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the crisp fresh air that rose from the fields of her home.

  The high arch of sky above the farm was a perfect pale blue. The farm was still in its summer clothes, with lush grass in the meadows and green leaves on the trees. It was only if you studied the leaves close up that the odd fleck of brown or gold was visible: a tiny reminder that autumn was on its way.

  As she approached the farmyard, Jo and Sam came racing up the track towards her, followed by Jo’s cocker spaniel puppy, Rags, wagging her feathery tail. Their school finished earlier than the community college and they had already changed into jeans and T-shirts.

  “We saw you from the window,” said Jo. “There’s a surprise in the house. Come and see.”

  Sam grabbed Hannah’s arm. Hannah pulled it away. “You’re covered in mud. What have you been doing?”

  In her soil-coated hand, Jo held a blue notebook with Bean Arkealogicle Society written on the cover. She and Sam were the sole members of the Society of Bean, a secret club whose activities seemed mainly to consist of calling each other bean names and drawing cartoons of various bean characters for their monthly magazine.

  “We were excavating,” Jo said. “We found a Roman coin. Do you want to see it?”

  Two years ago, an exploratory dig by the local archaeological society had revealed medieval pottery in South Meadow. The Beans had been fascinated by the dig, and since Sam had been given a metal detector for his birthday, they had spent a lot of time searching for treasure. Now Sam produced a muddy scrap of metal from his pocket.

  Hannah glanced at it. “Looks like a squashed bit of tin to me.”

  “Who knows?” said Jo. “It might be a Roman coin. We need to give it a professional clean and analyse it scientifically.”

  “Come and see our surprise,” said Sam, pulling Hannah into the yard.

  In her knee-high wellington boots, Hannah trudged through the muddy puddles and the chicken dung. Pigs snuffled and grunted in their sties behind the yard. The cockerel perched on the stable door threw back his head and gave an ear-splitting call.

  An unfamiliar red hatchback was parked outside the cow stalls. Was someone visiting?

  At the edge of the yard, Jasper, Jo’s enormous pet sheep, munched a clump of grass. His duck friend, Lucy, was nestled into his broad woolly back. Jasper looked up as the children approached and, with Lucy swaying gently on his back, he followed Jo to the garden gate, where he busied himself with another clump of grass while Jo put Rags in her kennel.

  Hannah dumped her school bag on the rusty chest freezer in the scullery, then kicked off her wellies and added them to the heap already cluttering the concrete floor.

  “Now, you have to be really quiet,” whispered Jo. “Follow us and don’t say a word.”

  “What is this surprise, anyway?”

  Jo gave her a stern look. “Don’t be so impatient.”

  She opened the kitchen door and they crept across the tiles. Hannah heard a murmur of voices from the dining room. She started to ask Jo who was in the house, but Jo put a finger to her lips and pointed to the keyhole.

  Hannah bent down and peeped through. Her mouth fell open.

  Dad was sitting at the dining table with his back to her. He wore his best jacket, which was exactly the same as his everyday one except it didn’t have holes at the elbows and all the buttons were still attached. The change of jacket was unusual enough. But that wasn’t what made Hannah freeze at the keyhole, speechless with amazement.

  Sitting at the other side of the table was a fairly young, very pretty woman with long dark wavy hair. She wore jeans and a pink cardigan and she was leaning towards Dad, talking animatedly. As Hannah watched, open-mouthed, the woman laid her hand on Dad’s arm.

  Who was she? And what was she doing, touching Dad like that?

  The woman said something and Dad threw back his head and laughed. Hannah’s insides twisted.

  Jo reached for the doorknob. Hannah hardly had time to straighten up and adjust her face before Jo threw the door open.

  Dad stopped laughing abruptly and turned round. The woman looked up and smiled at the children. A cup of tea stood on the table in front of her. Hannah stared at it. Surely Dad hadn’t made it? Dad had never made a cup of tea in his life. He never even opened a kitchen cupboard. How had he found the teabags?

  Had she made the tea? Had she been poking about in their cupboards?

  “Oh, hello,” said Dad. “Er, Sophie, these are my children.” He gestured to them. “Jo, Sam, Hannah. Er, this is Sophie.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” said Sophie.

  “Hello,” said Hannah coldly.

  “Can we have a milkshake?” Sam asked Hannah.

  “Yes, come on, I’ll make it.”

  As Hannah closed the door, Sophie said something she couldn’t quite catch and Dad laughed again. Rage stabbed at Hannah.

  “Did you like the surprise?” asked Jo.

  Hannah opened a cupboard door and fished out the milkshake powder.

  “We’re spying on her,” said Sam. “Who do you think she is?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hannah. “Maybe she wants to keep a horse here.”

  The Beans seemed satisfied with this explanation. But, Hannah thought, as she went to fetch the milk from the larder, if this Sophie person wanted to keep her horse at the farm, Dad would be showing her the stables. He never invited people into the house.

  Martha burst into the hall from the dining room just as Hannah emerged from the larder. She followed Hannah back to the kitchen.

  “Have you seen that woman? Has Dad gone and joined a dating agency or something?”

  “Shh, he’ll hear.”

  “What’s a dating agency?” asked Sam.

  “I just walked in,” said Martha, “and he was saying, ‘They recommended you very highly,’ and she said, ‘Well, I’m delighted to have been asked. I’m very excited about it.’”

  Hannah felt as though someone was tying her stomach into knots.

  “Are they going to get married?” asked Jo, her eyes huge. “Are we going to get a stepmother?”

  “No way will she marry him,” said Martha. “She’s really pretty. And young.”

  “How was your day, Martha?” asked Hannah, to change the subject.

  Martha gave her a withering look. “Great, thanks. Really good. I just love it when my entire family turns up at school with the sole aim of totally shaming me.”

  “Are they really going to get married?” asked Jo.

  “No,” said Hannah.

  “She looked nice,” said Sam.

  Hannah handed the Beans their milkshakes. “There you go. Take those upstairs.”

  “Yum, thanks.” They took the drinks and left.

  Without looking at each other, Hannah and Martha both edged closer to the dining-room door.

  “Another cup of tea?” Dad was saying.

  “No, thanks, that was perfect.”

  “Do you want to come and see the loft now?”

  The loft?

  “Oh, yes, please,�
� said Sophie. “Then I can think about where to put my stuff.”

  Martha gasped, her face a picture of outrage.

  Why on earth, thought Hannah, would this woman be putting her stuff in their loft? The loft was where Mum had stored all their baby things, and her own things from before she got married. Why would Dad let a strange woman anywhere near their loft?

  Chairs scraped across the tiles. The door into the hall opened. Something licked Hannah’s hand and she spun round.

  “Jasper! You know you’re not allowed in the kitchen. Come on.”

  “Ugh!” shrieked Martha. “Get that disgusting thing out of here!”

  Hannah gave him a shove, but Jasper was like a solid wall.

  “Ugh, it’s dribbling on the floor!” screeched Martha.

  “Well, you help, then.”

  “Are you mad? No way am I touching that.”

  Hannah gave up. “There’s no point trying to push him. The only way to move him is with food.” She looked around the kitchen. “Pass me a couple of those apples.”

  “Get them yourself.”

  With a murderous look at her sister, Hannah crossed the kitchen and took two apples from the basket of windfalls that Sam had brought in from the orchard yesterday. They weren’t really ripe yet, but Jasper wouldn’t mind.

  She held an apple out in front of her.

  “Come on, Jasper. Good boy, come on.”

  Jasper craned his neck towards the apple and Hannah moved slowly backwards, through the kitchen and scullery and out of the back door.

  The shiny red hatchback squatted smugly in the yard. Their yard. With the back window left casually open. As though she belonged here. What a cheek.

  Martha followed Hannah into the scullery and took her school bag from its place on the freezer.

  “Guess that’s her car, then,” she said.

  “Guess so,” said Hannah. She led Jasper into the yard and fed him the apple.

  Martha stepped gingerly across the yard, dodging the chicken dung and giving Jasper a wide berth. She peered through the open car window.

  “She’s got food from that posh place in Massingham. Snob.”

  Suddenly her eyes widened. Then they narrowed thoughtfully. She turned and looked at Jasper. Chunks of saliva-coated apple fell from his mouth and dropped to the ground. Martha shuddered. But then she seemed to brace herself.

  “Give me that other apple,” she said to Hannah.

  “Why?” asked Hannah, handing it to Martha.

  “Come on, Jasper,” said Martha, holding out the apple. “Come over here.”

  “What are you … oh,” said Hannah, suddenly understanding.

  Martha gave her a warning look. “If you say one word…”

  Hannah widened her eyes in mock innocence. “One word about what?”

  Their eyes met briefly. Then Hannah turned and walked indoors. As she shut the scullery door behind her, she heard Martha say, in an encouraging tone quite unlike her usual voice, “Here, Jasper. Here, boy. Good boy. That’s right, come on. Lots of yummy treats here.”

  * * *

  Two minutes later, sitting at the desk in her bedroom, her history book open in front of her, Hannah heard footsteps descending the loft ladder. Then Sophie’s voice. “This is so exciting. It looks absolutely ideal.”

  Hannah felt sick. This woman wasn’t really going to move her things into their house, was she?

  No. That would be crazy. They’d only just met.

  Unless … unless they hadn’t only just met.

  Maybe they’d known each other for ages. Maybe Dad just hadn’t bothered to introduce her to his family.

  “Is that all you’d like to see?” asked Dad. “You don’t want to look around a bit more?”

  “No, that’s fine, thanks. It’ll be perfect.”

  “Well, I’m very grateful. This could be exactly what we need.”

  Fury rose inside Hannah. What did he think they needed that she could possibly provide?

  “Well, I can’t promise anything,” said Sophie, “but it all looks good. I’ll come and…”

  But her words were drowned out by the blare of an alarm.

  “That sounds like my car,” said Sophie.

  Hannah’s stomach lurched. She heard Martha’s bedroom door open and Dad stride in. Martha’s was the only bedroom that overlooked the farmyard.

  “That blasted sheep!” shouted Dad.

  He ran out of Martha’s room and down the back stairs, Sophie following him.

  With what she hoped was the face of a mildly curious onlooker, Hannah walked to the doorway of Martha’s room. Jo and Sam had their heads out of the window, laughing. Martha stood behind them, trying to look as though she wasn’t interested.

  “He is so clever,” said Jo. “He can sense food from miles away.”

  Hannah moved to the window and looked out into the yard. Jasper had his head through the open back window of Sophie’s car and was gobbling the contents of the shopping bag.

  As they watched, Dad hurtled into the yard, grabbed Jasper round the neck and yanked him away from the car. Jasper held firm for as long as he could and, when he was eventually dragged away, he had half a paper bag hanging out of his mouth.

  “You bad sheep!” growled Dad.

  Sophie was laughing and pressing buttons on her key ring. The alarm stopped.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Dad. “It’s my daughter’s sheep. Complete pest.”

  “Hey!” yelled Jo, leaning so far out of the window that Hannah grabbed the back of her shirt in case she toppled. “Don’t be rude about Jasper. He understands, you know!”

  Dad ignored her, but Sophie smiled up at the window and waved. “It’s no problem at all,” she said to Dad. “My fault for leaving the car window open. I thought it would be crime-free up here. I hadn’t reckoned on the animals.”

  “Nothing valuable in there, I hope?”

  “No, no, just a few groceries. I’m impressed with his appetite, though. A loaf of bread, a bunch of bananas, half a dozen eggs and a box of chocolate brownies.”

  “That’s nothing for Jasper,” said Jo proudly to her siblings. “To him, that’s just a little snack.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Dad. “Let me reimburse you.”

  But Sophie waved his offer away. She was petting Jasper’s huge woolly head. “Honestly, it’s no problem at all. He’s a lovely sheep. It was a pleasure to feed him.” She reached over and touched Dad’s arm. “It was great to see the farm and the house. Thanks so much for inviting me. I’ll give you a ring.”

  She got into the car and started the engine.

  Martha, her face twisted with fury, pushed past the others and pulled the window shut.

  “Get out of my room, losers.”

  “She seems quite nice, doesn’t she, French Bean?” said Sam, as he and Jo ambled on to the landing. “For a Russian spy.”

  “Hmm,” said Jo thoughtfully. Hannah noticed that they now carried yellow notebooks with “Bean Spy Club” written on the front. “They always pretend to be nice, Broad Bean. That’s what spies do. But you can never trust them. Not for a second.”

  “We wrote down every word she said,” Sam told Hannah. “And it was very suspicious.”

  Hannah said nothing. It was very suspicious. She only wished she could believe that Sophie was a Russian spy. That would be so much less disturbing than what she feared.

  As the car drew up at the bus stop on Monday morning, Hannah spotted Lottie walking through the school gates. She ran to catch up with her.

  “Oh, hi,” said Lottie, as Hannah tapped her on the shoulder. “Are you nervous?”

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I haven’t got a hope.”

  “You never know. I mean, you did get to say some of your lines. She might have been able to tell how good you are. Anything’s possible.”

  “No, it’ll definitely be Miranda. Bet you a million pounds.”

  And yet Hannah still felt butterflies in her stomach as th
ey approached the school building. Even though she knew she had no chance of getting the part, a tiny flicker of hope still burned inside her.

  It was ridiculous, of course, but Lottie was right. Anything was possible.

  They walked up the wide front steps and through the glass doors into the foyer, its shiny wooden floor pockmarked by the forbidden heels of bygone decades.

  Beyond the glass-fronted trophy cabinet and the wooden boards bearing the gold-lettered names of previous Head Boys and Girls, four house notice boards hung on the pale-blue walls. Each house was named after a famous writer who had lived in Sussex and each had a different house colour. Conan Doyle’s board was green, Milne’s was yellow, Kipling’s was red and Woolf’s was blue.

  Groups of people milled around the foyer but, judging by the low-key atmosphere, the cast lists hadn’t gone up yet. Hannah and Lottie walked over to the Woolf House board. It was bare except for the tatty picture of Virginia Woolf that had been there forever and a team sheet for an upcoming football match.

  “Hey, Roberts,” said a voice behind Hannah.

  It was Jack, messy-haired and muddy-kneed, wearing the school’s red football strip.

  “If you’re hoping to get into the team,” he said, “you’re going to have to start coming to training.”

  “Oh, ha ha.”

  “Or was it the cast list you wanted? Fingers crossed your piglet gets the part, eh? I’ve got high hopes for it after that audition. It’ll have to work on its bladder control, obviously, but it’ll look great in the costume. You know, with me as Romeo. I’ve never had a pig as a sidekick.”

  “Yes, you have,” said Lottie. “You hung around with Danny Carr all last year.”

  Jack tutted and shook his head sadly. “That’s not very nice.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Hannah. “How could you compare that sweet little piglet with Danny Carr?”

  Lottie ignored them both. “Anyway,” she said to Jack, “you didn’t even audition.”

  “A man of my talent doesn’t need to audition. I’m far too busy for that sort of thing.”

  Lottie gave a scornful laugh. “Sure you are.”

  “What? I am. Do you know how many channels there are on my telly? It’s a full-time job.”