by G. R. Gemin
I touched her arm.
“D’you realise I’m in every night?” she said. “Three hundred and sixty-five days a year? Every night!”
I’d never thought about it before. It was true.
“You read in the papers about women that leave their young children home alone…” She poked her chest. “I know why they do it, but I haven’t and I wouldn’t.”
“But Mam,” I said. “We could go to Gran’s if you fancied a bingo night.”
“Yeah, ’specially now you’ve got the cow to visit.” She was looking at me with tears in her eyes. “That cow gets more…”
I couldn’t help thinking she was jealous of Jane. Jealous of a cow. She turned and walked into the kitchen, then she spun around. “Tomorrow you’re both in school all day. Understood?”
I nodded.
“Promise me now.”
“Promise, Mam,” me and Darren said.
“And any bright ideas you get, like opening a zoo, you ask me first. Right?”
“Right.”
She went into the kitchen.
“Mam,” said Darren. “If there was a spare cow going…”
“NO!”
I lay in bed that night thinking about everything that had happened. I heard a moo in the distance. Lovely it was, as if I was in the countryside, in the peace and quiet, not on the noisy, ugly Mawr estate. Then another moo came from a different direction. I imagined the cows were talking.
“It’s good here, isn’t it?”
“Aye, better than that wet and windy field.”
“Oh aye, miles better.”
I went to sleep and dreamed about cows. Running, they were, escaping. All the cows in all the fields all over the country mooing to each other and saying, “Why should we stay in this field? They’ll take our calves, they’ll take our milk and then they’ll eat us for the trouble.”
“Daft, we are.”
“S’unfair!”
“Yeah, let’s go. All we need is grass, nothing else. C’mon!”
Then they charged off together, strength in numbers, and burst through wooden gates and hedges. The rebel cows were free. Free to keep their milk for their young and free to live until old age.
“GO GIRLS, GO!”
THIRTY
Everyone knew about the cows at school – no surprise after all the kids helping out.
These girls came up to me during break. I didn’t even know who they were. “Going round to Mrs Oleski’s at lunch, to see Rachel.”
Weird – a girl talking to me about a cow, like it was every day that cows were given out to look after. Then some boys came over – Simon Davis and David Moore – they never usually talk to me. “Gemma, my dad wants to know if there’s any chance of a cow?”
“Not at the moment,” I said, as if I was some sort of cow merchant.
Apparently, during lunch the canteen was virtually empty and so was the recreation area. The teachers were roaming around asking where the kids had gone.
There was no sign of Kate, and her mobile phone was switched off, so I went to Gran’s. I’d never seen the back lane of the terrace so full of people. There were kids in and out of the backyards, asking questions and wanting to feed the cows. At Morris’s, the kids stood in a group staring at him as he filled a trough he’d set up for Donna. He’d built a lovely shelter for her too.
“Go’way!” he shouted.
“We just wanna look,” a girl said.
“Looking’s no good,” he replied. “Get her some food!”
The four of them turned and went off like they’d been programmed.
When I got to Gran’s she was stood with the kids packed around her, talking to them like a class teacher. “One at a time now,” she said. “I don’t want her frightened.”
“How much she weigh, d’you reckon?” one boy asked.
“Enough to break your toe if she trod on your foot.”
“She’s not stopped eating.”
“Well, she’s got a lot of stomachs to fill,” said Gran.
“Four!” shouted Darren as he pushed through holding a bin bag. “Look, Gran, fresh grass off the caretaker. Loads more where that came from.”
“Kate came by,” Gran said to me.
“How was she?”
“Oh, she looked white as snow, Gemma. She’s fighting her dad, and I’m worried we’ve played the wrong hand. I mean, a dozen cows and on the Bryn Mawr of all places.”
“Well, they’re here now, Gran, and look, everyone’s into it and they’ll be well cared for. Just think of them sliced up in the butcher’s after Mostyn’s done with ’em.”
“Oh, Gemma!”
“Well, it’s true, Gran.”
She smiled at me and I knew she was back on track.
“I’ll go up to the farm and see her.”
“Good idea. Oh, she left a map for you. It’s indoors.”
I went inside. There was a map on the table – Ordnance Survey. I opened it. It was really big and covered the whole valley. I noticed Kate had drawn circles with little notes where she thought the waterfall might be. She’d done it just for me with all that was going on with her. The map blurred as my eyes teared up. Gran was suddenly beside me. “What’s the map for, Gemma?”
“Nothing important. School.”
“Darren told me about your mam – how angry she was,” said Gran. “I’ll call her later, tell her you’re on an errand for me and I’ll invite her here for dinner. We’ll make peace.”
I gave Gran a hug and dashed out.
Before I went up to the farm I wanted to see Karuna, so I went into Mr Banerjee’s backyard. His family was there – must have been eight or nine of them. Mr Banerjee saw me and smiled.
“I’ll come another time.”
“Come, please,” he said. “We are celebrating.”
Peggy looked lovely. She had a colourful blanket over her and flowers in her hair. “I came to thank your grandson for the flute,” I said a bit nervously. “I should have been round before now, but with all that’s going on…”
“Karuna is not here,” he said. “How is your flute playing?”
“Not much good, to be honest. It’s difficult.”
“But if you keep practising you’ll soon have birds coming to your window to listen.” He turned to his family. “This is Gemma, a friend of Karuna.”
I liked him saying that. A woman smiled at me, Mr Banerjee’s daughter, I reckon. She was stunninglooking. “It is a very generous gift even on a temporary basis.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I’ll take very good care of it.”
She looked confused. “I meant the cow.”
“Oh,” I said.
“My son told me about you,” she said with a smile.
I realised she was Karuna’s mam. My cheeks glowed, giving me away. “How’s Peggy doing?” I asked.
“Fine,” said Mr Banerjee. “She has a good heart and gives me much milk because she is free, like in India.”
“I’m on my way to find Kate. I’ll tell her Peggy is well settled.”
“Don’t forget your flute lesson with Karuna.”
“I won’t.” I felt embarrassed and wanted to get away. “Bye.”
THIRTY ONE
The farmhouse was closed and there was no one in the milking shed. I wondered where Kate could be. On my way back I passed the field where the cows used to graze. The gate was wide open so I stopped and looked in. It was deserted. I was about to go when I noticed something on the ground.
“Kate!” I shouted.
I let my bike fall and ran. Her parents were probably looking for her, and there she was lying in the cows’ field, dead.
Her head snapped up. “What? What’s wrong?”
I stood over her, panting. “Nothing’s wrong, I just thought… Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t get up – just lay there, reminding me of the time I lay in the road.
“Haven’t seen you,” I said. “So I was worried, Gran t
oo.” I was desperate to know what her dad and mam had said when they found the cows had gone.
“Thanks for the map. Going to start looking for that place.”
I wanted her to ask why I was so keen to find the waterfall, but I guess she had bigger stuff to think about.
“Everyone’s got loads of help with the cows,” I said. “Gran’s giving a butter and cheese-making workshop tomorrow morning. She was saying she was doing a swap with her cheese and butter for straw and grass and such … said it reminds her of the old days. Morris says Donna doesn’t give much milk, but he’s not bothered. Just likes having her, I reckon.”
Kate sat up and gazed across the field, empty of cows. I couldn’t wait any more so I sat down beside her. “What did your dad say?”
“He’s called Defra – told them the cows are gone.”
“Who’s Defra?”
“The government department that deals with farming and stuff. You have to tell them when cows are moved, by law.” Kate shook her head. “Stupid.”
“Who? Your dad?”
“No!” she said with angry eyes. “Me! Me! This whole thing was stupid. Taking the cows on to the Mawr sorted nothing out. Nothing. My dad’s fuming. He’d already gone and put a deposit down on that tree shredder he was talking about.”
“So?”
“Think about it! Mostyn’s got his field back, but my dad still owes him. All he had to pay him with was the cows – the cows we’ve got. Mam and Dad can’t believe I did it, and nor can I.” Her head dropped. I was scared she was going to cry. Kate Thomas, the cowgirl, didn’t cry.
A car skidded to a halt, right in front of my bike in the lane. Mr Thomas got out of his truck and walked towards us. “Good fun, is it?”
I got up, but Kate stayed sitting.
“Where are they?”
He was asking me. I was terrified.
“What’s the point?” he said. “What are you going to solve doing this? When I told Mostyn I had no cows to sell him, he thought I was having a laugh. And the chap at Defra told me to call the police, so I said, ‘Well, they haven’t exactly been stolen.’ ‘How d’you mean?’ he says. ‘Kate, my daughter, took them.’ ‘Where to?’ he asks. ‘I don’t know,’ I says. ‘This is very irregular,’ he tells me. Irregular!” His eyes bulged wide. “What you’ve done is insane!”
“You didn’t try, Dad!”
Kate was standing now and pointing at him. “I understood when the cows were taken to slaughter. I felt sad but I knew it was the way. Then foot-an’-mouth came – ‘the plague’, you called it – but it was like you caught it instead of the cows. You gave in to Mostyn…”
“Gave in! Those cows are a liability – it’s nothing to do with Mostyn.”
“You stopped being a farmer, Dad, but I didn’t, and I still haven’t!” Tears were pouring down her face. “Granddad saw this coming.”
“When he was alive the herd was already running at a loss,” said Mr Thomas just as angrily. “That’s what you don’t see.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean you!” she shouted, stabbing a finger at him. “One day he was in the milking shed, talking to Granma about you – they didn’t know I was there. He said you didn’t have the stomach for farming. He called it right, didn’t he? You never had the stomach for it, Dad. But it’s not the cows’ fault, is it? They’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.”
She sucked in her breath and sobbed, then she walked off into the field. I realised the cows were all Kate had and now they were gone.
“Where are the cows?” he asked me again.
I was shaking, not because I was scared – I was fuming. I turned and stared him in the eye. “What cows?”
He went back to his truck, looking angry enough to drive over my bike. I ran into the lane and pulled it out the way.
I watched him drive off. He’d have a job going down every street on the estate trying to find the cows, and no one on the Mawr was about to tell him where they were.
THIRTY TWO
I was late going back, but I got a message from Gran that Mam was on her way to hers for dinner.
It was dark by the time I turned into the alley. I heard a moo and stopped. For a moment I wondered what it was – like I’d forgotten about the cows dotted around the place. I smiled and got off my bike. As I reached Gran’s back gate I saw a glint of silver on the ground.
“Karuna!”
He was lying face down and his hand was gripping the flute. I got down and turned him over. His eye was badly swollen and blood was coming out of his mouth. He smiled. “They didn’t get my flute.”
I heard footsteps and stood up, braced for trouble.
“Gemma?”
“Mam! He’s been beaten up.”
She helped me get Karuna to his feet and we took him into Mr Banerjee’s backyard. His cow was lying on her bed of straw. She glanced at us nervously.
“It’s OK, Peggy,” I said.
Mr Banerjee was usually relaxed and smiling, but when he saw the state of Karuna his face went hard.
“We should call the police,” Mam said.
“No,” said Mr Banerjee. “I call his father and mother first.”
“Well, let’s clean him up,” said Mam. “I wouldn’t want to see my boy in this state.”
She helped take him inside, then went straight to the kitchen like it was our house. Within a few minutes she was cleaning Karuna’s face.
I’d never been inside Mr Banerjee’s home. It was so clean. There was a statue of a boy with a blue face playing the flute, and there were paintings of other people with swords and elephant heads, like they were out of a fairy tale.
“Ow!” Karuna winced with pain.
“No broken bones,” said Mam.
“Who was it, Karuna?” I asked.
“No idea. They came from behind and grabbed my flute.”
He was still holding it tightly. I could see it was scratched and damaged.
“Why do people do this?” said Mr Banerjee. “We are a peace-loving family and would not harm the smallest creature.”
“This is not the sort of welcome we want the Bryn Mawr giving newcomers,” Mam said. “There is no reason for it. It makes me ashamed.”
“We can stop it!” I said. It came out a bit loud. “I’m fed up of it, Mam. We can stop it, if we want.”
“I’m fed up of it too,” she said. “It’s not everyone, just a few that don’t understand what they do, or even why they do it.”
“Your daughter is right,” said Mr Banerjee. “We can stop it, if we want.”
We’d never taken the trouble to get to know Mr Banerjee and yet he’s lived next door to Gran for years. He’s a lovely man, but it’s funny how you can decide you don’t like someone for no reason, and then you change – a bit like me and cows.
Karuna brought the flute to his mouth and blew into it. The sound filled the room. It was so clear and bright. I watched the way his lips rested over the hole and his fingers touched the keys. It was lovely, but I was embarrassed at the same time because I realised I’d been blowing into the wrong hole.
“Sounds OK,” he said with a smile. “We could have that lesson tomorrow.”
I nodded, but didn’t look at Mam.
We made our way to Gran’s next door in silence, then Mam said, “Now I know what the hooting noise was.” I didn’t want to tell her I was blowing in the wrong hole; not that it would have sounded much better if I’d got it right. “Why didn’t you tell me he loaned you a flute?” she asked.
“Thought you might laugh.”
“Who’s laughing? Very nice of him.”
I’d expected a sarky remark, I suppose.
All through dinner Mam was quiet, apart from saying that me and Darren should have told her about what we were doing. Gran was upset by what happened to Karuna. It made her sad after all the nice things that were going on with the cows and everything.
That night, when we went to bed, I came out of the bathroom and stopped on the landing. I could ju
st see Mam’s legs stretched out as she watched TV downstairs. There was a pile of laundry on the settee beside her. She was on her own.
Dad should be with her, I thought, keeping her company.
I felt this flurry of anger rise up in me.
“What you doing?” Darren whispered from his bedroom doorway.
“Nothing.”
“Who d’you reckon beat up him next door then?”
He smirked. I went up to him, trying to control my temper.
“Think it’s funny do you, Darren?”
He shrugged.
“Shall I tell Gran you think it’s funny Karuna got beaten up? Him next door!”
The smirk quickly vanished.
“Maybe I’ll tell her to ban you from going near any of the cows. I reckon she’ll be up for it, an’ all.”
“All right, sorry.”
That was a first for me – Darren apologising. I went into my room and closed the door. I thought of all the times I’d said “them next door”. And all the things Sian had done in front of me, including calling people horrible names, and I’d said nothing. I was no saint.
There was a knock. “What?”
“Gary Tobin nicked your bike.”
I opened the door. Darren backed away. “I didn’t know he was going to do it, Gemma, honest. And when I saw him take it I got scared of what he might do if I grassed on him – nasty, he is.”
I realised he was stuck with the bad of the Mawr just like me, but I saw that he was scared too and my anger melted away. “S’all right,” I said. “Got it back now.”
“You two!” yelled Mam from downstairs. “Go to bed!”
“Yes, Mam,” Darren and me shouted back.
“I’ll try and find out who beat up Karuna,” he whispered.
I nodded and went back into my room.
THIRTY THREE
The last of the three circles Kate had drawn on the map was the furthest from the Bryn Mawr. I was getting tired, as I was already about fifteen miles from home. I began to wonder if Dad had taken us further than I’d thought. For all I knew it was a hundred miles away, or over to England, even.
