by G. R. Gemin
The reporter entered one of the backyards and there was the cow.
“No one would tell me where this cow came from,” he said. “And what’s all the more surprising is that it’s not the only one; I’m told there is a round dairy dozen. Twelve cows dispersed on the Bryn Mawr, and homes found for each one of them. One of these cow-carers was prepared to talk to me, but he didn’t want to appear on camera.”
“I love that cow,” said the carer. Even with his back to the camera I could tell it was Roger. “She asks for nothing, other than grass. And I don’t know what it is, but I just feel calm when I’m with her. Know what I mean?”
“Where’s the cow from?” the reporter asked.
“I can’t say, but I can’t give her back. Not now. We’ve bonded, see.”
“Did you know that a dozen cows have been reported missing from the farm of Nigel Thomas?”
“All I know is that this cow is happy, well fed and giving milk freely. There’s years of life left in her. I mean, where would you prefer to be – alive and well cared for, or hanging up on a butcher’s hook?”
The reporter was standing beside the cow again. “Earlier today I spoke to Ron James, a milkman on the Bryn Mawr.”
“In the last week trade has definitely dropped off,” said the milkman. “Now if it’s because of these cows I’ve heard about, well, ironic isn’t it? I got nothing against cows – I’m a milkman – but they should be on a farm, not in the middle of town.”
The reporter was back on the Mawr Common. “We tried to speak to Nigel Thomas, the owner of the missing cows, but he declined to be interviewed. The mystery of the so-called ‘Bryn Mawr Dozen’ remains unresolved. One thing is for sure, this estate is not the same and this story is not over.”
The news report finished and I felt terrible. Gran, Mam and Darren were grinning, but I had this sinking feeling – I realised it wasn’t a game, it was serious.
“D’you know now who contacted the paper?” Mam asked Gran.
“No. But whoever it was did us a favour, I think.”
“No, they didn’t,” I said.
“Why?” Gran asked.
I took a deep breath. “It was me who phoned the paper.”
“You!”
“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t. It was stupid. I just thought that if more people got to know about the cows it would help somehow. But now they’ve been on the telly it’s gone too far. So we should get them all out in the open, like Morris did.”
“Why?” asked Gran.
“Well, Mr Thomas will have seen the news. He’s not thick. He’ll come and round them up, most like. Our only chance is that when he sees how much everyone loves the cows, maybe he’ll change his mind.”
“Can’t we just move them to a different house every night?” suggested Darren. “They’ll never find ’em.”
“The cows wouldn’t thank us for that, love,” said Gran. “No, your sister’s right. What’s the point of hiding them now?” She sighed. “We should make the first move and get them out.”
“And we should tell Mr Thomas,” I said.
“Yes,” agreed Gran. “They are his.”
“And Defra,” I added.
Gran nodded. “I’ll phone Mr Thomas now.”
“Let me go tell him tonight,” I said. “Be straight with him.”
“We can phone,” said Mam. “It’s late.”
“I want to go up there face-to-face, and I want to see Kate too.”
“Go on then, but I want you straight back.”
“Right,” said Gran. “I’ll do some calling around. Let’s just hope it works.”
THIRTY NINE
When I knocked on the farmhouse door I could hear my heart beating through my open mouth. The door opened and Mr Thomas was staring down at me.
“Brought the cows, have you?”
I waited for him to let me in, but he didn’t.
“Nigel,” I heard Kerry say, behind him.
Mr Thomas pushed open the door. I stepped inside and there was Kerry standing by Kate, who was sitting at the table. The three of them waited for me to speak.
“We’re…” My voice was almost a whisper. “We’re taking all the cows on to the Mawr Common tomorrow morning. We’re not hiding them any more.”
“Not much point after showing them on the telly, is there? Have you told Defra?”
“My gran’s calling them now.”
“This is not the end of it, you know?” said Mr Thomas. “I’m going to prosecute for lost earnings.”
I glanced at Kate, but she was looking down at the table.
“Shall I tell you the irony? And you can tell this to everyone that’s stolen one of my cows,” said Mr Thomas. “Mostyn doesn’t want them any more. Now this saga’s been in the papers and on the telly he doesn’t want them. He wants his money, of course, but not the cows. There’s no other dairy farmer round here, so the quickest way I can pay him back is to take them straight to slaughter. And you all thought you were saving them.”
“It was a crazy thing to do, love,” said Kerry. “It’s only made things worse.”
I could feel my confidence dribbling away. “Well,” I said. “The cows will be on the Common tomorrow morning, waiting.”
“Good. You can help Kate bring ’em all back up here.”
I looked at the small, sad Kate with her head bowed. I wanted to say something, anything, but I just felt like a stupid little girl.
Outside I climbed on to my bike, but as I pushed off my legs had no strength to pedal. All I could think about was what Gran and everyone else on the Mawr would think when I told them that Jane, Donna, and the rest of the Bryn Mawr Dozen were going to slaughter.
I stopped at the top of the hill and gazed down on the twinkling lights of the Mawr estate. It seemed like a toy town, unreal. As I started down the hill I had another idea, which was also probably stupid, but now I was past caring.
I swerved off the hill, and stopped at the entrance to Mostyn’s farm – huge place it was.
I started cycling along the drive, but before I got near the farmhouse a big black car came towards me. The driver was squashed behind the wheel, even though the car was the size of a bus. He brought it to a halt and the window near to me opened with a hiss.
“You lost?” he asked.
“Are you Mr Mostyn?”
“I am.”
He had a big belly and his face was red, like he was about to shout.
“My gran’s got one of your cows.”
His forehead crinkled. “You mean your gran stole one of Nigel Thomas’s cows. They’re not mine.”
“The cow was Kate’s to give.”
“What d’you want?”
I gripped the handlebars, fighting my nerves.
“Why don’t you give us the cows?”
“Huh? They’re not mine! Ask Thomas to give away his cows.”
“He can’t. He needs the money to pay you.”
Mostyn nodded. “That’s right. I’ve got my field back. Now I want my money. And what gives you the idea I’m in a position to give away cows?”
“You’re a big-time farmer. You got money.”
He laughed. His teeth were yellow and horrible. “That it? Flattery?” He jabbed his fat finger at me. “Listen. Thomas was handed down his farm on a plate – I started mine from scratch! So you go back down the Mawr and tell them to give Thomas back his cows, then he can honour his debt – the debt he owes me.”
“Please, Mr Mostyn,” I said. “I told the papers and now I feel really bad. Please save ’em!”
“Kate Thomas was round here asking me the same thing. So I’ll tell you what I told her – I don’t want them now, girly. I want my money.”
I didn’t like him calling me girly. Money, money, money – that’s all he cared about. So for the second time today I lost it.
“It’s all your fault!”
“What?”
“You put Mr Thomas under pressure,” I said, jabbing a finger back at him
. “Kate was only trying to save the cows. She cares, is all. If you were a cow you’d be well dead and eaten by now. My gran needs that cow and so does everyone else. You don’t, you got loads. You don’t live on the Mawr. You don’t know what it’s like. You haven’t got a clue. ‘Miser Mostyn’ they call you – no wonder!”
I turned my bike around and cycled away. Mr Thomas didn’t care, Mostyn just wanted money, and Dad was inside and no help. Useless, the lot.
I screamed all the way down the hill.
FORTY
As soon as I got in they asked me how it went.
“Fine,” I said. “He was angry, of course.”
I didn’t want to tell them Kate’s dad had said he’d take them straight to be killed, ’specially as I saw Gran and Darren looking so hopeful. They told me everyone had agreed taking them on to the Common was a good plan, apart from Roger. I realised that this time tomorrow all the cows might be on their way to the slaughterhouse, and all because of my big mouth.
That night I sat at the top of the stairs and listened to Mam talking on the phone. “Well, she takes after me, Robbie … says it how it is… You should’ve called earlier – she’s in bed now… Scared, are you? It’s strange, Rob, but things are different round here. Everyone says it’s because of the cows. I don’t know. All I can say is that it’s different…”
When she hung up I watched her. She took out a cigarette and put it in her mouth. She picked up her lighter, then she stopped, sighed and pulled the cigarette out. Her head dropped back against the settee.
I went quietly downstairs.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked.
“Thirsty, Mam – really thirsty.” I went into the kitchen. “Want some water?”
“No.”
I filled and emptied a glass a few times, then I took a sip and went to the doorway of the lounge. Mam was staring at nothing. I walked to the settee and sat beside her. My heart was pounding. I thought she might tell me to go back upstairs, but I wanted to be with her. I sipped at the water and Mam didn’t say anything. We both just sat there staring at the TV that was off. I remembered sitting on that settee snuggled up to her. It was so long ago it felt like a dream.
“That was your dad on the phone,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” I said as cool as I could. “What did he want?”
“I think he was a bit shook up by you having a go at him.”
“Just saying how it is,” I said.
Mam looked at me. “Did him good to hear it, ’specially coming from you. I know he’s all grins when we visit and you’d think he was in a holiday camp, but he wants to be out. He ended up inside because he’s gullible, Gemma. People took advantage of him. I know that now.”
I nodded. I wanted to keep her talking.
“Do I look angry, Mam?”
“Angry?”
“Yeah, have I got an angry sort of face?”
Like Sian, I thought.
“No. Not at all. You’ve got a pretty face.”
I felt all hot suddenly. My throat went dry so I took another sip of water.
“What d’you do, Mam? In your job, like?”
“How d’you mean?”
“I just want to know what you do, cos I don’t know.”
“Well, there’s not a lot to say. It’s an electronics factory and I’m at the most boring end – sticking the parts in boxes as they come through.”
“And what do the parts do?”
Mam thought for a moment. “D’you know what?” she said. “I haven’t a clue. I can’t believe it. I’ve been working there a couple of years now and I haven’t a clue!” She shook her head and laughed.
“Why don’t you ask to do something else?”
“Shoving things in boxes is about my level, Gem,” she said. “That’s why I nag you about school and homework, because, I tell you, you don’t want a job like mine when you leave school – rots your brain. There are days when I feel like a robot.”
“What were you doing before?”
“Dole mostly, when I first left school. Then I had a job in the canteen at a car factory where I met your dad. I enjoyed that. I liked spreading the mash over the shepherd’s pie.”
“What happened?”
“You happened.”
“Sorry,” I said.
Mam’s forehead crinkled up. “I didn’t enjoy it that much, Gemma. I was happy to be pregnant.”
“I bet you could do something else, Mam.”
“What’s all this about?”
“Nothing, Mam. Just don’t like the thought of you not liking your job.”
She looked at me funny, like she was trying to suss me out. “Can’t be too choosy round here, Gemma.”
“D’you think it’ll help, Mam – taking the cows on to the Common, I mean?”
“I’ve no idea, love, if I’m honest.”
We sat there for a while, then she chuckled.
“What?”
“Just remembered what you said to your dad… ‘Useless as a teat on a bull’.”
She started laughing, and that got me going. We laughed together and then we listened to the silence.
“C’mon now, love. Off to bed.”
“OK.” I took the glass back to the sink. When I turned she was still sat staring at the switched-off TV, on her own. I went back, and as I passed her I bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Love you, Mam.”
I ran upstairs and closed the door to my room. My heart was in my mouth. I got into bed and lay there in the dark, listening. I tried to remember if anyone apart from Mam had ever called me pretty, but I couldn’t.
FORTY ONE
I was up way too early the next day. I felt like electricity was running through me, I was so nervous. Darren was quiet at breakfast, and Mam seemed even more jittery than me.
“Mam, what’s up?”
“I suppose I should have said something last night, but it’s your dad…”
Darren stopped eating.
“He’s coming home next weekend.”
“You never said.”
“Yeah, well, there’s been so much going on. ‘Reintegration leave’, it’s called, and it’s just for the weekend.”
Darren grinned, but I felt well annoyed – the timing was crap. Mam must have noticed, because she said, “I want us all to have an easy time, Gemma. We got enough on our plates as it is, so let’s just make the most of it, please.”
“OK, Mam.”
By the time we got to the terrace everyone was out of their backyards with their cows. Gran was fussing from the off. She got Darren, Ryan and Jamie to take a table over to the Common, as she wanted to offer her cheese and butter to people. Then everyone was standing and waiting in silence.
“Oh, let’s go before I burst,” Gran said.
“You sure now, girl?” Roger asked.
“We’ve phoned Defra,” said Gran. “We’ve told them what we’re doing and I’m true to my word. Que sera, sera, as Doris Day said. So away we go.”
We led the cows down towards the Common. Mam walked alongside Gran with Jane. I went with Karuna, Mr Banerjee and Peggy, and Darren walked with Morris and Donna. It was so tense.
When we got to the end of the alley and I saw the Common I was shocked – there were loads and loads of people there. Some held up boards saying “Save the Bryn Mawr Dozen”. At the far end of the Common the other cows were being led on to the grass by their carers.
“Amazing,” Karuna said.
The Bryn Mawr Dozen were out in the open, and the TV cameras were there to see it. Gran turned to me with a big grin. “It’s like the times we had fetes here, Gemma.”
As soon as the cows got on to the grass they started chomping away and the people stood in a huge circle, as if they were protecting them. For a while we just watched the cows eating. They tugged and chewed at grass like they were in competition with each other. All you could hear was their munching and snorting.
Slowly, people drifted about
meeting the cows and talking to their carers. It wasn’t long before a police van arrived, lights flashing. About five or six policemen stepped out and looked around. I don’t think they knew what to make of it.
People were packed around Gran’s cheese-tasting table and stuffing themselves. “Lovely,” a woman said as she ate. I recognised her as one of the ladies at the crossing when we’d brought the cows down.
“So what’s happening with these beauties, Lilly?” she asked.
“We don’t know yet, Lorna,” said Gran. “Mr Thomas has been told they’re here. We’re expecting him any moment and we’re just hoping for the very best.”
“It’s nice having them around,” she said. “Sort of calming effect they have, don’t they?”
“It’s like I’ve always had her,” said Gran, stroking Jane. “She’s got a gentle temperament. If I could have her in the lounge of an evening I would. And look what she gives us.” She waved at the cheese and butter on the table.
Lorna nodded. “Aye. Here, take this.” She offered Gran some money.
“Oh, I’m just sharing the cheese, Lorna,” said Gran. “Not selling it.”
“And I’m not buying,” she replied. “It’s for the cows.”
She put two pounds on the table and went. The coins looked like gold, twinkling in the sunlight. I glanced at Gran just as the TV reporter came up to her.
“D’you own this cow, madam?” he asked.
“No, dear. She’s God’s own cow.”
“No. What I meant was––”
“Here, try some of this.” Gran shoved some cheese at the reporter and stopped him in his tracks.
Then I heard a loud click and a voice said, “Can I have your attention, please…” It was a policeman holding a megaphone. “These cows are not allowed on this public ground…”
Standing next to the policeman were Mr Thomas and Kate. Somehow she seemed smaller, as if she’d turned into Kate’s imaginary younger sister. She gazed at all the people, and when she spotted me I felt my insides turn. I wondered what she was thinking of us all.
“They were moved from their farm without the correct notification. So by order of the Department of Environment they have to be inspected,” said the policeman. “We don’t want any fuss, just let the Defra inspector do his job and check them over.”
