Cowgirl

by G. R. Gemin

  “Yes, please, though I could have made one myself.”

  “S’all right.”

  “No, it’s weird, Gemma. See, inside… In prison, everything’s done for you. Might sound good, but I was sitting here and it didn’t cross my mind that I could get up and make a cup of tea.”

  “Don’t you have a kettle in the … in the room?”

  “Aye, and a TV and my own key to the door.” He laughed.

  “Don’t joke!” I snapped. The anger came back, full force. “Whenever we visited we always asked how you were, and you’d make jokes, but you never asked how we felt having you inside. We never went anywhere or did anything, Dad, because we couldn’t afford to. You made us prisoners.”

  The kettle boiled and clicked off. The steam twirled up to the ceiling like it was my anger escaping. For the first time I can remember, Dad was serious; but not just serious, he seemed sad.

  “You’re right, Gem. I made things bad for you all, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I knew your mam was struggling, course I did, but I didn’t want to think about that, ’specially after your gran visited.”

  “Gran? When did she visit?”

  “Not long after I went in. Had a proper go at me. She put me straight, all right, but I couldn’t bear the real picture. So I thought about a happy, made-up family to stop myself going crazy. I thought about us going on a picnic – just the four of us. I borrowed a car from a mate and we drove to a place I used to cycle to as a kid…”

  I clenched my jaw shut. Dad stared out the window as he spoke. “The sun was shining and there was a waterfall and we sat under a tree and ate the food. Me and Darren stuck our heads in the water. God, it was cold.” He smiled to himself. “Lovely, that day was. The times I thought about it.”

  “It wasn’t made up though, Dad,” I said.

  “I didn’t think you’d remember. It was a long time ago.”

  “When you put your heads in the waterfall Darren said it froze his brain…”

  Dad laughed. “That’s right.”

  “You wore a checked shirt, short sleeves. You’d just bought it, and a cowboy hat. You’d done a house clearance with your mate Danny, and with the money you bought Mam a dress, and the shirt and hat for yourself. You bought me new shoes – pretty red sandals with a flower on the strap, and you bought Darren a cowboy outfit…”

  Tears were rolling down my cheeks – a mini waterfall.

  “I remember you tried to teach me and Darren to do handstands, and during the picnic Mam screamed because a wasp was on her. You said the wasp had good taste. After the picnic you climbed the massive tree. Darren wanted to follow but he couldn’t reach the first branch. Mam shouted for you to come down, scared you’d break your neck. You went up so high… You’re right, Dad. It was a lovely day.”

  He had a peculiar look on his face as I remembered those things. He put his hand on mine. “We’ll go back there, love. I promise. We’ll have a special day out.”

  “No. Somewhere else, Dad,” I said. “Seaside would be nice … but don’t wear the cowboy hat.”

  “You’re on!”

  His smile faded quickly. “I phoned someone earlier – did a bit of digging around. I found out the police brought the Tobin boys in for questioning. Seems they found one of the brother’s fingerprints on that boy’s flute. It was wrong what I said last night. I suppose I was a bit thrown. See, you’ve all changed so much – your mam, Darren and ’specially you. I feel left behind in a way … and stupid, that’s the thing. I feel stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid, Dad.”

  He nodded. “Clever man goes to prison, dumps his family in it and tells son not to go to the police with information on an assault… Oh Gemma, I’m a complete idiot.” He clenched his fist and made it go white. He pressed his lips together, then gasped as he breathed in deeply. “Gonna try this time, Gemma,” he said. “I mean it. I’ll get a job, even if I have to go to Cardiff. Whatever it takes. I don’t want to go back there. Ever.”

  “And we don’t want you to.”

  I put my hand on his clenched fist. It opened and I took his hand. “Come back to the fete with me, Dad.”

  “I can’t, Gem.” He glanced down. “Scared.”

  “It’s OK to feel scared, Dad. Come on. Come be with Mam. She’s always on her own.”

  He got to his feet, and I led him out.

  FORTY NINE

  I didn’t get as far as the farmhouse, because I found Kate sitting on the gate gazing out at the empty field where the cows used to be. As soon as she saw me she smiled, and I thought it was funny that it wasn’t long ago I’d been scared of her.

  “All right?” I said.

  “Yeah. Why you covered in paint?”

  “Spring is here.”

  “Huh?”

  I went over and leaned on the gate next to her. “They named Donna’s new calf Kate,” I said.

  “That’s nice.”

  “You should see it down there. Loads of people… Wish you’d come down.”

  Kate didn’t answer. She just stared out into the field, as if she could see cows.

  “How’s your dad?” I asked.

  “Not great. He’s going to take the cows to market and get ’em sold. It’ll cost a lot to get ’em there, and he still feels bad about taking them away from everyone.”

  “Donna and Kate too?”

  She nodded. “He and Mam helped me apply for the City Farm grant. Mr Phillips called Dad, said it was a good idea but he couldn’t help as he works for Defra, like he told us.”

  “But the cows would be sold by the time you got the grant, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yeah. I think they helped me apply just to please me… How’s your dad?” she asked.

  “It’s weird having him back. He doesn’t like being outside, with all the people and everything.”

  Kate took a deep breath. “We should go down and bring up the cows. No point leaving it any longer.”

  “You got a bike?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take you down. Be quicker.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t ride a bike. All right!”

  It was the old angry Kate, her eyes back to narrow slits.

  “Don’t you dare laugh, Gemma.”

  “I’m not laughing. You don’t have to ride it – I can cycle with you on the saddle.”

  “No!”

  My phone started ringing. It was Mam.

  “Hiya.”

  “We’re bringing the cows up now, Gemma…”

  “We’re just about to come down…”

  “It’s OK, love, we can manage. Don’t worry.”

  She was gone.

  “They’re bringing the cows up.”

  Kate nodded. “No need to go down on your bike then.”

  She walked to the end of the lane and I followed, trying to wipe the smile off my face.

  We gazed down on the Bryn Mawr below. It was a lovely view.

  “You ever had a pet?” Kate asked.

  “Had a goldfish once. Won it at a fair … or maybe it was a fete.”

  “Goldfish’s not a proper pet. It’s a fish!”

  “Still a pet.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “Darren put Slush Puppy in the bowl – killed it.”

  As we looked down I saw the colourful kites.

  “Hey, there’s the…”

  Then I saw something else. I couldn’t work it out at first, it was like some sort of creature moving up the hill towards us. I’ll never ever forget it.

  The kites were leading the way, and the cows were plodding along behind. Then after the cows were people, hundreds and hundreds of people, thousands, all following them. It was like everyone in the whole of the Bryn Mawr had decided to take a stroll at the same time – a massive parade to see the cows off.

  Me and Kate watched in silence.

  “You don’t think they’re coming all the way up, do yo
u?” I asked.

  Kate glanced at me, and then back down at the procession snaking its way up Craig-y-Nos hill. “Hope they don’t expect a cup of tea.”

  When we got to the farmhouse I don’t think Kate’s dad and mam believed us.

  It was bizarre when the people arrived, because some of them were covered in coloured paint that made them look like a wild war party. They all just stood there, looking at us, and they were just the first part of the crowd. The rest were still coming.

  I noticed lots of them were carrying milk cartons. They came towards us, put the cartons on the floor, and then they turned and walked away. No one said a word. It was a bit spooky.

  I picked up one of the cartons. It was heavy but it didn’t have milk in it.

  “It’s full of money,” I said to Kate. “They’re all full of money.”

  It took over an hour for the people to come and give their milk cartons, but it wasn’t just people from the Mawr; they were from all over the Valleys.

  Me, Dad, Mam and Darren helped stack up the cartons in the milking shed. Kerry said it was an irony, putting them in there.

  One of the other things about that day I’ll not forget was when I saw Sian standing there. She put a carton on the floor and looked at me. She didn’t smile, just gave me a nod. I nodded back, then she turned and left.

  It took a few days before we got through counting the money. It kept coming, too. People sent donations to the Echo from all over Wales. There was plenty to pay Mr Thomas for at least six of the cows – half a dozen to start the Bryn Mawr City Farm.

  FIFTY

  We raised so much money in the end we bought all thirteen cows, and we got the grant for the farm as well.

  The first thing we did was to clear the Mawr Common of rubbish. We had loads of help. The cows were allowed to graze, and we helped Mr Thomas put a fence all the way round the Common. Even Mostyn gave a hand – amazing what happens with a bit of publicity. Me and Kate became the first members of the BMCF – the Bryn Mawr City Farm – and Mr Thomas was the manager.

  Mr Banerjee and his family suggested we marked the opening with a procession of the cows decorated with flowers and coloured blankets. It was great. People shared gifts and food. Peggy led the procession and someone was carried high on a chair, dressed in white with a crown of jewels. It was only when the person started to play the flute that I realised it was Karuna. His face and body was painted blue – I know I keep saying it, but he was gorgeous.

  I said to Mr Banerjee. “Is he meant to be Krishna?”

  He smiled. “Yes. The holy herdsman.”

  When the music stopped there were lots of people gathered around Karuna, mostly girls. I remembered Mr Banerjee telling me about the cow maids fancying Krishna. I felt jealous.

  I spotted Kate, hiding behind her mam and dad. It was funny, her not liking to be around loads of people. I’d always thought nothing bothered her, but she stood there looking like a shy toddler. I went over to her.

  “Hi.”

  She smiled. “Hi.”

  We gazed around at all that was going on, and I couldn’t help thinking that it was all because of me and her. “Good, isn’t it?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “You doing anything tomorrow?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll come up and see you.”

  “OK,” she said.

  “I’ll bring my bike – give you your first lesson.”

  I didn’t wait for a reply and went over to where Darren was being interviewed by the TV people.

  “Tell us what’s so special about Jane?” the reporter asked.

  “Well, we get milk from her, and butter and cheese…” said Darren, staring into the camera like he was in a trance. “And you can’t say that about a cat or a dog or a hamster, can you? A cow’s loads better.” He pointed to Jane. “Chewing the cud, she is now. Cows bring back up the grass they’ve eaten and chew it again. Fantastic. Imagine if you could eat a Mars bar, then bring it up and eat it again and again…”

  I laughed.

  Dad was out of prison now and I knew he still found it difficult being among lots of people. When I spotted him he looked like he wanted to be a hundred miles away – something he had in common with Kate. As I went towards him I saw him take Mam’s hand. A lump filled my throat. I turned away and walked around on my own for a bit.

  I felt like I was in a different place, not the Mawr I remembered – a happy place, with people chatting and laughing.

  “Hello, Gemma.”

  I turned to see Karuna. He really was blue – bizarre but gorgeous.

  “Fantastic, isn’t it?” he said. “And all because of you and Kate.”

  I shrugged. “We did our best.” Like it was every week I helped rescue twelve cows. “When can we have another flute lesson?” I asked him straight out. Cool, I was.

  “Tonight?”

  “OK,” I said with a smile. Then I kissed him on his blue lips.

  Audacious, or what?

  “Come meet my mam and dad,” I said to him.

  As we made our way around the fete we stopped to watch Gran talking to people and sharing her cheese. She was so happy. I remembered the day she was miserable in the rain burying her dog, and now she was standing in the sunshine talking to people about her cow and her cheese.

  It was beautiful, just beautiful.

  FIFTY ONE

  Kate was frowning, and she gripped the handlebars like her life depended on it.

  “You let go and I’ll—”

  “I won’t,” I said. “As you move you’ll balance. It’s automatic. Honest.”

  “Doesn’t feel automatic.”

  We were on a quiet lane, down the road from the farm, because Kate didn’t want her parents to know she was learning to cycle.

  “OK. Feet on pedals.”

  Kate’s arms were shaking. “Don’t let go!”

  “I won’t.”

  “If you do…”

  “I WON’T!”

  We started going along. Then I heard a noise, like a whirring sound. A cyclist was coming down the lane on a proper speed-bike, all kitted out in Lycra and a helmet. There was a whoosh as the cyclist went past.

  “Wow!”

  I let go of the bike. I didn’t mean to.

  “GEMMA!”

  Before I could get to her, Kate went straight into the hedge at the side of the lane. She never believed I let go by accident, but she’d cycled and that was the main thing. From then on we went cycling most weekends. We even went down Craig-y-Nos hill together, no brakes.

  We screamed all the way down.

  Cowgirls screaming for our lives.

  Acknowledgements

  At the top of the list of people who have been instrumental in helping me get Cowgirl published is my agent, Claire Wilson, at Rogers, Coleridge and White Ltd. She was alone in being “intrigued” to see the rest of the book when I found myself back to square one. If it wasn’t for her subsequent editing, encouragement and representation, Cowgirl would only be a file on my computer, long unopened.

  Kate Wilson and Nosy Crow were brave enough to take it on board. Their enthusiasm and support made me feel part of a great team. Kirsty Stansfield’s precise and intelligent editing made the book whole, and I’d also like to thank Adrian Soar and others for their feedback.

  From the time I properly challenged myself to become a writer I have had kind employers who accommodated my need for “time off to write” – so grateful thanks to Waltham Forest Mencap, the Gloucestershire Social Services Adoption Support Team, Woodside Primary School in London and, especially, The Care Forum in Bristol.

  A big thank you to Karen Barnes and the boys and girls at Winchcombe School, Gloucestershire, for their time and feedback in testing early material, and equally to Angela Depper for reading my writing to children at the Croft Preparatory School in Stratford-upon-Avon. It was all above and beyond your call of duty.

  Many moons ago I was fortunate to have the generous a
dvice and time of the author Susan Price. I’d also like to thank the tutors Julia Green, Steve Voake, John McLay and Lucy Christopher at Bath Spa University, as well as Amy Wigelsworth, Peter Buckman and Anne-Marie Doulton.

  A special thank you to Dave Wood for helping a troubled boy untie a hefty “ball of knots”.

  In writing Cowgirl I am indebted for the help of Janatha Stout, Head of Agriculture at Hartpury College, Gloucestershire, as well as John Womack in Somerset for their knowledge of farming and dairy production. Jonathan Crump gave me a guided tour of Wick Court Farm for City Children and showed me his Gloucestershire cheese (single and double) being made. Thanks also to Richard Jones and Adrian Rogers at Defra.

  In researching Hinduism I’m grateful to Judit Bajusz and the Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies in helping me with fine details, and thanks also to Ruby Dass.

  Friends and family have been supportive over a number of years and in a number of ways. So heartfelt thanks to: Caroline Adams, Vittorio, Marco and Alex Baratto, Havva Basto, Caroline Beale, Matt Blandford, Julian Bloom, Sophie Brown, Frankie, Andy, Molly and Billy Campbell (Sid & Otto for always bringing the ball back), Simon Campbell, Sharon Thomas, Felix and Rosa, Simon Cooke, Samantha Cordwell, Grace and Michael Dembowicz, Chris Dickens and Clio David, Pamela Gemin, Colin Hutton, Fabienne Illiano, Damien and Andrew James, Tatjana Lisson, Danielle Oldacre, Annie Peutrel, Liz Pickering, Kate Pitt and Janet Wallis.

  A special mention to Neil Bastian and Andy Ward, who know what it takes and have shared many hours with me chewing the cud.

  Finally, to Isabelle Endreo for your love and support, even while you were facing serious illness.

  Copyright

  For Papa, Mamma, Barbara and Joe

  COWGIRL

  First published in the UK in 2014 by Nosy Crow Ltd

  The Crow’s Nest, 10a Lant Street

  London, SE1 1QR, UK

  This ebook edition first published 2014

  Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and / or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd