50 Bales of Hay

by James Perch

  Lying in the hospital bed, I was beginning to see a pattern forming. If I tried to explain how I felt remembering, then I guess it could easily be compared to being on a see-saw. Lying here now, with whatever injuries I’d sustained, was the fulcrum, the pivot to which I kept returning, my neutral ground. Often I’d be lifted high, with my feelings for Elaine elevating me, but on the return, I’d have a moment tinged with sadness when recalling past times with my dad.

  New Beginnings

  After her emotional, but necessary break-up with Jez the night before, Elaine and I were making up for lost time. I walked her home and she invited me over to meet her folks. At first I declined, but said I’d definitely be back tomorrow, after visiting Aunt Myrtle. With my dad halfway through the process of moving, I was in a kind of limbo. I was ready to move somewhere closer to Elaine, once dad was settled and all his belongings were sorted. Now he didn’t have the farm to keep him occupied, he had retreated into a cocoon, so I tried to keep him company as often as I was able to. Elaine said she understood and that she’d nip over to get me after lunch.

  The following day I popped in to see my aunt and had a natter with her. We sat in front of the fire with a plate of biscuits, as I told her about the events of the previous night. I kept my eye on the window because I knew Elaine was due any minute. I wasn’t going to keep her waiting; the temperature outside seemed to have dropped, and there was still frost on the windows, the clouds now hiding what sun there might have been earlier.

  A figure soon appeared at the window and I could tell it was cold out there. I could see her breaths. She must have been jogging, because with every exhale she let out a plume of mist.

  I invited her in briefly to meet my aunt, who greeted her warmly. With greetings and meetings over, I linked arms with Elaine and we set off for her parent’s house.

  Elaine looked sweet in her long woolly scarf and beanie hat. It was certainly chilly today, with a wintry breeze in the air, and it felt cold enough to snow, but the closest we’d had so far was a bit of a drizzle.

  “Here we are now,” Elaine announced, turning into her drive.

  We walked up the path and she opened the door and we entered. Her dad was sat in the living room in front of the television when we arrived. He stood up to shake my hand then sat back down again. Her mum smiled warmly and welcomed me to sit down too. Elaine sat on the settee and her skirt started to ride up a little.

  “Wanna lap?” she asked. I glanced over to see her Fluff. She’d just padded in and had sat down for a wash. Fluff was really cuddly. I clicked my fingers and she padded over to meet the latest stranger. When I stroked her, I noticed that her fur was damp.

  “Have you been in the garden, Fluff?” I asked her.

  Elaine glanced down and tutted at her. “Have you been under that bush again? Most cats shun water, but mine is content as a moist pussy.”

  Elaine jumped up and got a little towel to dry off the daft cat. Fluff fussed at the towel until she was drier, at which point she wandered to the centre of the carpet and sat down to continue her wash.

  We sat for ages just chatting. I got on well with her parents, who were both laid back and welcoming. Fluff kept my lap warm and she craved the attention. The little kitty loved me nuzzling my nose in. It amused Elaine to see me peeping at her through her fur.

  “You’ve got a friend for life there,” Elaine’s mum said with a grin. I think she was speaking about Fluff but I wasn’t totally sure.

  I stayed most of the day and time flew by. Elaine’s mum prepared some food and invited me to join them. I gratefully accepted and before I knew it, it was late evening. Eventually I decided to be on my way. I thanked Elaine’s parents for their hospitality and stood up to leave.

  “I’ll see you out,” said Elaine ignoring the wink from her mum.

  “See you again,” Elaine’s dad said.

  “I look forward to it,” I smiled.

  I went into the hall and grabbed my coat. Elaine didn’t follow me out immediately but held back. I heard a hushed and hurried discussion before she finally joined me.

  “Thanks for coming. I’ve enjoyed your company again,” she said with a warm smile.

  “Let’s do it again, soon,” I replied.

  “I’d very much like you to come over for Christmas,” she ventured, adding, “if you’re free that is. You don’t have to.”

  I silenced her before she could say another word and said, “I’d be delighted to.”

  “Well goodnight then,” she murmured.

  I put my hands on her hips and leaned forward to kiss her. She moved in and our lips met. As we kissed my adrenaline was pumping through my veins and I didn’t want to stop. It was only when her mum appeared at the door and said, “Night Jake,” that we stopped and I departed.

  I arrived late at Dad’s place, but he was still up. We chatted for a bit and he discussed his latest plans. A neighbouring farmer had expressed an interest and was allowing Dad all the time he needed to move out. The move was going slowly. Dad was dragging his heels for some reason and I wasn’t yet sure why. I’d made my mind up to concentrate on moving him out, with or without his help. There was only his study left to clear, but I didn’t have the key. I knew where he kept it, so I decided to grab it when the next opportunity arose.

  The following day I grabbed a load of empty boxes and filled the car with them. There wasn’t much to move from the farmhouse, apart from my belongings from my old room and my dad’s study. He was OK with me storing my tat until I had permanently moved, so I figured that if I moved my stuff first, then I could probably smuggle in the wares from his study and hide them behind my own. Unless Dad was storing an elephant in there, I was sure my plan would work.

  I spent most of the day boxing up keepsakes and transporting them to Dad’s new place. When I’d finished I drove over to Elaine’s. It was at this point that the heavens opened and the rain descended. I pulled into the drive and noticed that her parents were out. I grabbed my branded waterproof ‘Mann’ jacket and zipped it up in a bid to keep dry. I walked up to her door and pressed the doorbell. Elaine answered the door with a slightly dejected look.

  “I think I’m coming down with a touch of flu,” she mumbled. “I’ve put my pyjamas on early in a bid to at least feel more comfortable. Let me take your mac.” She took hold of the ‘Mann’ hood and gave it a few shakes. She was under the weather but still very accommodating. I picked up her dressing gown and tried it on, before joining her by the fire. I put my finger under her chin and raised her gaze to look directly at me. Our eyes met and I began to smoulder.

  “Oh I’m sorry I seem to have dangled your dressing gown belt in the fire,” I said, as I wafted the smouldering fabric.

  “That was clumsy,” she replied hazily. “Any idea what you fancy doing tonight?”

  I thought for a second and said, “Liqueurs?”

  “Can’t we just cuddle awhile?” she replied shyly.

  “Whatever you want,” I said with a grin, noticing the television on mute. Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder were running around in the snow.

  I glanced over to see Fluff join us. She sat down, lifted a leg high behind her ear and proceeded to have a wash.

  “Oh, I wish I could do that!” I exclaimed.

  “Give her a tickle and a cat treat and she might let you,” Elaine suggested.

  “Well that’s just an amazing skill. It must take years of practice,” I said pointing to the television. Edward Scissorhands was fashioning ice sculptures and creating some works of breath-taking beauty.

  “This film always makes me feel Christmassy. I’m really looking forward to it this year,” Elaine said, tightening her embrace briefly.

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  I hadn’t been so excited at Christmas since I was a little boy. There was an expectation in the air. People were going home for their holidays, and preparing to spend time with friends and loved ones. For months, shoppers all over the world had been splashing out on presents.
Every Christmas Eve, without fail, I always went to bed in my new clean pyjamas, overcome with expectancy that Santa was on his way. I’d always leave an old sack on the end of my bedpost on Christmas Eve, in the hope that by morning there would be gifts. Year after year I’d wake up really early, loving the chance to empty my sack in my bedroom on Christmas morning.

  Elaine turned the volume up on the television and we watched the rest of the film until her parents came home. After a while Elaine kept starting to nod off; her medicine was making her drowsy and she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I sent her to bed and told her I’d return later the next day after finishing emptying the study. I said my goodbyes and left.

  When I walked in, Dad was reading some paperwork. I thought I’d take the opportunity to grab his key while he was pre-occupied.

  “I’m inviting someone over to meet you for Christmas, Dad” I said.

  “Hmmm?” he answered, too engrossed to look up.

  I took that as my cue to take the key. He wasn’t paying any attention. I still had some empty boxes in the car, so I was prepared for the final stage of moving belongings. I had high hopes for the New Year. I was expecting Dad to relax more, once everything was done and dusted, and any future that involved Elaine as a permanent fixture was a bonus.

  I jumped in my car and turned the radio up. As usual the media was in a frenzy about who would be the Christmas number one. I was past caring. Seven weeks of Meatloaf was almost enough to put me off music for life. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was that Meatloaf refused to do, but it must’ve been quite taboo. Currently, Take That were fighting the battle to top the charts, with heavy competition from Mr. Blobby. The British public never ceased to amaze me. Any old rubbish could top the charts. Mr. Blobby wasn’t quite the pink wobbly thing, bouncing around, that you’d expect to be confronted with after your Christmas dinner. I’d be more inclined to expect blancmange. I drove along, singing happily to the many Christmas songs being broadcast by Radio One. Even Wizzard’s ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’ sounded fresh.

  When I pulled up alongside the farmhouse I grabbed the boxes and let myself in. It was so quiet not even the crows were cawing in the fields outside. I fumbled for the keys and inserted them in the lock of the study door.

  “Sorry Dad,” I whispered. “I need to invade your sanctuary.”

  With a deep breath and an overwhelming feeling of betraying my dad’s trust, I turned the handle.

  Inside the study it was meticulously clean, but also sparsely decorated. There was a single chair, a small wooden table and a big cupboard. Apart from those three items of furniture the room was empty. Why I hadn’t emptied this earlier I didn’t know. I opened up the top doors of the cupboard and found two little urns. Dad had never mentioned these before. Wedged in between them was a battered diary from 1978. Next, I opened the bottom door of the cupboard. Inside was an A4 ring-bound folder full of little plastic protective pages. He’d obviously been storing these for years, because the contents appeared well thumbed and discoloured with age. I flicked through the pages and found a few photos of my mum. In every photo she was smiling away, whether posing for a photo or being caught unawares. I wasn’t sure why my dad had never showed me these before. I felt elated to see new photos and Polaroids of my mum, even if they were a little faded now.

  I put my hand inside a plastic sleeve and fished out an old postcard. It was in my aunt’s handwriting. It was addressed to Keith, Tina and ‘bump’. There was no date on it, just a photo of Cornwall on the front.

  I found an envelope in the next sleeve and had a peek. It looked like a love letter from mum to dad. I felt that reading that would be being too nosey, so I put it back inside.

  The next sleeve was full of condolences cards. They all said the same thing along the lines of ‘sorry for your loss’ or ‘thinking of you at this difficult time’.

  It was obvious that this room was like a mini shrine to Mum. Everything in here was a reference to her. I wasn’t entirely sure why this room remained locked away from me. I knew Dad couldn’t bear to tell me how Mum died, but maybe this folder could shed some light on the subject. I flicked through the pages until I found an old newspaper clipping at the back dated September 20th 1978, the year I was born. I would have been three months old.

  Tragedy at Local Barn

  A fire swept through a barn at Cooper’s Farm yesterday. The inferno was already engulfing the barn by the time firemen arrived on the scene. Tragically, Terence Cooper, aged 7, was trapped inside. According to a grief-stricken Mr. Keith Cooper, his eldest son, Terence, often played hide ’n’ seek with classmate, Tammy Preston.

  I stopped reading at this point and my mouth fell open. The penny suddenly dropped. Hardly able to continue, I pressed on.

  Tammy alerted Mrs. Cooper to the fire when she heard little Terry’s cries for help. Unfortunately for the young boy and his mother, the fire was devastating. Both parents tried freeing Terence from the burning barn, but tragically Mrs. Tina Cooper sustained third degree burns. A spokesman for the fire brigade believes the fire wasn’t a personal attack on the farm, but merely bored kids playing with fire. The old barn was packed to the rafters with fifty bales of hay.

  I wept for the painful death of my mum. She died trying to save my brother. It was only then that the second revelation hit me like a tonne of bricks. There it was! “Fifty bales of hay.” It was all finally taking shape. The recent memories that, up until now, were being screened by my subconscious, were at last clear.

  I opened up the top cupboard and turned the urns around. Sure enough, they each had an engraving on them. ‘Tina Cooper’ and ‘beloved son Terry’.

  Suddenly I heard my dad’s words echo inside my head.

  “Your mum will always be with me if I have this little sanctuary.”

  She certainly was near; she was locked behind this door all this time, next to my older brother.

  I picked up the diary and pocketed it. “Dad, how could you have kept this secret from me for so many years?” I whispered in the gloom.

  My revelations threw me into a wave of nausea. That bombshell hit me like a ten pound hammer to the chest. Not only had I finally discovered the details of the events that led up to my mum’s tragic death, in the same instant I also found out that I had a brother who had died in a barn fire, and that my mum died soon after from her injuries. It was all too much to take in, so I fled the house and sped away in the car.

  My head was messed up. I decided to drive to dad’s place and talk to him about it all. I wanted answers. I needed answers. It was at this point that I lost concentration driving and almost collided with a van coming in the opposite direction.

  I spun off the road and the car started to roll. The next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital bed.

  Conscious and Bewildered

  That brings me to the present. I lie here, trying to make sense of this mess. I have no concept of time. I have no idea how long I’ve been here, or how long I need to stay here for. The only visitor that I know I’ve had is the nurse.

  My mind starts to race. Has Elaine been to see my dad, only to be frightened away like Ginny? Was my dad ready for a psychiatric ward? He’d kept this secret for years, bottling it all up, obviously unable to share and unburden himself. No longer am I just in agony, I now have the past events to deal with.

  My clothes are lying on a chair next to the bed. I can just about reach the diary protruding from my pocket, so I carefully inch it out until I’m holding it. As I guessed, the diary belongs to my dad. His handwriting is spidery and the entries are sporadic. I turn to September.

  September

  My boy’s gone. It should have been me caught in the fire.

  October

  I miss my wife.

  November

  I can’t bring myself to talk to Tammy’s family. I know it wasn’t her fault but I need to lay the blame somewhere.

  December

  Tammy and her family have moved away.

/>   Christmas Day

  My baby boy is crying again. We both miss his mum.

  I start to cry silently. I could never be angry at my dad for long. He’d brought me up to the best of his ability. I want to talk to him and tell him that I know everything.

  There’s a knock at the door and it opens slowly. A nurse looks in and announces that I have a visitor. I nod in acknowledgement and I hear the nurse again.

  “You can go in, but don’t be long. He needs his rest.”

  The door opens completely and Elaine walks in. She lets out a gasp and runs to the chair next to me, perching on the edge. She grabs my hand gently and sits in silence for a moment.

  “Oh God, what happened?” she asks finally. “Are you OK?”

  I stop to think for a second before smiling back and squeezing her hand.

  “With a smile I can get through anything.”

  About the Author

  Not to be confused with the footballer of the same name, this James Perch lives in West Lancashire, where the most active thing is his imagination.

  He lives with his wife, 3 cats and a large music collection. He is the only Jay in the village.

  Visit Beaten Track Publishing for more great books and stories.