Ella laughed. ‘I know. I don’t go to the far-away ones, because I can’t stay away from the horses too long. But this one might be interesting because Daffyd Jones, who owned the farm, used to breed Arabian horses years ago. I thought he might have some stud books I’ve been looking for.’
‘What’s a stud book?’
‘It’s like a . . .’ He watched Ella cock her head sideways, thinking. ‘Like a list of all the parents and grandparents and great-grandparents of a horse.’
‘Like a family tree?’
‘Yes. That’s a much simpler way of describing it.’
‘We had to do a family tree at school once.’
No wonder Hope found school stressful. She hardly had the traditional nuclear family.
‘We did one of them too,’ Ella said, turning round to look at Hope. ‘It was really tricky because I got sad because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to put my mummy on it.’
Hope, who was sucking on a finger, nodded solemnly. ‘That’s the same as me.’
‘But you do,’ Ella said, and she gave a smile that made his heart want to burst open. ‘Because your mummy is always your mummy, even if she’s not here any more.’
‘That’s what Daddy says.’ Hope’s eyes were wide with surprise.
‘Then Daddy is very clever.’ Ella turned to look at him, and the expression on her face was unreadable.
‘Shall we get you out of the car, pickle?’
His voice was so hoarse that it was almost a whisper.
They left the auction in the barn a while later.
‘I’m relieved we’ve managed not to accidentally lift an eyebrow and end up buying an old tractor.’
‘D’you think that happens often?’
Harry grinned.
‘Would you like a hot chocolate?’ Ella turned to Hope. Babs was there – as she was at almost all the farm sales – with her little catering van, selling hot drinks and delicious burgers stuffed full of onions and mustard that slipped out and spilled down the front of your top.
‘Coffee for me, please,’ said Harry. Hope nodded.
‘You go and have a look at the old toys and stuff, then, and I’ll bring it over.’
There was a whole table full of old cast-iron toys and wooden animals, most of them dating from the middle of the last century. They were boxed up in old-fashioned wooden fruit crates, and had probably been there since Daffyd Jones was a boy growing up on the farm. Now he had a lung problem, and with nobody to take over the farm, he and his wife were selling up and moving to a bungalow in Beaumaris on the island of Anglesey, where his brother lived.
‘The sea air’s supposed to be good for your lungs,’ he was telling all and sundry. Ella privately suspected that he was trying to convince himself, more than anyone else. Farming was in his blood, and it was going to be a wrench to leave this beautiful old stone farmhouse with its views across the valleys for even the most up-to-date centrally heated bungalow in the middle of bustling, touristy little Beaumaris.
She’d fallen in love with Wales in the years she’d been living here and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now – despite the fact that almost every day had a bit of rain. Without it, she knew, the place wouldn’t be as lush and green and beautiful as it was. And she loved the feeling of isolation.
‘Two hot chocolates, love, and a coffee. Milk and sugar are on the table there.’
Ella took the drinks and went over to the table indicated, then headed back to where Hope and Harry were playing with a battered old red London bus.
‘Reminds me of that trip we made to London that time.’ Harry took the polystyrene mug from her hands. ‘D’you remember?’
She closed her eyes for a second.
‘I remember.’ She opened her eyes and found that she was looking directly into his. Her cheeks burned hot and she ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a self-comforting gesture.
‘Here you are. You can have the whole box if you want, my lovely. Tell your mummy and daddy they can have it for a fiver?’
The auctioneer’s booming voice broke the spell. Ella recoiled, her face flushing scarlet.
‘We’re not –’
‘She’s not –’
‘Can I have it?’ Hope was oblivious to the tension the auctioneer’s casual comment had caused. She looked at Harry. He stuck a hand in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, leafing out a fiver and handing it over. The auctioneer dumped the box unceremoniously into Harry’s arms. Ella was looking anywhere but at him, and the atmosphere was distinctly uncomfortable.
‘I think maybe we’d better get back,’ Harry said, lifting his wrist to check his watch, then dropping it when he realized he wasn’t actually wearing one.
Ella nodded. ‘I think so, too.’
They drove home in silence. Hope sat on the back seat, singing along to the radio. Harry stared out of the window. His jaw was rigid with tension.
‘I’ll drop you back at the cottage, shall I?’
‘I think so. I’ve got some work to do.’
‘But Harry –’ Hope looked unimpressed – ‘you said we could go and say goodbye to Muffin.’
‘I think Ella’s got lots of work to do, sweetheart, and so do I. Another day, OK?’
There was a moment while she contemplated her response.
‘OK.’
‘Thanks for the lift,’ said Harry stiffly, as Ella pulled up outside the cottage.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Bye, Hope.’ Hope waved at Ella briefly, but was more interested in showing her grandma the box of delights she’d come home with.
‘Your grandpa is going to love these. They look like the toys we played with when we were little.’
Ella looked in the rear-view mirror as she pulled away, ready to give a wave. But Harry had turned his back to her and was walking back into the cottage.
‘You OK?’
Charlotte collapsed in a heap on the sofa and flicked on the television. Ella was sitting in front of a dead fire, in gathering darkness, still wearing her coat and her boots.
‘Fine.’
‘OK,’ said Charlotte, looking dubious. ‘It’s just you went out looking like this . . .’ She pulled a goofy face and did an exaggerated thumbs-up. ‘And you’ve come back looking like –’ she reversed the face and put both thumbs down – ‘that.’
Ella puffed out a long breath and hefted herself off the sofa.
‘Just a weird sort of day. I think they’re right when they say you can never go backwards.’
‘Like sharks?’
Ella frowned.
‘They have to keep swimming or else they’ll drown.’ Charlotte pressed the remote control button rapidly. ‘I think it’s sharks, anyway. There was a thing about it on television the other day. I saved it. D’you want to watch?’
‘I think I might pass and have a bath.’
Ella reversed out of the room, pulled off her boots, and headed upstairs.
Back at the cottage, Harry was pacing up and down in the tiny kitchen.
Jenny, wisely, wasn’t saying a word. Something had clearly happened, but whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be helped by her sticking her oar in. She carried on chopping carrots for shepherd’s pie and tried to focus on the play she was listening to on Radio 4.
Harry sat down at the table.
‘I need to nip down to Norfolk for a couple of days and sort out some work stuff.’
‘OK.’ She carried on chopping and didn’t turn around. She suspected there was more chance of getting whatever it was out of him if she didn’t pry. ‘Good idea.’ She slid the carrots into the saucepan, where they started to sizzle gently with the already sweating onions. ‘You should invite Holly back up to stay for a few days. Hope would like that.’
‘You know what – I might just go this evening, get it over with.’ Harry stood up. ‘I’ll get my stuff.’
‘Now?’ She spun around then, surprised.
‘I might as well. Soo
ner the better.’
‘What about Hope?’ This felt like a return to the old Harry, who disappeared out of their lives with little explanation for days at a time. She knew her tone was disapproving, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘She’s not going to be very happy about this. I don’t know, Harry.’
‘I’ve got to do this, Jen.’
‘I’m sure you do. I just don’t think you’re doing Hope any good. She needs you in her life consistently, not just disappearing on a whim whenever you feel like it.’
‘There’s more to it than that.’ He turned and left, knocking a chair sideways as he did so. It wobbled on two legs for a moment and toppled over as he pulled the door closed behind him.
‘Bloody hell.’ Jenny banged the chopping board down on the kitchen worktop unnecessarily hard. It didn’t help.
‘You all right, love?’
Lou pushed the door open and stood in the doorway.
‘Fine. No, actually, I’m not bloody fine.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Harry. Hope. All of this.’ She indicated the kitchen table, strewn with the detritus of preparing dinner and Hope’s latest Lego creation and the half-read Sunday papers, and leaned back against the sink, putting her head in her hands.
‘Do you never feel like you’d like to just run away?’
Lou surprised her by chuckling, making his way across the kitchen, and taking her in his arms.
‘Yes. Let’s go.’
She looked up into his bright blue eyes and laughed. ‘We can’t do that.’
‘We bloody well could, you know. Harry’s more than capable of looking after Hope without us.’
‘But Sarah –’
‘Sarah’s not here, sweetheart.’
The words still had the power to twist a knife in her heart. She swallowed tightly. ‘I know.’
‘And what I’ve noticed since I’ve been around a bit more is that Harry’s desperate to be a father to Hope, and we’re standing in his way.’
‘Not tonight, we’re not,’ she replied, bitterly. ‘He’s buggering off to Norfolk on a whim.’
‘Well, maybe it’s time we made it clear that things are going to start changing.’
He put a hand on her cheeks, cupping her face gently. ‘I don’t think for one second Sarah would expect you to put your life on hold. In fact, I think you know damn well she’d be bloody furious to think of you doing just that.’
Jenny bit her lip and nodded. Maybe it was time to start making some changes.
For a start, Jenny decided, splashing her face with water, she’d go and have a long soak in a hot bath later, and finish the book club book. She’d been invited to join the group that met once a month in Connie’s cafe after hours, and somehow with Christmas and everything else, she’d barely managed to get halfway through. There wasn’t enough time to do anything. Sometimes she remembered the plans she and Lou had had years ago. They’d always said that when they retired, they’d pack a rucksack of belongings and a passport each, and head off round the world. But that was before. Then Sarah got sick, and Hope needed looking after, and . . . well. Maybe Lou was right. It was time to start thinking about making some changes – even if just thinking about them made her heart feel like a lead weight.
Chapter Thirty-two
Ella
‘Shh.’
Lissa pulled a face at Ella.
They were lying side by side on yoga mats in the school gym hall. The floor smelled exactly the same as her gym hall had twenty years ago: of dust, and sweaty feet, and industrial cleaning fluid. It was as far removed from the tranquil surroundings of an ashram in Bali as you could possibly be, but the instructor was taking things very seriously indeed. Following a lecture on the importance of vegetarian eating for a pure spirit, they’d manoeuvred themselves into a series of positions which suggested to Ella that while she might be fit from all the work she did at the yard, she was far from flexible.
She’d dragged Lissa along to yoga, telling her it was bound to be good for stretching out their running muscles. So far, it had felt more like being back at school with a particularly strict teacher.
It didn’t help that Lissa couldn’t stop bloody talking, so they kept being shushed and glared at. They moved into another position, following the instructor’s lead.
‘So are you going to tell me what happened?’ Lissa continued talking, legs akimbo. She was trying to whisper.
‘I’ll tell you afterwards. I’m worried if we get into trouble she’s going to tie us into pretzel shapes and throw us out of the window.’
Ella hadn’t been to a yoga class since university. Back then, she’d been a bit of a fitness fanatic, working out all the time to make sure she was as strong and flexible as she could be to enhance her prospects as a career rider. Back then, she’d had her life mapped out.
And then everything had changed. She’d somehow thought that after the accident there wasn’t much point in doing anything other than ticking the box and doing the rehab exercises the physio had given her. They still left her stiff on one side, and all these years later she still hadn’t tried riding. But with Charlotte riding now, and her fitness coming on because of the running, something was happening. She’d had several dreams in which she’d been riding and woken up, startled by her subconscious.
The longer she left it, the more nerve-wracking the thought of getting on a horse had been. Eventually she’d convinced herself that she was happier doing ground work and leaving the riding to other people. Working with clients meant she spent plenty of time with the horses, and Charlotte was more than happy to help with the exercising. But Hope’s enjoyment of riding had caused Ella to start questioning herself. She missed it. She missed the feeling of being able to saddle up, gallop across the moors and see the wildlife that wouldn’t come near her if she was on foot.
There was something unsettling about Harry coming back into her life that had shaken up all sorts of things she’d resolved to forget about. And there was something about the almost-silence of yoga, even in a gym hall, that was giving her a chance to think about the things she liked to keep locked away in a box in her head.
They switched position again. The instructor moved between them, gently correcting Ella’s posture with a guiding hand on the small of her back. ‘Beautiful,’ she said to Lissa, who stuck her tongue out at Ella as the instructor turned away.
She hadn’t seen Harry since the farm incident, and when Hope had come for her therapy session, it had been Jenny who had accompanied her. Apparently Harry had had some family business to deal with, but Ella couldn’t help thinking that this wasn’t the only reason for his absence. Ella had been busy with clients – the New Year often brought with it a flurry of bookings from people who had made resolutions, and the article in the local paper had had surprising results. She’d managed to pay off a good chunk of the rates bill, and the council were off her back for now. Things seemed to be bobbing along relatively peacefully. That was one good thing, at least.
She’d also finally been awarded the school contract, after what felt like a million forms and phone calls.
Dealing with the paperwork involved in working for the local authority was taking up her evenings. She was grateful, though, to have something to keep her mind busy, and it stopped her from thinking about Harry and what he was up to.
It had been easy to fall into a familiarity based on an old life – but the truth was, Ella thought, she didn’t really know Harry any more. In the intervening years, he’d travelled, met Sarah, become a parent – and lost his wife. Maybe it wasn’t that easy to pick up a friendship . . . or anything more. He seemed so closed off.
And of course she couldn’t ask Jenny what she thought. She’d been cautious and bitten her tongue several times when she’d been on the verge of asking how he was, or whether he was around.
‘And gently roll over into corpse pose,’ the instructor intoned. Ella blinked hard. She’d been lost in thought for so long, she’d forgotten what she
was meant to be doing.
While everyone else in the class had been having a spiritual experience, she’d been spring-cleaning the contents of her brain. She switched position obediently, and tried not to fall asleep. The room fell silent, broken only by the faint sound of what would be politely described as a gas emission. Lissa snorted with laughter. They’d been discussing this before the lesson, and Lissa had just won the bet. She’d insisted that she’d never been to a yoga class where someone didn’t let out at least one. Ella kept her lips pressed together to stop herself from giggling.
‘Did you think Zen yoga thoughts when you were doing that?’ she asked Lissa afterwards in the changing room. She pulled off her T-shirt and fished in her bag for her top. The room was packed with women in various stages of undress. It was a strange feeling to be back in a school changing room. She was having flashbacks to PE with Miss Stuart, who had forced them to do long-distance running in the pouring rain.
‘Did I buggery. I was thinking about last night’s hot date with James.’
‘The PTA dad?’
Lissa nodded, beaming. ‘Come on, get changed and I’ll tell all over a pint.’
Sitting in the pub half an hour later, Lissa looked genuinely happy. After a tempestuous year of hearing the never-ending saga of her playing cat and mouse with the married head of the English department at the secondary school, Ella was relieved her friend looked so straightforwardly happy.
‘And you’re going out for dinner again tomorrow?’
‘Yep.’ She clinked her beer bottle against Ella’s wine glass. ‘Told you I was going to do this year differently.’
‘You’re not bloody joking.’
‘No more messing about with married dickheads.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘And what about you?’ Lissa leaned forward, her chin in her hands. She surveyed her friend thoughtfully.
‘Dunno.’
Lissa wasn’t going to settle for vague mutterings about seeing what happened, or giving it time. Ella scanned the room, playing for time. As she did so, her eyes landed on Nick, who gave her a wink of hello and raised his pint slightly.
Finding Hope at Hillside Farm Page 24
