It was all going to be okay.
•
And it was okay, at first. Sam grew up fast in the months before Julia’s arrival. They were given baby clothes and a cot, and saved for other things. Nicola went to pregnancy yoga classes, slept with a pillow under her bump and developed a waddling-duck walk. Towards the end she got stuck in the bath and he had to help her clamber out again, both of them giggling. Yet she somehow managed to remain graceful. She really did glow.
They turned Sam’s old bedroom into the baby’s room. He used to stand in there sometimes, looking at the white wooden cot and wondering who was this new person who’d soon be sleeping in it. He tugged the string on the farm-animals mobile to make it play Brahms’ Lullaby. Nicola had lined her old teddy bears along the mantelpiece where the Santa Claus devil had sat leering at him all those years ago. He began to hope that the blue flashing ghosts had been exorcised at last.
Summer merged with autumn. One lush evening Nicola and he sat in the garden by the pond, watching the swallows gathering. An hour later they were on their way to the hospital, down the lanes, but this time there were no blue lights.
It was 12 September: the day everything changed. Everything, forever.
The midwives called it a normal delivery, which made him wonder what on earth an abnormal one looked like. Sam had helped plenty of newborn animals into the world but that was no preparation at all. All the back-rubbing and special breathing they’d learned in birthing classes seemed pathetic, like trying to put a sticking plaster on someone who’s been decapitated. To the midwives Sam was just another gibbering father, and a young one to boot. He felt like a gatecrasher in an all-female secret society.
‘Try not to scream, petal,’ one of them nagged Nicola. ‘You’ll get a sore throat.’
Nicola nearly throttled her. ‘Sore throat? Sore throat? Are you kidding? I’m in frigging agony here. Gimme a frigging epidural! Then her eyes widened and she yelled for the frigging gas mask. Sam pressed it over her face, wishing he could have some too.
Julia arrived in a slippery rush just before midnight, alive and miraculous and more beautiful than Sam had thought possible. The midwives got on with their checklists and tasks but he simply stood and gazed at his daughter. Eventually someone sat him down and put her into his arms. He’d never felt anything like the love he felt at that moment. It knocked him right down. She was so perfect, so unimaginably precious, staring into his eyes. He sat and held her and talked nonsense to her and felt as though he might burst. He was shattered. The midwives said aw when they saw him crying. One of them gave him a hug, which made him cry more.
From that moment everything else faded into irrelevance. Everything, including his own life. And he was truly terrified, because from now on there was someone he couldn’t bear to lose.
THIRTY-THREE
Eliza
Sam sounds different when she finally calls him. The anger is gone, for now at least. There’s just the sadness.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I expect you’ve all got homes to go to.’
Eliza smiles. ‘This is our job.’
‘Robert’s mother tried to phone his mobile a while ago. We didn’t answer. Haven’t you told her yet?’
‘That will be happening about now.’
‘She’s lost a son.’ A pause. ‘Couldn’t I at least talk to Julia?’
‘She’s not here, Sam. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ He sighs. He sounds defeated. ‘So you’ve got nothing to offer.’
‘You and I need to work out a way to bring this situation to an end. I think it’s time to start doing that. I’ll help you.’
Eliza hears a woman’s voice in the background, and Sam thanks somebody. Then he’s back.
‘Mutesi just brought me some dinner.’
‘That’s nice. I wish she’d bring me some.’
Eliza listens to the silence, counts to ten. Twenty. She doesn’t want to lose him again.
‘I’ve been looking at photos of Julia on Facebook,’ she says. ‘What a cutie.’
‘You’ve seen photos?’ There’s a lift in his voice. Tears too. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
‘She is.’
‘And clever.’
‘Tell me about your daughter. What does she like to do?’
‘She loves coming out on the farm with me. She’s been doing that all her life, even before she could walk. I used to get up early and Julia would be standing in her cot, holding out her arms for me to pick her up. Big smile! She’d lean forwards in her backpack and pull my ears. It was a game we played, her pulling my ears and me pretending I didn’t know she was there, and I couldn’t work out what was wrong with my ears. She loves riding on the tractor, feeding the calves, all the things I used to do when I was a kid. Tim Appleton reckons she’s a real daddy’s girl. He thought Nicola might be jealous, but she seemed happy to get a sleep-in every morning. We’d take her coffee in bed when we got back.’
‘Wow. Lucky woman.’
‘That’s what she used to say.’
‘But there were arguments, Sam?’
‘Yeah … well, you get ups and downs with farming. I was paying a ridiculous amount of rent to Mum and Robert. Tyndale’s not big enough to support two families let alone carry Robert’s massive debts. Money needed spending on the place and I wasn’t able to borrow much working capital. I tried everything: new crops, different rotations and methods. I stopped using contractors, rebuilt Dad’s tractor, even resurrected his Land Rover. Productivity and profit margins went way up—way up. If Robert hadn’t lumbered us with extra borrowing for Jackson’s Lodge and Tuckbox and all his batshit-crazy ideas I wouldn’t have been lying awake at night worrying about money. It’s an awful feeling when you’ve got a child to think about. I wanted the world for Julia but I felt like I couldn’t provide for her. D’you know what I mean?’
‘I do know what you mean.’
‘You got kids, Eliza?’
‘Two.’
‘You never stop worrying about them, do you?’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ She’s imagining a young father, sleeplessly fretting about how to make ends meet. ‘Didn’t you have anyone on your side?’
‘Tim Appleton was around a bit to start with, but he’s nearly eighty and he’s old-fashioned. Farming can be lonely. It’s a way of life; it’s twenty-four seven not nine to five. Nicola had never lived that life, that’s the thing. Turned out she despised it. I think she’d imagined it would be romantic and would look good on Instagram and we’d be rolling in cash—the county set, hunt balls and brand-new Range Rovers. She couldn’t see why we didn’t go out much or take holidays. I’d explain—there’s stock, there’s jobs to do every day, there’s no spare cash. The best we managed was a weekend in a caravan in Cornwall. It rained for forty-eight hours straight.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Yeah, I couldn’t believe it. We’d promised Julia the beach but it just poured. Mum and Robert used to invite Nicola and Julia up to London. They did exciting things like going to the aquarium. Julia always came home with a big grin and a new outfit.’
‘Ouch. While you were working to pay them rent.’
‘I wanted her to have a nice time and get to know her granny—but I didn’t like the way Robert carried on with Nicola. He called her “Rosie” and she called him “Robbie”, for God’s sake!’
‘Ugh, that’s a bit twee. Rosie and Robbie.’
‘Mm, and he gave her little presents. One time it was a pendant, a dewdrop pearl, way out of our price range. She said it was from both of them but it had Robert written all over it.’
‘You really think your stepdad was coming on to your girlfriend?’
‘I think he was laying the groundwork. His old tricks. He used to whisper in her ear, and it worked because when she came back from London she saw nothing but faults in me. She was always rolling her eyes, every time I said anything. You’ve got ADHD, you’re chaotic, you’re making a pig’s ear of this farm—it was all comin
g from him. It’s really hard to counter someone who lies like a flatfish—just lies and lies, says whatever suits him. He was like an alien; he could worm his way into people’s minds. He was getting ready to pull the rug out from under me.’
‘How did he pull the rug?’
‘Easy. He rang and very calmly informed me that I had to be off the farm by Christmas. Said they needed the cash because he’d signed up for yet another wacky scheme—a boutique chocolate factory, whatever the fuck that is. I had to pack up and leave the land that’s been in my family forever. My past, my future, my livelihood. My home. My boots have walked on every inch of that place, and my dad’s, and his dad’s, and his dad’s too. None of that counted for anything. You’re out. I want you gone. I’ve already got a buyer.’
Eliza glances again through Nicola’s statement. It tells the same story, yet somehow it’s a completely different story.
Sam was given notice that Tyndale Farm is to be sold … unable to earn enough to pay a commercial rent … Once Sam knew that he was losing the farm, he became untethered.
‘You must have been gutted,’ she says, and hears him laugh. She’s often heard people laughing at their own despair. It’s a desolate sound.
‘Yeah. Gutted doesn’t really describe … doesn’t really get close. It was fucking heartbreaking. Things were beginning to turn around. I’d just negotiated to sublet twenty acres to a riding school and livery and to provide all their hay—that would have been a game-changer! I’d finally got on top of the grassweed problem I’d inherited from Mr Appleton. The place was in fantastic shape. We were having perfect weather, looking at record yields. Nicola was going to start working as a teacher’s aide at Holdsworth Primary. Is she telling you I went nuts when I got my notice?’
‘She’s not here.’
‘I did go a bit nuts maybe—but who wouldn’t? A solicitor’s letter arrived the next day, making it official. A massive farming syndicate has bought my farm and Mr Appleton’s. They’re not farmers, they’re bankers. They don’t want my stock or machinery. They’ll take out the hedgerows—well, they will if they think they can get away with it—and farm on an industrial scale. Tyndale was always teeming with insects and birds. Could be a desert by next summer.’
‘Oh, Sam.’
‘My solicitor was disgusted but he said he couldn’t advise me to spend a fortune I didn’t have, trying to fight it. The lease was informal, nothing in writing except a few emails, and Robert had sneaked in a bit about it being a month-to-month agreement. My dad did not foresee this. Not at all. He should have left Tyndale in trust or something, but he left it to Mum because he loved her and trusted her—and, anyway, he didn’t expect to keel over before he even reached forty. Mum had, of her own free will and with independent legal advice, made Robert a joint owner. She’d signed on the dotted line every time he remortgaged Tyndale, and was now of her own free will selling up. I reckon she had Stockholm syndrome.’
‘Really?’ Eliza writes down the phrase. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘After years and years of total immersion in Robert World, she could only see what he showed her. She’d bought into the propaganda peddled by the Robert Bureau of Alternative Facts and Misinformation. She believed I was mentally unstable, incompetent, that it would be better for everyone if I got a job washing dishes in the Wheatsheaf. I mean … my mum. Fuck, that hurt. I drove up to their place to beg and plead but it just made things worse. Robert threw me out. I’d lost everything. It was too much, it was too hard. I felt devastated for Julia. She loved the farm—it was her inheritance and I’d lost it forever. I’d let her down. The old darkness came rolling back; I couldn’t even get out of bed some mornings. Nicola told me to stop moping over spilled milk. Whenever I mentioned Robert she’d sigh and walk out of the room.’
‘Wasn’t she upset about the farm?’
‘She seemed relieved to be getting out. She didn’t love the place; she’d begun to see it as a prison. Tim Appleton had this theory that all she’d ever wanted was the status, and she wouldn’t stick around now I’d lost it. I don’t like to think he was right, but maybe he was, you know? Because one night—one night …’
There it is again, the despairing ohh. Eliza waits out his anguish, resisting her instinct to trot out anodyne emptiness: It’s okay, don’t worry. He’s off the air for over a minute, and again there’s a murmur of other voices in the background. Paul meets Eliza’s eye, blinking as he listens.
Sam is back. He sounds as though he’s in pain.
‘You still there, Eliza?’
‘Still here.’
‘Thanks. Sorry. I want someone to know what’s happened. I want to put it out there. This is my side of the story, okay? My side. I don’t think I’ll be around to tell it myself.’
‘Why not? Why not, Sam?’
‘So, um, how do I describe … It was in July, Robert’s birthday. We were in the kitchen. I remember Julia was building towers and knocking them down and I was slumped at the table with my head in my hands, trying to get my head around the farm accounts. But I couldn’t block out the sound of Nicola flirting with Robert down the phone. She sang “Happy Birthday”, Marilyn Monroe-style. Sexy. Really sexy. She looked at me—Hang on, Robbie, walls have ears—then got up and left, and as soon as she was out of the room I heard her burst out laughing. It seemed like she was doing it on purpose. She wanted me to think the worst—which is exactly what Robert used to do to Mum. He’d wind her up so she’d have no idea when he actually was playing away.’
Eliza tuts, to let him know she’s still listening. ‘Doesn’t sound good.’
‘Yeah. I gave Julia her bath, got her all settled. We read a story, I’ll never forget—The Tiger Who Came to Tea—and once she was asleep I came down and asked Nicola straight out if she was sleeping with Robert. She bit my head off. Not this again! What a disgusting suggestion, you’re sick. She yelled at me, and I yelled back, but we made up—at least I thought we had. I ended up apologising for being a jealous twat. We even had a drink together out on the kitchen steps, and talked about having another child one day. It was a lovely evening. Then I went to bed because I had an early start the next day. Nicola said she’d be up later. I had this kind of foreboding. I hate arguments, and summer nights always make me … so I, um, so I didn’t sleep really. And much later I heard Toby bark and … sorry. I can’t …’
‘Sam?
‘Sorry. Jesus.’ She hears his despairing laugh. ‘I’m pathetic.’
‘Take your time. What did you hear?’
‘Julia’s voice. Julia, talking—yabbiting on, I used to call it. She was always yabbiting on. And it sounded like she was outside the house, down in the yard. What the heck was a little person doing out in the middle of the night—lost, or sleepwalking, being abducted by some weirdo? I ran over to the window and there was Nicola, putting Julia into her car seat. Toby was hopping in too. There were suitcases. I yelled out the window, asked Nicola what the bloody hell she was doing. She seemed pissed that I’d caught her. What does it look like I’m doing? I got down to the kitchen just as she came back in. She wanted her phone, I think. I was standing in my boxer shorts literally begging her not to go, not to take Julia away from me—Please don’t leave me, stay for a cup of coffee, stay for one more night, I’ll take the day off tomorrow and we’ll talk—but the more I begged the more she seemed to despise me. She said nope, sorry, she was leaving me, and as long as I didn’t make any trouble I’d still see Julia sometimes. Sometimes. My own daughter! The pair of us were yowling like cats. I’m not proud of it. I remember shouting over my dead body do you take her, over my dead body—and she was threatening that if I made any trouble she’d stop me seeing Julia ever again. I’m her mother, you’ve got no rights.’
‘No rights?’ Eliza glances at Nicola’s statement. ‘I think she’s mistaken motherhood for dictatorship.’
‘Well, but she’s turned out to be bang on, hasn’t she?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Sh
e grabbed her phone and sprinted outside like I was Jack the Ripper. Julia was in that car, and they were leaving me, and I panicked. I lost it. I said I’d kill them both, Nicola and Robert. Stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean it. I tried to open the door to get Julia back out again, but it was locked. She was smiling out at me, saying, Daddy! She thought I was coming too. I ran around to Nicola’s door and yanked it open just as she got the engine started. I think I grabbed her by the shoulders; I was just trying to stop her from taking Julia away. It was all a mess. I know she says I bruised her—I don’t think I did, but maybe I did, and if so I’m sorry. She set off with gravel flaring everywhere. I was dragged along halfway to the gate until I fell over. The back window slid past under my hands. I can see it now, you know? Julia wailing, Toby barking. And that’s the last time I ever saw Julia. That’s the last time she’ll ever see me.’
His voice collapses yet again, and again Eliza hears people speaking to him. She strains her ears to catch their tone. There’s no hint of fear; no hyperventilating or crying from anyone except Sam. She clearly hears a male voice saying, Okay, mate? She raises her eyebrows at Paul, and from his incredulous frown she gathers he’s heard it too.
‘I tried phoning Nicola,’ whispers Sam, ‘but she blocked my calls. Messenger, WhatsApp, everything blocked. I soon worked out she’d run to Mum and Robert. They blocked me too. I phoned my solicitor. He doesn’t do family law but he put me on to someone who does. She sent me an email with her fees and I could nowhere near afford it but she gave me an hour’s free advice. She told me how to make an application. After that I was on my own. It’s all dragged on and on. Every single morning I imagine Julia waking up without me. She’s my whole life. There’s this massive Julia-shaped hole, and without her I just don’t see the point.’
The Secrets of Strangers Page 26
