‘Speak of the devil,’ Kit said by way of greeting.
‘Ah you’ll be the niece then?’ the girl said, nodding as we approached, holding out her hand and shaking mine with authority.
‘How…?’
She grinned at me, ‘Oh this is a wee place, we’ve no secrets here. And we need a bit of excitement, don’t we Kit? It’s been far too long.’
Kit rolled her eyes, ‘I dunno, sounds like that moron you’re dating made enough excitement for everyone last night.’
‘It wasn’t Murray’s fault, he was provoked!’ the redhead argued, almost stamping her foot.
‘Aye, by some truths he didn’t like, I’m sure he’s no fan of most of them.’ Kit’s accent became more pronounced as she spoke to the young woman, almost as if she was echoing her. A different person, a different life.
The redhead also rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically, then gave me a warm smile. ‘I’m Sarah, by the way. I help with the horses from time to time.’
‘Taz.’
She could only have been about nineteen, she had that look of not being entirely comfortable in her own skin. But she had a calmness that the horses seemed to pick up on. A warmth.
Was I ever that young? At nineteen I was working as a charity fundraiser on the street, and I loved it. It was a test in conjuring stories to get people’s attention, to draw them in and tug their heartstrings. It was something that made me feel good, I was doing something good. And it reminded me that most people wanted to help, if they could. I was tenacious, Dan called me his little Jack Russell. He did his first mural that year, making a living making art. Nineteen was a good year.
‘Don’t listen to anything she says about me,’ Sarah faux-whispered to me. ‘I’m a great help to her, despite her moaning.’
‘Oh I’m sure!’ Kit laughed. ‘A great help to clearing out my fridge and hearing the woes of young love because you waste yourself on a moron.’
‘Kit… we said we wouldn’t…’ Sarah crossed her arms, as if she were the adult in the situation. As if she was disappointed.
Kit held up her hands in surrender, and tilted her head to suggest we continue with our tour.
‘Nice to meet you!’ Sarah called after me and I waved back.
‘You too!’
Kit huffed as we walked further down the field, shaking her head. ‘Wee girl’s dating an absolute gobshite.’
I tried to hide a smile, ‘So you mentioned.’
‘Headful of bricks would be a gift to a lad like Murray. He’s got a mean streak I don’t like. And a snaky look to him, like he’s about to unhinge his jaw and eat a passing deer.’
‘Well,’ I replied seriously, ‘Effie’s completely wrong, you’re very good at gossiping, when given the right subject.’
Kit laughed, a single, loud ‘HA!’ that seemed to shock even her. She nodded begrudgingly, ‘Well, some things it pays to know about.’
She carried on with the tour, leading me down the track, pointing out things as she went, Sarah’s horrible boyfriend now seemingly forgotten.
‘There’s old Millie and Mabel,’ I looked at the beautiful Highland cows across the field, their blonde hair flicked over their faces like a shampoo advert. ‘And the tours tend to stop off here to take photos and buy some authentic Scottish titbits, which gets me by.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that Angus who runs the tours, and young Michael and all the others stop by with their buses full of tourists, and they pay me a pretty penny to bring out a tray of whisky and tea, and encourage the girls over for photos and to have their hair stroked.’
‘Sounds like a sweet deal.’
She seemed proud of the life she’d built and I could understand why.
‘Oh yes, and if I’m particularly well prepared, I’ll have some little bits to sell. Scottish tablet, postcards and local artwork, some cakes for the rest of the trip. In the winter the cottage becomes almost an art exhibition. I bring them in for a portion of stew and bannock, put on a strong accent and tell a few depressing stories about these here lands, and they love it.’
We walked on, and I couldn’t help but ask, ‘So… are you actually Scottish?’
‘Ah, the favourite question around here,’ Kit grinned at me. ‘My da was a Scotsman. He came to England and met my mother, and then when he died, we stayed there and that was that. He had the most beautiful voice when he sang, and told me stories about where he grew up. And when I was old enough to find my way in the world, I ended up here. I found an aunt, his sister, and even my grandmother, very briefly. This was her farm. Her legacy. I worked it with my aunt for a while, and then eventually it fell to me to keep it going. It certainly wasn’t a tourist destination when she owned it, but I’ve made sure it survived this way, and I think she’d be happy.’
She rubbed one of the posts with her rough fingertips, sighing, and I wondered if she really believed that. Kit turned those eyes on me, a knowing smile on her face.
‘So, to answer your question, I am a Scottish woman raised in England. And this lot have never let me forget it.’
She knew exactly who she was, and made no apologies, that much was clear. But I couldn’t stamp down the slight disappointment that this came from her father’s side of the family. There was no shared history for me, here. I wasn’t Scottish in any way, there was nothing of my heritage in this land, as much as I wished there were.
I’d found blood, but no legacy. Not yet anyway.
‘Come see my special weapons,’ she patted my shoulder, heavy handed and unaware of her own strength, and then set off round a corner.
‘Well, my granny would not be pleased about these two, I assure you, but they make me good money and they do make me smile, funny wee things.’
Kit put her fingers to her lips and whistled, loudly. I’d always wished I could do that, even though the noise cut right through me.
I looked around, and heard a steady gallop that gradually got louder. I turned, expecting horses, but instead I found two alpacas, their funny little faces cheerful as they bounded over and nudged Kit.
‘This is Neville, and this is Hermione,’ Kit plunged her fingers into their fluff and they stood there, vacant and cheery. ‘We take these two to lots of events. They’re big at weddings at the moment. Put some flower necklaces on them, or a little bow tie on Neville, and they’re a hit! People love them.’
‘I can see why!’ I reached out tentatively and stroked a fluffy neck.
‘People thought I was mad. They still do,’ Kit laughed, putting on a strong accent, ‘Oh, you’re knitting yourself a wee scarf with those two, are ye Kit? Sell yourself some jumpers, aye, become a fashion mogul?’
I snorted, and Kit rolled her eyes, ‘But it’s good business, and these two are happy. And they just make me smile! We used to take Terry out to the weddings too, but he’s a little grouchy in his old age.’
She pointed over to the next gated section, where a tiny spotted Shetland pony looked over his shoulder at us, audibly huffed, and then trotted to the far end of the enclosure.
Kit sighed, ‘Just because he looks cute, doesn’t mean he’s not an arsehole.’
‘A universal truth,’ I laughed.
As we walked back to the house Kit said gently, ‘You know, you don’t have to decide right away about seeing Nina. You might stay a few days, see how you feel?’
I knew I should be confused, somehow, the same way I always was about my mother. Knowing she’d abandoned me, left me with a broken dad and a mountain of debt. Knowing what her leaving led to. And yet… it was so easy to remember how sweet she could be. How she’d wink and make a hand gesture in Woolworths to let me know when to stick a fistful of cola bottles into my pocket. How she’d make me into an Egyptian mummy using loo roll, telling me to hold my arms up and laughing, ‘Twirl, Tashy, twirl my princess!’
I wanted to see her. I wanted to see who she was now. The curiosity was killing me. But I didn’t want Kit to see that, to think I was wea
k. She knew how vindictive my mother had been, possibly more than anyone else. How desperate was I for a mother, that I would forget all that?
But maybe, just maybe, there had been a reason she had to go. A really good reason.
‘What would I do in the meantime?’ I asked.
Kit shrugged, ‘Stay with me, you can help out with the farm if you like. We always need an extra pair of hands.’
Her gruff demeanour might have put someone else off, but I understood it. When I didn’t immediately respond, she added, ‘Or go on holiday, explore the Highlands. Whatever.’
She wanted me there. She had people, clearly, Sarah and Effie proved that. But I liked the idea that she wanted family too.
‘Thank you, I’d like that. Helping on the farm, I mean. Though I’ll probably be crap. But… it’ll be nice to get to know each other better.’
I stuttered a little, embarrassed, feeling my cheeks warm. I knew it was the answer Kit was hoping for, because her lips twitched briefly into a smile before she waved a hand.
‘No need for all the hippie dippie feelings and kum bye ya yas. And no need to thank me either, there’ll be 4 a.m. starts.’
‘Ah, so it was just an attempt to get free labour. I should have known,’ I grinned.
Somehow, Kit’s varying degrees of vulnerability, grouchiness and snark were comforting. Whilst everything seemed incredibly strange, it was the closest I’d felt to normal in ages.
Chapter Five
‘So, how is it?’ Dan’s voice was almost lost in the strong breeze as I stood at the back door. Kit’s house was small and if people in the town already knew about me, I imagined they had their ears pressed up to my bedroom wall, concocting stories about the runaway niece with the awful mother.
Outside was better.
I stood looking at the grey, beautiful landscape, a cup of tea carefully placed on the windowsill for me by Kit, before she went back out to welcome the kids for their riding lessons. She was thoughtful.
‘It’s… weird. Beautiful though. Earlier on I helped muck out stables.’
‘You! You get annoyed when there’s mud on your running shoes!’
‘I do not!’
I did. I was always cleaning my running shoes, mainly because I’d felt guilty spending so much money on them and wanted to keep them in good condition. A by-product of getting something you never got to have as a kid. I was the same with my bike too.
‘And did you enjoy it? Shovelling shit?’ Dan’s voice was light, but I could tell he was distracted, far away. I could picture him at his desk, half a sandwich sitting untouched, papers everywhere, furrowing his brow at a screen. I heard a rumbling voice in the background and he said, ‘I’m on my lunch David, come back in ten.’
‘Do you need to go?’ I asked, not sure if I felt relieved. I wasn’t sure how to talk to my husband anymore, it seemed.
‘No, I want to talk to you. These bastards just see work–life balance as a sign of weakness.’ He ensured his voice was louder at the end of his sentence, and I could imagine whoever David was sticking up his middle finger. ‘Mum asked how you were.’
‘Really.’ I did not believe that. ‘And what did you say?’
‘I said we were taking some time. That you were dealing with family stuff.’
‘And how well did she hide her joy? Has she already sent you a list of potential second wives?’
‘Taz, come on,’ Dan sighed. ‘Let’s not.’
I nodded, taking a breath. ‘Okay. Sorry.’
‘So, are you going to see your mum?’
‘Yeah, that’s why I’m here.’
Dan let out a sigh, and I tried not to jump on him. ‘What?’
‘I just wish you’d let me in, let me help. You don’t get points for doing it alone.’
‘I’ve spent my whole life being saved by you…’
‘And I was saved by you. We saved each other, that’s what we do.’
It occurred to me that my husband had spent our life rewarding me for my loyalty. Because I loved him as a teenager, behind bars. That I was there, every moment I could be, every visiting hour, every week, painting a picture of our future together. Giving him something to look forward to. That hadn’t been my role in a long time.
‘What’s your aunt like?’ Dan was always good at finding ways to keep a conversation going. Being interested, coaxing people into talking until they didn’t even realise they felt comfortable.
I felt that knot in my stomach start to unfurl.
‘She’s… grouchy, but I like her. There’re no games. And she named her alpacas after Harry Potter characters.’
‘Clearly a sign of a decent human being,’ Dan’s smile was audible. He paused, ‘I’m sorry things are weird right now, babe. I miss you.’
I smiled in relief. It didn’t make things less complicated, but I was glad he missed me. Glad that my stomach could still flip at the thought of him. In the good kind of way.
‘Do you take husband classes or something? Is there an app you’re using that tells you the right thing to say?’
‘Nah, I’ve just loved you for over a decade,’ he snorted, ‘not a bad idea about that app though. I’ll look into investors. Then maybe we can retire to that Caribbean island, what do you think?’
I heard more sounds in the background, and Daniel huffed, his softness and smile gone. ‘I said ten minutes, David. If you can’t count maybe you shouldn’t be in banking, right?’ His voice got louder again, directed at me, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
‘Okay, look after yourself.’
‘Yeah you too,’ he paused, ‘Taz, only go see your mum if you really want to, okay? You don’t need to punish yourself just because you think you should.’
God, if only he knew.
The farm was a little bit magical. I imagined what it would have been like to visit as a child, or even as a petulant teenager. I could see it, clear as day, Kit rousing me from my bed and shooing me out into the cold to help feed the chickens, or learning to ride horses.
Perhaps, in another life, I might have even lived with her, if I’d known who she was. If I’d known she’d existed. I’d be outdoorsy and ruddy-faced, a healthy complexion instead of that ghostly skin of mine, made worse by the dark circles under my eyes and the sharp angles of my face. It was a portal into another world, and I was enjoying imagining who I might have been.
Except there would be no Dan. There would have been no damp studio flat in Tufnell Park, no years spent as a barista/waitress/admin assistant/Saturday girl at the estate agent’s. There would have been no weeks living off tuna pasta bake and no nights curled around each other for warmth, telling stories about our glorious future, until we could fall asleep.
There would be no me, no us, if Kit had come to save me.
She seemed to be the sort to collect lost causes. She had a constant stream of people turning up at the farm. Not just the kids to ride the horses, or the people who’d booked a ‘take an alpaca for a walk’ event. Not just Sarah with her boy trouble, but almost every tour group seemed to offer someone she could help, whether it was an older gent researching family history, or a child in need of a second slice of cake. She wanted to help. But she pretended she didn’t.
Seeing Kit in full ‘sales’ mode when a tour bus arrived was something else. I stood there awkwardly, just watching. She looked ten years younger, suddenly vibrant and soft.
The visitors were delighted with her, expanding under her charm and warmth, accepting glasses of whisky from the tray that I held out. They tasted tablet and bought shortbread and took hundreds of selfies with the cows. I watched them enjoy themselves and somehow became part of it.
‘And how old is this place?’ a woman asked me, her American accent a slight surprise. ‘Has it been here for centuries?’
I looked in panic at Kit, who just threw her hands up and then twirled them around, to indicate I should say something, anything.
‘Oh yes, it’s been in the family for generations. Did you k
now those beautiful cows are only that colour because the queen once pointed out she liked them?’
The woman looked at me with a slight disappointment, ‘Oh, you’re English.’
I saw Kit raise an eyebrow at me, as if to say, Told you so. Give them a story.
‘Unfortunately so, but our family has lived here for a long time, from before it was a working farm,’ I started, seeing Kit nod, then mouth more. ‘And those cows the queen passed when she made that comment were right here, on this land.’
I watched the woman’s eyes go wide, then turn to her husband, ‘Jeff! Jeff, did you hear about the queen and the cows?’
These visitors were thrilled with it all, and it was only when they packed themselves up and the bus disappeared, Kit stopped waving and let out a deep sigh, seeming to become herself again. She rolled her eyes and muttered to herself as she collected up glasses or counted up the cash in her little tartan-covered tin.
That night she put down a simple dinner of beans on toast and grilled sausages, and two bottles of beer.
‘Sorry, I… I tend not to bother much with dinner when it’s just me.’
I shook my head, ‘I’m the same. Most nights I’ll have a piece of toast. This is a bit fancy by my standards, you need to use a fork and everything.’
Kit looked at me, as if checking to see I wasn’t laughing at her. Then she raised her bottle to me, and I lifted mine in response.
‘You did a good job today, I thought you’d be far too moral to spin a yarn for the tourists.’
I shook my head, ‘People want a story, often doesn’t matter if it’s true.’ I thought about the stories in the paper after Dan went to prison, the Romeo and Juliet angles they worked, the way they painted him and me until we were barely recognisable, either saints or sinners, depending on the rag. ‘Of course, give me a couple of books and I’ll find something true. Those are the best kind of stories anyway, the ones that have a little truth in them.’
The Things That Matter Page 10
