Chapter 7
‘Drive safely!’ I wave as Matthew pulls away in his clean electric car and I can’t help thinking he’s rather too eager to get away – but I’m relieved that he’s gone.
Maybe it’s just that I’m stressed about Dad.
I want to focus on him and make sure he’s okay before I leave.
‘And remember to shut the gates!’ I call after him. He gives me a thumbs-up.
I watch him go down the drive, slowly, trying to avoid the potholes that really need filling. Once he’s out of sight, I step back into the kitchen, not wanting to let out any more of the heat, and close the door, with the dogs inside.
I grab the Land Rover keys from the Welsh dresser, pull on a scarf and Dad’s coat, and head out across the yard.
I climb into the Land Rover and try to start the engine.
To say it needs a lot of encouragement is an understatement.
It takes a while, and a few prayers to whoever might be listening, but finally it rattles and shudders into life.
‘Yes!’ I say, patting the steering wheel, like I would the dogs. ‘Here we go.’ I find first gear and release the handbrake. It’s still raining, hard. The windscreen wipers are swishing back and forth without my having to turn them on. Like it’s been raining for ever.
I set off down the uneven drive towards the front gate. Creak, swish, creak, swish go the wipers.
The Land Rover rocks and rolls along and I’m peering at the windscreen, squinting to see better through the rain. I grip the steering wheel – it feels like it’s got a life of its own as I negotiate the neglected drive.
Swish, creak, swish, creak.
I’m hoping I’ll be able to see a bit more clearly once I get onto the main road. I’m nearly at the gate. Right now, I can hardly see …
‘Gah!’
I slam on the brakes. There’s something or someone in front of me on the drive.
I pull on the handbrake and push open the stiff door with my shoulder, holding my other arm over my eyes.
A woman, almost camouflaged in a dark green wax jacket, dark brown boots and leather hat, is waving at me, and not in a welcoming way.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, concerned.
‘No! It’s not! There’s a bloody big sheep and a horse loose in that field. They’re chasing my dogs.’
‘A sheep?’
I turn to look at the field beside Gramps’s.
I’d put Bertie and Harriet into their own field this morning.
Now Bertie and his sidekick Harriet are cavorting around this one.
I frown. ‘They’re not supposed to be there.
Not in with the flock at this time of year!
Not again!’ And then I do a double-take and point. ‘Are those your dogs?’
‘Yes!’ she replies angrily. ‘And your animals are chasing them! You need to get them away! They could kill them!’
Suddenly my hackles are up. ‘Shouldn’t it be you getting your dogs back and leaving our stock alone? What are they doing running around this field in the first place?’
‘It’s a good walk for them!’ she says indignantly. ‘And on our doorstep!’
‘On your doorstep? You live here?’
‘Not exactly. Well, partially.’
I try not to roll my eyes. ‘You have a second home here,’ I say flatly.
‘Thinking about it. I’m renting while I decide.’ She pulls herself up to her full height. ‘We keep the economy going here. If it wasn’t for the likes of us …’
‘Well, right now, you need to get your dogs back on the lead. This is private property.’
‘But there’s a footpath that runs along the edge of this field.’
I’m looking at the dogs and suddenly I can’t bite my tongue. ‘A footpath, yes. Not the right to let your dogs run amok on our land.’
‘Your land?’
‘My father’s land. It’s his farm. Our land.’
‘Well, perhaps I should speak to your father. Get him to put better notices up. Fencing maybe. Where is he? He should be out here, keeping these animals under control.’
I sigh loudly. I’m feeling crosser by the moment. ‘Call your dogs. I’m on my way to pick up my father from hospital.’
She looks as if she’s about to say something but thinks better of it.
I’m watching the dogs and Bertie, kicking up his heels, with Harriet in hot pursuit. For a moment I want to laugh, but I do my best to suppress it. If Dad could see this, he’d laugh too.
‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ calls the woman, and raises a whistle to her lips, but Cosmo and Hubert just keep running in circles.
‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ Still nothing.
‘Cos—’
‘I don’t think they’re listening, do you?’ I say, folding my arms.
The woman glares at me, then storms off in the direction of the dogs. I take a deep breath and walk towards the chaos. The woman, in new designer outdoor wear, is shouting, ‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ at two excited black Labradors. ‘That sheep is out of control! I could sue!’
Harriet is dipping and bucking but eventually I grab her forelock and pull her towards me. She swings her head back to the action, the woman trying to lasso her dogs with the leads. ‘Very bad! Very bad!’ She gasps.
I reach into Dad’s coat pocket, for what I’m expecting to find there, and pull out the packet of Polo mints he always carries. ‘You never know when they might come in handy,’ he would tell me, when I was little. And he was right.
Harriet turns her head towards my outstretched hand and snaffles up the Polo, taking a feisty nip at my fingers.
‘Ouch!’
I pull out another Polo and hold it in front of her. She starts to move in the right direction, back towards the gate that had clearly been left open. Frankly, with the state of the fence, they could probably have got out without needing the enticement of an open gate.
Bertie is chasing the woman, trying to butt her in the back of the shins, when he sees Harriet leaving, turns and hurries after her.
Clearly, where Harriet goes, Bertie follows.
And with a couple more Polos for encouragement, I have the two of them back in their field, the gate closed firmly behind me.
The same can’t be said of the woman and her dogs.
She is shouting at them, ‘Lie down!’ as they bounce around her.
Eventually, she manages to grab one and flick a lead around its neck.
And, in a stroke of what looks more like luck than judgement, she catches the other between her legs and clips on his lead.
Then, with barely a backward glance, she lifts her chin and walks to the end of the field and the stile.
I watch her go, replaying her threats about suing for out-of-control animals.
While I don’t think she would and know that she has absolutely no right to, any kind of threat like that is a worry.
I walk back to the Land Rover, which has stalled.
I open the gate, lifting it on its hinges, and drive through, then close it carefully.
It’ll need fixing before I go, I think, and start making a mental list of things to be mended, including the gate and the listing fence on Bertie and Harriet’s field.
How long has it been like that? Has Bertie been able to get into the ewes’ field and run free with them whenever he liked?
It could create havoc around lambing if any of them have caught at the wrong time.
Just what I didn’t need today. I pull my seatbelt around me, start the engine and put my foot on the accelerator, keen to get to the hospital and see Dad.
I’m furious with the dog-walker for not respecting the footpath or our livestock.
The Land Rover lurches down the final part of the drive, windscreen wipers working fast, and I’m about to swing out into the road, just as another car comes towards me at speed.
The driver sees me, hits the brakes and slides off the road into the stone wall of the farm.
BANG! I hear, then the hissing of the airbags from the other car.