Chapter 8
‘Are you okay?’ I jump out of the Land Rover and run towards the buckled car. ‘I didn’t see you. Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied.’ I attempt to pull open the buckled door. ‘A woman with her dogs loose!’ I jabber, as I pull back the door and recognize the driver as Llew Griffiths.
‘Oh, you’re bleeding!’ I say. Blood is oozing from just above his eyebrow. He must have hit the window when the car crashed into the wall. I dig into my pockets again for a tissue but instead I find a sock. Not very hygienic to put on the cut.
‘I’m fine,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Left my phone in your kitchen when I took your number.’
I look at the front of the car. No wonder it was a loud bang. The wall has shifted and some of it has tumbled into the stream, which is flowing fast in the rain. ‘Do you want an ambulance?’ I pull out my phone, hoping for signal and holding it up as the rain pours down.
He waves a hand. ‘No ambulance, thank you. I’ll be okay.’
‘Really?’
‘No ambulance. Let’s not make it more than it is.’
‘I wasn’t expecting someone to drive in. We don’t get many visitors. Sorry.’
‘You were going too fast,’ he says. ‘On the wrong side of the drive.’
‘I – I was. Sorry. Like I say, I was in a rush.’
‘I hit mud, I think. Wet road, slippery.’
I look down. There is a big skid in the mud on the road. ‘You did.’ I wince. ‘Your car is pretty messed up.’
My heart is thudding, like horses’ hoofs: I’m reminded of cantering across the fields when I was a child. Endless long summer holidays riding my pony Shadrach over Gramps’s field, where Dad had made little jumps for me, and his collie would follow.
Llew Griffiths runs his hands through his hair and sees the blood from his forehead. ‘I’ve got some tissues in the glove box,’ he says. ‘Could you help?’ He points to the passenger side.
‘Sure,’ I say, and run round, but I can’t get into the glove box due to the inflated airbag. ‘Look, I’m going to the hospital to pick Dad up. Let me take you there. Just to check you’re okay. I’d feel a lot happier.’
He attempts to move and winces. ‘Maybe just a quick chat with a doctor,’ he says, to my surprise. I’d thought he’d put up more of fight and I’d have to be firm about it.
‘Okay, let’s get you into the Land Rover.’
Again he tries to move and winces. The rain is rolling down my forehead, cheeks and face from my sodden hair.
He looks up at me and something inside me skips. It has to be the stress of the accident. ‘I may need help,’ he says.
‘Sure,’ I say, holding out a wet hand. He takes hold of it firmly and it feels very different from Matthew’s soft hands.
It’s strong and powerful. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m thinking this when I’m partly to blame for his car coming off the road.
He pulls on my hand and I lean back to help him to his feet.
He hauls himself out stiffly, until he’s upright, brushing at the gash on his head again.
Then he turns to the car, a mangled mess at the front, and the drop into the water, and I’m wondering if he’s thinking the same as me. ‘That could have been worse,’ he says. ‘Thank God for well-made walls.’
He was thinking the same as me.
He stares at the water tumbling over the rocks, where I used to paddle in the summer in the cold water running off the mountain. For a moment it looks as if he’s somewhere else entirely.
Then he looks at the car. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get this sorted.’
‘No rush,’ I say. ‘Let’s get you checked over first.’ I point him in the direction of the Land Rover, his shoulders stooped, accepting the sock to hold to the cut on his head.
By the time Dad is ready to leave and I’ve got him into the car, Llew Griffiths is coming out of A and E.
‘Good to see you! Would you mind if I had a picture taken with you?’ the doctor is asking, patting Llew on the shoulder.
Llew obliges politely and the selfie is taken, followed by a handshake.
‘Good to meet you. And, again, I’m sorry for how things turned out.’
I frown. Clearly the doctor knows who Llew Griffiths is, even if I don’t. All I know is that he’s someone wanting to work with Dad on the farm. But there’s clearly more to this.
‘Just make sure you’re not on your own this evening, and if you’re concerned about anything, give us a call or get your wife to bring you back in.’
He nods to me. I wave a hand by explanation that I’m not his wife.
‘Really, my wife won’t be driving me anywhere,’ Llew says, clearly half joking and maybe half not.
‘Right,’ I say, nodding to Dad in the Land Rover, wearing a bobble hat I’ve brought for him, coat and scarf. ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’
‘I’d better get my stuff from the car and arrange to have it picked up. I’m sure they’ll get it fixed as soon as possible,’ he says. ‘Or find a replacement.’
‘Fine. Follow me.’
‘Keep up the painkillers. But you should be right as rain after a good night’s sleep,’ says the doctor.
At the car Dad and Llew Griffiths greet each other. Dad is weak, but nods a hello, while looking at me. I can’t work out what’s going on. But maybe that’s because Dad has been, and still is, really ill. Could have been so much worse. Llew’s words come back to haunt me.
In the car, I realize the rain has eased. I turn the heater on but it circulates dog hair around the interior. It’s like being inside the tube of a vacuum cleaner, so I turn it off again.
Dad is dozing and Llew is saying very little, probably shaken by his accident and what might have been.
As we approach the farm I slow right down. Dad wakes and sees the wreckage of the car. I pull up beside it. ‘Do you need a hand?’ I ask Llew.
‘I’ll just get my stuff together. Book into a hotel until I’ve sorted this.’
‘You won’t find much in town,’ Dad murmurs. ‘It’s not what it was once.’
‘Look, I feel bad for what happened, and it was partly my fault. You can stay here if you like. That’s okay, isn’t it, Dad?’
Dad nods cautiously, which is unlike him. I’m putting that down to the sepsis. ‘Of course,’ he says, and I’m sure he means it, even if he doesn’t sound it. Dad would always welcome anyone who needed a hand.
‘I don’t want to impose.’
‘Really, it’s not an imposition. There’s a spare room – I’ll make up the bed – and the heating is back on, so it’s warm.
It’s no bother.’ I look sideways at Dad: he’ll be embarrassed that I know the oil ran out.
‘And once the two of you have had some rest you can tell me about your business plans to work together.’ I glance between them.
‘It’s a chance for us to have a good catch-up.
You can tell me everything that’s going on, Dad.
’ I smile. ‘Put my mind at rest before I have to go again.’
I see him look into the rear-view mirror at Llew.
‘You’re very kind but I’ll be fine.’ Llew pushes open the stiff back door, and as he does so, his legs nearly give way.
‘Whoa,’ I say, jumping out to help him. ‘That’s settled. You’ll stay with us. The doctor says you shouldn’t be on your own tonight and, by the sound of it, your wife isn’t coming to collect you.’
He laughs as I hold his elbow, a big bear of a man, clearly having had the wind taken out of his sails.
‘I feel like I’ve been hit by the entire front row of the All Blacks,’ he says. He looks at me. ‘No, I won’t be ringing my wife, or ex-wife as she is. I don’t think she or her new husband would appreciate that.’
‘Ah,’ I say, and give him a gentle nudge back into the Land Rover. ‘Come on, let’s get you two inside. Plenty of time to sort out the car and explain your plans.’
I open the gate, with difficulty, drive through and shut it again. That’s one of the first jobs I have to do.
I check that all the sheep are in the right place and that the dog-walker isn’t back with Cosmo and Hubert, then drive us up to the farmhouse, where the dogs are waiting to welcome Dad home.
‘Gently,’ I say to Ffion and Dewi, the pup, now that Dad has reminded me of his name.
‘It’s good to be home,’ he says, sitting in the living room in front of the fire.
‘It is,’ I find myself saying. ‘It really is.’ I run upstairs and gather sheets and pillow cases for the spare room, which looks out over Gramps’s field and the ewes. I’m not thinking about schedules, staffing rotas or suppliers. I’m just here, feeling happy, feeling home.