Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
Rita wrestled the key into the stiff old lock, rainwater dripping from her coat and pooling on the worn flagstones beneath her feet.
The summer storm was still raging outside, wind howling through the outbuildings and the waves crashing against the cliffs below.
Night had fallen earlier than expected, swallowed by thick, bruised clouds that clung low over the bay.
Inside, the farmhouse felt hollow. Even Henry didn’t lift an eyelid from his Aga-fronted bed.
Cold, damp air greeted her like a sigh. She kicked off her boots with a squelch, peeled her sodden coat from her shoulders, and left it in a heap by the door.
Her jeans clung miserably to her thighs. Everything felt wrong. She felt wrong.
She didn’t bother with the lights. All she wanted was to get into a deep, hot bath, a place to hide from the world where no one needed anything from her, not her thoughts, not her words, not her heart.
Before, when she’d spoken to Kelly, she’d managed to feel oddly calm about Archie’s supposed mystery child.
Detached. As though it had happened to someone else, in someone else’s life.
But now, back in the cold silence of the house that she and Archie had shared so many good times in, it hit her like a punch to the ribs.
The lies. The debt. The way he’d left her stranded in the middle of the financial storm he’d created.
He hadn’t even had the guts to tell her himself.
Just let it all unravel around her while he vanished into the fog.
What if Archie had a whole secret life she hadn’t been part of, and he’d been stupid enough to think love was enough to fix it all?
She was halfway up the stairs when the knock came, sharp, impatient, too sudden to ignore.
She paused, heart thudding in that strange, hollow way it does when you’re not sure who it might be.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
She sighed, padded back down, and opened the door.
Teo stood in the porch, rain speckled across his shoulders and cap. His cheeks were flushed, his expression unreadable.
‘You look like a shipwreck,’ he said gently, shutting out the storm.
‘I feel like one.’
‘I saw you come in; I was worried about you.’
‘I was just going up for a bath, but sit… do you want a drink of something?’
‘No, no, I go now. I’m staying at Jude’s tonight for a change.’
‘Zenya’s away on a cookery course, too, isn’t she?’
Teo nodded. ‘Do you want me to stay so you are not all alone?’ He really meant it, too. ‘I can.’
‘No, don’t be silly. Enjoy the downtime with your fella, whilst we have no guests.’
Teo smiled gently. ‘I was wanting to see if you were bien and to tell you that… well… it’s Hilda. She no here, anymore. She gone.’
Rita frowned. ‘Gone where?’
‘No idea, but I could tell she wanted to escape without a word. Yesterday, some bloke picked her up in a black Mercedes. She had a suitcase with her.’
‘A suitcase?’ Rita’s voice was weak.
‘You probably know already… but when she saw me walking across the courtyard she seemed a little jumpy.’
Rita shook her head slowly. Her hair was still dripping. So were her lashes.
‘I know nothing, as usual. She’s such a dark old horse, that one. Did she say anything to you?’ Rita screwed up her nose.
‘Nada. Just jumped in the car like a woman half her age and off they went. I saw then she was smiling, so I shouldn’t worry.’
Rita’s face looked torn between a laugh and a cry.
Teo shifted his weight awkwardly, then looked at her with quiet concern.
‘Do you want to talk to me, Rita?’ he asked softly. ‘I know there’s something wrong.’
The kindness in his voice almost undid her. ‘I’m just tired. It’s been a bit stressful lately, you know.’
‘Tomorrow, if you get a minute and the weather is calmer, let’s go to the barn for a little Savasana together.’
‘I’d love that.’ Rita managed a half smile.
‘Oh, sí, sí. I have something for you.’ Teo pulled a crinkled plastic bag from under his coat. ‘Me and Jude got carried away at Betty’s. A ham hock roll and a cinnamon bun going spare.’
Rita swallowed hard and looked away, her eyes stinging. Oh, how she wished this beautiful, thoughtful young man could be the son she’d somehow lost along the way.
‘You’re such a good lad. Thank you, so much. And I could do with the sugar, to be honest.’
And as Teo made his way out to Archie’s Land Rover, Rita realised it wasn’t sugar she needed to get her back. It was the truth.
Rita lit a few candles around the bath, steam curling upwards, fogging the mirror.
With a deep sigh, she slipped out of her towel.
She had just put one foot into the soothing hot water, when a shriek split through the storm from outside.
It was high, panicked. Then another. Definitely not human. Or one of the chickens.
She listened intently. Another shriek, then a furious bleating from the direction of the goat pen.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Rita groaned.
She grabbed her towel, went to the window, squinting through rain-spattered glass.
The outdoor floodlight flickered on and off in the wind.
Shapes moved in the chaos. A fox maybe? The bleating continued.
Not stopping to think, she threw on whatever clothes she could find from the drying rack, then grabbed the old shotgun that Sennen had told her to get rid of.
As she charged downstairs, Henry raised an eyelid, then with a sleepy harrumph settled back down to sleep. Throwing on wellies and her favourite raincoat with the hood pulled up, she made her way out into the weather.
The wind punched her in the face, but undeterred, she ran, skidding over mud, and calling out to her beloved goats that she was on her way.
By the time she reached the goat pen, the torch string between her teeth, she knew it wasn’t a fox.
Of course, it was Camilla. So wrapped up in her own world of woe, she had forgotten it was near her due date.
Feeling a huge pang of guilt for not being the dutiful goat mother she had always been, she dropped the gun and launched herself over the fence.
Bribing the other three with treats she had in her coat pocket, she herded them into a separate part of the shed.
The distressed goat was down, belly heaving, eyes wild. Her cries were guttural, sharp, full of pain. She was in labour. And from the look of it, she was in trouble.
Rita fell to her knees.
‘Oh, no. No, no, no, girl… I’m here now. I’m sorry, darling.’
Reaching for her phone with shaking fingers, she called the vet.
No answer. Straight to voicemail! She left a quick message then tried to think who could help.
Teo was with Jude, Zenya was on the vegan cookery course she had said she’d pay for, and even Hilda, who could have maybe helped to a degree, had buggered off with her suitcase somewhere.
In a panic now, she called Stan.
‘Stan, it’s Rita; Camilla’s in labour. She’s struggling.’
‘Oh, love, you know I’d come, but I’m out for dinner, our anniversary. I’m an hour away. Have you called the vet?’
‘Left a message.’
‘Call Jago.’
‘What?’ Rita could barely hear him for the wind whistling around her ears.
‘Call Jago. He’ll know what to do.’
She stared at her phone. Rain streaked down her face. Her hair was stuck to her cheeks in strings. She hadn’t spoken to Jago since everything unravelled. Since she’d started wondering if Archie had ever told her the truth about anything.
But Camilla was bleating again. Worse now. Urgent.
Rita wiped at her eyes with the back of her equally wet sleeve and pressed call.
The phone had barely rung twice before he answered.
Jago’s voice, low and unmistakable, cut through the storm like a lifeline.
‘It’s Rita. I… I need help. Camilla’s in labour and it’s not going right. Teo’s out. I can’t reach the vet. Stan said to call you.’
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t hesitate. Just a firm, ‘I’m on my way.’
She hung up, heart hammering, and turned back to the pen.
Camilla was lying on her side now, legs kicking, her cries more desperate. Rita stroked the goat’s flank, whispering sweet nothings she didn’t believe herself, trying to remember everything Archie had taught her about breech births and calm energy and staying low to the ground.
Then came headlights, slicing through the rain like a miracle, and Jago’s Defender came rumbling up the track, tyres spitting gravel and mud, its headlights sweeping across the barn as it slid to a stop.
He was out before the engine even died, coat flapping behind him like a cape, boots already soaked through.
Running at full pelt up to the goat pen.
He barely glanced at Rita as he dived into the pen. Crouching beside the goat, he pulled a pair of medical gloves from his pocket, quickly put them on, then pressed one hand gently to her side.
‘She’s trying. But something’s off. It’s OK, girl. I’ve got you. Try the vet again,’ he demanded.
‘Can you…?’ Rita wailed, dialling the number and getting an engaged tone.
‘I’ll do what I can. But I’m going to need you. Can you get warm water and a couple of towels? Let’s try and get her as comfortable as we can.’
Rita nodded, legs like jelly, and ran.
When she came back, soaked, with a bucket of steaming water and two old towels, Jago was already up to his elbow in goat.
He looked up briefly, his eyes locking with hers. ‘I need you to talk to her. Keep her calm.’
Rita dropped to her knees beside him, stroking Camilla’s head, murmuring her name over and over. The storm crashed around them, rain slamming at them like gravel.
It was over in a sudden, noisy rush. With one final cry, Camilla gave a mighty push, and out slid the tiny, slick form of a kid, a dirty white and trembling, ears twitching, the smallest flicker of life in the stormy chaos.
Jago moved with surprising gentleness, clearing the airways with a towel, rubbing the baby briskly until it let out its first thin, wavering bleat.
‘It’s a boy!’ he shouted animatedly.
He placed the new life down for Camilla to lick clean, but before anyone could take a breath, her sides contracted again. Another push. A second kid, smaller, darker, slipped into Jago’s waiting hands. ‘Twins!’
Rita held her breath as he worked quickly, clearing the little one’s nose and mouth, coaxing life into its limp limbs. Then, a second cry, softer, like an echo of the first.
‘Another boy.’ He popped the newborn down next to its mother. Camilla turned, already licking them both with slow, rhythmic care.
Rita’s hand came to her mouth. Her eyes, brimming with tears and rain, met Jago’s.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she whispered.
‘You did good,’ Jago murmured to Rita, as he pulled off his gloves. Camilla continued her nurturing, exhausted but calm.
For a moment, everything was still. Just the sound of wind, the bleats from the other goats, and the warmth of Jago’s presence beside her.
She looked at him. He was close, so close, wet hair plastered to his forehead, eyes dark.
He had a wild, untamed look, yet in that moment she understood how deeply he cared.
‘Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you, and I’ve been so remiss in looking after her through this pregnancy and… ’
Jago reached for her cheek, fingers rough, warm. And without asking this time, kissed her. Slow and certain, like they had all the time in the word. She melted into him, into the press of his mouth, the solidness of his chest. She broke away, breathless. ‘You said we shouldn’t…’
‘The heart does what the heart wants and all that,’ Jago replied flippantly. ‘And I can’t stop thinking about you, Rita.’
‘My head is so muddled.’ Rita pushed the wet hair back off her face.
‘And my heart…’ She trailed off, pressing her palm to her chest like she was trying to still it.
‘It doesn’t know whether to run or stay.
To fight for this or protect itself. I’m so confused.
’ She let out a shaky breath. ‘And there’s… something I need to tell you.’
‘Go on.’ Jago pulled her towards him as if he never wanted to let her go.
Rita took a huge breath. ‘The will saga continues. According to Chloe Brimble at the solicitors’, Archie has a brother.’ Her voice trembled.
Jago’s jaw tightened. She felt the shift in him, a subtle retreat.
She blinked. ‘Oh my God.’
He grabbed his keys. Rita was wide eyed, her voice sharp with disbelief. ‘You know who it is, don’t you?’
He said nothing.
‘Jago? Is that what this is?’ She took a step closer. ‘The Jenken–Jory feud? Is it to do with Archie’s brother?’
The silence cracked. Not from Jago, but from above. A bright flash lit up the courtyard in stark white. Then low rumbles of thunder rolling across the sky, deep and growling.
Then headlights and a car pulling in, tyres crunching on the gravel. The vet stepped out, a headlamp strapped over his cap like a miner entering a cave.
‘I have to go,’ Jago announced. ‘Tell the vet everything you saw. They should be all right now.’
‘But Jago—’ Rita felt her throat burning.
But he was already gone.
Rita stood there in the straw, the kids both making their first shaky steps, Camilla breathing steady beside them, the vet walking towards her with a massive apology at the ready.
And inside her chest, a dance of a million questions.