Chapter 6
‘Oh, you like that, don’t you? You really do.’ Mac couldn’t help but smile as Ellen MacKenzie leaned into him while he scratched her side, his fingers raking through her thick, ginger hair.
The beautiful Highland cow, along with her son, Jamie Fraser (named because, as his mother had pointed out, he was a handsome red-headed Highlander, so what else could she call him?) had been his mother’s pride and joy.
According to the Fosters at Carr Farm, the tiny herd, or fold, of two usually grazed the field that edged the footpath along the banks of the Humber, devouring the grasses and fibrous plant matter and gazing out over the river, looking so magnificent and majestic that anyone walking beside Watersmeet would invariably stop to take photographs, exclaiming in surprise and wonder at such an unexpected sight.
In winter, though, the field sometimes became boggy, and the cows were transferred to the two-acre field that sat furthest away from the river.
They were fed haylage in addition to their grazing, had a mineral lick and a supply of fresh water, and seemed quite happy together, taking cover when necessary in their purpose-built straw-bedded shelter.
The Fosters had assured him that Highland cows were hardy creatures and, compared with many breeds of cattle, easy to look after.
If that was true, he dreaded to think how difficult it was to care for other breeds, given the extensive information sheets his mother had left for him about the various steps necessary to ensure their continuing good health.
No wonder there were few farmers in Holderness who kept cows.
It seemed like an awful lot of responsibility to him.
Although, as Ellen MacKenzie gave what sounded suspiciously like a loud sigh of pleasure and Jamie Fraser wandered over to find out what the fuss was about, he had to admit that the sight of these beautiful, placid creatures lifted his heart and made him feel that any hard work associated with their care would be worth it.
Maybe.
After leaving the barn to check on Jacob Armitage and Heatherstone, the two ageing New Forest ponies who were in a separate paddock with a shelter, he wandered to the large fenced-off area behind the garden where the five ex-battery hens lived, making sure they were securely fastened in for the night.
The three ducks were also safely shut away.
There were foxes around here and he didn’t want to be the one responsible for letting his mother’s beloved birds die an unnatural death.
With Alderman Mrs Beddows surprisingly at home and curled up by the fire, and Robert Carne trotting beside him, all the animals were accounted for and safe, but he had to admit there was a lot more to taking care of them all than he’d ever imagined.
How had his mother coped on her own all this time?
He tried to ignore the familiar pang of shame that she’d had to.
It wasn’t, after all, true. Not really. She’d had the Fosters, who’d been good friends to her.
And Stella, of course. His sister had visited her regularly and had, no doubt, done what she could to help their mother, even though she had never approved of her taking in so many animals.
Stella had a good heart. He had to remember that.
He glanced down at Robert Carne, who stared back at him, clearly wondering why they’d suddenly stopped halfway down the garden path when the warmth and comfort of home was so close.
‘She deserves better,’ he mumbled to the little dog.
Carne turned to look at the house then back to him. He clearly couldn’t care less who deserved what. He was too focused on what he deserved, which was a nice warm fire and a snooze on the sofa.
Mac rubbed his forehead. What was he going to do about Stella? She was his sister, and he loved her, but right now she hated him, and who could blame her? Accepting his inheritance of Watersmeet was bad enough, but when you considered what had gone before…
He gazed up at the dark sky, wondering why his mother had put this on him. She’d known who he was. What he’d done. What if he let her down?
Finding no comfort in the night sky he turned to look out over the river, knowing that across the Humber lay the seaside town of Cleethorpes, and wondering how lively it was right now. Would the cafes, the shops, the amusements still be open? He doubted it, since it was January and out of season.
He felt a sudden stirring of something deep within him and, sickened, he turned away, calling to Carne as he strode rapidly back to the house.
Watersmeet should be Stella’s, but his mother had left it to him. She’d trusted him to do the right thing. If he did as his sister wanted, he’d be letting his mother down yet again. If he sold the place to someone else, it would be just as bad.
He was trapped. The house he’d dreamed of and longed for so many times during the last few years had become his prison.
He had no idea how this was going to work because, unlike his mother, he had no faith in himself.
‘“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”’ It was a quote by Mother Julian of Norwich, apparently, and another one that Doug had been fond of, designed to calm him down when his anxieties rose and his mind began racing.
He wasn’t sure even Mother Julian herself would have had a solution to this dilemma.
After slipping off his wellies in the boot room, he entered the kitchen. The heat was comforting, like he’d just put a duvet around his shoulders.
‘Maybe,’ he said to Carne, ‘I’ll have a cup of tea first, and then I’ll see if there’s anything left in the freezer for dinner. I think there are some biscuits in the cupboard I can have while I think about it. I might even let you have one. What do you say?’
Carne yapped loudly and raced to the door that led to the hallway.
‘All right, all right. You want to be by the fire. I get it.’ Mac shook his head. There was no pleasing some people – even the ones that were dogs.
Before he could open the door to let Carne through, it opened and Stella stepped into the kitchen, her dark brown blunt bob cut to just the wrong length for her square face.
She was dressed all in black for mourning – or to remind everyone that she’d just lost her mother and so much more besides.
She gave the excited Jack Russell a perfunctory pat but her small, hazel eyes never left her brother’s face.
‘What the hell…’ It was a shock to see her there. He hadn’t set eyes on her since the reading of the will.
‘You left the front door unlocked so I let myself in. You should be more careful.’
‘Around here? Since when?’
She rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘Times change.’
‘Kelsea Sands doesn’t. It’s just as I left it. Like I never went away.’
She folded her arms. ‘But you did, didn’t you? For forty-four years.’
‘Bloody hell, Stell. You been working that out in your head while you waited for me?’
‘Didn’t need to. It’s embedded in my mind forever. Forty-four years of me being the only child in this family. To all intents and purposes.’
He turned back to the sink and filled up the kettle. ‘Stop exaggerating. You were never the only child. Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘I might as well have been!’
‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Are you going to ignore me forever? Because I won’t let you, you know. It’s not fair, Ian! You know that deep down, so what are you going to do about it?’
He succeeded somehow in keeping his voice steady. ‘It’s Mac, Stella. I’ve told you so many times.’
‘Mac!’ She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Since when?’
‘Since I decided I’d had enough of being Ian,’ he said quietly, flicking the switch on the kettle.
‘Well, I can’t blame you for that. I think we’d all had enough of Ian – Mum especially. Which is why this is so unfair.’
‘So you keep saying, but it’s what she wanted.’
‘It’s not what she wanted at all! She was just—’
‘Just what?’ He swung round to face her, feeling suddenly bitter that he’d been put in this situation. ‘Deranged? Of unsound mind? You might well be right but try proving it in a court of law.’
‘Sorry for you,’ she hissed. ‘She was just sorry for you.’
He gazed down at the floor. He thought it would have been better if his mother had been of unsound mind after all. Anything would have been better than her leaving him Watersmeet out of pity. Is that what she’d done?
Carne trotted over to him and sat by his side, gazing up at him with a solemn expression.
Mac reached down and fondled the little chap’s ears, feeling stupidly grateful for the warmth and affection in the dog’s eyes.
Right now, it felt as if Carne was the only person in the world who cared about him.
‘It had nothing to do with pity,’ he said, straightening as he remembered the other animals bedded down for the evening: the cows, the ponies, the ducks, the ex-battery hens, all safe and secure because he’d taken care of them and made sure they were.
‘You know as well as I do why she left this place to me. You left her with no choice.’
‘But you agree with me, don’t you? Deep down you know I’m right, and before long you’ll only do what I was going to do anyway. Why drag it out? Gavin will take it off your hands. You know he’ll be fair and—’
‘How many more times? I’m sure Gavin would take it off my hands, but the fact is that Mum didn’t want him to. In fact, it’s exactly what she tried so hard to prevent. Hence lumbering me with the place!’
‘Lumbering you?’ Stella’s face was wet with tears, whether of anger, sadness or frustration Mac wasn’t sure. Probably all three. ‘That’s how you see it? This beautiful house!’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ he protested feebly.
‘Look, I haven’t got the energy to argue about this now, and I don’t want to fight with you.
Have a cup of tea with me. We can have a nice evening together catching up.
I haven’t seen you properly for so long and it would be good to chat. How are Ned and Crystal?’
Stella glared at him as she swiped the tears away with the back of her gloved hand. ‘My kids are fine. How are yours?’
He flinched as if she’d slapped him. ‘Low blow, Stell.’ She probably knew better than he did how Wyatt and Sarah were. Part of him longed to ask her if she’d heard from his children lately, but he didn’t dare. Even if she had, would she tell him? And did he want to hear it anyway?
For a moment her face softened, as if she realised she’d gone too far. He seized upon the chance to start building bridges.
‘Look, stay a while. I’ve got some biscuits somewhere,’ he offered, trying to smile. ‘We can have a proper catch-up. Forget all this business for one evening and just be… us again.’
Her mouth tightened and he knew he’d lost her.
‘I’m not staying if you’re not going to talk about Watersmeet,’ she said coldly.
‘When you’ve thought it over and decided I was right and you’re willing to start negotiations then I’ll come round and eat as many bloody biscuits as you’ve got.
Until then, we have nothing to say to each other. ’
‘Stella,’ he pleaded, but she turned and strode down the hallway towards the front door, ignoring him. He winced as she slammed it behind her, heading out into a night as bitter as she clearly still was.
‘Oh, Mum,’ he groaned. ‘Look what you’ve done. As if I hadn’t messed things up with her enough already.’
The kettle reached boiling point, and he went to the cupboard for a mug, noticing his mobile phone on the worktop. For a moment his hand hovered over it. His pulse raced. His heart thudded.
‘“Tomorrow is tomorrow”,’ he reminded himself. ‘“All shall be well”.’
Yes, he was mixing his quotations but so what? If it worked…
He turned his mobile phone over so he couldn’t see the screen and busied himself making the mug of tea, half smiling as Mrs Beddows stalked in and wound between his legs, clearly on the scrounge for food.
‘You two…’ He shook his head as the dog and cat looked hopefully at him. ‘You never stop, do you?’
But he was glad of their company. Glad of the interaction. Glad to be needed and wanted, even though a part of him screamed at the very idea of all that responsibility.
‘I’m trying,’ he told them. ‘I’ll do my very best not to let you down.’
It was as much as he could promise.