11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
C ass was right that the community was only an hour away. At least it would have been, if we hadn’t got terribly lost.
‘We’ve been past this pub already,’ said Bertie, his nose pressed to the window.
‘We’ve passed it more than once,’ I said.
Cass reached across and slapped my knee. ‘I think you’ll find it’s your job to navigate, not mine.’
‘True,’ I said, ‘but these directions are hopeless.’
‘Read them out to me again.’
‘Go past the pub, then turn left down a narrow track.’
‘But there is no track,’ said Cass, bashing the steering wheel with her fist.
‘There is,’ said Bertie. ‘I just saw it.’
‘Where?’ said Cass, turning her head to Bertie.
‘Cass, look out.’
Cass turned her eyes back to the road just in time to avoid hitting a flock of sheep being moved from one field to another.
‘It’s back there,’ said Bertie. ‘Past the pub, just like the directions said.’
Cass reversed the car at a snail’s pace, freaked out after her near-miss.
‘There,’ said Bertie, pointing out of the window to a tiny opening between the pub and its neighbouring house.
‘Young eyes,’ I said, earning myself another slap from Cass.
It took Cass three attempts to turn the car into the opening. Hedges enclosed us, the middle of the track sporting a grass mohican. Cass flinched at every turn, paranoid we’d meet another vehicle on a track barely big enough for one car. If the state of the track was anything to go by, there wouldn’t be much other traffic around.
Cass’s shoulders softened as we finally reached a wooden gate, a sign announcing we had reached Lowen Farm. Beside the gate stood a postbox and a structure resembling a doll’s house containing fresh eggs.
‘Do you want to open the gate?’ I asked Bertie.
Bertie jumped out of the car in response, pulling the gate open for us to pass through. He closed it behind us and we drove on, the track widening out, ancient native trees flanking us like sentries.
Cass pulled the car to a stop at the point the track forked. A signpost informed us that to our right was Lowen farm, and to our left was the lake.
‘I think we want the farm,’ said Cass, inching forward along the bumpy track.
‘Lake sounds nice. I wonder if there’s a lake house beside it?’ I said, picturing a spa. Didn’t Pamela Anderson live in a lake house? A whole new set of images came to mind.
The surrounding trees thinned out, livestock grazing among open clearings.
‘Wow,’ said Bertie, peering through the windscreen as a large, whitewashed building came into view.
Thick vines trailed up the outside of the house, reminding me of my dad’s knobbly fingers. Two large pots containing bare-branched trees framed a red front door. Beyond the main frontage, other buildings seemed to have been tacked on as an after-thought. A crooked lean-to clung to one side, and a hotchpotch of white-washed extensions made the house look like a big-bellied giant stretching out its legs.
‘Gemma told us to ask for Harry,’ said Cass, turning off the engine and climbing out of the car.
Bertie hung back as Cass marched towards the front door. I took his hand and gave him what I hoped to be a reassuring smile. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘Remember, if you don’t like it here, we won’t come and stay.’
Bertie nodded, and we walked up to Cass who was already pulling on a wrought iron doorbell. We waited a good five minutes before Cass leaned forward and tried the door handle. ‘Open,’ she said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.
‘Cass,’ I hissed. ‘You can’t just walk into someone else's house.’
‘Watch me.’ She grinned and walked further into the entrance hall.
Bertie and I followed. Faded Victorian tiles in varying shades of blue covered the wide hallway floor. Several were chipped, the coat stand leaning drunkenly due to a missing tile beneath one of its legs. Any stain that once covered the banister had been worn off by years of hands, and a bucket stood at the bottom of the stairs, presumably to catch rainwater from a leak.
The sound of humming floated from a nearby room. ‘This way,’ said Cass.
We walked through a large, wood-panelled room, the longest dining table I’d ever seen filling its length. A mirror hung on one wall, an upright piano stood tucked into an alcove, and the scuffed floorboards shone with water from a mop and bucket leaning against a Welsh dresser.
‘Excuse me? Can I help you?’
We turned to see a rotund woman with rosy cheeks clutching a duster in one hand and a brush and dustpan in the other. She reminded me of all the farmer’s wives I’d read about in Enid Blyton books.
‘Hello,’ said Cass. ‘We’re looking for Harry.’
‘In the kitchen,’ said the woman with a smile. ‘I’m Maggie, by the way.’
‘Cass, Liv and Bertie. Pleased to meet you. I don’t suppose you could tell us how to get to the kitchen?’
Maggie laughed. ‘It’s not hard to find. Go through that door and you’re there.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. I wondered if Maggie was a paid employee or resident at Lowen Farm.
We walked through a door to the sight of a woman’s bottom. For a moment I wondered if she was practising the downward-dog right there in the kitchen, but then I realised she was reaching for something beneath a cupboard.
‘Come here, you little pest.’
Bertie giggled, and the woman turned her head. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we had visitors. Give me one sec.’ She continued ferreting around beneath the cupboard, her entire arm disappearing as far as the shoulder.
‘Got you.’ The woman straightened. Both me and Cass took a step back at the sight of a rodent, swinging in the air as the woman gripped tight to its tail. ‘Sorry, not the best of introductions, but I’ve been trying to catch this little thing for ages.’
The woman walked towards us, and Cass gripped onto my arm.
‘That’s so cool,’ said Bertie. He stepped forward and squinted at the wriggling rodent.
‘Bertie, don’t get too close to the rat,’ I squealed, picturing all the diseases my son could catch.
Bertie sighed and looked up at the woman. ‘Don’t mind my mum, she doesn’t understand animals.’ He turned back to me. ‘It’s a mouse, Mum, and a field mouse at that. A rat would be five times the size.’
I shuddered at the thought.
‘Let me dispatch this little one outside, then I’ll be right with you.’
‘No!’ said Bertie. ‘Please don’t kill it!’
The woman laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that felt like being spoon-fed treacle. ‘Sorry, dispatch was the wrong choice of word. I’ve got a cage ready and waiting in the yard. I’ll put him in there for now, then release him back into the wild later on. Do you want to help me get him into his cage?’
Bertie nodded. He followed the woman out into the yard, and I looked across at Cass. I’d forgotten about her fear of rodents, but it was plastered all over her pale, clammy face.
‘Where the hell have you brought me?’ I asked, shaking my head. ‘We’ve been here less than five minutes and a woman has abducted my child using very similar methods to the child catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang , only with mice, rather than sweets.’
Cass laughed, then her face dropped into a frown. ‘You don’t think there’s more where that one came from, do you?’
‘No, I’m sure it was one lone mouse who’d lost his way and was trying to find his family. His wife’s probably waiting at home, wondering what was taking him so long when she only sent him out for a pint of milk.’ I grinned, and Cass punched my arm.
‘All done,’ said the woman, striding back into the kitchen with Bertie by her side. ‘Those mice are the bane of my life. No sooner do I catch one, than another appears.’
‘So much for one lone mouse,’ muttered Cass under her breath. I hid a giggle behind my hand.
‘Your son said you were looking for me?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re looking for a man named Harry.’
‘Harriet Bowman. Pleased to meet you, but use my full name and I shall never speak to you again. Everyone here calls me Harry, and the kids call me Haribo, which I’m rather fond of.’
I tried to get the measure of Harry, but struggled. She wore a band around her head to hold back a fringe. Her brown hair had been twisted into a messy topknot, which flopped down as far as her ears. If the size of her topknot was anything to go by, her hair must be at least waist-length, if not longer. Her makeup and line-free skin was flushed and chapped in a way that suggested she spent lots of her time outside in all weathers. At a guess, I’d have said she was in her early twenties, thirty at the most.
Despite the cold day, she had dressed for summer. On her top half was a faded blue tank-top, and her legs were bare from the knee down, her thighs covered by wide-legged shorts. The only concession she’d made to the weather was a rainbow-coloured cardigan whose sleeves were different lengths and whose hem was starting to unravel.
‘So, why did you want to see me?’
‘My sister…’
I interrupted Cass, feeling it important I speak for myself. ‘Me and Bertie are going through a few challenges. We’re currently staying with my sister, Cass,’ I said, pointing in Cass’s direction, ‘but there’s not really room. Someone Cass knows said you open this place to people who need a bit of a break but have nowhere else to go. It sounds ridiculous now I say it out loud. Of course, you wouldn’t want a random woman and child pitching up on your doorstep.’
‘Hmm,’ said Harry, looking between me and Bertie. ‘Come through to the dining room. We can drink tea, eat cake and see if we can’t come to some sort of arrangement.’