Chapter 3 #3
She had paused and splayed her fingers so that light bounced off her scarlet nails.
‘Particularly at your age, Rita.’
That’s Mum, Tasha thought, wincing, always one for the killer blow.
Rita had pushed her chair back and stood up, Hercules in her arms. For one moment Tasha thought Granny was going to march straight to the barn and climb the ladder there and then to prove to them all that she still could.
Not that she needed to prove anything to Tasha.
Often, when she was in hiding, Granny’s head would appear through the hatch.
Sometimes she would call softly, ‘Are you there, sweetheart? Are you all right?’
Sometimes Tasha would answer and sometimes not.
Granny would never give her away, but more speaking could feel like too much effort, especially if she’d been shouting at Mum.
There would be the soft thud of a tray being placed on the floor and she’d wait until the clunk of the latch downstairs told her that Granny was heading back across the yard again.
There was always a glass of homemade lemon barley water or a mug of tea on that tray and of course a chewy cookie or good wedge of cake.
‘I may have a slightly dodgy ankle, and I may not be as fast as I used to be, but I’m not in my dotage yet, Christabel.’
Granny’s eyes had flashed challengingly. She always used Mum’s full name, never the shortened version which Dad used and she preferred.
‘I’m not quite ready for the care home.’
Or the bungalow, Tasha knew she was thinking. But thank goodness she didn’t say that.
‘Of course, I wasn’t…’
Mum had done that thing she did with her hands, as if to wrap Granny in a large virtual embrace which Tasha was sure was the last thing she wanted to do and absolutely the last thing Granny desired.
She wouldn’t be at all surprised if Granny hadn’t included in her statement of wishes attached to her will ‘no hugs from my daughter-in-law’.
Granny had thrown Mum an impressively disparaging look before turning her attention back to Dad.
‘Your father was stacking bales in that loft even after he was diagnosed with the cancer.’
‘And maybe it’s stacking the bales that…’
Tasha felt her breath stall.
‘What?’ Granny had said, shifting Hercules closer to her. ‘You think stacking a few bales of hay hastened his demise?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
Dad had gone white. Will was studying his astronomy book with such intensity that Tasha was sure he wasn’t really reading it.
‘It was doing things around the farm that kept him going. It was making sure that things were done properly, the way they always had been, which gave him a purpose. You mark my words, we’d have lost him long before if he hadn’t had that.’
Tasha watched under lowered lashes as Granny ferreted in her cardigan pocket for a handkerchief.
‘It’s not as if you have to haul the bales up there by hand like we used to when I was a girl,’ Rita huffed. ‘You’ve got that all-singing, all-dancing tractor now although goodness knows how we’re going to afford the payments.’
‘Well, maybe if Dad had invested more money in the machinery over the years, I wouldn’t have had to…’
Rita stood stock still. Tasha was sure all of the air had been sucked out of the room.
‘Don’t you dare criticise your father like that,’ she roared. ‘If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have a farm to run or a house to live in.’
‘A rather small house,’ Christabel muttered, ‘for a family of four.’
Granny looked as if she was about to spontaneously combust. Tasha stood up, her legs as wobbly as a newborn calf’s.
‘Stop it!’ she shouted at her parents. ‘Stop it. Leave Granny alone. This is her house, her farm.’
‘You would take her side,’ Christabel scolded.
She turned to Rita.
‘You have turned my daughter against me. I should stop her coming here. I should make her stay in our poky little bungalow which you and George actually built for yourselves, not that there’s any sign of you wanting to move in,’ Christabel said cuttingly.
‘Then you’d only be able to see Tasha through the window when she crosses the farmyard to do her chores. ’
Rita sank heavily onto one of the chairs. Instantly Tasha had gone and draped her arms around Granny’s shoulders.
‘She will not do that, Granny. I won’t let her,’ she whispered.
Tasha stared directly over the top of Granny’s head towards her mother.
‘You will never, ever do that,’ she said. ‘And if you try, I’ll leave home.’
Now she sat in the loft and leaned her head back against a pillow of hay thankful for a few more moments of calm.
People thought happiness was found in shiny new things or excitement.
For Tasha the closest thing to happiness, apart from spending time with Erin at The Pottery or being wrapped in one of Granny’s loving hugs, was the peace she found up here.
The woman in the cottage looked frail and drawn, but she hadn’t given her away.
She could have. Most people would have done. Tasha couldn’t thank her enough.