‘Are you worried about her, Ben?’
‘No, Kate. Like you say, Mum’s doing well.’
‘But there’s something ‘
And then it was too late, as the girls burst through the door of the kitchen, talking nineteen to the dozen. Their voices rose a few decibels, and Ben had to give each of them a hug.
So the moment passed, and he didn’t have to think of something to say. But he knew what the problem was - he didn’t want to see his mother back in her old house. It was an unkind reaction, but he feared that seeing his mother back at Bridge End Farm would bring home to him, as nothing else had until now, the extent to which she’d deteriorated.
Finally, Cooper tore himself away from the warm kitchen and went back to his car. After only a few months living in town, he knew he’d started to lose touch with his family. On the farm, he’d regarded the landscape as a place to make a living. The most important things were the fertility of the land, the quality of the drainage, the stability of the walls that kept the cattle and sheep on their grazing. But as he drove around the Peak District now, he found himself admiring the shape of a hill or noticing the way a quarry spoiled the view, as if it was all some kind of scenic backdrop.
Cooper saw his brother coming towards the house, still in his working overalls. Matt was bulking up as he got older, and was looking more like their father every year.
Matt nodded. ‘Ben. Had a good day?’
‘I think the girls enjoyed themselves.’
‘Good. I hope they used up some of their energy. They tire me out when they’re at home.’
While they stood in the yard, it began to rain. Neither of
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them made a move to go inside. Cooper tried to see what stock was in the sheds or grazing on the in-by land.
‘Will there be some calves going to market soon?’ he asked.
Matt looked at him in surprise. ‘The only batch of calves I had went in last week. Colin Sidebotham came over to give me a hand.’
‘That was good of him.’
‘Well, I helped him get his hay in a week or two back. He cut it just before the forecast turned bad.’
That’s the way it works.’
‘It’s how it used to work. Some of the miserable buggers I see at the mart wouldn’t give me the time of day any more. It’s every man for himself. They’re all worried about going under next season, or the one after. I reckon they don’t want anyone coming down to their place, just in case.’
‘In case what?’
‘In case we see them laying out a new golf course, or ripping up their fields to make fishing lakes.’
Cooper knew his brother had moody fantasies these days in which every livestock farm in the valley sold off its stock and diversified, each becoming a little tourist attraction - a nature trail here, a tea room there, a craft centre across the lane. Matt had once muttered that he’d stick out to be the last farm still operating, then he could call his place a museum and coin in money from the tourists.
Kate had emerged from the house again and was watching them. The rain was getting heavier, and Cooper could feel it soaking his shirt.
‘About Saturday,’ said Matt. ‘I’ll pick Mum up from Old School a couple of hours before the party starts.’
‘No, I’ll pick her up myself - if that’s all right with you.’
‘No problem,’ said Matt, frowning a bit. ‘If you’re sure, Ben.’
‘Just a few minutes together would be nice.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Matt. ‘She’ll be chuffed with that.’
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Cooper found himself exchanging a nod with his older brother. It was a gesture they’d developed between themselves as teenagers, a means to avoid having to put their feelings into words. A nod had communicated anything they wanted it to.
Sharing that gesture now seemed to remove all the distance that Cooper had begun to sense between Matt and himself. It brought a sudden rush of affection, like making up with someone after an argument. But he didn’t know quite how to express the feeling. So he hesitated for a moment. And then he gave Matt another nod.
Diane Fry walked towards the sitting room from her kitchen, where she’d been sorting the ironing into separate piles outfits for the office, casual stuff, clothes for special occasions. The difference in the size of the piles had started to depress her, and she’d given up.
Angie was watching TV, a hospital drama in which a doctor was spending all his time trying to reunite a dying woman with her estranged son. She’d also found a box of chocolates from somewhere. Fry had forgotten she had them in the flat, so the box must have been hidden away in a safe place. Another comfort resource.
‘Hey, Sis, don’t you ever go out?’ said Angie.
Fry stopped. ‘Out?’
‘Yeah. O-U-T. Out.’
‘Out where?’
‘I don’t know. Just out of here -‘ Angie waved a hand lazily around the room.
‘I go out every day,’ said Fry. ‘I’m not a hermit. I have a job.’
‘I don’t mean go out to work. I mean go out to enjoy yourself. Jesus, Di.’
