He nodded. “Right. Come on, then.” He grabbed her hand and headed in the direction of the lights.
“But why’re we stopping now?” she asked once again. “It’s too early, don’t you think?”
He looked at the night sky, at the position of the moon. “Perhaps,” he said and smoked thoughtfully for a moment. “Look. We’ll rest up here a while and doss somewhere else later. Aren’t you feeling clapped out? Don’t you want to have a sit?”
She did. Only she was also feeling that if she sat anywhere, she might not be able to get back up. Her school shoes weren’t the best for walking, and she thought that once her head sent her feet the false message that their evening’s walk was at an end, her feet mightn’t cooperate in setting off again in an hour or so.
“I don’t know…” She shivered.
“And you need to warm up,” he said decisively and began to lead her towards the lights.
The field they walked across was pasture, the ground uneven. It was littered with sheep droppings that looked like shadows against the frost. Maggie stepped into a pile of these, felt her shoe slither among them, and nearly went down. Nick righted her with a “Mag, you got to watch for the muck,” and then he added with a laugh, “Lucky they don’t have cows here.” He clasped her arm and offered her a share of his cigarette. She took it politely, sucked in on it, and blew the smoke through her nose.
“You c’n have the rest,” she said.
He seemed glad to do so. He picked up their pace to cross the pasture but slowed abruptly as they neared the other side. A large fl ock of sheep were huddled together against the pasture’s far wall, like mounds of dirty snow in the darkness. Nick said in a low voice something that seemed to be, “Hey, ah, ishhhh,” as they slowly closed in on the fl ock’s perimeter. He extended his hand before him. As if in response, the animals jostled one another to allow Nick and Maggie passage, but they neither panicked, bleated, nor began to move off.
“You know what to do,” Maggie said and felt a tingle behind her eyes. “Nick, why d’you always know just what to do?”
“It’s only sheep, Mag.”
“But you know. I love that about you, Nick. You know the right thing.”
He looked towards the farmhouse. It stood beyond a paddock and another set of walls. “I know with sheep,” he said.
“Not only sheep,” she said. “Truly.”
He crouched next to the wall, easing a ewe to one side. Maggie crouched next to him. He rolled his cigarette between his fi ngers and after a moment drew a long breath as if to speak. She waited for his words, then said herself, “What?” He shook his head. His hair fell forward across his forehead and cheek and he concentrated solely on fi nishing his cigarette. Maggie clasped his arm and leaned against him. It was pleasant here, with the wool and the breath of the animals to warm them. She could almost think of staying the night in this very spot. She raised her head.
“Stars,” she said. “I always wished I could name them. But all I ever could fi nd was the North Star because it’s brightest. It’s…” She twisted round. “It should be…” She frowned. If Longridge was to the west of Clitheroe, with just the smallest jog to the south, the North Star should be…Where was its bright shining?
“Nick,” she said slowly, “I can’t find the North Star. Are we lost?”
“Lost?”
“I think we’re going in the wrong direction because the North Star isn’t where—”
“We can’t go by the stars, Mag. We have to go by the land.”
“What d’you mean? How d’you know what direction you’re heading in if you go by the land?”
“Because I know. Because I’ve lived here forever. We can’t go climbing up and down fells in the middle of the night which is what we’d be doing if we headed direct west. We have to go round them.”
“But—”
He crushed his cigarette against the sole of his shoe. He stood. “Come on.” He climbed the wall and reached back over to hold her hand as she did the same. He said, “We’ve got to be quiet now. There’ll be dogs.”
They slipped across the paddock in near silence, the only noise coming from their shoe soles crackling against the frost-covered ground. At the last wall, Nick hunched over, raised his head slowly, and examined the area. Maggie watched him from below, hunkered against the wall, gripping her knees.
“Barn’s on the far side of the yard,” he said. “Looks like solid muck, though. It’s going to be messy. Hold on to me tight.”
“Any dogs?”
“I can’t see. But they’ll be about.”
“But Nick, if they bark or chase us, what’ll—”
“Don’t worry. Come on.”
He climbed over. She followed, scraping her knee across the very top stone and feeling the corresponding rip in her tights. She gave a little mewl when she felt the quick heat of abrasion against her skin. But to feel a scratch was baby business at this point. She allowed herself neither a wince nor a hobble as she dropped to the ground. It was thick with bracken along the edge of the wall, but rutted and muck-filled as it gave onto the farmyard itself. Once they left the protective cushion of the bracken, each step they took
They announced themselves by yapping first. Then three border collies tore across the farmyard from the out-buildings, barking wildly and baring their teeth. Nick shoved Maggie behind him. The dogs slithered to a stop less than six feet away, snapping, snarling, and ready to spring.
Nick held out his hand.
Maggie whispered, “Nick! No!” and watched the farm-house fearfully, waiting for the door to crash open and the farmer himself to come storming out. He’d be shouting and red in the face and angry. He’d phone the
police. They were trespassing after all.
The dogs began to howl.
“Nick!”
Nick squatted. He said, “Hey-o, come on, you funny blokes. You can’t scare me,” and he whistled to them softly.
It was just like magic. The dogs quieted, stepped forward, sniffed his hand, and within an instant became old friends. Nick petted them in turn, laughing quietly, tugging at their ears. “You won’t hurt us, will you, funny old blokes?” In answer, they wagged their tails and one of them licked Nick’s face. When Nick stood, they surrounded him happily and acted as escort into the yard.
Maggie looked round at the dogs in wonder as she carefully sloshed through the mud. “How’d you
He took her hand. “It’s only dogs, Mag.”
The old stone barn was a section of one elongated building, and it stood across the yard from the house. It directly abutted a narrow cottage on whose fi rst floor a curtained window was lit. This had probably been the original farm building, a granary with a cart-shed beneath it. The granary had been converted sometime in the past to house a worker and his family, and its living quarters were gained by means of a stairway that led up to a cracked red door above which a sole bulb was now glowing. Beneath, lay the cart-shed with its single unglazed window and its gaping arch of a door.
Nick looked from the cart-shed to the barn. The latter was enormous, an ancient cow-house that was falling into disuse. Moonlight illumined its sagging roofline, its uneven row of pitching eyes on the upper storey, and its large wooden doors with their gaps and their warping. As the dogs sniffed round their shoes and as Maggie hugged herself against the cold and waited for him to lead her onward, Nick appeared to evaluate the possibilities and finally slogged through a heavier patch of muck towards the cart-shed.
“Aren’t there people up there?” Maggie whispered, pointing to the quarters above it.
“I s’pose. We’ll just have to be real quiet. It’ll be warmer in here. The barn’s too big and it’s facing the wind. Come on.”
He led her beneath the stairway where the arched door gave entrance into the cart-shed. Inside, the light from above the labourer’s front door at the top of the stairs provided a meagre, match-strength illumination through the cart-shed’s single window. The dogs followed them, milling about what was apparently their sleeping quarters, for several chewed-up blankets lay in a corner on the stone fl oor and the dogs went there eventually, where they
