The Sweetest Thing (33 page)

I put the phone down as I start to cry, thinking how most of the time I spend with my children is quality time: when Sophie comes running to me with a basket full of eggs she’s collected; when Georgia shows me the smiley face she’s been given for her homework: when Adam yells at me that he’s taking Lucky for a walk.

I want to call Mum, to have her tell me that everything
will be all right, but I really don’t want to worry her. I think I’ve put her through enough, moving away. There isn’t any point in ringing Karen because she’ll only make me feel even more depressed. I contact Summer instead.

‘Do you realise what time it is?’ she says, eventually answering her phone.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve lost track.’ For a millisecond, I think she’s going to give me the brush-off, but she says, ‘What’s wrong? There must be something terribly wrong for you to ring at this time of day, Jennie.’

‘I had to talk to someone – David’s going for custody. He wants the children to live with him and Alice.’

‘The bastard!’ I’d thought we were drifting apart, but Summer is there for me. ‘That’s such a shock. Do the children know about this?’

‘I’m not telling them. David says he’s going to the next time they stay with him. I was supposed to be on the stall at the market today but I can’t face it, and Guy asked me out for dinner with him tonight. I’ll have to cancel that too.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t want to jeopardise my chance of keeping the children. If I go out with Guy one evening, half of Talyton will know about it by breakfast. That’s what it’s like living here. I don’t want anything getting back to David.’

‘Well, it won’t, will it? He doesn’t know anyone there.’

‘The kids might find out and let it slip.’

‘Jennie, I think you need to speak to a solicitor yourself, so you know what you’re up against,’ Summer says.

‘You’re right.’

‘If there’s anything I can do, if you want to talk, any time, let me know,’ she says. ‘You are the fittest mother I’ve ever met, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Stay strong. I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you are.’

Stay strong. Summer’s words remain in my head after she’s rung off. What am I doing? What better way is there to prove that I’m not an unfit mother than to carry on? Jennie’s Cakes will be at the market today.

I wake Adam, then Georgia and Sophie, and tell them they’re spending the weekend here at home, helping out at the Farmers’ Market.

‘Dad couldn’t make it this weekend. Something came up.’ I don’t go into detail and they seem to accept that this has something to do with David’s work.

Adam agrees to work on the stall for a percentage of the takings, but refuses, not surprisingly, to wear an apron.

‘Aw, you’d look pretty in pink, Adam,’ Georgia teases. Outnumbered by female Copelands, Adam soon drifts off to chat with a couple of other boys of his age, then returns to beg three gingerbread people.

‘I’ll tell them they have to advertise Jennie’s Cakes in return,’ he says.

‘Go on then …’ I’m not sure I need any more advertising. I’ve had another expression of interest in a wedding cake, a traditional one this time, the gingerbread people are flying off the stall and we’re soon down to our last flapjack. I’ve taken more money and fewer goods in kind: a small handmade cheese, a bag of sugar mice, a jar of honey and three bottles of beer that I thought I’d give to Guy.

On our return home, I throw on my coat and wellies,
and take the bottles up to the farm. I take Lucky and the kids too, determined not to give David any more ammunition for his custody battle, because that is what it will turn out to be. I
am
a fit mother.

Adam jogs up the drive, kicking a stone in front of him. The girls hold my hand, Georgia one side, Sophie the other. There’s a cow bellowing in the distance, an answering call from a calf. The clouds are driving in from the south-west, bringing mist and drizzle. Guy is in the holding area outside the parlour, ankle-deep in a slush of mud and muck. He has one of the cows in a heavy-duty metal crate – I used to think a crush was a brief but passionate liking for someone who was out of reach, but I know better now. It’s a trap for a cow.

Guy looks up and smiles when he sees us.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ he says, letting the cow out again. ‘I’m treating her for mastitis.’

‘That’s Gabrielle – she has an udder infection,’ Adam explains. ‘Is she any better?’

‘It’s clearing up,’ says Guy. ‘How was the market? I saw you driving out earlier on.’

‘Dad’s working,’ Georgia says. ‘That’s why we were helping Mum.’

‘I see.’ Guy gazes towards me. ‘Oh?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’ My heart twists with regret at the thought of what I have to tell him. ‘I brought you some beer.’

‘Thank you. Why don’t you leave it in the dairy and come and give me a hand with the calves? I’ve got to get them fed before milking.’

The far end of one of the outbuildings is penned off with hurdles and bedded with a deep layer of straw. Inside the pen, there’s a group of red roan and white
calves, five of them, with knobbly knees and switching tails. When they see us, they come over to lick our hands.

‘They are cute,’ I say.

‘They’re hungry,’ says Guy. He makes up milk in buckets, pours them into a tank that has rubber teats attached along one side. The calves – all except one – latch on quickly, sucking and wagging their tails. Guy climbs into the pen and shows the last calf the teat. Eventually, it gets the idea and starts drinking.

‘Where are their mums?’ I ask.

‘They stay with them for seven days.’

‘Is that all?’

‘I expect you heard a cow calling from the field – she’s the smallest calf’s mother. I separated them this morning.’

‘That seems cruel when they’re so young.’

‘It’s the way it is,’ he says. ‘On many farms, the calves are taken off their mothers after twenty-four hours. It has to be done. A cow has to have a calf before she’ll produce milk. It’s the natural way of things. When she’s given birth, she rejoins the dairy herd for milking. As for the calves, I rear them on in small groups like this. The heifers – the girls – will go back into the herd or I’ll sell them on. I’ll rear the bull calves for beef.’

Poor cows. Their poor babies. I think of the pain of separation, the power of the maternal bond, and of course I think of David and how he’s trying to take my children away from me … I stifle a sob, then another one escapes me.

‘Jennie, are you all right?’ Guy asks, his voice low and gruff. ‘Have I said something to upset you? Because if I did, I didn’t mean it. I do care for the cows.
I don’t enjoy separating them from their calves. I’m not a sadist.’

‘It isn’t you …’

‘Adam, can you make sure they finish up? Georgia, can you help Sophie wash out the buckets? There’s a tap outside the parlour.’ I feel the weight of Guy’s arm around my shoulders as he leads me away, outside through the rain to the shelter of the overhang outside the cows’ winter quarters.

‘What is it?’ he says.

‘It’s David … Guy, he’s going to take my children away from me! He’s determined to get them back to London to live with him. I don’t know what’s changed. He didn’t want them before – said they’d be a tie. He said they’d be better off with me, their mother.’

Guy comforts me, holding me gently, like Sophie holds the eggs, afraid they’ll break.

‘I haven’t told the children. They’re bound to guess something’s wrong, but I don’t want to tell them until I have to …’ Tears are pouring, hot and wet, down my cheeks.

‘I guess this means we should cool it for a bit,’ he says.

I nod miserably.

‘For now, Jennie,’ he adds. ‘I can wait, you know. I will wait for as long as it takes.’

‘I don’t know how long that will be,’ I sob. ‘I’ve got to find a solicitor, make my case …’ And I’ve got to get Adam on side, because the way he feels at the moment, I think he’d be happy to go and live with his father. ‘It all seems so difficult. Hopeless.’

‘Nothing’s impossible, Jennie,’ Guy reassures me. ‘As my mum used to say, it’ll all come out in the wash. You and your family will be all right.’

‘But what about us, Guy? Will we be all right?’

He presses his lips to the top of my head. ‘I’ll phone and cancel dinner tonight.’

‘Postpone it,’ I say. ‘Cancel’ sounds too final.

Lucky seems to sense how I feel. Whenever I put my feet up at the end of the day, slumping back on the wicker sofa in the drawing room with an extra sweater on because it’s pretty chilly in here on these autumn evenings, Lucky comes trotting in, tail in the air.

‘Not now, dog. I don’t want you.’

Undeterred, he comes right up to the sofa, stands on his hindlegs and rests his front paws on the edge. He nudges my thigh with his nose, as if to say, Forgive me. Forgive me for barking, or chasing the chickens, or whatever other little sin he’s dreamed up for the day, because there’s always something.

‘All right, Lucky,’ I murmur. ‘I forgive you.’ And he jumps up, plants his bottom on my stomach, and tips his head back, asking me to scratch his chest.

I use the evenings to reflect on my life here at Uphill House. I’ve found that although I pride myself on being a successful multi-tasker, I’m not as good at time management as I thought. I’ve also discovered that running a business isn’t all that easy when you have to tackle everyday life at the same time: the twice-daily school runs – because there’s no one who lives out this way to share them with – three lots of homework, and looking after the animals.

Although David’s decision to pursue custody of the children is always on my mind, thoughts of Guy are there too. I love him, I’m sure of that, and all I want is to be with him, but I can’t jeopardise my position with the children. If David should find out that Guy is part
of my life, he’ll make the most of it, especially with Hugo’s character reference.

There are bright spots. I’m still feeling chuffed at the note I received from Penny when she and Declan returned from their honeymoon. She said she was very glad that our dog had seen fit to steal the fruit cake because the cupcakes were unbelievable, beyond her imagination, which I take as a huge compliment. It’s either that or Penny isn’t such a great artist as I thought. Declan’s sister is organising her wedding for next April and would very much appreciate it if I could do something similar, but different, for her.

I haven’t sent the pony back. Delphi said she would take it, but she wouldn’t return more than half the purchase price, on the basis that she’d done nothing wrong and had sold the pony in good faith. I haven’t tried selling it on either – I don’t want to inflict it on another poor child. The outcome is that Bracken is still in the paddock – I’ve taken the electric fence down – keeping the grass trim. She isn’t a mother’s dream, she’s a nightmare, and the most expensive lawnmower I’ve ever seen, but she’s here now and I have to deal with it.

I’m beginning to see that I could be independent here, but I have doubts that I’ll be able to stay. I really can’t contemplate living here if my children are in London. I’d want to be close to them, would mean leaving Uphill House, and Guy, and the new life I’ve been creating for my family here in Talyton St George.

I don’t know what will happen next. What I do know is that I’m going to keep strong for the children’s sake, and make sure everything carries on in as normal a way as possible, whatever ‘normal’ is.

We celebrate Georgia’s birthday the following weekend.

‘Happy birthday!’ Adam, Sophie and I bring her cards and presents into the drawing room where Georgia is waiting, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with a pony on the front. Adam has just got home from the milking – he’s taken off his boiler-suit, but he still stinks because he hasn’t had time to jump in the bath. (I decided that it wasn’t fair to make Georgia wait any longer.) Sophie is wearing a sequinned shrug and floral dress with pink tights.

‘You have to go into the yard for your present from us,’ she says excitedly. ‘It isn’t wrapped because it’s—’

‘Shhh, Sophie, don’t give it away,’ Adam says, smiling. ‘It’s the weirdest present I’ve ever seen.’

‘Can we go out there now?’ Georgia says.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, and follow the children around the back of the house and into the yard. In the middle, covered with balloons and ribbons, sits a bright pink wheelbarrow. I bought it from Overdown Farmers. You won’t catch me in Tack ’n’ Hack again.

‘Oh, that’s so cool.’ Georgia runs across to inspect it. Sophie jumps up and down, as pleased as if it were hers. Adam picks it up by its pink handles and pushes it around the yard, driving it like a maniac.

‘Adam, it’s mine!’ Georgia yells.

‘That’s enough,’ I call, and he gives it one last shove and leaves it for Georgia.

‘It’s just what I wanted,’ she sighs. ‘Thanks, everyone.’

We go back inside and watch her open the rest of her cards and presents, then she decides that she’s going to do some poo-picking in Bracken’s paddock, to try out the wheelbarrow.

‘You’ll make it dirty,’ Sophie says.

‘I can always hose it,’ Georgia says.

‘What about your cast?’ I say. ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea …’