‘If you’re sure?’ Jamie asks, supporting Dani as he straightens back up.
George nods, pointing towards a tree in the middle of the town square. ‘My truck’s parked over there.’
I feel weak and giddy as I carry Emilie across the road. It’s only when we reach George’s truck – a dark-grey pickup with a double cab – that I remember Emilie’s car seat is still with Jamie.
He’s already on it. ‘I’m coming!’ he shouts from across the square, striding towards us with the bulky contraption in his hands. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he mumbles to me, panting as he fits the seat into the back.
‘It’s fine. Honestly,’ I reassure him.
He hovers while I secure Emilie. ‘I really wanted to be there for you both tonight,’ he mumbles.
‘We’ll be okay,’ I insist, turning to face him.
He pulls me into his arms.
‘You did well today, Jamie. Dad would have been proud.’
He hugs me tighter.
‘He was so proud of you,’ I add, vividly recalling the look on Dad’s face when Jamie graduated from veterinary school. I bet he got a kick out of each and every one of Jamie’s work visits to the farm.
‘He was proud of you too,’ he replies gruffly, and when he lets me go, we’re both crying. We automatically reach up to brush each other’s tears away, a gesture that makes us laugh a little. Jamie’s face is warm and rough under my fingertips, stubble beginning to push through. I remember the sparse black bristles he had when we were younger and how they would clump together in tufts. I’m hit with a flashback of my dad teaching him how to shave and have to let him go before I break down again.
Mum sits in the front of the truck with George, but they don’t speak much on the way home. I notice that she doesn’t give him any directions, and there are a couple of times when I’m on the verge of calling out instructions myself, but he always flicks on his indicator before I can become a back-seat driver.
* * *
Midsummer is only a couple of weeks away and it’s not quite dark by the time we arrive at the farm. I carry a sleeping Emilie to the kitchen door and wait for Mum to unlock it. A warning call from one of the alpacas makes us all turn and look towards the high paddock.
‘Probably a fox,’ Mum says, opening the door and then hesitating at the sound of a second screech piercing the night air.
‘Do you want me to take a look?’ George offers.
‘Would you?’ Mum replies. ‘I’ll get you a torch.’
I take Emilie upstairs to what used to be my room. My parents did it up for her a couple of years ago and it has a woodland theme: light oak furniture, pale green walls, a white bedspread printed with woodland creatures and a yellow rug shaped like a flower. It’s lovely.
Emilie doesn’t even stir as I change her out of her dress and into a nightie. I’m back downstairs in under five minutes.
Mum is raiding the liquor cabinet.
‘Is George still outside?’
‘Yes, do you want to check on him?’ Mum replies, extracting a bottle of sherry.
‘Okay.’ I want it more than I’m willing to admit.
I swap my heels for wellies and grab another torch, then head outside to the farmyard. Up on the hill I can see the white light of George’s torch chasing the path of a rabbit in flight.
Rabbits tend to huddle close to alpacas when they hear a warning call. It usually means that predators are about, which the more dominant herd members will see off. Back in their native lands of South America, a predator might have been a mountain lion, wolf or bear. Here it’s mainly foxes, which aren’t dissimilar to baby wolves in the eyes of an alpaca. The animals are also not generally fans of cats and dogs for the same reasons of resemblance.
It’s a mild, dry night so I shine my torch towards the middle of the field where I know the herd is likely to be. In bad weather, they sleep in their stone shelter.
I find them clustered together, facing outwards. Typically, the young, weaker animals will be in the middle, the stronger on the outside. Dahlia – the large light silver grey female who’s making all the noise – is standing off to the side. They take turns being sentry.
George comes back down the hill towards me, his flashlight jerking with the motion of his steps. I deliberately shine my torch at his face as he approaches, getting a kick out of him flinching and shielding his eyes with his hand.
Some of us never grow up.
‘I forgot that they sleep with their eyes open,’ he says, coming to a stop on the other side of the drystone wall.
‘That used to freak you out.’
‘Still does.’
‘Any sign of a fox?’
‘No, they must’ve scared it off.’
I take a step backwards and feel instantly faint. My vision goes fuzzy, red and then black. I clutch onto the damp mossy rocks in front of me, trying to steady myself as George says my name, but I can’t resist succumbing to the pull of oblivion, and I’m only vaguely aware of him vaulting over the wall as I fall.
Chapter 6 Then
I wake up to the sound of Joanne flipping out. She’s full-on screaming – something about Nia and Ashlee keeping her awake in the night. My stomach is taut with anxiety as I lie there, listening to my mum trying to calm her down. She doesn’t want to go to school today. She claims she barely slept.
‘It’s Friday,’ I hear Mum tell her soothingly. ‘Only one more day until the weekend. You’re doing so well.’
‘When the fuck are they going?’ Joanne asks angrily. ‘Because I can’t put up with this for much longer!’
Nia lets out an almighty scream.
‘Come on, now.’ My dad has joined the fray, using the same gentle cajoling tone he always uses when dealing with Joanne. ‘How about an omelette for breakfast? You can get ready for school later. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll make you a hot chocolate too.’
I drag myself from bed. Nia is still crying.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ I hear Mum saying over and over, then suddenly her repetition is broken with an abrupt: ‘Do you need to go to the bathroom, Ashlee?’
I open my door and walk groggily across the landing to the girls’ bedroom doorway. ‘I’ll take her.’
‘Thank you, Lee-Lee,’ Mum says gratefully, using her pet name for me.
I hold out my hand to Ashlee, forcing a bright smile onto my face. ‘Shall we go do a wee?’
She looks up at me, her lip trembling. She shakes her head at the same time that an awful smell clouds the air.
‘It’s okay,’ I say softly, trying not to wrinkle my nose. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’
Ashlee has recently started toilet training, but she still wears a nappy at night in case of accidents. I peek inside her pyjama bottoms and see immediately that this is a job for the shower – there’s only so much a baby wipe can do.
By the time I’ve washed and dried Ashlee, Joanne is back upstairs and barging into the bathroom.
‘Hurry up, I need to get ready!’
‘Tell me about it,’ I mutter under my breath, wrapping Ashlee in a towel.