gentle folk and you can practise talking to a horse until you're braver with people.'
'I like animals,' Paul volunteered hesitantly. 'Will I be able to help feed them?'
'Of course you will,' Mabel said. 'I'll take you over later to meet my old mare Betsy, she likes little boys.'
Those few words comforted Amy. She dimly remembered that tender voice from before her father died. It was odd that Paul had brought it back. Paul wasn't attractive like Tara, but if Mabel reacted like that to him, things were looking rosier.
'Right,' she said. 'Before we can even think of eating, I'll have to clean this kitchen. Is there hot water?'
'Of course,' Mabel snapped back. "The Aga heats it.'
Amy looked blank.
'The stove, ninny!' Mabel turned to something behind her, lifted a large, heavy-looking hinged lid and heat wafted out. 'We cook on it, it keeps us warm and heats water. Look, it's got four ovens, all of them different heats. There's a rabbit stew in one of them.'
It was after midnight when Amy climbed into the big double bed with its feather mattress. It felt damp, it smelled musty but she was so tired she didn't care.
Despite the exhausting hours of work she'd put in already this evening, she'd barely scratched the surface. The whole house was totally neglected and all she had managed to do was roughly clean the kitchen, make up the beds and sweep a clean path through the yard. The floor alone had taken five or six buckets of water before the red quarry tiles appeared beneath the dirt.
But looking objectively, Amy could see that her mother had her priorities right. The animals were well looked after, there were crops in the fields, rows of vegetables in the garden. Her work in the dairy was almost a full-time job. Aside from Stan, a local man who came in to help with the milking, she had been struggling to hold it together alone.
This was never going to be a soft option like living with George. Her mother was prickly, self-opinionated and mean-spirited. She would harp on forever about Bill, and Amy would probably work her fingers to the bone without any thanks.
It was no good considering all the big jobs that needed doing – the holes in the barn roof, the broken windows, the front door that wouldn't open. Creating a clean, comfortable home was the first priority; turning out all those fusty rooms, clearing the accumulated rubbish, washing windows and curtains.
The children's reactions were difficult to gauge. Mabel had taken them on a tour of the farm while Amy was washing the floor, and when they came back they were calling her Gran as naturally as if they had known her all their lives. They made no comment even when Amy tucked them into bed, and that seemed almost like approval.
As to her own feelings, Amy couldn't even begin to sort them out. But now, as her eyes drooped and she felt sleep overtaking her, she had a sense that fate had sent her here for a purpose.
'Are you sure, Amy?' Harry stood by his car, his bright blue eyes troubled. 'She's worse than Attila the Hun! And what about the kids? They'll hate it.'
'Do they look as if they're hating it?' Amy nodded towards Tara. She wore a pair of navy blue shorts, an old sweater and her bare legs were half hidden in a huge pair of Wellingtons. She was hosing and sweeping down the yard, crowing with delight as smooth cobbles revealed themselves under the dirt.
Paul was hidden in the barn, but they could hear him chattering away to two new calves as if they were old friends. Amy had never seen him eat such a big breakfast – porridge, bacon and eggs and at least three slices of bread and honey.
'Once the novelty wears off they'll wish they were back in London,' Harry argued. 'We could help you to find a flat there, and you could get a job easy.'
Amy shook her head. 'Look around you, Harry. Forget the dirt in the yard, the greasy windows and the hole in the barn roof. Look at what I'm being offered here and what it could mean long-term.'
The sun was shining on a
'I like animals,' Paul volunteered hesitantly. 'Will I be able to help feed them?'
'Of course you will,' Mabel said. 'I'll take you over later to meet my old mare Betsy, she likes little boys.'
Those few words comforted Amy. She dimly remembered that tender voice from before her father died. It was odd that Paul had brought it back. Paul wasn't attractive like Tara, but if Mabel reacted like that to him, things were looking rosier.
'Right,' she said. 'Before we can even think of eating, I'll have to clean this kitchen. Is there hot water?'
'Of course,' Mabel snapped back. "The Aga heats it.'
Amy looked blank.
'The stove, ninny!' Mabel turned to something behind her, lifted a large, heavy-looking hinged lid and heat wafted out. 'We cook on it, it keeps us warm and heats water. Look, it's got four ovens, all of them different heats. There's a rabbit stew in one of them.'
It was after midnight when Amy climbed into the big double bed with its feather mattress. It felt damp, it smelled musty but she was so tired she didn't care.
Despite the exhausting hours of work she'd put in already this evening, she'd barely scratched the surface. The whole house was totally neglected and all she had managed to do was roughly clean the kitchen, make up the beds and sweep a clean path through the yard. The floor alone had taken five or six buckets of water before the red quarry tiles appeared beneath the dirt.
But looking objectively, Amy could see that her mother had her priorities right. The animals were well looked after, there were crops in the fields, rows of vegetables in the garden. Her work in the dairy was almost a full-time job. Aside from Stan, a local man who came in to help with the milking, she had been struggling to hold it together alone.
This was never going to be a soft option like living with George. Her mother was prickly, self-opinionated and mean-spirited. She would harp on forever about Bill, and Amy would probably work her fingers to the bone without any thanks.
It was no good considering all the big jobs that needed doing – the holes in the barn roof, the broken windows, the front door that wouldn't open. Creating a clean, comfortable home was the first priority; turning out all those fusty rooms, clearing the accumulated rubbish, washing windows and curtains.
The children's reactions were difficult to gauge. Mabel had taken them on a tour of the farm while Amy was washing the floor, and when they came back they were calling her Gran as naturally as if they had known her all their lives. They made no comment even when Amy tucked them into bed, and that seemed almost like approval.
As to her own feelings, Amy couldn't even begin to sort them out. But now, as her eyes drooped and she felt sleep overtaking her, she had a sense that fate had sent her here for a purpose.
'Are you sure, Amy?' Harry stood by his car, his bright blue eyes troubled. 'She's worse than Attila the Hun! And what about the kids? They'll hate it.'
'Do they look as if they're hating it?' Amy nodded towards Tara. She wore a pair of navy blue shorts, an old sweater and her bare legs were half hidden in a huge pair of Wellingtons. She was hosing and sweeping down the yard, crowing with delight as smooth cobbles revealed themselves under the dirt.
Paul was hidden in the barn, but they could hear him chattering away to two new calves as if they were old friends. Amy had never seen him eat such a big breakfast – porridge, bacon and eggs and at least three slices of bread and honey.
'Once the novelty wears off they'll wish they were back in London,' Harry argued. 'We could help you to find a flat there, and you could get a job easy.'
Amy shook her head. 'Look around you, Harry. Forget the dirt in the yard, the greasy windows and the hole in the barn roof. Look at what I'm being offered here and what it could mean long-term.'
The sun was shining on a
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