Jack,” she said, shifting Tudor another notch higher on her hip. “Has his hands full sometimes. Can’t get to the handle.”
Back in the house Emma filled her lungs behind her mother and launched into another rising scale of cries. Menna winced and frowned over her shoulder into the hallway. Again Maggie said nothing more than ask if she’d seen William or Tom about. No? Well, not to worry, she said, stroking and pinching at Tudor the same way she might pet a dog or one of her horses. If she saw Jack she’d tell him his tea was cold. And she’d bring some of those old toys of her boys round for Tudor. She’d been meaning to for ages. No, of course she would, no trouble. She didn’t really want them around the house anyway.
They’d left The Firs, Emma’s cries dulling behind them as her mother closed the door of the farmhouse, and walked back down onto the track. If they turned right it would lead them all the way back to Upper Blaen. Turn left and it led out towards the mouth of the valley, gradually becoming a lane as it emerged from under the shadow of the slope and only evolving into a proper tarred road eight or nine miles further on, once it was free of the valley altogether.
Maggie was quiet as they walked away from The Firs. She picked leaves from the hedge and kept her head down as if looking for something in the soft rutted mud beneath her feet. The blackberries were beginning to ripen, swelling from tight red clusters into claret dark bunches. Sarah wanted to stop and pull at the ripest ones, but Maggie’s pace had quickened and she was walking ahead. Sarah jogged a couple of strides to draw level with her.
“So, what d’you think?”
Maggie stopped in the lane. The light rain had passed and the sun through the leaves dappled across her face, making her squint when the breeze shifted the shadows from her eyes.
“I think I was right, Sarah, that’s what I think. They’re up t’something. All of them. They’ve gone somewhere. The bloody fools,” she added with a shake of her head.
“But where’d they go? The leaflets all say stay put. And the radio. And they can’t leave the farms for long, can they?”
“I don’t know, bach. You’re right, they can’t leave the farms forlong.” Maggie paused, looking back down at her feet. “But they’ve left us, haven’t they?”
Sarah shook her head again, the notch between her eyebrows deepening. “They haven’t ‘left’ us. They’ve just gone somewhere. They’ll be back soon enough. I know Tom, he won’t be gone for long.”
“An’ I know William,” Maggie said, looking back up at Sarah. “He’s never left the cows unmilked. Never. He’s been milking cows every morning since he was a lad. An’ he’s never done anything I didn’t know about first.”
Maggie made this last assertion with some pride, and Sarah wondered if this wasn’t all just about her unease at being usurped by William, who, it was true, rarely moved from the house without Maggie’s blessing or knowledge.
“We should get together,” Maggie said. “Mary will start worrying. As soon as Bethan’s back and she hasn’t got Hywel in tow.”
“But she might. Have found him, I mean.”
Maggie looked hard at Sarah. Don’t be so stupid, girl. Grow up. That’s what she wanted to say to her. Snap out of your dreams, your pretty life. What do you know? You’ve never lost anyone. This is war. Things happen. Don’t you realise, everything’s different now. Don’t you know what happened in France? In Holland? Belgium? Even Russia? Things happen. Even here, things happen. But she didn’t say this to Sarah. She just nodded her head instead, said, “Hmm, yes, she might,” and started walking on again, still talking, but more to herself than to Sarah, “but I still think we should get together an’ talk. Just in case, isn’t it?”
Sarah didn’t object again. She knew better than to question Maggie more than once.
“So,” Maggie continued,
Back in the house Emma filled her lungs behind her mother and launched into another rising scale of cries. Menna winced and frowned over her shoulder into the hallway. Again Maggie said nothing more than ask if she’d seen William or Tom about. No? Well, not to worry, she said, stroking and pinching at Tudor the same way she might pet a dog or one of her horses. If she saw Jack she’d tell him his tea was cold. And she’d bring some of those old toys of her boys round for Tudor. She’d been meaning to for ages. No, of course she would, no trouble. She didn’t really want them around the house anyway.
They’d left The Firs, Emma’s cries dulling behind them as her mother closed the door of the farmhouse, and walked back down onto the track. If they turned right it would lead them all the way back to Upper Blaen. Turn left and it led out towards the mouth of the valley, gradually becoming a lane as it emerged from under the shadow of the slope and only evolving into a proper tarred road eight or nine miles further on, once it was free of the valley altogether.
Maggie was quiet as they walked away from The Firs. She picked leaves from the hedge and kept her head down as if looking for something in the soft rutted mud beneath her feet. The blackberries were beginning to ripen, swelling from tight red clusters into claret dark bunches. Sarah wanted to stop and pull at the ripest ones, but Maggie’s pace had quickened and she was walking ahead. Sarah jogged a couple of strides to draw level with her.
“So, what d’you think?”
Maggie stopped in the lane. The light rain had passed and the sun through the leaves dappled across her face, making her squint when the breeze shifted the shadows from her eyes.
“I think I was right, Sarah, that’s what I think. They’re up t’something. All of them. They’ve gone somewhere. The bloody fools,” she added with a shake of her head.
“But where’d they go? The leaflets all say stay put. And the radio. And they can’t leave the farms for long, can they?”
“I don’t know, bach. You’re right, they can’t leave the farms forlong.” Maggie paused, looking back down at her feet. “But they’ve left us, haven’t they?”
Sarah shook her head again, the notch between her eyebrows deepening. “They haven’t ‘left’ us. They’ve just gone somewhere. They’ll be back soon enough. I know Tom, he won’t be gone for long.”
“An’ I know William,” Maggie said, looking back up at Sarah. “He’s never left the cows unmilked. Never. He’s been milking cows every morning since he was a lad. An’ he’s never done anything I didn’t know about first.”
Maggie made this last assertion with some pride, and Sarah wondered if this wasn’t all just about her unease at being usurped by William, who, it was true, rarely moved from the house without Maggie’s blessing or knowledge.
“We should get together,” Maggie said. “Mary will start worrying. As soon as Bethan’s back and she hasn’t got Hywel in tow.”
“But she might. Have found him, I mean.”
Maggie looked hard at Sarah. Don’t be so stupid, girl. Grow up. That’s what she wanted to say to her. Snap out of your dreams, your pretty life. What do you know? You’ve never lost anyone. This is war. Things happen. Don’t you realise, everything’s different now. Don’t you know what happened in France? In Holland? Belgium? Even Russia? Things happen. Even here, things happen. But she didn’t say this to Sarah. She just nodded her head instead, said, “Hmm, yes, she might,” and started walking on again, still talking, but more to herself than to Sarah, “but I still think we should get together an’ talk. Just in case, isn’t it?”
Sarah didn’t object again. She knew better than to question Maggie more than once.
“So,” Maggie continued,
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