A Week in Winter(73)

‘I’m sure John Paul would make a meal for you, but just in case he’s not there you’d want to be prepared,’ she said.

It was a longer walk than he had expected, and he was weary when he arrived at the big, untidy farmyard. There seemed to be nobody around. As Anders approached the door some hens ran out clucking, annoyed to be disturbed.

An old man sat at the table trying to read a newspaper with a magnifying glass. A big sheepdog lay at his feet. It looked more like a rug than a dog.

‘I was looking for John Paul . . .’ Anders began.

‘You and half the country are looking for him. He went out of here God knows how many hours ago and no sign of him. I’m his father Matty, by the way, and I haven’t even had my dinner and it’s gone three o’clock.’

‘Well, I’m Anders and I brought a picnic with me, so we might as well have that,’ Anders said, and opened the waxed paper in the little bag that Chicky had packed.

He got two plates and divided the cold chicken, cheese and chutney. He made a pot of tea and they sat and ate it as normally as if it was quite commonplace for John Paul’s father to be served a meal by a passing Swedish tourist.

They talked about farming and how it had changed over the years, about the recession and how all the townhouses that the uppity O’Haras had built were standing empty like a ghost estate because people had been greedy and thought that the Celtic Tiger would last for ever. He spoke about his other children, who had done well for themselves abroad. He said that Shep the dog was blind now and useless but would always have a home.

He wanted to know about farming in Sweden, and Anders answered as best he could but said that he wished he could tell him more. He was really a city boy at heart.

‘And what brings you to this place, if you are a city boy?’ Matty wanted to know.

Anders explained how he had met John Paul on the bus tour.

‘He loved that old bus, dead-end job, in and out of shebeens the whole time, happy as a bird on a bush. Even thought of setting up his own shebeen, but he thought better of it and decided to row in here to try to get the last few shillings out of this place,’ he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

Anders felt his gorge rising in anger. This was the thanks that the old man was giving for his son’s sacrifice. Could life be any more unfair?

In a reasoned way he tried to explain that perhaps John Paul had wanted to help his father.

‘You don’t want to buy the place here, by any chance?’ Matty peered at him through half-closed eyes.

‘No, indeed, are you selling?’

‘Oh, if only we could. I’d be out of it by this evening.’

‘And where would you go, Matty?’

‘I’d go into St Joseph’s. It’s a sort of a home in the town. I’d have people calling in to see me there, and company. I wouldn’t be stuck up here on Rocky Ridge with John Paul working all the hours God sends, and for what? For next to nothing.’

‘Did you tell him this?’

‘I can’t. He thinks there’s a living in the place. He did nothing for himself in life but he’s got a good heart, and he deserves a crack at making the place work. I couldn’t go and sell it over his head.’

Anders sat there silently for a while. Matty was a man who was used to silences. Shep snored on. Maybe life was full of these misunderstandings.

John Paul was out there on mountain tops dealing with things he hated, his father was yearning to live in a nice warm, safe place where people could call in to him and his dinner would be served at one o’clock every day. They each thought the other was desperate to keep the farm going.

Could it be the same situation in Sweden?

Did Anders’ father wish that he could hand the firm over to others, release his son from a life which he did not enjoy? Was this only wishful thinking? A false parallel?

Problems don’t solve themselves neatly like that, due to a set of coincidences. Problems are solved by making decisions. Erika had always said that, and he had thought she was being doctrinaire. But it was true. Deciding not to change anything was a decision in itself. He hadn’t fully understood this before.

The light went from the sky and Shep stirred in his dreams. Anders made more tea and found them some biscuits. Matty told him about Chicky marrying this man who was killed in a car crash in New York, and how he had left her money to come home and buy the Sheedy place. Matty said Chicky was a real survivor; she didn’t expect anyone to fight her battles for her. Many a man had shown an interest in her, but she was fair and square with all of them. She was her own woman, she told them.

But you never knew what the Lord had planned for you. Maybe some nice American man might come for a holiday and sweep her off her feet again. Was there anyone among the guests that looked suitable?

Anders thought not. There was a pleasant American there, all right, but he hadn’t seen any sign of a romance.

‘Oh, is that Corry Salinas? I heard he was staying there,’ Matty said.

‘You did?’

‘Yes, he was trying to keep it a secret but everyone here recognised him. Frank Hanratty was only telling some daft story that he came into the golf club to buy Frank a drink because he saw his pink van outside the door. Frank had better take a hold of himself.’

Just then they heard the van arrive and John Paul ran into the house.

‘Da, the cattle had got through a fence up in the top field. They were wandering all over the road. Dr Dai was trying to get them back into the field through the gap with one of his golf clubs. He was worse than myself. And by the time we got someone to fix the fence—’ He broke off when he saw Anders. His big face lit up with pleasure.