The Things I Know(19)

‘I suppose, if humans are taking their mother’s milk, the calves have to be given this.’ He looked on with an air of disapproval, typical of a city boy.

‘Something like that,’ she said with a smile. ‘These are our autumn batch; they’re about six weeks old now and so they have milk and water, but they’ll be put to grain in another couple of weeks. A few went to market today.’

‘I guess farming is just like having pets but on a bigger scale – you feed them, care for them and then they die.’

‘Kind of, but they’re not supposed to be like pets. They’re supposed to be a commodity, but I love them all. I can’t help it.’

‘And you love Daphne the most because you think she’s the prettiest.’

She smiled, liking the way he offered the fact without any hint of mockery. ‘I do.’

‘Do you name the calves too, like you have your chicken?’

She laughed. ‘I’ve named all my chickens. And yes, I do name the calves, but I haven’t told anyone that. They’d think I was stupid. This one is called Maisie-Moo.’ She pictured Emery’s mocking sneer as she pointed to the big-eyed beauty with the longest lashes.

‘I don’t think you’re stupid.’

‘You’ve only just met me. I might be really stupid and you just haven’t seen it yet.’

She won’t get any certificate of learning and she won’t win any races . . .

He appeared to consider her suggestion. ‘It’s possible, but I think to take care of animals and care about them like you do is not a stupid thing. I think it’s a smart thing. A really smart thing.’ He picked up one of the buckets and held it at an odd angle from his body, as if the contents might be toxic.

Hitch called the calves as she walked further into the shed: ‘How we doing today? I’ve got your milk. Come and have a drink, my lovelies!’ She tipped the bucket into the long trough, watching as each barged their neighbour with their strong head, trying for a better position, gulping noisily at the milky liquid, lapping it with eager tongues and caring little that it splashed over their noses and faces.

‘Tip that one in too,’ she urged.

‘You’ll have to do it. I’ll drop it.’ He handed her the bucket.

The two watched as the baby cows drank their fill.

‘What next?’ he asked.

‘I need to feed the chickens. Clean their coop out.’

Again he followed her across the yard. ‘I don’t think I’d want the responsibility of all these animals. I’d be worried in case I got something wrong.’

‘You learn what to do, and no one knows anything without learning it, do they? Do you not have pets?’ She was curious about his home life.

‘No.’

‘Do you have a garden?’

‘No.’

‘I can’t imagine not having a garden.’ She looked up at the endless sky, unfettered by buildings.

‘I live in a flat, in a block. With my mum. I’ve always lived there.’

‘Well, I’ve always lived here. I was born on the top floor, in the attic.’ She pointed towards the farmhouse.

‘I was born in the Royal London Hospital.’

‘Does your dad not live with you?’ The man who called him Gray.

‘No.’

‘So where does he live?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I was eight. He left us.’ He spoke with a look of such anguish that, had she not known the facts, she would have believed his hurt to be recent and raw.

‘Oh.’ She wished she hadn’t asked and felt her palms clammy with embarrassment at having touched on the subject. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m sorry too. I think my life would be much better with him in it.’

‘In what way?’

‘In every way.’ He kicked at the floor. ‘My mum’s . . .’ He paused. ‘She’s . . . she’s quite needy and it’s hard to break away.’

She looked up at him. This she could relate to, and she felt the bonds of kinship and familiarity joining her to this quirky guest.

He continued: ‘I kind of promised my dad and so . . . I look after her, really.’

‘Is she ill?’ She felt a flame of sympathy for the woman she pictured, who might be old or housebound, and a wave of respect for this man who cared for her.

‘No.’ He took his time, licked his dry lips and chose his words carefully. ‘Not ill, but I don’t know how to describe her, really. She’s preoccupied. I think she’s still angry at my dad. Even after all this time.’

‘Maybe she is.’

He reached out and tentatively touched Buddy again. ‘I guess. She doesn’t really do anything, just sits with my aunties.’

‘Joan and Eva.’ It was her turn to show her skills of recall, liking how he had taken on board the details of her beloved Daphne.

‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘They get a bit sloshed on wine and run my dad into the ground. Usually, I go to bed and leave them to it. They make so much noise. It upsets the man who lives below us with his family – Mr Waleed. He’s a nice man; his wife is quite fat and she has a shiny gold tooth.’ He tapped his own front tooth. ‘I always dread meeting Mr Waleed after their noisy nights. Every conversation makes me feel like I’m letting him down. I try to tell him the noise and their cackling is nothing to do with me, but it’s me he sees and me he shouts at.’