She tried to console herself with the thought that at least her daughters were still in the country, unlike Jay who couldn’t have gone any further away if he’d tried.
As long as they were happy, that was all that mattered she told herself, ignoring the inner voice that wanted to know whethershewas happy. And if she wasn’t, didn’t she deserve to be?
But how could she be happy when she was so damned lonely?
Annoyed at having such negative thoughts, Beth tried to count her blessings. And she was the first to admit that she had many: she was healthy, her kids were healthy, she had a nice little pension to top up her OAP pension, she had a roof over her head…
It should be enough, but it wasn’t. Beth missed her kids, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Or was there?
Walter removed his brown corduroy trousers from the back of the chair in his bedroom, stared at them, then put them back. Even he had to admit that they had seen better days. He was going for tea at the farm, not mucking out a sheep shed, so he had better wear something halfway decent, or Otto would be giving him concerned looks out of the corner of his eye.
The same went for the checked flannel shirt and the khaki-green pullover that he liked to wear over the top.
Walter opened his wardrobe door. Now, where was the nice shirt that Nikki and Gio had given him for Christmas? Ah, there it was, hanging next to his funeral suit.
Slipping the shirt off the hanger, he put it on, stiff fingers struggling with the buttons. He had a bit of arthritis in his hands, and sometimes it played him up.
A tidy pair of trousers later, and he decided he scrubbed up okay. His hair was getting a bit long though, so when he went downstairs he put a note on the calendar as a reminder to make an appointment with the barber.
Having supper at the farmhouse was a rare treat these days. Poor Otto was usually so busy, what with running the restaurant, training new chefs for Alistair (his old boss when he used to live in London), and working on another foraging cookbook, that Walter hardly saw him.
He wished his son didn’t work so hard, but Otto had a passion which couldn’t be denied. And Dulcie was no better. Thegirl was holding down a day job as well as running the farm and starting a new business.
Walter reflected sadly that it didn’t used to be like that in his day. Farmers were farmers back then; they didn’t usually have to go get a second job to make ends meet. He blamed the government. And the supermarket chains for being too greedy. So many farmers today were packing it in, that very soon there wouldn’t be any farms left.
Walter continued to fret about the state of British farming all the way up the lane. He didn’t envy youngsters today – they always seemed so busy. Mind you, he hadn’t sat on his backside twiddling his thumbs. He had worked damned hard. He’d had to. Farming wasn’t a nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday job, with weekends off.
He had bloody loved it though, despite it almost being the death of him. Walter still couldn’t bear to think about how he had managed to run up so much debt and how ill he had become as a result, without feeling ashamed. Having to get rid of the farm had been one of the darkest times of his life, but he recognised that it had to be done. It didn’t stop him from missing the old place though, and he tried to help out when and where he could. The problem was that Otto continued to fret and fuss if he thought Walter was doing too much. And whilst it was lovely that his son cared about his welfare, Walter was bored rigid.
Now that he felt better in himself (and he had done for a good long while), he missed being busy. And although he hated to admit it, he was lonely. Even Amos at the stables, who was roughly the same age as him (give or take a few years) didn’t have enough hours in the day. What with helping out with the holiday lets, looking after his great-nephew, baby Amory,and having found love with Lena, Amos was constantly on the go. Whereas Walter always seemed to be searching around for something to do.
As usual, Walter had Peg with him, and the dog darted ahead into the farmhouse, announcing his arrival. A wall of delicious cooking smells hit him when he stepped inside.
‘Hi, Dad.’ Otto was at the stove, stirring and tossing, several pans and pots on the go.
Dulcie was in the dining room, laying the table. Walter had never used that room for dining in, preferring to eat his meals at the kitchen table. It was these little changes, probably more than the big ones (such as the farm no longer having a flock of sheep), that made him realise every time he visited that this was no longer his home.
Brushing his sadness aside, he hurried towards Dulcie to give her a kiss. ‘Do you need a hand with anything?’ he asked, after he had greeted her.
‘No thanks, Walter, it’s all under control.’ Dulcie always said that, even though he could tell that it sometimes wasn’t, and he knew the reason was that she and Otto worried he might become ill again if he overdid it.
Fat chance of that! He was more likely to die of boredom these days.
‘How is the soap-making coming along?’ he asked, over dinner.
Dulcie had recently invested in a small herd of goats and was using their milk to make soap and other lotions and potions, and Otto also made the most wonderful ice cream with it.
‘Slow but steady,’ she replied, around a mouthful of aromatic beef. ‘I’ve been experimenting with new scents and adding different flowers into the mix.’
Walter had been given a few samples to try in the past, and he must admit that the soaps did smell nice. Dulcie packaged them beautifully, too. Her soap was a quality product.
‘Lavender, rose and vanilla are still my best sellers though,’ she added. ‘I’m thinking of planting some lavender bushes in the orchard, but I’m not sure whether they’ll like it there.’
‘If you want a hand, give me a shout,’ he offered.
‘Thanks Walter, but I’ve got it covered. Maisie likes planting things.’
