‘She rented them out to a neighbour.’ He sits back, silent for a moment. ‘The thing is, if I did decide to stay, I’ve no idea what I’d do with it all. If I’m honest, a part of me doesn’t want to sell,’ he admits. ‘I spent my childhood here – and it’s a really lovely old house. I can imagine someone buying it and turning it into a wedding and events venue. No offence…’ He adds. ‘But I like to think of it being a home.’
‘I can understand that,’ I say. Then I have an idea. ‘Could you run a vet’s practice from here?’
He seems to freeze. Then he looks at me. ‘That isn’t a bad idea.’
Then it’s as though we’re both thinking the same. ‘The stable would be perfect,’ I say.
‘The stable is yours,’ he reminds me. ‘It’s in my grandmother’s will. You should be receiving a letter from her solicitor – if you don’t get it, I’ll chase them up.’
I look at him. ‘But you have to admit, it would be the perfect place for a veterinary surgery.’
‘I can build one if I want to. The stable is yours,’ he says firmly. ‘And I’m happy with that, I promise you. I don’t feel any sense of ownership. I just want to see my grandmother’s wishes carried out.’
I sit there watching as he picks up the bottle and tops up our glasses. ‘Can I ask you something?’ His eyes rest on me. ‘I know you lost your daughter,’ he says gently. ‘And please don’t feel you have to tell me. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I was wondering what happened to her.’
26
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
How do I begin your final chapter? By then, writing had taken you over; become your way of reaching people. After you went undercover for the newspaper, I knew it was a step too far. It wasn’t just the once. More farms followed. I worried that what you had seen was too much for someone so sensitive, who felt so deeply. But it didn’t stop you.
It’s hard to keep track of the timing of what happened. It must have been some months later when I came in from work to find you sitting in front of the TV, an empty wine bottle on the table in front of you.
‘Hey, Lex. How was your day?’ I asked.
‘Shit,’ you said. ‘Right now, it feels like everything is.’
Going in, I went and perched on one of the chairs. ‘Has something happened?’ You were like this, some days: down. Though I knew you would always come up again. But in your world, something was always happening. It always would be, until the day came when animals were no longer exploited and cruelty ended.
‘The paper have stopped the articles.’ You slurred your words slightly. Picking up your glass, you drained it then reached for the empty bottle. ‘I’m going to get another.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ I said. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
‘I don’t want tea,’ you flashed back at me, then stopped yourself. ‘Sorry, Mum. But tea doesn’t make anything go away.’
‘Nor does wine.’ As I followed you into the kitchen, my fear was back as I watched you open another bottle.
You rolled your eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m not like Dad.’
‘I know you’re not. But drink didn’t help him with his problems.’ You were so different to Ryan, it was hard to believe he was your father. I tried to deflect you. ‘Have you spoken to Ollie lately?’
‘No.’ Your hand shook as you picked up the bottle. ‘Have you?’
‘I haven’t actually.’ Back in the UK, since finishing uni, Ollie was working in Bristol. ‘Lexie, what are you going to do?’ I regretted the words as soon as they were out. The timing was so wrong.
‘Nothing.’ you said. ‘I’ve put everything I am into making a difference in the world. I’ve been doing it for years. But I have absolutely nothing to show for it.’ Your eyes glistened with unshed tears.
‘That isn’t true.’ I rushed to your defence. ‘You can’t say that. You’ve no idea how many people have read your pieces in the press, or your social media posts. I can guarantee you’ve made a difference.’
‘Do you ever look at those posts?’ You gazed at me. ‘People write horrible comments. Some of them take a delight in cruelty. They don’t care how much animals suffer. How can you change people who think like that?’ Turning away, your shoulders were tight. ‘I’m strong, Mum. And I’m determined and I work tirelessly when I care about something. But if someone like me can’t make a difference, who can?’
You were all those things; you were also vulnerable. I didn’t want to think what it would do to you if you didn’t have a direction to channel your drive in. ‘Just give yourself a breathing space,’ I suggested. ‘You know so many people. Something will come up.’
But as more days passed, you withdrew further. Like your father, looked for solace in a bottle where, of course, you couldn’t find it.
‘I’m worried about Lexie,’ I told Ollie. ‘Really worried. It’s like she’s going off the rails.’
