The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [98]
“Gemma, Seamus is the one who calls the vet.”
I asked if she knew where he was, and she said he was stacking the hay. “But wait until lunch,” she added. “I told you he’s in a foul mood.”
“Look at them.” Petula’s eyes were watering and Herman was making a low sound. “This can’t wait.”
Vicky tried once more to remonstrate but the calves were ill and my old fears were back. Everyone, everything, I touched was doomed. If only Mr. Sinclair were here, but he had spent the night at the Laidlaws’. As I hurried past the byre towards the hay barn I could already hear Seamus barking commands: “Over there.” “Higher, lad.” When I stepped inside he was standing next to the trailer, supervising Angus and another boy as they unloaded and stacked the bales. I knew that he knew I was there—I was always on his radar—but he didn’t, for a second, glance in my direction.
“Seamus,” I said, “I’m sorry to interrupt but the calves are ill. We need to call the vet. If you give me the number I can telephone.”
“Leave a wee space,” he called to the boys. “We’ll stack them tight when they’re dry.”
I went and stood a few yards in front of him. The air was thick with dust from the bales and the only light came from behind him, through the open doors. “Please,” I said, “they’re very poorly. Can you tell me the vet’s phone number?”
At last his pale eyes were glinting down at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? If those calves are poorly it’s because you haven’t weaned them soon enough. Giving them names, treating them like pets, it’s no wonder they’re ruined. Don’t you know vets cost money?” The last question landed at my feet in a glob of spittle.
“They’re ill because you put them out in the storm,” I said. “Jill’s a vet and she told me that in bad weather calves need their mother for shelter. Please give me the phone number.” The air felt as it had the previous evening before the rain, but now it was Seamus who was making everything hot and still.
“Are you telling me how to do my job? Get out of here before I make you.”
I glared back at him, wishing, like David, I had five smooth stones. “What kind of farmer are you that you want to kill your cows? I’ve been saving my wages. I’ll pay for the vet. Just give me the phone number.”
Seamus took a step towards me and I took a step towards him. I had not fought anyone since my first year at Claypoole, but I knew now that the best way to hurt a man was to aim below his belt; my height made that easy. I clenched my fists in readiness.
“Gemma, go back to the house. I’ll deal with this.”
I turned, and there, standing on top of the bales of hay, twenty feet above the floor of the barn, was Mr. Sinclair.
Seamus stopped moving. Like the sky the day before, his eyes seemed suddenly veiled. All expression left his face. Even in my fury, I felt a flash of sympathy. I knew, only too well, what it was like to have one’s life controlled by other people. He worked seven days a week taking care of the land and the livestock and yet, like me, he remained at the mercy of Mr. Sinclair’s whims.
An hour later Nell was tracing a map of Scotland, struggling with the jagged west coast, when we heard a car pull up. From the schoolroom window I saw a man climb out of a Land Rover and Mr. Sinclair stepping around the house to meet him. When I went to fetch lunch for Nell and me—I couldn’t sit at the same table as Seamus—Vicky handed me a note:
Calves will recover. Vet says feed twice a day this week & keep warm & dry. Next week start to wean.
I had never before seen his handwriting, and I studied the brief sentences as if there might be words hiding beneath the words, a volume of feeling coiled in the casual ampersands. I would never have let Nell get away with the poorly formed rs, the hastily looped ys.
That night as I lay in bed, trying to read myself to sleep, I heard a knock at my door. “Come in,” I called, moving over to make room for Nell.
The door opened a crack. “Gemma, get up. Put on your dressing-gown and slippers.”
In the hall Mr. Sinclair waited, fully dressed. He motioned