Finding Hope at Hillside Farm Read online

  ‘Look what you have accomplished.’ Ella pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, turning to follow Carol’s gaze as she watched Tor moving around the arena.

  ‘Not bad for a waste of space.’

  ‘Don’t even say it in jest.’ Ella lifted a finger in warning. ‘You’re strong and powerful and you can do amazing things. Would you have believed a few months ago that you’d be standing here doing this?’

  Recognizing what was needed, Ella beckoned Tor in towards them. He slowed to a walk and made his way across, coming to stand at a rest in front of Carol. She dropped her head for a moment, looking down at the rope in her hands. Tor moved his head in gently until it was leaning softly against her chest and she placed her hands on either side of his face, resting them on the broad flat planes of his cheekbones.

  She gave a deep sigh, closing her eyes.

  ‘I feel like he can read my heart, sometimes.’ As she opened them, Ella saw her lashes were wet with tears. ‘I’m still trying to make myself believe I’m worth something.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’ Ella reached a hand out, touching Carol’s arm gently. ‘You’ve been through so much. How does it feel with Tor there?’

  Overhead in the eaves there was a flurry of wings and the sound of the birds who roosted there each winter scuffling around, their song clear in the silence. Carol looked at Ella, her gaze level and proud. She’d come so far. Each session had brought some kind of breakthrough, and taking the step to go out into the world and risk a relationship was a huge one. She was so brave.

  ‘Like I’m being supported. Like I deserve to be supported.’ Carol smiled. It wasn’t the hesitant, nervous one that had flitted politely across her face when Ella first met her.

  ‘You do.’ Ella reached a hand across, running it along the ruffled hair of Tor’s mane.

  ‘I deserve this.’ Carol took a deep breath and straightened her back. ‘I deserve to be happy with someone else.’

  Ella watched as she clipped the lead rope back onto Tor’s head collar and led him back onto the track. The irony wasn’t lost on her. All these years fixing other people’s lives, yet she was no further forward with her own.

  Chapter Seven

  Harry

  ‘I need to give you directions. I know I said the cottage was in Llanover,’ the voice said, ‘but there’s been a bit of a mix-up.’

  The rain was absolutely teeming down and even with the wipers on full speed, Harry was having trouble seeing what was in front of him on the motorway. The bluetooth connection in the car was useless at the best of times.

  ‘I can’t hear you very well.’

  There was a crackle as the person on the other end of the line did something.

  ‘Is that any better? I’ve taken it off speakerphone.’

  He tried to turn up the volume, fruitlessly – it was already at maximum.

  ‘SY18 . . . something. Oh God.’ There was a pause and the voice increased slightly in volume. ‘What’s the bloody postcode, Lou?’

  Harry shook his head. The rain was getting worse, and he really wanted to concentrate on getting there in one piece. He pulled out into the middle lane to overtake a slow-moving lorry.

  ‘It’s breaking up, Jenny,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll ring you in an hour or so.’

  Something was happening. In the dim light of the storm, even through the grey sheets of rain, he could make out a blurry blue flashing ahead. He braked carefully and flicked a glance in the rear-view mirror. The lorry behind him was closer than he’d like. The wipers crashed on through the deluge. It looked as if someone was sitting on top of the car pouring a bucket of water onto the windscreen.

  As he drew closer he realized the blue lights were stationary, and that they were surrounded by a flickering sea of orange hazard lights, warning of an obstruction in the road. He clicked his on and slowed the car further. He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as the vehicle drew to a standstill, surrounded in moments by cars on either side of him. In the distance he caught a glimpse of the high-visibility jacket of a police officer who was gesturing to one of the drivers ahead. His stomach knotted, thinking of the people up ahead. It looked like a crash. Even after all this time, seeing a crash could bring the past right back into the present moment. He looked down, realizing he’d gripped hold of the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were whitening. He released them, shrugged his shoulders to try and release the tension, and rolled his head back, hearing the tension crackling in his spine as he did so.

  ‘Major problems on the roads,’ said a cheery voice, as he switched on the radio.

  ‘You’re not bloody joking.’ His irritation was mixed with worry for whoever was in the accident in front. He turned his phone over, thinking that he could probably get away with checking it as he cut the engine. It looked like they were here for the long haul.

  ‘A lorry has overturned . . .’ the voice continued. ‘Diversions are being put in place, but in the meantime if you’re heading that way, I’d suggest taking an alternative route.’

  Harry looked out of his window and saw the man in the car next to him lighting up a cigarette, sliding his window open the smallest crack. He met Harry’s eyes and shook his head in a despairing fashion.

  ‘Let’s hope there aren’t too many of you out there tonight stuck in that delay,’ said the DJ, cheerfully.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Harry. He reclined his car seat slightly and leaned his head back, feeling his neck clicking again. God, he was stressed.

  Half an hour later, they hadn’t moved. The rain had eased off slightly. A stream of rescue vehicles and transport police 4x4s had made their way along the hard shoulder, and people were beginning to hop out of their cars and down to the verge. Rain-soaked men could be seen relieving themselves in the not particularly concealing scrubby woodland. The car in front was steamed up and the children in the back seat were drawing funny faces in the condensation on the window. One of them grinned at him, the gap in her tooth reminding him of Hope, and he smiled back at her. She covered her mouth in delighted laughter and ducked out of sight. If this bloody traffic queue would just get moving he could get there and pick his daughter up, spin her round in the air, and hear all about the move. He hoped it would be what she needed. Something had to be . . .

  The phone rang again. He picked it up.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Hi.’ The line was much clearer. Jenny’s voice echoed in his ear.

  ‘You’re not driving, are you? I’m just ringing to let you know there’s some sort of accident on the motorway, so you might want to avoid it.’

  He caught a glimpse of his expression in the rear-view mirror. If his eyes had rolled any further, they’d have fallen out the back of his head.

  ‘Definitely not driving, no.’

  ‘Good, because you know what Lou’s like about that. Once a copper, and all that.’

  Harry knew. His father-in-law was a stickler. He’d been in the police all his life, and his retirement – which had come a year early, due to ill health – hadn’t sat well at all.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  There was a shriek in the background.

  ‘Daddy?’

  His heart swelled with love, hearing Hope’s voice.

  ‘Can I have a word with her?’

  ‘As long as you promise you’re not driving. You know that hands-free thing is just as dangerous, apparently . . .’

  ‘Hand on heart, Jenny.’ He laughed. ‘I’m not on the hands-free, and I am absolutely, positively not driving.’

  ‘Good. I just worry.’

  ‘I know.’ (She didn’t need to know he was parked on the motorway.)

  ‘Hello?’

  The little voice was hesitant, after her initial shriek of excitement.

  ‘Are you coming today? Grandma said you’re coming today?’

  ‘I am, my darling, just as soon as I can get there.’

  There was a long silence. Long enough for Harry to feel the famil
iar niggling discomfort of guilt. He loved Hope, he wanted to do the best for her – so why was he never there?

  ‘Darling?’ Maybe she’d hung up by mistake.

  There was a scuffling noise.

  ‘Sorry, I went to get you a picture I drew this morning. I wanted to tell you about it.’

  ‘Go on then, honey. What’s in the picture?’

  ‘It’s got three horses in it. One is brown and one is whitish grey and – what time are you going to be here?’

  He glanced at the clock on the display. The plan had been to make it for seven, in time to do bedtime stories, watch Strictly together (Hope loved the dancing and the brightly coloured outfits) and hear all about how they were settling in.

  ‘I’m not quite sure now, sweetheart.’ He didn’t want to build her hopes up, knowing that over-excitement could easily spill over into tears. ‘Soon.’

  Silence.

  He could imagine her face falling and he felt another stab of guilt. When he got there, he was going to sit down with Jenny and have a serious talk about what they were going to do. Something had to give, and right now it felt like it was Hope, right at the time when she needed him.

  ‘How about I promise that the very second I get back I’ll come directly to you and read you a story, even if I have to wake you up?’

  ‘No.’ The tone was firm. ‘I will stay up. Now the other horse is sort of orange and it has really long hair and when I went to the field this morning I climbed through the hedge and stroked it and—’

  ‘Sweetheart, if you don’t let Harry get going he will be even later,’ Jenny said gently in the background.

  ‘I’m staying up,’ repeated the small voice.

  ‘I’ll just tell him that, shall I?’

  There was a bit of a scuffle and a small howl, and then Jenny came back on the line.

  ‘She’s a bit over-excited about you coming. It’s been—’

  ‘I know.’ He stopped her before she could start the sentence. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just been ridiculous with work and everything going on.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Saved by the bell. There was a low growl of engines as they were switched on – he hadn’t realized just how quiet it could be sitting parked on a motorway.

  ‘I’m going to get going now,’ he said. ‘Remind me of the second half of the postcode?’

  He typed it into the satnav and waited as it calculated the distance.

  Estimated journey time: 2.03 hrs.

  He might just make it on time, after all.

  They filed past the overturned tanker. Harry was relieved to see the driver standing by the cab, distinctive in a uniform that matched the livery of the HGV he had been driving. There were no ambulances, but a couple of fire engines still stood by the scene of the accident, their lights blaring.

  He put his foot down, glad the rain had passed, and decided against stopping at the services for a coffee to keep him going. There was bound to be another one on the way, and if he got another hundred miles or so under his belt he’d feel more confident about making it to – what was the name of the place again? – Llan-something – in time for bedtime stories.

  The roads were half-familiar. In another life, long ago, he’d visited the same part of Wales. He shook his head as if to change the picture in his mind. He thought instead about Sarah, and the day they’d met.

  Chapter Eight

  Harry

  Before

  ‘Watch yourself there, my love,’ said the nurse, as the doors swung open. Harry’s nose and throat filled with the all-too-familiar scent of disinfectant and cleaning products and for a moment he thought he might throw up. He pressed himself to the wall and let the hospital porter push the bed past him, the nurse bustling at his side. The patient in the bed was fast asleep, attached to a drip.

  He took another breath, which caught in his throat and turned into a sob.

  ‘You OK?’

  Outside, sitting on the edge of a wooden tub filled with pansies, Harry had gathered himself. Or at least he thought he had.

  ‘Fine.’ He looked up. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  A dark-haired young woman, her hair cropped in a gamine style, looked at him thoughtfully. She was wearing a very small baby on the front of her chest in some sort of rucksack carrier.

  ‘You look like you could use a cuppa.’

  ‘This place is run on cups of tea, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think you’re probably right.’ She gave the head of the baby a gentle pat. ‘Come on, this one’s just been fed, she’ll be asleep for ages. The hospital shop does a killer scone.’

  In the end she didn’t stay asleep for very long at all. As soon as they walked back into the brightly lit, noisy atmosphere of the hospital the baby seemed to sense something was up, and she started screaming loudly. Harry bought a cup of tea for the young mother, instead, and a coffee for himself. He set them down on the table, not quite knowing where to put his eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only a boob,’ she said, cheerfully, waving a hand in the general direction of the baby’s head. It was making surprisingly loud gulping noises for such a small creature.

  Harry nodded and tried to look as if he sat opposite women breastfeeding every day. This whole week had been – well, it was as if someone had turned everything upside down.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ She motioned to the teapot. ‘Can you just –?’

  Realizing what she meant, he poured the tea. ‘Milk?’

  ‘And two, please.’

  He ripped open the little packets and tipped in the sugar, stirring it before sliding it across the table so she could reach it.

  ‘I know I said you could do with a cup, but my God, I was dying for one.’

  It felt a bit odd watching her drinking tea over the top of another human being. He was slightly concerned that she might slop some on the baby and burn it, but she carried on, looking quite content.

  ‘I’m Sarah.’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘Ooh. Like Prince Harry.’

  Normally this would have elicited an inward sigh of irritation, but not today. ‘Yes.’

  His mum, a fervent royalist, had been convinced that calling her son after the prince born the month before him would be a lovely tribute to the newest member of the Royal Family. Instead it meant he was one of about twelve in his year at university, and had spent the entirety of his school year being known as Harry M., to differentiate him from Harry B., Harry P., and a whole flotilla of other Harrys.

  He swallowed a mouthful of too-hot coffee, along with another sob which was threatening to make its way, unbidden, out from deep inside him.

  ‘So what’s up?’ Sarah fixed him with a direct gaze, which seemed to look straight inside him.

  He took another sip of coffee and pressed his teeth together, feeling the strange rigid sensation again in his cheeks. It was as if his face was made of slowly setting concrete. Everything in the world seemed to have shifted slightly, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

  ‘My mother. She just – died.’

  It sounded ridiculous. The words someone else would say about another person. His mother. Gone.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Sarah reached over the top of the now-sleeping baby and squeezed his hand. ‘I’d hug you, except –’ She motioned to the little figure in the snowsuit.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Sarah said firmly. And she didn’t let go of his arm.

  ‘You said seven o’clock,’ said a small, cross voice, from underneath the covers. ‘It’s now eight fifty-two and forty-five seconds. Forty-six.’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’ Harry patted the lump under the covers. ‘There was an accident on the road. A tanker was overturned – it fell over sideways, I mean.’

  Two dark eyes and a tangle of dark hair appeared from underneath the quilt.

  ‘Was anyone killed?’

  ‘No,’ he said, firmly. ‘Nobody was killed, everyone is fine.’
>
  ‘Because I was watching a thing on YouTube about accidents, and it said that 1,713 people are killed in car accidents in the UK, every year. I looked it up before you came home.’

  He felt a twist in his stomach at the word. It wasn’t home. He should be glad, he supposed, that Hope felt that way. Glad that for her, wherever he and her grandparents were meant home. He reached out a hand to stroke the hair off her forehead.

  ‘Sorry I was late.’

  ‘S’OK,’ she said, pulling the covers down so her whole face could be seen.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Harry took in the bedroom, which was already swamped with the detritus of small-girlhood. Toy horses lay on the floor in a sea of paper and pencils. There was a desk where she’d set out her collection of fossils and assorted bits and bobs she’d rescued along the way – you could never quite tell with Hope what was going to catch her magpie eye, and it was never what you’d expect. A stack of coloured plastic bottle tops in a glass jar, surrounded by a circle of blue Lego pieces. He’d learned over the years not to touch anything – what looked like mess to him was almost always something of significance. His heart swelled with love and he put a hand on her head, running it down the back of her ruffled hair.

  ‘D’you want me to brush that for you?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ her head slid under his hand. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘OK.’

  It was worth a try. Some days she’d sidle up to him like a cat, set herself down at his knee and instruct him to brush it ‘like a horse’s tail, please’ and he’d sit, listening to her chatter, smoothing the long dark locks. But tonight wasn’t one of those times.

  ‘Shall I read you this story, then?’