Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection

‘No matter,’ her husband replied, shovelling a heap of cabbage onto his plate. ‘It was sincere, and we’re good and ready to eat the fruits of our labour while they’re still hot.’

‘Why has Mr Maitland gone to America?’ Susie was curious.

Barney passed Lucy the potatoes and gave his daughter one of his impatient looks. ‘You must have asked that question a hundred times or more,’ he chided. ‘The answer is the same as it was before – we don’t know. What’s more, it’s none of our business.’

Still she persisted. ‘It must be something important, because that’s twice he’s been this year.’

Rolling her eyes, Vicky smiled at Lucy, a smile that said, ‘Wait until your son starts asking questions and you don’t have the answers to give, it’ll drive you crazy.’

‘Well?’ Susie was like a dog with a bone.

‘Well, what?’ Thomas asked, his mouth full of part-chewed meat.

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full!’ Vicky reprimanded. ‘We none of us want to see what you’re eating, thank you.’

Lucy loved having Sunday lunch with the Davidsons. This was a real family, with arguments and conflicting opinions, and questions without answers, and even half-chewed mouthfuls of meat. ‘I think Susie’s right,’ she said, glancing at the girl. ‘Mr Maitland must have important business to tend, or he wouldn’t have gone away again so soon.’ She hastily rescued a potato that was about to fall on the floor from Jamie’s teaspoon. The little boy was quite good at feeding himself now, but he was staring goggle-eyed at Tom’s antics and wasn’t paying attention. Lucy hoisted him straight. He was sitting on the high chair they had made him, and was in his element.

‘But why did he go the first time?’ Susie played with her Yorkshire pudding, spinning it on the end of her fork and nibbling at the crusty bits.

‘Hey!’ Ronnie leaned towards her. ‘If you don’t want that bit of pud, I’ll have it.’ Having already demolished three, he still had an appetite like a lion.

‘You will not pass food from plate to plate!’ Vicky declared, getting out of her chair. ‘There are half a dozen more in the oven. I’ll fetch them.’ Which she did, with Ronnie stealing one away on the prongs of his fork before she even got to the table.

As Vicky sat down to resume her meal, Barney was explaining to his daughter, ‘You see, sweetheart, we didn’t make a big thing of it at the time, so you probably didn’t know, but Mr Maitland’s old grandfather passed away earlier in the year, and he had to go out and see to things.’

Susie was indignant. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked petulantly. ‘I’m not a baby to be protected.’

‘I know that,’ Barney apologised. ‘But it isn’t the sort of thing you like to talk about, is it?’

Susie shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’

Ronnie intervened. ‘So why did you cry your eyes out when your pet rat passed away?’

‘That was different.’ Susie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Bobby was my friend.’

‘Of course he was, and of course you cried.’ Barney gave Ronnie a warning glance, before returning his attention to his daughter. ‘Mr Maitland was upset about his grandfather too. Only when it’s a person, there are things to be done … legal documents, matters o’ that kind. That was why he went to America last time. As to why he’s gone this time, I don’t really know, but I suspect it might have something to do with his grandfather’s estate. Y’see, Mr Maitland was brought up in Boston. He spent most of his youth there after his parents died, and from what he told me, he loved every minute.’

Having finished his first course, and patiently waiting for his pudding, Thomas addressed his father. ‘From what I remember, you said his grandfather had hundreds of acres of land and a great, sprawling farmhouse?’

‘That’s right,’ Barney replied, setting his knife and fork together and letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

Ronnie spoke up. ‘I’ve often wondered why he would leave the place if he loved it that much.’

‘For an adventure?’ That was Lucy. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the world. Maybe Mr Maitland felt the same when he was younger, so when he got the chance, he took it?’

That sparked another question from Ronnie. ‘How old is he now?’ he asked Barney.

‘I’m not exactly sure.’ Barney cast his mind back to when Leonard Maitland had confided many things in him. ‘He’s not much older than me – forty-three, forty-four maybe.’

‘Crumbs!’ Susie groaned. ‘That’s ancient.’

While Lucy laughed, Vicky feigned indignation. ‘Hey, young lady! I’ll have you know, me and your father are still young at heart.’

Barney laughed out loud. ‘We’ve aching limbs, a bad back and corns on our feet, but like your mammy says, we’re still young at heart.’

Everyone laughed, including Jamie, which made them laugh more. The jam pudding and custard was served by Susie and her mother, and afterwards there was the luxury of a Sunday glass of homemade wine each; all except for Susie, who moaned and complained and still got only a quarter of a glass. ‘Just enough to wet your whistle,’ Barney advised firmly. ‘Give it another year and if you’re lucky, you might be allowed half a glass.’

When the meal was over and the women were clearing away, the men went for a tour of the farm, discussing their plans to prepare the fields for winter.

‘There won’t be too many more days like this,’ Barney said, looking up at the cloudless skies. In a fleeting thought, he wondered how many more days he would have. So far he had managed to carry out his work without anyone suspecting the truth, but deep down in his soul he believed there was something badly wrong with him.

Lately, his only concern was the family. If anything happened to him, what in God’s name would it do to Vicky? Dear Lord! It didn’t bear thinking about, so he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

Maybe when all was said and done, there wasn’t anything wrong that could not be put right, but the uncertainty was there, mainly because he still hadn’t been back to the doctor.

On a different issue, yet with the bad thought ticking away in the back of his mind, he turned to his younger son, Ronnie. ‘It’s time you learned the farming inside out, son.’

‘I already know the farming,’ Ronnie argued. ‘I’ve helped you since I were a little lad, Dad, just like our Tom. I’ve helped you bring in the harvest and led the sheep in for shearing, and I’ve walked that many times behind the haycart and made that many sheaves, I’ve lost count.’

Thomas intervened. ‘Dad means real farming.’

Ronnie laughed. ‘I thought that’s what I’d been doing.’

‘And you’re right,’ Barney agreed, ‘but there’s still much more for you both to learn.’

‘Such as what?’

‘Such as knowing the tractor inside out, every bit and bolt, how the engine works, how it should sound when running, and being able to put it right when it goes wrong. Then there are the implements, knowing which to use and when.’ He went on, ‘When the sheep are brought in for the shearing, you stay with them. You talk with the shearer and watch the job is done properly, and when he’s not able to get here at the right time, you shear the blessed things yourself, or the maggots will eat them alive.’

‘That’s right!’ Thomas exclaimed. ‘The first time I saw a sheep with its back half-eaten, I didn’t know what it was. I never knew maggots could get into the fleece and eat away the flesh.’

Ronnie’s mouth fell open. ‘God! That’s awful!’

‘So, that’s another thing you’ve learned.’ Barney took out his pipe and lighting up, began puffing away. ‘They’ve to be dipped and they’ve to be sheared. It’s a cycle and if it goes out of rhythm, something suffers somewhere along the way.’

He blew out a halo of smoke. ‘You’ll both make good farmers, if that’s what you want. But there’s still much to be learned. There’s the wintering, and ordering of foodstuff, and keeping up with what’s new. Then there’s the paperwork, oh aye! Yon paperwork will keep you up till the early hours, and when that’s done, it’s time to get up for the milking.’ He sighed deeply and pulled on his pipe. ‘It’s not like a job most other poor devils do – if they can get it – where you clock on in the morning and clock off again at night.’

He looked from one to the other. ‘You work with the land and the animals; you’re controlled by the seasons.’ He smiled contentedly. ‘It’s hard work and by, it takes it out of you, but I swear to God you’ll never find a better way of life.’ Taking his pipe out, he paused, before saying in a serious voice, ‘I can’t tell either of you how to live your life and I wouldn’t dream of doing that. It might be that you don’t want to work for Mr Maitland and stay here in Comberton. You’re both my sons and I’m proud of you, but you must spend your lives the way you see fit.’

‘I’ve already decided what I want to do.’ Thomas had been giving it some serious thought lately. ‘At first I wasn’t so sure, but now I am: I want to make farming my life. I want the kind of life you and Mother have had.’

Barney was thrilled. ‘I’ll not deny we’ve had a good life, me and your mother …’

Ronnie interrupted with a quiet smile. ‘With many more years to come yet, eh, Dad?’

Taken aback by Ronnie’s remark, Barney felt his heart turn over. ‘Aye, lad, that’s right … many more to come yet.’ God willing, he thought. God willing.

‘And I’m the same.’ Like Thomas, Ronnie had missed the look of regret in his father’s eye. ‘I want to farm an’ all. Winter or summer, it’s a great way of life.’