instant on one of the giant broken pieces of stone and flew away again.
‘We were talking about you the other day,’ said Adam, asthough it were a matter of months rather than years since we last spoke. I could hear a baby wailing in the background. ‘Dad’s got a boundary dispute going with the council. He’s been driving us all mad with it so in the end I said, “Look, Michael’s a lawyer, let’s just ring him up and ask him.” We had the wrong number, though. We rang this woman and dad kept telling her she was your wife and she kept saying she wasn’t. They talked for about an hour in the end. When dad rings off he says –’ Adam put on a low, comical, inebriated voice ‘– he says, “She wasn’t a bad old thing in the end, Michael’s other half.”’
‘Boundary disputes aren’t really my line.’
‘Oh no?’
‘I gave all that up.’
‘I didn’t know that. What do you do now?’
I laughed. ‘Let’s just say I get paid a lot less for it.’
‘And there was I,’ said Adam, ‘imagining you as an equity partner somewhere.’
He’d taken his mouth away from the receiver and his voice was indistinct.
‘What?’
‘I was asking was it a penance for something. It sounds very virtuous.’ He sounded perplexed. ‘Though I can’t say I’ve never wanted to get off the treadmill. Only I’d have to get paid for doing it.’ He paused. ‘To be honest, I never thought I’d be where I am now. Doing the nine to five in Doniford.’
‘I don’t think anybody does,’ I said.
‘Don’t they? I think that’s what dad would call old bunkam. Not that he’d know what it’s like. He’s never had to sit behind a desk wondering how early he can leave without anybody noticing. What’s annoying is that he appears to think this is the result of his own ingenuity.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘He’s ill,’ he added.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Prostate cancer. It’s all right – it’s a straightforward operation. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse time of year.’
It was mid-March. Through the window the trees were still bare, except for the branches of the laurel that grew at the bottom of our steps. Its rubbery, imperishable leaves were thickly coated in white dust.
‘Why’s that?’ I said.
‘He’s in hospital all week, and there are a hundred pregnant ewes at Egypt.’
‘My God.’
‘The first ones are due on Friday.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘It’s funny,’ remarked Adam. ‘That’s just what dad wanted to know. I’m having to take half my summer holiday now. Lisa is not pleased,’ he said in a low voice. There was a pause, then he added, more loudly: ‘You don’t feel like doing some lambing, do you?’
I laughed.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course,’ said Adam, with the vague suggestion that he was not asking a favour but conferring a privilege.
His tone sent a strange thrill through me: an impulse, like a light, that travelled all around my limbs, illuminating great tracts of weariness. I felt as though I had been rowing against a hard wind and had just lifted my oars out of the resisting water, in order to succumb with mild terror to the pleasure of being blown wherever it was easiest for me to go.
I said: ‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘Oh, dad’s hired someone to do the really nasty stuff,’ he said, misunderstanding me. ‘It would just be, you know, shepherding. We could put you up here.’
The baby wailed faintly in the background. I heard a woman talking: her voice rose and fell, rose and fell. There was the sound of dishes being scraped against one another.
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Can you make it by Wednesday?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll have to make some arrangements.’
‘You’re probably owed some holiday,’ he said meaningfully, as though he had been told that I was. As it happened, it was true.
‘A bit,’ I said.
‘You’d be doing me a real favour,’ he conceded.
I said: ‘Can I bring my
‘We were talking about you the other day,’ said Adam, asthough it were a matter of months rather than years since we last spoke. I could hear a baby wailing in the background. ‘Dad’s got a boundary dispute going with the council. He’s been driving us all mad with it so in the end I said, “Look, Michael’s a lawyer, let’s just ring him up and ask him.” We had the wrong number, though. We rang this woman and dad kept telling her she was your wife and she kept saying she wasn’t. They talked for about an hour in the end. When dad rings off he says –’ Adam put on a low, comical, inebriated voice ‘– he says, “She wasn’t a bad old thing in the end, Michael’s other half.”’
‘Boundary disputes aren’t really my line.’
‘Oh no?’
‘I gave all that up.’
‘I didn’t know that. What do you do now?’
I laughed. ‘Let’s just say I get paid a lot less for it.’
‘And there was I,’ said Adam, ‘imagining you as an equity partner somewhere.’
He’d taken his mouth away from the receiver and his voice was indistinct.
‘What?’
‘I was asking was it a penance for something. It sounds very virtuous.’ He sounded perplexed. ‘Though I can’t say I’ve never wanted to get off the treadmill. Only I’d have to get paid for doing it.’ He paused. ‘To be honest, I never thought I’d be where I am now. Doing the nine to five in Doniford.’
‘I don’t think anybody does,’ I said.
‘Don’t they? I think that’s what dad would call old bunkam. Not that he’d know what it’s like. He’s never had to sit behind a desk wondering how early he can leave without anybody noticing. What’s annoying is that he appears to think this is the result of his own ingenuity.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘He’s ill,’ he added.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Prostate cancer. It’s all right – it’s a straightforward operation. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse time of year.’
It was mid-March. Through the window the trees were still bare, except for the branches of the laurel that grew at the bottom of our steps. Its rubbery, imperishable leaves were thickly coated in white dust.
‘Why’s that?’ I said.
‘He’s in hospital all week, and there are a hundred pregnant ewes at Egypt.’
‘My God.’
‘The first ones are due on Friday.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘It’s funny,’ remarked Adam. ‘That’s just what dad wanted to know. I’m having to take half my summer holiday now. Lisa is not pleased,’ he said in a low voice. There was a pause, then he added, more loudly: ‘You don’t feel like doing some lambing, do you?’
I laughed.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course,’ said Adam, with the vague suggestion that he was not asking a favour but conferring a privilege.
His tone sent a strange thrill through me: an impulse, like a light, that travelled all around my limbs, illuminating great tracts of weariness. I felt as though I had been rowing against a hard wind and had just lifted my oars out of the resisting water, in order to succumb with mild terror to the pleasure of being blown wherever it was easiest for me to go.
I said: ‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘Oh, dad’s hired someone to do the really nasty stuff,’ he said, misunderstanding me. ‘It would just be, you know, shepherding. We could put you up here.’
The baby wailed faintly in the background. I heard a woman talking: her voice rose and fell, rose and fell. There was the sound of dishes being scraped against one another.
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Can you make it by Wednesday?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll have to make some arrangements.’
‘You’re probably owed some holiday,’ he said meaningfully, as though he had been told that I was. As it happened, it was true.
‘A bit,’ I said.
‘You’d be doing me a real favour,’ he conceded.
I said: ‘Can I bring my
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