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Authors: Carole Matthews
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vain as we all head to the school in double-quick time, my husband’s feet being dragged along the pavement as he scrabbles to keep a purchase. No one can be in any doubt about who’s taking whom for a walk. I don’t think the children have ever had to run to school before.
We arrive in time to see Mrs Barnsely in the playground, giving Will plenty of time to assail the Headteacher with his sob story about Tom’s chewed jacket. The redoubtable Mrs Barnsley eyes Hamish warily while, oblivious, he wees on the school gate, and her look says that she hopes our children will be better behaved than our dog.
Leaving Tom and Jessica to their day, my husband and I - and dog - head back to Helmshill Grange. I still can’t quite bring myself to call the place home.The hills around us, lush and green, stretch to the sky. The roads are empty - in fact, the only vehicles I’ve seen this morning have been ones carrying hay. Even though it’s now gone nine o’clock there’s not another sign of life in the village. This could possibly be the most peaceful place on earth. Or the most dull.
Hamish drags us along the lane, straining at the lead.Will links his arm through mine and I’m not sure if he’s trying to be romantic or whether he’s trying to get some extra stability.
He turns to me. ‘Do you think you can be happy here?’
What can I say?
‘I don’t know, Will,’ I answer honestly. I fail to tell him that I’m having to fight the urge to phone the British Television Company every five minutes to find out what’s going on and whether they’re missing me. If they begged me to come back, what would I do? Is my husband’s health more important than my sanity? Could I go back to my high-powered job, get a place in London during the week and come back here at the weekends? Don’t plenty of families live like that these days? I didn’t realise that a part of me was defined by my ability to produce great television programmes, but it is. I can’t deny it, sad as that may sound. I was proud of what I did. Is anyone going to give me praise or a huge pay rise for nursing some scraggy hens back to good health?
Then I think of Will lying on that station platform as I watched, terrified that his life might be ebbing away from him. Isn’t it more important that I’m here with him rather than fretting about the loss of my career and a decent six-figure salary? I don’t want to be away from him or the kids during the week. We’re a family. We have to do what’s best for all of us. And my husband is utterly convinced that we’ll all be given a new lease of life by opting out of the rat race. ‘Give me time,’ I tell him. ‘I’m sure it will work out fine.’
‘I hope so,’ he says. ‘I love it here. So do the kids.’
I’m not sure that the kids love it any more than I do, but I decide to let that thought remain unspoken.
Will looks at the crazed hound lurching down the road in front of us. ‘You love it here too, don’t you, boy?’ Hamish yelps in delight. ‘I think I’ll let him off the lead. Just for a minute or two.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘I think this dog’s brighter than you give him credit for,’ Will chides. ‘He’ll come back when I call him.’
William slips the lead from Hamish’s collar and, immediately, the dog bolts for freedom. ‘Hamish,’ Will shouts optimistically. ‘Heel!’
Hamish gives him a look that says not-on-your-nelly, mate. Then he vaults a four-foot wall and heads off into the surrounding hills, barking manically.
‘Hamish!’
The dog barks some more and runs faster in response.
‘Hamish!’ Will sounds very stern now. ‘Come back here at once!’
Hamish is rapidly becoming a small black dot in the distance. The deafening noise of his bark recedes.
And I say nothing.
Chapter Seventeen
‘ I f I find that dog worrying my sheep again,’ the farmer says in an accent so broad that I can barely understand it, ‘I’ll bloody shoot
We arrive in time to see Mrs Barnsely in the playground, giving Will plenty of time to assail the Headteacher with his sob story about Tom’s chewed jacket. The redoubtable Mrs Barnsley eyes Hamish warily while, oblivious, he wees on the school gate, and her look says that she hopes our children will be better behaved than our dog.
Leaving Tom and Jessica to their day, my husband and I - and dog - head back to Helmshill Grange. I still can’t quite bring myself to call the place home.The hills around us, lush and green, stretch to the sky. The roads are empty - in fact, the only vehicles I’ve seen this morning have been ones carrying hay. Even though it’s now gone nine o’clock there’s not another sign of life in the village. This could possibly be the most peaceful place on earth. Or the most dull.
Hamish drags us along the lane, straining at the lead.Will links his arm through mine and I’m not sure if he’s trying to be romantic or whether he’s trying to get some extra stability.
He turns to me. ‘Do you think you can be happy here?’
What can I say?
‘I don’t know, Will,’ I answer honestly. I fail to tell him that I’m having to fight the urge to phone the British Television Company every five minutes to find out what’s going on and whether they’re missing me. If they begged me to come back, what would I do? Is my husband’s health more important than my sanity? Could I go back to my high-powered job, get a place in London during the week and come back here at the weekends? Don’t plenty of families live like that these days? I didn’t realise that a part of me was defined by my ability to produce great television programmes, but it is. I can’t deny it, sad as that may sound. I was proud of what I did. Is anyone going to give me praise or a huge pay rise for nursing some scraggy hens back to good health?
Then I think of Will lying on that station platform as I watched, terrified that his life might be ebbing away from him. Isn’t it more important that I’m here with him rather than fretting about the loss of my career and a decent six-figure salary? I don’t want to be away from him or the kids during the week. We’re a family. We have to do what’s best for all of us. And my husband is utterly convinced that we’ll all be given a new lease of life by opting out of the rat race. ‘Give me time,’ I tell him. ‘I’m sure it will work out fine.’
‘I hope so,’ he says. ‘I love it here. So do the kids.’
I’m not sure that the kids love it any more than I do, but I decide to let that thought remain unspoken.
Will looks at the crazed hound lurching down the road in front of us. ‘You love it here too, don’t you, boy?’ Hamish yelps in delight. ‘I think I’ll let him off the lead. Just for a minute or two.’
‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘I think this dog’s brighter than you give him credit for,’ Will chides. ‘He’ll come back when I call him.’
William slips the lead from Hamish’s collar and, immediately, the dog bolts for freedom. ‘Hamish,’ Will shouts optimistically. ‘Heel!’
Hamish gives him a look that says not-on-your-nelly, mate. Then he vaults a four-foot wall and heads off into the surrounding hills, barking manically.
‘Hamish!’
The dog barks some more and runs faster in response.
‘Hamish!’ Will sounds very stern now. ‘Come back here at once!’
Hamish is rapidly becoming a small black dot in the distance. The deafening noise of his bark recedes.
And I say nothing.
Chapter Seventeen
‘ I f I find that dog worrying my sheep again,’ the farmer says in an accent so broad that I can barely understand it, ‘I’ll bloody shoot
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