Read Online The First Time I Saw Your Face by Hazel Osmond - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hazel Osmond
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inside the house.
Bryony flicked her eyes skywards. ‘Teeth still giving her jip. There she blows.’ She hared off into the house, returning with Louise still bundled in her quilted sleeping bag. She was struggling and crying, her face pink and wet.
‘Now, look,’ Bryony said, leaning her head back to avoid Louise’s flailing fists, ‘what’s Auntie Jen going to think of you?’
Louise obviously didn’t give a damn and both women watched her continue to try and fight her way out of her sleeping bag and her mother’s arms. As Bryony was used to handling appreciably bigger livestock, Louise was wasting her time.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Bryony said wearily after one particularly bolshy struggle, and Jennifer wondered how much worse this would be for her when lambing was properly underway and Danny too busy to take some of the strain from her at night.
‘How about I take Louise for a couple of hours?’ she said. ‘Mum would be delighted, and you can have a sleep.’
‘No, no. I can’t let you do that.’ There was something in Bryony’s tone that told Jennifer she could be persuaded.
‘Come on, I’ll take your car with the seat; you can bring mine along later when you come and collect her.’
Jennifer was amused to see that once the decision was made Bryony set about getting her daughter bundled away with her customary vim, wrestling Louise into the car seat and pinning her down expertly with the straps. Louise looked outraged and reapplied herself to trying to make everyone’s eardrums bleed, but as Jennifer set off the crying lessened and when they reached the fork in the road, this time Jennifer taking the road on the right, it had stopped. Jennifer saw Louise’s hand go to her mouth. By the time Jennifer got her first glimpse of home, Louise was asleep.
Set down in the fold of the valley and surrounded by fields on all sides Jennifer likened Lane End Farm to a bigstone ship that had come to rest in a sea of green. The farmhouse itself was the bow, albeit a blunt one; the wide yard was the deck and the clutter of barns and sheds forming a U-shape on the other side of the yard, was a stern of sorts. With a stretch of the imagination you could see the sheep dotted over the fields as white flecks of foam.
In the yard, Jennifer stopped the car and gently lifted Louise out. A quick fluttering of her eyelids was her only response and as Jennifer manoeuvred past the coats and discarded wellingtons in the porch, she did not stir again.
‘Brought you a present,’ Jennifer said pushing open the kitchen door and her mother, putting a plate high up on the dresser said, ‘If it’s anything else that wants feeding, you can take it back,’ before turning and seeing it was her granddaughter. She took Louise into her own arms eagerly, a smile transforming her face. It was a face that, with its aquiline nose and high cheekbones, Cress always joked belonged to a duchess, but had ended up on a farmer’s wife. Her mother’s way of carrying herself too, with her back very straight and her chin lifted, added to the impression that she was slightly superior and not to be crossed. Mostly this demeanour was saved for those who angered her; with those she loved she was as warm as any apple-cheeked farmer’s wife, and with children she was a thing of putty. The only time that the family had to be wary was if she had on what Jennifer’s father Ray called her ‘lemon-droplook’. Then you’d best keep quiet, find something that needed doing elsewhere and hope that it wasn’t you that had displeased her.
As her mother settled down with Louise in her arms, Jennifer took off her jacket and wandered over to the cake tin. Coffee and walnut today, the icing thick and studded with nuts. ‘This looks good,’ she said, cutting a slice and bringing it over to the table.
‘You’ll not have bothered with lunch before you left, I suppose?’ her mother asked.
‘Did, but wished I hadn’t. Thought I’d give that
Bryony flicked her eyes skywards. ‘Teeth still giving her jip. There she blows.’ She hared off into the house, returning with Louise still bundled in her quilted sleeping bag. She was struggling and crying, her face pink and wet.
‘Now, look,’ Bryony said, leaning her head back to avoid Louise’s flailing fists, ‘what’s Auntie Jen going to think of you?’
Louise obviously didn’t give a damn and both women watched her continue to try and fight her way out of her sleeping bag and her mother’s arms. As Bryony was used to handling appreciably bigger livestock, Louise was wasting her time.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Bryony said wearily after one particularly bolshy struggle, and Jennifer wondered how much worse this would be for her when lambing was properly underway and Danny too busy to take some of the strain from her at night.
‘How about I take Louise for a couple of hours?’ she said. ‘Mum would be delighted, and you can have a sleep.’
‘No, no. I can’t let you do that.’ There was something in Bryony’s tone that told Jennifer she could be persuaded.
‘Come on, I’ll take your car with the seat; you can bring mine along later when you come and collect her.’
Jennifer was amused to see that once the decision was made Bryony set about getting her daughter bundled away with her customary vim, wrestling Louise into the car seat and pinning her down expertly with the straps. Louise looked outraged and reapplied herself to trying to make everyone’s eardrums bleed, but as Jennifer set off the crying lessened and when they reached the fork in the road, this time Jennifer taking the road on the right, it had stopped. Jennifer saw Louise’s hand go to her mouth. By the time Jennifer got her first glimpse of home, Louise was asleep.
Set down in the fold of the valley and surrounded by fields on all sides Jennifer likened Lane End Farm to a bigstone ship that had come to rest in a sea of green. The farmhouse itself was the bow, albeit a blunt one; the wide yard was the deck and the clutter of barns and sheds forming a U-shape on the other side of the yard, was a stern of sorts. With a stretch of the imagination you could see the sheep dotted over the fields as white flecks of foam.
In the yard, Jennifer stopped the car and gently lifted Louise out. A quick fluttering of her eyelids was her only response and as Jennifer manoeuvred past the coats and discarded wellingtons in the porch, she did not stir again.
‘Brought you a present,’ Jennifer said pushing open the kitchen door and her mother, putting a plate high up on the dresser said, ‘If it’s anything else that wants feeding, you can take it back,’ before turning and seeing it was her granddaughter. She took Louise into her own arms eagerly, a smile transforming her face. It was a face that, with its aquiline nose and high cheekbones, Cress always joked belonged to a duchess, but had ended up on a farmer’s wife. Her mother’s way of carrying herself too, with her back very straight and her chin lifted, added to the impression that she was slightly superior and not to be crossed. Mostly this demeanour was saved for those who angered her; with those she loved she was as warm as any apple-cheeked farmer’s wife, and with children she was a thing of putty. The only time that the family had to be wary was if she had on what Jennifer’s father Ray called her ‘lemon-droplook’. Then you’d best keep quiet, find something that needed doing elsewhere and hope that it wasn’t you that had displeased her.
As her mother settled down with Louise in her arms, Jennifer took off her jacket and wandered over to the cake tin. Coffee and walnut today, the icing thick and studded with nuts. ‘This looks good,’ she said, cutting a slice and bringing it over to the table.
‘You’ll not have bothered with lunch before you left, I suppose?’ her mother asked.
‘Did, but wished I hadn’t. Thought I’d give that
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