either Shelby or Lucas at the other end – but it doesn’t.
I read, but keep the light low with the hope that I might slip into sleep but, as soon as I start to snooze, every little noise jolts me awake. Finally, just before 3 a.m. the dogs go barmy and I assume that Lucas has finally come home. I lift up the curtain on my window, just in time to see him vaulting over the gate. He waves to Aurora as she flicks her headlights and then reverses away down the track.
He crosses the yard, a spring in his step despite the hour. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have him home. It took me all my strength not to ring him earlier.
The door bangs and I hear him murmuring to the dogs. Then he’s outside my bedroom door.
‘I know you’re not asleep, Mols.’
‘No.’ He knows me too well. I put the light on and he opens the door. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah.’ Lucas comes to sit on the edge of my bed. His face is flushed and his eyes are bright. I hope this is only to do with his success at the poetry slam, but I can’t be sure. He does look really very happy. His hair was artfully tousled before, but you should see it now.
‘I just wanted to say thanks,’ he says. ‘You know, for everything.’
He sounds a little bit drunk. I think he had that double voddy – or two – after all.
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I forgot to thank you for dedicating the second poem to me. That meant a lot.’
‘I’m sorry when I’m a tit to you. I don’t mean it.’
‘I know. All part of growing up.’
‘I don’t want to be like my dad. I want to be kind and caring,’ he says.
I want to tell him that he has his father all wrong. That Shelby is a good man, but now isn’t the time. When Lucas is older he’ll understand that.
‘Thanks for being like a mum to me when I’m not even your kid.’
‘Come here,’ I say and he snuggles in for a hug. ‘I love you to bits. I’ll always be here for you.’
‘I know.’ He peels himself away from me. ‘Better go to bed. I’m knackered.’
‘You’ll struggle to get up in the morning.’
‘I do every day,’ he points out.
‘Sleep tight.’
‘I’m gonna let Little Dog sleep on my bed.’
‘OK. He’ll fidget.’
‘I’m so tired, I don’t think I’ll notice.’
‘Will you read out your poems for the students tomorrow? I want to be all boasty about your success.’
And he must be feeling mellow as he says, ‘Yeah, sure.’
Then he goes and, as I put down my book, a text comes in from Shelby.
It was a triumph. Still at the party. Speak tomorrow. S xx
That must be some party, I think. We’re all going to be tired tomorrow. And so, at last, I turn off the light and go to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Everyone is in a bad mood. Lucas, after his erudite and spectacular performance, has returned to grunt mode. He’s barely said a word this morning. His eyes are red with tiredness and he’s grumping around the yard doing nothing in particular in an irritable manner like a tetchy teenager.
The students are all stroppy today too and I’m exhausted from dealing with them before the day even starts. They’re all squabbling about nothing. Even the sheep are bad-tempered and Anthony the Anti-Social Sheep has escaped his pen and headed off to the corner of the field where he currently has his head down ready to ram anyone who approaches. I’m going to leave him to his own devices, but have put one of the students on watch to make sure he doesn’t make a bolt for the road. The geese are trying to nip everyone who passes and the donkeys are braying at the top of their voices. It’s mayhem. Welcome to another sunny day at Hope Farm. Except it’s pouring with rain. The huge Christmas tree might be doing its level best to be festive, but there’s not much Christmas spirit here this morning.
Even Bev and Alan aren’t immune to the dark cloud hanging over us today. They arrive wearing different band T-shirts.
Lucas nods towards them and mutters, ‘Some serious shit must have gone down there.’
He might be right. If they’ve not discussed what they’re wearing today, I’d say it’s a sure sign that all is not well in their world. To be honest, Lucas and