‘If I were you,’ he said, ‘I’d look at reinforced concrete to replace it. It’s far cheaper and much easier to secure into the outside wall.’
‘It’s a listed building,’ I said.
‘That’s no problem. There’s no problem using a concrete slab. As long as the appearance is the same. Was the limestone painted?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, there you go. There’s only so far a listed buildings consent will go in specifying the nature of the materials. You want to find someone who’ll run it straight into the wall rather than taking out sections of the stone. Don’t listen if they say they can’t do it. You’ll save yourselves three or four thousand pounds.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
I leaned back against the frayed wood and thick splinters pushed against my shirt. The ewe shifted a little on her delicate hooves. I closed my eyes. The wind descanted distantly.
‘— continual maintenance, that’s the problem,’ Adam said from next door.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
‘I was saying you’re constantly having to maintain them. Old buildings. It can be a real headache. The maintenance costs on an old building can be a real drain. Personally I’d rather spend the money on something else.’
‘I think mine’s coming,’ I said.
A rounded, shiny-blue protuberance, like a knuckle, had appeared amidst the ewe’s red, fleshy folds. It kept receding and returning, each time a little more substantially.
‘Mine too,’ Adam said. ‘I worked out that the equity on a new build is actually more stable once you factor in the running costs.’
The ewe was panting even faster: while not moving at all, she was like something running at full tilt. The knuckle edged its way out. Now it was a parcel, mottled and tightly packed, being forced through a letterbox.
‘Should I pull it out?’ I said.
‘No,’ said Adam. ‘She does it all. There, mine’s out.’ I heard a rustle of straw from his stall. ‘In Bath, though,’ he continued, ‘I should say you’d get a lot of value added just from the heritage point of view. It’s the Georgian factor — you can’t go wrong, really, in Bath. Ridiculous, isn’t it? The money people will spend on something that’s basically just an illusion.’
I turned back to my ewe and saw the parcel, greasy and bright, suspended in a long moment of obstruction before it suddenly slithered out in a rush and fell with a thud into the straw. There was a smell of old blood. I watched as it woke itself, unfolding its legs and nosing blindly at the remnants of the bag it had come in, before scrambling unsteadily to its feet. It stood there, quivering, while the ewe licked it and carelessly shoved it around. I realised my heart was thumping. I met the ewe’s depthless brown gaze. The four ewes left in the pen bayed and barged against the metal poles with their massive bodies. I inched around the edge of the stall and let myself out.
*
Later I saw the gilded figure of Hamish running across the yard with his hair flying crazily in the wind and a smile on his face so large and unaccustomed that at first I thought he must be in pain.
‘Look!’ he shrieked. ‘Look!’
He was clutching something in his hand. Lisa and Janie and the baby were behind him, moving through the yard looking this way and that, like tourists. Lisa was wearing sunglasses.
‘Look!’
‘What is it?’ I asked. It was a piece of paper but I couldn’t prise it out of his fist.
‘You got a letter from mummy, didn’t you, Hamish?’ said Lisa, tucking a strand of hair sympathetically behind his ear as though he were a poor orphan.
‘Did you?’ I said, simulating pleasure. I was surprised to feel a little stab of jealousy at this revelation. Why should she be glorified for writing, when she was forced to do it simply by the fact of her absence? And why, if she was in the mood for writing letters, didn’t she write one to me?
‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, pet?’ Lisa continued, pityingly.
‘He can’t even read,’ said Janie. ‘Why is she sending him letters if he can’t even read?’
Had Hamish not been there I might have applauded this line of questioning, and perhaps hazarded the explanation that the letter had been sent out of a confused sense of guilt, mixed with a craven liking for showy, attention-seeking gestures which required the minimum of effort and carried high parental prestige.
‘Why doesn’t she just come and see him?’ Janie added.
‘She’s busy this week,’ I said, because Lisa was listening closely. ‘She’s working. She’s got a big exhibition she’s putting on at an art gallery.’
‘Clever mummy,’ said Lisa, with a meaningful intonation.
‘We did two this morning,’ said Adam heartily. His face was red and his jacket was covered in wisps of straw. ‘I had to get Michael in there at gunpoint. He thought he might have to put his hand up something.’
‘Men!’ exclaimed Lisa, tutting. ‘It’s perfectly natural, you know,’ she said to me. ‘There’s nothing disgusting about it.’
‘There wasn’t much to do,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
‘Try saying that when you’ve got a prolapsed ewe, or twins, or the cord tied round somebody’s neck,’ said Adam grimly. ‘You’d know what the fuss was about then.’
‘Laura’s up at the house,’ said Lisa. ‘I said you’d pop in and say hello.’
I remembered Laura very vaguely, as a laughing, self-possessed girl with no particular lack of grace or attractiveness, who nevertheless advanced common sense as her chief characteristic and virtue. I remembered her round, flat, white, well-modelled face, like the blank, unpainted face of a Venetian mask, from which she wore her fair hair pulled back by an Alice band. When we passed through the courtyard next to the house we saw two children playing, both extremely fair and unkempt, a boy of about eight and a slightly smaller girl. Adam greeted them, which did not prevent the boy from raising what appeared to be a small crossbow and pointing it directly at him.
‘Put that down, Rufus,’ said Adam, quite angrily. ‘Can’t you see there are children around?’
‘I’m not pointing it at them,’ said Rufus. I couldn’t tell whether he liked the fact that nobody had accused him of being a child himself, or not.
‘You shouldn’t point that thing at anybody,’ said Adam. ‘Where did you get it from?’
Rufus shrugged.
‘Mum gave it to me,’ he said.
‘I’m sure she didn’t.’
‘She did!’ squeaked the little girl.
‘Good God,’ said Adam. ‘What will she think of next?’
I guessed that these were Laura’s children. Common sense was clearly no longer something she went in for.
‘Take it out to the field, will you?’ continued Adam. ‘I don’t want it anywhere near the house.’
‘You really shouldn’t be playing with things like that, Rufus,’ said Lisa. ‘It’s actually not very nice.’
‘It’s none of your business!’ shouted Rufus.
‘Well, it is my business if one of my children gets hurt,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it, Rufus?’
‘No one’s got hurt! I haven’t done anything wrong!’ yelled Rufus furiously. ‘We were just playing!’
He stormed out of the courtyard and a minute later, with a look of uncertainty, his sister followed him.
‘Honestly,’ said Lisa, rolling her eyes, ‘I only have to come up here and I start to think I’ve gone mad.’
Inside the house Laura was nowhere to be seen. Vivian and Brendon were sitting hunched at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. After the sunlight outside it looked as though they were sitting in a great cavern, or in the belly of a gigantic animal with the ceiling beams as its black, huge ribs. I noticed that Brendon had a large piece of gauze taped to his forehead.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Vivian presently, lifting her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know you were still here.’