“You’re getting it. Yes.”
“What about university?”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. I could take tomorrow afternoon off, and we could go down and move you out of halls.”
“I won’t be able to go back, will I?”
“Why not?”
Tamsyn was aghast.
“I’ve not been there for a year; how will I cope with the work I’m supposed to have completed?”
“My dear child, if everything has slotted in as well as it appears to have done, who knows what is in that pretty head of yours.”
“Hmm,” said Tamsyn, unconvinced.
“Still, there’s time to sort all that out before then. First off, let’s go see your family!”
Chapter Seven
Helen saw the car coming up the lane to the farm. Tom was out somewhere on the farm, so she swore gently and washed her hands, leaving the dough she was kneading with a damp cloth over the bowl. She always made her own bread, but she didn’t like being interrupted.
The elderly collie, Trixie, barked as soon as she heard the car coming to a halt. The two younger dogs were out with Tom, but Trixie was fourteen now and as blind as a bat. She preferred hanging about the farm in the vain hope she might be able to catch the postman. She didn’t think she could eat a whole one, but she’d like the chance to try.
It wasn’t the postman, but somewhere in her dim mind, she thought that one of the two humans was vaguely familiar. She wagged her tail and stuffed her damp nose into Tamsyn’s crotch as she got out of the car.
“She seems to know you,” Gwen observed.
“This is creepy, as I’ve never been here before, and yet it is strangely familiar!”
“Go with the flow, girl, go with the flow!” Gwen said as Helen arrived at the front door.
Helen looked tired and drawn. Life on a farm was no picnic, so she was tired and drawn. She was grateful her own children were grown up, and having to look after her husband’s niece had not been expected, so although she had done so without a quibble, it had been an extra burden on the family.
She did not recognise the driver, but was relieved when she saw Tamsyn.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “The university has been calling. I had no idea where you were. You could have told us where you had gone.”
“Sorry. This is Gwen, she’s helping me sort out my stuff,” Tamsyn said, giving her ‘aunt’ a hug.
Helen and Gwen shook hands. Relief was evident on Helens face.
“These young girls, how they can expect to do anything with their lax attitude, I just don’t know!” she said. “Thanks for picking up our stray.”
“No problem. You should be impressed, as she’s got as job at a guesthouse in Falmouth for the summer.”
Helen raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, so, what’s wrong with helping out here? You know we wanted you to do the same here to get a few extra bob.”
“You’re still decorating, and at the rate you’re going, it’ll be Christmas before you finish,” said Tamsyn.
Helen smiled faintly for the first time.
“Okay, you have a point, but you know what it’s like in the summer?
“I notice that the boys aren’t helping,” Tamsyn said.
Helen changed the subject, for obviously she couldn’t insist that Tamsyn help if her own children were not willing to do their bit either.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she said.
“I need to see if my stuff is here.”
“Stuff?”
“Birth certificate, national insurance card, NHS card, passport and driver’s licence.”
“They should all be in your room where you left them.”
“Hasn’t Uncle Tom cleared out my room to decorate?”
“Not yet. If you want, you could box up everything you leave behind, to make it easier when he does. You’ll find the boxes in the attic.”
Tamsyn entered the house. Helen led Gwen through to the kitchen.
“Don’t mind me, but I’m just making some bread. Cup of tea?”
“Lovely, if you are?”
“Be a love and put the kettle on. Tom will hear the whistle and be in for a mug. I’m sure he has tea programmed radar instead of normal senses.”
Gwen filled the elderly kettle with water and placed it on the Aga. Helen went back to pounding her dough.
“Has it been tough, having Tamsyn in addition to your own kids?”
“It was a bit of a pain having a nine year old come along when all the others were leaving school or university. We thought we’d got past all that sort of thing. Actually, she’s been a little sweetie, most of the time. She could be a right little cow when puberty hit, but recently has been more chilled and mellow.”
“She’s not into the farming?”
“None of them are. I think the kids today live in an instant world. They want what they want now and are not prepared to wait or work for it.”
“That’s a little unfair, isn’t it?”
The woman stopped kneading the bread and moved the bowl to the corner to allow the yeast to rise before putting it in the oven. She wiped her hands.
“Possibly, but farming is a tough life. You don’t get instant results, whether arable or animals, you have to tend them and wait for the right time to get your money back. You’re also at the mercy of bad weather or disease. One wet summer can ruin you. We’re both not getting any younger and feeling tired, so it would be nice if the kids would take over some of the work, at least.”
While they talked about the perils of youth, Tamsyn was going through a surreal experience. She had never set foot in this house before, but, just like the words on the page, her memories appeared moment by moment.
She instinctively knew which room was ‘hers’. Once in it, she knew where to look to find her documentation. The room was immaculate, with everything neat and tidy.
It was a girl’s room, but not excessively so. Taking the suitcase from on top of the wardrobe, she filled it with underwear, clothes and shoes and then cleared her makeup drawer.
Sitting on her bedside table, she saw a diary for last year. She sat on the bed and opened it.
Hoping that she’d been an avid diary filler, she was disappointed. She had a few family birthdays in there and one dentist appointment.
To be fair, she was surprised at that much, considering that up until that moment Allun had climbed the tree, Tamsyn Morrghan hadn’t existed.
Now, she held in her hands documents that appeared genuine, declaring that Tamsyn Eliza Morrghan was born just nineteen and three quarter years ago in a hospital in Falmouth, was entitled to medical care under the NHS, possessed a valid National Insurance card, had a full driver’s licence and a passport with her photograph staring back at her.
There was also a bank card in her name. She wondered how much she might have in the bank. These were all impossible, and yet they appeared as real as the bed and the large wooden wardrobe.
She walked out onto the landing and immediately looked up. There was the hatch leading to the attic. She opened the airing cupboard door and without thinking, removed the pole that was in the corner. With the pole, she pushed against the hatch and pulled down the hatch on hinges and the ladder that was attached to it on the upper side.
Minutes later she had removed five big boxes and packed everything in her room that she didn’t want to take. She then took the boxes up and stacked them, one at a time, in the corner of the attic.
“Who the hell am I?” she asked the ghosts in the attic. They did not bother responding.
When she joined the others downstairs in the kitchen, she noticed that Uncle Tom had come in and had a big mug of tea in his hand.
“Hello Titch!” he said, beaming a big smile at her. He gave her a hug, carefully so as not to spill his tea.
“Keepin’ a’right?” he asked, in English in his deep Cornish accent.
“Pur dha, meur ras,” (Very well, thanks) she responded in Cornish without really thinking.
Gwen raised her eyebrows but said nothing. There were very few people who spoke Cornish as a matter of course. Indeed, it was felt that when one John Davey of Zennor died in 1891, the last person who was a native Cornish speaker had passed away, and the language was doomed to go the way of so many dead languages. (See appendix).