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My gaze drops. When the overalls are stretching the way these do, it’s difficult not to look.
I swallow tightly. I’ve never had any issues with my size, but Trevor certainly can create some penis envy.
He holds out a pair of overalls to me.
“You don’t want to get those fancy pants mucky, city boy.” He smirks. There’s a tremble in my fingers when I take them from him. Then he holds up a small pair by the shoulders. “Do you think you’ll fit into this one, Adam?”
My son’s eyes go wide.
“It’s my size. Dad, look, it’s my size!”
It’s not really, we have to roll up the legs and arms several times. Trevor places a much too big John Deere cap on top of his head, and I could kiss Trevor for the smile he brings to my boy’s face.
Well, not kiss him, kiss him…
I expected the barn to be smelly and disgusting, but although there is the distinct odour of manure, it’s less overpowering than I thought. The sounds are loud but comforting: the snuffing and chewing, the occasional moo and shuffling of hoofed feet. The cows are scarily big up close, and despite how excited Adam is, he holds a tight grip on my hand as Trevor shows us how to milk and feed them.
“It can’t be easy, running a dairy farm and a campsite,” I say, attempting some small talk.
“True. The campsite is to supplement our income.” Trevor nods, confirming what Julie told me earlier. “It’s difficult to run any farm with profits these days. It was easier when my parents were alive…” He pauses, as if he’s surprised by his own words. His eyes flick to mine and he clears his voice but continues. “Back then we were four people working the farm. Both Julie and I could get some time off. Now, there’s never enough hours in the day.”
“They’ve both… passed?” I ask, not letting on I already know.
“Cancer took my mother.” He swallows tightly. “Alzheimer’s took my dad.”
“I’m sorry.” They are too young to have lost their parents. A wave of compassion fills me and I place my hand on Trevor’s shoulder. His chest expands on a big inhale.
“He… um… He started to lose it when Mum died. Couldn’t cope without her. His decline happened so fast.”
Ever since I met Trevor in the reception, he’s seemed like a brute, but there are raw emotions below the surface. It hurts seeing such a strong man struggle.
“How did you cope? The loss of your mother, the responsibility of the farm and then looking after your father – and sister?”
He turns his head away, but I can see his throat bobbing.
“I had to send him to a home eventually, after one too many near accidents. But that was the end for him, I could just as well have put a bullet in his head. Without the farm, he was nothing.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.” I squeeze his shoulder.
“I could have tried harder.”
His words are laced with bitterness and I know whatever I say will never ease his guilt. Instead I drop my hand and ask, “What are you going to do when Julie goes to university?”
“Work my butt off on my own.” He chuckles darkly, but he can’t hide the worried frown between his eyes. “I had hoped that the campsite would be easy money so I’d have enough to hire someone part-time. But campers are demanding buggers!”
“Sorry about that.” I laugh, easing the tension in the air.
We continue our slow track down the stalls. Trevor rubs the head of a cow as it munches on the grass.
“The campsite has just added to the to-do list. The kitchen is only makeshift. I’ve got plans to change the room next to the shower block into a bigger kitchen – it has mains water already – and turn the current kitchen into a bigger, better shower room. And then add a games room so the kids have something to do when it’s raining. But there’s never enough hours in the day. Perhaps over the winter…” He sighs deeply. “But we’ve had some bad reviews already about lacking facilities and staff. And twenty pound a night for a plot isn’t going to make me a millionaire anytime soon. I don’t know. Perhaps this whole idea was stupid.” He glances at me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Sorry, I normally don’t rant like this.”
There’s heat in my stomach. I like his rant, like that he feels he can confide in me. This strong and tough man who is carrying so many burdens.
“Have you considered glamping pods? They may require initial investment, but you can charge at least a hundred pounds a night, which is quicker money. And perhaps you can keep them open all year?”
He straightens. I can sense how his mind is churning.
“Not just a pretty face, then,” he drawls, his lips twitching.
