Page 13 of The Fall I Fell

‘I wasn’t well.’ He tosses a crumpled-up ball of duct tape onto the ground.

‘Oh.’ I hesitate. ‘Your dad said you were with Pen.’

Jacob lifts his head so quickly that he smacks the back of it against the bonnet with a vibrating ‘bonk’ followed by a hiss of pain. He tries to play it off, but he reaches up and rubs his oil-covered hand across his crown.

‘You’re getting yourself filthy,’ I mutter. ‘Come here.’

He steps down from the tractor, and slumps down onto the ground as I comb my fingers through his hair, checking to see if he’s already got a lump forming. ‘You okay?’ I ask him, trying to ignore my quickening pulse and my heating cheeks.

‘When did you start getting bothered about being dirty?’ His voice is gruff, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of acknowledgement of our past in his words.

I focus on the task at hand. ‘There’s no mark, no blood. You’ll be fine,’ I mumble, drawing myself away from him reluctantly.

We stare at each other for a moment. I can’t read the expression on his face, and the feeling is alienating. I slump down beside him, and we sit in silence for a moment, with only the occasional ding from Grandad hitting various parts of the tractor.

‘I’m happy for you, you know,’ I venture. ‘You’re proper punching with Pen.’ I nudge him in the shoulder like he’s one of my mates. I’m telling the truth, too. I am happy for him, if he’s happy. But it still feels hard to say.

‘Yeah. Cheers.’ He still won’t look me in the eye. Instead, he runs his palms down his trousers repetitively, his leg bouncing slightly until his discomfort grows too much and he’s forced to stand up and get back to work on the tractor. The more this interaction goes on, the more my comfort melts away, and the ache in my heart becomes impossible to ignore.

‘We’re still friends though, right?’ I say, a little of my desperation slipping through. ‘We’ll always be friends?’ If he hears me, he doesn’t make any attempt to reply. He paces neurotically around the tractor, his hands rushing through his hair at such speed, I’m surprised none of the strands stay wrapped around his fingers. The pit in my stomach is a cavern now. ‘Wolfie?’ I urge.

The tractor kicks back to life with a loud grumble and he finally ceases his pacing. ‘Yeah, friends.’

His words don’t comfort me. Where is the Jacob that would tell me anything? The Jacob that wouldn’t rest until he told me some new gnarly animal fact? The Jacob that held me as I cried after Granny’s funeral?

‘There she is,’ Grandad says, rushing towards us with a grin on his face. ‘Told you she’d still work.’

‘Harry, you really need to stop fixing your engine with duct tape, or your precious Betty will blow up one day.’ Jacob shakes his head and wipes his oil-stained palms down his shorts.

Grandad looks a little guilty, then shrugs as he slams down the bonnet. ‘Come and have some breakfast with us, lad. My thanks for fixing her up.’

Jacob begins to protest, but I beat him to it. ‘Jacob is probably really busy with his own farm, Grandad.’ He looks to me with a little dejection, but it doesn’t linger long enough for me to fully decipher it.

‘Nonsense, he’s got half an hour for some toast. Come on, we’ll race you.’ Grandad doesn’t hang around long enough for either of us to refuse. He hops back into his cab with the sprightliness of a much younger man.

‘You don’t have to come.’ I loiter for a moment as Jacob collects his tools.

He points to Grandad, who is beckoning me through the window. ‘I don’t think Harry’s going to let me get out of this one.’ Jacob pauses for a moment and looks at me wholly for the first time since he arrived. ‘I’ll see you there.’

‘Come on Ava, move your arse.’ Grandad sticks his head out of the window to call to me, and I do exactly as I’m told.

The ride back to the farm is quiet. The only thing to listen to is the chug of the tractor and Grandad’s stomach as it’s grumbles grow louder with every passing minute. When home is in view, the sight of Jacob’s parked truck implies that we very much lost the race. Old Betty may have life in her yet, but her speed is no match for her competitors that were actually made in this millennium.

Jacob and Will are sitting at the kitchen table with Mum and Cal, mugs of tea in front of each of them, with two spare.

‘Oh ’ello Jacob.’ Grandad claps Will on the shoulder as he moves to take his seat.

‘So close.’ The eldest brother teases.

‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ Grandad continues, pretending not to hear him.

‘You called me, Harry,’ Will says. ‘Although, I reckon from the scratchiness of the line, you’ve called me from the back pocked of your trousers. Just thought I’d pop over and check if you needed me anyway.’

‘You two are such good lads.’ Mum fusses around them as she starts dishing out toast and pastries. She’d never have this sort of breakfast on offer if we hadn’t got guests, but I’m not complaining. ‘Thanks for looking out for Dad. Who knows what trouble he could have got into if he didn’t have you boys looking after him these last couple of years.’ She shakes her head and I know she must be feeling the same guilt as I was back in the orchard.

‘Well … we’ve been thinking,’ Will begins. Jacob hardly raises his gaze from his plate so I linger by the sink, out of the way. ‘We’re all going to chip in to help you out on the farm, Harry. It’s a lot of acres to cover as one man, and since we don’t have too many winter crops, we have a bit of spare time.’

‘Don’t be silly. Your dad needs you boys.’ Grandad shakes his head with a mouth stuffed full. ‘I’ve managed this farm just fine with only my Dot by my side for longer than all of your ages combined.’