Page 9 of The Fall I Fell

‘Erm, I think you should have let go by now,’ Alfie called, finally paying attention.

Realising that I no longer had enough momentum to reach the other side, I plunged down into the muddy bed. Cold but giggling, I emerged from the water, dripping like a swamp monster, surrounded by the sound of rapturous laughter from my new friends.

Chapter 5

Now

‘Where are you off to so early?’ I call.

Grandad jumps at the sound of my voice. I sit in the dark at the kitchen table, where I have been for the last hour or so, unable to sleep, or even to rest. I tried listening to Freya’s ten-minute voice note about how her week has been, but I couldn’t focus after the fourth minute. I’m not sure if it’s being back here without Granny, or the thoughts of Jacob playing on my mind, but it felt easier to sit down here with a cup of tea than to keep tossing and turning in bed.

‘Christ, you scared me. Could’ve given me a heart attack.’ Grandad clutches his chest with one hand whilst he holds his boots in the other.

‘Sorry,’ I say, getting up to flick on the kettle again.

‘Couldn’t sleep either?’ Grandad asks, as he steals my seat to pull on his shoes, not looking at me as he ties his laces.

I hum in response and we both fall quiet to the sound of the bubbling kettle. When it reaches boiling, I take a mug and pour him a cup. He accepts it with a smile that doesn’t quite trigger the deep wrinkles that he’s earned after decades of laughter.

‘Look at him smiling out on that tractor, eh?’ Granny used to say as we’d watch him as he’d weave up and down the east field, his grin so broad we could see it all the way back at the kitchen window. ‘Nothing this man loves more than farming.’ She’d shake her head with a laugh.

I know that’s not true. Even when I was fifteen, I knew it. I saw the way Grandad looked at her from across the dinner table, or when he’d wave to her from leagues away, making sure he could always keep her in his sights. No, there was something Grandad loved more than farming: Granny.

‘You make tea like your Granny. Strong and sweet. Just like the both of you,’ Grandad says between swigs from his steaming mug. I don’t think he realises how gut-wrenching his words are, or at least he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He just stares into his mug without looking at me for a moment, before he finally looks up. ‘I’m off out on the tractor. You fancy a ride?’

‘Yes, please.’ I haven’t felt the hum of a tractor under me for so long – the way it rattles my bones as we slice through the earth, or the unending bounce along the road until my coccyx is on fire. It doesn’t sound so appealing put that way, but I’ve missed it.

‘Come on then. Bring that packet of biscuits with you as well if you want.’ He poses it like it’s a choice, but Grandad doesn’t play when it comes to his snacks. If he isn’t covered in crumbs, he isn’t happy.

So, with a packet of digestives in tow, I follow him out the back and wait patiently at the shed for him to strike up the tractor. It grumbles and coughs a little before kicking into life. It’s an old bit of kit, but it’s got him through plenty of harvests. There’s nothing Grandad can’t fix with a bit of duct tape and his unwavering tightfistedness. He would rather push the thing through the field than call a mechanic out, though I know Lizzie has lent him a hand on occasion.

When he manoeuvres it out of the barn doors, I close them behind him and hop up into the cab. There isn’t quite enough room for two, so my thigh presses against the door painfully, but I don’t protest.

‘You were a bit smaller the last time you sat up here with your old man.’ Grandad looks over to me as we chug through the yard. ‘I remember the days I could get you, your brother, and a lame sheep in here all at once.’ As we begin to trundle over the rough earth, I hit my head against a bar or two, but still, I only smile.

‘Remember that time we found that goat out in the west field? I had to bear hug it the whole way home so it didn’t leap out,’ I reminisce. Grandad has a ghostly smile on his face.

‘Aye. You’ve always been a strong old lass. I always remember you beating all the Thorogood boys at their arm wrestling. Dave told me their Will started going to the gym after you handed him his arse.’

‘He always played the big man.’ I chuckle at the memory. ‘He’s never underestimated me since, that’s for certain. I don’t think I’d be able to beat him now.’

‘You’d still beat Alfie, I reckon.’

‘Oh, without a doubt.’ We settle into a comfortable silence as Grandad concentrates on the open land ahead of him. Tearing into the packet, I hand him a biscuit and we both crunch in tandem as the sun begins to peek from behind the horizon, bathing the wide sky in purples and oranges. The sunrises here are unlike any I’ve seen elsewhere. Without buildings, motorways, and a million commuters interrupting the wide expanses of land, the sunrise engulfs you. It’s as though we’re standing on the stone of a peach, surrounded entirely by its colours.

‘How’s things going with your sewing and bits?’ Grandad asks as we watch the sky, making an attempt to talk about my escapades in fashion. He has as much knowledge of the subject that a seventy-year-old farmer who has worn the same woolly jumpers for three decades can possibly have.

‘It’s okay,’ I reply, looking out of the window to avoid any eye contact. ‘The college here doesn’t offer fashion, so it’s going to be a lot harder than it was back home.’

Grandad sighs audibly. ‘I’m sorry, duckie.’

‘Not your fault. Dave is probably right, though – the chances of me getting any sort of job in fashion now, especially now we’re not in London, are pretty slim.’ I haven’t said any of these doubts out loud to anyone else. How can I tell Mum that the breakdown of her relationship is making me to miss out on my dream? I heard her crying last night in the bedroom beside mine, when she could finally drop her brave face.

That was one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell that behind her business jargon and pantsuits, she’s a real person, with real feelings. She tries so hard to make everyone believe she has it together all of the time, that she doesn’t think maybe showing a little heart might be exactly what we all need. Maybe I should have gone in to her, hugged her and told her it was all okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to. All I could do was listen to her sobs through the walls and stifle my own.

And what about Dad? Is he burying himself in his work like always? Or is he crying himself to sleep as well? Or – worst of all – does he even care? He’s texted me a couple of times to check if we’re settling in okay, but I can’t bring myself to answer.

‘Don’t listen to Dave.’ Grandad’s voice interrupts the thought. ‘All he knows is brussel sprouts and chicken feed. And he’s got all boys.’ He shakes his head and I find myself giggling at his jibe. ‘I may be well past it, but I saw what you managed to do with your Granny’s sewing machine. You have a special talent, and I know your Granny would hate you talking so pessimistic.’