The Smallholder Pt. 01

Everything in him wanted the man out of his house and out of his life, but the weather was conspiring against him. He looked out; the snow was still falling, though lighter now than before. Usually he did not mind how long it snowed, but this time he longed for it to stop.

Even then, there would be no way out in the near future. If Trevor deteriorated and the snowstorm stopped, the Air Ambulance would be able to land. If the snow did not stop... He shivered.

He looked out of the window in despair.

Why me? He asked himself and there was unsurprisingly no answer.

He relaxed in his chair, went into his breathing exercise and recited his mantra, hoping for some peace. It did not come. He knew better than to give up and sat for half an hour concentrating on his breath. It did calm him but his mind would not quieten. It reminded him of the early days. He sighed and left the chair and the study and went to check on the animals.

As he passed the bedroom he could hear two voices in conversation. He expected to hear sounds of dispute and angry exchanges, but the voices were quiet and seemed to be sharing ideas. He could not hear that was said and was not the sort of person to listen at doorways. He passed on his way.

He was surprised on leaving the house that the wind had dropped further and it seemed the snow was falling more gently. He decided to clear what snow had fallen and drifted since his last clearing, then to clear a path to his second field. It was hard work and kept his mind empty, which was what he wanted. It took an hour to clear everything to his satisfaction, and then he tended to the animals.

He returned to the house and sat in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil for tea. He was tired and cold, but the kitchen was warm and he felt comfortable and peaceful. It was getting towards evening and it felt like a long day already. He made the tea, set out two mugs and waited for it to brew.

He sat at the table. This was where he had sat for eight years. Eight peaceful years. There had been some emergencies: casualties brought from the hills to his cottage since he had more or less level fields for the helicopter to land, or the odd lost walker he set on the right way, but by and large he had led a solitary existence and had never felt lonely. He had his faithful Bob, whom he had as a puppy since his second year there. He had thought he was over all the traumata of the early years. He had been happy, he thought.

Then Angela happened. He realised he had felt more strongly attracted to her than he had wanted to admit from the moment she entered the house and he had tended to her ankle. The attraction had grown even stronger with her re-appearance this weekend.

He began to see she was also attracted to him; she had made it clear enough - holding his hand, kissing him, the way she looked at him, her unabashed stripping in front of him before she got into bed with Trevor, though she did not want to do the getting into bed part. It seemed she now despised Trevor, her Gerard.

Trevor! Who could have foreseen or even imagined that Angela's live-in lover would turn out to be Joseph's nemesis? Who could have conceived of a snowstorm that kept the wife stealer in his house?

Now, even with two visitors in his house he felt lonely. He missed his wife anew. He missed little Sonia. He felt depression creeping over him; that feeling had returned after he thought he had banished it, or at least had left it far behind.

The thought of Angela returned, and he knew he had been entertaining thoughts that he and she might develop a deeper relationship, that something might come of it, but she was a city girl and he now thought she would find life with him difficult.

As it happened the same ideas were being mooted by someone else.

Angela came into the kitchen. She smiled at him, and then looked worried.

"Something the matter?" she asked, all concern.

"No, nothing," he lied and felt guilty about it, but did not correct himself. "I've just made some tea. It should be ready now."

"He had two bowls of soup but no bread," she told him, "He could not manage the bread. He's still very tired after his ordeal."

Joseph did not enlighten her about his worries for Trevor's uncertain future.

"Watch him carefully," he told her, "Any change at all, come and get me."

She poured tea into the two mugs and took hers with her, back to Trevor. She did not come back.

--

As Joseph had closed the study door earlier and had shut himself away, Angela had opened the booklet and found the place. As she read she became uneasy. Gerard was clearly in stage two, and this was dangerous and really needed hospital treatment. She understood why Joseph had been worried about Gerard's heart. They were trapped by the snow and there was nothing they could do.

It seemed a shame to wake Gerard, but she knew he needed to feed to build his temperature.

She closed the booklet and went to get some soup and bread. She placed it by the bed and sat for a moment. Then she gently shook him. He stirred then seemed to be more aware than before.

"Wha'? " he stuttered, trying to sit up. "Where?"

"You're at Joseph's and getting better after getting too cold outside."

"Ugh!" and he lay back.

"Gerry, you must eat something. You still need warming up. You need your strength."

She helped him to sit up, putting the pillows behind him. "Can you hold the bowl?"

He looked tired already, so she didn't wait for an answer, and began to feed him. She was surprised he allowed it, and it worried her. She did offer him some bread, but he closed his eyes. When he had finished she went and refilled the bowl and he finished that as well.

He lay back and she rearranged his pillows. He lay still, very pale. She sat by him, wondering if he would go back to sleep. Then he opened his eyes.

"How...?" he asked, and faltered.

"We came after you and found you. You were under a tree and very cold."

"Oh," he said closing his eyes. "Don't remember."

"Gerard you are not well. You have hypothermia."

At this he became animated. "You as well," he groaned.

She was annoyed.

"Stop it, Gerry, I've been reading the manual the mountain rescue people train with. You are not at all well, and you must rest."

"He's not for you, Angie," he said.

"I'll decide that," she said, trying to keep her temper.

There was a long pause. She wondered if he was trying to summon up some strength. She waited.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Eh?"

"Sorry, Angie. Been a pig."

"Yes, you have."

Another long silence.

"Come home babe." His eyes were closed, and the words were quiet.

"I don't know, Gerry."

"He's not right for you."

"I have to decide that. In any case, he's only a friend. We've not been... intimate."

She expected him to laugh derisively, but there was no reaction.

"Angie, you're a city girl. You'd never survive here." His breathing became more strenuous, and the voice only a whisper.

"It makes no difference to us," she said gently. "You think I love being dominated. I don't. I stayed with you because of the times you were tender and caring. I went along with the rest. I am an independent woman, Gerry, and you treat me as if I'm one of your possessions. You make decisions and expect me always to fall in with them. You're manipulative.

"You left me out here, you never came back for me.You never admitted you could have killed me. And then there's what you did to Joseph and his wife and child..."

Another long silence.

"I can change babe. I did feel guilty about Susan, the baby. I did love them."

"I don't know, Gerard, I really don't know."

She was sitting by his bed, looking at her hands. The silence fell heavily between them and looking up, she saw he was asleep. He was breathing quite heavily. She sighed, and looked hard at him. Arrogance and dominance disappear in sleep, or are made to look ridiculous - more so in illness, she thought.

He had his moments - no, make that times, she mused - when he was the most loving man; he was often but not always thoughtful, he 'treated' her often - expensive restaurants, trips to London to see a play - all the extravagant things. At such times he was very attentive to her needs. He even went shopping with her!

He could make love gently and softly, while at times when she desired it, he could be passionate and forceful and take her hard. She loved both ways. He knew how to torment her, bringing her to her edge again and again until she begged and begged for release. And what release! Yes, he was a good lover; she could see why Joseph's wife fell for him.

That brought her up short. Joseph's wife! Why did she leave Joseph? Was there an element of truth in Gerry's statement that Joseph neglected her and the baby? Or that she found Joseph sadly lacking in the bedroom? In fact she knew little about his abilities in either department.

It would seem a desperate act to leave a husband and take their child with her for another man. Was it simply that too many tragedies had befallen him, or had he been simply inadequate and the final problems merely brought things to a head? She thought of his solitary life and wondered if he were too self-centred and self-absorbed to make a good partner.

Perhaps Gerry was not as bad as Joseph had made out. Perhaps Gerry had really fallen in love with Susan and Susan made the decision to leave Joseph without undue pressure from Gerry. Perhaps Gerry did feel overpowering guilt about their deaths.

She mentally shook herself. No! He refused to help with the funeral and did not attend. That was not the act of a compassionate loving man, no matter how guilty he felt. He had money; he could have paid for it even if he could not bear to attend or to meet the family. She remembered the callous way he had left her up the valley in a temper and would not take any of the blame.

Was Gerry right? Was she infatuated with Joseph and the radical difference in lifestyle he represented? Was it true that she could not cope with this life? She thought about her life in town, her flat, her friends - the richness of it all. Joseph's life was very plain, simple and uncluttered, almost barren.

Joseph had been like this on his own for eight years and seemed very settled and happy. Was it likely he would want to adapt to suit her? Was he able to?

She felt unhappy. Before Gerry arrived that morning, she had been certain Joseph was the man she wanted and that she wanted to share his life. Now she was not so certain. They had only been together for a very short time; they did not really know each other at all.

She heard the kitchen door open and close, and the sound of Joseph making a drink. Then quiet. It must be tea, she thought, and he must be letting it brew. She quietly got up and went to find out.

She found him sitting at the table, and thought how tired and worried he looked. She told him that Gerard had taken the soup and then took her tea back to the bedroom to watch him. She did not tell Joseph she knew how serious Gerard's situation was. She knew she did not need to: Joseph already knew.

--

Joseph had thought he ought to get something together for the evening meal. He decided on spaghetti bolognese since it could be easy for Trevor to eat. He got the ingredients together and was about to make a start, when a change in the waning afternoon light outside made him stop and look out of the window. It was getting towards evening, four fifteen, but it was brighter. The snow was hardly falling, and the clouds were thinning. Indeed there was a suspicion that there would be a break in them.

He left the food and went towards the study. On the way he looked into the bedroom to find Angela asleep in the chair. He stepped inside: something had changed. It was Trevor's breathing. It was shallower and faster. Joseph's spirits sank. He went to the study.

"Jeff, the patient is deteriorating. It's either his heart or his lungs."

"OK," came the reply. "The weather is lifting. I can call the ambulance. Field 2?"

On Joseph's agreement the conversation was abruptly terminated. Joseph went to the bedroom and put his head to Trevor's chest. He could hear the wheezing and the rattling of fluid. He took the pulse, it was erratic and light.

Trevor looked paler and was breathing fast. Joseph was thankful he was still sleeping. Angela did not wake and her tea was on the bedside table, stone cold. There was nothing he could do, so he left them and went to the kitchen to await the helicopter.

He put on his wellingtons, coat and hat and sat down. Twenty minutes later he heard the clattering sound of the rotor blades and went out to meet the aircraft. By standing in the field he could show it where to land. He took Bob with him; the dog would not be worried by the men if Joseph was handling him.

Once it landed in a blinding flurry of snow, things moved very quickly. The three paramedics brought out the stretcher and as they all moved towards the house, Joseph acquainted them with the situation and the history preceding it. They appreciated the cleared path to the house and said so.

The noise of their entry must have woken Angela, for she was standing by the bedroom door when the party came through from the kitchen. Her eyes widened at the invasion and Joseph saw the relief cross her face when she realised who all these bulky men were in their green and orange. She stood aside to let them in.

Everything went quiet while stethoscopes, blood pressure monitors and thermometers were deployed. Trevor woke up, but it was clear he was not fully conscious. He muttered as the readings were taken, but made no effort to question what was happening.

An oxygen mask was attached to Gerard's face, the rest of the diagnostic equipment was put away and the lead paramedic turned to Joseph and Angela.

"You are Mr Johnson's partner?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered, "Angela Furness."

"Well, Mz Furness, Joe," he nodded at Joseph, "Mr Johnson needs hospital treatment for the effects of hypothermia. His heart beat is erratic and he has fluid on his lungs. Will you come with him?"

"Yes," she said nodding, "I'll get my things together."

The men busied themselves preparing, then moving Trevor onto the stretcher and swathing him in a survival blanket before carrying him out. Angela scurried round collecting her things and packing. Joseph left her to it and went to the kitchen.

She came rushing out in her coat and carrying her bag.

"Sorry, Joseph," she panted, "I'll be in touch," and she rushed out after the medics without a hug, kiss or looking back.

Joseph shut the kitchen door and stood at the window, watching as Angela boarded the aircraft and without any delay it lifted off. He idly scratched the dog behind its ears.

"Well Bob," he said to the dog, "She comes and she goes. We know now where her priorities lie and it's not with us, is it old friend?"

The dog looked up at him as if it understood, and Joseph fondled it behind the ears before setting to making a smaller evening meal for himself alone.

After eating the pasta, he stripped the bed and washed the sheets and quilt cover, re-making the bed and rearranging the room to his satisfaction. Then he fed the dog, let it out and set off to milk the goats and to bed the rest down.

By now it was dark and he thought that the snow had abated just in time. Once that was done, he returned to the house. Bob came round to the back of the house and entered with him.

The clouds had reformed and once again the snow was falling. The break in the weather had been short, but had indeed been a Godsend.

Suddenly Joseph felt exhausted, totally drained of energy, empty. He put the house to bed, decided against trying to meditate, and went straight to bed, though it was only seven in the evening. He slept as soon as his head hit the pillow of his comfortable bed, now regained.