Page 46 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
When she finished, she put her phone to her ear, her mouth dry, her head light. She should have thought about what she was going to say, she realised. She should have had a script.
Instead, her head felt like it was full of cotton wool, and she had a legitimate fear that she might pass out. She waited to hear a ring, but there wasn’t, just a funny click and then an automated voice stating rather firmly,we’re sorry but this number is no longer in service. Please try again.
Try again? How? The call disconnected and slowly Anna put down her mobile. She hadn’t been expecting that, but maybe she should have. How long since Peter had been in touch with Ruth? He’d mentioned years, and something about the way he’d spoken made her think it had been more than a few. It caused her a flicker of sorrow, to think that things had only ended between them after she had left. Why? Did it even matter now?
She glanced back down at the address book—Hatch Farm, Thorpe Willoughby, Selby. She could write, she supposed, but it would take a day or two for the letter to get there, and in truth she didn’t know how long Peter had. Maybe another week or two, maybe less. Should she drive all the way out to Selby? It was about an hour and a half away, and something in her resisted a face-to-face confrontation with this shadowy woman who had caused her so much heartache over the years. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing Ruth Hatch in her own home, herlife. And then, of course, there was Daisy to consider.
Daisy.Someone she had not let herself think about, at all, over the last thirteen years, because it was far too painful, but Anna recognised she deserved to know about Peter, too. There was no address for her in Peter’s book, though. Had he even kept in touch with her?
Anna reached for her laptop and went on Facebook. She hardly ever scrolled on social media, but now she put Daisy Hatch into the search bar, held her breath.
Nothing relevant came up.
A gusty sigh escaped her, and she went onto Instagram, and then all the other social media channels she could think of, typing in Daisy Hatch. Lots of different random things came up, but nothing related to Hatch Farm, Thorpe Willoughby, or Yorkshire. She was, Anna realised, at something of a dead end, but she didn’t feel like she’d tried enough.
She was just about to type Ruth Hatch into an internet search when her phone buzzed with a text, this one from Harriet.
Please come.
Anna slammed her laptop shut as she lurched up from the table. She would have to try to contact Ruth Hatch later.
Fifteen minutes later, Anna was pulling up to Embthwaite Farm, afraid of what she should expect. Rachel met her at the door, her expression sombre.
“The palliative nurse just came again,” she explained quietly. “She said he’s nearing the end. I didn’t realise…I thought he was just sleeping a bit more deeply, maybe, after I gave him breakfast…”
Rachel’s voice broke and Anna put her arms around her, murmuring soothing words.
“I don’t know why I’m sad, exactly,” Rachel said on a sniff as she hugged Anna tightly. “I mean, I will miss him, but you know we didn’t have a close relationship. Not as close as I wanted, anyway.”
“He’s still your father,” Anna reminded her. “And he was an important person in your life, regardless of whether the relationship was what you wanted it to be or not.”
“That’s true, I suppose.” Rachel sniffed again and stepped back. “Harriet’s in the kitchen, baking up a storm. Her way of coping, I guess. She spoke to Dad last night, but I have no idea what they said, only that she came down looking distraught.”
“Oh, poor Harriet…” Anna murmured, her heart aching for her daughter. Had there been a reconciliation, she wondered, or had Peter been too far gone?
“Ben’s gone out to get some lunch for us,” Rachel continued, heading back towards the kitchen. “And Quinn is coming over soon. We all wanted to be together.”
“Yes, of course… What did the palliative nurse say, exactly?”
Rachel glanced at her, her eyes filling with tears once more. “She said most likely not more than twenty-four hours.”
Twenty-four hours.Even though Anna thought she had been expecting it, it felt like a punch to the gut. A single day left of Peter’s life…and what then?
Back in the kitchen, Harriet was stirring a batch of cookie dough as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face haggard. Anna didn’t even hesitate as she went up to her youngest—and prickliest—daughter and put her arms around her.
For a single second, Harriet stiffened in shock and then, just as Rachel had done, she wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. “I’m so much sadder than I thought I’d be,” she whimpered, her voice muffled against Anna’s shoulder.
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” Anna replied, stroking Harriet’s hair. “Death always feels like a wrench. Unexpected and shocking, even when you think you’re ready for it.”
Harriet let out a shuddery sigh as she eased back. “Yes, I suppose so.” She went back to her mixing, her gaze on the bright red bowl as she said in a rush, “I spoke to him yesterday, like you wanted me to. He…he said he’d always known, really, that I was his daughter. He said he was sorry for the way he’d acted.” She let out a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. “And then he said there was no one ‘aught as stubborn as a Yorkshire farmer.’” Another sound escaped her, this one definitely a sob. “And then…and then wehugged. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged him.”
“Oh, Harriet, I’m so glad,” Anna said, and put her arms around her as her daughter broken down into tears.
“I just wish it hadn’t come so late,” she confessed between gulping sobs. “It feels like such a waste. A waste of so many years.”
Anna knew there was very little she could say to that; itwasa waste, and yet at least now they’d been able to move past it.
“At least it didn’t end as a waste,” Rachel said, putting her arms around them both. “We can move on, Hats, because we’ve made peace with it, and so has Dad. That’s a gift. Truly.”
