‘Hello there, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name, dear?’
Dad made no response. His eyes remained closed, and he gave no sign whatsoever that he had heard her.
Mum answered for him.
‘Jack. Jack Proctor.’ Then the terrified tremble returned to her voice as she asked: ‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he? Please tell me he’s going to be all right!’
They couldn’t, of course. ‘He’s in good hands now,’ was the best they could do. I stood to one side looking on anxiously as they went about their business, and at one point I heard the air ambulance mentioned. In the end, though, that didn’t come to anything. They got Dad on to a back board and into the ambulance, fixing up drips and heaven only knows what else – I really couldn’t see, except that there was a lot of activity.
‘Are you coming to hospital with him, sweetheart?’ the female paramedic asked Mum.
‘Oh yes – yes, of course . . . Will you be all right, Sally?’
‘Yes. Just go, Mum.’
‘And the cows . . .?’ She turned to Sam. ‘You’ll see to the cows?’
‘We’ll see to everything here, don’t worry.’
‘I’ll ring you, Sally.’
‘Go!’
The female paramedic got into the back of the ambulance with Mum and Dad, her partner went around to climb into the cab. And then they were reversing back along the lane, the blue lights strobing in the gathering dusk, and Sam and I were alone.
‘Oh, t’is terrible! Terrible!’ Sam was in shock, I could see, his hands twitching, his ruddy face pale.
‘You’d better come back to the house and have a cup of tea,’ I said.
‘No, no, I’ve got to see to them cows . . .’
‘All right. I’ll help you.’
Between us we got the cows into the milking parlour and set about what had to be done, both of us on autopilot.
‘Now we’ll have that cup of tea,’ I said when we’d finished and the cows were safely locked up. ‘No arguments, Sam. You look terrible. And besides, I want to know what happened.’
The milking parlour had been no place to talk, with the clatter of machinery, and getting the details out of Sam was never going to be easy – he was such a taciturn man. In any case, it had been all I could manage to carry out the necessary tasks with my emotions in turmoil and my head spinning, not to mention my need for the crutches. Now, though, I was desperate for answers.
I set the kettle to boil, experiencing a weird nightmarish sense of déjà vu. Was it really less than an hour ago that I’d been making tea for Mum and myself? In that short space of time the whole of our worlds had been turned upside down.
Sam was standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching his cap between both hands as if it were a lifeline he didn’t want to part with.
‘Sit down, for goodness sake, Sam!’ I instructed him.
He sat reluctantly on one of the heavy old dining chairs; in all the years he’d worked for Dad I couldn’t ever remember him taking a seat in our kitchen before. I set a mug of scalding tea in front of him and added three generous spoonfuls of sugar. I had no idea how sweet he liked it normally, but right now he needed the lift – and so did I. In fact, I thought we could both do with something stronger. I found a half bottle of brandy in the cabinet and poured two generous measures.
‘Here – this might help too.’
Sam didn’t argue. He emptied his glass in one swallow. I sipped mine more judiciously, then asked the question that was burning on my lips.
‘What on earth made the cows stampede, Sam?’
Sam shook his head, the mug of hot sweet tea cradled now between his weather-beaten hands.
‘Well, t’were that bloody motorbike, weren’t it?’
‘A motorbike?’ I was startled. ‘In our lane?’
‘A motorbike,’ Sam repeated. ‘Damn great powerful thing. Bloody fool came roaring down the track, blaring his horn like a bloody madman. Frightened me to death, never mind the cows. Course they got in a panic. They were off before I could do a bloody thing. I was behind them, see, moving on the stragglers like I al’us do, with your dad on up ahead, going on to see ’em in through the gate. He couldn’t get out of the way, I don’t s’pose.’
His voice trailed away and he relapsed into silence. It was probably the longest speech Sam had ever made in his life. But I couldn’t let him stop there.
‘So what did the motorcyclist do when the herd stampeded?’ I asked. I was totally puzzled as well as angry that anyone could have been so stupid. A motorbike in our lane was unheard of, especially one whose rider was so impatient he’d terrified a herd of docile cows.