Six months later
I love September; still summer, but with a hint and promise of autumn, and (today at least) warm sunshine.
Malachi is sitting on a rug on the grass chewing at a biscuit with his one tooth. He catches my eye and smiles (Amos’s smile), biscuity soup leaking down his front. Indoors, Amos is practising with all the windows closed (the neighbours are not fans of the trombone) and keeping an eye on his vat of home-brew (he has been picking up tips from Eric and Silas).
We’ve been living together in my flat ever since the Norwegians left, and things seem to be working out pretty well. We’re neither of us in any hurry, but I think we are both hoping for a future together. Amos is a wonderful father, which considering he had no time at all to get used to the idea is pretty amazing. We argue frequently, laugh a lot, make love whenever the baby allows us to, and perhaps most importantly of all, are the best of friends. We both do a bit of teaching and Amos plays in a small jazz band. We get by.
My mother adores Malachi, and manages to ignore the fact that Amos and I aren’t married, referring to Amos as her son-in-law. Since she and my father left Applegarth to move back into their renovated home, she has been much happier. I think this is in no small part due to her chickens.
While Mum was at Applegarth, she became very attached to her feathered charges, and she’s started keeping rare breeds of chickens in the orchard. She has some pretty feather-footed bantams and some speckled Sussex hens, and some others with peculiar names which I can’t remember. She’s thinking of showing some of them, and she also sells their eggs.
‘But we don’t need the money,’ Dad objects.
‘That’s not the point,’ says Mum.
‘Then you might as well give the eggs away.’
‘That’s not the point, either.’
Mum has discovered that having a saleable skill has its own value, which has nothing to do with making money and everything to do with self-esteem. Dad, who has enough of both, wouldn’t understand.
My father still struggles with the whole baby thing. On the one hand, I know he’s proud that he was one of the first people to see Malachi, but on the other, he’s still upset at my unmarried state. However, he finds an increasing number of excuses to visit us (he’s ‘just passing’, he’s returning something I lent him, he’s planning a surprise for Mum’s birthday), and may even eventually forgive me for having a child out of wedlock. Sometimes, I hear him singing the baby tuneless little ditties when he thinks I’m not listening, and Malachi, who’s a forgiving soul, gives every appearance of enjoying them.
Other things have been happening, too. Mikey and Gavin have had their union legalised, and have bought a tiny cottage together. They appear to be blissfully happy, and Mikey still finds time to visit his new godchild. Meanwhile, Kaz and Kent appear to have sorted out their differences and seem very settled and happy, living together in the caravan. Kaz has given up pole dancing at Kent’s request, and has joined a local taxi firm, which she says she enjoys enormously (‘I get great tips, Ruth!’ I’ll bet). She hasn’t told Kent about her fling with Gary (‘you were right, Ruth’), and they have no immediate plans for the future, but I hope and believe that they’ll stay together, not least because I’m deeply fond of them both.
We keep in close touch with Applegarth, and have paid my uncles several visits. On these occasions, Blossom, who appears to consider that she’s back in charge, is almost friendly, although I suspect that she’s always relieved to see us go. Silas is fully restored to health and has recently stuffed a tortoise (‘so hard to get hold of, Ruth, a dead tortoise. And so generous of the zoo’). Eric has almost finished his work on the Ark and is already looking around for another project to take its place. But I’m glad Kent and Kaz are around to keep an eye on things, especially as my uncles aren’t getting any younger. They deserve a bit of looking after, and who better to do it than a newly-discovered son? Lazzo goes round most days to help. He loves Applegarth and the animals, and seems to ask for nothing more (although I’m still planning the promised visit to London Zoo).
And the Virgin of the hen house? I’m afraid the news there isn’t so good, due to a recent incident involving a new initiative and a wild boar.
Eric, inspired by his researches into pig varieties, took it into his head to put Sarah to a wild boar instead of her usual mate.
‘Nice gamey meat,’ he explained. ‘And the piglets will be so interesting.’
Now, Sarah has many idiosyncrasies, one of which is a refusal to conduct her couplings anywhere other than on her own territory, so the boar, kindly (and, I suspect, illicitly) loaned by a contact at the safari park, was duly delivered to do the business. So far, so good.
Unfortunately, before the happy couple could consummate their union, Sarah’s visitor escaped, and came barrelling down between the outhouses and across a field ‘like the wrath of God’ (Silas’s words), scattering sundry chickens and piglets in his wake. Upon being challenged by Lazzo with a broom handle, he made an about turn, and charged straight into the side of the hen house, impaling himself by his tusks and instantly demolishing all traces of the Virgin.
As Eric said afterwards, it is as though she had never been there at all.
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