Calm Before The Storm

Weather warnings are ignored in this atmospheric short story by Vanda Inman.

WE’VE always been a family of weather watchers. I suppose it was only natural. “Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,” Grandad always chanted as he checked the sunset each evening during the summer to see if the next day would be suitable for cutting hay on the farm.

“Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.” He’d sigh, looking at the gleaming sunrise, which always looked good to me, but apparently heralded poor weather to come. “Best get the sheep in.” Gran swore by bunches of seaweed which hung in the back porch, collected on her annual trip to the seaside and renewed each year.

“If it’s crisp, the weather’s good, but if it’s wet there’s rain to come, you mark my words!” she maintained.

As I grew up Dad avidly listened to the weather forecast on the radio each morning after breakfast.

Mum never missed the weatherman on the telly, hurrying to finish the dishes before it was time for him to appear.

Now, my granddaughter, Poppy, is constantly checking her phone to get weather updates.

Today she wants to visit the fair – which has come to town every year for as long as I can remember.

Whatever happened, I wonder, as she taps the screen yet again (hoping the forecast might be different from the one she saw five minutes ago) to just getting on with life whatever the weather forecast might be?

Then again, this is rather familiar. I actually did that once, and I smile as I think about what happened.

****

.

“Well, I hope the weather’s kind to you, Lizzie,” Mum commented as I went to set off without a coat.

“I wouldn’t be going myself. The weatherman says there’s a storm brewing and he’s always right.”

“There were a proper red sky this morning,” Grandad put in, coming in for his breakfast after checking the sheep.

“And the seaweed’s soggy,” Gran added, turning from the kitchen range where she expertly cracked a couple of eggs into the pan alongside the bacon.

“You take note, my girl, and stay inside.’

If Dad hadn’t been out tending the cows he’d no doubt have added in a few words of wisdom from the radio, too.

I rolled my eyes.

“It might all be wrong,” I ventured, as I pulled on my new knee-high suede boots and crammed a floppy floral hat on my head.

“It’s lovely out there and the fair’s in town. You said I could have today off if I helped with the harvest yesterday.”

“You’ll be soaked.” Gran sniffed as she placed a loaded plate in front of Grandad.

But her words fell on deaf ears. I closed the door on the cosy kitchen and stepped outside into the morning sunshine.

It was the 1970s, and those were just old wives’ tales as far as I was concerned.

It was the summer holidays and I was meeting up with the gang from school at the annual fair, which we all loved.

I’d been looking forward to it for ages and, most importantly, Ricky would be there.

I stopped by the barn to visit Cherry, our horse, due to foal any day now.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised, as I stroked her chestnut nose and she nuzzled into my hand.

“You need to stay in and rest.”

The problem with living on our farm, I decided as I trudged along, was that it was a three-mile walk to get anywhere.

Most of my friends lived in town, and it was always me who had to make the effort to meet up with them.

However, as I walked down the track that day

I was meeting Ricky at the fair, and the forecast for rain wasn’t about to dampen my spirits!

my heart was singing, the sky was blue and there was a gentle breeze rustling the bracken.

Being moorland farmers wasn’t always easy but it certainly was beautiful.

That was the problem, though. It was time to make decisions about my future.

Next year I would have to decide whether to apply to go away to study or stay on the farm.

Good grades were predicted, and I knew I could make my own choice.

Mum and Dad hadn’t tried to persuade me to stay, but I knew it was what they wanted, and Gran and Grandad were certainly keen for the farm to stay in the family.

If I hadn’t been an only child it would have been easier. I sometimes felt the future of the farm lay on my shoulders.

They’d been talking of taking on more workers, as business was flourishing.

But still, there was something inside me that wanted to know what it would be like standing on my own two feet in the outside world.

Meeting new people and learning new things. Not being accountable to anyone. Just for a little while.

The fair was great fun, as always. We screamed on the ghost train, the rollercoaster and the dodgems.

We ate pink, sticky candy floss, and slid down the helter-skelter several times.

The boys came around with us. I was conscious of Ricky watching me.

Ricky was the new boy in town. His parents had recently moved to the area and all the girls were hoping he might ask them out.

He’d managed to get a job at a local garage and, as well as good looks, he had a car – a Mini, painted bright red with a union jack on the top.

It had big wide wheels, a shiny exhaust pipe, and was extremely loud.

The boys admired his car; the girls admired Ricky. Ricky got on well with everyone. Except for Brad.

I’d known Brad since we were little, when he’d come to my rescue when I fell over and grazed my knee on my first day at school.

After that, he looked out for me and had always felt like a big brother. But Brad had no time for Ricky.

“Lightweight, with no understanding of the land and countryside,” he told me on more than one occasion.

“He’ll never fit in here, in our farming community.

Not properly. We’re country people, and he isn’t like us.’

I’d just climbed out of the dodgems when Brad appeared and tapped my arm.

“Lizzie,” he began. “Do you think you could speak to your dad for me? I’ve heard he’s looking for a worker, and it would suit me just fine.”

“You aren’t staying on at school after the holidays then?” I asked in surprise. He shook his head.

“I want to get working and earning; all that school stuff isn’t for me. So, could you have a word?”

I nodded.

“Of course. But I think you’d do better to drop by and ask him yourself.”

Then I noticed Brad scowl, and turned to see Ricky approaching us. “Fancy a lift home?”

Ricky smiled at me and my heart melted.

He looked up at the sky and the clouds which were building on the horizon.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” he continued. “You don’t want to get wet.”

“What would he know about the weather?” Brad muttered.

“You just remember what I said about him,” he added in a louder voice as he turned away.

As I walked to Ricky’s Mini, I couldn’t believe my luck.

It was happening, my dream was coming true. I jumped into the car and sighed with happiness.

Here I was with Ricky, and for sure he’d ask me out before we reached home.

“What a fantastic car!” I said as we drove along.

Ricky grinned.

“She’s my pride and joy. It’s taken me ages to get her done up like this.

“And I love the sound of the exhaust. Where do you live?”

“Tor Farm,” I told him. “About three miles. I’ll direct you.”

As we drove along the day grew darker but still it didn’t rain.

All the same, the fair had been tiring and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to walk along the farm track. “Turn in here.” I said. “Here?” Ricky slowed the Mini and stopped.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s the track to the farm.” He paused and frowned. “I can’t go down there!” “Why not?” I wondered what on earth he was talking about.

“It’s too rough and bumpy. It’ll catch my exhaust and ruin it!”

I turned to look at him, thinking he was joking, but he was serious.

“Sorry, you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

I stared at him in disbelief but he shrugged.

“I really can’t risk it, Lizzie. But I can leave the car here and walk with you,” he offered. “Or you can come back to town with me.”

“No, thanks. I’ll manage on my own.” I jumped out of the car and slammed the door, disappointment and frustration welling up inside me.

How could he, I asked myself.

My dreams were shattered all because of his precious exhaust pipe. Brad had been right all along.

“Lizzie!”

I heard Ricky’s voice, but kept walking. After a few minutes, I heard the Mini start up and pull away into the distance.

As I strode along, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

Once they’d started, they fell harder and faster. I looked up at the sky, realising how much it had darkened.

On the horizon there was a flash of lightning followed by a growl of thunder.

I put my head down and kept walking, clutching my floppy hat, which was absolutely no use at all.

The lightning flashed again, closer now, the thunder immediately behind it.

I knew the storm was almost overhead as the rain lashed down, soaking me to the skin.

And then I saw her. Cherry was trotting

“Sorry, you’ll have to walk the rest of the way”

aimlessly across the moor, even though she should have been safe and warm in the barn.

She shouldn’t have been there – and definitely not now, as she was ready to foal!

“Cherry!” I veered off the track towards her, my boots sinking into the wet grass.

Maybe she heard my voice or sensed my presence because she stood quite still despite the rain.

With a horrible feeling inside me, I realised she was about to give birth.

“Come on girl, it’s all right.” I managed to grasp her harness and saw a mixture of fear and relief in her dark eyes.

It was still raining hard and Cherry wouldn’t move, despite my efforts, and I didn’t think I could get her to safety on my own.

Then I heard the distant sound of an engine, a loud one, and I saw headlights through the rain.

Dad, on his tractor looking for me. I could have cried with relief.

But it wasn’t the right sound.

Brad, then – maybe he’d somehow come to my rescue, just like he had all those years ago.

The engine stopped, the headlights dimmed by the rain.

“Lizzie? Lizzie!” a voice shouted.

I turned and couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“Ricky?” I cried in disbelief.

“I couldn’t leave you!” he shouted.

“When it started raining, I realised you’d never make it back in time. Luckily I noticed you from the track. What can I do to help?”

Between us, we managed to coax Cherry back to the barn, one each side of her, with me constantly talking to calm her.

We made it just in time. Almost as soon as the door had closed and we were safe from the rain, her foal was born.

“Cherry, you clever girl!” I murmured, almost crying with relief as I rubbed the tiny foal with straw, just as I’d seen Dad do many times in the past.

Cherry began to lick the little bundle, and in no time at all her foal was up on wobbly legs, nuzzling for milk.

I’d momentarily forgotten about Ricky, but turned to see him gaping open mouthed, seemingly unable to speak.

“Ricky?” I asked. “You all right?”

“That was amazing,” was all he said.

I could have sworn there were tears in his eyes, even though he swayed a little as if he might faint.

“Listen. The rain’s stopped.”

I opened the barn door. Where the landscape had been grey with rain, now the sun cast millions of raindrop diamonds everywhere, enhancing the greens, browns and yellows of the moorland.

Overhead, as the last of the clouds cleared away, a rainbow appeared.

I sighed. There really was nowhere as wonderful in the whole world.

“It’s fantastic,” Ricky breathed.

Our fingers entwined as we took in the beauty of it all.

****

It seemed like days, rather than hours, since

I’d left the farmhouse that morning as I pushed open the kitchen door and almost fell inside, still clutching my floppy hat.

My suede boots were soaked and muddy, and I was drenched to the skin.

“Where have you been?” Mum shouted, obviously panicked.

“Dad’s out looking for you! We told you not to go out today! But you wouldn’t listen, and . . .”

“This is Ricky,” I babbled. “He brought me home. Cherry’s had her foal.”

And I burst into tears, overwhelmed by the events of the day.

“What’s going on? Is

Lizzie back? Whose is that heap of junk on the moor?” Dad burst into the kitchen.

“It’s OK,” Mum said, calming down a bit.

“Lizzie’s back, this is

Ricky who brought her home, and Cherry’s had her foal.”

“You left me!” I turned to Ricky in a sudden fury. “You left me on the track!”

“I’m so sorry,” he began. “But I came back. I came back and found you again.”

He put his arm around me.

Suddenly everything fell into place, as my tears turned from anger to relief and Gran produced two bowls of hot soup to warm us up.

“I suppose this belongs to you, young man,” Dad said, as he dropped a tangled piece of metal (which looked suspiciously like Ricky’s beloved exhaust pipe) on to the floor.

“Found it on the moor before I came across that heap of junk. Was it a

Mini?

“And I think you’d better give us a proper explanation as to why you’ve brought our daughter home soaked to the skin, and in tears!”

“It’s OK, Dad,” I began. “Ricky’s the hero really.”

My gaze travelled to the exhaust pipe lying in the corner of the room.

“Oh, Ricky . . .”

He gave a weak smile. “Never mind. Somehow it doesn’t seem so important now.”

After we’d filled everyone in on the events of the day, and Dad had calmed down, he turned to Ricky.

“I’ll take you home,” he offered.

“And tomorrow, I’ll tow the Mini into the yard. It’s going to need a bit of work, though.”

Ricky nodded, but I could see his mind was elsewhere. He turned to me.

“Before I go, what are you going to call the foal? And could I see her again?” I smiled.

“Of course you can. You can even think of a name. After all, you were part of it, just as much as me.”

He looked extraordinarily pleased.

“Storm,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Let’s call her Storm.”

****

That day in the summer when we went to the fair changed both our lives for ever.

I realised that I could go to college and study Farm Management, which would be useful when I returned, after fulfilling my dream of living away from home.

I could always come back, just like Ricky had on that day.

As for Ricky, Storm’s birth changed his entire outlook on life.

He asked Dad if he could help out on the farm at weekends and ended up looking after all the machinery as well as learning about the land.

Brad got the job as farm labourer, and he and Ricky became best mates.

Now Ricky and I live on the farm with our own family.

There’s still a bunch of seaweed hanging in the back porch, in memory of Gran, and when the weather is fine, I can never stop myself checking the sky every morning and night to see if it’s red.

It’s me, now, who’s stirring a huge pot of stew on the range, waiting for Ricky and our son, Ben, to come in from seeing to the animals.

Still, I can’t help thinking back to the day I went out in my suede boots and floppy hat, and came home soaking wet.

“You carry on and go,” I tell Poppy as she checks her phone yet again. “I’m sure your mum won’t mind.”

I’m rewarded with a grateful smile.

As for Brad, he married a neighbouring farmer’s daughter, and it’s his grandson Poppy’s off to meet at the fair.

“The weather will do as it wants, but you can’t let it run your life,” I say to Poppy as she zips up her boots and rams a hat on her head.

“But I hope it’s kind to you,” I add, echoing the words my own mother said to me long ago.

I can’t help but smile at the memory.

I have the feeling that, despite appearances, the weather on that day all those years ago had been very kind to me after all.

The End.