The Family. Louise Jensen

them all. As he kicked off his muddy boots he breathed in the soup and he knew home was more than a building. It was a smell, a feeling. The people you surrounded yourself with.

       Her.

      The bread timer dinged. He crossed to the sink to wash his hands so he could cut the loaf while it was still warm.

      As he scrubbed his fingernails, outside the window a crow swooped – the crow swooped – ink-stained wings stretched like a malevolent angel. It perched on the tree stump, claws spiking the rotting wood, head tilted as it appraised him.

      Alex tried to look away, but the beady eyes of the bird bored into his. It cawed, the sound sudden and sharp, its head tilted in judgement.

      I know. It seemed to say. I know what you did.

      It was the same crow, Alex knew, that had watched him that day, but this wasn’t the same situation. He turned away, facing her instead, and although he could no longer see the bird he could feel it screeching in his head, scratching and pecking behind his eyes, clambering to be free.

      She looked at him, already adoring, and the gentleness in her eyes made him want to weep.

      He smiled at her but it was forced and tight while, inside, a longing unfurled. More than anything he wanted to drop to his knees, bury his face in her lap and allow her to soothe him. Cool fingers raking his hair, her voice as soft as down. But he had to keep it together.

      He couldn’t lose control.

      Not again.

Chapter Fourteen

      LAURA

      ‘Tilly, this is Alex. He’s helping me out with a few bits,’ I said.

      ‘Hey there.’ He dried his hands on a tea towel and flashed her a smile.

      Instead of smiling back she mumbled something inaudible, staring at her shoes as though Alex was something she might scrape off the bottom of her sole. I was embarrassed. She could at least have pretended to be pleased to meet him.

      ‘That smells delicious. Homemade?’ I had spotted the peelings heaped by the sink.

      ‘Yes,’ said Hazel. ‘Let’s all sit.’

      As we settled around the table the kitchen door swung open and Reed stepped inside.

      ‘I’m not in your seat, am I?’ I asked.

      ‘No. I’ll take a bowl and eat in my cabin.’

      ‘Join us, please,’ Saffron said. ‘It’s exciting to have Laura here—’

      ‘If he doesn’t want to stay, that’s fine,’ Alex said. ‘Sourdough?’

      ‘Thanks.’ I plucked a slice of bread from the plate he offered, as Reed carried a tray back out into the rain. It was such a shame, his food would be cold. ‘So you all live here then? Tell me how Oak Leaf Organics came to be.’

      ‘I met Dafydd, who owns the farm, about seven years ago,’ Alex said. ‘I’d just finished my LPC and was on a two-year training contract. He was one of my first clients. There was a dispute over land with the neighbouring farm. I remember how nervous I was.’ Crumbs scattered over the table as he tore the crust he was holding into two. ‘He was the one who put me at ease. He was grandfatherly. My parents had retired to Spain and I was lonely, if I’m honest. I think Dafydd was too. His daughter, Carys, had settled in Perth, Australia – that’s where he is now, visiting her. He told me he’d had to let several of his farmhands go. He wasn’t making as much money as he should, supermarkets preferring cheaper, imported meat. I started helping out on the odd Saturday or Sunday, and it felt good. Rolling my sleeves up and getting dirty.’

      ‘A bit different to practicing law.’

      ‘That was the point. It felt… honest, I suppose. As soon as I joined the firm I’d seen the ugly side of law and seeing it in action, not just reading about previous cases, made working the land more appealing. I had some… stuff to deal with too, and this became my sanctuary. A place to work out my frustrations. Dafydd had arthritis in his hands and talked about selling the farm and I felt…’ He looked into the distance, a wistful expression on his face. ‘I felt I was losing a piece of my heart.’ He laughed. ‘A little dramatic perhaps, but there you go.’