The Carhullan Army

later, and caught herself chuckling. Then her face altered, recomposing itself. She would not allow levity to remain with her long.
    The next morning I felt stronger and we went higher on the mountain. The November sky was ash-blue and the clouds moved fast above us. The wind never let up on the fell. Though it was in the lee of High Street, Carhullan was still exposed. The shapes of the trees on the ridge were distorted; they leaned hard to the east. I turned to look at the farm and felt the air kiting at my back. From above I could see why the walls and hedges of the growing plots had been built so tall around the farm, and why the central house stood protected by its barns and pens. It was savaged by the elements. But the upland weather felt cold and clean, and I relished it.
    Jackie wanted to show me the hefted flocks; the farm’s first true success, she called them. They were close to the summit of High Street. As we climbed upwards her hair blew lankly around her face, across her eyes and mouth, but she did not bother to fasten it back, as if the feeling of it were inconsequential. Under her body warmer her arms were bare, slightly reddened and chapped. She was more lean than brawny and I could see that for all her middle age she was still strong, still vital. When I looked down at my own hands they seemed pale in comparison, and starkly veined.
    I fought for breath as she talked. ‘The lambs are threatened by seagulls now as well as the corbies,’ she said, ‘even this far inland. They come and pluck out their eyes and their arseholes, anything soft they can get hold of. There are no fish for them to catch, so the bastards come for my heafs. I have to sit up here in lambing season and scare them off. I’m a bloody scarecrow, Sister, that’s what I am.’ Her voice was not loud, but it carried well outside, and even in the strong breeze, with me falling behind, I could hear every word.
    We were heading into a small half-valley tucked away at the bottom of the ridge. I caught up with her. ‘Sister, you see that river over there?’ she asked me. Her arm was raised, indicating a small waterway ahead. I nodded. ‘That’s Swinnel Beck. It feeds the mill further down. I once saw a hare get stranded on a piece of ground in the middle. It was grazing there and then it started to rain like murder, a really bad flash rain, you know the kind we get now. The thing froze right where it was. It did n’t move. And the water rose up so fast it cut it off from the banks.’
    She paused, then spat on the ground and wiped her mouth. ‘Christ! I’ve got a bad stomach today. It’s all Ruthie’s bloody garlic. She goes howking through the woods for the wild stuff. That crazy bitch thinks it keeps us protected from everything on the planet and douses the scran with it any chance she gets.’ She held a hand to her chest. ‘I need some goat’s milk or something to settle myself. Come on, let’s away back.’ She turned on her heels, abandoning the walk. ‘What about the sheep?’ I asked her. ‘We’ll do it tomorrow,’ she called over her shoulder. I followed after her, back down the slopes. ‘So what happened to the hare? Did it drown?’ She glanced back at me. ‘No, no, it did not, Sister. It swam to the banks and got the fuck out. All animals can swim if they have to.’
    We walked on a few more paces, with her a little in front. The mountain air was buffeting past us. Suddenly she swung round and I almost walked into her. She put a hand on my shoulder and leant forward as if pushing me away. Her eyes were rocking with water. ‘There are girls here in love with me,’ she said. ‘I only have to put my hand on them and they want to lick me out. I can’t even look at them.’ She cocked her head to the side and squinted back towards the river, and I passed out of her focus. I could feel my face burning. I did not know why she had chosen to say this to me, or what to say to her in reply. I did not know why she left her hand on my shoulder so long. Her eyes, usually oily and flammable, were glassy and clear. There were times I’d felt sure her temper was about to ignite, though it never had. Now she looked rinsed of her energy. I said nothing and waited for her to snap back to life, knowing she could disarm me as suddenly as she could make me her ally.
    On the way back to the farmhouse we passed through the paddocks and stopped to stroke the manes of the ponies, and the deathliness seemed to leave her.