Cowgirl (11 page)

We were on the train to see Dad and all I could think about were the cows.

I usually liked the train journey but I didn’t want to be away from the Mawr, and that was a first. Mam had the
South Wales Echo
spread on the table because there was an article about the cows. She read it to us – “The Mystery of the Bryn Mawr Dozen”, it was called.

“‘The cows have made a big difference to the Mawr since they arrived,’ the anonymous caller claimed. ‘And people love them.’ No one would say where the cows are, but Local Councillor Rhys Morgan 
admitted, ‘Things are strangely quiet on the Bryn Mawr. The police informed me that domestic incidents are down and we’ve had no burglaries in a while. I’ve not seen any cows, mind you, though I have heard the odd moo late at night…’”

Mam shook her head. “Your gran’s upset about this. She reckons it was probably Roger who told them, but he swears he didn’t.”

I felt myself blush and hoped Mam didn’t notice.

“Think the cows’ll still be there when we get back?” Darren asked me.

“Yeah,” I said, but I wasn’t sure.

I was feeling funny on that train, all tense like, but it wasn’t just the cows.

When Mam took out sandwiches she’d made for the journey I was worried they’d all be meat. I didn’t want an argument, ’specially the way I was feeling. She handed me a foil-wrapped sandwich and said, “I did you cheese and tomato, as you’re a veggie now.”

Surprised, I was. “Thanks.”

I gazed out the window and saw cows in the fields. The first time I’d gone to see Dad I wouldn’t have given a thought to them; but here I was, me, Gemma Matthews, looking out for cows like they were lions on a safari.

When we arrived we had to go into the waiting
room, which was always full of other relatives and friends waiting to see whoever was inside. I’ve never got used to it. I’ve always felt like we were all being punished, and I didn’t want to be there, not now. Then they started calling out names and we went through.

Dad was grinning at us as we entered. We each hugged him and sat down. Mam showed him the newspaper article. He laughed. “The Mawr never ceases to amaze me,” he said. “Your gran ought to sell her cow while she’s got the chance.”

“How d’you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I bet she could find someone to take it off her hands,” said Dad. “Worth a few bob, I reckon.”

“No, Dad,” said Darren. “Fantastic, it is.”

“I don’t think she’d sell it for a million, Rob,” said Mam. “She’s really taken to it, and her neighbours – some of them have got one an’ all.”

“Oh aye,” said Dad, but he wasn’t interested.

Mam started talking about this and that, then she went on about a big gas bill she’d had to pay.

Dad nodded. “That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“It is, Robbie. You’re telling me it’s a lot,” said Mam. “We gotta keep warm.”

“Course you have – never said you shouldn’t.” He glanced at me. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” I said, but I was feeling funny, kind of shaky.

“Gemma’s learning to play the flute,” said Mam.

“What for?”

“To play it, Robbie,” she said. “Why else would you learn an instrument? She’s getting lessons off Mr Banerjee’s grandson – he loaned her the flute.”

“Banerjee?” said Dad.

“Aye,” said Mam. “Nice of him, I thought.”

“How old is this boy then?”

I didn’t like him asking that. The trembly feeling got worse.

“Fourteen, fifteen,” said Mam.

“Should she be going round on her own?” he asked her, as if I wasn’t there.

“It’s fine, Robbie,” she said. “They’re all right.”

I could really feel myself getting wound up.

“Gran’s making cheese now, Dad,” said Darren.

“And butter,” said Mam. “You ought to see her.”

He nodded. “I’m not happy about Gemma going next door on her own.”

“You can’t stop me, Dad.”

I said it loud and people looked round.

“What did you say?”

“Mam can stop me, sure, but you can’t because you’re in here.”

He was shocked. “Gemma, don’t talk to me like that.”

I didn’t care he was annoyed – in fact, it pleased me. “What are you doing here?” I said.

“What?”

“I don’t know anyone in school whose dad’s in prison. My bike was nicked the other day and Kate got it back for me. Not you, Kate did.”

“Who’s Kate?”

“Doesn’t matter!” I stood up. “Someone nicked my bike, but I couldn’t ask you to help because you’re in here.” His eyes went wide. “You’re missing it all, Dad. The Mawr’s different now, but you wouldn’t know because you’re in here. You get food and you’re kept warm. Mam’s working. She’s paying the bills. She’s getting the food in. She’s doing what mams do, but
you
…!”

I pointed at him, my hand shaking. I was so angry – angry at him being in prison; angry that Mam was always wound up and on her own every night; angry that cows have a short life; and angry because the waterfall wasn’t the same. Angry, angry, angry.

“Gran called you useless,” I said. “And she’s right – while you’re in here you’re as useless as a teat on a bull!”

I walked out.

I fell asleep on the journey back, and dreamed about cows roaming free in India, like Mr Banerjee had told me. When I woke I looked at Mam and she smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her smile at me. Darren was quiet, just gazing out the window. Then Mam got a text message. “I don’t believe it,” she said when she read it.

“What is it?” me and Darren asked. “Is it the cows?”

She nodded.

“Ah, no,” said Darren. “Are they gone?”

“No,” said Mam. “Your gran … she says they’re on the telly!”

We huddled round the TV at Gran’s house. She’d already seen it earlier, but we had to wait for the BBC Wales news at six o’clock.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when it came on.

A reporter was walking across the Mawr Common.

“The Bryn Mawr estate is often in the news for all the wrong reasons,”
he said.
“Ask anyone on this estate and they’ll tell you about petty crime, burglary, joyriders, graffiti and intimidation. One elderly lady I spoke to said she was too frightened to leave her house alone. But recently a change has come about on this estate – it’s quiet, the crime rate is down and, if rumour is to 
be believed, that change has been brought about by an animal. Not a cat or a dog, but a cow, a dairy cow.”

He walked up to an alley doorway on the terrace. Children were surrounding him. “There’s Jamie!” Darren shouted.

The reporter entered one of the backyards and there was the cow.

“
No one would tell me where this cow came from,”
he said.
“And what’s all the more surprising is that it’s not the only one; I’m told there is a round dairy dozen. Twelve cows dispersed on the Bryn Mawr, and homes found for each one of them. One of these cow-carers was prepared to talk to me, but he didn’t want to appear on camera.”

“
I love that cow,”
said the carer. Even with his back to the camera I could tell it was Roger. “
She asks for nothing, other than grass. And I don’t know what it is, but I just feel calm when I’m with her. Know what I mean?”

“
Where’s the cow from?”
the reporter asked.

“
I can’t say, but I can’t give her back. Not now. We’ve bonded, see.”

“
Did you know that a dozen cows have been reported missing from the farm of Nigel Thomas?”

“All I know is that this cow is happy, well fed and giving milk freely. There’s years of life left in 
her. I mean, where would you prefer to be – alive and well cared for, or hanging up on a butcher’s hook?”

The reporter was standing beside the cow again. “
Earlier today I spoke to Ron James, a milkman on the Bryn Mawr.”

“
In the last week trade has definitely dropped off,”
said the milkman. “
Now if it’s because of these cows I’ve heard about, well, ironic isn’t it? I got nothing against cows – I’m a milkman – but they should be on a farm, not in the middle of town.”

The reporter was back on the Mawr Common. “
We tried to speak to Nigel Thomas, the owner of the missing cows, but he declined to be interviewed. The mystery of the so-called ‘Bryn Mawr Dozen’ remains unresolved. One thing is for sure, this estate is not the same and this story is not over.”

The news report finished and I felt terrible. Gran, Mam and Darren were grinning, but I had this sinking feeling – I realised it wasn’t a game, it was serious.

“D’you know now who contacted the paper?” Mam asked Gran.

“No. But whoever it was did us a favour, I think.”

“No, they didn’t,” I said.

“Why?” Gran asked.

I took a deep breath. “It was me who phoned the paper.”

“You!”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t. It was stupid. I just thought that if more people got to know about the cows it would help somehow. But now they’ve been on the telly it’s gone too far. So we should get them all out in the open, like Morris did.”

“Why?” asked Gran.

“Well, Mr Thomas will have seen the news. He’s not thick. He’ll come and round them up, most like. Our only chance is that when he sees how much everyone loves the cows, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“Can’t we just move them to a different house every night?” suggested Darren. “They’ll never find ’em.”

“The cows wouldn’t thank us for that, love,” said Gran. “No, your sister’s right. What’s the point of hiding them now?” She sighed. “We should make the first move and get them out.”

“And we should tell Mr Thomas,” I said.

“Yes,” agreed Gran. “They are his.”

“And Defra,” I added.

Gran nodded. “I’ll phone Mr Thomas now.”

“Let me go tell him tonight,” I said. “Be straight with him.”

“We can phone,” said Mam. “It’s late.”

“I want to go up there face-to-face, and I want to see Kate too.”

“Go on then, but I want you straight back.”

“Right,” said Gran. “I’ll do some calling around. Let’s just hope it works.”

When I knocked on the farmhouse door I could hear my heart beating through my open mouth. The door opened and Mr Thomas was staring down at me.

“Brought the cows, have you?”

I waited for him to let me in, but he didn’t.

“Nigel,” I heard Kerry say, behind him.

Mr Thomas pushed open the door. I stepped inside and there was Kerry standing by Kate, who was sitting at the table. The three of them waited for me to speak.

“We’re…” My voice was almost a whisper. “We’re taking all the cows on to the Mawr Common
tomorrow morning. We’re not hiding them any more.”

“Not much point after showing them on the telly, is there? Have you told Defra?”

“My gran’s calling them now.”

“This is not the end of it, you know?” said Mr Thomas. “I’m going to prosecute for lost earnings.”

I glanced at Kate, but she was looking down at the table.

“Shall I tell you the irony? And you can tell this to everyone that’s stolen one of my cows,” said Mr Thomas. “Mostyn doesn’t want them any more. Now this saga’s been in the papers and on the telly he doesn’t want them. He wants his money, of course, but not the cows. There’s no other dairy farmer round here, so the quickest way I can pay him back is to take them straight to slaughter. And you all thought you were saving them.”

“It was a crazy thing to do, love,” said Kerry. “It’s only made things worse.”

I could feel my confidence dribbling away. “Well,” I said. “The cows will be on the Common tomorrow morning, waiting.”

“Good. You can help Kate bring ’em all back up here.”

I looked at the small, sad Kate with her head
bowed. I wanted to say something, anything, but I just felt like a stupid little girl.

Outside I climbed on to my bike, but as I pushed off my legs had no strength to pedal. All I could think about was what Gran and everyone else on the Mawr would think when I told them that Jane, Donna, and the rest of the Bryn Mawr Dozen were going to slaughter.

I stopped at the top of the hill and gazed down on the twinkling lights of the Mawr estate. It seemed like a toy town, unreal. As I started down the hill I had another idea, which was also probably stupid, but now I was past caring.

I swerved off the hill, and stopped at the entrance to Mostyn’s farm – huge place it was.

I started cycling along the drive, but before I got near the farmhouse a big black car came towards me. The driver was squashed behind the wheel, even though the car was the size of a bus. He brought it to a halt and the window near to me opened with a hiss.

“You lost?” he asked.

“Are you Mr Mostyn?”

“I am.”

He had a big belly and his face was red, like he was about to shout.

“My gran’s got one of your cows.”

His forehead crinkled. “You mean your gran
stole
one of Nigel Thomas’s cows. They’re not mine.”

“The cow was Kate’s to give.”

“What d’you want?”

I gripped the handlebars, fighting my nerves.

“Why don’t you give us the cows?”

“Huh? They’re
not
mine! Ask Thomas to give away his cows.”

“He can’t. He needs the money to pay you.”

Mostyn nodded. “That’s right. I’ve got my field back. Now I want my money. And what gives you the idea
I’m
in a position to give away cows?”

“You’re a big-time farmer. You got money.”

He laughed. His teeth were yellow and horrible. “That it? Flattery?” He jabbed his fat finger at me. “Listen. Thomas was handed down his farm on a plate – I started mine from scratch! So you go back down the Mawr and tell them to give Thomas back his cows, then he can honour his debt – the debt he owes
me.
”

“Please, Mr Mostyn,” I said. “I told the papers and now I feel really bad. Please save ’em!”

“Kate Thomas was round here asking me the same thing. So I’ll tell you what I told her – I don’t
want
them now, girly. I want my
money.
”

I didn’t like him calling me girly. Money, money, money – that’s all he cared about. So for the second time today I lost it.

“It’s all your fault!”

“What?”

“You put Mr Thomas under pressure,” I said, jabbing a finger back at him. “Kate was only trying to save the cows. She cares, is all. If you were a cow you’d be well dead and eaten by now. My gran
needs
that cow and so does everyone else. You don’t, you got loads. You don’t live on the Mawr. You don’t know what it’s like. You haven’t got a clue. ‘Miser Mostyn’ they call you – no wonder!”

I turned my bike around and cycled away. Mr Thomas didn’t care, Mostyn just wanted money, and Dad was inside and no help. Useless, the lot.

I screamed all the way down the hill.