“Will Nan make it tomorrow?” she asked her mother, changing the subject.
“I should think so, love.”
“Is that your grandmother, I asked?” causing both women to burst into laughter. Even Mr Hopkin seemed to find it amusing.
“She’s my sister,” Nellie said. “Her name is Hannah but we call her Nan.”
Of course they did. Why wouldn’t they? Maybe I could start calling myself Steve while I was there.
“She’s a housekeeper up at Felin Fawr, the big house up on the estate,” said Mrs Hopkin. “She boards there with the others but she comes home when she can and we see her at church on Sundays if she’s able. It’s Nellie and Gethin’s first reading of the banns tomorrow.”
“You’re getting married? Congratulations.”
Nellie smiled brightly, nodding her head. “At the end of April.”
“And a fine lad he is, too,” Mr Hopkin piped up from nowhere, suddenly entering the conversation. “School teacher, he is.”
Mrs Hopkin stood from the table and clapped her hands of any remaining flour. “Right, show Mr…”
“Jacob,” I say.
“Oh, fancy that,” she said with a smile. “My maiden name was Jacob. Show Mr Jacob where he will be sleeping while I get these stoves ready.”
Mr Hopkin stood up, folded his paper and handed it to me. “You’ll need that,” he said.
I stared at it for a moment wondering what he meant. It was written in Welsh and the only things on it that I could understand were numbers. I tucked it under my arm anyway and followed him outside, wondering where he might be taking me.
In the yard, Mr Hopkin walked to the barn and motioned me inside. “We haven’t got a lot of room in the house,” he said, “and I can’t very well have a stranger bedding down with my girls so this will have to do.” He pointed up at the hatch leading to the second floor. “I will send Betty out with some sheets and a pillow for you. You’ll understand why we can’t give you a lamp,” he added, motioning to the bales of hay.
I tried not to seem ungrateful but I couldn’t help wishing Mair had won the battle and I’d been able to stay with her. At least I’d have been able to have a bed.
“What do I need this for?” I asked, waving the newspaper.
“That,” he said, pointing to a small square building set several metres back from the house, “is the privy.”
I’m sure my thoughts were written all over my face as he spoke but I tried to act like shitting outside with no flushing water was the most normal thing in the world to me.
“See you at dinner,” he said, then he turned and walked away.
It seemed cruel to make me sleep in the barn. Though I could understand his reasoning it was bitterly cold and I had visions of freezing to death before I could ever get home. With no other option, I climbed the ladder into the room above. It was small and cramped and sloping at the sides. I hated it. It was too dark to see much of anything and I was hesitant in my movements in case I tripped and fell back down the hatch, so I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to some hay in the corner, slumping myself down in what would become my new bed.
It’s just two days, I told myself. Two days and then you can get out of here. I was trying desperately to console myself but the truth was that I had nowhere to go. Even if I made my way to Cambridge what would I do then? I needed to find out how the ring got me here in the first place and then make it send me home again.
I pulled it from my pocket and slipped it on my finger then, exhausted, lay down on the hay and closed my eyes, praying I would wake up in my own bed.