Five
I shot up from my sleep as something crashed in the room below me. My head slammed into the rafters and I let out a loud “fuck,” partly from pain but mostly because I hadn’t woken up in my own bed as I’d hoped.
The previous evening Betty had brought me some sheets and a pillow, some Long Johns and a pair of woollen socks, then when I declined the invitation to come to dinner she’d returned with some bread. She could barely look at me the whole time she was there and turned bright pink when I thanked her, but I was truly grateful for her effort having not realised just how cold I’d get in the barn.
The source of my sudden awakening, Mr Hopkin, seemed to be indifferent to my desire to sleep and began to hammer away at something metallic in the room below me. I pulled the sheets up over my head and hid under the layers of blankets to drown out the noise. It felt like a fort, somewhere safe, and I wondered if I could get away with staying there until whatever cosmic powers had brought me to this place saw fit to send me back. Mr Hopkin, however, had other ideas.
“Get up,” he shouted from below and I curled up tighter, hoping he would go away. Through the cracks in the roof, I could see only darkness outside which was a time of the morning that I had no desire to be part of.
“We don’t ask twice in this house,” he called again. “Come now or you don’t get fed.”
I rubbed a hand across my stomach realising just how hungry I was. I was in no mood to dine with the family the night before and had eaten only soup and a slice of bread in a day and a half. I wanted to sleep but I wanted food more.
“What time is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse from the cold air in the barn.
“It’s a little after five, we thought you could do with a lie-in.”
I pulled the sheets off my head with a sigh and admitted defeat. I slid out a loose board against the wall and hid my wallet and the two rings behind it then did my best to get dressed without falling through the hatch to the stone floor below. When I finally looked presentable, I made my way down the ladder but by the time I reached the bottom the barn was empty.
The kitchen was alive with activity as I crossed the yard and the smell of bacon beckoned me inside. The twins nearly took me off my feet as they darted in and out of the chairs and I yawned wondering how they had so much energy so early in the morning.
“Tag,” Sophia shouted, clipping me around the head as I took a seat at the table. The two eldest daughters sat and chatted amongst themselves but each gave me a welcoming smile as I joined them. I noticed that Nellie was clutching onto a book with something about ailments written on the front, but she didn’t seem to be paying it much mind.
“I hope you like eggs,” Mrs Hopkin said, nodding towards a pan on the stove. With my limited knowledge of the time period, I’d been expecting to receive not much more than a bowl of gruel but spread across the table was a veritable feast. A bowl of fresh bread slices sat at the centre of the table, the steam rising from them an indication that Mrs Hopkin had risen far earlier than I this morning to make it. At each setting on the table was a plate holding a thin slice of bacon and a small knob of very pale, almost white butter, already starting to melt.
“Would you like some tea?” Nellie asked, holding up a metal pitcher. I gave her a nod and she poured the hot water into a tiny china cup before stirring in a spoonful of leaves and handing it to me.
Howell and Sophia, red-faced and giggling, continued to dodge in and out of the chairs until Mr Hopkin, without saying a word slammed a fist on the table causing everyone to jump. Knowing not to defy their father they quickly took a seat on either side of me and fell silent.
“Will you be joining us at church today?” Mrs Hopkin asked, setting a plate of boiled eggs down on the table and taking a seat opposite her husband.
“Thanks, Mrs Hopkin, but I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind?”
“As you wish,” she replied, giving me a smile. “Girls,” she looked over at her eldest two daughters and raised an eyebrow. They immediately stopped talking and turned their bodies to the table, raising their hands to pray.
I kept my hands in my lap and looked down at the plate in front of me while Mrs Hopkin led a prayer in Welsh. I had no understanding of what she was saying but I didn’t need to. I was silently making my own plea to be returned home.
I joined in with the chorus of ‘Amen’ and the table burst back into life with chattering and movement as the household reached for their breakfast. Mr Hopkin, ever the wordsmith, cast a cantankerous eye over proceedings and Mrs Hopkin watched on, ensuring everybody had their share before taking their own.
“Why don’t you believe in God, Mr Jacob?” Sophia asked and I paused mid-bite as all eyes around the table turned to me.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mrs Hopkin replied to her daughter, saving me from an awkward conversation.
“No Teddy today?” I asked, noting their son's absence from the table and needing a change of subject.
“Not today,” Mr Hopkin said without looking up from his plate. His tone told me I should leave the topic alone so I turned my attention to Mrs Hopkin instead.
“I really can’t thank you enough for your hospitality, Mrs Hopkin. The food is lovely.”
“I’m only sorry I can’t do more for you while you’re here,” she replied. “It’s nice to have another man about the house since Jack ran off with that… that tart!”
The table fell immediately silent and all eyes turned to Mrs Hopkin. It seemed like every time I opened my mouth I led us into another awkward conversation.
“LEAH!” Mr Hopkin bellowed, dropping his knife and fork onto his tin plate with a clang. He clenched both of his hands into his fists and set them on the table on either side of his breakfast. Mrs Hopkin, with a look of both embarrassment and indignation, opened her mouth as if to speak again but was pre-empted by her husband. “That’s enough!”
“Mr Jacob.” Sophia tugged on my sleeve to get my attention.
“You can call me Tom,” I replied and the edges of her mouth turned up into a small grin. She set down her fork and rubbed her hands down her front, leaving a trail of crumbs behind, then raised her elbow onto the table, leaned her head into her hand, and began to speak.