“It’s not far,” she said, pouring us out some tea. “They say that the bridge was built by the Devil himself in return for the soul of a maiden but he was tricked into taking the soul of a dog instead and cursed the area. Years ago, when the bridge needed repairs, the workmen were too superstitious to knock it down for fear of angering the Devil, so they just built a new bridge right over the top.”
A shiver went down my spine as she recounted the story and, probably entirely by coincidence, the kitchen lamps began to flicker, making Mrs Hopkin laugh.
“All stuff and nonsense,” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “Everyone tells a different version of the tale and that’s the one my mother told me, but you can make your own mind up if you ever see it. It’s only a few miles away.”
“Maybe I can visit sometime,” I said, and she smiled at me. I decided to bite the bullet. “Mrs Hopkin, if it’s alright with you I think I’d like to stay for a while. I know things are tough right now, but if you can give me food and a bed then I’ll work the farm for free until we’re all fixed.”
“And what of your family? Won’t they expect you home for Christmas at least?”
“I like it here,” I said, surprised that I was beginning to mean it. “And to be honest I don’t have anyone to go back to. But it’s ok for you to say no. I’ll understand completely.”
“You’re welcome here for as long as you like, and I know John could do with your help. He’s been very impressed by your work so far.”
“Oh? He never said anything.”
“It’s just his way, love. If he’s silent then he’s content. It’s when he speaks you need to mind yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said, bringing her hand up and kissing it.
“Oh, get off, you,” she said, playfully batting me away. “Now, away to sleep, you've got an early start.”
I set my cup down and headed for the back door.
“Oh, and Thomas,” she said, causing me to turn around, “bring your stuff in with you tomorrow. You can have Jack’s bed while he’s away.”
I gave her a final smile and pulled the door closed behind me.
Sleep that night was hard to come by. Around an hour after retreating to the barn I’d heard Mr Hopkin return to the house. His slow shuffling steps had caught my attention, an indication that his drinking had continued, and I’d momentarily considered going to talk to him about the events of the evening. Unsure of what his temperament might be, however, I thought it a conversation best saved for when sober and away from tools. It was a good decision, it seemed, because within minutes of going into the house I could hear him begin to shout about something and it went on for quite a while.
I blocked out the noise and tossed in my makeshift bed, uncomfortable with my position and uncomfortable with my thoughts. Had I ever really known my father? And with all the information that had been revealed to me, could I ever really judge him with the same harsh eye as I had done for my whole life, knowing what he’d been through? Or was it worse because he knew how it felt?
Was that huge event in his life something that just happened to him unjustly or did he have some control over the ring that I wasn’t aware of yet? And did any of it justify the man he became or the father he turned into?
I tossed again, my mind turning to the lie I’d told the Hopkin’s about their son. As much as I’d tried to justify it to myself, I couldn’t help feeling guilty at the false hope I’d given them. But how else was I to explain my reaction to the portrait? Seeing my father was the last thing I’d expected and the truth was out of the question. They didn’t seem to doubt me, which I was grateful for, and it would at least be one less worry for Mrs Hopkin.
Mrs Hopkin. The name echoed in my brain.
Tom Hopkin. Thomas Hopkin. Is that my real name?
I swirled the name on my tongue, the name I should have had if my father hadn’t changed it. I quite liked it. Not that it made any difference now, of course. Why did he change it, though? A final act of defiance towards his father, perhaps?
I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the kitchen door swinging open and someone coming outside. I sat up from my bed, worried that Mr Hopkin may be wandering around drunk and would end up falling over something in the yard, so I threw on my shirt and climbed down the ladder to the floor below.
With no candle to light my way, it was difficult to see in the barn. Moonlight shone across the stone floor from the small window next to the door but it cast a murky glow that made me unsure of every step I took, not entirely sure at what point my foot would connect with the ground. Upon reaching the door I pulled it open gently, worried that he might be slumped behind it, and poked my head out to get a better look.
“Are you ok, Mr Hopkin?” I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Go away, Mr Jacob,” a voice in the shadows said back, but it wasn’t Mr Hopkin.
I pushed the barn door open further and stepped outside wishing I’d had the forethought to put my boots on. The air was freezing and every hair on my legs felt like it was standing on end. I scurried over to where the voice had come from and found Teddy sitting on the cobbles with his back against the house. Just enough of the light from the moon fell upon him that I could see he was fully dressed, despite being long past his usual bedtime.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” I asked, sitting down beside him. The cold floor immediately made the backs of my legs numb and I shuffled around uncomfortably.
“I’m leaving,” he said, wrapping his arms around his knees for warmth. “Jack did it, so can I.”
“You haven’t gotten very far,” I said, giving him a playful nudge in the arm.
“Piss off,” he spat back.