I should have known my visit home would not be the happy one I hoped for. I’d not been back to the family farm for nearly two years and should have been excited to see everyone, but a lurking feel of dread seemed to weigh heavily on me, particularly as the train pulled into the platform.
My father was there to meet me. Dear old Dad. He seemed smaller and frailer than what I remembered, but his smile was still as magically contagious as ever. He bear-hugged me as furiously as his frame would allow. Separating me to arms-distance, he did his usual beaming scrutiny of me.
“Ah Tess, you look marvellous. Married life must be agreeing with you!” At this close distance, I noticed that Dad looked tired, and was that stress I could also see in his face? As if aware of this discovery, he pulled away from me, and we both laughed off any awkwardness as we hopped into the old van.
We chatted about the usual go-to topics; what everyone in the family was up to, news about locals I might still remember and of how I was. This was the opportunity for Dad to come clean.
“Tess, don’t be too hard on your mother when you get home. She is still not entirely at peace with your new life….”
“You mean Garry?” I smarted. Mum had taken an immediate dislike to my husband from the moment I introduced them to each other. It had not been a fabulous first meeting when I brought him out to the farm to meet Mum and Dad. Garry’s social skills when in company were not always ideal; a point that also irked me, but I at least could see the difference when it was just the two of us. For Mum, his aloof behaviour and rock music background represented everything she deemed to be ‘uncivil’.
I chose to look out the car window rather than start a defence of Garry, of our marriage and I guess, of my choices, so soon into my return home. I knew Dad was just trying to be the mediator of sorts.
“Looks very threatening over our way,” I commented casually as we neared the farm. The air was that heavy stillness you’d expect right before an almighty electrical storm or downpour, and the sky carried confirmation of this with huge expanses of deep ink blue and black hovering directly above. The first crack of thunder ripped overhead as I got out of the van. Pitchfork formations of lightning sheeted across the ominous skies distracting me from the other formidable force waiting for me at the garden gate. My mother.