Heather Farm by Dorte Hummelshoj Jakobsen Page A

curious
neighbours, I walked outside in the skimpy t-shirt I had slept
in.
    “ Good morning, Miss. Didn't mean to frighten you.” An old
woman stood right in front of me. She raised her arms and took a
step back. “I thought you came out because you had seen me approach
the house.”
    “ Hello. No, I'm afraid I didn't hear a thing." I studied her
as discreetly as I could, wondering if she was one of our new
neighbours. She blended in perfectly among the heather and the
dunes, so weather-beaten that even the colour of her eyes seemed a
bit washed-out.
    “ I didn't mean to disturb you. You must have lots to do. Young
couples always have.” Her gentle smile showed me she remembered
what it was like.
    “ But don't you want to come in? I'm afraid we are not up to
offering you coffee or tea yet, but...” I felt a bit exposed in my
all-but-transparent nightie, but we really wanted to have a go at
settling down here and get to know the neighbourhood and the few
families who lived around us.
    “ Perhaps some other time. I just wanted to see who had bought
my old home. I'm sure you are going to be happy here.”
    “ So you lived here?” I tried to remember what the realtor had
told us about the previous owner. I thought it was a middle-aged
man, certainly not someone who seemed to go back all the way to the
old war as my granny used to put it. Even though this was as far
out as you could get, I was a bit taken aback by her black lace-up
shoes and mended cardigan.
    “ Most of my life.” She looked around her, taking in every bit
of the battered old buildings around us. “He sold it without asking
me, you know. They said I was too old to make decisions and sign
papers.”
    “ I'm so sorry to hear that.” I really was, but what could I
do. “Was it your son?”
    She
nodded and stretched out a leathery hand to touch the water pump.
“Yes. It doesn't matter so much now I've seen you. You both look as
if you are going to love Heather Farm.”
    “ Heather Farm? Is that what you called it? What a lovely
name!” No one would call it a farm nowadays, but I liked the sound
of it.
    “ He was probably right anyway. I couldn't cope on my own here.
I couldn't even make that darn pump work.”
    I heard
Thomas whistle seconds before I actually saw him on the path
between Heather Farm and the lighthouse. I took a few steps towards
him, wanting him to hurry so we could offer our first guest a cup
of coffee, but when he turned round the thicket of rose hip bushes,
the old woman had gone.
     
     
    III
     
    After her
visit the awful dreams began. Now that we had a proper bed in the
bedroom I could snuggle up to Thomas until I fell asleep again, but
I woke up two or three times every night in a sweat, my heart
beating ferociously. I´d sit up and pull the duvet around me,
unable to chase the nightmares away. Whenever I closed my eyes, it
all came back. The growling monster dog and the couple who argued,
accompanied by the squealing pump. He swore and ranted at her, and
when he started to hit her, I wanted to scream at the grey figures
to get away from our home. They were just dreams, figments of my
imagination, and I had every right to be here.
    If I
whimpered in my sleep, a drowsy Thomas would put his arm around me
and whisper, “it's just a dream, darling.”
    The days
were better, but if I turned around abruptly, I'd catch glimpses of
the retreating shadows of the family who lived here before us. The
tall, grim man and the children who were both far too quiet. The
little girl sucking her thumb and wetting her pants when her dad
shouted at her. The watchful boy observing both parents, unsure
whose side to choose. His strong, brutal father or my sweet, old
woman. Whenever he left the house, they huddled together on the
sofa, the mother singing to them or telling them
stories.
    We
hammered and sawed, painted inside and whitewashed out of doors,
and week by week we restored Heather Farm to its former charm. It
was exactly what we had