It was too much. She pushed the ominous envelope away and went to make herself a cup of tea. She stayed by the kettle to drink it and eyed the envelope from across the room. This was no good; she had to know. She grabbed a knife from the block, marched over to the table and in one slice she opened the envelope. Maggie pulled out the neatly folded white page inside and held her breath as she read it.

*

A trip to Leamington Spa on the tractor was probably an odd reaction, in hindsight, but she hadn’t exactly been thinking straight. The breeze and the bumpy ride took her mind off the contents of the letter. It was all a bit overwhelming so it was best pushed to the back of her mind for now and she’d work out how to deal with it later. She needed to get the other tyre repaired for the quad, which was a good excuse to get out, and Tom could do with a few more things. Leamington Spa was her option of choice.

She dropped off the quad bike tyre, paid and collected the trailer tyre and ignored the jokes about having a season ticket. The tractor trundled into the town centre and she parked in the same place as her last visit, and went in search of the charity shops. It filled an hour and although she hadn’t got as many logo-clad things for Tom as last time she was pleased with what she had found. It was always a bit of a lucky dip. She’d also got him some stuff he could wear around the farm and not bother about ruining. She splashed out on a new pair of wellingtons for him too. Her late husband’s were too small. She’d seen him wince when he’d put them on the other day. Tom had really taken to life at the farm and worked hard. Giving him the right equipment was the least she could do.

The thought of Tom calmed her. But the sensation was fleeting. Should she tell Tom about the letter? But what to tell him? Without knowing it, Tom had taught her so much. He’d been the trigger that had made her write in the first place. He was a good lad. It was a shame his father didn’t appreciate him. Didn’t enjoy him as he should but how many parents were exactly the same? Too busy with their day-to-day lives to realise the most precious times would soon be a distant memory. Children were a gift but a transitory one. Mess things up and they were gone. Even if you did your job right you’d lose them in the end. Not quite so permanently but surely the measure of successful parenting was independent, happy offspring? Maggie figured either way the outcome was the same.