I am an island by Tamsin Calidas

Author:Tamsin Calidas [Calidas, Tamsin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473569133
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd

3

Auction Mart

The air is oppressive, humid and stifling. It is late October, late in the season for the lambing sales, and storms are threatening. I have caught an early ferry to the mainland and arrived ahead of the hordes, to ensure I am in good time to find the auctioneer and show him my lambs. But when I get there, it is not the one I know, and he is deep in conversation with others I do not recognise. As I come in they look up, but no one smiles, and I feel momentarily uncertain and awkward.

‘One hundred and six cross mule lambs – is that you, then?’ a stockman shouts across, swinging through the pens towards me.

I nod. It is a relief to know they are safe in pens. My lambs arrived late off the Oban boat after a rough crossing and it has been a rush to unload them. I wipe my hand quickly across my eyes and glance at my ticket. It marks receipt of my movement document, which means I am legally permitted to trade, but even so I feel as nervous, jittery and skittish as the livestock straight off the lorry. My left hand is still strapped to hold it steady whilst the tendons and ligaments strengthen. It has visibly wasted so the orthopaedic surgeons have conferred over the results of detailed testing of the bones, fascia and nerves. The results confirm what I have known all along. Having been set incorrectly, it has remained dislocated all this time since the fall. It will be difficult handling my lambs because it is still weak, and simple movements are still difficult.

It doesn’t help that I have never sold my own animals alone before. Last year, after Rab left, not only was I too unwell, but my father’s death coincided with the lambing sales and, in the aftermath of that awful summer, I was too stricken with shock and grief. The large auction mart lorry collected my lambs at the pier and the auctioneer sold them, unattended, in the ring. My absence was reflected in the prices they fetched. You never make as much for your lambs if you don’t present or show them in the ring yourself. This year, I promise myself, will be different. I am ready to take ownership of my livestock. It is important not just for my self-esteem and confidence, but to demonstrate my capability and credibility. Yet for all my determination, I am inexperienced.

‘Right, move it!’ the stockman yells to the lambs, flapping his blue apron skirts. ‘Come on, move it!’ He starts hissing through his teeth. I hear the crack of that fabric, like a whip. And then his stick whistles down, hard edge flicking on to a soft back. ‘Don’t,’ I say urgently. ‘They are not used to it.’ But he is not listening. I see the dark pools of the animals’ eyes glazing over with adrenaline, and some inner vigilance switches on its tense glimmer as they dart their fear at me.

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