10. Ned

" I 'm thinking of putting in my resignation and moving to the other side of the world," I blurted out.

I was sitting with a few friends in a downtown bar where we'd been downing beers and shooting the shit, and I hadn't actually meant to say it. I was just testing the waters, wondering what the actual words would feel like in my mouth. The effect of saying them out loud, though? Terrifying, and I'd been met with laughter and backslaps. Someone raised their glass to me and called me brave.

I wasn't brave, I was full of strange, stupid ideas. Nobody at my age threw away an entire career for the insanity of farming. I was told that too, in no uncertain terms—how my life would be hard and my earnings would dwindle, and if I moved—to where was it again? Switzerland?—I would never be seen again. Europe wasn't all it was geared up to be, and had I actually thought this through?

I hadn't. Not fully, but there were upsides and downsides to every story, and yes, I may have been an all-American boy at some point, but lately, I'd splintered, no doubt something to do with becoming a man at the tender age of eighteen, losing the little innocence I'd had left to a boy who'd taken it all, scrunched it up and stomped on it, and then doing the same thing back to him. And worse.

I didn't feel brave. I felt out of control. Not even my parents' gentle encouragements or the emails from Aunt Violet had lifted my spirits. There were forms to fill in, reclaiming citizenship, registering for my personal number to be reinstalled. Did I still have a bank account? I had no idea. It would probably have been shut down when I ran out of funds, the yearly fees having eaten up the last krona I'd left in there.

At work, I tapped away at forms, read emails and organised successful applications into neat folders for clients to peruse. I ordered over-complicated background checks for people who had nothing to prove, sent instructions to lower-ranking colleagues to do my dirty work and send out mass rejection emails with my name scripted at the bottom.

I'd received enough of those in my youth. I knew how they stung. Still, it was my job to stab people's dreams to hell. More like lucky escapes if you asked me, which was why I hadn't fought harder for that so-called glittering future.

I had a resignation letter typed out. I'd looked through my file and had at least two more days off I could take to sort out my belongings, pack what I wanted to keep and ship it all to Sweden.

It was a crazy idea. Aunt Violet's guest room was tiny, with a single bed. I owned an oversize three-seater couch and a gaming computer set-up with dual screens and a massive office chair. Where was I actually thinking all my stuff would go? In the sheds with the cows? I'm sure the heifers in the south shed would love to listen in as I streamed some horror game over their speakers. Who knew what the sound of screaming zombies would do to their milk production?

The thought made me laugh out loud, typically as my manager appeared next to my cubicle. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"My office, please," she clipped out, shoving her glasses further up her nose—a clear sign for me to follow her, once again, into her little rabbit hutch, the desk adorned with photos of smiling children and a giant water bottle with a straw.

No coffee. I could have done with some coffee.

"Ned," she said. I could almost have spoken her next words along with her because no, the client wasn't happy, but there had been exactly two applicants for the incredibly shitty role they were looking to fill, and neither of them had retail experience at the level required. And yes, I had understood the client's brief .

"We don't expect our clients to complain about our senior recruiter's attitude."

I wanted to hurl that back at her. What attitude?

Maybe my outrage would've been more convincing if I hadn't laughed, but I'd had just about enough of the world within these ply-board walls and the dark carpet with the years-old stains and the constant stench of printer ink and the dust and yes…that attitude right there.

"I understand," I said in my most pleasant voice. "I believe my time here may have come to a natural end, in any case."

"I don't mean it like that, Ned. All I expect is that you treat our clients with the utmost respect and follow their brief. It's not our place to judge their requirements, even when we are fully aware that they are slightly…outrageous."

"Outrageous? More like fucking impossible. Nobody with the degrees they're asking for will accept a minimum-wage position with no health insurance, and those commission structures are unachievable in an office environment like that, whatever the company policy may be."

She stared at me in disgust. ‘Professionalism at all times' was our motto, and I was being judgemental and unprofessional. Or maybe I wasn't, but whatever.

"I will be handing in my resignation today," came out of my mouth as my chest tied itself into a knot. "I have a few days still owed that I would like to release, and after the weekend…" I hadn't planned to do this today, but she was actually snarling at me.

"Well, in that case, I don't see the point of you remaining here. If you wouldn't mind clearing out your desk?"

Dammit. What was happening here?

"I'd be glad to," I responded. I wasn't even being polite. What I should have done was shake her hand and express my gratitude toward the company for my long employment and how happy I had been working here, blah, blah, blah.

"A mutually agreed resignation?" she suggested, spitting out the last word.

"Agreed." I tried to stand up straight, keep my eyes focused as she once again fiddled with her glasses.

"Are you sure? "

"Yes."

"Good." She nodded, staring at me like she expected me to continue this dead-end conversation.

"Good," I said and stomped over to my shitty little cubicle and started clearing my desk, with tears of anger burning my eyes as I tried to swallow down the emotion.

I wasn't angry. There was something else slowly bubbling to the surface, something that, for the first time in months, eased the tension in my neck and shoulders. It was…relief. Fuck. I was free! I could actually do this. The taste of it was right there, on the tip of my tongue. Freedom…and fear. A heady mix indeed.

The adrenaline alone was enough to power me to the printer room, where I grabbed an empty box to shove my meagre belongings into. A couple of coffee cups and half-drunk water bottles. Pens. Employee of the Month certificates. Desk cleared, my feet took me out through the turnstiles, and then I stood in the car park looking down at the box of crap, wondering why I was even thinking about taking it with me. Turning back to the entrance, I approached the security guard behind his desk, looking almost as deflated as I was.

"Here," I said, handing him my ID. "Last day. Any chance you can dispose of this stuff for me?"

I didn't wait for his response. I left the box there and walked off. Got in my car. Drove. It wasn't until I parked outside my condo that I allowed myself to break, just sitting there in a panic, breathing too fast, hands shaking as I tried to get myself under control. In the end, I called Aunt Violet and sobbed into the receiver as her gentle laughter…soothed my soul.

"Calm down, you silly boy. What does your gut tell you?"

"That I need to do this."

"You don't need to do shit," she said. "But go to bed. Sleep this off. Then tomorrow, you book that flight and get your arse over here. These heifers won't walk into the sheds on their own. I still have a good two hundred out on pasture that I need to get inside, and then we're back to cleaning out the sheds and feed and hay and—"

"Testing the milk. Ensuring we're up to standard."

"I've taught you well, kiddo."

"Really? Because I have zero clue what I'm doing. I have so much to pack, and then I need to figure out shipping, and—"

"You young people think too much. What do you need to pack? Get a few pairs of clean trousers in a bag, some shirts and that thick fleece and your passport—"

"I have…other things I want to bring."

"You'll need work gear." She ignore me. "Some good waterproofs—we'll go shopping once you're here. Get proper stuff, made to last."

"Things," I repeated, bewildered. "Belongings. All the stuff in my condo."

"Do those things make you happy? If they do, why are you packing up and coming halfway around the world to tend to some stubborn heifers that won't give you anything but grief."

"You always said those heifers made you happy."

I loved the sound of her laughter, the way she mocked me with a simple snort.

"I love my girls. Even bloody nine-eight-eight. She's a right stubborn beast, that one. Did I tell you she broke out of the sheds last week? Wandered all the way down to Teddy's before we got wind of her. Silly cow."

"She always breaks out. Even back when…who was it? Four-one-four?"

"Yes! I remember. Broke her box, every time. Kicked all the railings and stole feed from the store."

"Not related, are they?" I laughed too. I mean. I was talking about a bunch of milking cows and loving every second.

"Nah. I keep my breeding records clean. New blood and all that."

"Yeah."

"Ned?"

I could feel it coming.

I sighed, wiped my nose with the back of my hand, swatted away an imaginary fly. Just talking to Violet brought me right back to a place where…

"What does your heart say now, Ned?"

"Home," I replied. "I'm coming home."

I didn't quite understand why.