‘He’s an actor. Appearing to be something he’s not is what he does best.’
‘Bev told me that he’s in a soap opera.’
Lucas’s eyes widen. ‘You didn’t recognise him?’
‘No. I haven’t got a telly,’ I say by way of explanation.
Lucas laughs out loud. ‘That’s hilarious. I wondered why you weren’t throwing yourself at him like other women do.’ I think of the usually unimpressed Bev going to pieces and feel that Lucas may have a point. ‘You must be the only person on the planet who doesn’t know who Shelby Dacre is. He’s a National Treasure. Like The Queen.’ Scathing. ‘Apparently.’
‘Is it any good? Do you watch it?’
‘It’s complete crap and I don’t.’ Lucas throws himself into the sofa next to me and pulls a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his pocket.
‘No smoking,’ I say.
He looks horrified. ‘Not anywhere?’
‘Hay and smouldering cigarette ends aren’t a good mix.’
He sighs again, but puts them back in his pocket without further argument. I’m not even going to ask if his dad knows he smokes.
‘So you spend a lot of time by yourself?’
‘He’s at the studio every day during the week. The show goes out on three nights. Omnibus on Sunday,’ he mocks. ‘Every weekend he’s opening something or another. He’ll do anything. He has no idea how to say no.’
‘What do you do when you’re alone?’
Lucas folds his arms and scowls. ‘I thought you weren’t going to pick through my brain.’
‘I’m not. I’m just trying to find out a bit about you. We normally know more about our students before they arrive, but if you don’t feel like talking we can walk up to the horses. They’ve knocked a bit of the fence down and I want to see if it’s been fixed.’ I’m sure Alan will be hard at work by now. I saw he’d arrived this morning, but that’s rare. Alan just slides quietly in most days. He does have a battered old car, but he often walks here from his cottage in the village. Sometimes he even risks coming through Anthony’s field if he’s feeling brave. ‘Fancy it?’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any computer games?’
‘No.’
He puffs out a breath filled with misery. ‘Horses it is.’
‘I’ll pick up an extra hammer on the way. You might feel like helping Alan.’
‘What if I don’t?’
‘You can sit and watch him. We don’t make you do anything here. If you want to waste your time, then you can.’
He frowns at that. If the kids push against you and you don’t push back, it often throws them.
I turn to the sink to hide my smile and rinse the cups under the tap, promising to wash them properly later. Then we head out into the warmth of the spring day and grab a hammer from the barn before we walk up towards the field. The geese come and have a cursory check that they’re not missing out on anything. I whistle for the dogs and, magically, they appear from behind one of the sheds where they’ve probably been hunting down a poor unsuspecting mouse. Little Dog and Big Dog come to heel. Kind of. They run ahead usually, sniffing everything there is to sniff. As we cross the yard, Lucas keeps pace with me, but he says nothing and neither do I.
Chapter Fifteen
The sun is overhead now, warm and bright. Without a breeze to cool the air, I can feel the rays hot on my skin. I’d better not keep Lucas out for too long as he looks like a vampire. Any sun on that lily-white skin and he might well go up in flames. I have some sunscreen in the caravan that he can use tomorrow. If he comes back.
I flick a finger at my van as we pass it. ‘That’s where I live.’
Lucas looks horrified. ‘Seriously?’
I nod. ‘Home sweet home.’
‘Holy fuck, you are dedicated.’
‘All my money goes on the animals.’
‘That’s why you take in brats like me?’
I laugh. ‘We’ve yet to see if you’re a brat or not.’
‘I am,’ he says. ‘I promise you. Everyone says so. I like being that way, then no one gets close to me.’
‘We’re not all the same. Some people like being surrounded by others. Some thrive by themselves.’
‘You like being by yourself?’
‘I generally prefer animals to people.’
‘I don’t know whether I do or not. We’ve never been able to have animals at home. Not even a guinea pig. Mum was desperate for a dog, but it was a no go.’ The first time he’s mentioned his mother. ‘My father’s allergic to everything. Even feather cushions.’
‘Yet he plays a farmer in a soap?’
‘I told you, he’s a fucking fake.’
I can’t help but chuckle at that. ‘How on earth does he manage? Surely he has to go near the animals while he’s filming.’
‘His drug of choice is antihistamine. He mainlines it.’
‘Oh, dear. I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing much of him here then.’
‘No. But not for that reason. He has a girlfriend who’s too young for him. She keeps him busy when he’s not at award ceremonies or on The One Show.’ Behind the bitterness in his voice there’s pain too.
As we leave the yard, Fifty comes out of the shade of the pens to join us. It looks as if he’s been hanging out with Teacup or the rabbits. He hobbles along next to us with his strange gait. ‘This is our pet lamb,’ I say to Lucas.
‘A pet lamb? Why does that not surprise me?’
Fifty bleats at him and Lucas gives the lamb a sideways glance, determined to be unmoved by his obvious charm.
‘He doesn’t mind if you fuss him,’ I say.
Exuding reluctance, he bends to ruffle Fifty’s ears who bleats in joy and rubs against Lucas’s leg. ‘Friendly.’
‘Most of us don’t bite,’ I tease. Then I correct myself: ‘Actually, quite a lot of things do bite.’ Students as much as animals. ‘You just need to know how to handle them.’
The alpacas are all lying down in their stall, humming tunelessly together and studiously ignoring us. The ponies are up in the far corner of their field, so we’ll leave them until another time. Besides, I want to see if I can get Lucas doing something. So we make our way straight to Sweeney and Carter.
‘Here are our big boys,’ I say as we approach the field that contains – most of the time – our Shire horses. ‘They’re lovely but they keep breaking the fence.’
Alan, as I anticipated, is getting ready to fix it. He’s come up here on the quad bike with the small trailer attached and it’s loaded with planks. Fifty bleats until I pick him up and put him in the trailer. He settles down in the corner for a snooze. I guess he’ll be having a ride home.
‘Morning, Alan.’
Alan nods. ‘Aye.’
As Bev said, today he’s wearing Florence and the Machine.
‘This is Lucas. He’s giving us a try out. Thought you might like a hand.’
Alan looks him up and down but says nothing.
I hand Lucas the hammer. ‘Here you go. You’re on.’
He regards the hammer with disdain. ‘I have absolutely no idea what to do with this.’
‘Good. Alan will show you.’
Alan, obligingly, says, ‘This is a hammer. This is nails. We use a hammer to knock nails in planks. We fix the fence. Horses knock it over again.’
‘There you go,’ I say. ‘Simples.’
Lucas gives me the face that says, Seriously?
Alan might be sparing and somewhat obvious in his instructions, but he has infinite patience with our students. While working with him you might not engage in witty banter or find out about his history, his life, his hobbies or anything else for that matter. He is not the go-to man if you want amusing anecdotes. It took me about two years to find out that he liked chocolate Hobnobs. But spend time with Alan and you will usually come away able to tinker with a tractor or build a bird box or repair a window frame. Skills that should never be underestimated.
‘Before you start,
come and say hello to the culprits, our Shire horses. Sweeney has anxiety issues and Carter has SAD and is generally miserable from September to April.’
‘I can see why they push the fence over.’
They’re both over seventeen hands high and built like tanks. ‘You can stroke their noses. They might be big, but they’re gentle giants.’ I show him how and, hesitantly, he follows.
‘Ever ridden?’
He shakes his head. ‘Never been this close to a horse before.’
‘Bev exercises them and could do with some help if you fancy that. She gives riding lessons too.’
‘Not sure if it’s my thing.’
I pat Sweeney. ‘I love to ride, but I rarely have the time these days.’ Which reminds me. ‘I’ve got a lot to do and I need to spend time with the other kids who are in today. Can I leave you with Alan?’
‘Sure.’ He hugs his skinny white arms and looks like a little kid next to the bulk of Alan. I can see that, despite his posturing, he’s nervous.
‘We’ll catch up at lunchtime. Veg chilli on the menu.’
‘Be still my beating heart,’ Lucas deadpans which makes me laugh.
Already, I feel myself connecting with Lucas. That’s a good sign. Some of the students are really hard to bond with – particularly those on the autistic spectrum – and though I have a lot to learn about him, I think this troubled boy might give me lots to work with beneath that brittle shell.
Chapter Sixteen
At the end of the day a chauffeured car turns up for Lucas. One of those huge, four-wheeled drive things. Perfect for farm duties. Less useful when only shopping at Sainsbury’s. It has blacked-out windows and a driver in mirrored shades who sits stock-still, behind the wheel. Everyone else has gone and Lucas is the last of the students here.
‘Travelling in style,’ I say as we walk together to the car, Little Dog and Fifty in tow.
‘It’s only because my father’s too busy to come himself and he thinks this makes up for it.’
I let that pass without comment even though I agree it would have been nice if Shelby Dacre had come to collect his son after his first day. No matter how old they are, they’re still your babies and it’s clear that Lucas needs some love and attention right now. But I guess if you’re some hot-shot television star then you can’t just halt filming to fit round your family commitments. I say it as if I have any knowledge of that world. ‘Have you enjoyed today?’
‘I’d rather have been playing computer games.’ There’s a flush of pink across his cheeks and his forearms. He spent a lot of time out in the big field mending the fence with Alan and in the afternoon, rather than put him in with the day’s lesson, I found him some wellies and we mucked out the pigs together. If I’m not very much mistaken he might even have enjoyed that. Well, ‘enjoyed’ might be stretching it, but he didn’t complain too much. Actually, he complained a lot, but not in a heartfelt way. I suspect he complained simply because that’s what he’s used to doing.
‘We’ll see you tomorrow?’ I venture.
Lucas shrugs. ‘I don’t think I have any choice.’
‘We can work on that,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been nice having you here. Alan said you did well with him. Mending fences might be your forte.’
‘The Alan bit was OK,’ he admits, grudgingly. ‘Though I did get a blister.’ He shows me the afflicted finger and I pull a suitably sympathetic face.
‘Take care, Lucas,’ I say and I feel genuinely sad that we might not see him again. I think we could do a lot for him here. ‘I hope you give us another go.’
He risks giving Fifty a tentative pat, then bends to fuss Little Dog and the dog’s weird smile widens. Lucas makes a little noise that might be a laugh – not really sure though. Then he climbs into the passenger seat and the driver with dark sunglasses turns full circle in the yard and drives him away.
Bev appears at my elbow. ‘Is he coming back?’
‘I don’t know, Bev. Usually, I can tell, but I can’t call this one.’
My friend links her arm through mine. ‘Let’s have a cuppa and I’ll fill you in on Shelby Dacre.’
‘Are you sure that I want to know?’
‘Forewarned is forearmed.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Have you got something to eat for your tea?’ Bev asks as we climb into my van. ‘You must be getting low on shopping.’
‘I’ve got eggs.’ We’re never short of those. ‘I’ll knock together an omelette later.’
‘You’re looking too thin,’ Bev admonishes. ‘You need some flesh on those bones.’
For the record, I’m not thin at all.
‘Why don’t you come with me to the pub on Sunday for a roasty dinner?’ she cajoles. ‘I’m going with a couple of friends. You’d like them.’
‘I might,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘You might.’ Bev tuts. ‘What you mean is that you won’t. All you want to do is stay here with the chickens and Tina Turner.’
‘Yeah,’ I admit. Tina needs me. All the animals do. Their need is greater than my desire for a nut roast.
‘Don’t lose touch with the world completely, Mols. Your aunt did and, if it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t have had anyone. Come and meet the girls. You need some friends.’
‘I’ve got you,’ I remind her. ‘And Alan.’
‘Between us we cannot supply all a woman needs.’
‘I have no needs,’ I remind Bev. ‘Stop worrying about me.’
Bev takes in her surroundings and grimaces. ‘You don’t have a bathroom for a start,’ Bev notes as she casts her beady eye round my van for signs that I’m not looking after myself properly – as she always does. ‘That’s not normal. Everyone needs a bathroom.’
I laugh. ‘I’m sure my bucket shower could be considered romantic in certain circumstances.’
She shakes her head at me. ‘Only by people who’ve never been in a hot tub.’
Though I scoff, it’s true to say that my home could be better supplied with amenities. But it has what I require – mostly. There’s a combined living and kitchen area that’s reasonably well equipped. I’m not the world’s best or most regular cook. There’s an oven, but to be honest, my hairdryer probably puts out more hot air. It doesn’t matter though as I use it on high days and holidays. Actually, I don’t think I even use it then. I could use the one in the tea room kitchen, but that’s Bev’s domain and, besides, it’s got far too many things that beep and buzz for my requirements. Someone, more than likely Bev, gave me a cast-off slow cooker so I give than an airing once in a while and can rustle up a hearty stew in the winter if need be.
There’s a separate bedroom with a small bed that might, if we were being generous, be classed as a neat double. You can’t walk round it so making it up requires some gymnastics, but I like to think that it keeps me fit. It has a pretty patchwork quilt on it that Hettie made before her eyesight got too bad to do fiddly work – a family heirloom, I suppose. I can’t hoard a lot of stuff because there’s nowhere to store it, so I travel light.
‘It would be nice to see you living somewhere proper before winter sets in again,’ Bev says.
‘I’m fine here,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve survived every winter, so far. I’ll just put an extra blanket on the bed.’ And snuggle a dog. ‘I don’t feel the cold.’
‘You wouldn’t admit it if you did,’ Bev says.
Probably not. I know she frets about me, but I’m used to it. I don’t think I could live in a proper house now. All those rooms! I’d just rattle around.
I put the kettle on and Bev gets out the cups while I find some milk. When the tea’s brewed we sit curled up on the bench seat in the window.
‘The money from Shelby Dacre will come in handy,’ she continues. ‘You should charge him twice as much as everyone else. He can afford it.’
‘I can’t do that! It wouldn’t be right.’
She tuts at my obvious morals. ‘Still, it will be useful.’
I c
an pay Alan, for one thing. ‘If Lucas comes back.’
‘I could not believe my eyes when Farmer Gordon rocked up here this morning. I had to pinch myself. He’s flipping lush.’
He is. Even I can appreciate that.
‘I think he looks better in real life than he does on the telly. He’s a right old playboy on screen. Especially for a farmer.’ She pulls a wistful face at me. ‘None of the farmers we know look like that. More’s the pity.’
I’ll second that. The guy we rent the farm from, George Brown, is a crusty old devil with a red nose that has the texture of a cauliflower. He’s a nice enough bloke but luckily we don’t see much of him. We’re good tenants, don’t cause a fuss and always pay up on time. He keeps out of our way. We keep out of his. What more could a landlord want? The rent review is due soon and I’m dreading it though he’s always been quite fair in the past. Even a few hundred quid makes a massive difference here.
‘He’s dating a young bit of stuff off the telly too.’
We’re back on Gordon Wotsit. ‘You said.’ And so did Lucas, so this is something I need to know more about.
‘Scarlett Vincent. She’s gorgeous, but in a very obvious way.’
I take it from Bev’s tone that’s a Bad Thing. ‘How young?’
‘Ridiculously so. He’s clearly got too much testosterone knocking around his veins. What he needs is a more mature woman.’
‘Like you?’
Bev grins wickedly. ‘Now that you come to mention it, exactly like me.’
‘You’re not going to start coming to work in low-cut tops and leopard-skin-print mini-skirts.’
‘Perish the thought,’ she says. ‘It might frighten the alpacas. Sensitive souls. Though I might go through my wardrobe when I get home. One can be too scruffy.’
‘Even when mucking out horses.’
Bev taps into her phone. ‘She’s twenty-eight.’
‘Who?’
‘Scarlett Vincent,’ she says in an exasperated manner. ‘Keep up.’ She turns her phone to me so that I can see her picture.
‘Pretty.’
‘Yeah. I suppose. She’s not as young as she looks though.’
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