Happiness for Beginners

by Carole Matthews

  ‘She’s hardly ancient.’

  ‘He’s forty-two. Dirty old dog. He should know better.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s immature.’

  ‘God, I really fancy him,’ Bev sighs longingly. ‘I’m going to go home and watch Flinton’s Farm with renewed interest tonight. You should watch it too.’

  ‘I don’t have a telly.’

  ‘You can get it on your phone,’ she points out. ‘Even you’re that modern.’ She downs her tea. ‘Gotta shoot. Thanks for the brew. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Thanks, Bev. What would I do without you?’

  ‘Starve? Moulder away?’

  ‘Probably.’

  At the door, she turns back. ‘Nearly forgot! What are you betting on for Alan’s band T-shirt tomorrow? We both drew a blank with Florence and the Machine.’

  ‘Er … ’ I rifle my brain cells for band names we haven’t already covered many, many times. ‘I’ll take Oasis.’

  Bev sucks in a breath. ‘Good call. Though he might go left field after Florence.’ She strokes her chin as she ruminates. ‘I’m going to go Mumford & Sons.’

  ‘Nice,’ I say.

  ‘I bet he rocks up with Kylie on his chest just to spite us. You know what he’s like.’ She kisses my cheek. ‘Love you. Make sure you lock up carefully.’

  She says that every night and I know that she worries about me living up here alone.

  ‘You know where I am.’

  ‘I know where you are.’

  Then she leaves and I finish my tea before I go out to do the last egg collection of the day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I get up at 5.30 a.m. I know I’ve already told you that I start early but I didn’t want to freak you out by saying just how early. Last night I had some seriously weird dreams and I’m the kind of person who rarely dreams. I usually pass out with exhaustion about ten o’clock every night and don’t stir until Dick the Cock wakes me up in his robust manner. I dreamed that Clark Gable worked at my farm and, frankly, I’m not even sure who Clark Gable is, other than that he was once a top Hollywood movie star. I think he was the one who was in Gone with the Wind. Anyway, he was very good with the alpacas and that’s not always a given.

  I thought a lot about Shelby Dacre last night too. It made me think, for the very first time, that I might like a telly. I wouldn’t mind seeing his Farmer Whatever in action. As Bev says, I suppose I could download an episode on my phone – though my internet is completely dodgy. I also find myself wondering about Lucas and whether he’ll come back today. I hope so.

  After a rushed breakfast, I go round and do my morning chores accompanied by the dogs. It’s a bright spring day with an impeccably blue sky and a scattering of clouds so fluffy that they look as if they’ve been drawn for a children’s story book.

  By nine o’clock I’m ready to face the world, which is just as well as the students are starting to arrive. We’ve got a different lot here today and just four of them, so I’ll be able to give everyone plenty of attention. In theory. If we have too many students and we become outnumbered, that’s the day that something will kick off. Sometimes, in addition to our usual students, we have a surprise extra when one of the local schools will send a pupil here at short notice – someone they’re having difficulty with who might need a day or two out of the classroom to cool down or to give the teacher some respite.

  Jody is the first to arrive. She’s twelve and has struggled to fit into the confines of traditional education. Her mum is home-schooling her and she comes here once a week to mix with other kids. You have to give Jody one simple task at a time which she undertakes with a methodical perfection until it’s complete. Try to distract her from it or engage her in something else and she goes completely to pieces. We just have to be careful to give her things that are within her limits, as otherwise she’d stay here until midnight to get it done. I learned that the hard way.

  We have an eleven-year-old boy called Asha three days a week. He’s currently out of school as he hacked into their computer and they took it quite badly. He’s diagnosed as having ADHD, but he spends his days here permanently attached to Alan. They can both spend hours in silent concentration stripping down an old tractor together and if there’s ever anything wrong with your mobile phone or laptop, Asha is the one to fix it.

  Tamara is thirteen and, if you saw her, you’d wonder why she was spending time with us at all, but she has lots of mental health issues and can self-harm when stressed. She likes to take many, many photographs on her phone to share on her Snapchat account. I’ve never been photographed so much in my life, but I try to bear it with good humour as I know how much she enjoys it. Thus far, I’ve avoided involving myself with social media. We don’t have a Twitter feed or a Facebook page or Instagram. I know – positively archaic. Bev tells me off all the time. She says it would be a great way to advertise the farm and our work, but I just can’t face it. The whole social media thing seems like such an invasion of privacy. I do, however, realise that I’m in the minority in that thinking. Bev says I should put myself out there, but the idea fills me with dread. Still, Tamara is with us two days a week and maybe it’s something that I could develop with her.

  Then there’s Hugo, who’s also thirteen. Our dear Hugo has OCD that manifests itself in many different ways. Not least of which is the desire to be spotlessly clean, which on a farm is a bit of a challenge. We try to give him tasks that don’t involve him getting dirty, otherwise he’ll scrub his hands until they’re raw, but we’re making slow progress and he’s now able to clean the eggs. Even though they end up so spotless that you’d never think they’d been near a hen’s bottom. Hugo does two days too, but we’d like to get him funding for more time. I’ve had a lot of conversations with the council about that. Tricky ones.

  Both Tamara and Hugh live at home with their parents and we offer them much-needed breaks. Asha and Jody have a supply teacher coming in and as they’re capable of some structured learning, they’ll do an hour of maths and an hour of English after lunch. When they get here, we settle them all in with a drink. The older ones are very much used to caring for the youngsters and that’s part of the learning curve that we encourage.

  When Bev arrives she is, indeed, wearing a low-cut animal print top and some kind of wet-look leggings that appear to be in danger of cutting off her circulation.

  ‘Obvious,’ I say to her.

  ‘No idea what you mean,’ she bats back.

  Then Alan turns up in a Blur T-shirt. ‘Aye,’ he says and does a slight, barely discernible double-take at Bev’s outfit. Then he disappears into the barn. We both watch him go.

  ‘That is a hair’s breadth away from Oasis,’ I point out to Bev.

  She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Close but no cigar,’ is her verdict.

  ‘He actually seemed very taken with your choice of clothing today.’

  ‘My heart belongs to one man,’ Bev says.

  Then, talk of the devil, Shelby Dacre’s big posh car rolls in and something like relief washes over me when I see Lucas in the back seat. If humanly possible, he looks even more sullen than he did yesterday.

  Bev fluffs her hair and, I kid you not, rearranges her boobs.

  ‘Is that a push-up bra?’

  ‘Sod off, Mols,’ she hisses and we both step forward to greet them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mr Dacre steps out of the driver’s seat and, goodness me, he’s looking very suave and handsome today. He’s wearing a cream jacket with a light blue denim shirt underneath it and navy trousers. All of it is crisp and spotless. I’m in a flowery charity shop pinafore that’s seen better days and wellies – not even festival style wellies, proper industrial farm-style ones. He takes off his sunglasses as he comes towards me. I glance over at Bev and she looks as if she’s about to faint. The impact he had on her yesterday hasn’t lessened on second viewing.

  Lucas gets out of the car too. He pushes his hair back from his face when he sees us so that we can enj
oy the full extent of his moody manner. There’s a little bit of pink across his nose where he caught the sun yesterday. I give him my happiest smile and he stares at me stony-faced.

  But before I say or do anything else, I realise that today they’re not alone. From the passenger seat a vision in white emerges. Surely this is the woman that Bev was talking about to me. Scarlett Vincent? She looks like the photo Bev showed me on her phone. Though that didn’t convey quite how beautiful she is. This woman is tall – almost as tall as Shelby Dacre – and she’s slender with flawless olive skin and glossy black hair that hangs in a heavy sheath down to her waist. The long-sleeved white maxi dress she’s wearing is slashed down to her navel and up to her thigh. Huge gold sunglasses hide her eyes and coordinate with her gold sandals. The look is topped with a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and a multitude of gold bangles which jingle-jangle as she moves. She couldn’t look more fabulous if she tried – or more out of place.

  Bev glowers at her. Alan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head – I think he’d only come out of the barn to ogle the posh car. I pick up Little Dog and hang onto him in case he’s tempted to wee on her.

  I’m nudged sharply in the ribs by Bev. ‘That’s the one I was telling you about,’ she hisses under her breath.

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ I whisper back.

  Bev curls her lip. ‘If you like that kind of obvious beauty.’

  ‘It may only be skin deep,’ I offer in an attempt to stay loyal to Bev.

  By then Shelby is in front of us and runs a hand through his unruly mop of hair. In the sunshine there seem to be a million different flecks of colour in it. A kind of gulp catches in my throat. Lucas hangs back sulking nearly as much as Anthony the Anti-Social Sheep.

  ‘Hello, Lucas. It’s good to see you back.’ He stands there, arms folded, all angles and hostility, clearly seething.

  I hold out my hand and Shelby shakes it. I’m aware that his hands are soft like velvet, whereas mine are calloused and rough. I don’t think his Farmer Gordon character must actually get involved in much physical stuff. He must be more of a striding-about gentleman farmer.

  ‘Good morning, Milly.’

  ‘Molly,’ I correct. ‘An easy mistake.’

  ‘Ah. Apologies. Lucas has deigned to come again.’ There’s so much tension in his voice that I wonder how he can speak at all.

  ‘He did very well yesterday,’ I tell him. ‘He was a great help to Alan.’

  Scarlett joins Shelby Dacre and leans up against him on the other side of Lucas, slipping her hands around his waist possessively.

  ‘This is Scarlett Vincent,’ Shelby says.

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ I don’t hold out my hand to her as I really don’t want her manicured fingers within touching distance of my sandpaper palms. Besides, she doesn’t look as if she’s keen to let go of her man. ‘Would you like me to show you around?’

  We both look down at her tiny, strappy sandals.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she purrs.

  ‘We can’t stay,’ Shelby says, apologetically. ‘We’re on our way to an event. A magazine lunch.’

  That goes some way towards explaining Scarlett’s outfit, at least. Shelby gives a quick glance at his watch and, behind him, Lucas tuts like a mardy toddler. Shelby ignores him.

  ‘We’ve got some delights lined up for you today, Lucas.’

  ‘More grovelling about in animal shit until I realise the error of my ways?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You’ll love it.’ Despite his best efforts to remain moody, there might be the glimmer of a smile lurking. Though maybe I’m being too optimistic.

  ‘Why don’t you go and put the kettle on. You know the ropes. There are some of the younger students in there,’ I instruct. ‘It will be nice for you to meet them.’ He looks very doubtful about that. ‘And there’s a fresh packet of biscuits. I’ll be with you in sec.’

  Lucas slopes off and Shelby watches him go. ‘See you later, kid,’ he shouts after Lucas but the boy completely ignores him.

  He turns to me. ‘You’re good with him.’

  ‘He’s a nice lad.’

  ‘That’s not something that many people say about him.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ I say. ‘He’s lovely.’ That may be over-egging the pudding, but I can see a lost, angry boy, not a troublemaker. Sometimes it’s easier for people to wear the badge that they’re given than struggle to prove otherwise.

  ‘I’m filming again after the lunch,’ Shelby says. ‘Late finish. So I’ll send a car again.’

  ‘I’m really sorry that I didn’t know who you were. I can only apologise. I don’t have a television. I’m afraid your show has passed me by.’

  He laughs at that. ‘Too busy on a real-life farm.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I love it, though,’ Bev pipes up, looking a little pink in the cheeks. ‘I watch every night.’

  He gives her a pleased little nod and I’m glad that she’s made up for my shortcomings in the hero-worship stakes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I hope you get your fight with your son-in-law and wotsit sorted out,’ she blurts. ‘Families, eh?’

  I’ve no idea what she’s talking about.

  ‘My fate is entirely in the hands of the script-writers,’ he demurs. ‘I am merely a pawn.’

  Scarlett Vincent doesn’t attempt to hide the fact that she’s bored out of her head and I see her tug surreptitiously at Shelby’s hand.

  ‘We should be going,’ he says, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘If Lucas is going to be a regular visitor, then I need you to sign some paperwork. Insurance, health and safety. All the boring things.’ Plus money. I need to make sure that we get his payments set up. Sounds mercenary, I know, but it’s essential. I haven’t looked at my bank balance in the last few days, simply because I haven’t dared. My finances are scraping the very bottom of the barrel.

  ‘I can’t do it now, but could you call my PA to sort out a time?’ He fishes inside his wallet and hands me a business card. He suddenly sounds a lot more irritable than he did yesterday. Perhaps Lucas is right, he might be a bit of a twat who can only do fake niceness for a short while. We’ve seen it all here.

  ‘That’s fine.’

  He sets off, Miss Perfect in tow. They climb into the posh car and, looking exactly like movie stars, they swing out of the yard.

  ‘See what I mean,’ Bev says. ‘Unsuitable.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I can’t help but agree.

  Bev’s sigh is full of yearning as she watches him drive away down our lane. ‘I still would.’

  ‘I probably would too,’ I admit and we both have a good schoolgirl snigger.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucas and I have a cup of tea together, but he doesn’t say much. I try to introduce him to the other students who are here, but he’s not terribly interested. They, in turn, look at him as if he’s the coolest thing they’ve ever seen. It was exactly the same yesterday. He sits in the corner, disdainful, staring at his phone while I allocate tasks for the day.

  I send Tamara and Jody off with Bev to do the morning egg collection. Asha and Hugo have already gone with Alan back to the barn, but I decide to keep Lucas close to me today. Before I take Shelby Dacre’s money, I should make sure that this will work out.

  ‘As it’s a nice warm day, I could do with washing the Shetland ponies.’ I actually need to check the milk sack and nipples of one of the new ewes we acquired. I think she might be pregnant, but I don’t want to get too excited. I also need to get Teacup to wee into a bowl so that I can take a urine sample to the vet, which is going to be fun. But both of these things may well be a step too far for Lucas. He might faint if I suggested helping with either of them. Perhaps I’ll leave those tasks until everyone’s gone. ‘They’ve both been rolling in the mud and look a right state. Up for that?’

  Lucas shrugs his indifference but follows me out of the tea room and falls into step with me as we go through the yard and up to the small field
– which is actually quite big, but not as big as the big field. Little Dog and Big Dog come along to help.

  I know that the girls would have liked to have joined in with washing the ponies too as they love anything to do with Ringo and Buzz, but I’m kind of indulging Lucas for the time being. Jody and Tamara can always join us when they’ve finished with their egg duties. Although I think they may be as keen to spend time with Lucas as with anything equine.

  When they see us, the ponies come trotting up to the fence. I have the treat of an apple to share between them and split it with my thumbs. I give half to Lucas. ‘Hold it flat so they don’t nip you. Ringo is allergic to his own hair and he’s usually pretty even-tempered, but sometimes it gets him down. He can be a bit out of sorts.’ By that I mean he turns into a bitey little bugger. Today, though, he looks quite chilled and both of them usually like having a wash and brush up. I offer my apple and Lucas follows suit. ‘That’s Buzz Lightyear.’

  ‘I’m not even going to ask,’ Lucas says as the pony takes the apple from him.

  ‘We’ll take them down to the barn to do this. We’ve got a horse wash pen there and we can get you suited and booted.’ I open the gate and attach halters to the ponies. Lucas looks terrified even though neither of them come higher than his waist.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with them,’ he admits. ‘We’ve never even had a goldfish at home.’

  ‘Then it will be a steep learning curve.’ I’m surprised that Lucas is so chatty, but maybe he’s been lonely for so long that he’s willing to open up. ‘But I’ll show you what to do. I’m not going to leave you on your own with them.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ he mutters. ‘The nearest I’ve ever got to any animals was when I went to see my father on set.’

  ‘That must have been fun.’

  ‘It was when I was a kid. Now I just find it dull. When he stopped dragging me along, I stopped going. I haven’t been for years.’