‘I didn’t sleep a wink last night,’ he groans. ‘I thought it was meant to be peaceful in the country, but I could hear a cow bellowing and the dawn chorus.’
I kiss his cheek. ‘Mary’s got a full English ready – fried potatoes, bacon, eggs, mushrooms and black pudding.’
‘A heart attack on a plate. I wish I’d brought my muesli.’
‘Forget muesli. You need feeding up.’
‘We could go to the pub for a late lunch.’
‘I’ve got to take Bear to the vet’s and see someone at Overdown Farmers about a delivery of cattle feed this morning. The silo’s empty.’
‘Silo? What’s that?’
‘The big silver tower.’
‘The giant knob above the parlour,’ Nick chuckles, having rediscovered his sense of humour at last.
‘It’s where the feed is stored. I climbed the ladder to have a look and it’s empty.’ The cows weren’t happy this morning when I pulled the levers to feed them and nothing happened apart from the desultory clatter of a handful of pellets. They didn’t have much for breakfast and skipping meals isn’t conducive to their milk production. I’d like them to go out on the fields now and enjoy the spring grass, which is free, but according to my father the ground is still too wet after the winter.
After a hearty breakfast, I call Bear and slip his collar and lead on. He’s hungry like the cows because he’s been starved in case he needs an anaesthetic.
‘You aren’t putting that creature in my car. That would be sacrilege,’ Nick says, keeping well clear of the dog as I take him out through the lean-to.
‘That’s a shame,’ I say, teasing. ‘I rather like the idea of him sitting in the passenger seat with his Ray-Bans on and the wind streaming through his hair.’ I glance down at the tangles and teasels in Bear’s matted coat.
We take Dad’s Land Rover and travel to Otter House vets in Talyton St George with the windows wide open. As we park in the small car park at the side of the surgery, I feel a growing sense of shame and apprehension over the state of Bear’s health. The receptionist is stern, the head nurse is decidedly disapproving, but Maz, the vet in lilac scrubs, who reminds me of Gwyneth Paltrow, is understanding when I explain the situation.
‘He can stay for the day,’ she says. ‘We’ll give him a bath and clip him out. Then we’ll give him a general anaesthetic and remove the rotten teeth and clean up those that are left.’ The nurse gives me a consent form to sign and, feeling really bad, like a traitor because he doesn’t understand why I’m abandoning him, I leave Bear behind.
‘He’ll be cold – I’ll buy him a coat,’ I tell Nick when we’re back in the Land Rover on the way to Overdown Farmers, the wholesalers.
‘It’s only a dog,’ he says, and he waits impatiently for me to choose a dog coat and sort out an order for cattle feed, which is more complicated than I thought because it isn’t that an order’s been lost or not made in the first place. The feed hasn’t been delivered because the bills haven’t been paid for the past six months.
‘I’m surprised you’ve let it go that long,’ I say to Tony, the manager who’s been here for years. He reminds me of the male rat in Beatrix Potter’s Tale of Samuel Whiskers and I used to find his protruding eyes and whiskers rather alarming.
‘I told your father on the phone I was worried about the welfare of the cows and I’d deliver enough feed to keep them going, but there is a limit. I’m not a charity.’
‘I’ll pay you now as long as you can deliver before milking today.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’
‘Please.’
‘For you, Stevie,’ he agrees eventually. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t take on Nettlebed Farm. I always thought you would.’
‘It wasn’t to be,’ I say, not wanting to rake up the past. I pay Tony by credit card, the bill much bigger than I anticipated, but at least I know the cows will be fed for a while. What about the next time, though? I try not to think about it.
Nick, having grown bored listening to the negotiations and small talk, is in one of the aisles trying on a waxed, wide-brimmed hat and a coat down to his knees.
‘What do you think, Stevie? Aren’t I the country gent?’
‘I’m not sure it suits you.’
‘Maybe not.’ Smiling, he looks in a mirror that’s buried under racks of walking socks, jackets and tweeds. ‘I’m more the city slicker, whereas you appear to be able to carry off the country look rather well.’
I glance down at my hoodie, skinny jeans and long leather boots, and grin at him. ‘I’m back where I belong, in my natural habitat.’ I reach for his hand. ‘Come on, let’s go. Cecil’s left a message on my voicemail to say the vet’s on his way to see one of the cows.’
Before we leave the warehouse, I spot a familiar face.
‘Hey, Stevie?’ The man takes a step back, rattling the hangers on a display of fluorescent coats, and whistles through his teeth. ‘It is you.’
‘James?’ I exclaim as he grabs me, gives me a bear hug and a big kiss on the cheek. When he releases me, I look him up and down. He hasn’t changed much. About five foot ten with a round face, chubby red cheeks and a generous smile, he has a small paunch and big thighs, and wears a grey sweatshirt, jeans and tan workman’s boots spattered and smeared with paint. His sandy hair is short and thick, and slicked down in the same style as when he used to take me out to Young Farmers’ balls and discos. He still resembles a boy and, like Peter Pan, I wonder if he’ll ever grow up.
‘How are you?’ I’m not sure what else to say as memories of the two of us fumbling in the dark come flooding into my head.
‘Well, thank you,’ he says, colour rising up his neck, and I wonder if he’s remembering too. He was fun to be with and we had much in common, with farming and mutual friends, but it was a teenage fling, nothing more. Briefly, I wonder if he’s married. I check for a ring on his finger. There is none, not that it means very much. I decide I’ll ask my father, or Cecil – they’ll know.
‘I’ve come down to visit my dad.’
‘I heard he had a stroke. It’s a terrible business. It must have been such a shock to you.’
More of a shock than you’ll ever know, I think.
‘He’s improving slowly,’ I say.
‘That’s good news,’ James says.
‘Are you still working on the farm?’ I ask.
He glances down at his clothes. ‘No, I’m a jack-of-all-trades, an odd-job man. I’m always on the lookout for work. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Nick cuts in. ‘I’m Nick, Stevie’s fiancé.’
‘Oh? Congratulations. I’m James, by the way.’ James shakes Nick’s hand with great enthusiasm.
‘We aren’t engaged,’ I say.
‘Yet.’ Nick slips his arm around my shoulder and brushes his lips against my hair.
‘Why did you say that?’ I say to him when we’re back in the Land Rover on the way back to the farm.
‘He seemed overly pleased to see you, like some giant puppy dog. I was afraid he was coming on to you, so I thought I’d help you out. How do you know him?’
‘He was a Young Farmer. We went out for a while.’
The gearbox grates as I force the Land Rover into third gear and Nick continues, ‘I’m glad I’m staying for a bit longer to keep an eye on you. I can see I need to make sure you aren’t seduced by any of your exes.’
‘Nick, how can you think that? I was hardly a loose woman, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Weren’t you?’ he asks seriously. ‘We haven’t really talked about the past. I mean, I know you went out with that guy Turner—’
‘The slimy wine merchant,’ I cut in. ‘It lasted three dates.’
‘And now this James has come out of the woodwork.’
‘Nick, I don’t think it’s something a lady farmer talks about. Does it matter?’
‘I don’t suppose it does,’ he says in a manner t
hat suggests entirely the opposite. ‘As long as you’re mine, it doesn’t matter. I don’t give a toss how many boyfriends you’ve had before me. Where are we going now?’
‘Back to the farm.’
Back at Nettlebed Farm, Nick and I join Cecil in the cowshed where he has a cow – Domino, another of the older cows – haltered and tied to the ring in the crumbling wall. Leo, dressed in a short-sleeved green cotton gown and surgical gloves, is operating with his hands buried in the cow’s flank.
Nick takes one look and excuses himself, saying he’s going to have coffee.
‘Aren’t you coming with me, Stevie?’ he asks.
‘I’ll stay. Are you squeamish?’ I say lightly.
‘Of course I’m not. I just don’t see any point in hanging around when Cecil and Leo have everything under control.’ I’m aware Nick is expecting me to go with him, but he knew I wanted to be back for the vet.
‘I’ll catch you later,’ I say.
‘Don’t be too long.’ He kisses my cheek before leaving and I turn my attention back to Domino and the surgery, hoping she and her unborn calf are going to make it.
As I watch Leo, I realise with a growing sense of astonishment that he’s actually a very attractive man – seriously hot in fact. His cheeks are scarlet with exertion and his arms are rippling with muscle as he hauls at a pair of cloven hooves that appear through the incision he’s made in Domino’s side.
‘It’s stuck, so it had to be a Caesar,’ Cecil says.
‘It has to be done,’ I say, trying not to think of the cost.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come back to take the wheel and steer this ship back on the road, Stevie,’ Cecil says, mixing his metaphors as he ties the string plait that acts as a belt to hold his trousers up.
‘So am I.’ I watch anxiously. ‘How long’s she been like this?’
‘A while,’ Cecil says noncommittally.
‘Possibly a little too long,’ Leo says as the calf begins to emerge still encased in its shiny membranes. I really don’t like him for highlighting what sounds like a failure on our part. I wonder what time Cecil checked on the cattle last night and inwardly kick myself for not thinking to offer to give him a break and do it myself. Leo lays the calf out on the fresh straw where it lies ominously still.
‘It’s all yours,’ he says to Cecil. ‘I’ll suture the old girl up while you deal with the calf. I don’t think there’s much hope for it.’
‘It’s all right. I’ll take it,’ I say, kneeling down beside it.
‘Are you sure?’ says Leo.
‘She knows what to do. I taught her well,’ Cecil says proudly. ‘If anyone can bring it round, Stevie can.’
I wish I shared his confidence. I’m afraid I’m out of practice, but I soon remember what to do as I strip the membrane from the calf’s nose and mouth and rub its chest with straw to stimulate it to breathe. I pause to listen, yet all I can hear is my heartbeat and Cecil’s raspy breathing.
‘We could hang it over the door and drain its lungs that way,’ Cecil suggests.
‘There’s no need.’ I can hear it now, a gurgle followed by an enormous, convulsive splutter and cough. The calf shakes its head and takes a few short, sharp breaths while I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘Is it a heifer or bull calf?’ Cecil asks.
‘Heifer,’ I say, checking.
‘Good, good.’ Cecil nods, takes his pipe from his breast pocket and lights up the tobacco with a match.
‘Do you mind?’ Leo says crossly. ‘Firstly it’s illegal to smoke in the workplace – yours and mine – and secondly I have no wish to go up in smoke. Look at all this straw everywhere.’
Cecil’s been smoking a pipe around the farm for years and nothing has gone up in smoke as yet, apart from the vet who looks as if he has smoke coming out of his ears.
‘I’ve talked to you about smoking before,’ I say. ‘You should have stopped years ago – for the sake of everyone’s health, not just yours.’
‘Look at me though,’ Cecil protests. ‘I’m almost eighty and it’s never done me any harm.’
The vet finishes sewing up the cow’s wound before cleaning up and tidying his kit away. He washes his hands in the sink in the dairy and says goodbye.
‘Keep a close eye on Mum,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have a problem with her. She’s had a hard time.’
‘Great,’ I say with irony. That’s just what the farm needs.
When he’s gone, Cecil gives me his opinion of Leo.
‘He’s a funny one, that one. He doesn’t come in for a nightcap like the other vets – he keeps himself to himself.’
Maybe that’s what I find attractive about Leo, his self-contained assurance, I think, as Jack arrives in the Animal Welfare van at the same time as the driver from Overdown Farmers turns up with the feed lorry to fill the silo. I wonder briefly – as I did with James – whether or not Leo’s attached, and feel a tiny stab of guilt for thinking about another man. If Nick was the One, I wouldn’t be, would I? Or am I being unrealistic, having such high expectations of love and romance? I’m confused. Should love and relationships have to be worked at, or should they happen naturally, without forcing?
‘Now Jack is always happy to stop and talk,’ says Cecil, and I smile to myself, wondering exactly how happy he is about that when Cecil, lonely for company because farming can be a solitary occupation, ambushes him in the yard.
‘Hello, Cecil. I can see that it’s all systems go here. I’m impressed so far.’ Jack’s expression is businesslike, bordering on stern, which I suppose he has to be considering the situation. When he picks up a clipboard, pen and camera, my palms begin to prick with sweat. I turn away, take a deep breath and count to ten to calm my growing anxiety. The fate of Nettlebed Farm lies in Jack’s hands. I notice the grey swathes of cloud gathering across the hilltops to the southwest. If Jack insists on moving the cows from my father’s care and prosecuting him for neglect, it won’t be because of my lack of effort. I have tried so hard that I ache all over from the physical toil, something I’m not used to, having spent years working in an office with the occasional visit to the gym. I’m exhausted from the early starts with Cecil and I’m stressed out worrying about the future.
‘Where’s the dog?’ Jack asks, acknowledging me with a nod.
‘At the vet’s,’ I say. ‘I’m collecting him later.’
‘Good.’ Jack ticks a box on a sheet of paper and looks around the yard, not giving anything away in his expression, before heading to the barn to look at the cows.
‘I’ll let them out,’ Cecil says. ‘You’ll be able to see them better and it’s time for milking anyway.’
‘Thanks, Cecil,’ Jack responds. ‘I see there’s plenty of silage in the racks this time.’
‘Stevie’s been keeping it topped up. She’s handy with a wheelbarrow and fork.’ Cecil enters the collecting yard and opens the gates from the barn. Several of the cows walk out immediately, making straight for the parlour, while the rest follow on afterwards.
‘What do you think of the cows?’ I say, impatient for Jack’s verdict.
‘They don’t appear to be in such a hurry to get their feed at milking,’ he observes.
‘I’m going to start cleaning out the cubicles later,’ I say. ‘The tractor’s been fixed today.’
‘Hey, Stevie,’ says Jack. ‘What you’re doing is admirable, but don’t kill yourself trying to do everything at once. You’ve met the targets I set you the other day.’
‘So you aren’t going to take the cows away?’
‘No, I’m not, and I’m glad I don’t have to – Tessa, my fiancée who works for Talyton Animal Rescue, hasn’t got room for all those cows at the Sanctuary.’ Jack smiles. ‘Let’s review the targets and set some new ones for the end of this week. I’ll be back on Friday, unless you want to discuss anything before that. I know it can feel like I’m the Big Bad Wolf, but I’m not. I want to support your father, not make his life a misery.’
> ‘He isn’t the easiest person in the world to work with,’ I point out.
‘He isn’t the worst I’ve had to deal with,’ Jack says wryly.
‘Is there anything else I need to do?’ I ask once we’ve run through Jack’s expectations for the end of the week.
‘I don’t think so. I’ll leave you in peace. I expect Cecil appreciates all this help.’
‘Ah, I can’t give him a hand with the milking tonight. I’ve got to go and collect the dog.’
‘You do realise that I’ll have to make sure everything’s in place to maintain the welfare of the animals on the farm once you head off back to London?’
‘Of course I do.’ I hope Jack isn’t going to ask me how I can guarantee this because I haven’t come to any conclusion yet. ‘I’ll see you soon, on Friday at dinnertime.’
‘Lunchtime,’ I confirm.
‘That’s right. I’ll be here at midday.’
‘Thanks, Jack.’ I wait for him to leave before I go and fetch the dog. He is recovering from his experience at the vet’s; at least the stench has gone and I don’t have to drive with the windows open on the way back to the farm. However, when I take Bear into the sitting room in his new coat, my father scowls, unimpressed.
‘What have you done to the dog? He looks bloody ridiculous in that. Stevie, you’re turning out to be a real soft townie.’
‘I didn’t do it to improve his looks. I’ve done it for his health. He’s had ten teeth removed.’
‘Poor bugger – he must be in agony.’
‘He’s on painkillers and he’ll feel a lot better without a mouthful of rotten teeth.’
‘He looks a right wuss now, like a fancy show dog prancing about at Crufts.’
‘Dad, it was part of the agreement I made with Jack Miller to get you out of the hole you’ve dug with Animal Welfare. If I were you, I’d be just a teensy bit grateful.’ He isn’t, of course, and I wasn’t expecting him to be, and I’m angry at him for that as well as everything else. I know I shouldn’t be stressing him out because he’s ill, but I can’t hold back.
‘By the way, I’ve paid the outstanding bill at Overdown Farmers. You can’t keep using them as a bank. Tony said he tried to keep the deliveries going for the sake of the animals, but it came to a point where they couldn’t ignore it any longer. They have to pay their suppliers.’
Country Loving Page 5