Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘It’s none of your business how I run this farm,’ he goes on, not listening to me.

  ‘Dad, I’m not prepared to put up with any more of your nonsense,’ I tell him, hurt that he shows no gratitude or appreciation at all, or any awareness that I am about to give up everything to be back here. ‘I won’t be bullied. I’ve told you before, if I walk out on you now, you’ll end up losing everything – the cows, your home, even your freedom if you get taken to court. Is that what you want?’

  He sits there, mute.

  ‘I didn’t think so. I’m here to keep the farm running smoothly so it’s here when you get better.’

  ‘If I get better, Stevie. I’m no fool. This is it.’ He lifts his limp hand with his good one and drops it with a thud on the table. ‘This is about as good as I’m going to get.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Like his body, my father’s life has shrunk, confining him to the house and farmyard, and keeping him dependent on other people.

  ‘Sometimes I wish I’d died,’ he adds gruffly.

  ‘Dad, please don’t. You seem to have grown stronger in the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘That’s because I have someone to fight with,’ he says eventually, a small uneven smile on his lips.

  ‘So it isn’t all bad, me being here?’

  ‘Well, you’ve done wonders for Cecil – you’ve cheered him up no end – and you’ve paid some of the bills, though you didn’t have to do that because I had them in hand.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say dryly. ‘Anyway, let’s put the past aside and think about the future. As I’ve said, I’ve decided to stay.’

  ‘It isn’t a job for a girl. There’s never been a lady farmer at Nettlebed Farm.’

  ‘Times change and I’m more than capable of running the farm. I’ve proved that.’

  ‘You’re too feisty, too flighty. Stevie, I forbid it.’

  ‘But I’m determined.’ My heart is pounding as I recall the night we argued and I left the farm for London. This time I will stand my ground, older and wiser.

  I lean close to my father and rest my hands on the table.

  ‘You can’t make me leave because I have an interest in the farm. If you insist on making my life a misery, as you did when I was eighteen, I will have no hesitation in making a takeover bid. I’m sure with Ray’s help and a good solicitor I can make a sound case for obtaining power of attorney, and then you’ll have no say at all in what happens.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he says, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘You wouldn’t …’

  I stand straight, cross my arms across my chest and wait for him to work it out. He breaks off another corner of toast and gives it to the dog before looking back to me.

  ‘Stay, if you must, bed and board, but you won’t be able to take a wage from the business.’

  ‘Not until we start making money again,’ I agree. ‘We need to talk about other ways of making the farm pay.’

  ‘Diversification?’ He chokes on the word.

  ‘There’s little profit in milk. We should consider cutting down on the herd or getting rid of them altogether.’

  ‘No, Stevie.’ Dad’s face is dark with pain. ‘Over my dead body! There have always been cows at Nettlebed Farm and there always will be.’

  ‘I thought we could look at ways to continue keeping animals on the farm, so I was thinking of some kind of visitor attraction – a petting farm for children,’ I say tentatively. ‘With tourists in the summer and school visits, we could make a comfortable income. We could keep a few of the cows, the old favourites, and some of the heifers. We could open a tearoom.’

  ‘You’re mad! Where are you going to get the money from? You’ll need planning permission. The neighbours won’t like it.’

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate winding Guy up.’

  ‘It won’t just be Guy, will it? The whole town will want its say. There’ll be uproar.’

  ‘I thought you’d relish the thought of a fight,’ I say, ‘or are you going to roll over and give up? I can call a couple of estate agents and see what they’ll value the farm at. We can put Nettlebed Farm on the market, sell up and find you a retirement flat or a room in the nursing home, if you prefer.’ For a moment I wonder if he’s going to have another stroke. He is apoplectic and so am I. I can’t bear to look at him any longer. ‘Oh, do what you like, you stubborn old bugger,’ I tell him before I storm out and hide in the nursery with the calves, where I sink down against the wall and burst into tears of sorrow and frustration. As I sit there in the straw, the calves form a semicircle around me, gazing at me as if to say, where’s our milk?

  ‘You’ve had breakfast,’ I tell them.

  A soft, enquiring yap announces Bear’s arrival. He jumps the hurdle into the pen, making the calves scatter and take refuge in the far corner, but Bear isn’t interested in them. He sits down at my side and licks the tears from my cheeks. Although it sounds mean, I’m glad he’s chosen to find me rather than stay with my dad.

  ‘Stevie? Stevie, I was afraid you’d gone.’ It’s the following afternoon and I’m taking a break before starting on the milking. My father is knocking at my bedroom door. ‘Can we talk? I’ve been thinking about what you said this morning and I don’t want to sell up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘An apology would be nice,’ I tell him.

  ‘I’m sorry. Will you let me in?’ There’s a pause. ‘I’m feeling a bit dizzy.’

  I jump up from the bed and open the door.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ I say, guiding him to the armchair in the corner. ‘You shouldn’t be climbing the stairs.’

  He sits down and lays his crutches across his lap, looking around the room at the same time. ‘I haven’t been up here for a while. Why don’t you have mine and your mother’s room? Mary made it up for you.’

  ‘I know, but it didn’t feel right.’

  ‘Well, you should have it now since you’re the lady of the house.’ I stare at him as he continues. ‘You’re probably wondering if I’m quite right in the head, but I’ve been sitting in the kitchen all alone, what with Mary and Cecil out celebrating and you doing a disappearing act, and I’ve realised that’s what my life will be like if you should go back to London. I’ll have nothing.’ He pauses, his lip trembling. ‘I’m too late, aren’t I? Please tell me I’ve not left it too late.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ I’ve never seen him like this, so weak and helpless. I kneel beside him and hold his hands. ‘You’re going to make me cry too.’

  ‘I miss Pippa. She’s left a hole in my heart that’ll never mend.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I miss her too.’

  ‘I know …’ After a long pause, my father sits up straight, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose. ‘It must be time for the milking.’

  ‘You’ll have to do it,’ I say lightly, testing him. ‘There is no one else.’

  ‘Stevie, I’ve said sorry. There’s nothing I’d like more than for you to stay on. I’m not so sure about the petting farm idea, but I’m willing to consider it if you show me some idea of how you think it can work. As for the cows, Jack Miller came by this afternoon—’

  ‘I missed him?’ I interrupt. He was supposed to turn up yesterday, but he got held up rescuing a dog from a storm drain.

  ‘You must have been asleep.’ Dad grins. ‘You’ve gone soft, living in the city. You can’t stand the pace.’

  ‘Very funny,’ I say wryly. ‘What did Jack say?’

  ‘He says you’re doing a marvellous job and the cows are looking much better. And when I suggested we put them out tomorrow, he agreed that it was the best thing we could do to put some weight on them.’

  Amused, I decide to play along with it being my father’s idea, and the next morning I drive him to the chosen field so he can watch the cows being turned out to grass for the first time after six long months indoors. Cecil brings them along the lane with Bear.

  I could watch them for hours, gambolling around
in the morning sunshine, kicking up their heels, rubbing their heads against the ground, having a good scratch against the trunks of the oak trees, and pulling at the grass which is lush and long and up to their knees. Eventually they begin to settle down, some continuing to graze, some resting and chewing the cud.

  ‘They’re the most beautiful girls in the county of Devon,’ my father says proudly. ‘Stevie, there’s one particularly nice heifer amongst the dry cows. I’d like you to enter her for the Country Show.’

  ‘Oh no, Dad. The thought of being towed around the show ring by one of your heifers in front of everyone is just too embarrassing.’

  ‘Your mother used to love it and you had some success too as a junior handler.’

  ‘It isn’t my thing. Let’s forget the show this year.’

  ‘Forget it? We’ve attended the show every year so far – except for when it was cancelled for foot and mouth and the year it rained for forty days and forty nights before … and last year, of course,’ he continues sadly. ‘If you’re going to be the lady farmer, you have to act like one. It’s up to you to represent Nettlebed Farm.’

  I suppose it could be a good marketing opportunity, I think, and a chance to meet all the locals.

  ‘I reckon that heifer will win. She’s a beauty.’

  ‘All right, I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find the show halter for her – it’s probably in the office somewhere.’ My father changes the subject. ‘What does your boyfriend think about you staying on at the farm?’

  ‘Um, he doesn’t know yet,’ I say. ‘I know, I should have told him first, but this is something I have to do face to face, not over the phone.’

  In the evening, I call him.

  ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about driving down this weekend. I’ll come up to London tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re coming home? Oh, Stevie, thank goodness for that. Jeff and Annette have asked us round for dinner and I thought I’d have to go alone. I can’t wait for life to get back to normal.’

  ‘Please don’t get too excited. I’m coming to collect my car and a few bits and pieces.’

  ‘You’re staying longer? How much longer?’

  ‘Nick, I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. We’ll discuss it when I see you.’

  ‘You’ll talk and I’ll listen, you mean,’ he says. ‘You’ve hardly been in touch over the past few days, and when you have it’s all been very matter-of-fact. Can I safely assume that this conversation isn’t going to be about planning the wedding?’

  ‘Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.’

  ‘I see,’ he says after a pause. ‘You’re dumping me, aren’t you? Go on, admit it. It’s only fair you’re straight with me. I should have known you didn’t want to get married. If you’d loved me, you’d have let me know your answer straight away.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’ It’s my favourite phrase, yet I stumble over the words because, if I’m honest, Nick is right. If I’d been head over heels in love with him, I’d have fallen into his arms and screamed yes, yes, yes … Did I think I was helping by letting him down gently? I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve been a coward and I resolve to be straight in all my dealings with the opposite sex in future.

  ‘My life’s taken a new turn.’

  ‘Is it the vet? Leo?’ Nick says, his tone acidic.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I recall his complaint that I fancied Leo and dismiss it. ‘I can’t expect you to live on the farm. You’d hate it.’

  ‘I can commute.’

  ‘That’s completely impractical.’

  ‘It isn’t entirely. I could spend weekends with you and the week in London. People do.’

  ‘But it isn’t a good way to start married life.’

  ‘I reckon you planned this all along. That you’d come back to the farm.’

  ‘Nick, please don’t.’

  ‘I can’t help feeling bitter when you’ve been leading me on for the past eighteen months.’

  ‘I haven’t been leading you on. I didn’t know this was going to happen. I didn’t plan it. The last thing I’d wish on anyone is a stroke. And all this about me looking at men is ridiculous. I don’t fancy Leo, or anyone else for that matter. I really wouldn’t want to marry you when you’re so jealous. It’s your insecurity that’s the problem here.’ Among your other flaws, I could add, but don’t, as I recall how easily he talked about evicting Cecil and Mary from the cottage.

  ‘You won’t end up with Leo. You’ll marry someone like James and live in that dump for the rest of your life, shopping at the Co-op and buying your clothes at Overdown Farmers. Your children will grow up talking like yokels and chewing on straw like Cecil. Well, go on and enjoy the simple things in life. A man like James is certainly that – simple.’

  ‘This is about the farm. The farm needs me,’ I tell him.

  ‘It’s a farm. It doesn’t need you in particular. You could employ a manager for a while. And I can’t imagine how you’ll stick sitting with your dad every night with him dribbling—’

  ‘Nick, that’s a horrid thing to say.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think you had any respect left for him. That’s what you say when you’re talking about your past.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s still a human being. And he’s my dad.’ I pause, trying to swallow the lump that forms in my throat at the thought of how my father has suffered. ‘I wanted to be angry with him, but how can I?’

  ‘What are you going to do about your job?’

  ‘I’m resigning.’

  ‘That’s crazy – you won’t get another position like that.’ Nick softens a little. ‘Can’t we see how it goes? Take a sabbatical and give it a few months. You might well change your mind. You’ll miss everyone at work, India and me,’ he adds hopefully.

  ‘I want a clean break,’ I say. I want to make it hard for me to go back, impossible even, because I know – Nick’s right again – that there will be times when I crave my old life.

  ‘Are you going to sell the flat?’ he asks.

  ‘I thought I’d hang on to it for a while at least.’

  ‘So you’re keeping it as some kind of insurance? If it doesn’t work out for you down on the farm, you have somewhere to come back to.’

  ‘It’s because of India, and it’s a good investment for the future. Nick, listen. This is hard for me—’

  ‘Hard for you?’ he cuts in acidly. ‘You’ve kept stringing me along and all the time you were plotting to move away.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Oh, what was it like then?’

  ‘You know what happened. I didn’t want or expect you to propose to me.’

  ‘You didn’t say at the time.’

  ‘How could I? You were so happy and excited.’

  ‘God, you’re a strange woman.’ Nick clears his throat and I imagine the muscle in his cheek tensing and relaxing repeatedly before he goes on, ‘Maybe it’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to see you at work every day, reminding me of what could have been.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nick. We aren’t right for each other.’

  ‘But we have the same careers, interests and … some of the same friends.’

  ‘Is that a basis for marriage, sharing a few mates who fancy having a party?’ I hesitate. ‘Do you realise that not once have you said you want to marry me because you love me and you want us to spend the rest of our lives together?

  ‘I think you’re being very unfair, Stevie. Of course I love you. I might not have said it, but I’ve done everything within my power to show it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I feel a little ashamed when I realise that when I thought he was trying too hard, he believed he was proving how much he loved me.

  ‘I wish I’d given you a ring. When I proposed to you, I should have had the ring with me.’

  ‘Do you think I can be bribed with a bit of sparkly gold or silver?’

  ‘It might h
ave helped make it seem more real.’

  ‘I didn’t set out to hurt you. What we had was special and I’ll remember our time together fondly.’

  ‘Well, you can say that, can’t you, seeing as you’re the guilty party?’

  ‘Guilty party? You mean for breaking it off with you?’

  ‘There’s someone else. There has to be.’ It’s the only way Nick can begin to accept it. ‘There has to be a better reason than you just don’t love me enough. Who is it?’

  ‘Nick! There is no one else.’ What else can I say? ‘I don’t love you anymore.’

  There’s a long pause. ‘So that’s it then,’ he says sadly. ‘I can’t make you love me, Stevie. That’s something I’ll always regret.’

  The line goes dead. It’s done. My heart is heavy with grief and regret at the pain I’ve caused him, but there’s relief too. It’s time for me to move on, but not until after I’ve had a reminder of the past from India. She calls me at midnight when I’m lying in bed with the moon casting its rays across my pillow.

  ‘I know it’s late, but I hope you don’t mind me disturbing you when you’ll have to be up at the crack of dawn to milk cows or whatever it is you do down on the farm.’ India sounds a little drunk. ‘Nick’s just turned up. Why didn’t you speak to him face to face? He doesn’t deserve to be dumped long-distance by mobile.’

  ‘I wanted to see him, but he guessed why I’d asked him to meet me. What else could I do? He doesn’t need to see me now. It would be like rubbing salt into a wound.’

  ‘You really could have let it ride for a couple more weeks and told him when you came back.’

  ‘India, she isn’t coming back.’ I overhear Nick in the background.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ From the sound of her voice, India is incandescent.

  ‘I thought you’d have guessed by now,’ I say lamely.

  ‘How could I have guessed? I’m not a bloody psychic.’ Without waiting for me to respond, she continues, ‘What am I going to do without you? Where am I going to live? Have you thought about that?’

  ‘India, you’ll always be my best friend and you’re welcome to stay in the flat for as long as you want. I’m going to keep it as an investment,’ I say, ‘and somewhere to stay when I come and visit. It’s a couple of hours’ drive away, that’s all.’