‘So you’re not kicking me out on the streets?’
‘Absolutely not. I promise you.’
There’s a long pause before India speaks again.
‘You could have just broken it off with Nick. You don’t have to do a complete disappearing act because you feel guilty. It is rather extreme.’
‘It’s down to a combination of circumstances,’ I point out. ‘I found out my dad was ill and the farm was in trouble at the same time as I realised that I had to finish with Nick. I can’t marry him and I’m not committed enough to make a long-distance relationship work. Nick isn’t a country person – he’s scared of cows, he hates mud and he uses moisturiser.’
‘He’s pretty cut up about the whole thing. He thinks you led him on.’
‘I can see why and I feel really bad about it. I am fond of him.’
‘Fond?’
‘I like him a lot. It’s just that I can’t see myself spending the rest of my life with him – with anyone, for that matter.’
‘That’s because he isn’t the One,’ India says, lowering her voice. ‘I told you so in the first place, but it’s typical of you to allow yourself to be swept off your feet with the romance of a new relationship, just like it happens in all the chick flicks.’
I’m not sure it was like that, I muse. I fancied Nick and I’d hoped the fireworks would begin when I got to know him better, but waiting for passion to sweep me off my feet was like the long cold wait for the display on the Green in Talyton St George to start on Bonfire Night, except in this case it had never come.
Chapter Seven
April Fools’ Day
It’s late morning and Cecil and I have finished the milking, eaten breakfast – a full English – and I’m taking advantage of half an hour’s peace and quiet to update the paperwork in the office. I’m looking out over the farmyard where the new hens with their feathery knickerbockers are being blustered around by the wind while they scratch about and peck for tasty snacks. One looks up and caws. When she spots another hen with a worm dangling from her beak, she rushes in and snatches it. There’s a squabble as the two hens argue over the worm like the ladies of the WI fighting over a prized article at a jumble sale. The fight is settled when the top hen in the pecking order intervenes and eats the worm, leaving her subordinates with nothing.
My mind drifts and I find myself wondering how Nick is. I’d like to contact him, but I don’t want to encourage him into thinking there’s any chance of reconciliation. I miss the little things like him texting Gdnite xx or calling to say hello halfway through the day. I had hoped we could be friends, but it isn’t going to happen. He’s closed the door on me, shutting me out of his life, and I don’t think we’ll ever be in touch again. There’s no reason why our paths should cross in the future.
Suddenly, the hens scatter across the yard with much squawking and the cockerel takes refuge on the bonnet of the Land Rover as Guy from Uphill Farm screams up on his quad bike, yelling and shaking his fist.
‘Tom, Cecil, get yourselves out here now!’ he yells in a West Country accent as thick as clotted cream. ‘Your ruddy cows are on the loose!’
I join Guy in the yard with Bear at my side. His expression is unfriendly. His forehead is furrowed and his grey-blue eyes glint with irritation.
‘Is this some kind of April Fool?’ I ask coolly.
‘Of course it isn’t.’ He swears and runs his fingers through his wavy light-brown hair. ‘Your dry cows and heifers are out and about. I wouldn’t normally care less, but they’ve gone straight through the fence onto my land. They’ve trampled the grass I was going to cut for silage and now they’ve moved on to the maize field. That’s my winter rations, that is.’
‘I’m sorry, Guy.’
‘Is that all you can say? How am I going to get my cattle through the winter?’ He hesitates before going on, ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘He’s indoors.’ I plant myself in front of the quad bike, folding my arms across my chest, determined not to be intimidated. ‘You’ll have to deal with me.’
‘Stevie?’ Guy’s attitude falters slightly. ‘I didn’t recognise you at first. The last time I saw you was at your mother’s funeral. I knew you were back, of course. Everybody around here knows Cecil sent out an SOS.’
I recall Guy as a brusque young man, shy and quiet. He’s approaching forty now, but he’s well preserved. He’s married to a woman five years older than him with three children who moved down from London, which was a surprise to everyone because we expected him to marry Ruthie who runs Hen Welfare, or not at all.
He glances around the yard. ‘I reckon it’s too late to save Nettlebed Farm.’
‘That’s your opinion,’ I say rather bluntly, upset by his point of view.
‘This place is really run-down. The hedges are overgrown, the gates are falling down – and don’t get me started on the weeds.’
‘I’m back now and I’m dealing with it. Where did you say the heifers were?’
‘They’re eating my maize.’
I whistle for Bear and jump into the Land Rover – the keys are in the ignition – and start it up. The exhaust belches a cloud of black smoke, showing it isn’t only the hedges and gates that need some TLC. Revving the engine to keep it from cutting out, I follow Guy back out of the drive and along the lane, only to find the escapees have tired of eating maize and decided to head along the public highway to pastures new. The thirteen heifers and dry cows are in a bolshy mood, bellowing as if they’re egging each other on.
I swear under my breath because it’s too late to cut them off. They’re well on their way to Talyton St George. The song ‘Here Come the Girls’ pops into my brain, but it’s no light-hearted matter. It’s market day and we’re going to need reinforcements.
I pull back, tooting the horn at Guy because by following them, we’re only making them run faster. We stop the vehicles and jump out. Guy opens a gate.
‘I’m going to try heading them off,’ Guy calls over his shoulder as he drives the quad bike into the field. ‘Hang back – don’t scare them.’
‘There’s no need for him to tell me how to handle cows,’ I say to Bear; he’s sitting upright on the passenger seat, quivering with excitement over his unexpected adventure. The heifers slow down and start to eat the long grass at the side of the lane as they wander along, and I begin to breathe more easily, taking a moment to call Cecil who doesn’t answer his phone.
However, Guy doesn’t make it to the next gateway in time to head them off. When he does emerge on the quad bike, he’s just behind me, waving for me to let him pass. I pull into the lay-by at the bottom of town. There the Land Rover stalls and, after a couple of attempts to get it going again, I abandon it and make my way on foot with Bear at my heels. Guy parks the quad bike outside the doctor’s surgery and we chase along the road, following the black and white rumps and the cow pats that the girls leave behind them.
I’m hoping they’ll go right at the junction and head away from the town past Otter House, but they trot straight over against the flow of the traffic in the one-way system.
‘They’re going to end up in Market Square,’ Guy observes as the cars stop or pull over to let the cows go by. One driver jumps out and waves his arms, but the heifers take no notice.
‘They’re on a mission, my lover,’ says an elderly woman who stands in the doorway of one of the terraced houses, sheltering with a friend. ‘Hasn’t anyone told them they’ve forgotten their shopping bags?’
‘I’m sorry for frightening you,’ I say, beginning to gasp with the exertion.
‘Oh, it’s fine. I haven’t had so much excitement since I married my fourth husband.’
I run on with Guy. PC Kevin joins us, radioing for back-up as the heifers gambol on into Market Square where they snatch the flowers from the buckets outside the florist’s and turn over a couple of the stalls – Jennie’s Cakes and the plant stall – in front of horrified market traders and shoppers. I can hardly bear to watch as cupca
kes, seed packets and rose bushes go flying across the square. This is going to be an expensive day out.
A woman with a child in a buggy begins to scream as the heifers head straight for her.
‘Stop them!’ I yell as I quicken my pace, but I’m no Olympic sprinter and with a sick sensation in my stomach I realise I can’t get there in time and neither can Guy. The woman is crying and the heifers are almost upon her as she struggles to push the buggy out of their way but, just in time, a man dashes out of the butcher’s and smacks the first heifer over the head with a leg of lamb. As the man snatches the child from the buggy, the heifer stops, takes a sideways step, turns and charges back through Market Square with the rest of her friends.
Although Bear is barking at them and Guy and I are standing our ground, they keep coming, panicking at all the noise and the unfamiliar surroundings, and even for an experienced lady farmer, the sight of a herd of heifers galloping and bucking towards me is too much. I duck back and press myself against the nearest lamppost, letting them go by, furious with them for behaving like a mob, and with my father and Cecil for not feeding them properly before.
I glance back to where the have-a-go hero is standing with the child bawling in his arms. It’s Leo, the vet. Noticing me, he hands the child back to its mum as if it’s a hot potato and comes jogging over to offer assistance.
‘Thanks for that,’ I say as we follow the heifers, which have taken the left-hand turn up towards the church. They appear unstoppable, but just before they reach the entrance to the churchyard, Wendy, the dog fosterer for Talyton Animal Rescue, who fostered Bear before we took him on as a puppy, appears at the top of the hill ahead with five dogs. She sits back on her heels as the dogs start barking and straining on their leads. The heifers stop dead, deciding not to approach Wendy’s pack of unruly hounds.
I set Bear up just below the entrance to the churchyard with PC Kevin, Guy and Leo lined up across the road.
‘Ho, girls,’ I call. They turn again with Wendy and her dogs following along behind them. When they see the line of people blocking their way, with Leo waving a baguette in the air this time, they decide the best option is to divert into the churchyard where they settle down amongst the gravestones and drop their heads to eat the grass. I close the gates behind them, leaning back against the railings with relief.
‘Thank goodness,’ I sigh. ‘Thank you, everyone.’ I feel so ashamed and embarrassed at what’s happened. ‘I’ll pay for any damage the girls have caused.’
‘I should hope so,’ Guy says. ‘They’ve torn Jennie’s stall to pieces and scared her half to death.’
‘Is she all right?’ I ask.
‘She’s in shock,’ he says, checking a text on his mobile. ‘I’m going back to find her to make sure she’s okay. She’s pregnant, and if anything happens to our baby, I’ll …’
Jennie is Guy’s wife. Why did the heifers choose to upend Jennie’s stall out of all the stalls in Market Square today?
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat, realising this incident has done nothing to improve neighbourly relations.
‘It’s too late for that.’ Guy storms off back towards the square.
‘It’s great that we’ve caught them,’ says Leo, moving up to my side as if he’s decided I’m in need of his protection, ‘but how are we going to get them home?’
‘First things first,’ says Kevin. ‘Here comes the vicar.’
I look along the path towards the church, which is like a cathedral in miniature, built from sandstone and decorated with vampire-like gargoyles that have dark stains dribbling from their mouths. The vicar is coming towards us in his robes.
‘The blessing of the animals is next week,’ he says, smiling, ‘and although the church welcomes all creatures great and small, I was expecting people to attend with their pets, not farm livestock.’ He nods towards the gate where a crowd is gathering to watch.
‘I think you’re being papped, Stevie,’ Leo says.
I turn to find a woman taking pictures through the railings.
‘Who is that?’ I ask.
‘That’s Allie, roving reporter for the local rag,’ says the vicar. He tweaks his dog collar and runs one hand through his short grey hair. ‘I expect she’ll want an interview.’
‘Well, she won’t be getting one with me,’ Leo says, but it’s Leo she wants to put in the Chronicle as front-page news. He tells her it will have to wait until later. ‘We need to get these cows back to Nettlebed Farm,’ he says firmly. ‘Stevie, what do you suggest?’
‘I could see if I can borrow a lorry, or we could drive them back – they look much quieter now.’ They’re enjoying the floral tributes left on some of the graves, which seems very disrespectful. I wish I was back in my office in Wimbledon, anywhere but here.
‘If Kevin can hold the traffic, we can move them back to the farm,’ Leo suggests.
‘You’re the expert, Leo,’ Kevin says.
Eventually, we drive them home with Leo at the front in his four-by-four, and Bear and me bringing up the rear in the Land Rover, which I manage to start this time. Back at the farm, I let the heifers into the collecting yard where they stand and bellow as if they’re complaining about their day out being cut short.
Leo checks up on them to make sure none of them are hurt, while Kevin takes down details of the incident and gives me a stern telling-off about allowing livestock to stray onto the highway. He doesn’t need to tell me we’ve had a lucky escape. I know all too well what the consequences could have been and I shudder as I think how close the child in the buggy was to being injured, or worse. I worry too about what Guy said about Jennie being pregnant. I’d never forgive myself if Jennie loses her baby because we didn’t get around to fixing the fences.
Kevin leaves and I wait for Leo to finish in the yard.
‘No injuries,’ says Leo at the gate. ‘They’ve had a lucky escape.’
‘Well, they won’t be escaping again,’ I say glumly. ‘Thank you, Leo. I’m very grateful. You’re a hero, rescuing that little kid.’
‘It’s what anyone would have done.’
‘But not with such panache – and with a leg of lamb.’ I relax into a smile. ‘I’m sorry about your dinner – I’ll buy you another one.’
‘Oh no, that wasn’t my dinner. I was picking up some bacon for Lynsey. I grabbed the lamb as I went out the door.’ Leo grins. ‘I think you owe Mr Dyer, the butcher.’
‘I’ll add him to the list,’ I say ruefully.
‘Where did Guy run off to? He’s a grumpy git.’
‘Are you allowed to speak about your clients like that?’
‘It’s a statement of fact. I’m only going on what I’ve seen of him today. Alex is his regular vet. I haven’t had the privilege of being allowed to visit Uphill Farm yet.’
‘At least he helped,’ I say, going to fetch a couple of wedges of silage in the wheelbarrow from the big bale that’s open in the farmyard. ‘He didn’t have to do that.’
‘I suppose not.’ Leo follows me, helping me lift the silage onto the barrow and offering to wheel it back for me, ‘but he is your neighbour and I thought the farming community around here prided itself on being close-knit and supportive.’
‘There’s no love lost between Guy and my father.’ I take the barrow myself as Leo’s mobile rings. He takes the call then excuses himself, saying he has an emergency visit on a farm the other side of Talyford.
‘Cheer up, Stevie,’ he says as he leaves. ‘I’ll see you again soon, no doubt.’
‘Thanks again, Leo.’ It’s inevitable that he’ll be back at Nettlebed Farm in the near future and I’m glad. I’m starting to like him. He does have a sense of humour after all, and he’s warm and friendly, in contrast with the impression he gave when I first met him. He’s a hero. Not only does he save sick animals, he rescues small children too.
I throw the silage over the rails for the heifers and take a moment to watch them pulling at it, tugging out long strands like pieces of spaghetti. ‘Y
ou are very bad girls.’ The sight of them makes me feel let down and emotional. I’ve just split with Nick, I’ve got Guy on my back – and probably half the town – and I can see my money’s not going to last for long at the rate I’m spending it. ‘Perhaps I should head back to London and leave you to it after all.’
One of the heifers stops chewing and looks straight at me, the gentle and innocent look in her soft brown eyes melting my heart.
‘I won’t,’ I say, before glancing around me. People think I’m crazy already without finding me talking to myself.
I call Bear and head up to the fields to check the fences. The barbed wire is down and several of the wooden posts, which are rotten at the base, have snapped. The big aluminium-coated trough in the corner of the field is empty. I open up the compartment at the side and fiddle with the ballcock until the water comes pouring in. It is no wonder the cows made a break for it. They weren’t just hungry. They were thirsty too. I feel really guilty for not noticing they were out of water. Cecil and I used to drive around the farm every day to check the troughs and fences.
I can fix the water, but not the fences. I miss out on lunch and grab a hunk of bread, some cheese and a tomato before meeting with Cecil to get the cows in for milking.
‘Where have you been?’ I say. ‘I tried ringing you.’
‘Oh? Did you?’ He fumbles for his mobile, which he pulls out of his pocket. ‘So you did, Stevie.’
‘Let me have a look.’ I take it from him and check the sound. ‘You’ve switched it to silent.’
‘I’m not good with these newfangled machines,’ he says. ‘Mary said I needed one in case I got into trouble when I was working on my own on the farm.’
‘It wasn’t much use today, was it? Do you even know the heifers were out?’
‘I can’t say I do.’ He frowns, his brow forming deep leathery folds.
‘They went all the way into town,’ I say, ‘and now we need someone to fix the fence urgently, otherwise they’ll have to stay in.’
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