‘One day. I almost did once.’
‘You mentioned you had a fiancée.’
‘As soon as I bought the engagement ring, she changed her mind. I can see now it was right, what she did,’ he says gruffly. ‘I hated her for it, but if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.’
I wonder if he’s running away from the memories of his ex-fiancée as well as his nephew.
‘I find it hard to trust anyone now. She was carrying on behind my back with someone I thought was a friend of mine.’
‘Why did she agree to get engaged in the first place?’
‘He was married already. I think she thought that she could make him jealous and see what he was missing so he’d divorce his wife.’
‘Did it work?’
‘Oh, he got divorced, but he didn’t marry her. He married someone else.’ Leo shrugs. ‘Being with you, Stevie, has made me realise I’m over her at last. I’ve fallen for you –’ he presses his lips to my hair – ‘in a big way. I really, really like you …’
A flush of heat spreads up my neck. ‘I kind of guessed that.’
I can see everything is falling into place and I think of how resentful I will feel if it turns out that Nick has made me pregnant.
‘Will you stay this time? I mean, stay over? Stevie, I want to make love to you.’ Leo massages my thigh.
‘I feel the same,’ I say, almost breathless with desire for him. ‘Leo, I can’t stop thinking about you, but—’
‘You’re still worried about me leaving at the end of the summer?’
Leo nuzzles my shoulder – we both seem to have lost some of our clothes, the top half at least. I stroke Leo’s chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath and tangling my fingers in his dark curly hair as I enjoy his scent of the outdoors, musk and aftershave.
‘Of course I am.’ It will break my heart. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘Would it make a difference if I said I’d been thinking about changing my plans?’
I gaze up into his eyes, hardly daring to hope. He touches his forehead to mine.
‘Would you stay especially for me?’ I ask, my voice husky with emotion.
‘Yes, for you, darling.’
‘Really?’ Do I believe him, I ask myself.
‘I mean it,’ he insists. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll ask Alex if he can keep me on during the winter. If not, I’ll find another position, locum or permanent, as close as possible to Talyton St George.’ He smiles. ‘I never expected to settle down here of all places, but you’re worth it.’
‘Oh, Leo, that’s the best news ever.’
‘I’m not saying it just to get you into bed, although that would be lovely. I’m saying that we can continue to see each other and be a proper couple without you worrying about when I’m going to up sticks and move away at any minute. I’m not stupid. I know it’s been bothering you.’
As the darkness presses in on us, an almost overwhelming rush of lust and adoration crushes my chest, paralysing my breathing. Leo has to be the perfect boyfriend. He hasn’t said so in so many words, but I know he must love me, if he’s prepared to give up his carefree lifestyle for me.
I catch his hand and slip my fingers between his.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ I murmur.
The next morning I wake in Leo’s arms to the sound of the cockerel crowing and Cecil calling the cows into the parlour.
‘Leo, I’ve overslept.’ I slide out of bed and search frantically for my clothes.
‘Hey, come back,’ he says, peering out from beneath the duvet. ‘Cecil can cope – he’s always boasting about how he can do the milking by himself.’
‘He struggles sometimes.’ I smile ruefully. ‘Don’t tell him I said that.’
‘Well, if you won’t come back to bed now, how about tonight? I’m on call, but I can always hope it’s quiet.’
I lean down and kiss him several times. I’m sorely tempted to stay, but I can’t.
‘Tonight,’ I say before I dress, run into the house to fetch my overalls and head back across the yard to the parlour to help Cecil.
‘Did you stay over with the vet?’ Cecil asks slyly.
‘Maybe.’ I turn away, concentrating on cleaning the next cow’s teats, to hide my blushes.
‘You will be careful, won’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say archly.
‘I’d hate to see you get hurt.’
‘I won’t get hurt,’ I say. ‘I know Leo and I know what I’m doing.’
‘I hope so,’ Cecil mutters and, as I continue with the milking, listening to the sound of the milking machine and inhaling the scent of the cows’ soft, sweet breath, I find myself hoping so too. I have the most amazing boyfriend and it would be really bad luck now to discover I was pregnant by somebody else.
I know I should make an attempt to reassure myself that I’m not pregnant, but I can’t quite bring myself to. If I was pregnant, it would turn my life upside down, and that’s the last thing I want when I’m so happy with Leo. I stay over in the mobile home on most nights, except for the occasions when he’s called during the evening, when I return to the house and brave my father’s comments about dirty stop-outs. I feel guilty about Bear – he is ecstatic when I come back to sleep in my room and he can join me, lying across my feet at the end of the bed.
The heat becomes oppressive as we drift on through August. The cows are looking sleek and well, out in the fields with their heads down and flicking the flies from their flanks with their tails. The milk yields are up and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m doing the right thing in planning to downsize the herd and diversify, but then I look at the income from the milk and the amount of time and effort and sacrifice we put into producing it, and I know there has to be a better way of securing the farm’s future.
I only hope I can persuade the council to give us the go-ahead to create the visitor attraction. If they refuse to okay the plans, we’re stymied, and I’ll have to go back to the drawing board.
One morning, I receive a letter saying that a couple of members of the Planning Committee and someone from the Highways Agency wish to come and view the site to clarify some issues and take some photos.
‘Is that good or bad news?’ my father asks, reading over my shoulder at the breakfast table.
‘I’m not sure. They haven’t given us much notice.’
‘Will they want tea?’ Dad says.
‘I don’t think we should offer them anything. It might be construed as unduly influencing a member of the Planning Committee.’
‘When are they coming?’
‘Today at noon.’
‘Don’t they know that’s dinnertime?’ my father says, appalled at the thought of having his lunch disturbed.
A faint pungency of slurry begins to creep inside the house.
‘Guy’s muckspreading,’ says Cecil, joining us.
‘Where?’ I ask.
‘Close by, just the other side of Steep Acres.’
‘I don’t know why he’s chosen to do it, and there – so close to the house – today of all days.’
‘I think I can guess,’ I say.
‘Will it matter?’ Dad asks.
‘It’ll add weight to the argument that this is agricultural land and should be kept that way.’ Even for my stomach, the stench is disgusting, as if Guy’s mixed it up with chicken and pig manure for extra strength.
‘Guy can’t know about the visit, can he?’ Dad says. ‘We’ve only just received the letter ourselves.’
‘Oh dear, I forgot to mention it.’ Cecil’s mouth turns down at the corners and his shoulders slump further than ever. ‘I’m so sorry. Jennie told Adam to find me so that I could tell you, Stevie.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘That the planners were coming to Nettlebed Farm, but it completely slipped my mind. I hope I haven’t ruined everything.’
‘You probably have,’ my father says unhelpfully, at the same time as I say, ‘I’m sure you haven’t. What did Adam say?’
Cecil rubs his temple, leaving a grubby mark.
‘I don’t rightly recall, but it was something about how Fifi had dropped by to speak to Guy about tactics. Tactics, that’s what Adam said. Jennie overheard and she thought you needed to know there were tactics afoot.’
‘Don’t worry.’ I pour Cecil a mug of tea. ‘I’m going to make sure the yard’s tidy before they turn up. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.’
Our visitors, two men in a Mercedes and a third in a Highways Agency van roll up an hour late. They apologise, hoping they haven’t held me up.
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘I’m Stevie Dunsford. Can I show you the site?’
‘The traffic was appalling – is it usually that busy along the lane?’
‘Busy?’
‘We got caught behind a couple of horse-riders, a tractor towing a muckspreader and several cars. A second tractor had broken down in the lay-by, so there was nowhere to pass. We had to reverse most of the way back to Talyton.’
‘What kind of tractor?’ I ask.
‘I’m no expert, but it did have a sticker reading “British Beef” in the cab. I remember that. It made me smile because there was a pretty beefy farmer leaning against it, waiting for the AA, or RAC, or the equivalent organisation for tractors.’
‘I don’t think there is one,’ I say, wondering to whom the tractor belongs.
‘There was a third tractor left beside the tree at the entrance to your drive, a vintage one. It made it extremely awkward to turn in to the farm.’
So Guy is deliberately sabotaging our plans. He’s hired his friends to make the traffic look bad and prove the access to Nettlebed Farm is no good. I am furious, but I try not to show it.
‘Usually the only tractors that use the lane are the vehicles belonging to us and our neighbour’s. I promise you this is a one-off. You really need to come back several times to get a true reflection of the amount of traffic. I’ll do a traffic census, if it will help … anything.’
‘There’s no need for that when we’ve already experienced it for ourselves,’ one of the visitors says.
My heart sinking, I show them the site. They don’t give anything away and I have no idea what their decision will be when they leave half an hour later. I decide not to confront Guy. I will never admit defeat, but I have to confess it’s much harder than I imagined it would be. I’m exhausted, but I haven’t been sleeping at night, either because I’ve been staying over with Leo, or worrying about the possibility I’m carrying my ex-boyfriend’s baby.
After breakfast the following day – when there is no traffic in the lane – I excuse myself and head into Talyton in the Land Rover to pick up a few bits and pieces. I have never been so nervous about a shopping trip. When I enter the pharmacy, the bell chinks as the door closes behind me, making me jump. I take a deep breath of lavender and eucalyptus, trying to calm down, but I’m in a cold sweat by the time I reach the counter. I clear my throat and ask for a pregnancy test.
‘Which kind would you like?’ the pharmacy assistant asks. ‘We stock two: a budget test, and a slightly more expensive brand, which can diagnose pregnancy from the day you missed—’
‘I’ll have one of each, please,’ I say, aware of at least two sets of eyes on me, like hyenas prowling the aisles to scavenge any stray titbits of gossip.
‘As you wish.’ The assistant seems to take an age to pack the tests in a bag and ring up the prices on the till.
‘Thank you,’ I say, praying she’ll hurry up.
‘Hello, Stevie, how wonderful to see you.’ Fifi bobs up from behind a display of incontinence products. ‘I suppose you’ll be putting your project on hold for a while.’ Her eyes are fixed on the white paper bag I have in my hand. ‘I’m a great believer that mothers should put their babies first.’
‘I’m not pregnant,’ I stammer. ‘I’m buying the tests for someone else.’
‘It can’t be for Mary or Jennie,’ she probes. ‘So who are they for? Do tell.’
‘I’m bound to secrecy,’ I say.
‘Oh, you are such a spoilsport.’ Fifi shrugs. ‘Never mind, I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. Perhaps it’s for young Adam’s girlfriend.’
‘I didn’t know he had one.’
‘I believe he has – I’ve seen him on the Green with a young lady.’
‘Goodbye, Fifi.’ I turn and walk away as quickly as I can, and go back to the Land Rover. I drive back home via Jennie’s. Jennie is in her kitchen, icing the tiers of a wedding cake.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you when you’re in the middle of something,’ I say when she lets me in, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
‘I’ve almost finished this layer, and I need to let it dry before I can do anything else,’ she says. ‘I could do with a break. I’m sorry about Guy and his ridiculous behaviour when those people came to see you yesterday. I’ve told him he has to ring the Planning Department and talk to someone to apologise. I’m so angry with him and he knows it. He’s made himself scarce today – I’ve told him there’s no cake for him for at least a month.’ She pauses, reading my distress, because I am really scared now.
I show her the paper bag from the chemist.
‘I can’t do this on my own. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ she says gently. ‘I offered, didn’t I?’
‘You’re a real friend, Jennie.’
‘The children are out. Adam’s out with Lucky and his girlfriend and the girls have gone for a ride. Would you like tea and cake before or after?’
‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ I say. ‘I’m petrified.’
‘Let’s wait and see, shall we? Go upstairs to the bathroom and let me know the result straight away.’
‘So you can console or celebrate with me.’ I walk upstairs, heavy-hearted. My stomach is bloated yet my body is trim and well-muscled, but I can’t believe there’s anyone in there. It’s impossible. I feel giddy, nauseous – I blame it on the slope of the floor. I lock myself inside the bathroom, do the test, wash my hands and wait the allotted time, sitting on the edge of the white wicker laundry basket. I can hardly bear to look as the sky darkens and rain begins to patter against the panes of glass. There’s a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, hardly auspicious.
The alarm goes on my mobile. I squint at the wand through half-closed eyes, trying to blur and obliterate the line that appears in the window. If only I could magic away the past few months and start again. There’s another crashing rumble of thunder, as if there’s a team of giants playing at tenpin bowling in the loft above my head.
‘Well?’ Jennie says from outside the bathroom.
‘It’s positive.’ I push the door open.
‘Well, that’s no great surprise.’ Jennie looks at me, her belly thrust out and her feet splayed like a waddling duck. She holds out her arms. ‘Congratulations, Stevie. Welcome to the club.’
‘Don’t. It’s the worst news in the world.’ I burst into tears.
‘There, there.’ Jennie hugs me and pats my back as if I’m a child.
‘What am I going to do? It’s a complete disaster.’
‘Let’s keep calm and carry on, as they say.’ Jennie guides me to the window-seat on the landing and sits me down amongst the floral cushions while she squats on the floor with her hands flat across her bump, her fingertips touching. ‘First things first. You do want this baby?’
‘No, I don’t want it.’ It’s like a parasite growing inside me. ‘I can’t have a termination though – I’m too far gone.’ Why does the word termination sound less brutal than abortion, I wonder, as I blow my nose on a tatty piece of tissue I find in my trouser pocket. ‘It would be the easy way out, but I like the idea of not having it less than the idea of having it.’
‘It’s all right, I understand. It must be a terrible shock when you’re not expecting to find you’re expecting, so to speak.’
I’m wracked with shudders of fear of the unknown, and devastation at the thought that I
’m about to lose my freedom, because that’s what it feels like. I want to cry and rant over my bad luck, but not in front of Jennie, not when she’s so close to having her much-wanted child.
‘I do want children one day, just not now.’ I bury my head in my hands. ‘I suppose I could give the baby up. There are thousands of infertile couples desperate for a child. Oh, Jennie, you must think I’m a heartless bitch.’
‘I can help you look into the possibility of adoption, but I warn you, I couldn’t have given any of mine up. Once they’re born and you hold them in your arms, you can’t help falling in love with them.’ Jennie hesitates. ‘What about the father? You haven’t mentioned him. He’s bound to want to have a say in the baby’s future.’
I sit frozen, keeping my face covered. My heart is hammering like a train. A cold sweat breaks out across my back.
‘You haven’t spoken to him about the possibility yet?’
I shake my head.
‘You are sure?’
I nod.
‘It is Nick’s,’ I say with difficulty. I thought I’d moved on, but our relationship has come back to haunt me, big time.
‘Your ex, the one with the Aston Martin.’
‘Yes, the one with the Aston Martin,’ I echo stupidly.
‘So you have been pregnant without realising it for some time,’ Jennie says.
‘Since March, which means it’s due –’ I look up as I do a quick calculation – ‘sometime in the New Year.’
‘You must be twenty weeks at least then,’ Jennie observes.
‘I’m such an idiot. I blamed the occasional bout of sickness and nausea on being stressed coming back to the farm, and the kicks and flutters on wind.’ I dab my eyes with shreds of tissue. ‘Oh my god, do I have to tell Nick?’
‘Of course you do …’
How I wish we hadn’t slept together that one last time, because I’m pretty sure that’s when it happened. ‘He’s going to hate me for this.’
‘It isn’t entirely your fault. He’s fifty per cent responsible.’
I gaze out of the window, watching Jennie’s daughters riding back on their ponies, a bay Exmoor pony and a big chestnut part-thoroughbred, in the rain.
‘He’ll be pretty pissed off.’
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