Kitty's Countryside Dream

by Christie Barlow

Phew. I felt a sense of relief run through my body. I must remain professional at all times, I must, I must, were the thoughts racing through my mind. How silly was I being, thanking the Lord that Jeannie and Tom couldn’t possibly be a couple after only working together a few weeks. But what was it to me anyway? He was probably in a relationship; men as handsome as he was were not single. I bet he was settled down with a beautiful wife and equally stunning children. The last relationship I’d had was nearly four years ago and a very distant memory.

  Tom turned towards Jeannie. ‘I suggest if all those coops are scrubbed and fresh bedding laid in all, you deserve an early dart.’

  ‘That was the suggestion I’d been hoping for and one I’m certainly not going to argue with.’ Clapping her hands together then giving Tom a cheeky thumbs up, she squealed, ‘Fantastic, I’m going before you change your mind. See you tomorrow, boss, and you too, boss.’ And with that she skipped to the door. With a wave above her head, she was gone.

  ‘She’s a character that one, like a big kid, and has certainly jollied up the atmosphere around here in the last few weeks.’ Then, looking at his watch, he said, ‘Kitty, I must dash, how about coming back in the morning and I’ll begin to show you the ropes?’

  Suddenly I felt disappointed. Maybe he was just late for a meeting or something. I had appeared unexpectedly and no doubt his day would have already been planned out.

  ‘Not a problem, I’ll see you bright and early,’ I replied, a little saddened. I would have quite liked to have stayed for the rest of the day.

  We both headed towards the door; Tom took a huge bunch of keys out of his pocket and locked the office behind us. I watched him amble towards a small cottage situated left of the driveway. It was beautiful. I squinted to read the name – Brambleberry Cottage – etched into the slate sign on the wall next to the door. Tom opened the cottage door then kicked off his boots outside and disappeared indoors. That must be where he lives, I thought – not only handy for work but if he was living on site that would definitely mean I’d be seeing a lot of him.

  Heading for home, I began to wheel my bike back along the tarmacked driveway, keeping an eye out for Dotty. I was desperate not to be clumsy and trip over my bike for a third time today or run over any wandering chickens.

  I was actually looking forward to tomorrow; it had been a while since I’d had so much to look forward to. There were exciting times ahead and so far my new adventure suited me down to the ground. Well, all except the apple tea and the smell of chicken dung. I wasn’t sure I would ever get used to those.

  Chapter Five

  It was Tuesday morning and I was woken by the sound of the milkman clanging his empty bottles into the crates on the back of his float. Peering out from behind the curtains, it seemed the whole world and his wife were already up and bustling about their business in Rosefield. Alfie gave a stretch, jumped down from the bed and followed me into the kitchen for breakfast. I felt an exciting flutter in my stomach; today I was going to learn the ropes of my new successful empire. I could imagine myself sitting in my office at Bluebell Lodge, singing along to the radio whilst completing all the administration duties.

  Pouring myself a mug of tea and spreading strawberry jam on a croissant, I could feel myself smiling, wondering what the day ahead had in store for me.

  Suspecting Tom and Jeannie would already be at the Lodge by now, I was aiming to arrive as soon as possible and I was sure 9 a.m. would be bright and early enough. I reckoned Jeannie was roughly my age, mid-twenties. I didn’t want to cast any aspersions, but apart from her rough-and-ready clothes she really didn’t look like a chicken farmer. I could visualise her on the front cover of Vogue, a model in the making, strutting up and down the catwalk in the highest of heels. I didn’t anticipate she would stay at the Lodge long; it was probably more like a stopgap in-between jobs until she found something of a more suitable nature.

  Once I cleared away the breakfast dishes, I found myself standing in front of my wardrobe, swiping the clothes on the rail backwards and forwards, pondering what to wear. I’d only brought a few changes of clothes with me in my suitcase on the train; I was still waiting for the rest of my belongings to arrive. Finally I settled on a plain duck-egg blue cashmere sweater with a navy pleated skirt that fell just above the knee, opaque tights and black ballet shoes. Swirling around in front of the mirror, I was pleased with my choice. There was no doubt I had dressed to impress. I gave myself a nod of appreciation in the mirror; I looked boss-like and ready for my first day of work at the Lodge. In the past few years I hadn’t taken any pride in my appearance whatsoever. I hadn’t needed to – I never had anywhere to go or anyone to impress. My hair lacked style – it was dull, boring and scraped back in a ponytail. Oversized sloppy jumpers graced my body and jeans were a must every day of the week, but if I was going to be working in an office every day now I might need to revamp my wardrobe.

  With one last twirl and a pat of Alfie’s head, I grabbed my coat and threw my lunch into the basket of my bike. I didn’t know what the rules for lunchtime would be, so I thought it was best to go prepared; I didn’t want to go hungry. The air outside was fresh and crisp. After fastening the buttons on my coat, I bumped my bike down the steps and on the pavement. Closing the front door, I swung my leg over the bike, pushed on the pedal and I was off.

  Suddenly I could feel myself beaming as I cycled to work. It had been years since I’d had a purpose, and now I was about to take the chicken world by storm, whatever that involved. In my head I already had the day mapped out. Tom would spend the day at my side in the office, showing me the files, accounts and how to invoice. We would laugh and joke and drink numerous mugs of tea, and I didn’t mean the apple variety. Luckily I’d remembered to throw some teabags, milk and sugar into my basket, along with some of the fantastic chocolate flapjack I’d purchased from the baker’s the day before.

  Arriving at the gate of Bluebell Lodge, the padlock was positioned in the same place on the ground, meaning I wasn’t the first person to arrive, which was good because I didn’t have any keys to let myself into the office yet. Cycling up the drive, I spotted Dotty; she was pecking about quite happily on the gravel outside the cottage I’d seen Tom disappear into yesterday. His boots were no longer outside his front door so he must be around the Lodge somewhere.

  Turning the corner towards the office, I spotted Tom and Jeannie sitting on the picnic bench outside the office, hugging mugs of tea; both were kitted out in overalls and wellies.

  Tom raised his hand and waved at me. ‘Good morning, boss! Is this what you would call bright and early? Some of us have been up working since 5 a.m.,’ he said, winking playfully.

  Jeannie was grinning at his joke. Even though she was covered from head to toe in chicken muck already, she still looked gorgeous – sometimes life was so unfair.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Ignore him – he’s in one of his wind-up moods today. You’ll be fed up with him by lunchtime. I think the smell of chicken poo has gone to his brain.’

  The stench of their clothes was already making me splutter and choke. Goodness knows what jobs they had already undertaken this morning to smell like that. I was just thankful I was escaping inside for office duties.

  ‘Good morning to you both. I’ll just hang my coat up and pop my lunch in the fridge, and I’ll be right back with you.’ Propping the bike up against the wall of the office, I disappeared inside with my lunch. Scouting around, I couldn’t seem to locate a fridge anywhere, so still grasping my lunch, I slung my coat over the chair and headed back outside.

  Both Tom and Jeannie were chuckling when I re-appeared.

  Ignoring their slightly annoying behaviour, I piped up, ‘I can’t seem to locate the fridge?’

  ‘If you walk to the end of that barn and turn right, you’ll see the storeroom. Go in through the wooden door and it’s in there,’ Tom replied, pointing in the direction of the barn whilst winking at Jeannie.

  What was it with those two this m
orning? They seemed hyper and full of mischief. Walking to the end of the barn, not only could I feel their eyes watching me, but I could hear their sniggering. Turning the corner, I was relieved to finally be out of view. This place was huge; there was barn after barn, field after field.

  Arriving in front of the door, I pushed it open. Two piercing eyes stared back at me. It was another of those strange chicken breeds but with a completely different appearance to Dotty. I wondered what ‘flavour’ this one was. My new feathered friend, with its short curved beak and a vibrant red comb on top of its head, had a red flappy beard-type body part hanging down underneath its chin, or whatever the equivalent was on a bird. It had a mahogany body but each feather was also striped with black and tipped with white. The tail was impressive, essentially black and white but with longer feathers displayed beautifully. It was standing on a hay bale looking straight at me.

  Taking a few steps towards the bale, I leant over to stroke the magnificent creature. The strange gurgling sound it released from its beak immediately led to the quick retraction of my hand. It stretched its neck and with an almighty crow I was deafened by the loudest cock-a-doodle-do I had ever heard. Stepping backwards in alarm my foot landed on an old rusty watering can and I lost my balance, tossing my packed lunch up into the air as I found myself toppling to the ground once more – only this time I’d landed in something squelchy.

  The almighty creature instantly hopped down from the bale of hay and with a Tyrannosaurus-rex-type swagger, it pecked furiously at my home-made granary cheese-and-pickle sandwiches.

  Hearing giggles from behind me, I swiftly turned my head to find Tom and Jeannie crouching behind the door, acting like international spies.

  ‘Come on out, I’ve seen you,’ I said wearily.

  Tom pushed Jeannie playfully through the doorway, still laughing. ‘So you’ve met Paddy then? He’s partial to sandwiches.’

  ‘He’s a Speckled Sussex, a rooster. A very handsome fellow, don’t you think?’ Jeannie added.

  I glanced up to find Tom’s helping hand stretched out to pull me to my feet yet again.

  ‘Thank you,’ were the only words I could muster.

  My tights had snagged and my skirt was covered in dung.

  ‘Whoops, very fresh dung, that,’ Jeannie said, sniggering.

  ‘I think you may need to change into those,’ Tom suggested, nodding towards the far side of the storeroom.

  Brushing down my skirt and not forgetting my dented ego, I swivelled my head in the direction of his nod. There, hanging from a peg, was a set of overalls with the name Kitty labelled above the hook. Beneath the overalls, placed on a bench, stood a pair of wellington boots, looking a lot like my size.

  ‘I’m not sitting in the office in them,’ I stated. ‘I’ll wipe my clothes down; I’ll be all right thanks very much.’

  ‘You can’t stay dressed like that.’ Jeannie chuckled, patting my arm.

  What did they mean? I didn’t see anything wrong with my appearance; in fact this morning it had taken me the best part of an hour to dress well.

  ‘You won’t be sitting in any office; this place is an all-hands-on-deck type of place, manual labour at its best. The main task is the welfare of all the birds, and by that I don’t mean you two,’ Tom teased diplomatically.

  ‘OK, OK, no need for your sarcasm, I get the picture.’

  Jeannie’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘But you did look good,’ Tom piped up.

  ‘Very yuppie businesswoman,’ Jeannie joined in.

  Feeling like an absolute idiot I could feel the fire burning brightly in my cheeks. I’d assumed I would be sat in my nice new office, hugging my warm mug of tea. I didn’t actually think I would need to get my hands dirty in any way, shape or form. It wasn’t entirely my fault either – neither of them had explained what was expected of me – but I didn’t think this was the time to be stamping my foot like a disgruntled toddler. They must think I’d got ideas above my station; cock of the roost, so to speak. Praying I hadn’t ruffled their feathers, I unhooked the overalls from the peg.

  ‘Well in that case, I can’t wait; point me in the direction of the changing rooms.’

  ‘You can get changed in here. Don’t worry about Paddy – he won’t look. Oh, and for the record, there is no fridge, your lunch hangs on your peg in a carrier bag of your choice.’ Tom sniggered.

  ‘Or on a Friday we treat ourselves to chips and gravy on a tray from Freda’s Chippy, the best chip shop around.’

  Kicking off my ruined ballet shoes, I irritably waved my hand at them. ‘Go on then, get out of here, oh and a mug of tea wouldn’t go amiss. And I mean a proper cuppa not that awful apple rubbish.’

  They vanished out of sight and the door shut behind them. As they strolled away, I could hear their laughter echoing between the barns.

  Chapter Six

  Looking down at my overalls, I realised there wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance I carried this look off well. I looked dated and frumpy and resembled nothing more than a sack of spuds – unlike Jeannie who looked like she was modelling the new farmer attire from Gucci. Paddy the rooster was now perched back on the bale after his morning snack and was still following my every move with his watchful eyes. I wasn’t sure why, but I got the impression he didn’t like me much, and I wasn’t sure I liked him after he’d demolished my lunch in record time.

  I spotted Tom and Jeannie waiting for me outside the office. Tom was holding a mug of steaming tea.

  They peered at me. ‘That’s more like it – a chicken farmer in the making,’ Tom said, laughing.

  Clomping towards them in my wellington boots, I grabbed the mug of tea off Tom and plonked my sorry backside down the bench.

  ‘Glad to see it’s not that fruity tea and it’s not bad, it’s actually a decent cuppa,’ I said after taking a sip.

  Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a small white van being driven by a woman up the tarmac drive towards us.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Oh no, is it that time already?’ Tom said, checking his watch. ‘Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun or, rather, making fun of the new recruit.’

  The van pulled up and parked right by where we were sitting. Jumping out and slamming the door, the driver was standing in front of us.

  ‘Good morning, Lucinda, how are you today?’

  ‘Busy, busy, busy, four wedding cakes and what seems like a thousand cupcakes to bake by close of play on Friday. If it’s this busy in winter, I’ll need to expand my team by summer. I’m run off my feet.’

  I recognised Lucinda; she was the lady who had served me in the baker’s yesterday, the one who gave me the delicious chocolate flapjack. That flapjack was to die for; even Paddy the rooster could vouch for that.

  Lucinda was of average height, not too small and not too tall. Her face was pretty and her blonde hair sported the tightest corkscrew curls I had ever set eyes on. Her fringe was pinned back by a diamanté love-heart clip, which added a touch of glamour. Her make-up was au natural – well, maybe just the hint of black mascara to accentuate her lashes – and I guessed she was in her early-thirties.

  ‘Lucinda, let me introduce you to Kitty.’ Tom smiled, turning towards me. ‘Kitty is the new boss, started today.’

  ‘Hello, yes, I recognise you; you came into the shop yesterday. How’s the first morning going?’

  ‘So far so good, I think.’

  ‘Lucinda bought the cake shop on the high street a couple of years ago; everything is home-made in there, mouth-watering and delightfully delicious. She uses our eggs – the best free-range eggs in Staffordshire,’ Tom continued.

  ‘Wow, everything is home-made? You must never sleep.’

  ‘Yep, everything is baked or prepared by me. Every day I’m up at the crack of dawn, all my ovens switched on by 5 a.m. and the first pastries in by 5.20,’ she said proudly.

  ‘That’s a bit like someone else we know, up at the crack of dawn,’ joked Tom, teasing me
again. ‘They also have a sandwich delivery service – if we remember to ring our lunch orders through by 11.30, the lovely Lucinda will send up one of her assistants with our food. If we forget, we starve,’ he continued.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Lucinda enquired.

  ‘I’ve moved into a little flat just up the road from the baker’s.’

  ‘Mother Goose’s old place?’

  ‘I believe that’s the one,’ I said, remembering Tom saying that had been my grandmother’s pet name.

  ‘Right, less of this gassing, let’s go and get your order, Lucinda, and you pair, meet me in barn two in five minutes.’

  Tom had interrupted our conversation quite abruptly and seemed keen to move Lucinda on, or was it just my imagination? I suppose he wanted to get some work underway today and more than likely we had wasted enough time.

  Tom and Lucinda marched off up the yard and disappeared around the corner, leaving Jeannie and I to rinse the mugs and make our way to barn two, wherever that may be.

  ‘This way.’

  ‘I’m following. What delights will I find in barn two?’

  ‘Barn two is the hub of the deliveries across the county. When Tom says you’re on the early shift that’s what we call bright and early – a 5 a.m. start. We take turns, usually a week about. This week it’s my week. It’s a little scary travelling up the lane in the pitch black of the early morning but once you’re the other side of the tarmac drive, Tom has the lights switched on in the yard and there’s plenty of light that shines from Brambleberry Cottage. It reminds me of a floodlit football pitch.’

  ‘Is that Tom’s place then, Brambleberry Cottage?’

  ‘Yes, that’s where he lives.’

  ‘Very handy for work,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, very handy. Here we are – barn two.’

  Swinging open the rusty old ramshackle barn door, I stood staring in amazement. I had never seen so many eggs; there were trays and trays stacked up. Not just brown eggs but blue, white, speckled and light brown, an array of magnificent colours. Each table not only contained different coloured eggs but they were also sorted into two piles of medium and large.