Away from the shelter of the farm buildings, we’re treated to the full extent of the crisp, cold day. There’s freezing mist hanging over the ground, but I love a good walk on a fresh and bracing winter’s day.
‘Warm enough?’ I ask Penny.
‘Yeah.’ But she shivers slightly, so I take off my scarf and she winds it round her neck.
‘Better?’
A grateful nod, a ghost of a smile.
This really is an idyllic spot of Buckinghamshire’s finest countryside. We have gently rolling hills which take us down to a narrow ribbon of river, fringed with weeping willows, that meanders through the land. There’s an ancient wood to the right hand side and, at the far end of our area, we have a large pond surrounded by trees. Bev wants to introduce walks with our animals for people with mental health issues. It’s a fantastic idea and this would be the perfect spot. Though I’m not sure that letting some of our badly behaved animals loose on people with troubles would be good for my own mental health.
There’s no doubt that the countryside here is soft and soothing – and with the added bonus that there’s no threat of a pesky high-speed railway rushing through. If anyone thinks of doing that again here, then the world really has gone mad. We have this land on a ten-year lease courtesy of Shelby and his business partners.
I like this time to myself when I can see how everyone is and I’m not crowded by things that I have to do or say. Until Lucas came into my life, I was always happiest on my own. I was brought up on our original farm by Aunt Hettie and was never one for mixing with humans. I always preferred to be with animals. You know where you are with a pig. Today, though, I’m grateful that Penny has sought me out.
‘Things not improving at home?’
Bev says that every time they have a meeting with social services, the father swears it’s the last time.
Penny shakes her head. ‘Nah.’
‘Is your mum OK?’
‘They were going at it again last night. She’s got a black eye this morning. She put loads of make-up on, but I can still see it. She says it’s nothing. They must think I’m deaf too.’
‘Social services can help her to leave.’
‘They’ve tried,’ Penny says, her voice flat. ‘She won’t do anything.’
‘She’s probably frightened to,’ I tell her.
‘I’d be more frightened to stay,’ she counters and then falls quiet.
We walk up the hill to the field where our massive Shire horses are kept. I see that the fence is broken. Again. Another job and more expense. Sadly, fence breakage is a regular occurrence. Our two ex-police Shire horses, Sweeney and Carter, like to lean on the fence. The fence is not so keen – with a couple of thousand pounds of muscle against it, the fence is never going to win.
Someone has put them in with the Shetland ponies, which means that they won’t break the fence here as they could just step over it. Sweeney and Carter are huddled together in one corner. Carter suffers from seasonal affective disorder and despises cold weather and grey days. It’s a job to try to get him to come out of his stall at all from October to March. Sweeney is as jumpy as they come, having been involved in policing more riots than he should have. The slightest noise makes him bolt across his field. But they are good companions for each other and now that Lucas is here permanently, we take them out together for an exercise ride across the land. Which means I’ve regained my love of riding and Lucas, who seems to be a natural at everything he turns his hand to, has proved to be a skilled rider.
The miniature Shetland ponies we have are always a big hit with the students. We’ve got three now. Ringo and Buzz Lightyear have been joined by Beyoncé who, though she’s relatively new, keeps both of her boys in check. They, of course, both dote on her and jostle for her attention. She only has to flick her long blonde mane or waggle her comely rump and they come running.
‘Have you fed Beyoncé yet?’ I ask Penny.
‘No.’
I’ve got a pocket full of carrots for the horses. Pulling them out, I hand half to Penny.
When I shout their names, they amble over to be fed. We give them all a rub on the snout, especially Ringo who suffers from sweet itch. He’s allergic to his own hair and, as there’s nothing sweet about it, is always grateful for a good scratch. The itchy little pony now has his own celebrity hairdresser, Christian Lee – a good friend of Shelby’s and generous supporter of the farm. Christian lives near here and comes once a month to layer Ringo’s fringe into a gorgeous, swishy bob to keep it away from his skin. His mane and tail are styled and kept short too. I’m sure that Beyoncé seems more than a little jealous of his locks.
Occasionally, Christian – who despairs of me – cuts my own unkempt hair into a neat, brown bob and I keep having to check in the mirror that I am really me. When Christian’s not looking, more often than not, I take the kitchen scissors to it.
Beyoncé pushes the boys out of the way and hogs the fence, nuzzling Penny’s hand.
‘She likes you,’ I say to Penny and get a nervous smile in return.
Horses and ponies fussed and fed, we head back down to the barn walking at a leisurely pace. I want to give Penny time to talk if she needs to, but she seems happy just to be quiet. Her situation is a difficult one and only her mother can resolve it.
‘Shall we go and warm up in the tea room? The others will probably be there now.’
‘Yeah.’
Little Dog pumps his stubby little legs and runs ahead of us, stretching out his body. At some point, while I wasn’t watching, he rolled in something unspeakable, so his brown and white coat is tipped with caked-on mud. At least, I hope it’s mud.
Today, Big Dog has joined us, but more often and probably quite sensibly during the winter he decides to stay at home sleeping next to one of the radiators in my caravan. He’s another enormous dog, this time shaggy. Lucas says he’s an Alsatian/Dire Wolf cross. He also tells me that this is a Game of Thrones reference but, as I don’t have a television, I can neither confirm nor deny this.
What I can tell you is that Big Dog has a number of issues. People in red jumpers can throw him into a frenzy of barking. He only has three legs and it never used to stop him doing anything, but as he’s got older he’s begun taking his time and is sparing with his choice of activities. And who can blame him? That exemplifies the ethos of this place. Each animal or person goes at the pace they’re comfortable. No one is rushed or pushed. Taking things slowly generally brings out the best in everyone, I find. I used to be a teacher in a mainstream school and pretty much hated everything about how the system was set up. With large, unruly classes, constant examinations and a one-size-fits-all approach, it seemed to bring out the worst in everyone – pupils and teachers. And I was no exception. I had to get out before I blew a fuse. So that’s how I found myself running a small charity supporting educational needs for the disenfranchised and sidelined. Because I was once someone who needed help, I can see it in others too.
Chapter Six
On our way to the tea room we pass the barn and I can see that mucking-out is in full progress. Wheelbarrows are being loaded with used hay ready to be replaced with a fresh new batch. Lucas is getting stuck in with everyone and there’s a cheery atmosphere in the air – never a given. Each day presents us with a different challenge and it’s a blessing when all of our students are in a good place and their time here is without major incident. It looks as if we’ve got Lucas’s hardcore fan club in today. He’s a big hit with the students here. They see him as anti-authority – which quite often he is – and hang on his every word. Only Lucas can get the other students mucking out without protest.
Penny and I stop to watch as they finish up. Two of our long-term girls are here today – Lottie and Erin – and it’s fair to say that they don’t like getting their hands dirty. Apparently, as they tell me on a regular basis, glittery manicures and manure are not the best of mixes. However, they also rather like being with Lucas, so they’re getting on with it to
day, glittery nails or not.
They both look like angels, but have mouths born of the gutter. Both girls have chaotic home lives and as soon as they seem to be settling, their parents seem to do something to send them into a downward spiral again. Here the two teenagers cling together and seem to bring out the best in each other. When they do have a meltdown, they like to do it as a joint affair to really challenge our resources.
Jack’s here too – one of my own favourite students. Not that I should have favourites, but he’s easy company and if you give him a task he’ll see it through with meticulous attention to detail. Jack is on the autistic spectrum and has also been with us for a long time now. He couldn’t cope with the bustle of mainstream education, but he’s done very well here as he loves the quiet, structured routine of the farm. His favourite job is making tea, which he does with military precision, and I’ve started to encourage him to help Bev in the kitchen in a more formal way. If I had some extra funding, then I think we could soon give Jack a paid job here and it would be a delight to see him gain some more independence. Perhaps it’s something I could talk to Shelby about.
As well as Penny, we have some more relatively new students too and the idea is that, as part of their learning, the kids who have been here longer look after the newer ones. That’s how it works in theory. Some fit in straightaway, for some it takes much longer, but one thing I’ve learned over the years is that you can’t force it.
‘Good morning,’ I say to everyone. ‘How’s it going?’
Lucas leans on his spade. ‘OK. We’ll be done soon.’
‘Excellent. I’ll go and get the tea ready.’
‘Cool.’
‘After break, Alan might need you to give him a hand with mending Sweeney and Carter’s fence. It’s been knocked over again.’
‘No worries.’ Lucas, too, is unusually sunny-natured today. There must be something behind it but I don’t know what. Hopefully I’ll find out, but you can never tell with Lucas. Even though I think he trusts me now, he still likes to hold his cards very close to his chest.
Another new thing is that once a week, I have a volunteer coming in to do arts and crafts with the students and she’s due in later. I don’t know what Anna has planned for them, but at some point we should make Christmas cards and decorations – bunting and stuff, I suppose – to adorn the barn for our open day. Time is of the essence and I guess we need to make a start on it before Christmas has been and gone. There are plenty of holly bushes on the farm if she wants to do something with a natural feel. It’s nice that the kids have some indoor activities to occupy them when the weather is bitterly cold and it’s not so easy to let them loose on the farm. They also have regular, structured lessons every afternoon – maths, English, history – which they are, to a man, less keen on.
‘I’m going to put the kettle on,’ I say to Penny. ‘Want to come down with me?’
‘I’ll wait here,’ she says and stands a little bit closer to Lucas, who is oblivious to her presence. Poor Penny, I think. I’m not sure her adoration is returned.
‘I’ll see you later. You know where I am if you want to chat.’ Then to Lucas, ‘Ten minutes for tea.’
He nods and then turns to finish supervising the kids. It makes me smile to see him organising them so efficiently. They don’t play him up like they do the grown-ups. Lucas is seen as very much on their side.
As I leave them to complete their task in the barn and head to the workshop, I dwell further on Christmas. It’s rushing up with alacrity and I don’t even know what Shelby’s plans are for the holidays. We haven’t had that discussion yet. I can’t see him wanting to spend it in my caravan, as cosy as I find it. He has a beautiful home not far from the farm: Homewood Manor. But it terrifies me. It’s like a palace. I’ve only been there a few times – reluctantly at that – and it’s very fancy. The place is filled with expensive furniture, tasteful paintings and things that look as if they might smash easily. I always feel as if I’m making it untidy just by being there. The air inside is still and smells of nothing, so I’m always aware that my natural and unavoidable eau de farmyard is somewhat amplified. It’s not somewhere I can relax and I know that Shelby finds it difficult to understand my reticence.
He’s filming today and they’re under great pressure, he tells me. As well as the daily episodes to shoot, there is to be a feature-length special that will air on Christmas Day and the schedule is tight. He finds it difficult to grab a few minutes to call me, but he does so when he can.
Today, I hope it doesn’t run too late as he’s promised to have supper with Lucas and me. I’m always on tenterhooks as, if he cancels – especially at the last minute – it can send Lucas into a terrible sulk. Unfortunately though, more often than not, Shelby’s either too late to eat with us or he doesn’t come back to the farm at all, preferring to stay in a hotel near the set where Flinton’s Farm is filmed.
I only went to the set once – that was more than enough. It’s like a proper little village to look at – except there’s nothing behind the façade. Lucas would say the same about his dad – that’s he’s all image with very little sincerity behind the front. I like to think that I’ve seen a different side of Shelby. Between you and me, I think he’s growing tired of the celebrity life. Its shallowness doesn’t give him the comfort and support that he needs. He likes to escape the pretence of Flinton’s Farm and come back to an actual, down-to-earth farm. I think that’s why we’re together, though I might not be the best judge of this. I’m not like the usual, high-maintenance, starry women he’s used to. Far from it. Instead, I hope that I can offer him an alternative type of life. However, while he’s terribly supportive of us financially, I have to admit that he doesn’t much care for getting his hands dirty. The problem is that he’s massively allergic to anything with fur, fluff or feathers. I do think that if the animals didn’t make him sneeze and sniffle he’d love to spend longer here and get more involved with the mucky end of it all, but Lucas doesn’t believe it for one minute. He thinks that Shelby simply wants to drift about feeling benevolent. Even though he’s made great progress since he came to the farm, Lucas’s relationship with his father still hangs by a thread. Shelby daren’t put a foot wrong. Even the slightest word out of place and Lucas reads far too much into it. But I’m working on them both and, hopefully, one day they’ll be fully reconciled. I have my fingers crossed when I say that.
Chapter Seven
I’m pleased to say that I’m not the only one at Hope Farm who has found love. Bev and Alan, who works here too, have recently become an item. They’re also an unlikely pairing.
In contrast to Bev, Alan is the strong, silent type. He does all kinds of jobs for me, particularly ones that involve heavy lifting or a hammer. I’d like to say that he’s become chattier now that he and Bev are madly in love, but conversation is still a strange bedfellow for him.
I swing into the workshop and he pauses in his sawing when he sees me. ‘All right?’
‘I’m fine. You?’
Alan nods.
He used to be quite scruffy in an ageing-hippy kind of way. Now love has found him, he has the air of the older Kris Kristofferson with either a flowing, freshly shampooed mane or a neat plait. Today is a neat-plait day. Before they were a couple, the main source of entertainment for Bev and me was to guess which band T-shirt that he’d be wearing each day. Now he and Bev dress in identical outfits from the merch stand, so Lucas and I have taken over the mantle of daily guessing. This isn’t so much fun for Lucas as, apart from the Sex Pistols, he’s never heard of any bands prior to 2001, which pretty much rules out most of the bands that Alan and Bev know. You’d think that this would increase my chance of winning, but that’s yet to materialise. This is mainly due, as I’ve said, to the fact that I don’t have, and never have had, a telly, so I am woefully ill-informed about popular culture in general. Hence the embarrassment when Shelby and I first met as I’d never actually heard of him, despite his character, Farmer Gordon Fl
inton, being a long-standing fixture on our screens.
Alan breaks into my musing to state, ‘Horses have done the fence again.’
‘Yeah. I’ve just been up there. Lucas is mucking out the barn, but he can give you a hand with it when he’s done.’
The tiniest inclination of the head says that’s a good idea.
‘What are you making?’
‘Manger for Baby Jesus.’ Taxed by our exchange, Alan returns to his sawing.
I can’t begin to tell Alan what dastardly fate has befallen our poor Jesus. I fear it would tip him over the edge. So, instead, I offer, ‘It looks very nice.’
Bev can find the right moment to tell him that we are in need of a replacement.
As I go to leave, my dear friend turns up. ‘Hello, my lover.’ She twines her arms around Alan and presses her full-chest Whitesnake band logo against his. Neither Lucas nor I were even close to this level of heavy metal, so no band T-shirt winner today.
They snuggle together and make coochy-coo love noises to each other.
‘Get a room, you two,’ I say. ‘That’s gross.’
‘You’re only jealous because your man’s not here,’ Bev says.
‘This is true.’ I haven’t seen Shelby for days. ‘Can I tear you away from each other? You and I need to have a conversation about this looming nativity stuff and Christmas in general.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Bev assures me. ‘I have it all under control.’
For the record, there is no evidence of this.
‘Come to the caravan, you can reassure me over a cup of tea.’
‘Talk you down off the ledge?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
With a last press of her fulsome bosom against Alan, she says, ‘Later, lover!’ and peels herself off him. It’s a good job that none of the kids are around. They’d be scandalised by such displays of affection in ‘old’ people.
Bev comes to link her arm through mine and we walk across the yard.
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