‘Yes. Otherwise you’ll have to drag it over your head and it will mess up your hair and make-up.’
As I have no choice but to submit myself to Bev’s ministrations, I wrestle myself into her dress once more.
‘Very fetching.’ She gives me an admiring glance. ‘Sit down. Time for your slap.’
‘Don’t make me look like a pantomime dame.’
‘As if.’
So, while I sit wincing, Bev flicks at me with brushes, rubs potions and lotions onto my face. Then she fluffs my hair and sprays things on it until she’s deemed that I’m done.
‘There,’ she says. ‘That’s better.’
I’m not sure what her definition of ‘better’ is, but I don’t think that I want to look in the mirror.
‘You’ll be the belle of the ball.’
What I actually want to do is blend quietly into a corner where no one will notice me. But I brave it and have a look in the mirror over the sink that serves as both kitchen and bathroom sink. I’m quite shocked at the person looking back at me. Though in a good way. Despite seeming to apply pounds of foundation and goodness knows what else, the look is surprisingly natural. It enhances my features and highlights some I’d forgotten were there. ‘Blimey.’
‘You like?’
‘Yes,’ I admit, grudgingly. ‘I do.’
‘Under all that cow shit and general farm detritus there lurks a very beautiful woman.’
I look at myself this way and that. ‘Who knew?’ I still wish that I didn’t have so much chest and leg on show. Perhaps I can find one of Hettie’s scarves or something. I have sleeves though. I should be thankful for that.
‘I’ll be off,’ Bev says, gathering her make-up into her bag. ‘Have a good evening. Relax. Have a couple of glasses of something to loosen you up.’
‘Do I want to be loose?’
‘Loose but not slack,’ is Bev’s advice. ‘Come back with a plan to rescue the farm.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I promise.
She kisses my cheek. ‘That’s all anyone can ever ask of you.’
Chapter Fifty
What Bev doesn’t know is that I’m going to pop and see the chickens before I leave – frock or no frock. I pull on my wellies and hurry across the yard. Bev has lent me stilettos to wear too, but as they are potential ankle-breakers, I’m going to put them on at the last possible moment.
Lucas is waiting for me in the tea room. His car is coming a bit later so that it can take us both back to his house. Shelby has kindly organised for me to be brought home later too, so I don’t have to worry about driving and can have a drink or three as Bev advised. It’s a lovely evening and I wonder if we’ll have cocktails served out on the fabulous terrace overlooking the garden and, despite my fears, I get a tickle of excitement in my tummy.
I stick my head round the door. ‘Nearly ready, Lucas. I’m just going to have quick look at Pimms, make sure she’s all right.’
He glances up from his phone and does a double-take. ‘I didn’t recognise you all done up like that.’ He looks at me a bit goggle-eyed. ‘Maybe lose the wellies, though.’
We both regard my muddy boots.
Then Lucas’s expression darkens. ‘There’s no point in going to any effort for him, you know. He won’t even notice.’
‘Bev’s idea, not mine,’ I say, apologetically. ‘I didn’t have any choice.’
He makes a mollified, harrumphing noise. ‘You look nice though. Hot even.’ He grins cheekily at me. ‘For a woman of your age.’
‘Thanks, Lucas.’ We have a giggle together. I smooth down the leopard-print number. ‘I’m not a dress kind of person.’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe you should wear them more often. It might get Alan hot under the collar.’
‘Not sure I could cope with that. Or how I’d even tell.’
‘He’s a good bloke,’ Lucas says. ‘I like being with him. He might not say much, but he’s kind of cool. In his own way.’
‘That’s good to know. What did you do today?’
‘Oh, this and that. We did some stuff out in the fields. The lesson was as boring as fuck.’
I think they’re probably far below Lucas’s level. He’s a very intelligent boy, quick to learn and he needs a lot of stimulation to keep him interested. I’ll have to see what else we can do if he’s going to stay on. Perhaps I’ll have an opportunity to talk to Shelby about it. I’m sure if I suggested a private tutor for him then money wouldn’t be an object. That’s definitely not the problem here.
I hoped he’d tell me about performing his poetry for the students, but clearly it’s not going to happen without prompting. I’ll find my moment though. Now I check my watch. ‘Our ride will be here in a minute, I’ll nip out to see the hens.’
Lucas pushes himself out of the sofa. ‘I’ll come with you.’
We never lock up here because a) there’s never anyone around and b) there’s nothing worth pinching. I do a quick scan as we leave though and am pleased to note that Lucas has done all the washing-up without even being asked. I nod towards the draining board where all the mugs and plates are neatly stacked. ‘Thanks for that. I appreciate it.’
He shrugs, never finding it easy to accept praise.
We fall into step together and Lucas opens the gate to the chicken run, letting me pass through first. We dodge under the escape-proof netting.
Pimms is sitting in the corner, looking just as lethargic as she did earlier. ‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘Not good.’
We go over and have a closer look at her. ‘Her crop’s enlarged,’ I tell Lucas. ‘Look here.’ I show him the lump in her throat. ‘It could be lodged food or something more serious. I think I need to get her to the vet.’
‘Can we take her on the way to supper?’ he asks.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say. ‘I’ll only worry.’
Lucas’s car comes to the gate and toots his horn. ‘Looks like our ride is here. I’ll get the driver to take us down there.’
‘The vet is only in the village. You nip and tell him while I go and find a carry box for Pimms.’
Lucas looks worried. ‘She’ll be all right, though?’
‘I hope so. He’s a good vet and well used to us by now.’ It doesn’t mean that he gives us mates’ rates though.
Chapter Fifty-One
The driver drops us right outside the veterinary surgery in the village. It’s quite the smoothest ride I’ve ever had to the vets, even though I had a hen in a box on my lap. Luckily, the vet stays open late each evening and Friday night is often quiet. I know this from long and expensive experience.
We jump out of the car, me thanking the driver profusely. He didn’t look too impressed about having either me or the chicken in the back of his shiny Mercedes. Though Pimms seemed happy enough on the ride. In fact she seems to perk up a bit and I wonder if we are on a wild goose chase – or hen chase. You know what I mean. Perhaps this could have waited until morning. Too late to think about that now.
‘We shouldn’t be long,’ I say to the driver as he settles down with a newspaper.
Famous last words.
Lucas and I go into the surgery and my heart sinks as we go inside. Of course – the one and only time I’m in a rush, there’s a queue. The waiting room is rammed with people armed with coughing cats, puking puppies, elderly and most likely flatulent dogs. Then there’s me bringing up the rear with an ailing chicken.
‘Shit,’ Lucas mutters as he takes it all in. He wrinkles his nose. ‘It smells like cat piss in here.’
‘That’s probably because, at one time or another, a lot of cats have pissed in here,’ I hiss. ‘It’s never going to smell of Chanel No 5, is it?’
Lucas smothers a smile.
I book us in at reception and if the receptionist thinks my leopard-skin-print outfit is a bit OTT for a trip to the vet, she makes no comment. We take our place in the waiting room. I put Pimms on my lap and open her box so that she can have a look round, but she’s limp again after her ride in the limo and is no
t really interested. I stroke her feathers to soothe her.
‘We could be here for frigging hours,’ Lucas notes and he’s right as it’s much busier than usual.
‘You should go on ahead,’ I tell him.
‘Can’t we jump the queue?’
‘No.’
He rolls his eyes. He might not like his father’s celebrity status but, clearly, there are times when it would come in handy.
‘There’s no point in us both sitting here. You can still make it in time for supper. Explain to your dad that I’ll be along as soon as I can.’
‘He’ll be seriously pissed off.’
‘These things happen,’ I counter. ‘Especially when your life revolves around animals. Unfortunately, they don’t care what time the canapés are being served. If you prefer, I’ll talk to him and explain.’
‘Yeah? Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to have a conversation for the last year since Mum died. Ain’t gonna happen. He’s always too busy.’
‘Tonight, he does have an excuse.’ I think of his guests, chatting, laughing, waiting for us and feel guilty. I do wonder again whether Pimms could have waited for treatment until tomorrow, but you never know, do you? It could be a case of well-aimed antibiotics or it could be something much more serious. And I don’t want the guilt of an innocent hen’s death on my hands for the sake of a dinner party.
‘There’s always an excuse,’ Lucas bats back. ‘Filming, award ceremony, young actress to shag.’
‘Perhaps he’s lonely.’
Lucas makes a disdainful noise. ‘He hides it well.’
‘People do strange things when they’re grieving.’
‘You’re telling me.’
I fish in my bag and find a packet of Polo mints in lieu of dinner. I hand them to Lucas. ‘We could be here a while.’
He takes one and then, with a sigh, says, ‘I’ll text him.’ So he punches in a message to his father explaining our predicament. We wait for a bit, but there’s no reply. Lucas sighs again.
‘Want to play I Spy with my Little Eye?’
‘No.’
We both sigh. I offer Lucas another Polo. The dog next to us farts and we both waft it away. The puppy next-door-but-one is sick on the floor.
‘This is totally gross,’ Lucas complains.
‘You should go to your dad’s party.’
‘So should you.’ We both look at the forlorn chicken on my lap. Lucas doesn’t move. We sit there quietly until he eventually says, ‘Everybody loves him. But he’s a knob, you know?’
‘He loves you. Even though he can’t show it. I know he does.’
‘Tonight would have been hideous,’ he continues. ‘It proves just how awful, as I’m choosing to sit here in Stinky Central rather than be there. I was only going because of you. When he’s with his showbusiness friends he behaves like a wankery actor. Even more than usual.’
‘Him being a wankery actor pays all the bills,’ I feel the need to point out. ‘By all accounts he’s very good at what he does.’
‘He doesn’t want me to go into performing arts. He bangs on about it all the time. He wants me to get a “proper” job.’
This is my moment. ‘Is that why you haven’t told him about the poetry?’
There’s a long pause before he says, ‘Yeah. Suppose so.’
‘I heard you performing some of your work to the students the other day. In the barn.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ He frowns. ‘You sneaked up on me?’
‘Yes.’ I smile at him to disarm his displeasure. ‘I hid behind the tractor to listen. You were good. A natural performer.’
‘All you know about is chickens and shit.’
‘You’re right,’ I agree. ‘My opinion is entirely pointless.’
He looks up, slightly abashed. ‘Sorry.’
The vet’s assistant calls out, ‘Pickles!’ and an ancient couple pick up a carrier with an equally ancient cat inside. I’m guessing they might not have had the offer to attend a celebrity party instead.
‘Can you do that as a job?’ I ask. ‘Be a poet?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Even if you can, I expect it wouldn’t pay much.’
‘You sound like my father. It’s not all about money.’
‘I’m the expert in doing things for love.’ We both look at Pimms again. ‘It can be a tough way to live, especially if you’re—’
‘A spoilt brat.’
‘I was going to say, especially if you’re used to more.’ And Lucas is definitely used to having more of everything than most of us.
‘You can earn money as a vlogger these days.’
I shake my head. ‘You speak a language I don’t understand.’
‘Christ, Molly, you really do live in a time warp. I record my stuff and put it on my YouTube channel.’
‘Really? That sounds terribly enterprising. Can anyone watch?’
Lucas rolls his eyes, but he pulls out his phone from his pocket and a set of tiny earphones. ‘Stick these in.’
So I do as I’m told and put the earphones in. Lucas fiddles with the phone, then hands it to me. On the screen I can see him performing one of his poems. It just looks like he’s in his bedroom filming himself. The poem’s called Without You and, again, it’s angry and poignant.
It still goes on without you;
life still goes on for me,
it’ll never be the same, though;
not how it’s meant to be.
They tell me it gets easier
with every passing day,
but how could I accept that cancer stole my mum away?
It still goes on without you;
life still goes on for us,
but it’s a lacklustre alternative,
and ever will be thus,
without you here to guide me;
I won’t know what to do,
without you here beside me:
on hand to help me through.
Life still goes on without you;
it still goes on for those,
who kill and maim and terrorise,
because that’s just how it goes!
Life goes on without you,
and I’ll do the best I can;
I just wish you could have stayed around ’til I was an old man.
As I listen to the words, I find tears filling my eyes. I hate to think of Lucas with so much pain stored up inside and I’m glad that he’s at least found this avenue of release for it. Would that he could channel all his energy this way. He could do great things, I’m sure.
‘It’s good,’ I say with a sniff. ‘Very good.’
Lucas looks surprisingly vulnerable when he asks, ‘You really think so?’
I do. I want to give him a great big hug and I think that he might let me, but then the vet’s assistant calls out ‘Pimms!’
So we pick up the chicken and take her to see the vet.
Chapter Fifty-Two
It turns out that Pimms has Sour Crop. Just as I thought. If you’re not into chickens then you really don’t want to know the ins and outs. Suffice to say that she required a little operation and is being kept in at the vets’ over the weekend. Thankfully, she seems to be doing well and I’m not even trying to think about the cost. A sleepover at a vets is never going to be cheap. I could probably check her into The Ritz for less.
It was way too late to go to Shelby’s party by the time we’d finished at the surgery. Lucas got the driver to drop me off at the farm before he went home. I texted Shelby to apologise profusely for my absence, even though it seemed a bit lame to blame it on a sick chicken. I wanted to call, but I was too nervous to speak to him. I think I must be a little bit starstruck, like Bev. Needless to say, she was very disappointed that I didn’t go on Friday, but could understand why. Kind of. She said that I should have called her and she would have taken over chicken duties as she was only sitting in watching Graham Norton. To be honest, I didn’t even think of it.
It was nearly m
idnight when Lucas and I left the vets. We waited while Pimms had emergency surgery. Then we waited some more until she was out of danger and settled. My eyes were rolling with tiredness when the car dropped me off at the gate before whisking him away.
Despite being emotionally drained, as soon as I was home I did a quick late-night tour of the animals, who were all perfectly fine. When one of your charges is poorly, it kind of makes you paranoid about the others and I gave the rest of them an extra fuss. Back in the caravan, I scrubbed off all my lovely make-up, folded Bev’s dress nicely and wondered when the next time would be that I’d get another opportunity to wear something like that.
Saturday went by in a blur of chores, so now it’s Sunday and my one day off in the week from students. I still don’t get a lie-in as the animals would be bringing the place down for their breakfast, but I can relax a bit for the rest of the time. I should look at the accounts, think about how we’re going to shape our future and that kind of thing – but my brain is still largely in denial about it all. The problems seem too vast to surmount.
Getting a deckchair out from under the van, I set it up facing the sun. I should have some novels here as I used to like to read, but I simply never find the time now. I’m sure Bev could lend some to me. Instead, I make a cuppa, settle down and let the weight of the sunshine close my lids.
I think I must be dozing, as I’m roused by the sound of the dogs barking, the geese honking and a car pulling up at the gate. I put a hand to my eyes to see who it is and am surprised that it’s Shelby Dacre’s car waiting patiently to be admitted.
‘Oh, Christ,’ I mutter to myself and brush down my jeans. He always manages to catch me off-guard. I scurry off to the gate and unlock it. The dogs are hot on my heels.
I hold up a hand in greeting as he swings into the yard. He pulls up and gets out of the car. The dogs wag their tails, but he doesn’t bend to pet them as most people do and Little Dog looks more than a bit miffed that his enthusiastic greeting isn’t rewarded. Fifty, roused from snoozing in his favourite sunny spot by Teacup’s pen, comes over to have a look too.
Today, Shelby’s clad in jeans and a black T-shirt. I’m only telling you what he’s wearing as I think you might be interested. Obviously, I’m not. He does look very handsome though, as always. I can see why Bev insists he’s the darling of the soap operas.
Happiness for Beginners Page 18
