Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Well, that sounds remarkably good,’ says PC Kevin.

  ‘Go on through,’ says Cecil. ‘Stevie, I think it would be a good idea if you went and asked Jack and the vet if they’d like to join us as soon as they’ve finished.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I say, taking the hint. It will be a whole lot easier talking to them without my dad weighing in with his side of the argument.

  ‘Jack’s in with the calves.’

  ‘Thanks, Cecil.’ I turn to Nick. ‘Are you all right here?’

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ he says, and I leave him to negotiate between Kevin and my father over tea and cake.

  I find Jack Miller emerging from the breezeblock building next to the old cowshed where my father rears the calves. I vaguely remember him from school – he was three or four years above me. He’s always been the strong, silent type, tall and blond with brown eyes. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, navy showerproof jacket, khaki cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black and one tan.

  ‘If I’d had any idea what was going on here, I would have been back before now,’ I say, my throat thick with regret as we walk to the far side of the yard, skirting a heap of rusting shovels, buckets, sickles, and an earth-encrusted plough that rises up from a huge clump of stinging nettles. ‘I haven’t visited my dad since my mother’s funeral last year.’ I give myself a mental shake. I don’t want to be thought of as playing for the sympathy vote. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Jack stops to point to the cow standing in the crush in the collecting yard. Although she’s terribly thin, her hips and ribs clearly visible under her skin behind the metal bars, I recognise Pollyanna, one of the oldest cows in the herd; she should have been moved on a long time ago. She doesn’t like being restrained. She rolls her eyes and flicks her tail.

  A man – the vet, I assume – is giving Pollyanna a pedicure. He has a rope looped around her pastern and tied to one of the rails, keeping one front foot clear of the ground. He runs a hoof knife around the horn of her claws, searching for any infection before he cleans up the foot, scrubbing in between her toes, and spraying antibiotic onto her skin.

  ‘That looks better,’ he says, looking up at Jack. ‘She mustn’t go back out in all this mud though.’

  ‘Leave her here,’ I say. ‘I’ll get the tractor out and scrape the yard.’

  I’m ashamed to see that the yard can’t have been cleared of muck for some time. When Cecil said he wasn’t keeping up, it was an understatement.

  ‘Who are you?’ asks the vet, straightening up and untying the rope to release Pollyanna’s foot. A pair of blue eyes peers through a mass of tangled curls of black hair. He’s in his late twenties or early thirties, well built with a healthy complexion, broad shoulders and muscular arms, and dressed in blue overalls with an apron over the top.

  ‘I’m sorry, you haven’t been introduced,’ Jack says. ‘Leo, this is Stevie, Mr Dunsford’s daughter. Stevie, this is Leo. He’s the summer locum for Talyton Manor vets.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem much like summer yet,’ I say, suddenly feeling awkward and exposed, aware that these men probably assume that I bear some of the responsibility for the state of the farm.

  The vet’s brow furrows slightly. ‘Unsurprisingly, considering it’s only March.’

  I shrink back, unsure how to take him. He’s charismatic rather than handsome, his lightly tanned complexion marked with a few small scars and glistening with perspiration. I glance away quickly, concentrating on the cows instead. There are seven, including Pollyanna, in the collecting yard, and they all look much the same, like portents of doom, their coats rough and staring and covered in muck, their bones with hardly an ounce of flesh on them.

  The poor girls, I think. I could cry. They look as if they’ve never been fed.

  ‘They’re in a bad way,’ says Leo as if he’s reading my mind. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s a clear case of neglect, and I’ll be more than happy to act as an expert witness for the prosecution. It’s absolutely appalling. I’ve never seen anything like it, not on this scale.’

  ‘It happens,’ says Jack. ‘I’ve seen it before. Circumstances change. I’m not saying it’s forgivable, just that sometimes in life –’ Pollyanna lifts her tail and drops a spattering cowpat – ‘shit happens.’

  ‘There’s really no excuse for it, no matter how you dress it up,’ Leo interrupts, his eyes settling on my boots, which are entirely inappropriate for running round a farmyard. ‘I’m surprised at you, Jack.’

  Jack shrugs. ‘Having been in this line of business for a while, both here and abroad, I’ve learned that a little humility and understanding goes a long way, particularly when you’re working in a community. It’s never just about the animals, no matter what you say. It’s about people too, and I know Tom Dunsford wouldn’t intentionally harm his cattle.’

  ‘In my view, sins of omission are equally bad,’ says Leo. He seems angry, his cheeks flaring with colour.

  ‘I don’t understand. Dad’s always treated the cows like they’re family.’

  ‘I wouldn’t treat my family like that,’ Leo cuts in.

  ‘Cecil told me what was going on and I came straight down from London.’ I address this to Jack. ‘Can’t you give me a few days to sort things out?’

  ‘We’ve already given him a week to start turning it around, but conditions are no better,’ Jack says, folding his arms across his chest. ‘The cows are underweight – on the verge of starving even – and they’re suffering from a variety of conditions. There’s an unacceptable level of lameness and foot problems in the herd and the accommodation is filthy.’

  ‘A few days,’ I say in desperation. ‘That’s all I’m asking for.’

  ‘The welfare of the cows comes first,’ says Leo, his tone like shattering glass.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ says Jack.

  ‘Just over the weekend. Two days.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should negotiate,’ Leo says.

  ‘I’ll do everything that needs doing,’ I say, ignoring him. ‘I’ll clean the yard and the cubicles and make sure the cows are well fed. I’ll get advice from Alex – he’s our usual vet – about implementing a herd health programme … whatever it takes. Please …’

  ‘I really don’t—’ Leo begins, but Jack overrides him.

  ‘Two days, and I’ll be back on Monday to check up on you, Stevie. You’re to ring me in the meantime if you need more help or advice. I warn you though, if there’s no improvement, Tom will be charged.’

  ‘He’ll be fined, imprisoned and banned from keeping animals for the rest of his life,’ says Leo.

  I stare at the muck on my Louboutins, sick to the pit of my stomach at Leo’s summary of the situation. I’m really not warming to him.

  ‘I shan’t let it happen. My father’s a sick man. Seeing the herd our family has built up over the years dispersed would kill him,’ I say, looking up again and fixing my gaze on Leo’s face. ‘I know what I’m doing. I virtually ran the farm when I was eighteen,’ I say, exaggerating a little because there is so much at stake.

  ‘And what about the dog?’ Leo says. ‘He’s out of control.’

  ‘Leave the dog alone,’ I say. Bear’s in a bit of a state too. ‘He isn’t vicious. He’s thirteen years old and he’s never bitten anyone before.’

  ‘And he never will again if I have my way,’ says Leo. ‘He got me in the groin. Luckily I was wearing more than one layer – he’s still managed to break the skin, but it’s only a flesh wound.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know why he did it. Perhaps he took an instant dislike to you.’ As I have. I don’t say it. I bite my lip instead.

  ‘Your father got himself wound up and was yelling at us, so the dog joined in,’ Jack says.

  ‘There’s no excuse for it. I’m not risking my life – or my balls – every time I come up to the farm. Not that I have any great desire to father children, but I’d rather keep them intact.’

  ‘T
hat’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ I say. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It shouldn’t, because a dog like that should be put down.’

  I wait for Jack to give his opinion. I have everything crossed, fingers and toes. Bear was my mum’s dog – I promised her I’d look after him and I’m wracked with guilt that it has turned out like this. I can’t bear the thought of him being taken away and put to sleep. He’s an old boy. He’s never been any trouble before. Dad’s right. It must have been the way the vet looked at him, or did Bear think they were all here to take my father away and turned on Leo in order to defend him?

  ‘I’ll make sure he’s kept under control.’ I find myself on the verge of bursting into tears once again. I swallow hard.

  ‘It’s up to you, Leo,’ Jack says eventually. ‘All I can say is that I think it’s a one-off and I believe every animal deserves a second chance. But he’s in a bit of a state too. He’s on the skinny side, his coat is matted and his teeth need attention.’

  I suppress a twinge of guilt, even though it isn’t my fault that Bear’s been neglected.

  ‘I’ll get him to a vet,’ I say.

  ‘Sooner rather than later,’ Jack says.

  ‘Don’t go bringing him to me,’ says Leo. ‘I don’t do dogs, especially ones that bite. You’d better take him to Otter House.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, upset at what feels like a personal attack. Love me, love my dog. I’m hot with embarrassment, desperately sad at the state of the cows and the dog and angry at Leo in particular. Does he have no consideration for anyone’s feelings?

  I can no longer quell the flow of tears that run down my cheeks.

  ‘I’m sorry. You must think I’m such a fool,’ I mutter as Leo and Jack look on. Jack fishes about in his pockets and apologises for not being in possession of a tissue.

  ‘It isn’t foolish to care about your animals,’ Leo says gruffly, and I wonder if he’s trying to apologise in an odd sort of way for upsetting me. I’m not having it though. It’s too late. He’s put my back up with his uncompromising views, whereas Jack – in my opinion – is a great guy, with compassion for both animals and their keepers.

  ‘Stevie?’ I turn at the sound of Nick’s voice, finding him making his way gingerly across the farmyard, trying to avoid getting mud on his shoes. ‘Is everything all right? You’ve been a while.’

  I brush away my tears.

  ‘It’s only been five minutes,’ I say, unsure why I feel mildly irritated, not grateful that he’s come to find me.

  ‘The tea’s getting cold,’ he says, taking a long hard look at Leo.

  ‘This is Nick,’ I say, hastily introducing him to Leo and Jack. ‘Would you like to come inside for tea and cake?’

  ‘I’ll pop in and have a word with Kevin before I go,’ Jack says.

  ‘I won’t stop,’ Leo says. ‘I have two more calls to make. Jack, let me know when you want me back here next week. If you need someone from the practice over the weekend, Alex is the duty vet.’

  I begin to worry that, on top of everything else, these vet visits must be getting pretty expensive.

  I look around at the yard and outbuildings, and the tatty mobile home my father bought a while back for a song. It appears as if a herd of wild bulls has torn right through Nettlebed Farm. There are potholes and weeds everywhere, the cob at the corner of the cowshed has fallen away, revealing the red earth at its heart, and the corrugated iron – meant to protect the occupants where the thatch has disintegrated – has slid from the top. My throat tightens with regret when I remember how it used to be, the stone trough by the brick building which houses the office once filled with bright spring flowers, now empty apart from compost and dead leaves. There’s so much that needs doing I’m not sure where to start, and once I’ve got going, I haven’t a clue where it will all end.

  Chapter Three

  Country Life

  I can’t stand back and let my father and Cecil flounder, something I try to explain to Nick when Jack, Kevin and I have finished negotiating over improving conditions for the cows and a deadline for Bear to see one of the vets at Otter House. We also agree that my father will sign over his shotgun to the police with immediate effect, and attend the station on Monday morning, where he will just receive a caution, on condition he gives up his gun licence without a fuss. The potential charges over the Animal Welfare offences go on hold for a limited time only.

  ‘How do you think you’re going to solve everything, Stevie?’ Nick says as we sit around the massive oak table in the farmhouse kitchen with Mary, Cecil and my father.

  ‘I don’t want you interfering.’ Dad slops half his tea onto his plate. ‘I didn’t ask you to come here.’

  ‘Dad, we have a lot to talk about, but all I’ll say for now is, if I hadn’t turned up today, you would have been charged with neglecting the cows, and Animal Welfare would have begun whatever process it is to get them signed over.’ I put it bluntly. It’s the only language my father understands.

  Dad splutters into his mug and chokes. Cecil thumps him on the back.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Dad coughs. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I don’t want you dying on us now,’ Cecil says dryly.

  ‘Well, it seems Stevie thinks you don’t need me any more,’ Dad mutters.

  ‘Stevie’s doing you a favour,’ Nick joins in, though I’d rather he didn’t. I give him a warning glance.

  ‘And what have you got to do with it?’ Dad asks. ‘I don’t recall inviting you here into my house.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Dad, we’re here to help.’ I lean across the table. ‘If you don’t let us give you a hand to get you out of this mess, you’ll lose the farm.’

  ‘Lose it?’ he says, staring at his good hand. His left hand remains in a sling, drooping and useless.

  ‘If you lose the cows, you’ve lost the farm, unless you can think of another way to use the land and make your living.’ I make to stand up. ‘So, if you want it that way, Nick and I will head back to London and leave you to it. It’s up to you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he blusters. ‘It seems a shame when you’ve just got here.’

  ‘It seems a shame,’ echoes Cecil. ‘You’ve come all that way.’

  ‘And I’ve got a leg of lamb in the Aga,’ says Mary, joining the conversation for the first time. ‘You must stay for a roast – I don’t want it going to waste.’ She smiles. ‘I’d prefer not to have shepherd’s pie for tea every day for the next week.’

  I look at Nick. ‘I reckon we’ll stay then, just for a couple of days.’ I get up properly this time.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Nick asks me.

  ‘I might as well get started. I’m going to scrape the yard. Who has the keys to the tractor?’

  ‘They’re in the cab,’ says my father. ‘We always leave them in the cab.’

  ‘There’s a bit of a problem,’ Cecil says. ‘Old Bertha broke down a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Bertha?’ says Nick.

  ‘The tractor,’ I explain.

  ‘Why hasn’t it been fixed?’ I look towards my father, who merely shrugs as if he doesn’t care.

  ‘You mustn’t have a go at him, Stevie,’ Cecil murmurs quietly. ‘Dr Mackie says he isn’t to have any stress or he’ll have another stroke.’

  ‘I heard that, Cecil,’ Dad cuts in. ‘The stroke didn’t do for my hearing.’

  ‘We’ll have to call out a mechanic. The cows must be trampling all that muck into the parlour.’ I cover my face. It doesn’t bear thinking about. I always liked to keep the parlour pristine. ‘Have you got the number for the company that does the repairs?’

  ‘It’s in the office,’ Dad says. ‘You’ll have to go and fetch it, Cecil.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ll find it on my mobile.’ I check the name and phone straight away, but it’s no good. No cajoling or offers of paying extra will induce them to come out before Monday. ‘I know, I’ll go and see Guy. He’ll len
d us a tractor.’

  ‘Ah no, my lover, I wouldn’t do that,’ Cecil says.

  ‘Why not? We’ve helped him out before.’

  ‘I forbid it.’ My father thumps his fist weakly on the table. ‘We are not fraternising with the enemy. I’m not going cap in hand to Guy Barnes.’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’

  ‘About a month before they had the argument about the state of the cows, your dad had a bit of a falling out with Guy when he came round to have a word about the hedges.’

  ‘A bit of a falling out?’ I say suspiciously.

  ‘Tom had his gun by his chair. It accidentally went off when Guy was here. He didn’t appreciate it, like.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ I can see Nick’s thinking that we’re all mad and he’s come to the funny farm. ‘What choice do we have, though? The yard’s a disgrace.’ I think for a moment. ‘Okay, there’s only one thing for it. I’ll do it myself with a shovel and broom. Any volunteers?’ I gaze towards Nick.

  ‘I’ll help as long as I can borrow some boots and a coat.’

  ‘There are some spares in the lean-to,’ Mary says.

  I lead Nick through from the kitchen into the lean-to, which was tacked on to the house to provide a utility area for muddy boots and the dog. Bear jumps down from his chair, a leather chesterfield; it is partially covered with a throw to hide where he chewed the stuffing out when he was a puppy. He comes up to me, squeaking with joy, his body curved to one side, wagging his tail.

  ‘Stevie, be careful,’ Nick warns, ‘he’s showing his teeth.’

  ‘He’s smiling.’

  ‘Dogs don’t smile. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Bear does.’ I squat down to hug the dog, recoiling at the stench of his matted, greasy coat and a draught of bad breath. Perhaps close contact wasn’t such a good idea. ‘Bear, leave him alone,’ I tell the dog as he tries to push his nose into Nick’s crotch. ‘And Nick, mind your head,’ I add, noticing the pheasants and rabbit hanging from the washing line that runs from one side of the room to the other. ‘Cleaning the yard is a pretty mucky business,’ I go on doubtfully.