Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Can’t they go across the drive?’ Cecil asks.

  ‘I was keeping that for silage.’

  ‘The grass will grow again.’

  ‘Isn’t there too much grass out there? They’ll get bloat.’

  ‘We could run a piece of electric fence across the middle.’

  After milking I decide to let them out as Cecil suggests. Cecil and I hunt out a length of electric tape and some plastic posts that have seen better days. In fact, I’m not sure why my father kept them, since half of them have spikes missing so we can’t get them into the ground. Finally, we discover the battery for the energiser is out of charge, which puts our plans on hold.

  ‘They’ll be all right overnight, my lover,’ Cecil says.

  ‘I hope so. I really don’t want to have to call the vet out again.’ I stick the battery – it’s an old car battery – into the wheelbarrow and take it back to the house where I put it in the lean-to to charge before I find James’s number to see if he’d like some work, knocking a few posts in. My dad isn’t impressed when I tell him what I’ve done. He says James will overcharge and won’t do a good job. When I ask him to suggest someone else to do it, he can’t.

  Much later, I settle down to watch television. It’s been quite a day and I want to tell Nick … but we are no longer an item. It’s lonely without him. I didn’t realise I’d miss him this much. I look towards my father who’s nodding off in his chair, snoring with his mouth half open and his jaw slack. How am I going to get anywhere with making changes when he’s such a stubborn and obstructive old bugger?

  I leave it overnight before I go and see Jennie to apologise and find out the cost of the damage to the market stall. I have no doubt that Guy will contact me with his bill sooner rather than later. I grab my coat from the lean-to, telling a disgruntled Bear he has to stay behind.

  As I walk down the drive, I check on the heifers and dry cows. The fact that they’re lying down makes me panic, but they’re all fine. Their bellies are full, but they aren’t bloated with gas. The sooner they go back into their original field the better. I head up the lane and take the turning to Uphill Farm. Uphill House – also known as Jennie’s Folly – is a beautiful longhouse, dating back to the sixteenth century. It has diamond-leaded windows set deep into thick walls of cob that are painted the palest pink, and a roof of golden thatch. The new farmhouse where Guy used to live is a good thirty metres or so further along the drive and on the opposite side.

  I walk through the picket gate and along the path to the porch, which is surrounded by wisteria, climbing rosebushes and honeysuckle, waiting to burst into flower. I knock on the door. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to meeting Jennie, but my heart sinks further when Guy opens it and a small grey dog comes flying out.

  ‘Lucky, get inside!’ Guy growls. ‘What are you doing here, Stevie?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you and Jennie.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I’ll be sending you the bill for yesterday’s debacle through my solicitor.’ He is pushing the door closed when a woman’s voice rings out from behind him.

  ‘Guy, don’t be so silly.’

  ‘I don’t want you having any more stress.’

  ‘I’m pregnant. I’m not ill.’

  Guy turns. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I’m worried sick about you and the baby.’

  ‘I know you are, and it’s lovely, but sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating under all this attention. Now, move out of the way and let Stevie in. It is Stevie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hello, Jennie,’ I say, hovering on the doorstep as she addresses her husband again, suggesting he has another go at halter-breaking their wild heifer because it’s another hour before dinner’s ready. I smile to myself as Guy turns from tiger to pussycat, kissing Jennie on the cheek and offering to carve when he returns.

  ‘Come in, Stevie,’ Jennie says as Guy disappears into the house.

  ‘I’ve dropped by to apologise about yesterday.’

  ‘Ah yes, the day the Wild West came to Talyton St George. It was quite a show.’

  ‘I’d like to pay for the damage the cows did to your stall.’

  ‘Thank you. That sounds very reasonable.’

  ‘Have you any idea of a figure?’

  ‘I’ll have to work it out. I’ll need to replace the table and banner. I didn’t lose much in the way of stock – the cakes were almost sold out already.’ She pauses. ‘Listen to me. What am I doing, making you stand there? Come and sit down. The kettle’s just boiled.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Of course I am. I’m sorry about Guy. He can be rather abrupt at times.’

  ‘At least he came to let me know the heifers were out and he did help round them up.’ I follow Jennie through the dark-panelled hallway. She’s in her forties, according to Mary, and although pregnant, wearing an apron over her bump, she’s quite petite. Her hair is brunette with a trace of grey.

  ‘I hear they went to church.’ Jennie giggles. ‘That must have been quite a sight.’

  ‘The pictures will be in the Chronicle tomorrow.’

  ‘Take a seat.’ Jennie shows me into a dream country kitchen with views to the front and rear gardens, which are laid with lawns and flowerbeds. In the stone alcove, which used to house the open fire, is a reconditioned Aga. To the right, there is a bread oven. There are blue and white plates on the oak dresser and red tiles on the floor. ‘I should apologise for my husband too. He’s been a right old bear about this.’

  ‘I guess I’d be pretty miffed in the same situation.’

  ‘Have some cake – it’s coffee and walnut.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It’s delicious, a soft sponge with crunchy nuts and a butter-cream icing that melts in the mouth.

  Jennie clears her throat. ‘Guy and I – both of us – are a little apprehensive about your plans for Nettlebed Farm. I know we shouldn’t listen to gossip, but we’ve heard a rumour you’re planning to diversify and get rid of the dairy herd.’

  ‘Where did that come from?’ I almost choke on a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘Mary happened to mention it when we were queuing at the butcher’s. Please don’t blame her for spreading gossip. She likes to chat and she’s over the moon that you’ve decided to stay here in Talyton. She wanted to share the news.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That you’re going to build a theme park. In my opinion, it would have been nice if you’d consulted us, your neighbours. I moved here for peace and quiet, not to live next door to a rollercoaster filled with screaming thrill-seekers.’

  I should have talked to Jennie and Guy before the news leaked out, as I knew it would, one way or another.

  ‘We’re going to have a small-scale petting farm with a tearoom, that’s all. I don’t want to live beside a rollercoaster either. Yes, there’ll be some development on the farm, but it’s going to be eco-friendly and blend in with the landscape. There’ll be more traffic in the lane at certain times of day, but, on the other hand, it will boost the local economy and provide much-needed employment for the young people in the area.’ I pause. ‘I’m actually very excited about it.’

  ‘And the cows?’

  ‘We’re going to downsize the herd to a smaller, more manageable number, so we won’t be dependent on milk for our income. You know what it’s like.’

  ‘We make a premium on ours with Uphill Farm being certified organic. That’s one of the reasons Guy gets annoyed about the weeds – we aren’t allowed to use chemicals to control them, otherwise we lose our organic status.’ Jennie smiles. ‘That’s enough farming talk, except –’ she pours me a second mug of tea and stirs in the milk – ‘if you’re opening a tearoom, I’d be interested in supplying the cakes.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s a great idea.’

  ‘When I moved here, I thought I’d have a tearoom one day, but the baking business took over and I didn’t have time for anything else. I’ve been very fortunate. I’ve gone from single mum with three kids, an alm
ost derelict house and no money, to successful businesswoman, married to a farmer and with a fourth child on the way.’

  ‘I don’t know how you’ve coped.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Jennie gazes into the distance, apparently lost in thought. ‘It was tough, especially with Adam, my son. He hated it here at first. He missed his father and friends. How about you?’

  ‘I love being back. It feels like home,’ I say. ‘I expect you know that I’ve finished with my boyfriend.’

  ‘The one with the Aston Martin? Adam was so impressed. He thought James Bond had come to Talyton.’

  ‘No, I did not, Mother.’ A lanky teenage boy wanders into the kitchen, rolling his eyes at Jennie. He’s about seventeen and at least six foot tall. He has short brown hair, grey eyes, pale stubble and a smattering of teenage spots. He wears a Superdry top and chinos and his feet are bare. ‘Is it dinnertime yet?’

  ‘This is Adam. Adam, this is Stevie from next door. And the food won’t be ready for another hour or so.’

  Adam moves to the fridge and helps himself to a yoghurt.

  ‘Don’t ruin your appetite,’ Jennie warns.

  ‘I won’t. I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Please don’t start winding Sophie up about that again. Your sister had nightmares about you eating Bracken.’ Jennie turns to me. ‘Sophie’s my youngest. Bracken’s her pony. She and Georgia are out riding.’ She points to a photo on the dresser of two girls side by side, one of about eleven and the other thirteen or fourteen. ‘Georgia’s the tomboy in the jeans with her hair tied back in a ponytail. Sophie with the blonde curls is the girlie one.’

  ‘The spoilt brat, you mean. If that baby is another girl, I’ll leave home,’ Adam says, frowning at his mother.

  ‘I’ll be hoping for a girl then,’ Jennie says lightly, teasing him, ‘so you’ll think about moving out … Not really.’ She reaches up and ruffles his hair. ‘But it would be nice if you could make a decision about what you want to do in the future.’

  ‘I’ve said I want to work on the farm with Guy.’

  ‘You don’t have to though. You could go to uni.’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘Anything. Adam, you could do anything you like. You’re so lucky.’

  ‘I like it here.’ He leans across the draining board, gazes out of the window and starts laughing. ‘It looks like Guy’s having cow trouble.’

  Jennie and I get up to see what’s going on. Guy is being towed across the lawn by a roan-and-white heifer with a halter caught up around her ears. The heifer bucks and tosses her head, pulling the rope from his hands before trotting away through the middle of the vegetable patch, bringing down bean sticks and netting, and the last we see of Guy is him chasing off after her, red-faced and flustered.

  ‘Are you entering the show this year?’ Jennie asks.

  ‘Looking at the competition, I think we have a good chance,’ I say, smiling, ‘but Dad’s choice of heifer isn’t even halter-broken yet. I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, go on. It will be fun.’

  ‘Fun? You’d think it was a matter of life and death the way my dad goes on. I’m not sure I’ll have time to prepare anyway. I’m researching local architects and builders for the project at the moment.’ I worry that the plan will not come to fruition, especially if Mary’s led everyone to believe we’re turning Nettlebed Farm into a mega version of Alton Towers. We’ll have environmental activists and hippy campaigners with nothing better to do camped out at the end of the drive if we’re not careful.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I say eventually. ‘Thank you for the tea and cake, and the chat.’

  ‘We must catch up again soon.’

  I didn’t think we would become friends because of Guy and what happened yesterday, and because I didn’t think Jennie and I would have much in common, but we have plenty to talk about.

  ‘Good luck with the new venture. If you need any help or advice, you know where I am,’ Jennie says. ‘And don’t forget Jennie’s Cakes are the best when you’re looking to stock your tearoom.’

  I walk home, taking a short-cut across the fields, hoping Guy doesn’t have a go at me for trespassing. I walk down the long, gently sloping field back to the farm, where I stand in the yard and look back across the drive and try to visualise how Nettlebed Farm could be.

  There’s plenty of room for a car park, landscaped with trees and shrubs, and a building of some kind. It needs a centre, a focus where visitors can meet, eat and shop. I see it now, an eco-friendly building made from wood and glass, with a patio outside with tables and chairs with parasols for sunny summer days. The accommodation for some of the animals can be in the next field over, and we can create a nature walk taking in the pond with the added attraction of a few ducks. From the pond, it would be easy to divert a path into the copse to create a woodland area with flowers and a few pigs.

  Slow down, Stevie, I tell myself. You’re getting carried away.

  Chapter Eight

  Mad Cows and Englishwomen

  ‘Thanks for doing this,’ I say when James turns up on the balcony in the parlour on a Tuesday morning, a couple of weeks after the great escape.

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he says with a big smile on his face and his hands in his coat pockets. ‘Hello, Cecil.’

  ‘Good morning, young man,’ Cecil calls back.

  ‘I’ll show you where they got out,’ I say.

  ‘You go, Stevie,’ Cecil says, shooing me out.

  ‘I’ve got the gear in the van,’ James says as I accompany him to the yard.

  ‘Do you want to dump it in the back of the Land Rover?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want you getting stuck. It’s pretty muddy.’

  ‘I won’t get stuck. I’m sure I’ve driven through worse.’

  ‘You haven’t seen it yet,’ I smile. ‘We’ve had an awful lot of rain.’

  I take the Land Rover and James follows in the van, driving past the house and the cottage up the track and into the field. I keep the Land Rover in a low gear and let it eat up the muddy ground on the way up the hill. When I reach the broken section of fence, I pull in alongside it, glancing in my mirror to check James is with me. He isn’t. He’s in his van, which is stuck in the gateway. I turn round and take the Land Rover back down, parking in front of the stranded vehicle.

  I jump out and watch James revving the engine, sending up a spray of mud and digging the wheels deeper into the ruts. He leans out of the window.

  ‘Don’t say “I told you so”,’ he says with a rueful grin.

  ‘Let’s load the Land Rover with your stuff and then I’ll go and get the tractor to tow you out.’ James doesn’t argue this time. He jumps out, the mud coming up to the top of his work-boots. His feet squelch each time he takes a lumbering step as we fill the back of the Land Rover with fence posts and equipment.

  ‘Have you got the keys handy?’ James asks.

  ‘They’re in the ignition.’

  ‘Hey, stop laughing at me, Stevie Dunsford. I don’t need you to remind me I’m a complete prat.’

  ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes,’ I say, and I walk back to the farmyard to collect a flask of sugary coffee and Bertha, who obliges by starting first time. When I get back, I leave her behind the van and walk up the hill to join James, who is already hard at work, hammering a second new post into the ground. He’s hung his coat over the first post and sweat drips from his brow, in spite of the cold, blustery wind that blows from the east.

  ‘What can I do?’ I ask.

  ‘You don’t have to do anything. I believe you’re the lady farmer and I’m the tradesman,’ James says lightly.

  ‘I can clear the barbed wire away, I suppose. I hate the stuff.’

  ‘I’ve got some wire cutters in the holdall over there.’

  I fetch them and spend half an hour rolling up the barbed wire that’s been torn away from the fence where the cows broke through into Guy’s field. I wish I could mend fences with Guy, so to speak, but I can’t see that happening.
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br />   When I’ve finished, I pour James a coffee. He doesn’t stop working, but he does talk almost non-stop.

  ‘So how are things at Wellhouse Farm?’ I ask him, curious as to why he’s working as an odd-job man, not on the family farm.

  ‘Ah, no one’s told you then. I’m surprised,’ he says, and his expression changes to one of deep sadness. ‘I don’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘It can’t be that bad. You can’t be in such dire straits as my dad.’

  ‘We lost it.’ He leans back against one of the old fence posts that’s leaning at an angle and snaps it before chucking it in the back of the Land Rover. ‘We sold up.’

  ‘I’m sorry. What happened? James, you don’t have to say …’

  ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind speaking to you. When we were in Young Farmers’, do you remember my sister used to hang around with that creepy bloke, Andrew?’

  ‘I think so. There were a few old farmers who couldn’t bring themselves to leave the club.’

  ‘They were the stupid, immature ones who never grew up,’ James says wryly. ‘Andrew was the one with the milkmaid tattoo on his arm and a fag in his mouth, the one who drove around in a Mercedes with an air horn. He was a right tosser.’

  ‘I remember now. He used to help my uncle Robert with the harvest and ploughing.’ I shudder. ‘He made my skin crawl.’

  ‘Sue liked him. She made him her mission and, when she finally got her claws into him, he became quite the reformed character, cleaned himself up and quit smoking.’

  ‘What did your parents think of him?’ From what I recall, he wasn’t universally liked by girls’ parents.

  ‘My dad called him the weasel. Mum adored him, though. She thought the sun shone out of his—’ James shuts up abruptly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?

  ‘For not speaking proper-like in front of you.’

  ‘You never used to worry. I haven’t changed.’

  James gazes at me for a moment. ‘You seem different. You’ve lost the accent, for a start, and you’re much more confident – whereas I’m still the same, apart from carrying a few extra pounds – awkward and uncouth.’