Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Life isn’t all about money,’ I say hotly.

  ‘Ah, but it’s what makes the world go round.’

  ‘That’s love, isn’t it? It’s love that makes the world go round.’

  ‘You could be right there.’ Leo smiles. ‘You must think I’m a right mercenary git.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you?’ I challenge him. ‘You’re a vet. You must be rolling in it.’

  ‘That’s a misconception, like the myth about poor farmers.’

  ‘You’ve probably got an amazing house.’

  ‘I don’t own a house,’ he says.

  ‘Where do you live then?’

  ‘Wherever,’ he shrugs. ‘I like being a free spirit.’ He throws me the end of the rope. ‘Let’s get her down. There’s a nice soft landing for her here.’

  I help Leo rope Domino up and cast her onto her side. From there we roll her onto her back, straighten her hind legs and turn her onto her brisket. Domino is not happy, but I take it as a good sign that there is a hint of rebellion, not defeat in her expression.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is most undignified,’ I tell her when we repeat the process for a second time. Domino struggles up onto her feet and I watch, holding my breath, but it’s still there, the balloon of gas and the ping sound.

  ‘That’s a bugger,’ Leo says, which makes me smile in spite of the situation.

  ‘Indeed,’ I agree. ‘Let’s go ahead with the surgery.’

  ‘If you’re certain.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some hot water.’ I bring a couple of plastic buckets full from the dairy while Leo spreads a green cotton drape across a straw bale and lines up the equipment he needs: needles and syringes, bottles of local anaesthetic and antibiotic, more drapes, a kidney dish containing surgical scrub, a pack of instruments. He operates, making a long cut into Domino’s belly, so he can reposition her stomach and anchor it to the inside of her flank with big stitches to keep it in place in future.

  ‘That’s a neat job,’ I say, watching Leo sewing Domino up.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Did you always want to be a vet?’

  ‘Not always. I come from a farming family. We farmed five hundred acres in Lincolnshire. It was largely arable, a mixture of winter wheat, spring barley and sugar beet, but we also had a small pig unit and beef for fattening.’

  ‘You didn’t want to stay at home and work on the farm then?’

  ‘My parents sold up. I made it clear I didn’t want to work all hours like they did, dawn to dusk seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I ended up working all hours as a vet instead.’

  ‘Did your mum and dad regret giving up?’

  ‘I think the change in lifestyle finished them off. They died within a year, Mum from breast cancer and my father from a broken heart.’

  ‘I’m sorry … That’s so sad.’

  ‘At least they’re together. They were very close.’ Leo gazes at me, screwing up his eyes as the bright sunlight enters the cowshed between the slats.

  ‘Have you any other family? Brothers and sisters?’

  ‘An older sister,’ he says. ‘What about you? Why did you leave Devon in the first place?’

  ‘I wanted to stay here on the farm. In fact, I worked like mad when I was younger because I wanted it so badly, but my father chose my brother over me because I was a girl.’

  ‘That’s very short-sighted – and misogynistic, if you ask me.’

  ‘I packed some things, took my father’s Volvo and drove up to London. My grandmother used to read me the story of Dick Whittington – it’s all right, I didn’t believe it; but there must have been part of me that remembered London was a good place to seek your fortune. I was eighteen and didn’t have much money on me.’

  ‘That was a brave thing to do.’

  ‘I was lucky. I met India in a café – she’s my best friend – and she let me stay on her sofa. I did some waitressing and clearing tables so I could pay my way, but it wasn’t long before I realised I didn’t want to do that for the rest of my life, so I looked for a position where I could do my accountancy exams. I ended up working for a firm in Wimbledon.’

  ‘You must have earned a fortune. Why on earth have you given it up for this?’

  ‘I earned good money, but I love being here working outdoors with the cows. On the whole they’re a lot easier to work with than some of my clients – less demanding.’ I smile. ‘I cut ties with my father, and kept in touch with my mum by phone. Cecil and Mary maintained contact through birthday and Christmas cards.

  ‘It wasn’t until my mum was diagnosed …’ I pause to collect myself before continuing. ‘That’s when I first came back to the farm. I was lucky I didn’t leave it too late.’ I fall silent, remembering my mother.

  ‘I imagine you’d still be in London if it hadn’t been for your father’s ill health.’

  ‘I hadn’t been back since my mum passed away. I’m not sure I would have ever returned if it hadn’t been for Cecil contacting me with his SOS.’

  ‘I suppose you miss your boyfriend?’ Leo asks tentatively. ‘I’m sorry,’ he goes on, reading my expression. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Oh, it’s okay.’ I shrug. ‘We decided to call it a day. I couldn’t deal with a long-distance relationship and he wasn’t exactly a country man, although he wanted to look the part.’ I think of Nick and my heart twists with unexpected pain. ‘It’s one of those things.’ I’m suddenly homesick for London, my lovely flat and India, on top of my moment of weakness over my ex. ‘How about you? Are you taken?’

  ‘Taken?’

  ‘Have you a girlfriend?’ I feel myself blushing.

  ‘Not at the moment.’ Gazing at me, he washes his hands and wipes them on some paper towels I grabbed from the parlour. ‘I have had various girlfriends, and a fiancée – not at the same time, I hasten to add. I can go the distance if the lady is worth it, but I’ve been living the single life for a while now.’

  ‘What happened to the fiancée?’

  ‘Oh, it didn’t work out,’ he says dismissively. ‘Stevie, have you seen my stethoscope?’

  ‘It’s around your neck,’ I say, grinning as Leo chuckles at his mistake.

  ‘You asked if I knew of somewhere you could stay for the summer,’ I begin. ‘It isn’t much, but you’re welcome to have the mobile home on the yard. You’d have it to yourself and be completely independent. There’s a microwave, fridge, hob and oven – I can check to see if they work.’ My enthusiasm for the idea fizzles out as I watch Leo’s expression. Have I overstepped the mark suggesting he stays here at Nettlebed Farm? Is he worried about my motives? Because, if I’m really honest with myself, he should be.

  ‘Your father’s okay with this?’ Leo asks. ‘Only he’s a bit handy with a gun.’

  ‘He’s had his gun licence revoked.’ I start to worry that I haven’t run this offer past my father. ‘It’ll be fine. I don’t know why he bought the mobile home if he wasn’t expecting anyone to live in it.’

  ‘Why did he buy it then?’

  ‘It was cheap. He likes a bargain, even if it’s something that’s no use to him.’ I start to backtrack. ‘Look, Leo, it’s pretty ancient and, in fact, I’m not sure it’s habitable.’

  ‘I really don’t want to stay at the Pitts’ all summer. I don’t mind half an hour on the Xbox, but no more. I find it a bit exhausting with all the kids after a long day at work. And I like my own company.’

  ‘I suppose I prefer to be around people, so sometimes it’s a bit too quiet for me on the farm,’ I say. ‘Cecil isn’t exactly chatty and there’s no one to talk to when you’re out on the hill with the muck-spreader, although I do often text India. And there’s Jennie next door – she’s friendly, but I don’t have much time to go round for coffee. There’s a huge amount to catch up with on the farm – Dad and Cecil can’t help it, but they’ve really let it go.’

  ‘You’re making me feel guilty, but I have to be polite and r
espectful to my clients all day, and sometimes in the middle of the night too.’

  ‘You seemed to have some difficulty with that when I first met you.’

  ‘Did I? Oh yes, I was rather wound up that day. I thought Alex should have turned up with Jack, not me. And I’m never happy when I see animals suffering unnecessarily.’

  ‘I know …’ I still feel guilty.

  ‘It isn’t your fault. I realise that now.’ Leo smiles. ‘And I like visiting Nettlebed Farm – it holds a special attraction for me … You’re different. And you make a great mug of tea,’ he grins cheekily.

  ‘Is that a hint that you’d like one?’ I say archly.

  ‘If you’re making one, I wouldn’t say no.’ And, I think, if he asked me to kiss him I wouldn’t say no either. I don’t know where this is coming from. I’m not normally like this. Is it because I’m missing the closeness with Nick and looking for solace? ‘Can I have a look inside the mobile home?’ he goes on.

  ‘I’ll have to find the key first. Why don’t you drop by tomorrow?’ I hesitate. Does that sound too keen? ‘Or maybe you’re on call. I’m free most days, every day in fact, pretty well.’ Suddenly, I’m embarrassed at revealing my availability. So what! Being single doesn’t have to mean I’m sad.

  ‘Tomorrow would be perfect.’ Leo smiles and my heart flips. Spending time in his company makes me happy.

  ‘Thank you for going ahead with the surgery. I know you weren’t keen on the idea.’

  ‘That’s okay. Your instincts were right – she’s made it so far, and I reckon if we’re lucky, she’ll make a good recovery. Whether she’ll ever have another calf is another matter.’

  ‘I’ll retire her,’ I say.

  ‘Can you afford to do that?’

  ‘There’s plenty of grass around. I wouldn’t do it for all of the cows, but this one’s special.’

  ‘You’ll have to start up a retirement home for dairy cattle. What would Cecil and your father think of that?’

  ‘I can guess. My father’s already had a lot to say about the plan for a petting farm.’ As soon as I utter the word ‘petting’, it takes on a new significance, and my face is burning at the idea of some heavy petting with Leo.

  Leo gives me a telling grin. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Stevie,’ he says in a caressing voice, as if he can hardly wait to see me again, and I watch him leave, my heart pounding with desire and the hope that our deepening friendship might soon grow into something more. I know he’s only the locum, but who knows? Maybe he’ll stay on.

  I decide to go and ask my father for the key to the mobile home, so I can give it a quick once-over before Leo returns. I find Dad in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a packet of lemon creams and a scrapbook of yellowing newspaper clippings.

  ‘Hello, Stevie. What are you doing indoors?’

  ‘Cecil’s finished milking and the vet’s just left.’

  ‘He was here a ruddy long time. I dread to think how much that call-out cost.’

  I thought he might have come out to see what was going on because Domino is one of his favourites too. We all love her. I wonder if he was too scared that we might lose her.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask how Domino is?’

  ‘It doesn’t worry me,’ he mutters.

  ‘So you aren’t looking at her picture for any particular reason?’ I say, looking over his shoulder.

  ‘I just happened upon it,’ he says, closing the scrapbook. ‘It opened at the year when she took Show Champion. Don’t you remember?’

  I shake my head. ‘Dad, it was eight years ago. I wasn’t here.’

  He frowns as if he’s forgotten I was ever absent from the farm, which doesn’t bode well for the prospect of finding the key to the mobile home. However, he is convinced that it’s on a key ring which is taped to the back of one of the drawers in the desk in the office.

  ‘What do you want it for anyway?’

  ‘Leo is looking for somewhere to stay. I thought as it was standing empty—’

  ‘You should have asked me first,’ my father says. ‘I’m planning to use that as a holiday let for the summer.’

  ‘I think that’s rather optimistic – who would want to stay there for a holiday?’

  ‘A family who wants to live on a working farm for a week.’

  ‘Dad, you’re deluded. It’s a wreck.’

  ‘So why would some rich vet want to stay in it?’ he counters, and he does have a point.

  ‘He’s looking for some peace and quiet.’

  ‘He’ll pay rent?’

  ‘I expect so.’ I begin to falter. ‘I haven’t got that far yet.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll get a reputation.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, there’s nothing seedy about the arrangement. I’m not going out with Leo.’

  ‘You’re too old to be having fun. You should be settling down, getting married and thinking about starting a family.’ My father hesitates. ‘James is a pleasant enough young man.’

  ‘He’s pretty easygoing and he’s a hard worker,’ I say, thinking of the job he made of the new fence, ‘but he is rather dull. I’m sorry, but he is.’ I suppose by criticising James, a man of the land, I’m also criticising my father. ‘We don’t have a lot in common anymore.’

  ‘I married your mother when she turned twenty.’

  ‘Yet you didn’t start a family until she was in her thirties,’ I point out. ‘I’m twenty-eight, so I don’t understand the rush.’

  ‘She wanted a baby sooner, but it didn’t happen for a long while. In fact, she’d all but given up hope when she found she was pregnant with you.’

  ‘Well, marriage and babies aren’t a priority for me. Please don’t start matchmaking on my behalf.’

  ‘Well, maybe it isn’t such a bad idea having a vet on the premises. If you keep in with Leo, we’re bound to get a discount. He can’t charge for diesel if he’s living right here.’

  ‘Dad, you are not to mention it. Leo’s coming here because he doesn’t want a load of hassle. If you even hint at a discount, I’ll be furious with you. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘As clear as mud.’

  ‘Please don’t pretend you don’t understand,’ I say wearily. ‘It’s simple. While Leo’s staying, the mobile home is out of bounds.’ I change the subject. ‘I’m going to find this key.’

  To my amazement, the key is in the office where Dad said it would be, and I enter the mobile home armed with bleach, cloths, a pair of yellow marigolds and a lot of optimism, which fizzles away as I pick at the mould under the window.

  It’s damp, cold and miserable. The bathroom facilities bear a pervading stench of stagnant water, which makes me feel nauseous. A mouse has nibbled its way through the foam in one of the cushions on the sofa. The mattress on the bed is damp. The fridge is okay because it’s been left with the door propped open, and it makes a whirring sound when I switch it on. The hob works too, proving there’s some gas left in the canister that stands outside. I open the cupboard under the sink, finding a dog bowl and some fearsome-looking veterinary instruments, evidence of the mobile home’s history. It moved from Talysands Holiday Park to the farm via Otter House vets, who used it as a temporary surgery after what became known as the Great Flood, when the river Taly burst its banks a couple of years ago.

  I’m more than a little apprehensive at what Leo will think. I should have had a closer look before offering it to him. I call him on his mobile number and leave a message on his voicemail.

  ‘I think you should have a look first,’ I say. ‘Don’t pack your things just yet.’

  As I’m cleaning, my mind runs round in circles. I wonder if it’s the glamour of Leo being a vet that’s especially attractive, but he doesn’t look all that glamorous when he turns up on the farm with mud on his boots and cow dung smeared across his shirt. Nick was eminently available and a good-looking, ordinary man wanting to settle down and start a family, yet I rejected him; whereas Leo, who is charismatic, enigmatic and no
t intending to hang around for long, turns me into a lustful, weak-kneed … Stop right there, I tell myself. It’s nothing, just a reaction to moving back to the farm. I’m still missing my friends and colleagues, and the hustle and bustle of the city. This feeling will pass.

  India agrees with me when I speak to her on the phone, having taken a quick break outside to clear my nostrils of the stench of bleach.

  ‘It’s a whim, a passing phase,’ India says. ‘I know what you’re like Stevie. You have these enthusiasms and they never last.’

  ‘Excuse me, I went out with Nick for eighteen months,’ I protest.

  ‘Exactly, and it’s really sad that you think a year and a half is a long-term relationship.’

  ‘Well, it is,’ I say, amused until I realise India is being serious.

  ‘Nick came into the restaurant with a client the other day – he’s still completely devastated. He thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with you.’

  ‘India, don’t keep making me feel guilty.’ I feel bad enough without her help. I know it was for the best. ‘If I’d accepted Nick’s proposal, we would never have made it to the altar.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have dragged it out the way you did. You should have put him out of his misery before you went on holiday together.’

  ‘I didn’t know for certain that it wasn’t going to work—’

  ‘Until you’d had two weeks in paradise at Nick’s expense.’

  ‘I paid my share,’ I say, hurt at her suggestion that I’d taken advantage of him.

  ‘That isn’t what he says.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about Nick all of a sudden.’

  ‘He always gives me a good tip. And we’ve shared a couple of bottles of wine recently.’

  I wonder if Nick’s going out with India on the rebound. He always said how much he hated being on his own.