Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  In fact, I’ve just spent three long days chugging up and down the fields with Bertha, cutting and turning grass for hay, having decided to take an early crop with the expectation of making a second cut in July when the grass has grown back again. I was driving until midnight last night, and up to milk the cows, before going out with the tractor again today.

  It’s gone seven in the evening, I’m half asleep in front of the television with my father, and I’m so shattered I’m thinking of having a long bath and an early night when I hear a car bumping along the drive, which is odd because we aren’t expecting anyone as far as I know. It’s been a hot day, but it’s cooling down quickly, so I throw a jumper over my vest and glance at my watch before going outside with Bear for a quick stroll. Leo’s four-by-four is parked alongside the Land Rover, and the caravan door is jammed open with a broom handle. He has music on – he isn’t playing so I assume it must be on the radio – and he’s singing along with it. I toy with the idea of going up to say hi, but hesitate as two cars turn into the yard.

  I smile to myself on discovering that I’m affronted by the presence of strangers on the farm – I must be spending too much time with my dad.

  ‘I’m afraid you must’ve taken a wrong turning somewhere,’ I tell the driver of the first car as she opens her window.

  ‘This is Nettlebed Farm?’ she says, frowning.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘We’re looking for Leo. He invited us.’

  ‘Oh? I’m sorry, my mistake. Yes, he lives in the mobile home over there. You can park on the yard, anywhere you like.’ I back off quickly, not wanting to appear nosy, but I do watch from the side of the house as the occupants of the cars emerge. There are two men and three women – friends of Leo’s, I assume, and my jealous mind goes into overdrive.

  ‘Hello.’ Leo comes striding over towards his visitors from the mobile home, freshly showered and dressed in shorts, T-shirt and battered canvas shoes. As he greets them, his eye catches mine, making me cringe with embarrassment at being caught out spying on him. He calls me over to introduce me to three of his contemporaries from vet school, and a married couple he met while working for them as a locum on his travels, describing me as the farmer, not the farmer’s daughter, which is sweet of him, but deep down I wish he would talk of me as his girlfriend.

  ‘Stevie saved my sanity, offering me this place to stay for the summer.’

  ‘I hope you have a lovely evening,’ I say valiantly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stevie,’ Leo says in an aside to me as his guests enter the caravan. ‘I should have asked you before if I could have a party. I realise it’s a bit of an imposition.’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ I say, a little grudgingly, because if there’s a party, I’d have liked to have been invited too. ‘Isn’t it going to be a little overcrowded?’

  ‘It could be a bit of a game of seeing how many vets you can get into a mobile home,’ he grins. ‘I thought I’d take them down to the beach – we’ll have a barbecue by the sea and swim.’

  ‘Are they staying over?’ Immediately, I wish I hadn’t said that. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. It’s up to you. Only, if you like, I could make up a couple of beds in the house if you need them.’

  ‘It’s all right, thanks. You’ve done enough for me already.’ He pauses. ‘Would you like to join us? You’re very welcome.’

  I hesitate. ‘I’ve got a lot to do. No, I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on.’

  ‘Too much work and all that …’ He tips his head to one side and my heart misses a beat. ‘Join us for a drink later?’

  ‘Thank you, Leo.’ I head inside, feeling a pang of regret for the parties I’m missing. India is out tonight – she texted me a photo of her glammed up in a dress she bought in a sale.

  Later, I look out of the bedroom window and catch sight of Leo and his friends, sitting outside on picnic chairs, drinking wine, laughing and joking. I decide I will feel too much like an outsider if I join them, so I fall into bed with Bear jumping up to lie across my feet. I can’t sleep, though, because I’m consumed with envy, which is ridiculous because Leo is perfectly free to do as he likes. I lie there listening to his low voice talking to the women and I wonder if they’ll stay over and if one of them will sleep in his bed.

  The sound of Leo’s guitar slides through the summer darkness, the melody pulling on my heartstrings. Tonight I wonder if I made the right decision in abandoning my old life and moving back to Devon. I have my dad, Cecil and Mary, and I have India and other friends in London, so why do I feel so alone?

  Chapter Eleven

  Making Hay While the Sun Shines

  The next morning, I’m up early to milk the cows, creeping across the yard in order not to wake the occupants of the mobile home. Cecil joins me in the parlour after I’ve got the cows in, and there is much slow speculation about Leo’s guests.

  ‘I did offer to put them up in the house, but Leo declined,’ I say.

  ‘I reckon we should get them in for a hearty breakfast, looking at the number of empty bottles on the step outside. A good fry-up will set them right for the rest of the day.’

  I’m not sure how Leo’s feeling, but one of the cows, Wily – so-called because she’s very smart, according to Cecil – is definitely under the weather. I check the volume of milk in the jar once the cluster is off. Her yield is well down.

  ‘She hasn’t cleared up her grub,’ Cecil observes.

  ‘I’ll ask Leo to have a look at her.’

  ‘I don’t think you should – he’ll have a sore head.’

  It does seem unlikely that he’s on duty this weekend when he’s entertaining friends.

  ‘I’ll call the practice and find out who’s available. Actually, Cecil, can you do that? only as soon as I’ve finished here, I’m going to take the tractor up to the seven acres to turn the hay crop so we can bale it before it rains.’

  ‘The weather’s going to break soon,’ Cecil confirms. ‘You get going, my lover. I can finish off here.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Stripping off my overalls, I jog back across the yard, past the tractor and the mobile home where the occupants appear to be sleeping peacefully. I duck inside the kitchen and grab two thick slices of bread and some bacon that Mary’s left warming on the plate before going back outside and climbing into the tractor.

  Unfortunately, Bertha won’t start. I try reasoning with her and treating her gently, but it isn’t long before I’m out of the cab, yelling insults and aiming an angry kick at one of her tyres, which hurts my toes far more than it hurts her.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ I turn at the sound of Leo’s plaintive voice. He’s hanging out of the window of the caravan, wearing the T-shirt he was dressed in yesterday. His complexion is pale and shadowy with dark stubble and his curly hair scruffy. ‘Can’t you keep the noise down?’

  ‘Have you got a headache?’ I enquire rather sharply.

  ‘What do you think? It was a night to remember – or maybe not.’ He rubs at his temple and swears. ‘I haven’t done that for ages – got that wasted, I mean.’

  ‘It’s all right for some. Some of us have to work at the weekend.’

  ‘Have you got a problem with the tractor?’

  ‘She won’t bloody well start.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘I’ll go and see if I can borrow Guy’s while I get the engineer out to fix it. We really need a new one.’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Leo says. ‘Perhaps I could buy you dinner.’

  ‘I’ll be working late by the looks of it.’ I leave Leo to his friends and take the Land Rover round to Uphill Farm. I knock at the door of Jennie’s Folly, but there’s no one at home, and then I remember that it’s Saturday, which is market day, and she’ll be there with her stall, selling cakes. I walk up to the farmyard at Uphill Farm, the sun warm on my back. The bakery is closed and there’s no sign of Guy or his tractor – not that I have any great expecta
tion that he’ll lend it to me, unless Jennie can twist his arm.

  I decide to call Jennie to see if she knows her husband’s whereabouts. I can hear the shouts of the market traders in the background as they try to sell the last of their produce: tomato plants, three for a pound, and pigs’ ears on special offer to treat your canine friend.

  ‘I’m sorry for bothering you,’ I begin.

  ‘That’s okay. I’m finished. How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. I’m looking for Guy. It’s a bit of a cheek, but I’m looking to borrow a tractor.’ Unfortunately, according to Jennie, Guy is using his tractor to help a friend make hay elsewhere. ‘It was a long shot, anyway. I can’t see any reason why Guy would be willing to lend us a tractor. We’ve hardly been good neighbours.’

  ‘Isn’t there anyone else you could ask?’ Jennie asks. ‘Your father must have some contacts.’

  ‘Dad’s fallen out with just about everyone he knows. There’s my brother and a couple of uncles, but they’ll be using their machinery. It’s the time of year when everyone’s busy … and anyway, I want to get the hay turned again today so I can bale it before it rains.’

  ‘I’ll stick with baking cakes,’ Jennie says. ‘Making hay is always such hard work. Guy’s out all hours this time of year.’

  ‘There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to do it the traditional way, by hand.’

  ‘That’ll take you hours.’

  ‘It’ll be good for me.’

  ‘I could ask Adam and the girls to help you out later this afternoon. The girls will do it for a bag of carrots for the ponies, but Adam has this inflated idea of his own worth – you’ll have to watch out he doesn’t sting you.’

  ‘Thanks, but don’t worry. How are you anyway?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, although I’m beginning to feel rather tired, even though I still have a couple of months to go. I knew it would be harder now I’m an older mum, but I didn’t realise how exhausting it would be. I’m shattered.’

  ‘I don’t envy you. I’ll catch up with you soon.’

  I return to the yard and load a couple of forks into the back of the Land Rover. My dad comes shuffling out to offer his services but I decline.

  ‘It’s good of you to offer, but it’s too hot for you today, Dad. I don’t want you collapsing on me.’

  ‘You make me feel ruddy useless,’ he grumbles. ‘I can use a pitchfork. One year I turned forty acres single-handed.’

  ‘That must have been a long time ago. I’m going to get this cut turned by the end of the day. If you’d looked after Bertha properly, I wouldn’t have to do it myself.’

  ‘I could do with a new one, but tractors don’t grow on trees, Stevie.’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘I’ll never be able to afford it.’

  ‘If the petting farm works out, we might have the money for a tractor,’ I say, dreaming of a big shiny red one with air con and somewhere to plug in an iPhone.

  ‘Pah,’ he snorts. ‘You’ll be paying off the loan for that for ever. The next generation of Dunsfords – and the one after that, most likely – will be mired in debt, thanks to you.’

  ‘Everyone’s entitled to their opinion,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m not going to discuss it again. I’d like you to be with me on this, but if you can’t, I understand. I’m trying to save Nettlebed Farm for you, for us and for future generations.’

  ‘If there are any future generations to save it for. I can’t see you breeding the way you carry on.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ The skin on the back of my neck prickles with antagonism.

  ‘The way you carry on with men and never settle for one.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ I say hotly. ‘I haven’t been carrying on with anyone.’

  ‘There was that townie, Nick.’

  ‘I didn’t settle for Nick because we weren’t right for each other. Could you see him living here in the country?’

  Dad smiles ruefully. ‘No, but he was loaded, wasn’t he? He could have sold that car of his and saved Nettlebed Farm just like that. You didn’t have your head screwed on properly when you turned him down.’

  ‘I am not marrying for money. That’s crazy.’

  ‘Stupider things have happened. Your brother Ray married into money.’

  ‘I notice he hasn’t brought any of his good fortune this way.’

  ‘Why should he?’ Dad says sharply. ‘We’re not a bloody charity. Anyway, I’d never accept money from that turncoat brother of yours. He had everything, and he buggered off, leaving me and your mother to run the farm ourselves.’

  ‘Things could have been so very different if you’d let me stay all those years ago,’ I say. ‘I’d have taken care of the farm.’

  ‘We had to make a choice between you and Ray. The land couldn’t support us and two families if you should both marry. And we were worried that you’d marry some young man in haste and repent at leisure. I’ve seen what happens when there’s a divorce. Farms are sold to pay solicitors and settlements.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be that way. There are such things as pre-nups.’

  ‘Would you have agreed to sign one? No, of course you wouldn’t. You would have said it was unnecessary because you were in love. The trouble with you, as I’ve been saying, is you’re always falling in and out of love, Stevie.’

  ‘Hardly,’ I protest again.

  ‘What about Leo, an outright foreigner –’ by that he means someone who isn’t a local, not someone born in another country – ‘and a man who’s been pretty unpleasant about the whole welfare issue, telling me I don’t have a clue how to look after my cattle and recommending I’m prosecuted for animal cruelty? You’ve virtually moved him in.’

  ‘He needed somewhere to stay and I thought we could do with the rent,’ I say weakly.

  ‘I haven’t seen any of his money yet.’

  ‘That’s because it’s gone straight back into paying the bills.’ I’m being economical with the truth when it comes to the economics of Leo renting the mobile home. The fact is, I can’t bring myself to charge him when I feel as if it should be me paying him to stay there.

  ‘You didn’t like it when those people came to see him last night, did you?’ Dad taunts me. ‘It’s all right, Stevie, I know you’ve got the hots for him, though goodness knows why.’

  ‘Hang on a moment, Leo’s been good to us. He’s great with the cows.’

  Dad merely grunts, turns and walks away, his shoulders stooped.

  ‘Why don’t you go and have a bit of a sort-out in the office,’ I call after him, but if he hears me he takes no notice and heads back inside the house. If he weren’t so infuriating, I would feel sorry for him. It must drive him mad, sitting indoors all day when he used to spend all his time outside, working with the cows or on the fields from dawn till dusk.

  A tiny brown wren hops onto the wall beside me. As I move, she flits away again.

  Up at the field, I stop the Land Rover in the gateway and grab a pitchfork. I pick up a handful of cut grass from the end of one of the rows that run from one side of the field to the other, and sniff it. It smells sweet, but it’s too green to bale yet. Once it’s baled we let it mature for a few weeks in the end of the barn, sell some to horse owners and keep some back for the cows. Haymaking is one of those activities that can’t be rushed.

  Within two hours of turning hay with the fork, I’m burning up, even though I’m stripped down to a cap, vest, shorts and trainers. I pause, looking at the blue haze on the horizon. All the muscles in my arms and legs ache and sweat trickles down my chest and back. A horsefly bites my arm. I flick it away and start again.

  It’s hard labour, yet soothing. I stop counting the rows of grass. I stop thinking about Leo, Nick and my plans for the farm, losing myself in the rhythm of forking the grass into the air and letting it fall. I work from the hedge on the west side to the copse on the east, and back, listening to the almost human cries of a pair of buzzards as they soar and circle overhead, and the chirriping sound
s of the crickets at my feet.

  ‘Hi there, Stevie.’

  ‘Leo?’ I turn at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Cecil told me where you were. I thought I’d wander up and find you – I’ve brought lunch and a cold drink.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’ My forehead tightens.

  ‘I know that, but I did.’

  ‘Have your visitors gone already?’ I lean on the end of the fork.

  ‘They’re busy people.’ Leo walks up close and hands me a basket filled with bread and cheese and a jar of home-made chutney. ‘Mary packed it for us. I thought we could have something to eat and then I’d give you a hand, although having seen how big this field is, I might have changed my mind.’ He’s sweating a little already, his face shiny and the roots of his hair damp with perspiration.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll be that much use anyway. You look pretty wrecked.’

  ‘Thanks for your honesty.’

  ‘But if you want some fresh air,’ I say, flirting with him, ‘you’re more than welcome to take over for a while.’

  ‘Lunch first.’ Leo takes the basket back, his fingers brushing mine. ‘Shall we sit in the shade?’

  ‘Can’t you stand the heat?’ I tease. I look towards the old oak tree by the gateway. ‘There’s a piece of tarpaulin in the back of the Land Rover – we can sit on that.’ I fetch it and lay it out under the tree, which is wider than it is tall, its spreading branches in full leaf and sprouting small acorns. I sit down and Leo hands me a water bottle filled with iced squash.

  Leo sits down too, opens the chutney and spreads the bread, cheese and tomatoes out on a tea towel, making a picnic. There are butterflies – fritillaries of some kind – dancing around the tree. One lands on the tea towel.

  ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’ Leo says.

  ‘They are …’ I watch for a while, but I can’t stop for long. I pick up a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese. I’m starving, but Leo can hardly take a bite.

  ‘You look as if you need the hair of the dog,’ I say, amused.

  ‘I haven’t had a hangover for ages.’ He smiles wryly and I feel a hot rush of sympathy for his condition, although it was entirely self-inflicted.