Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  I’m beginning to freeze. My body aches from shivering. James fetches more blankets and places one over my shoulders.

  ‘It won’t be long,’ he says when I thank him, but I cannot be reassured. I wonder if my father will make it or if his luck has run out this time.

  ‘Hang on in there,’ I pray, ‘for Holly’s sake if not mine. You have so much to live for.’

  ‘I can hear something,’ James says. ‘Look, there are blue lights on the horizon. I’ll stick the dog in the Land Rover.’

  The last thing I need is for Bear to attack the paramedics, but Bear has other ideas. He will not be parted from his master; in the end I have to hang on to him with a rope around his neck so he can see what is going on, and check that the paramedics are not harming him. I can see his body tense and hear the low growls in his throat.

  Once my father is stabilised and in the ambulance, the paramedics say they can take me with him.

  ‘What about Holly?’ I say.

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ James says gamely. ‘Don’t you worry, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to, as long as Mary’s around to advise me.’

  ‘Can you ask Jennie? Please, James, if you go round to see her, I’m sure she’ll agree to help out.’

  The next few hours pass in confusion. My father regains consciousness in the hospital. He has a scan of his head and various other tests, after which the doctor pronounces that there is no evidence of a further stroke or bleeding to his brain, and concurs with the patient that he has a skull as hard as granite. He has his hair shaved from the back of his head and six stitches put in his scalp to close the wound. He’s even feeling bright enough to flirt with the nurses.

  ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ I tell him, ‘putting us through this. You could have been killed. If James and I hadn’t found you when we did, they say you’d have died of hypothermia.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. Look at me. I’m as strong as an ox.’

  ‘You don’t look it,’ I say as he lies back on the trolley, his face almost the same shade of pale as the pillow. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘A whisky would be nice,’ he says.

  ‘You’ll be lucky.’ I pause. ‘You know there’ll be an investigation into the accident.’

  ‘More bloody officialdom! I never did set much store by health and safety.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed,’ I say dryly. He wasn’t impressed when I attended a health-and-safety seminar at our local agricultural college earlier in the month to learn how to create risk assessments aimed at controlling or preventing ill-health through contact with animals at visitor attractions. ‘Now, I’m going outside to call James. Can I trust you to stay there?’

  He nods sheepishly.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle.’ I contact James who tells me Jennie has Holly. It’s late, but I call her anyway.

  ‘Holly’s fine. How is your dad?’ Jennie says as soon as she answers the phone.

  ‘He’s conscious.’ I go on to explain what happened. ‘I’m hoping he has learned his lesson. I told him not to go out.’

  ‘Do you know when you’ll be home? I’m not saying that because I want to get rid of Holly, by the way. She and Reuben are having a lovely time, gurgling at each other. I wish I knew what they were talking about.’

  ‘Is she still awake?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s all too exciting going out for your very first sleepover. Please don’t worry, Stevie. I know you’d do the same for us.’

  ‘Can I come and get her?’

  ‘Any time. I know you can’t bear to be without her.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I cut the call and stand outside the hospital, looking from the outside in, feeling completely bereft without my baby. I check the time. I haven’t spoken to Leo today either and I miss him. I collect Holly on the way back to Nettlebed Farm, and she sleeps the rest of the night and well into the next morning.

  ‘I’m sorry for being such a fool,’ Dad says when I bring him home to the farm a couple of days later and help him into the house. I run out and fetch Holly, who’s fallen asleep in her car seat on the journey back from the hospital. Once in the sitting room, I transfer Holly into the Moses basket.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ I tell my father when he starts talking again.

  ‘Let me speak, Stevie.’ He reaches out and touches my hand, wincing at the same time. I’m surprised because he isn’t a tactile person. I can’t remember him ever giving me a hug. All I have is a vague memory of him carrying me on his shoulders through the fields when he was fetching the cows in for milking. ‘Now, you might think I’ve had a knock on the head, going soft like this in my old age, but I did a lot of thinking while I was lying outside that tractor and I want to tell you before it’s too late and I’m dead and gone—’

  ‘Oh, Dad, don’t,’ I interrupt with a sigh.

  ‘I’ve had some lucky escapes recently and you’re right that I should have listened to you and not taken the tractor out, but you and Cecil needed help and you have to spend time with the baby, so I did what I thought was right. I wanted to get back out there on the farm. It was now or never. Turns out it was never,’ he goes on sadly. ‘I’m too old and useless for anything.’

  ‘Dad, you look after Holly for me and you answer the phone.’

  ‘It’s nothing compared with what I used to do.’

  I gaze at him softly. It must be hard when you’ve been so active and capable to go from running a farm to being virtually housebound, but that’s life. I wish he could accept his lot, but I doubt he ever will.

  ‘Will you ever forgive me for what I did when you were eighteen?’

  ‘Dad, all is forgiven.’ I forgave him everything when I found him lying unconscious in the field. All I wanted was to have him back.

  ‘If you hadn’t come back I’d have gone to prison.’

  ‘I doubt a judge would have had you locked up.’

  ‘They would have done, because I’d have shot anyone who’d tried to take them there cows off me.’ My father begins to sob. ‘I’d have been forced to sell up. There would have been nothing left.’

  ‘Please don’t cry …’

  ‘I’m not crying,’ he says gruffly, turning away to blow his nose.

  ‘You are,’ I say, infuriated that he still insists on pretending and putting up a front for me, his daughter.

  ‘After I’ve gone and you’re the lady farmer and sole owner of Nettlebed Farm, you’ll need a husband to take care of you.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t need a husband.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of you being alone in this big old house.’

  I’m touched. ‘I won’t be alone. You’re going to be around for a very long time, along with Cecil and Mary.’

  ‘And James?’ Dad asks.

  ‘James?’

  ‘You know he’s soft on you. Always has been.’

  ‘Aside from the many other girls he’s been out with,’ I point out lightly.

  ‘He’s single at the moment and so are you. It seems like fate.’

  ‘Dad, please stop it. James and I have discussed the situation. He knows the score and he’s totally accepted that we are just friends. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get on. I have a baby and a deadline to open the farm to the public by Easter.’

  ‘I thought that Nick might have offered when he saw Holly, but I can see that was wishful thinking.’

  ‘He did, but it was over between us, and it would never have worked. You didn’t like him anyway.’

  ‘I know. He was a right townie, but you would have thought he would do anything to be with his baby, especially when she’s so beautiful.’ My father gazes proudly at Holly, who is lying in her Moses basket, fast asleep.

  The work is daunting, even without programming in looking after a baby. Mary takes care of Holly for some of the time, more than I’d anticipated.

  ‘I never had a baby of my own, which is a deep regret to me,’ she says when I apologise for handing Hol
ly over to her for another half-day. ‘Cecil and I weren’t blessed with children. You’re like our family now and I wouldn’t change it.’ She rocks Holly in her arms rather violently, as if she’s making a cocktail. Mary smiles when I stare at her. ‘Don’t worry about us, Stevie. I won’t put her down until you come back. Where are you going?’

  ‘With James, Dad and Jennie’s girls. We’re going to choose rabbits from the Sanctuary and collect two miniature donkeys from Delphi at the Equestrian Centre.’

  ‘Ah, I love a donkey. Your granddad used to have one in the orchard. It takes me right back. Cecil, my lover, Stevie was just saying they’re going to collect the donkeys.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Cecil says, kicking the mud from his boots as he enters the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t you go bringing any dirt in here.’

  ‘It’s good for the little one to have a bit of dirt,’ he argues. ‘Isn’t that right, Stevie?’

  ‘I’ve heard experts say the presence of germs helps reduce the risk of developing allergies, but Holly’s probably met enough of them already.’

  ‘We’re on the map at last. There’s a new sign for Nettlebed Farm up along the lane,’ Cecil says. ‘Some man from the council was putting it up this morning. It looks pretty impressive.’

  ‘All we need now is our own signage at the entrance to the drive.’ My father wanted me to hand-paint one, but I didn’t want to give potential visitors the impression they were coming to pet a couple of sad-looking half-bald sheep. It’s got to look amazing, so people want to come and pay to get in; and then the experience has to be so wonderful they want to return or stay all day. I think of the frame for the Shed that has yet to be assembled and the path for the nature trail that needs to be laid. There’s so much to do I can’t believe we’ll ever be ready in time.

  I take Jennie’s girls, my dad, who is still recovering from his tractor accident, and James.

  I drive, trying to ignore my father’s backseat driving, which becomes more extreme when we reach the particularly narrow and twisty lane up to the Sanctuary. Buttercross Cottage, a quaint cob-and-thatch house with diamond leaded windows and flowers around the outside, is gone, destroyed in a fire one night some years ago. In its place stands an unprepossessing modern box of a bungalow, with holly growing up around its large windows to disguise the slate-grey render. The few remaining berries on the holly match the red front door. Jack’s Animal Welfare van is parked in one of the bays in the tarmacked car park. To our left is the wood, Longdogs Copse, and to the right is a small paddock divided into two with electric fencing tape. One side is empty while the other contains a black-and-white billy goat and two fawn nannies. Beyond, there are some outbuildings, a barn open at one end, a cattery and a kennel block.

  James, the girls, my father and I get out of the Land Rover and make our way across the car park. The dogs in the kennels bark and howl.

  ‘They’re noisy,’ Sophie observes. She’s dressed in a skirt, coat and long boots, while her sister is wearing a Puffa jacket and jodhpurs.

  ‘Can we choose a dog?’ Georgia asks.

  ‘We’re looking for rabbits today,’ I say, concerned that I’ve made a mistake coming here when I realise I’ll want to take them all home.

  ‘I thought we were choosing guinea pigs,’ Sophie says.

  ‘You’re my guinea pigs.’ I smile at the misunderstanding. ‘I’ve brought you along to interview the rabbits to see if they’re good with children and suitable for handling.’ I notice that I appear to have offended Georgia with my reference to children. ‘Of course, you’re teenagers, not little kids.’

  ‘Sophie is eleven,’ Georgia says. ‘She is not a teenager.’

  ‘I’m almost a teenager,’ Sophie says.

  ‘You have two years to go yet.’

  ‘Let’s go and see the rabbits.’ James gives me a wink.

  ‘Welcome to the Sanctuary,’ Jack says, emerging from the barn with a woman I assume is Tessa. She’s tall and slim with dark, almost black hair, full lips and sculpted cheekbones, reminding me of a Bond girl.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling. ‘Let’s go and choose some rabbits – it’s like rabbit city here.’ Sophie and Georgia warm to her immediately.

  We pick out fifteen altogether.

  ‘How many did you want?’ Tessa asks.

  ‘I was told ten,’ James says.

  ‘We can’t leave those two giant rabbits behind,’ Georgia says. ‘The little kids will love them.’

  ‘And I like all the fluffy ones,’ Sophie says.

  ‘When do you want to pick them up?’ Jack asks.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I say. ‘I know it’s early, but we’re opening the farm in April, so we’ll have a couple of months to give them time to settle, to get them health-checked by one of the vets at Otter House, and let Georgia and Sophie play with them to get them completely familiar with being handled. Jack, you can advise us on food and bedding. I’ll pay you. I don’t want anything to go wrong.’ I pause. ‘I’d like the goats as well. They seem perfect.’

  We make the arrangements before we drive over to collect the donkeys, taking the road south towards Talysands and catching the first glimpse of the sea at the top of the hill where the water reflects the light of the pale winter’s sun. I turn off the main road into a driveway, passing a sign reading ‘Letherington Equestrian Centre’, and a small, warehouse-style building that houses the shop, Tack ’n’ Hack, on one side, and paddocks on the other, where a couple of horses dressed in their winter woollies are sharing an enormous round bale of hay.

  I continue past a modern barn and into a car park that faces onto a yard of breezeblock-and-tile stables. Beyond is a second yard of older higgledy-piggledy part-brick and part-cob buildings, where we find Delphi and the donkeys.

  Slightly unkempt, with dirty nails and weathered skin, Delphi is in her mid-to-late forties. Dressed in a long riding mac, breeches and long boots, she exudes an air of horse, Chanel and superiority. I don’t know her very well, having met her only briefly at various New Year parties held at Talyton Manor, where she used to throw herself at Alex Fox-Gifford when he wasn’t attached to either his ex-wife, who ran off with a footballer, or his current wife, Maz. I recall her cut-glass accent and horse-like laugh.

  She shows us to where she has the miniature donkeys in an equally miniature stable. There are two geldings, one a grey dun with sorrel highlights and one black, and they stand less than a metre tall at the withers. My heart melts when I see them together with their head-collars on, one blue and one red.

  ‘Guy says you could have had Bracken and Chester and stuck some false ears on them instead,’ Georgia jokes.

  ‘Hey, you can’t get rid of my pony,’ Sophie says in a sulky tone.

  ‘My mum bought Bracken from here,’ Georgia says.

  ‘How is Bracken?’ Delphi asks.

  ‘Well, she was a very naughty pony when we got her, but she’s a good girl now.’

  ‘She can jump three foot six,’ Sophie pipes up.

  ‘She threw me off and broke my arm,’ Georgia says. ‘Mum was really cross when you wouldn’t take her back at first, but then she said it was a good thing you wouldn’t because you’d only have gone and sold her to another mug.’

  ‘Did your mum really describe herself as a mug?’ I ask.

  I wonder if Delphi is feeling a little awkward, but I’m not sure.

  ‘That’s what comes of letting novices take on a pony,’ she sniffs. ‘Anyway, do you want these little chaps or not? They have the sweetest temperaments. They’ve never been seen to bite or kick, and they always come running for a carrot.’

  ‘Where did they come from?’ James asks.

  ‘A friend of mine has had them standing out in a field at Bottom End for the past couple of years. Their pasture flooded over Christmas and the poor things nearly drowned.’

  ‘Aah,’ Georgia sighs.

  ‘All I’m asking is that they go to a good home and a small contribution to cover the cost of feeding the
m for the past month,’ Delphi goes on. She mentions a figure that my father thinks is far too much.

  ‘How much does a pair of miniature donkeys eat?’ he complains. ‘That’s bloody extortionate.’

  ‘I have a couple of other people interested in them,’ Delphi counters.

  ‘Dad, please. I want these donkeys,’ I say.

  ‘They are good to handle?’ my father asks.

  ‘Go in and see for yourself.’ Delphi unlatches the stable door and lets the girls inside. The donkeys are peculiarly quiet. I’m impressed and, having overridden my father’s doubts, I agree on a slightly reduced sum of money. I pay in cash, we load them – they’re called Sneezy and Grumpy – into the trailer and take them back in triumph to Nettlebed Farm, where I let them out into the paddock we’ve made for them alongside the car park. They stand in the field shelter for a while, falling asleep on their feet as if they’ve had a very long day.

  The following morning the rabbits arrive. After we’ve settled them in their mansions, I decide that Georgia and I should catch the donkeys and give them a brush to get them into a routine. I fetch two carrots from Mary’s store in the larder and, armed with the head-collars, we enter the paddock. As soon as the donkeys see us, they trot away to the furthest corner and wait for us to trudge across in our wellies.

  ‘Come here, Sneezy,’ Georgia calls softly.

  Sneezy turns his bottom towards her and kicks out.

  Luckily, she is just out of his reach.

  ‘Come back, Georgia,’ I warn. ‘I don’t trust these little guys.’

  ‘You have to act confident, even if you aren’t,’ she says. ‘We used to have trouble catching Bracken.’

  Is this history repeating itself? My heart sinks because I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  I fetch a longer rope and manage to lasso Grumpy, who walks alongside me with Sneezy following behind until we reach the gate, when he takes umbrage and digs his heels in, refusing to budge. He grinds his teeth and swishes his tail. When Georgia tries to shoo him through he kicks out again, catching her on the knee.