Country Loving

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Ouch,’ she squeals.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I say, panicking.

  ‘I’ll be okay.’ She grimaces as she touches her toe to the ground. ‘He hasn’t broken it.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s suitable for small children,’ Georgia observes, ‘or large ones for that matter.’

  As I’m focusing on Georgia, the donkey takes advantage and nips at my arm, tearing the sleeve of my waterproof jacket.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ My automatic reaction is to swipe the offender around the nose, but before I make contact, he’s pulled the rope from my hands and cantered back across the paddock with his partner in crime.

  ‘They are evil,’ says Georgia.

  I scratch my head, unsure what to do. ‘Do I call Delphi and demand she takes them back?’

  ‘She wouldn’t take Bracken back. She said it was our fault.’

  ‘We could just load them up and leave them there?’

  ‘We couldn’t do that. Look at them. They like it here.’

  Now they know we’re nowhere near them, the donkeys have their heads down grazing.

  ‘Perhaps they have something wrong with them,’ says Georgia.

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘A mental health issue.’

  ‘Where did you get that idea from?’

  ‘We decided that was what was wrong with Bracken.’ Georgia leans on the gate.

  ‘I’ll call the vet.’ It’s a pity Leo isn’t here, I think sadly.

  Two days later, Alex Fox-Gifford calls in to assess the donkeys – we catch them up in the morning before he arrives, using Bear, James, Cecil and Mary as reinforcements, and putting them in the nursery in a pen so that they are trapped in as small a space as possible.

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ Alex asks.

  ‘They’re vicious,’ says James. ‘Georgia thinks they have mental health issues, whereas Cecil believes they have a shortage of lead in their brains.’

  ‘You mean he wants them to take the bullet,’ Alex says. ‘They’re handsome little donkeys. Are they really that bad?’

  ‘They bite and kick. They’re wild.’

  ‘They were very calm when we picked them up from Delphi’s,’ Georgia says. ‘Do you think they were sedated, Alex?’

  Alex shrugs. He’s hardly likely to comment on that, I think.

  ‘There’s no way of proving or disproving that theory now. Let me examine them.’ He checks them all over while they stand looking disgruntled at the attention. I don’t know what it is about Alex, but he seems to inspire respect in even the most wilful donkey. ‘There’s nothing much wrong with these two,’ he pronounces, ‘apart from the fact they have a few visitors. Look.’ He parts the hair on Grumpy’s neck. ‘They have lice, which we can easily treat with a pour-on product. I wouldn’t advise you to use them in the petting farm until they’re clear.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to use them anyway. They’re a health and safety hazard and this whole project is a nightmare. I hope I don’t make the same mistakes when I’m interviewing for staff.’

  ‘It’s all right, Stevie,’ James says gently. ‘Keep the faith. It’ll come together in the end.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I say.

  ‘I’m always right – you can rely on me,’ he says cheerfully.

  I’m afraid that I do rely on James rather too much. The project is moving along, one step forward and two steps back, but will it ever come together in time?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pulling the Rabbit out of the Hat

  ‘Does Leo still Skype you?’ Jennie asks me one day in February. I’m having coffee at her house. For some reason I’m missing Leo more than ever, and it seems Jennie can tell what’s on my mind.

  ‘Almost every day.’ Given how affectionate he is when we talk, I harbour secret hopes that we will find a way to be together one day.

  ‘So you’re still pining for him?’

  ‘It’s probably my hormones,’ I say, half expecting another lecture about how I should break contact with Leo.

  ‘You can’t keep using them as an excuse.’ Jennie smiles. ‘How old is Holly?’

  ‘I suppose I can’t be post-natal for ever,’ I smile back ruefully.

  ‘Let’s face it, if Leo had loved you that much, he wouldn’t have gone away. I wouldn’t have. In fact, I didn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I cast a glance at Jennie. Holly and Reuben have been lying on the floor, kicking and gurgling at each other, but now Holly begins to whinge, apparently bored with Reuben’s company. She sticks her fist in her mouth, meaning she’s hungry again.

  ‘When I moved to Devon with the children, after my divorce from my first husband, Adam was struggling to cope with leaving his friends and settling down in the country. He went missing one day.’

  ‘Goodness, that must have been so scary for you.’

  ‘I thought he’d run away to London – I had visions of him being taken advantage of on the streets, mugged or drugged and worse. He hadn’t though – we found him almost frozen to death at the edge of our pond.’ She shakes her head. ‘I thought I’d lost him – my baby.’

  ‘So did you actually pack up and go?’ I ask.

  ‘I put the house on the market – I was all ready to leave when Guy and Adam between them persuaded me it would be a huge mistake. And here we are, as one very happy family.’

  My mind flits back to Leo.

  ‘So I firmly believe that if Leo loved you, he would have stayed.’

  ‘But it’s his dream job.’

  ‘It’s only a job. There’s plenty of work much closer to home.’ Jennie picks Reuben up from the floor and checks his nappy, sniffing at it, and I can’t help laughing at what motherhood has brought us to.

  ‘Nappy days,’ Jennie grins.

  ‘How do you feel about being back to nappies and sleepless nights?’

  ‘Well,’ she tips her head to one side, ‘the sleepless nights don’t worry me. I haven’t the same energy as I did when the others were babies, but everyone helps out, including Guy. He’s amazing. He’ll do a long day on the farm and come indoors to bath Reuben while I finish dinner.’

  It makes me feel sad that I haven’t got someone to lean on too. I’m lucky I have my dad, who does what he can, and Mary who adores Holly, but it isn’t the same.

  ‘Didn’t you and Leo ever talk about you going out to New Zealand with him?’

  ‘He asked me to go on the day he left, but it was all too last-minute and I wasn’t sure if he was serious, and I was pregnant. Oh, it’s all about the wrong timing. In another universe, Leo and I are together.’

  ‘Stop fretting about him, Stevie. Just be patient and love will come along when you least expect it. It did for me. When I moved here, the last thing I wanted was to fall in love with someone else after my divorce, but along came Guy …’

  ‘Is that somebody taking my name in vain?’ booms Guy’s voice from the hallway.

  ‘Hi, darling.’ Jennie gets up from her chair with Reuben in her arms. ‘There’s coffee in the pot.’

  ‘I’m not stopping,’ he says, dodging into the living room and kissing his son and his wife. ‘Hello, Stevie. How’s life in the zoo?’

  ‘It isn’t a zoo,’ Jennie says lightly.

  ‘I hope we’re going to be ready for Easter.’

  ‘You have doubts.’

  ‘A few,’ I say. ‘James and his cousin are working flat out on the new building and I’ve been sourcing suitable animals, but there’s still so much to do on the landscaping and final touches, signage and taking on staff.’

  ‘I think you’re mad,’ Guy says. ‘I haven’t changed my opinion.’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  I’m determined to prove Guy and Fifi and all the others wrong. Nettlebed Farm’s new venture will be a success.

  After another week of intense organisation, opening the petting farm on time begins to look more feasible and,
on a chilly morning at the beginning of March, when the daffodils are beginning to bloom along the drive, I’m walking around the farm with James, running through a list of last-minute things to be done. The Shed is finished and we have our hygiene certificate for the tearoom kitchen.

  ‘You did check the rabbits properly?’ James asks.

  ‘They’ve been examined by Maz or Emma and had the jabs they need. Animal welfare is at the forefront of what we are doing, after all. The animals are here for the children, but not at the expense of their health.’

  ‘The male of the pair of giant rabbits got me this morning. He savaged me. Look.’ James rolls up his sleeves to show me a set of giant scratch marks.

  ‘Oh? That isn’t good. Have you written it in the accident book?’

  ‘No,’ he says.

  ‘Well, I think you should.’

  ‘I’d rather not. It’s embarrassing. Anyway, I don’t know what you want to do with him. I think he’s being protective over his girlfriend and it comes out as aggression. He’s called Boris and she’s Nibbles, but it should be the other way round.’

  ‘He’s been neutered,’ I say. ‘It cost me a fortune.’

  ‘Did they remove the right bits?’ James says dryly.

  ‘I don’t know what to do. We can’t have the children going in with him if he’s like that. He’ll put them off rabbits for life, and there’ll be hell to pay with the parents. If anyone hurt Holly I’d be furious.’

  ‘You’ll have to sack him then,’ James says.

  ‘I can’t afford to be sentimental, but I know I’ll keep him because I can’t bear the thought of sending him back to the rescue centre.’

  ‘We could make him into bunny burgers.’

  ‘No way!’ I start laughing. ‘Give me some good news.’

  ‘The ewes are ready to lamb at any moment, so there’ll be some lambs to stroke and maybe feed. I think that will go down well.’ He pauses. ‘I’m going take the trailer to pick up the tables and chairs you ordered.’

  ‘Thanks, James. I’ll go and check on the heifers.’

  Domino doesn’t come up to the field gate with them. I find her in the ditch under the hedge, cold and trembling. I call Talyton Manor vets with a sinking sensation in my heart and Alex Fox-Gifford turns up half an hour later, but all he can do is confirm that this is the end of the line for poor Domino and help her along into the next world, whatever or wherever that may be, which is how I find myself on my knees in the mud, my arms around a dead cow’s neck, sobbing my eyes out while I wait for the knackerman to collect her.

  My father used to threaten me with the knackerman if I misbehaved when I was a child, and I still dread his visits to the farm.

  ‘It’s the way it is,’ I say to Leo later on Skype, ‘but it doesn’t make it feel any better.’

  ‘I reckon Domino was like a cat – she had nine lives, but eventually they ran out.’

  ‘I wish you were here,’ I say.

  ‘Stevie, are you crying?’

  ‘It must be the signal, the picture quality …’

  ‘Don’t try to tell me you’ve dropped your laptop in the bath,’ Leo says wryly. ‘I can see tears.’

  ‘I want you to have the best life. Don’t worry about me – I’m all over the place what with the post-baby blues and Domino dying. I kept the switch from the end of her tail as a keepsake. Does that seem macabre?’

  ‘It’s a little odd. I wish I was with you too,’ he goes on softly. ‘You need a friend. If I was there, I’d put my arms around you, hold you close and never let you go.’

  ‘Leo, I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I’m sending you a virtual hug. I’ll call you tomorrow, same time, same place,’ he says lightly. ‘Good day, Stevie.’

  ‘Goodnight, Leo.’ I switch off the laptop and walk across to Holly’s cot. She’s asleep, twitching and smiling as if she’s dreaming.

  ‘I love you,’ I whisper. And I love Leo too, so much that I’m beginning to consider whether I could tear myself away from Nettlebed Farm and move with Holly to New Zealand, temporarily at least, to see if Leo’s love for me could possibly overcome his fear of getting close to a child – my baby.

  We open two weeks before we’d planned, in the middle of March. I don’t sleep the night before the grand opening of Nettlebed Farm. We’ve invited all the locals and advertised in the press, and I’ve spoken to Ray to let him know he and his family are welcome. I’m too excited to sleep and the rain patters against the bedroom window; my father shouts out in his dreams and the cockerel starts crowing well before dawn, which makes me wonder if we’ve ended up with a dud cockerel with a body-clock problem as well.

  ‘Some of this is down to you,’ I say, looking down at Holly, who is lying fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth, her skin smooth and pale in the morning light. An urge to wake her washes through me, falling away again when I contemplate the consequences. Let sleeping babies lie, I tell myself. My heart clenching with love, I lean over and plant a kiss on her cheek. She yawns and stretches, curling and uncurling her fingers around her soft yellow blanket. Her light-brown hair forms a downy halo against the undersheet. ‘My angel,’ I whisper.

  I decide to risk leaving her to sleep while I grab a quick shower, and it works. I really think I’m getting the hang of looking after a baby at last, because I manage to both dress and check my phone for messages without waking her. There’s one from Leo.

  Good luck for today. Wish I cd b there. Miss u xxx

  I text back, promising I’ll attach some photos later, at which point Holly starts to cry.

  ‘Hey there.’ I lift her out of the cot and cradle her against my chest. ‘Let’s go down for breakfast.’ I can smell bacon – Mary’s beaten me to it and Dad is up too, dressed in what looks like his Sunday best, a tweed suit, yellow shirt and brown tie. He walks up to me and smiles at his granddaughter in my arms.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says, and Holly stares at him, going cross-eyed before she gives him a smile back.

  ‘She smiled at me,’ he says, as she stuffs her fist into her mouth, as if to say, feed me. ‘That wasn’t wind that time. Ah, she’s hungry. She needs her bottle, Stevie.’

  ‘Dad, I know that.’ He’s like a mother hen. I can’t imagine he was like this when Ray and I were babies.

  ‘Am I late?’ I ask, going over to the fridge to grab a bottle to warm up for her.

  ‘I’m early,’ Dad says. ‘I wanted to be sure I was ready.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. You’re looking very handsome,’ I say lightly.

  ‘I thought I’d make an effort,’ he says, looking a fraction embarrassed.

  ‘He scrubs up well, does Tom,’ says Cecil, joining us in the kitchen with Bear and the aroma of cow and sheep. ‘We’ve had triplets arrive safe and well in the night.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I say. ‘The visitors will love seeing the newborn lambs. I can’t believe everything is going to plan, apart from the weather. It wasn’t supposed to rain today. I hope it doesn’t put people off.’

  ‘Rain before seven, fine before eleven,’ says Cecil. ‘The clouds are clearing from the southwest.’

  I feed Holly and run through the plan for the day, the timings and the allocation of duties, before I wash and dress her, put her in the pram and meet the others in the visitor centre. We are joined by James who is here to help out, along with Adam from Uphill Farm and Adam’s girlfriend Rosie, and one of her friends Maddie, who is true to her name, being as mad as a hatter, but warm and friendly, and, I hope, hardworking. I check that everyone who needs them has a functioning radio.

  ‘Is everyone ready?’ I ask. ‘Does everyone know what they’re doing?’

  ‘We’ll muddle through, Stevie,’ says Cecil.

  ‘The whole point of a plan is not to muddle through,’ I point out with a smile. ‘It’s ten o’clock. Good luck and let’s go.’

  ‘Let’s get this party started,’ Adam says.

  Cecil is in charge of the cows and keeping the rest of the fa
rm running. I’m troubleshooting for the day and my father is responsible for taking the money at the gate. I worry about his people skills, that he might frighten small children, but when I check up on him in his sentry box along the drive, which is bordered by hundreds of daffodils that James and I planted in the autumn, he’s in his element, using his gift of the gab, as he calls it, to schmooze and sweet-talk our first paying guests.

  ‘Where are the elephants?’ asks one girl, who walks in with her teddy bear under her arm.

  ‘This is a farm,’ Dad says. ‘We aren’t allowed to keep elephants here because we haven’t got room for any more animals. We have chickens, sheep, cows, ducks, geese and rabbits. And you’ll love stroking the guinea pigs.’

  ‘Anyway, elephants should be left in the wild where they can roam free,’ says the little girl’s mum who’s struggling with a buggy. ‘Come on, Ella, let’s go and find the animals.’

  ‘You’re managing okay here, Dad?’ I ask as the next car draws up.

  ‘Leave it with me, Stevie.’ He smiles. ‘I can do this.’

  ‘Radio me when you want a break.’ I glance along the queue of traffic lining up along the drive and the lane. I have to admit Fifi and her supporters might have been right about the extra cars – it’s gratifying but I hadn’t expected so many people to turn up to Nettlebed Farm. I only hope they love what they see.

  ‘Go on, Stevie. Don’t you worry about me,’ Dad says, shooing me away. ‘I’ve got work to do. I can see Fifi in the queue – I don’t want to keep her waiting.’

  I decide to check up on Adam – in a nonchalant, not-really-checking-up-on-him kind of way, because he is a little sensitive and I don’t want to put him off. I find him with the goats, talking about them, telling people their names and where they came from.

  One of the little boys in the assembled crowd screams as the billy goat puts his head over the top of his door and looks at him in an apparently threatening manner.