by Susie Martyn
Chapter 10
‘Sorry this is such a rush,’ said Antonia, who was looking extremely smart in a tailored suit and high heels – except for the dog hairs, that was.
‘But I thought it would be best if you were secretary. I’ve put your address on the schedules and your phone number too. Then you just need to keep a note of who is entered for what. Now, you’ll probably have trouble with Mrs Harper. She’ll absolutely insist on you telling her who her daughter will be competing against and who the judge is and you absolutely mustn’t. It’s highly confidential and none of her business and she’s a total pain in the arse. Anyway, I’ll help you, don’t worry. Golly, got to go. THANKS!’
As Antonia rushed out before Lizzie could protest, she glanced at the schedule her friend had left behind for the Littleton Charity Horse Show and Gymkhana. Being secretary wouldn’t be too bad, would it? Proceeds to Hethecote Farm, she read. She’d have to ask Antonia where that was.
Lizzie’s new surroundings were better than any therapy. Hard at work on her garden, she uncovered plants long lost under a blanket of weeds and tended the roses that had been left so long. And as she dug and pruned and cut and planted, she started to find a place in her head for the events of the last year, until gradually a kind of acceptance infiltrated where before there’d been the worst kind of emptiness and she could begin to look forward to the future. Even she could see that slowly but surely, this place was working its magic.
Bert and his wife, Molly lived just one field away up the lane. Lizzie had fallen in love with Molly, who was small and wide and lived in an old-fashioned floral pinny. She was frequently to be seen pegging out impossibly white underpants neatly and precisely end to end on her washing line and if she saw Lizzie she’d invariably wave and call ‘yoo-hoo Lizzie! Come and have a cuppa!’ Lizzie couldn’t quite believe those pants - they really were straight out of the packet white too - no grey ones to be seen.
Molly’s homely kitchen always smelt of cooking and made Lizzie imagine hordes of pink-cheeked grandchildren grabbing handfuls of homemade biscuits and scoffing them as fast as they could, before tearing off outside again.
‘Sit yourself down, duck,’ she always said, while she warmed the cups and made a proper pot of tea. Inevitably Darren would accompany her, curling up on a chair as he kept an eye on proceedings.
If Molly had an opinion on the moving of the sheep and cows in rush hour, she kept it to herself.
‘It’ll bring nought but trouble, you’ll see,’ was all she said on the matter.
Work wasn’t as forthcoming as Lizzie had hoped. There were plenty of smaller jobs and she was managing to get by, but only just, and she didn’t want to dip into her savings unless she had to.
‘What you need is a nice rich man,’ Antonia had told her bluntly. ‘Ideally one that’s in town all week and only comes home for weekends…’
‘With a big garden…’ dreamed Lizzie, briefly fantasising about a rambling old farmhouse and a big walled garden of her own.
‘Garden?’ Antonia looked horrified. ‘No, no Lizzie. A big bank balance. Much more fun than a garden! It’s a frightful bore when the funds get low. Actually, I could do with a little extra myself…’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I was thinking about taking some liveries. You know, I think that would be rather splendid! I could charge loads of dosh round here for a stable, especially when the hunting season starts! And if they do all the mucking out themselves, it’ll be easy… you know, I really think I’m onto something!’
But it didn’t help solve Lizzie’s problem. Darius and Angel had been full of suggestions.
‘Oh darling, you should have said… Leave it to us! We’ll spread the word, tell everyone how perfectly wonderful you are…’
Driving back from the boys’ barn that afternoon, Lizzie had been deep in thought about work and taken the wrong road. Cursing that there was nowhere to turn her car and with a sense of déjà vu, carried on to the first driveway she came to and pulling in, noticed the sign.
‘Hethecote Farm’ it read and the penny dropped. This was the farm that the horse show was raising funds for. Underneath was a smaller notice. ‘Open Tuesday to Saturday 1200 – 6pm’. Stuck on the bottom with what looked like sellotape was a scrappy piece of paper on which someone had scrawled, ‘Casual workers wanted for weekends and holidays. Also gardener. Apply within.’
A gardener. Why not her? On the spur of the moment, Lizzie followed the drive between two fields, one with half a dozen small ponies in and the other a group of alpacas that watched her with beady eyes. At the top beside a five bar gate was a small car park, where Lizzie stopped her car and got out.
A woman in dungarees was sweeping a huge stable yard which looked deserted. ‘Terribly sorry, we’re closed on Mondays!’ she shouted, until Lizzie tried to open the gate, when she came over.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, but actually, it was about your advert. At the bottom of the drive!’ Lizzie added, as the woman was looking vague.
Understanding dawned on the woman’s face. ‘For weekenders! Oh, you should have said! Come on in…’ She held the gate.
‘It’s rather an assortment of animals, I’m afraid. I hope you like horses… To think it all started with two Shetland ponies and an orphan lamb…after too many gins, no doubt. Would you like to look around, or shall I take you through the job?’
‘Animals?’ Lizzie frowned. ‘I thought you wanted a gardener!’
‘Ohhh. That… Well, we do. I think. It depends, you see. I kind of put that sign up without thinking it through...’ after too many gins, thought Lizzie.
‘…and well, I have this idea. Let me tell you about it. I’m Miriam, by the way. Pleased to meet you…’
Miriam Kirby led Lizzie around her farm, explaining what she had in mind. The whole idea about opening the farm to the public had come about when her husband died and left her with a struggling farm, too many animals, and three children who were still at school.
‘Nightmare, it was,’ she said ruefully. ‘I had to either do something quickly or sell up, which I couldn’t face doing. And we had all these outgrown ponies that the children couldn’t bear to part with which was when I thought. You see, even living in the country, there are so many children who don’t have a pet, and never get to spend time with animals. So, for an entrance fee, their parents can bring them here and they can take a dog for a walk in the fields, or groom a pony and lead it round the paddock. No riding - we’re not a riding school. I did think about it at one stage, but the insurance was unbelievable. So there you are. I’m not sure what you’d call us…’
Lizzie looked over the stable door to where two donkeys were pulling hay from a manger. One instantly turned its furry rump on her and farted.
‘Oh that’s Sid,’ said Miriam. ‘Take no notice – his manners are appalling. The other one’s Johnny and he’s not much better. Anyway, as you can imagine we get quite a few disabled children coming here, and it really seems to benefit them. Heartbreaking stuff I can tell you. We had a lovely little girl called Hannah who used to visit. So shy, she was - like a mouse, and so self-conscious about her poor, bald little head. Well, the first day, I took her in to see Arrow. He’s a Welsh mountain pony – very small and long in the tooth and a bit of a know-all. We shave his mane because he gets sweet-itch. Anyway, it was love at first sight. Arrow fell in love with her and she with him, and she was a different child after that. Lived for her visits, her parents said.’
‘How often does she come here?
Miriam turned away. ‘She died, I’m afraid. Leukaemia. Tragic.’ Her voice wavered.
‘Oh! I’m so sorry,’ Lizzie was shocked. ‘That’s so sad…’
‘The problem is,’ said Miriam, recovering her composure, ‘that we don’t make anything like enough money, but how could we possibly close?’
‘There’s the horse show, isn’t there?’ said Lizzie. ‘A friend has asked me to help.’
‘Antonia? She’s a marvel,’ said Miriam.
‘But when you’ve this many animals, it’s a drop in the ocean. Which leads on to my idea about the garden...’
They walked across the stable yard towards a wall with ivy growing up it. Halfway along was an old wooden door which Miriam opened and following her in, Lizzie found herself in the biggest kitchen garden she’d ever seen. This was far more her scene than the stable yard.
‘This is yours?’ she asked incredulously. ‘It’s fabulous!’
‘Well, it used to be. Before I ran the animal centre, I grew all our vegetables and used to sell them locally. Now it’s just a worry. It’s going to rack and ruin because no-one has time to tend to it. Shall I tell you my idea?’
Miriam outlined how she wanted to open it to the public. Ideally she’d have restored it to its former glory and charge people to come and see it, but she couldn’t possibly afford either the time or money to get it done.
‘What I need to do is somehow get outside people involved. I’m pretty sure that once it got off the ground, it would be just as popular as the animals! I’m just not sure where to start…’
‘Well, just a tidy-up would be good. Those roses need pruning, and the vegetable beds need weeding and rotavating…Simple stuff, there’s just a lot of it! You could do with an army of teenagers to come and work here. Do you know any?’
‘I had thought,’ said Miriam slowly, ‘about renting it out as allotments. To families, who could bring their children here and have reduced entry to the farm or something… What do you think?’
‘Maybe,’ said Lizzie. ‘But mightn’t it work better if you could get some huge community project up and running? We featured one once in the magazine I used to work for. They got young offenders in and actually, most of them really got something out of it. They got to grow their own vegetables and enter flower shows. There was only the odd problem - but it worked…’
They agreed they’d both give it some thought. It wasn’t exactly the job that Lizzie had been hoping for, but it had fired her imagination. The question was how to make it pay.
It was still very much on her mind when she went to Antonia’s that evening, where Tim had just finished giving Halla a check up.
‘He’s been a little off colour,’ explained Antonia. ‘Cassie wants to compete him next weekend. Now, Timmy darling, I really do think it’s time Lizzie learnt to ride. Owly’s simply wonderful, he’s a doting aunt with novices. Safe as houses…’
The unfortunately named Owly had grey spectacles on his large, brown head and an air of immense wisdom. His bottom lip flapped comically and as far as Lizzie had ever seen, he never ventured faster than an amble.
‘I haven’t come to talk about horses, Antonia. I met Miriam. We were looking at how to make money from her garden. Like allotments…’ She stepped back as Owly reached for her pockets.
‘Allotments? Sounds a bit crackers if you ask me! Old Miriam’s a good sort. Has this rather bold hunter. Jumps anything…’ sounding envious, her mind still fixated on horses.
‘Actually, it’s not as daft as it sounds,’ said Tim, rubbing the brown head in front of him. Owly closed his eyes in bliss, his lip wobbling. ‘Let’s face it, that place is hugely popular. And animals are a lot nicer than most people. Present company excepted of course,’ he added hastily. ‘It’s no wonder that kids are so drawn to them. It must cost her a fortune though. But the garden… maybe she should contact some schools and see if they want to get involved? For a fee? She could rent them each an allotment and hold a contest for the most original garden…’
‘Like Chelsea flower show, you mean…’ butted in Antonia.
‘She could get the press to feature her, promote the farm…’ he went on.
‘I say darling, you are clever…’
‘And there must be grants she could apply for…’
‘And don’t forget fundraising, darling… Golly! I know I do the horse show, but I always fancied organising a ball! You know, a really posh one in a stately home or something… Be awfully good fun, don’t you think?’
‘You’re completely brilliant, both of you!’ declared Lizzie, her eyes shining with admiration at all these possibilities they’d come up with. She couldn’t wait to go and tell Miriam.
Chapter 11
The fiasco about the ratrunners had subsided somewhat, after a number of the Hoorays and Yummy Mummies had complained to the Council about the untimely moving of the livestock, as Antonia filled Lizzie in that evening over their customary bottle of wine. This time she’d come to Lizzie’s and she and Darren were ignoring each other as usual, as she told Lizzie what had ensued.
‘Bloody arse from the council went to see William. Went to see the lot of them by all accounts. Anyway, basically they all said the same. That there was no grass and they had to keep moving the stock because otherwise they’d escape and be an even bigger nuisance. Load of tosh of course! There’s tons of grass this year. Anyway, old Woodleigh told the council bloke that it had being going on for years and none of the villagers ever minded the livestock being moved, and that it was the influx of rat-runners that was the problem, not the animals. Don’t think they’ve any plans to stop. Thought I might join in on Hamish!’
‘That cat of yours is evil,’ she added. ‘It hasn’t blinked once the whole time I’ve been sitting here. One of Mrs Einstein’s isn’t it? They’re all over the village. You want to watch it Lizzie – it’s a witch’s cat. I’ve never met her but there are rumours - it’s probably cursed! Now, I might have a new client for you. He’s a pompous old sod. Friend of my ex-husband I’m afraid, but she’s sweet enough. Got their number here somewhere, if you’re interested...’
Antonia scrabbled in her pocket and pulled out a handful of bits of hay and pony nuts which she scattered on the floor, and a tattered scrap of paper came with it. Forgetting about Mrs Einstein, Lizzie took it eagerly, particularly as her association with Miriam wasn’t going to be as profitable as she’d hoped.
‘Here you are. Ginny and Edward. Talking of pompous gits, heard from your ex at all?’
Lizzie looked at her. ‘He doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing or what my mobile number is either. I could be the other side of the world for all he knows.’
‘Don’t be too sure, darling,’ said Antonia darkly. ‘It’s horribly easy to find someone once you put your mind to it…’
Lizzie’s smugness was gone in an instant. No way would she ever be ready to face Jamie. ‘He couldn’t find me here,’ she said nervously. ‘There’s nothing to link me to anything.’
‘Your old car?’ suggested Antonia. ‘Bet anyone could track that down. Anyway, I’m just saying, don’t be too surprised if at some point the bugger finds you.’ She stared at the empty bottle in surprise. ‘Lord, the wine’s finished already… I suppose we better go to the pub.’
Lizzie couldn’t help notice William shift uncomfortably in his chair when they arrived and look rather pointedly in the opposite direction.
‘Antonia!’ she hissed in her friend’s ear. ‘I told you! There’s definitely something funny going on!’
And there was, only it was the fair number of winks and nudges among William’s little group until the poor man stood up, drained his pint and stalked out of the pub without a backward glance, at which point everything returned to normal.
‘They really are a bunch of Neanderthals,’ said Antonia. ‘It’s not like they don’t have wives - though God knows how that happened. Would you fancy being hitched to one of that lot? Imagine the scintillating conversation – the merits of various fertilisers or inseminating cattle, all the while dealing with yet another set of clothes that stink of cows. I tell you it’s the only reason they go to the WI – for something else to talk about. I will never marry a farmer…’
Lizzie’s spare bedroom doubled as her office. Botanical drawings she’d found in a market filled one wall and a single shelf held the precious books she was accumulating, about all kinds of plants, wild flowers, herbs and the roses that she loved with a passion. She’d bee
n torn about whether to put her desk or the bed by the window, with its breath-taking views over the back garden to the fields which lay beyond. The bed had won however, and so it was there where the ceiling sloped down, with a mountain of cushions piled on it and Lizzie’s desk was in the corner.
Sitting at it, she was just dialling the number Antonia had given her when she heard saucepan-sized hooves clip-clopping down the lane, accompanied by a steady, rather odd grunting sound that appeared to keep in rhythm. Hamish.
Large and unpredictable, this morning he’d been ambushed by a bored Darren. Antonia had first coaxed, then ferociously threatened Hamish, but he couldn’t stop goggling with huge round eyes as the cat stared back from its vantage point.
‘Fucking horse!’ yelled Antonia in the end, closely followed by ‘fucking cat! Couldn’t move it could you, Lizzie? I swear it’s doing it on purpose! Poor Hamish! Frightfully highly strung you know!’
Privately Lizzie thought Hamish was thick, but she pulled on her hunters and ran across to scoop up Darren, who yowled blood-curdlingly sending the transfixed horse into orbit. Antonia brought her whip down with a resounding thwack on his well-rounded rump, and he accelerated into a staccato trot now that the danger had been removed.
‘Oh jolly good show, thanks awfully!’ she shrieked, not the slightest abashed.
As she disappeared round the corner, a familiar land rover drew up.
‘Glad I’ve caught you.’ Tim looked more than a little anxious. ‘Only I’ve just called in on Miriam. She asked me to look at one of the ponies. There’s nothing wrong with it but actually, it’s her I’m worried about.’
