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by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Everyone in my class at school has a pet,’ Poppy argues. ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘I know, darling.’

  ‘Why don’t you give Frosty a drink for me?’ I say, distracting Poppy, who pours the dog a drink from the container I’ve brought with me. I don’t want her catching any germs!

  ‘Where do you want to go next?’ Emily asks as we prepare to move on.

  ‘We could check on Gran’s cake.’

  ‘On the way to the shearing,’ Emily adds.

  ‘Will Lewis be there?’

  She nods.

  ‘Come on then.’ Emily’s right. I’m going to have to face him at some time. I might as well get it over and done with.

  We take Frosty into the WI tent with us, where the judging of the cream teas has just finished and the Best Victoria Sponge competition is in full swing. Jennie from Jennie’s Cakes is at the table, surrounded by eager WI members and an honorary man, who has entered the baking competition for the third year running. While Jennie, who’s in her forties and wearing a straw hat, cream blouse and flowing floral skirt, looking very much the farmer’s wife, gets to eat cake, I notice her elder son, Adam, pushing a pushchair back and forth, trying to soothe the baby sitting inside it. It must be eighteen months or more since I saw Jennie for her postnatal visits at Uphill House, when she returned from giving birth to baby Reuben in hospital. She only just made it, having been on the verge of giving birth on a carnival float.

  Reuben is Adam’s half-brother and a late baby. Adam was not overly impressed at the time, but he seems to accept him now. Every so often, he leans down and tickles the baby’s tummy – all he’s wearing is a nappy – making him giggle.

  I notice Rosie, too, the teen mum-to-be, dressed in the shortest of shorts and a vest top, her arms burned from the sun, with her mother, Michelle. Frances, the receptionist at Otter House vets, is also looking on, her brow furrowed and her fingers tight on her handbag.

  ‘I thought this was supposed to be fun,’ I whisper to Emily. ‘Frances looks like she’s about to be pushed off a cliff.’

  ‘She gets really wound up about it,’ Emily says. ‘She’s won every year since anyone can remember.’

  ‘That one is Gran’s,’ I say, as Fifi slices a sliver of cake with a silver knife and places it on a doily for Jennie to taste.

  ‘Mummy, I can’t see,’ Poppy says.

  Emily struggles to lift her so she can have a look. ‘Jennie has to eat an awful lot of cake. I wonder if she actually enjoys it any more.’

  ‘I don’t see how anyone could ever get bored with cake,’ I observe as Jennie takes a mouthful of Gran’s sponge. Does she like it? I watch with bated breath, looking for a sign to show she’s impressed, but her eyebrows fly up, her nose wrinkles and the sinews of her neck jump put as she grimaces with disgust. Fifi offers her a tissue into which she discreetly spits it out.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really want to like it, but that is unpleasant. There’s salt in the mix. It’s inedible.’

  ‘So Rosemary’s is out of the running,’ Fifi says. ‘It’s such a shame when it looks so elegant. I thought Frances might lose her crown as Queen of the Victoria sponge this year.’

  ‘It’s unlike Gran to make a mistake – she’s been baking for years.’ Emily looks at me. ‘She won’t be able to stop laughing when she finds out what she’s done. This will go down in family history.’

  ‘She isn’t going to find out,’ I say quickly. ‘We aren’t going to tell her.’

  ‘Why not? It’s hysterical.’

  ‘She’ll be upset.’

  ‘She’ll be cross with herself at first, but you know what she’s like. It doesn’t take her long to find the funny side in most things.’

  ‘Trust me. It really is better that she doesn’t know.’ I repeat one of her sayings for the second time recently. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’

  My sister frowns. ‘Is there something you aren’t telling me? Is Gran all right?’

  ‘She’s been a little forgetful recently.’

  ‘She’s eighty – I think she’s allowed the odd lapse of memory, or is it more than that, Zara?’

  I’m spared the inquisition by a commotion coming from just inside the entrance of the marquee.

  There are shouts of, ‘She’s fainted. Give her some space. Is there a doctor in the tent?’ and, ‘What about the St John Ambulance?’

  ‘Look after Frosty for me, Emily. Let me through – I’m medical.’ I make my way through the silent crowd to find Rosie on the ground, cradled in her mum’s arms. Her cheeks are flushed and clammy. I kneel beside her and check the pulse at her wrist. ‘Rosie, it’s me, Zara. Can you hear me?’

  ‘What are you doing, young man? You can’t just push in here like that.’ Fifi’s voice rings out from behind me as the chatter of voices begins to rise again. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

  I glance up to see Adam, Jennie’s son, forcing his way past Fifi and her handbag.

  ‘I will have to call security,’ Fifi threatens, by which I think she means one of the burly farmers.

  ‘This has everything to do with me,’ Adam argues. ‘Rosie’s pregnant.’

  Everyone in the tent falls silent once more. It’s so quiet you could hear a fly landing in the clotted cream.

  ‘I can see that,’ Fifi says. ‘You might think I’m stupid, but I’m not blind. Please move away. Now!’

  ‘No way. Rosie’s pregnant and it’s my baby!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ is Fifi’s reaction, as Adam falls to his knees and reaches for Rosie’s hand.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ He bites his lip.

  ‘She’s fainted, that’s all,’ I reassure him. ‘Come on, Rosie, wake up.’

  ‘She doesn’t want you here, Adam,’ Michelle snaps. She sounds like she wants to hit him. ‘After all the things you said about my daughter . . .’

  ‘I didn’t mean them,’ he says hoarsely. ‘You were pretty vile about me.’

  ‘Which isn’t surprising when you’ve ruined my daughter’s life.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on Rosie and the baby, shall we? This isn’t the time or place for recriminations,’ I interrupt. ‘Rosie, are you okay with Adam being here?’

  Please say yes, I think, aware from the tension in his body and the twitching of the muscle in his cheek of how much this means to him. It’s sad when the prospect of a new baby is fraught with anxiety and accusation, and I wish that Michelle could see that life would actually be more straightforward with dad on board. ‘Well?’ I go on.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Rosie whispers, barely moving her lips.

  ‘Thank you . . .’ Adam says, his voice breaking. ‘From now on I’m with you all the way, I promise.’

  I glance towards Michelle, who shrugs in resignation.

  ‘Right, let’s sit you up, Rosie. Michelle, you stay where you are. Adam, come round to this side.’

  ‘Zara, I had some bleeding this morning. It wasn’t much, but . . .’ Rosie murmurs as they sit her up.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something, you silly girl?’ Michelle interrupts.

  ‘Because I don’t want to think about losing it.’ Rosie strokes her belly. ‘It means everything to me.’

  ‘I think it would be worth getting you to hospital for a scan to check on the baby,’ I say. ‘There’s no need to panic.’

  ‘That’s good advice,’ Fifi says, reminding me of her presence. ‘Keep calm and carry on. Move away, everyone.’

  I suggest that Michelle fetches her car to drive her daughter to the hospital, because her condition doesn’t warrant calling for an ambulance. Jennie appears with a glass of water for Rosie and an apology, it turns out, for Rosie’s mother.

  ‘We shouldn’t have fallen out over this. It’s wrong and I’m sorry if I said some hurtful things,’ she says. ‘I’m really very sorry, to you and Rosie, especially.’

  ‘I said some terrible things too,’ Michelle says eventually.

  ‘You said you didn’t want this baby,
’ Adam interrupts.

  ‘I know, but now I’ve got used to the idea, I want it to be fit and healthy.’ She lowers her voice. ‘And to be loved.’

  ‘By its mum and its dad,’ Jennie adds for her. ‘I know Rosie and Adam are no longer together, but that’s no reason to deny him access to his baby. It isn’t fair.’

  ‘I’ve never said he can’t see the baby,’ Rosie interrupts.’ Mum, what have you been saying?’

  ‘Nothing, apart from making it clear that we thought it was less upsetting all round if Adam had no contact,’ Michelle says.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mum!’ Rosie exclaims. ‘Can’t you stop interfering?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can see I was wrong, but I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘What about the baby? It needs to know its dad.’

  ‘Please don’t upset yourself any more—’

  ‘I’m not upsetting myself – you’re upsetting me.’ Rosie looks close to tears.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later. Adam, would you like to come along with us to the hospital? I could do with you, in case she faints again.’

  ‘I think she’ll be fine.’ I recheck her pulse as she sips some water. ‘It looks like a touch of heatstroke to me.’ Her pulse has settled to a slower rhythm and her skin has lost some of its clamminess. As for the baby, babies are pretty resilient, so fingers crossed.

  ‘They’ve just announced the final of the shearing,’ Emily says when Rosie is on her way to hospital. ‘Come on, Zara. Hurry up.’

  I walk with her, and Daisy who’s in the buggy, and Poppy who refuses to relinquish Frosty. The greasy scent of chips and doughnuts combined with the thought of seeing Lewis again makes me feel slightly sick.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A Yard of Ale

  Arriving at the shearing stand, which is rigged up with two stations supplied with machine clippers and a generator, I notice the pair of collies, Mick and Miley, lying in the shade of the platform at the bottom of the steps with their tongues lolling out. I follow the dogs’ eyes to find their master, who is waiting with his arms folded across his chest, his muscles ripped. He’s wearing a cap back to front, a torn vest and jeans. He’s tanned and dirty, and any exposed skin is shining with sweat, a look that turns my stomach in the nicest possible way, even though I know it shouldn’t. It’s a visceral response and, for the sake of my sanity, I have to beat down the flicker of desire that reignites at the sight of him, because nothing has changed. If he didn’t exactly lie to me, he was economical with the truth.

  ‘He’s in the final,’ I say, trying not to sound too impressed. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Against Chris, Izzy’s husband and champion shearer for many years,’ Emily says.

  ‘Murray didn’t make it then,’ I tease her.

  ‘He’s adjudicating. Look.’

  Murray is talking to an old man with a flat cap and a shepherd’s crook. Emily calls him over.

  ‘How’s it going, my lover?’ he asks his wife.

  ‘It’s been an eventful show so far. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Daddy,’ Poppy says, ‘look what I won.’

  ‘What was that for, darling?’

  ‘The best pet.’ She shows off the red rosette.

  ‘You’re a pet?’ Murray chuckles and Poppy bursts into giggles. ‘I’m not a pet, Daddy. It was Frosty.’

  ‘Come on, Pops. Come and help Daddy time the shearing.’ Murray reaches down and sweeps her onto his shoulders. Poppy looks around from her vantage point and, suddenly overtaken by a wave of uncharacteristic shyness, wraps her arms around his forehead and hides her face in his curls.

  ‘Zara.’ I hear Lewis call my name and that’s all it takes to make my heart beat faster and confirm what I already knew: that, like a shepherd watching his flock, I’m going to have to stand guard over my emotions to have any chance of peace of mind when he’s around.

  ‘Good luck!’ I call back.

  ‘This young upstart’s going to need all the help he can get,’ Chris says with a jovial smile on his weathered face. ‘He’s a beginner – he hasn’t even got his own sheep.’

  ‘I’ll have more sheep than you can dream of one day,’ Lewis banters.

  ‘I’d be careful if I were you, Chris,’ Murray says. ‘I saw him in action last night and he’s pretty quick. He can do one in less than a minute.’

  ‘It’s about stamina and skill as well as speed, though. Come on, Murray, what are you waiting for? Let’s get this party started.’

  ‘All in good time,’ Murray says. ‘Go and get yourselves ready, but wait until I give the order to start.’

  I watch Lewis enter the pen at the rear of the platform, pick up one of the ewes and carry her to his station, striding along with ease, even though she must weigh all of ninety kilos.

  ‘He’s fitter than ever,’ whispers Emily, who’s perched on one of the steps giving Daisy a bottle. ‘I’m putting my money on Lewis.’

  Chris wipes one hand on the fleece as he and Lewis wait poised for Murray to start the competition with their sheep in front of them, caught between their legs so they’re facing towards us.

  ‘Three, two, one, go,’ Murray says with a flourish, and they’re off, the rays of the afternoon sun glancing off the clippers as Lewis shears the wool from the sheep’s brisket, belly and front legs, before moving her so he can clear the hind leg and head of the tail. The fleece starts to fall away from the skin when he takes the ewe’s head and swings his legs around her, moving the clippers along her neck to her chin.

  I glance towards Chris. There’s nothing between them. They’re neck and neck, so to speak. People begin to cheer them on. I’m gripping my hands together, willing Lewis to win. He moves on to the second ewe and begins to advance on Chris, until the ewe starts to kick out and fidget, slowing him down again.

  ‘Oh, that isn’t fair,’ I murmur.

  ‘I expect she’s ticklish,’ Emily says as the ewe starts to quieten down. Lewis makes up lost time with the next one, overtaking Chris, and finally he finishes with ten seconds in hand to the applause of the crowd.

  Chris is a gracious loser, stepping forwards to shake Lewis’s hand.

  Murray is smiling. ‘You’re beginning to show your age.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time to step aside and let the young ones win,’ Chris says ruefully.

  ‘I’ll be back to defend my title next year. You can be sure of that.’ Lewis jumps the rail down from the platform with one lithe movement and jogs up to me.

  ‘Hello, Zara.’ He smiles apprehensively. I don’t know how to react, but Frosty has no inhibitions. She’s all over him, squealing and barking with delight. He gives her a quick rub before turning back to me. ‘What did you think?’

  ‘That was sick,’ I say, as in ‘brilliant’, like the spark in his eyes as he picks me up and hugs me.

  ‘Hey, put me down.’ I kick my legs and push against his arms. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sweeping you off your feet, I hope . . .’ He grins as he places me back on the ground. My knees are weak, my resolve like jelly. ‘I’m young, free and single,’ he whispers as he draws me away from the crowd and into the shadow of a giant combine harvester. ‘I promise you that.’

  ‘What about Jade?’

  ‘We’re finished.’

  ‘I know – you said so. What I mean is, how can you be so cool about it? She must have been gutted.’ I stare at him. Has he no heart?

  ‘She wasn’t all loved up. It wasn’t like that. When I talked to her about how I felt about you, she admitted she’d been seeing someone else while I was away. Jade and I have hardly seen each other since before Christmas. I’ve been off working while, as I suspected, she’s been otherwise engaged.’ Lewis pauses. ‘That makes her out to be the bad guy, but although I’ve won the shearing, I wouldn’t win a prize for the best boyfriend in the world. I didn’t look after her in the way I should have done. I didn’t pay her enough attention.’ He shrugs. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been milking
cows and, ultimately, I’ve realised that Jade and I should never have got together.’

  ‘So you make a habit of rushing into relationships that don’t work out?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. I reckon you’re allowed the odd mistake on the way to finding your soul-mate.’ He bites his lip and steps closer. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too, and not necessarily in a good way.’ Lewis’s face falls as I continue, ‘I’m still furious with you.’

  ‘I never meant to deceive or hurt you.’ He takes my hand. ‘I thought I was doing the honourable thing, but I got it wrong, badly wrong.’ His grip on my fingers is chafing, but I like it. ‘I thought that if I sorted things out with Jade, there’d be no need to bother you with it. I was taking the easy way out and it backfired . . . and I’m glad in a way because now it’s all out in the open.’

  I stare at him, watching the expression in his eyes flicker from hope to despair and back again. I watch the pulse throbbing at his throat, beating fast in time with mine. Can I forgive and forget? He moves towards me and touches his forehead to mine, just as he did when we were out training Frosty – before he went away; before everything went awry.

  ‘Please, give me a chance to show you how grown-up I can be.’

  ‘Go on, Zara,’ I hear Emily call.

  ‘Put the poor bugger out of his misery,’ Murray joins in.

  ‘He’s a top bloke,’ Chris says.

  ‘Zara?’ Lewis repeats, and the sound of his voice melts any remaining doubts away. Lewis made a mistake. We all make mistakes.

  ‘Yes,’ I say,‘yes, yes, yes.’

  ‘Whoop-whoop!’ Emily calls as Lewis kisses me.

  ‘The winner gets the girl,’ Chris jokes.

  ‘Come on, everyone,’ Murray cuts in. ‘The beer tent beckons. Put her down – the winner has to drink a yard of ale to celebrate. It’s tradition.’

  ‘Are you coming with us, Zara?’ Lewis says hesitantly. ‘I won’t drink more than a yard, I promise.’

  ‘Of course I’m coming along, but what about the dogs?’

  ‘Mick and Miley will stay with the sheep and I’ll pick them up on the way back. Poppy will look after Frosty, won’t you, Poppy?’