Follow Me Home

by Cathy Woodman

  Poppy gives Lewis a big smile and skips ahead with her dad, Frosty beside her on the lead. Lewis walks with me. I catch his scent of sheep, musk and oil.

  ‘It’s great to see you again,’ he begins.

  ‘It’s good to see you too.’ I smile to myself. I’m allowed to change my mind. As Gran would say, it’s a woman’s prerogative. I wonder briefly how she is, but then I find myself wanting to fill the silence between me and Lewis. I don’t know what to say, so I start asking him questions about shearing, a topic I know very little about. ‘That was an impressive . . .’ What do you call it, I wonder, a shear? I settle for ‘performance’.

  ‘I’ve been practising.’ Lewis shows me his hands. They are callused, cut and engrained with dirt. ‘I could shear a sheep in my sleep.’

  ‘I suppose you have to start all over again tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do that without catching their skin. I’ve always wondered how you know where the wool ends and the sheep begins.’

  ‘It’s practice. The first few sheep I ever sheared at college were covered in plasters by the time I’d finished.’

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘Don’t they stick to the wool?’

  ‘I’m joking.’ Lewis squeezes my hand.

  ‘Since when have you been so interested in shearing?’ Emily says, catching up with us, with Daisy’s cross-country buggy bumping along across the grass.

  ‘Go away, sis,’ I tell her hotly as Lewis responds, ‘It’s second nature. You have to mind the ears and teats. I’ve seen someone take an ear off before. You have to be careful, but not too careful, if you know what I mean. When you faff around, you end up with extra cuts into the fleece and that makes the yarn no good if you want to go on to spin the wool.’

  I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m like a love-struck teenager, hanging on to his every word. Knowing he’s beside me makes everything seem brighter, the candyfloss look pinker and fluffier, the fresh doughnuts smell sweeter, and the rainbow of sweets on the stalls appear more colourful, but for Once I have no desire to eat them.

  Lewis chuckles wryly as we reach the beer tent. ‘So, now you’re an expert on shearing, is there anything else you want to ask me about sheep? They’re my specialist subject.’ He raises one eyebrow and adds, ‘We could do something else more interesting later, if you like—’

  ‘Lewis,’ Murray yells. ‘Get yourself to the bar. This one’s on me and Chris.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, Zara.’ Lewis hesitates as if he’s struggling to tear himself away. ‘I mustn’t let the side down.’

  I watch him drink his yard of ale, egged on by the other farmers. Having spilled most of the beer down his front, he pulls off his vest, revealing a six-pack and a V of dark blond hair across his chest. He uses the vest to mop up before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. Chris thumps him on the back and Murray half strangles him. Emily glances across to me and grins. Boys will be boys.

  The celebrations continue at the family meal back at the farm. Mum and Dad call me to say they’re giving Gran a lift so not to worry, and Rosie texts to let me know the baby is fine. Murray is pouring drinks while Emily cooks, and Poppy skips around the kitchen table with her rosette between her teeth. Frosty lies underneath, belly up and snoring lightly. I’m giving Daisy her bottle – at least, I’m trying to. Daisy is too occupied with staring at me and pulling the odd funny face to concentrate on drinking her milk. I touch the end of the teat to her mouth and the milk dribbles down her chin. When she’s finished messing around, I hold her against my shoulder to wind her. She burps loudly and leans back, grabbing onto the silver chain I’m wearing around my neck and snapping it. I catch it, rolling it up and putting it discreetly into my pocket. It’s a shame it’s broken. I’ve had it for many years, but it isn’t the end of the world.

  ‘So where’s my rosette?’ Gran asks, greeting everyone as she comes in with Mum and Dad. She’s wearing what she calls her glad rags – a white blouse, tartan skirt, tights and court shoes — and she brings a box of chocolates from the shop as her contribution to the evening.

  ‘You can share mine,’ Poppy offers.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gran, but you didn’t get one this year,’ I say.

  ‘Not for my cake? You did take it to the WI tent like I asked you to, Zara?’ She looks at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and hurt. ‘There was nothing wrong with that cake. It was the third one I made and it was perfect.’

  ‘There was a lot of competition this year.’ Against my effort to soften the blow, Emily goes on tactlessly, ‘Jennie thought you’d put salt in instead of sugar.’

  ‘Never!’ Gran exclaims.

  Emily opens the tin I brought back with me and leans down under the table to offer Frosty a sliver of cake. She turns her nose up.

  ‘You see? Even the dog won’t eat it.’

  ‘That is sour grapes and sabotage,’ Gran says. ‘I knew I should have taken it to the show myself.’

  ‘There’s no way anyone could have tampered with it. Half of Talyton St George were in that marquee. There’s no conspiracy.’

  ‘Unless someone slipped indoors when I was baking . . .’ Gran looks troubled. ‘Frosty wouldn’t have heard them, would she?’

  ‘She would have seen them, though,’ I insist, moving towards her. ‘If I could I’d award you a rosette: first prize for being the best gran in the whole world.’

  ‘You’re always a winner to us.’ Emily gives Gran a hug and glances at me over her shoulder, her forehead lined with concern. I shrug. I don’t know what’s going on. I wonder if I should have a word with Ben.

  ‘Catch up later after the party?’ Lewis says when he sits down at the table beside me, freshly showered and shaved, and slightly sunburned.

  I know what he means – when there’s no one else around. I can’t wait for us to spend time alone together, but I’m going to have to dream up a way of escaping discreetly from my family.

  ‘Where’s your necklace?’ Lewis asks. ‘You were wearing it earlier.’

  ‘Oh, Daisy got hold of it – it snapped. I don’t think it was designed to stand up to babies.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Do you want me to have a look at it, see if I can fix it?’ he offers.

  ‘No, don’t worry, but thanks anyway.’

  When the meal ends, Lewis thanks Emily and stands up.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but the dogs could do with a stroll.’

  ‘Even though they’ve had a long day at the show?’ Murray says.

  ‘They’re always up for a walk.’ Lewis’s cheeks grow flushed. ‘Zara, do you want to bring Frosty along too?’

  ‘I think I’ll come along with you.’ Murray makes to get up from the table.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Emily cuts in quickly. ‘You, my darling, are in charge of the dishes.’

  ‘I’d like some fresh air too,’ Gran says with a wicked smile. She’s on form, I think, the cake debacle apparently forgotten, but I notice she’s been here all evening with the buttons on her blouse fastened on the wrong holes.

  ‘You and Poppy can take a torch and go and pull some beetroot from the garden,’ Emily says. ‘I want some for a salad tomorrow.’

  ‘At last,’ Lewis says when we’re walking across the fields in the darkness, our way lit up by his headlamp torch, and almost alone, apart from the three dogs and a pair of owls calling to each other, and the rustle of a rabbit or a fox from the hedge.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry about my family.’

  ‘Why? I love them. They’re so chilled compared with mine.’

  ‘You and Connor seem pretty relaxed.’

  ‘That’s because we’re away from home. My dad’s very strict. He once threatened to kick Connor out of the house when he found a girl in his room. He packed his bags for him and left them at the front door, but Mum persuaded him to give Connor a second chance.’ We walk on a few paces before Lewis begins talking again. ‘This thing about the dri
nking. We ought to discuss it.’

  ‘Now? Do we have to?’ I don’t want anything to spoil the evening.

  ‘It would be good to clear the air. I don’t want anything else, no more misunderstandings and issues to come between us. I’m sorry for getting wasted. I didn’t realise . . .’

  ‘Realise what?’

  ‘Emily told me about your granddad.’

  ‘I see. He was a lovely man . . .’ I stifle a memory of Granddad taking me and Emily swimming at the pool before the leisure centre was rebuilt. ‘His liver packed up. That’s what killed him. He might still be alive if it hadn’t been for his addiction. He and Gran were planning their retirement when he died. I was sad – and angry at him, even though I don’t think he could help it – but it was so much worse for Gran. I admire her for staying strong and getting through it. It’s why she’s held on to the shop for so long: to give her something to do and keep his memory alive.’

  ‘Knowing about your grandfather puts a different perspective on the situation. You must think I’m very insensitive.’

  ‘You aren’t. It’s me overreacting.’

  ‘Or a bit of both.’ I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I enjoy having a few drinks with Connor and the lads –although I don’t always feel the same on the morning after.’

  ‘And I don’t drink because I’ve seen the consequences of heavy drinking, not just my grandfather, but as a midwife. Alcohol can have a devastating effect on babies and families. OMG, you must think I’m very boring.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘I find you . . . fascinating.’

  ‘I can promise you I’ll never lecture you on your choices. I just don’t want to be there on your lads’ nights out.’

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Lewis takes my hand and I link my fingers through his. He stops when we’re under the spreading branches of one of the oak trees that grows from the hedgerow and pulls me close. I look up into his eyes, or rather straight into the searing light of the torch. I reach up and click it so it’s aiming skywards.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he chuckles. ‘I meant to dazzle you with my witty banter, not my headlamp.’ He gazes at me with a shy hunger in his eyes. I tilt my head to kiss his mouth, and he’s holding me, his hands firmly on my back then straying down to my buttocks. I can hardly breathe, giddy with happiness and desire until . . .

  ‘Is that your knee?’ I ask, pulling away slightly.

  ‘I think it’s another part of my body,’ he says with a wicked smile.

  ‘No, there’s something nudging my leg.’ I glance down. ‘Oh, it’s Frosty.’ She’s butting her nose in between our shins in what appears to be an attempt to push us apart.

  ‘Your command for “no” isn’t going to be any use in the dark, is it?’ Lewis observes. ‘Shall we go back to the house? I can show you around the annexe, although, I warn you, I haven’t put anything away yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sigh. ‘I’d love to stay longer, but Gran will be expecting me to take her home.’ I force a smile, hoping he understands. ‘It’s past her bedtime.’

  ‘Another time soon then?’

  ‘Soon,’ I echo.

  When we return hand in hand to the farmyard, Lewis whistles for Mick and Miley who come flying out of the shadows. Miley skims past Frosty, growling as she passes. Frosty snaps back, but Miley’s too quick for her.

  ‘What was that about?’ I exclaim, checking Frosty over.

  ‘Miley’s jealous. It’s going to take her a while to get used to the idea that you and Frosty are in my life.’

  ‘Not too long, I hope,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘Since when does a dog decide whom their owner can or can’t see?’

  ‘Miley’s the possessive type. If she was a person, she’d probably be the deranged-stalker type. Don’t worry about it.’ Smiling, Lewis kisses me once more. ‘I’ll be shearing all day tomorrow and Monday. How about Tuesday evening?’

  ‘That’s perfect.’ I can’t wait. For the first time in a while, I feel optimistic about the future. Who knows where this is going, but I’m enjoying the ride.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Home Alone

  On Monday morning, I find Claire in the nurse’s room at the surgery, where she’s sorting out some equipment, including a kidney dish, a bottle of surgical spirit and some blood tubes, to take on a home visit to one of her elderly patients.

  For once, the hot topic of conversation is not the wedding, but my love life.

  ‘How was your day at the Country Show? What was it like seeing Lewis again?’

  ‘He’s asked me out.’ My face aches from smiling. ‘We’re going on a date.’

  ‘That’s brilliant.’ Claire’s eyes shine, reflecting my happiness. ‘Don’t tell me. You’re already thinking about following me and Kev up the aisle.’

  I laugh. She’s winding me up.

  ‘I’m planning to take it slowly, one date at a time, not rush into things like I did with Paul,’ but I know as I say it, and think of Lewis, that it’s going to be close to impossible because I’m already head over heels in love with him.

  ‘So where’s he taking you?’ Claire asks.

  ‘A sheepdog trial – you know, like One Man and His Dog.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Claire snorts.

  ‘Gran told me about it. It was on the television regularly some years ago and, according to her, it was quite exciting and the highlight of her week. It’s a competition to see who can get their dogs to move some sheep around a field in the fastest time.’

  Claire’s eyes shoot up towards her fringe.

  ‘Are you taking Frosty?’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t have a clue, and I don’t want her to distract Lewis’s dogs.’

  ‘It sounds like the world’s worst date to me.’

  ‘Lewis is really keen to introduce me to something different. I think it’ll be fun. And anyway, Claire, I don’t care where we go. I’m looking forward to spending time with him . . .’

  ‘And his dogs’ and a load of sheep,’ Claire finishes for me. ‘It’s hardly romantic, is it?’

  ‘It is,’ I insist. ‘It’s outdoors up at East Hill . . .’

  ‘The wind will cause havoc with your hair – and how will you dress to look sexy and alluring?’

  ‘I’m not going to go overboard. I want him to see the real me.’

  ‘So soon? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, and I want to see the real Lewis.’

  ‘I’d be pretty miffed if Kev asked me to an event like that for a date.’

  I’m really looking forward to it. It’s hard to find a time when we’re both free, and I’d rather compromise and go out somewhere than be stuck on the farm, riding on the back of a tractor, digging ditches and pressure-hosing the sheep shed, like Emily used to when she was dating Murray.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Claire smiles. ‘Kev paid for a taxi, dinner and champagne, and bought me chocolates on our first date. Each to their own . . .’

  I keep quiet. I get the impression Lewis is perpetually short of cash. I don’t want to embarrass him-and I certainly don’t expect to be spoiled with material goods like Claire.

  ‘I don’t care where we go, as long as we can talk.’

  ‘And snog,’ Claire chuckles. ‘How far would you go on a first date? Would you go all the way?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘We didn’t do it for ages. It took a long time for Kev to prove he was the man for me.’

  I don’t want to talk about the fact that Lewis and I have already slept together, so I return to the safer topic of my outfit. ‘I’ve ordered a pair of cropped trousers online.’

  ‘You’ve always maintained that crops didn’t suit you.’

  ‘They look great now I’ve lost weight, actually.’

  ‘Do you think it would work out cheaper for me to keep a dog than pay a subscription to fat club?’

  ‘I doubt it very much.’ I’m thinking of the money I’ve spent replacing the things Frosty has destroyed so far, and the vet
’s bills for her vaccinations and worming. ‘And you really shouldn’t take on a dog unless you’ve thought about it first.’

  ‘Like you did, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I say, grinning at the memory of how I acquired Frosty without any forethought at all. T wouldn’t change it now, though, not for anything.’

  ‘Kev and I might get a puppy after the honeymoon.’

  ‘So many couples I meet have done that. If I were you, I’d go straight for the baby and miss out the dog.’

  ‘You’re probably right, except that we’re planning to give ourselves at least a year to enjoy married life before we embark on trying for a family.’

  I smile ruefully. I expect Claire’s written the dates in her five-year diary: conceive baby, give birth to baby, start programme to return to pre-baby weight . . .

  I’d bet that Rosie, my teen mum, who’s due to see me this morning, wishes she’d planned her baby for some way into the future.

  ‘Hello. How are you?’ I close the door behind her as she joins me half an hour later. She has a neat bump beneath a short, skater-style dress.

  ‘I’m good, thanks. A lot better than when I last saw you.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know how it went at the hospital.’

  ‘It’s me who should be thanking you for what you did.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You got Mum and Adam talking to each other.’ Rosie smiles. ‘Anyway, everything’s fine. We got to see the baby on the scan and I couldn’t believe how much it’s grown. Adam was made up.’

  ‘I’m glad. Have you had any more bleeding, or anything else that worries you?’

  ‘No, it’s cool. Everything’s cool.’

  ‘How were the exams? Did you get to them all?’

  ‘I did.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m waiting for the results now. I just hope they’re good enough for me to do what I want at uni.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Physiotherapy. I’m going to take a year out, then apply – at least, that’s the plan, although –’ she looks down at her stomach – ‘the best-laid plans, and all that. Mum wanted me to have a career behind me, but I’ve told her I’ll just have to have the baby first and the career second.’