by Katie Fforde
Fran bit into the cake, full of fruit and tasting of cinnamon – utterly delicious. ‘He could go back to Australia and wait for her to die, couldn’t he?’
‘Just what I suggested, but no, he said he didn’t want to be too far away because he didn’t trust you not to get up to something.’
‘Just what could I get up to, I wonder?’ She took another mouthful of cake. ‘I’m open to ideas.’
‘He thinks you’ll be influencing Amy to leave the farm to you and not to him.’
‘Too right, I will.’ Fran sipped her tea and sighed, unable to put Mr Addison’s visit to the care home the other day out of her mind. Was he visiting Amy? Or someone else? ‘Not that Amy is exactly influenceable, if that is a word. She has a mind of her own and it’s very strong.’ She paused. ‘Although I must admit, she does seem to have taken to Roy. But this is perfect – him being away. I can sell the roof tiles, and with the cheese going so well, we’re in with a chance, Is.’
‘Sell the roof tiles?’
‘To pay off the bank, hold them off, really. I told you, Is.’
‘Oh yes, sorry,’ said Issi.
‘But I’m feeling really optimistic. We’re on the up.’ She frowned. ‘Of course I owe Antony big time, which does worry me. I hate owing people things.’
‘He has loads of money, Fran.’
‘That’s not the point. And besides, he’s given me support and information and has just been great—’
‘Because he likes you.’
‘—and I want to pay him back.’
‘There will be a way, I’m sure. But hey! You must get up early tomorrow and see the cows.’
‘Really?’
Issi nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘It’s their coming-out day. Tig says the fields have dried out enough and the grass is really coming through. They’re going into the pasture for the first time for months. Tig says it’s a sight to behold. He usually leaves Sunday milking to Ed or Phil but he’s keen to do it tomorrow.’
The following morning, Issi encouraged Fran out of bed with a cup of tea and the suggestion that she dress up warmly. ‘It’s going to be a lovely day but it’s a bit chilly at the moment. You know what spring is like – fickle.’
Fran found thick socks and scarves to go over her usual jeans and jumpers and joined Issi in the kitchen. She accepted the toast her friend handed to her, aware that Issi really wanted her to enjoy the cows. It had been a joke between them that Fran was frightened of them and, as jokes often do, it had an element of truth. It was ridiculous, here she was, trying to be a farmer – a dairy farmer – and she was nervous about getting too close to the creatures who produced her living. She resolved to toughen up.
She followed Issi out of the back door and along towards the milking parlour. There were threads of mist in the air and the promise of sunshine gave everything a magical quality. The hedges were fuzzy with leaves about to open and splashes of white, which, Issi had told her, having been told by Tig, was blackthorn, which would turn into sloes in the autumn. There’d be wild garlic to make pesto with in the woods very soon, and the birds were singing.
‘It doesn’t get better than this,’ Fran said.
‘It doesn’t, does it?’ Issi agreed. ‘It’s so wonderful hearing birds instead of police sirens.’
‘It is. I’m going to learn which bird makes which sound,’ said Fran. ‘There’s an app you can get.’
Issi giggled. ‘I don’t suppose Amy would approve of apps to learn about birdsong.’
‘As long as I learn. I won’t tell her how.’
There was so much about the countryside to love, she decided, and it would break her heart if it was all taken away from her.
Tig came over.
‘Fran,’ said Tig.
‘Tig,’ said Fran.
‘Come to see the cows?’
Fran nodded. She looked nervously at them. They seemed to know something special was about to happen and were stamping and huffing in a slightly terrifying way.
They stood well back as Tig opened the huge gate that opened on to the field. The cows came out, bucking and leaping like lambs, so excited they didn’t know what to do with themselves.
‘I’ll bring them in at night for a week or two maybe, but after that they’ll be out all the time,’ Tig said.
Seeing such large animals cavorting about in the spring sunshine, surrounded by birdsong and the acid green of newly emerged foliage, made Fran want to laugh and cry at the same time.
‘Cool, isn’t it?’ said Issi with a sigh.
‘Super cool,’ Fran agreed.
Then Fran glanced at her friend and noticed she was looking at Tig, not the cows. While they were both city chicks, they had both found happiness back on the land. Although she adored the fact her best friend from school had come to share her adventure and was possibly falling in love, it added hugely to her sense of responsibility. It wasn’t just her home that could be lost if Amy left Hill Top to Roy. It was Tig’s and possibly Issi’s.
Still, it was spring, Roy had left – for a little while at least – and they had the place to themselves.
‘I wonder if Roy is feeling like the cows, all bouncy and with that “let out of school” feeling?’ said Issi.
‘I’m definitely feeling as if the class bully has gone away for a bit. Let’s ask Tig if he’d like to come for breakfast.’
‘Good idea,’ said Issi.
‘I bought some amazing bacon at the market yesterday. I’ll make fried bread,’ said Fran.
‘Bit fattening, isn’t it?’
‘Not for Tig. Agricultural workers use up a lot of calories, they need the fat.’
‘Hmm,’ said Issi, ‘I’m sure that was true back in the nineteenth century, but he does spend quite a lot of time driving around on that tractor.’
‘You don’t want me jeopardising his six-pack?’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,’ said Issi, blushing, possibly at the thought of Tig’s finely honed torso.
When the cows were all getting down to the business of eating the fresh young grass, Tig walked up the field to join them.
‘Did you like that?’ he said to them.
‘Loved it,’ said Fran and Issi more or less together.
‘Breakfast? Bacon? Fried bread?’ Fran added.
Tig nodded.
As they walked back together Fran asked, ‘Tig, are you very strong?’
‘Why do you want to know?’ he answered.
‘Nothing really, it’s just you’re very silent.’
Tig laughed. ‘I’ll say anything I think needs saying, don’t you worry.’
Fran saw him put his hand on Issi’s shoulder. That said a lot, she thought.
The next few days were joyful. Although she was working as hard as ever, without Roy it was easier and more fun; and of course, as she became more practised, the cheesemaking went more quickly.
The man from the reclamation yard came, and paid Fran a very nice amount for the Cotswold stone tiles.
‘That seems an awful lot!’ she said, forgetting she should be edging up the price, not the opposite.
‘It is an awful lot,’ the man agreed, ‘but I daren’t give you less than they’re worth. Antony would be furious.’
‘Oh, well. As long as you’re making a profit …’
‘Don’t worry, I am. And there’s a fair bit here. I’ll send the lorry up tomorrow to collect the tiles, if that’s OK.’
‘More than OK. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned,’ said Fran.
‘Right. Cash suit you?’
‘That’s fine,’ said Fran, wondering briefly if she had to worry about tax and decided not to bother.
She watched as the man peeled fifty pound notes off a wodge he produced from his back pocket and put them into her hand. She offered a quick prayer of thanks that Roy wasn’t here to snatch the money away, or at least threaten to, and reckoned she had enough for one bank loan payment and a bit towards the next. She’d pay it into the farm account today, wh
en she planned to see Amy.
Amy was on good form when Fran went in to see her later that afternoon.
‘Roy’s gone away for a little break,’ Fran said to Amy, who nodded. As Fran had only had to say it once, it indicated that Amy was wearing her hearing aids, which helped communication.
‘Good idea. He should see a bit of the countryside if he’s going to live here.’
‘I thought he should go back to Australia and look after his farm there,’ said Fran, her good mood waning a bit.
‘It’s a long way away, Australia,’ said Amy.
‘He wouldn’t need to get there by sailing ship,’ Fran countered. ‘It’s only a day and a night on a plane.’ She was a bit vague about this but felt she didn’t need to be too precise.
‘Getting under your feet, was he?’
‘He was really. He doesn’t do much but he complains about what I do.’
‘Well, a man isn’t going to like taking orders from a woman, is he? Suffered from that half my working life.’
‘I don’t give him orders.’
‘But he’s not in charge. He’s won’t like that.’
Fran swallowed. Amy could be contrary. She was quite likely to put Roy in charge just to keep him entertained, or to keep her on her toes. She decided to change the subject. ‘Tig put the cows out this morning. It was so lovely to see them all springing and bucking around the fields.’
Amy softened. ‘Ah, I used to love this time of year. Me and my husband used to watch them as they came out of the pen together. It was as if the cows were our children and we were watching them play.’
This took Fran by surprise and sentimental tears caught the back of her throat.
‘Mind you,’ Amy went on, ‘it’s a bit early, isn’t it? Tig always wanted to let the cows out too early. You tell him. Tell him it’s too early. He should leave it another fortnight.’
Fleetingly, Fran imagined herself telling Tig what to do with his beloved cows and now it was laughter threatening to embarrass her. She cleared her throat. ‘You picked a brilliant herdsman in Tig. He’ll never let you, the cows, or the farm down. You don’t need to worry about anything he does, I know that.’ She spoke emphatically, and was rewarded by a slight nod.
‘Yes, I did pick a good herdsman. But he’d never take being bossed about by a woman.’
Fran had gone from tears to laughter to feminist outrage in a very short space of time. ‘Amy!’ she said indignantly. ‘You’re a woman! Surely he took orders from you?’
‘But I was over eighty when I took Tig on,’ as if this somehow meant she wasn’t a woman. ‘You’re just a slip of a thing from London.’
Fran laughed openly. Amy was outrageous, but she was also brave and hard-working and had devoted her life to her farm. She had to remember that. ‘Honestly, Amy, I don’t know what to say. But did I tell you about how well my cheese sold at the farmers’ market?’
‘Very hard to get a stall at a farmers’ market.’
‘I know but I was a guest, on Erica’s stall. And an old friend from London—’
But Amy was asleep.
She drove back to the farm, still chuckling gently about Amy and her many contradictions, to find Issi looking out for her.
‘What’s up?’ said Fran as she pulled up.
‘It’s Antony. He called on the landline. He sounded – well – fairly desperate considering how reserved and buttoned-up he is.’
Fran had only just got out of her car before Seb drove up.
‘Fran,’ he said. He sounded extremely earnest for Seb, who usually took a lighthearted view of life. ‘Ant needs you. Can you come with me now? Maybe pack a few things?’
‘Oh God, Seb, what is it? Is he ill? Has he had an accident?’ Fran’s heart was pounding and she felt sweat break out on her forehead.
Seb’s expression softened just a little. ‘He said to tell you, it’s payback time.’
Fran licked her dry lips. ‘For all that he’s done for me?’
Seb nodded. ‘But don’t worry, it’s not life or death – well it is, but only – well, you go and pack an overnight bag and I’ll drive you over to the house.’
Fran shook her head. ‘I’ll drive myself. You go and tell Antony I’m on my way.’
Fran concentrated on driving safely and not letting her desire to get to Park House at top speed make her hit a wall on the way.
Seb was waiting for her. ‘Come in. It’s OK!’ he said, seeing Fran’s anxiety. ‘It’s actually lovely. But I’ve got to go now, which is why Antony needs you.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Fran, more confused than ever.
‘Old friend’s wedding. I’m the best man. Here …’
He opened the door to the big sitting room and Fran was instantly struck with how warm it was. Antony got up from the sofa where he’d been sitting and came over.
He hugged her, hard, as if he needed comfort. ‘You came. But I’m going to tell you what you’re in for so you can go home again, and Seb can miss the wedding.’ He took her by the arm. ‘Come and see.’
He led her to the fireplace where the wood burner was blasting out heat. There was a large cardboard box. In the box were lying several very shiny black tubes. She realised what they were after a second.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Puppies!’
He nodded. ‘Only a few hours old.’
‘But where’s their mother?’
‘She had a caesarean and rejected them, unfortunately. It happens. We’re having to hand-rear them.’
‘We?’
He laughed softly. ‘Currently, you and me. Come with me into the kitchen and I’ll explain while I get the next feed ready. They have to be fed every two hours and it takes an hour.’
Fran bit back her second ‘Oh my God’ since she’d got there.
Antony’s huge kitchen had acquired a few new bits of equipment since she’d cooked in it. There were several tiny bottles, scales, a large tub of puppy milk, plastic jugs and a couple of thermos flasks.
She watched as Antony measured out spoonfuls of dried milk into a jug and set it on the scales.
‘The pups belong to some very old friends who were almost like parents to me when I was growing up. Their daughter was like my younger sister. Their dog – the pups’ mother – is a brilliant working collie, so apart from anything else, these puppies are potentially very valuable.’
He went over to the kettle and poured a little of the water over his wrist. ‘If you use boiling water it doesn’t mix properly,’ he explained. ‘June and Jack had to go to their daughter’s, who’s just had a baby. Unfortunately there are a few problems with the baby. They were torn, so I said I’d do the pups.’
‘And you can’t manage on your own? I can imagine! Well, I’m more than happy to help.’
He looked at her intently. ‘Tonight you help, but tomorrow – well, I’ve got to go to London. You’ll be on your own for twenty-four hours. This is a major favour I’m asking, Fran. It’s more than anything I’ve done for you.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t agree. You’ve done so much: the track, the cheese room—’
He interrupted her. ‘If you’ve got more than enough money, spending a bit of it isn’t any hardship. I’m asking you to give me hours of your time and to go without sleep.’ He paused. ‘Looking after these puppies is very labour-intensive. I’m going to get you to help me with one feed and then we’ll see how you get on. It’s not only feeding we’ve got to do. They can’t wee and poo without help. We have to get them to do that too.’
‘So when did you learn to do all this?’ she said as between them they carried the hot water, the bottles, a jug of milk and the thermoses through to the sitting room.
‘Today. June took me through it. She’s done it before when Millie – that’s the mum – had a huge litter and they had to hand-rear a couple. But this is something else.’
‘Goodness.’
‘Their vet didn’t recommend them hand-rearing those pups but not e
ven the hardest-hearted vet would let a whole litter die.’
‘Of course not! Not even if they weren’t remotely valuable. They’re new life!’
Antony nodded and just for a moment it looked as if he wanted to kiss her but something made him hold back. ‘I knew you’d get that. I really don’t know anyone else who’d understand and be prepared to do it all for these tiny little creatures. They’re so … dependent.’
Fran cleared the gathering tears from her throat. ‘I’m so glad you asked me.’
‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Antony. ‘We have to wash our hands before we start.’
As Fran scrubbed her hands in the well-tiled but slightly chilly downstairs loo, she reminded herself that Antony had chosen her because she was kind and efficient, not because he liked her – not in that way.
Chapter Fifteen
Fran and Antony were in the sitting room, about to start the feeding session.
‘Here’s a clipboard,’ Antony said. ‘It’s got all the pups’ markings on it so we can tell them apart. Thank goodness they’re collies and have white patches. We’d have to put nail varnish or something on them if they were Labs.’
‘It’s sort of cosy, isn’t it?’ Fran paused. ‘And yet a bit like a hospital ward. Cosy because of the warmth and the low lighting, I suppose, but also efficient.’
‘I think I see what you mean,’ said Antony.
Fran didn’t think he knew what she meant at all, but appreciated him trying to understand.
There was a small table loaded with thermos flasks of boiling water, another jug of cold water, and jug of milk and a couple of feeding bottles.
‘Right, let’s get the bottles filled. Well, only about halfway up.’ He watched her. ‘That’s perfect.’
‘They drink half a bottle of milk? I know the bottles are only dolly size really, but—’
‘Ideally, we’d have a newly sterilised bottle for each puppy, but June told me they couldn’t buy enough bottles for that. Instead, we pour boiling water over the teats in between each feed.’
‘What’s this?’ Fran was looking at the clipboard. ‘I get the markings and love that they’ve got names, but weeing and pooing? Really?’
Antony nodded ruefully. ‘A bit coy, I know, but it’s what June put when they made the chart. I’ll show you.’
