A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  ‘I’m sure he was only too happy to help,’ said Fran.

  ‘Antony, yes, but you? I can’t tell you how glad I am—’

  ‘June.’ Jack’s warning to his wife not to say too much was like the barely audible growl of a dog who has no desire to use force but could if it wanted.

  ‘No, but, Jack, this lovely girl has dropped everything to look after our puppies – you wouldn’t have got the other one doing that.’

  ‘She means Ant’s wife,’ said Jack, apparently resigned to his wife’s need to have a good moan about someone in Antony’s past she’d never considered good enough for him.

  ‘She was only interested in his money and his property,’ said June. ‘You’re not at all like her.’

  Fran couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’m sure I’m not! I’m sure she was well groomed and glamorous.’

  ‘She was that all right,’ said June, caressing a tiny black head with her finger. ‘Spent a fortune on clothes and was far too thin. Not at all pretty, like you.’

  ‘Well, thank you. But Antony and I – well, we’re not together, we’re just friends.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Jack gruffly. ‘He must think a lot of you to trust you with these little perishers.’

  ‘He’s right, you know,’ said June, patting Fran’s hand. ‘So I hope you’re single. I couldn’t go through Antony’s heart being broken again.’

  ‘He didn’t make a big fuss about it,’ objected Jack. ‘Doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.’

  ‘No, but he was suffering,’ said June. ‘I knew it.’ She put down her mug. ‘Now, I’ll just use the facilities and then we should get this lot home. We’re hoping their mum will take more kindly to them now she’s over the op.’

  ‘I’m going to miss all this,’ said Fran, suddenly aware it was true.

  ‘Come and see them whenever you’ve a moment,’ said June and got to her feet.

  As well as feeling dizzy after two nights of very broken sleep, Fran felt a bit flat, packing up to go back home. She wanted to see Antony again, to share the feeling of satisfaction of handing the puppies back, safe and ever so slightly bigger than they had been. Instead she had the prospect of Roy to return to.

  However, when she parked the car, a very excited Issi came to the door. ‘Come quickly! The first calf of the season. It’s being born right now.’ Then her excitement faded. ‘Oh, you’ll be shattered. You’ll just want a bath and a nap.’

  At one time, not very long ago really, a shower and a nap would have been Fran’s first option. But since caring for the puppies, so small and defenceless, the thought of seeing an animal being born wasn’t faintly disgusting and scary: it was wonderful.

  ‘Just lead me to the cow in labour,’ Fran said. ‘Although not if she’ll be put off by my being there.’

  ‘She won’t notice,’ said Issi, thrilled by Fran’s willingness to join her. ‘Come on!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fran took the time to put on her coat as a stiff breeze had got up, giving the emerging spring a reminder that winter still had some teeth. Then she followed Issi down the path to the shed.

  ‘We have to be very quiet and calm,’ said Issi. ‘This is a first calving and the mother is very special.’

  ‘I know about the very quiet and calm bit,’ said Fran, slightly hurt that Issi had forgotten where she’d just come from but understanding that her friend was very caught up in the moment.

  ‘We’re hoping for a bull calf,’ Issi went on, sounding touchingly proprietorial.

  ‘Don’t we want heifers? For milk?’ Fran, fairly brain-dead through lack of sleep, was confused.

  ‘We need a good bull calf for the sake of the herd. The cow who’s calving now was impregnated with sperm from a very special bull that will refresh the gene pool.’

  ‘You know a lot about it.’

  Issi stopped walking and turned to Fran. ‘To be honest, Tig doesn’t talk much but when he does it’s about the herd.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit – boring?’ Fran suddenly imagined her bright and funny friend, stuck on an old sofa with Tig, talking about cows.

  Issi hesitated. ‘Actually, I find it all fascinating. They are such an old herd, and have always grazed this really special, rare pasture. It’s why the milk is so full of flavour, and why your cheese is so good. Now come on.’

  They reached the cowshed. Fran had been expecting the cow to be on her own, but she was in with the others.

  ‘Is she OK?’ she asked, feeling hampered by ignorance and lack of sleep.

  ‘She should be fine,’ said Tig, ‘but it’s her first time and you never know.’

  ‘How long will it take?’ Fran went on.

  ‘Again, you never know, especially with heifers.’ He smiled quickly. ‘She’s a first-time mother. She doesn’t know how it’s done yet.’

  ‘But she’ll be all right?’ Fran was thinking of the mother of the puppies, who’d had to have a caesarean and had then rejected her offspring.

  ‘I hope she will. It’s all going OK so far.’ He smiled again and Fran could see why Issi liked him so much: he was calm, knowledgeable and kind. ‘You don’t have to be here, you know, you could go back to the house and wait for news.’

  ‘No! I must be here. Cows are what this farm has; I need to learn everything I can about them.’ Before Roy inherits and sells them all, she added silently.

  Tig made a sound that could have signified amusement or admiration or indeed that he had a frog in his throat. Fran didn’t seek clarification.

  She found herself oddly fascinated. Although nothing much seemed to be happening – the cow was wandering around the enclosure, picking at the grass and occasionally mooing loudly – the thought that any moment she would give birth kept Fran’s attention. Either that or she was so tired, she was happy just to be in the moment and be part of what was potentially so important for the farm.

  ‘Tig told me she’s been lying down and getting up for a while now,’ Issi told Fran quietly. ‘As long as the contractions don’t stop it should be OK, but if they do, she’ll definitely need help.’

  A bit later Issi suggested they made Tig coffee and went into the house together.

  Fran ate a piece of cake while she cut one for Tig. ‘Good cake!’ she said.

  ‘Mary made it. She knew the calf was due soon and it’s a special one. Tig may not get in for meals.’

  ‘One of the sweet things about Tig is that although he’s a professional herdsman, through and through, he cares about his cows as if they were pets,’ said Fran.

  ‘It’s true. It’s good that you appreciate that,’ said Issi.

  ‘Why, in particular?’

  ‘Because you may be his boss one day.’

  Fran laughed. ‘I’ll never be his boss in the ordinary way. I wouldn’t dream of telling him what to do.’ Then she yawned so hard her jaw cracked.

  ‘Listen,’ said Issi. ‘You’re half-dead. Go and have a nap.’

  ‘I don’t want to miss this, Issi. I feel it’s important. And I can tell Amy all about it later.’

  ‘OK. Go and sleep now and I’ll wake you the moment it starts getting interesting.’

  Fran wanted to resist but knew it was futile. ‘Promise to wake me? Even if I’m deeply asleep?’

  ‘I promise.’

  It seemed like seconds later that Issi was shaking her shoulder. ‘I’ve just rung the vet,’ she said.

  Fran shot up, instantly awake. ‘Oh my God! Is it going to be all right?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  Fran realised that Issi was close to tears and that she needed to be up for her friend’s sake, as much as for the cow and calf. Issi’s happiness was very bound up with Tig’s and she realised that if anything happened to any of the animals, he would be devastated.

  She put her hand on Issi’s. ‘You go. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  The briefest splash of water on her face to wake her up and Fran was on her way to the cowshed.

  The heifer was
on her side, mooing. Tig was lying on the straw at the back end, his arm in the cow, his expression intense.

  ‘The vet’s on his way,’ said Issi, who seemed calmer now.

  Tig looked up and saw her. ‘Vets don’t come cheap. I wouldn’t have called him if I could have managed – Oh, hang on, I might have got something. Is? Can you pass me those ropes hanging there?’

  ‘Tig, if you need the vet, call him! Don’t hesitate. We’ll pay him somehow.’ Fran had no idea how much vets cost, but she wouldn’t have let an animal suffer however expensive it was.

  He nodded, and Fran knew he was reassured.

  Fran couldn’t decide if she was repelled or fascinated as she watched Tig put ropes round the tiny feet that now appeared from the heifer. The thought of an animal being born in this way was horrifying, but it was obviously OK or Tig wouldn’t be doing it.

  ‘I might need a hand, Is,’ said Tig quietly.

  Issi didn’t hesitate. She was over the side of the pen and at Tig’s side in an instant.

  ‘Right,’ said Tig, ‘hold on to this, and when I say pull, pull.’

  Fran couldn’t bear to look at or even think of a baby creature being pulled from its mother in such a powerful, not to say violent, way. But she trusted Tig completely, and if he thought ropes and tugging were needed, they definitely were.

  She was squinting through the corner of her eye at what was going on when there was a ‘Come on!’ from Tig and then the calf landed on the straw in a gush of blood and fluid.

  ‘It’s a bull calf,’ said Tig. ‘Now rub it with straw, quite briskly,’ he said to Issi. ‘I’ve got to see to the mother.’ There was no time for celebration.

  The calf stirred almost immediately but the mother seemed less happy. Tig tried to encourage her on to her feet but she didn’t want to move.

  ‘What do you think the matter is?’ asked Issi.

  ‘Not sure. Could be milk fever.’

  Fran found she wanted to cry but bit her lip hard to prevent it. She knew her emotion was to do with the puppies and being so tired and the general stress of it all. But it was also something deeper, more primal. It was watching a fellow female doing what females were born to do: giving birth. And it was hard.

  ‘I’ll make more tea,’ she said to no one in particular.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Tig, and his affirmation reassured her.

  As she walked back to the house a million unconnected thoughts went through her head, like how she was still wearing unsuitable stripy wellies even though she’d meant to get proper farming ones when she first arrived; what, if anything, she’d say to Amy if the heifer died; whether Tig really wanted tea or if he just wanted her out of the way; and if she should make tea for the vet.

  She loaded up the tray with cake and four mugs of tea, including one for the vet who should arrive at any moment. Then she unloaded it again, put the empty tray in the bottom of a large basket, one of the many that Amy had dotted round the kitchen, and then put everything back on it again. As she set off back to the cowshed she felt pleased that she still had some initiative left.

  She’d done right to include the vet in her calculations. When she got back to the cowshed there was a man holding a bottle of clear fluid high up and a tube leading from the bottle to the cow, which now had a needle in one of the veins in her neck.

  ‘Milk fever,’ said Issi quietly. ‘Andrew is giving her calcium. Andrew!’ she said more loudly. ‘Would you like tea?’

  ‘I’ll have it afterwards if I may,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry though. I never get to drink a mug of tea while it’s hot. I’ve stopped even liking it that way.’

  As Fran handed Tig his tea she sensed the atmosphere was lighter now, though whether this was because Andrew was there or because the calcium was working she didn’t know.

  She and Issi sipped and watched in silence. The calf was on its feet now but the cow was still sitting on the straw.

  Then suddenly something changed. The cow seemed to change her attitude to motherhood and, with Tig and Andrew there to assist, lumbered to her feet.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Issi to Fran and put her arm round Fran’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug.

  They both watched as the little calf staggered round to his mother’s udder and tried to latch on. The mother swung her head round and began to lick him. Then cow and calf worked out what to do at the same time and the calf began to suckle.

  Everyone watched in silence and wonderment at the miracle of nature. Fran noticed that Issi’s cheeks were wet and swallowed hard to keep her own tears in check.

  Andrew sipped his tea at last and Tig finished his.

  ‘I’ll get some hot water so you can have a wash,’ said Tig.

  ‘Or you could come up to the house?’ suggested Fran, who thought washing in a cowshed was too James Herriot for words.

  Andrew smiled. ‘I’ll get the worst off down here. But is there a chance of more tea? I was lying when I said I liked it cold.’

  As Fran set off back to the house again, with Issi, she was aware that as a feminist she should object to being seen as a tea-maker, but as one who knew nothing about calving she felt grateful to have something useful to do. She’d clear it with her conscience later.

  She swayed slightly as she put the kettle on.

  ‘You’re falling over you’re so tired!’ said Issi. ‘Don’t worry about the tea. I’ll sort Andrew and Tig out. You go back to bed.’

  ‘I think I will,’ Fran said. ‘I probably need a proper meal but, frankly, I’m just too tired to think about what I want. Much as I love cake, it’s not quite doing it for me at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll make you an omelette when you wake up. Off you go.’

  Fran went willingly, longing for another proper sleep in a proper bed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fran was so deeply asleep it took her a while to realise that Issi was shaking her again and she wasn’t on some weird fairground ride that had appeared in her dreams.

  ‘I’m so sorry to wake you,’ said Issi. ‘But there’s a message on the landline answerphone from Roger.’

  ‘Do I know a Roger?’

  ‘Yes you do! He’s your chef friend from London who liked your cheese. He’s left several messages.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Three in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep a couple of hours.’

  ‘Thanks, Is. I’ll call Roger. Oh, has Roy appeared? Wasn’t he due last night?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll turn up any time now, I imagine.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get my act together.’

  ‘Thank the Lord you’ve called!’ said Roger, responding after the first ring. ‘I was beginning to give up hope! I want as much mascarpone as you can make as soon as.’

  ‘As soon as what, Roger?’

  ‘Grr! Look, I’ve got a team of food critics, magazine editors, representatives of major shops – it’s all a bit last minute or I’d have been in touch before.’

  ‘I’d never be able to supply supermarkets, Rog, even if I wanted to—’

  ‘Not supermarkets! Niche grocers and delis! What’s wrong with you, Fran? These are influential people. They could make your brand.’

  It felt a little odd to think of the cheese she made with such love and, initially, such difficulty as a brand. ‘Sorry, just a bit tired.’

  ‘But you’ll make it?’

  ‘If I can. But what kind of mascarpone do you want? I mean, the kind I make from a culture, which is the best, takes longer. And you know I use unpasteurised milk?’

  ‘That’s why it’s so good! I need your best, and I need it by tomorrow afternoon if possible.’

  ‘So I’ve got less than twenty-four hours,’ said Fran slowly, doing some calculations in her head but knowing she didn’t really have a choice. This was such an amazing opportunity. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I’ll send a courier. You just let me know when you’re nearly done and it’ll be picked up.’

  ‘I’m on it.
If I can’t do it I’ll ring you back.’

  ‘You must do it!’ said Roger and disconnected.

  But as soon as she’d put the phone down she realised she couldn’t make it unless she had cream. She didn’t even know if any of the cows were still giving milk. She’d lost track of the farm a bit – looking after the puppies had been like living in another world – and being so tired didn’t make it any easier to think. If there was no milk her brand wouldn’t get this huge boost, and if she was going to get the cheese made in time someone would have had to make cream. It was probably all impossible.

  She went to find Tig. He and Issi were back in the cowshed, looking at the cow and calf, who were now happily coupled up, looking the very picture of bovine contentment.

  ‘They are beautiful,’ said Fran, aware she was interrupting a special moment between Tig and Issi.

  ‘They are,’ said Tig simply.

  ‘It was such a privilege to see the little one born. Do have a name for him? Or don’t you give your cows names?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ said Tig. ‘And I reckon Antony’s a good name.’

  Fran cleared her throat, not quite sure how to take this. ‘I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘He’s a very handsome specimen,’ said Issi. ‘And so is Antony.’

  ‘Yes, well, maybe,’ said Fran. ‘Now, Tig? Issi may have told you that I’ve had a call from Roger, who bought all my cheese at the farmers’ market.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I need to make a lot of mascarpone. Are all the cows dry? Have we got milk? And if we have, has anyone made cream?’ She studied Tig’s expression but couldn’t read it. ‘No, of course not, you haven’t had time.’

  Her spirits slumped. It was all too good to be true. A collection of people influential in the food business were going to taste her cheese – but only if it was possible for her to make it. And there was no cream. All the cows were dry.

  Tig humphed and Fran looked up again. A slight alteration in his usually inscrutable expression indicated he was pleased. ‘I’ve always staggered the calving a bit, so we always have milk. More now it’s spring, of course, but yes, we’ve got milk.’