A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  She had parked her car in front of the house and was about to go in when she heard a noise. She’d lived on the farm long enough to know it was a cow – a cow obviously in distress.

  She ran down to the cowshed to see if she could find Tig, although she knew if he had been around he’d have heard the cow himself and done something about it.

  She went into the house and dialled his number on the landline. No reply. She left a message.

  As a last resort she ran up the stairs and called Issi, hoping against hope she’d find Tig with her. But there was no reply, no sound. They were both out.

  Just now, even Roy would have been something. He could have made himself useful for the first time and rescued the cow – at least he probably wasn’t frightened of them.

  Even through the walls of the house, the cow’s distressed bellow was audible. She had to do something. She couldn’t let it suffer. She pulled on her stripy boots. She really should have bought some proper farming ones by now.

  She went back round to the front of the house and looked towards the bellowing. She spotted the cow. It was in the highest field and very near the hedge.

  As she sprinted up the hill towards it, she did feel a touch of pride at how much fitter she was these days. There would have been a time when a hill that steep would have had her puffing a bit.

  Her pride was short-lived though. There was a cow, in distress, and there she was, not knowing what on earth to do about it.

  Nervously, she opened the gate, went in and set off towards the animal. As she got nearer, she recognised it. This was Flora, the cow who’d had the difficult calving that she’d watched. And there was no calf visible. That was the problem! The calf must, somehow, have got on the other side of the hedge. No wonder Flora was bellowing. But one of the few things Fran was certain about was that cows could be very dangerous if separated from their calves.

  Without getting too near, and grateful that the other cows were way down the bottom of the field, she peered through a gap. Yes, there was the calf. So all she had to do was somehow get the calf back through the hedge. But first she had to get herself into that field.

  Cursing herself for not having learnt the geography of the farm better, she tried to remember where the gate was to the field next to the top one. Then Flora gave another huge bellow and she decided to stop worrying about the gate and just go through the hedge.

  She looked briefly for a less dense bit, squeezed her eyes shut and led with her elbows. Determination and managing to ignore the scratches got her through to the other side. She landed with a bump and immediately began rolling down the hill a bit. She sat up and saw the calf – and also realised that she’d found the quarry.

  No wonder she hadn’t found it before. It was small and in a bit of a dip, very out of the way. A small hawthorn tree had grown up in front of it, hiding the wooden door that seemed to have come off its hinges. Through the gap, Fran could just about make out a couple of shelves on the wall. This must be the place where Amy ripened the cheese all those years ago.

  Hugely encouraged by this discovery, she turned her full attention to the calf.

  Now she was the same side of the hedge she could see what had happened. It had somehow got through the hedge and had followed its mother’s bellows further along, away from the gap it had gone through. All she had to do – so simple and possibly impossible – was to persuade it back to the hole in the hedge and push it through.

  Of course she should have brought something with her – a head collar or something – but would a calf be led like that unless it had been trained from birth? Fran was pretty ignorant about cows, she was the first to admit, but she felt this was unlikely.

  She climbed up the side of the quarry to join the calf. She couldn’t see the hole it had come through but decided if she could push herself through a hedge, she might be able to push a calf, especially if its mother was on the other side.

  Bravely, she spoke to it. ‘OK, darling, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to join you up with your mother.’ She was sure she’d heard the expression ‘join you up’, or something similar, with regard to horse whispering.

  Annoyingly, however, the calf hadn’t watched the same television programme and was obviously going to need something more hands-on. She put her arms round the little chap’s neck and pulled, hoping to get it to move towards a gap. ‘Come on, lovely, Mummy’s this way!’

  She managed to drag it along a little bit and then fortunately the cow was able to see her calf and butted the hedge. That made a bit of a bigger gap and, with Fran pushing from behind (having forgotten cows could kick), it got through to the other side.

  The calf might well have been fairly scratched – as she was herself – but it was with its mother, who stopped bellowing, obviously delighted to be reunited.

  Fran became aware of a trickle of blood running down her own face and realised she had to find the gate to the field or go back through the hedge. She was so buoyed by her success she decided to go for broke and return through the hedge. She was grazed and muddy and her coat was torn but who cared? She’d found the quarry and rescued a calf. She almost felt like a proper farmer – at last!

  While Fran was washing her hands and face and generally returning herself to looking fairly normal, she realised she really wanted to go back to the care home to tell Amy about the quarry immediately.

  She tried to talk herself out of it – she’d seen her that day; it would be nice to have news when she went in next time – but she realised she just had to go.

  She wrote a long note for Issi, including a certain amount of boasting about rescuing the calf, and set off back to town.

  She passed Roy’s car and gave him a brief wave, hoping he hadn’t just come from Amy in spite of having seen her earlier in the day. Amy would be exhausted if he had and she’d have to tell her about the quarry tomorrow.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to Monica, on reception. ‘I’m here again.’ She signed in. ‘Do you know if Roy’s just been in?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Monica. ‘But I’ve only just started my shift.’

  ‘I’ll go and see if Amy’s awake – that’ll tell me if she’s just had a visitor.’

  Amy was awake, but in bed, her hair in a plait. ‘Oh?’ she said, surprised. ‘You here again? Weren’t you here earlier?’

  ‘Yes I was. But I had to come and tell you. I found the quarry!’

  ‘About time too. And how did that come about?’

  ‘I had to reunite a calf with its mother. The calf had gone through the hedge and Flora couldn’t follow. I had to go through the hedge myself because I couldn’t remember where the gate was.’

  ‘You still don’t know the farm very well, do you?’

  ‘I’m learning, Amy!’ Fran laughed gently, beginning to accept that nothing she ever did for Amy would produce praise.

  ‘But didn’t Roy tell me you were afraid of cows?’ Amy went on, frowning a little, as if doubting her memory.

  ‘He might have done, and I do admit I find them a bit unnerving. They’re so big. But I did my duty by this one, I’m pleased to say. I couldn’t find Tig.’

  ‘Well done, dear,’ said Amy, to Fran’s huge surprise. ‘Now just sit with me for a bit.’

  This was also a surprise. Amy never seemed to want visitors to stay long. But Fran was more than happy to sit in the comfy chair, next to the bed, especially as Amy was in the mood to reminisce.

  ‘I think my proudest day was when we won Best in Show, just before the war,’ she said. ‘Me and my husband had worked so hard to get this bull trained for the ring, and he looked so smart. He was strong, but not too strong for my husband. Proud as punch, he was.’

  ‘Did your husband have to go away in the war, or did he stay and work the land?’ Fran asked, delighted to have an opportunity to ask all these things that Amy hadn’t talked about before.

  ‘No, farming was a protected occupation. It was our duty to feed the country. Mind’ – Amy’s ac
cent was becoming more rural now; usually her voice mostly lacked a country burr – ‘we were lucky. We thought we’d have to plough our fields to grow cabbages and the like. In fact’ – she lowered her voice although Fran was the only other person in the room – ‘we always blamed that Gilbert Arlingham for sending the Min of Ag to inspect the land. He worked for them, you see? It was his duty to go round telling people what they should plant.’ Amy was obviously outraged by this, even now.

  ‘Goodness!’

  ‘But when the man did come round he said the fields were too steep to plough. Well, we could have saved him the visit. Those fields have never been ploughed, which is why we have all the wild flowers on them.’

  ‘Which is why the milk and cheese is so delicious,’ said Fran.

  ‘Exactly. But Gilbert needn’t have mentioned us to the Min of Ag. He could have just left us alone. Supposing we had had to plough our fields?’

  ‘It would have been a dreadful shame.’

  Amy reached for Fran’s hand and they sat in silence for a bit. Fran felt her little hand in hers, thinking of all the hard work it had done over the years. Amy had battled through the winter cold and the summer sun, every day, for all of her adult life.

  Fran felt humbled and immensely grateful to have been given a glimpse of what she now understood was a noble and very valuable life. Fran suddenly realised she was crying.

  As if sensing her tears, although her eyes were shut, Amy gave Fran’s hand a little squeeze. ‘I’ve had such a happy life.’

  A little while later, Fran realised that Amy had gone to sleep. She kissed her forehead and tiptoed out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fran set off for home feeling uplifted and, on impulse, stopped at the off-licence and bought a bottle of chilled Prosecco and some fancy olives. It had seemed a bit crazy to go back to see Amy for the second time in the day but it had produced a lovely chat and a real point of connection. She felt their relationship had made progress. That was something worth celebrating. And of course she’d found the quarry and rescued a cow. She was on a roll!

  She was further delighted to see Antony’s car in front of the house. She decided to ignore Roy’s car – badly parked as usual. He was just a minor irritant; she wasn’t going to let him spoil the moment when she told the others how well she’d done.

  ‘Hi! I’m home!’ she called joyfully she went in through the back door. She was surprised to see Issi, Roy and Antony in a row in the kitchen, all staring at her. Tig was looking awkward by the stove.

  Fran knew that something was horribly wrong. Panic rose like a huge moth from her stomach. She put her carrier bag on the table before she dropped it. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Antony stepped forward and took her into his arms. ‘I’m so, so sorry, darling.’

  She wanted to stay enfolded in this warm, safe place feeling loved and secure. But she knew she had to face the real world.

  ‘The old lady’s dead,’ said Roy.

  Fran didn’t need Roy’s blunt announcement. She had known from the moment she saw them all standing there when she’d got through the door. But neither could she believe it. How was this possible? She’d left Amy an hour ago at most.

  ‘The care home called, just now,’ said Issi. ‘Someone went in to tuck her up just after you’d left and she’d gone.’

  Fran waited for her tears to come but there was nothing, just a ghastly feeling of emptiness.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Antony. ‘Cup of tea? Big drink?’

  ‘Hot chocolate?’ suggested Issi. ‘For the shock?’

  ‘I bought Prosecco,’ said Fran. ‘I wanted to celebrate because I’d found the quarry. It was why I went back to visit again although I’d been this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, love,’ said Issi. ‘Let’s go for the gin and tonic. It’s got a bit more punch than fizzy wine. Antony brought it. It’s a special artisan gin.’ She paused, embarrassed. ‘Not that the fact it’s fancy gin is going to make you any less sad.’

  Fran smiled. ‘But it’ll make being sad taste better.’

  ‘It might,’ said Antony. ‘We don’t know what it tastes like yet.’ He started opening the bottle and cans of chilled tonic.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,’ said Roy. ‘She was a really old lady and she died. Big deal!’

  ‘Roy?’ said Issi and Fran, almost in unison. ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Pardon me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘She was my relation too.’

  ‘I’m really going to miss her,’ said Tig. ‘She was a great boss and a really good farmer.’

  Issi moved closer to him and took his arm.

  ‘You must be wondering who your next boss will be,’ said Roy. ‘Me or her.’ He jerked his thumb in Fran’s direction.

  ‘You know what?’ said Tig, frighteningly calm. ‘I’m going to spend a few days thinking about Amy, what she’s done for me, what she’s done for this farm and I’m not going to think about who she’s left the farm to. And I suggest you do the same.’

  It was a long speech for Tig and Fran wanted to applaud, but didn’t.

  ‘That’s all very well for you to say, mate,’ said Roy. ‘But you’re not in the running for a big inheritance.’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ said Fran. ‘Amy may have thought that neither of us were suitable and left everything to Tig.’ She smiled as she realised this would be a good result.

  ‘I’d contest the will,’ said Roy. ‘Tig isn’t related.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Fran. ‘We’re hardly related either. I’m going to sit down next door.’ She suddenly realised she felt exhausted.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Antony. He followed her into the sitting room holding two gin and tonics. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her one. ‘I’m going to light the fire.’

  Fran took a large gulp of her drink. It was extremely strong although Antony had managed to find some ice to put in it. She sat back and closed her eyes, her mind whirling with thoughts and memories. How could Amy be dead? How could she be so fit and well and animated and then just be gone? She knew another couple of sips and the tears would come. She put her glass on the table next to her.

  ‘Was it just coincidence that you came over? You didn’t know Amy was dead?’ she asked Antony, watching as he scrunched up newspaper and broke up sticks.

  ‘Coincidence. She must have died minutes after you left her.’ The fire was now crackling away and he straightened up. ‘I think you need food. And I expect the others need drinks.’

  ‘Ask Issi to come in, will you?’ said Fran. ‘I think I need her.’

  Issi came in without being asked, holding a drink. She flopped down on the sofa next to Fran. ‘Roy’s gone for fish and chips, which will take a while. I put the oven on and Tig is making us cheese on toast to keep us going.’ She sipped her drink. ‘Boy, that’s strong.’

  ‘Good, isn’t it? I reckon I’m three sips away from a good cry,’ said Fran.

  ‘It is awfully sad, isn’t it?’ said Issi, already sounding tearful. ‘I mean, we knew it would happen eventually, but so soon?’

  ‘And she was so well this evening. We had a lovely chat. She told me about the feud between her and Antony’s family, how she was worried they’d have to plough the fields during the war, when everyone had to, more or less. But these fields were too small and steep.’

  ‘Which kept the pasture pristine. A unique habitat,’ said Issi, reminding Fran of her academic background.

  Fran sipped her gin. ‘You know, today, when I managed to get that cow and its calf together, on the same side of the fence, I felt like a proper farmer.’

  ‘You mean you’d give up your dreams of having a restaurant to be a farmer?’

  Fran nodded. ‘I think so. The farm is so important. It has to be kept going. And we had the supper club, which was amazing. We could have more of those.’

  ‘Not quite the same though,’ said Issi.

  Fran sighed. ‘What about you? Are yo
u and Tig properly a couple?’

  Issi nodded. ‘He’s the one, if that’s what you’re asking. But right now our future is a bit uncertain.’

  Fran frowned. The gin was beginning to muddle her brain a bit. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, Tig could be thrown out of his house. Thank goodness Mary owns hers. But he’d have to find another job and hope a house went with it. When I’ve finished my PhD I’d then find work but things would still be tight. He earns very little, really.’

  ‘You know I’d never throw Tig out of his house. If I inherit.’

  ‘Of course I know that, but supposing you don’t?’

  Fran suddenly realised that her best friend needed the farm more than she did really. She’d be OK one way or another, with Antony, although seeing the farm ruined would nearly kill her. But it was much more important for Issi and Tig. ‘Oh God, Issi!’

  ‘We’ve talked about it, obviously, and we’ll work something out. Don’t worry, Fran. I know it’s not up to you – you can’t sort the situation.’ She put her hand on her friend’s knee. ‘We’ll get through.’

  But still, in spite of the gin, the healing tears wouldn’t come. She and Issi drank more gin and ate the cheese on toast while waiting for Roy to come back. Although reluctant to credit Roy with anything, ever, they had to admit that he did appear with fish and chips fairly quickly.

  They sat in the sitting room, throwing the fish and chip paper on to the fire. Tig made tea and they talked about Amy.

  ‘She didn’t praise much,’ said Tig, ‘but you knew when she was pleased with you. A nod was enough.’

  ‘I thought she was great,’ said Issi, ‘but one of those feisty old ladies who are easier if they’re someone else’s relation.’

  ‘I always got on great with her,’ said Roy. ‘But I’ve always had a way with the ladies.’

  The two ladies present exchanged glances, not convinced.

  ‘She made it very plain what she thought about me and my family,’ said Antony. ‘But I respected her for that.’