‘I don’t know her,’ Hattie replied. But that did confirm Hattie’s suspicions that someone had bought the farm. So did this woman own the donkeys Hattie had seen too? ‘Maybe she moved in as I was moving away…’
‘Perhaps so,’ Mark said, the sound of frothing milk drowning out the rest of his reply.
‘Mum and Dad have never mentioned her to me,’ Hattie said to Lance.
‘They’ve probably never had cause to run into her. Keeps herself to herself.’
‘And she’s got a job opening?’
Mark placed the latte on the counter in front of her. ‘She might have but you wouldn’t want to take it.’
‘Why not?’
‘For a start, she’s hell on toast. Horrible woman – so rude and obnoxious. Doesn’t care a fig for Gillypuddle or anyone in it. She didn’t even come down from the cliffs for the Round Table Christmas charity do last year!’
‘Maybe she’s just very private. What does she do then if she wants help?’
‘She’s got some sort of donkey prison,’ Lance said.
Hattie had to laugh at his expression of mischief. ‘Donkey prison? I did see some donkeys up there this morning when I went for a walk but they didn’t look too distressed to me.’
‘It’s supposed to be a donkey sanctuary,’ Mark cut in. He offered Hattie a biscotti.
‘But imagine being a poor defenceless donkey and being forced to go and live with that miserable old trout,’ Lance continued. ‘You’d have to phone Donkey Line to be rescued or something, wouldn’t you?’
‘So she looks after donkeys? What does she need help with? Cleaning them or something?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ Lance said airily. ‘Perhaps she needs someone to polish her horns of an evening.’
‘You’re terrible.’ Hattie laughed. ‘Both of you!’
Mark looked at Lance with an affectionate grin. ‘Aren’t we just? It must be why we’re so well suited.’
‘So this Jo Flint may have a job?’ she asked thoughtfully.
‘If you can call it that. The pay is terrible and I’m almost certain she said she wanted whoever she employs to live there. That’s probably why nobody’s been stupid enough to apply for it.’
‘Nobody’s applied for it?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘I think I might like to have a go at that. I like animals, and the donkeys were very cute.’
Lance and Mark exchanged a look and Hattie laughed again. ‘She can’t be that bad.’
‘Oh, you poor misguided child,’ Mark said, shaking his head as he eyed Hattie with mock solemnity. ‘I think you’ll find she can.’
‘Dad… can I use the laptop?’
Hattie peered around the door of her father’s study. The walls were lined with bookcases – most of the books housed there guides to various medical issues, volumes containing anatomical diagrams and lists of encyclopaedias of exotic-sounding diseases that most people had never heard of. His desk faced out towards the window and looked onto a picture-perfect view of gently rolling hills and distant trees. Her father was sitting at his desk poring over a copy of The Lancet. So much for retirement, Hattie thought wryly.
‘What do you need it for?’ he asked as he picked it up from his desk and handed it to her.
‘Really, Dad?’ Hattie frowned.
‘I’m not prying – I simply wondered if you’d decided to act on the discussions we had last night.’
Hattie had. She recalled now very vocal and detailed debates about her options for the future. Most of them had involved going back into education in some form or another. Hattie had decided to act on their discussions in a very general way, and perhaps not quite in the way her dad had hoped. The fact was, she couldn’t stop thinking about this mysterious Jo Flint and her donkey sanctuary on Sweet Briar Cliffs. Mark and Lance had told her more about Jo – about how very private she was, how miserable she seemed, how she went out of her way to avoid any kind of community involvement, how she spent all her time up on the cliffs with her donkeys. Hattie was intrigued. She wanted to know why Jo was all these contradictory things. Contradictory, because if she was so miserable and selfish, why did she care so much for the donkeys? If she hated everyone in the village so much, why was she asking for help? If she hated company, why was she willing to have someone live with her? To Hattie, it could only mean that she cared so much about her donkeys that she was willing to make these concessions and, in Hattie’s eyes, that made her far less scary than she might have everyone believe. It made her like Hattie – an animal lover – and how could anyone who loved animals be all that bad?
Hattie had decided to see if there was a visitor website or such for the sanctuary – perhaps even a number so she could phone for more information about what sort of help Jo was looking for. She had some experience of horses – she and Charlotte had shared a pony called Peanut for many years – and how different could a donkey be?
‘I’m doing some research,’ she said evasively as her dad waited for a reply. ‘I wouldn’t have it for long.’
He was clearly pleased by the incorrect assumption that she’d be looking up mature student entry routes into university and not looking for photos of an elusive and unpopular local. ‘Take as long as you like.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Oh, and your mother wanted you earlier. I think you were in the shower or something – goodness knows… She’s popped out again now but she wanted me to tell you she ran into Melinda this morning and told her you were back. Melinda’s going to call later to see if you’d like to meet up.’
Hattie smiled broadly. ‘How many of her kids will she be bringing? How many does she even have now?’
‘Oh, I should say a least half a dozen,’ Nigel said with a wry smile as he dropped his reading glasses back onto his nose.
Hattie laughed lightly as she closed the door to his study and took the laptop to the kitchen. Melinda had been Hattie’s best friend all through primary school. And even when Hattie had gone to a different, fee-paying secondary school outside the village, they’d stayed good friends. Partly because the teenage population of Gillypuddle was so small it was hard to do much else. In their final year of high school, Melinda had started dating Stu. They’d been inseparable ever since and by the age of eighteen were married, with Melinda expecting her first baby.
Melinda and Stu were thrilled and everyone could see how devoted they were to one another and what fantastic parents they’d be. Melinda and Stu’s own parents clubbed together to give them a deposit on a little cottage and their first child, Sunshine, was born a few months later. Ocean followed after a year, Melinda getting caught almost immediately after Sunshine’s birth, then Rain another year after that, and finally Daffodil after a more respectable two-year gap, until even Melinda had declared that four children by the age of twenty-four was quite enough for anyone. It wasn’t viable for Melinda to work because the childcare bill would be so enormous, but Stu worked long hours in the local garage to support them. His dad had built an extension onto their tiny cottage to house their own little population explosion, and Hattie suspected that both sets of parents sent regular rescue packages to Melinda and Stu’s home.
Daffodil had been tiny when Hattie was last over, but she’d been a delightful baby even then. All of Melinda and Stu’s children were perfectly adorable and angelic and an absolute pleasure to be around. Hattie couldn’t imagine how Melinda and Stu had managed to bring them up so well when their lives must have been far from easy. It would be good to see Melinda and her brood again and catch up on the latest instalment of the Melinda and Stu love story. There’d been plenty of messaging while Hattie had been away in Paris, but it just wasn’t the same as a natter in person. Hattie decided she’d give her friend a call as soon as she was done with her dad’s laptop.
After pouring herself a juice, Hattie fired up the laptop. She didn’t have a name for Jo’s sanctuary – mostly because Lance and Mark didn’t think Jo had ever chosen an offi
cial one – but she knew it was based at Sweet Briar Farm, so she keyed that into the search box, alongside Dorset and donkey sanctuary, and a second later a lot of random results came up. There were pages for tourism, pages about the area in general, a website dedicated to the flora and fauna of the cliffs, something about the geology, another listing nearby holiday accommodation and an amateur photography account, but there was no website for Jo’s sanctuary.
Strange, Hattie thought, and clicked through to the second page of results. Nothing there either, and only at the bottom of the third page came a clue – a link to a now defunct page of an estate-agent listing of Sweet Briar Farm from two years before. This must have been how Jo had come across the property to buy. The photo showed a tumbledown place with higgledy roof slates, rotten windows and frames and crumbling render surrounded by overgrown gardens. Despite the disrepair – or perhaps because of it – the place had a sort of wild beauty about it. The listing said that the house came with a large amount of land, including its own orchards and paddocks, but acknowledged that extensive repairs and modernisation were necessary to restore the house and outbuildings. The price was still eye-watering, though. Jo must have either had a tidy sum put to one side or taken on a crippling mortgage. Hattie didn’t know much about saving donkeys but she guessed it wasn’t cheap, and if there was no website inviting paying visitors, then she couldn’t imagine Jo was making much money for the upkeep of the place either. All this information only served to intrigue Hattie further.
Closing the page down, she went onto a telephone directory site to see if she could find a number listed but – as she’d half expected – there was none. It looked as if she was just going to have to go and visit in person to see if she could catch Jo. The problem with that was she couldn’t ask her mum or dad to drive her up there without telling them why and, as she didn’t have a car of her own and the local taxi service was so unreliable it was practically non-existent, it would mean borrowing a car or begging a lift from someone else and she couldn’t think who because it seemed like a big ask. Failing that, it meant another hike up to Sweet Briar Cliffs – it usually took a good hour at least there and back. She looked out of the window. At least it looked likely to stay fine for the next few hours.
Having finally made up her mind, Hattie hopped off the kitchen stool and went to find her shoes.
Chapter Six
Up on the winding path that climbed the cliffs there was a brisk salted breeze. The sun was warm when it dropped, foam-topped waves dancing in the bay, twisting and rolling and breaking in tiny explosions onto the rocks below. The grass was strewn with daisies and buttercups, and pockmarked with rabbit burrows. Paris was beautiful and magical, but Hattie had forgotten how beautiful and magical her home could be. Her dad had always said that this was what heaven would look like for him, and for the first time Hattie understood what he meant.
Once again, as she emerged from the path onto the cliff top, she saw the new wire fencing circling the field. The donkeys were milling about looking perfectly content. Hattie went up to the fence and clicked her tongue onto the roof of her mouth to call them over.
‘Here donkeys!’ she called. ‘Come and say hello!’
One or two simply looked at her and then turned back to whatever pressing thoughts of life, the universe and everything had been occupying them. But the brown one who’d come for a fuss earlier came over again.
‘Hey!’ Hattie smiled as she rubbed a hand down his nose. He nuzzled at her. She wished she’d brought a treat to give him now, but she hadn’t thought about it when she’d left the house.
‘I wonder if you’re a Victor or Victoria,’ she said. ‘You’re a friendly little soul anyway,’ she continued. ‘I reckon I could look after you. What do you know about the job? Come on, you can tell me and I won’t squeal that you gave me inside information—’
‘Hey!’
Hattie whirled around to see a woman striding towards her. She was well-built, hair scraped back into a severe ponytail, dressed in grubby jeans and a wax jacket, and carrying a bucket. And she didn’t look happy.
‘This is private property,’ she bellowed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hattie began, but she quickly realised that the wind was taking her words in the opposite direction. Instead, she walked to meet her. This had to be Jo. The woman was breathing heavily as she ran a critical eye over Hattie, who squinted as the sun moved from behind a cloud. ‘I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be up here – I thought the cliff path was a public thoroughfare. Are you Jo?’
‘Depends who’s asking,’ the woman said, giving Hattie another obvious once-over. Hattie was suddenly very aware of how un-workmanlike her flippy skirt and denim jacket must look. Perhaps she should have worn something that made her look more practical and capable.
‘I heard you needed some help,’ Hattie replied, deciding that the woman probably was Jo.
‘Maybe.’
Hattie tried not to frown. Either she did or she didn’t.
‘Well, I was looking for work,’ Hattie replied uncertainly.
‘Know anything about donkeys?’
‘I know about horses,’ Hattie said brightly. ‘A little, anyway. I used to ride a pony.’
Jo – Hattie was fairly confident now that this was Jo – sniffed. ‘Horses are not donkeys.’
‘I know that – I only meant that I’m good to muck out and do a bit of manual work because I used to muck Peanut out. If that’s the sort of help you need, of course… I love animals if that helps…’ she added, immediately feeling a bit silly. It was like going for a job as a teacher with no qualifications and saying that you liked kids.
‘I can’t pay more than minimum wage. Did you hear that from your source?’
‘Minimum wage?’ Hattie repeated, quickly running the figures through in her head.
‘I can offer bed and board too – makes it better than a minimum wage in the end.’
Hattie shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. ‘Bed and board where?’ she asked, casting her mind back to the photos of Sweet Briar Farm she’d seen on the estate-agent listing. She knew the farmhouse lay beyond the rise of the paddock they were now standing next to so she couldn’t see from here what changes – if any – Jo had made. Surely she would have made some improvements if she was expecting someone else to be happy living there?
‘My house,’ Jo said.
‘Sweet Briar Farm?’
Jo put the bucket down and folded her broad arms across her chest. ‘Been doing your homework, have you?’
‘I was just trying to find out a bit more about what you might need.’
‘Help with the donkeys,’ Jo replied, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. She wasn’t exactly making herself personality of the year but still, if she was trying to put Hattie off for some reason, it wasn’t working. The idea of living at the Sweet Briar farmhouse – or wreck, depending on how much had been done to it – wasn’t exactly appealing, and neither was Jo if Hattie was honest. But she did need something to fill her time, and she had promised herself it would be something worthwhile, something that mattered. Jo and her donkeys mattered, didn’t they?
‘Right,’ Hattie said.
‘And you reckon you could do that?’
‘I’m sure if you showed me the ropes I could.’
Jo nodded shortly, silent again as she sized Hattie up.
‘And I wouldn’t actually want any bed or board because I’m good for that, so I’d just take the wage; I wouldn’t mind that at all.’
‘I’d need you to be on site,’ Jo said. ‘If you can’t move in then I can’t give you the job. Donkeys need looking after night and day.’
‘Oh. Well, when do you take time out? Surely you’re not working twenty-four-seven?’
‘I don’t take time off.’
‘You’d have to give an employee time off.’
‘Anyone who works for me works the same as me.’
‘But the law—’
‘Does
n’t concern me. What concerns me is that these donkeys have all they need.’
Hattie stared at her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘Look,’ she began. ‘I’m sorry I wasted your time—’
Hattie stopped mid-sentence as something nudged into her shoulder and almost knocked her off balance. She turned to see her new donkey friend, pestering for another fuss.
‘Norbert’s oldest one here,’ Jo said, nodding at him. ‘Friendliest donkey you’ll ever meet. Good judge of character too. If Norbert likes you then that’s usually alright with me.’
Norbert pushed his nose into Hattie’s neck and she giggled.
‘He does seem very affectionate,’ she said, pushing him off with a smile. ‘I bet your visitors love him.’
‘Don’t get visitors.’ Jo picked up the bucket. ‘Just me and the lads up here.’
‘You don’t have visitors? Don’t people want to come? I mean, I did notice you had no website but…’
‘Don’t need people coming round and upsetting the donkeys,’ Jo said briskly. ‘Peace and quiet is what they need. Most of them have come from bad places – treated cruelly, abused or neglected. Some of them have lost good owners and that’s almost as bad. I’m here to give them a safe home, not turn them into something to be gawped at by misbehaving school trips.’
That all sounded very noble, Hattie thought, but where was the money coming from to look after these lucky donkeys? She thought better of saying so, but she couldn’t deny it was just another thing about Jo that intrigued her.
‘Do you want the job or not?’ Jo said into the gap.
‘I’d have to live here?’
Jo nodded.
‘And you wouldn’t be able to pay more than minimum wage?’
‘No, afraid not.’
‘And I wouldn’t be able to have time off?’
‘Maybe I could see my way to the odd day. Depends what the donkeys want.’
Nobody in their right mind would see this as an attractive employment package. Jo would wait for a hundred years to get help on those terms. Hattie glanced back at Norbert and reached to rub his neck as he gazed at her through melancholy, pleading old eyes. Maybe it would be fun to take care of him for a while. She looked at Jo, who wore the slightly worrying expression of someone who might just punch her in the face if Hattie dared refuse the offer now that she’d made it. OK, maybe not fun, but maybe it would be interesting, and she hadn’t got anything better to do.
Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 4
