Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (11 page)

If the sound of cows mooing hadn’t woken me I would still be sleeping soundly. Instead I’m all tangled up in the sheets with just a small measure of panic beginning to overwhelm me as I try to work out how an unsightly picture of some strange woman sitting astride a horse got onto my wall. Not to mention how the window managed to move to the left of me when it had always been on the right. Then with a sinking heart I remember the wonderful job I had taken as the new farm manager. My Blackberry says 6 a.m
. and I have slept like a baby. Light streams in through the window and for a second I struggle to remember why I took a loo plunger to bed with me. I know I didn’t have time to unpack my vibrator but surely I wasn’t that desperate last night. I had a couple of glasses of wine but really, that is just plain obscene. I then remember the banging and scratching and my heart begins to pound again. I scramble from the bed and check my door is still locked. From the window I can see Edward Fairfax leading cows into a shed. He’s probably going to slaughter them next. He looks up and before I can duck he waves.

‘Morning,’ he calls, ‘there is fresh coffee in the pot. See you in a minute.’

My Blackberry shows zilch signal and waving it around the room like a maniac still achieves nothing. There is only one thing for it. I dress, pack my things, and then armed with a tin of fly killer and the loo plunger I head downstairs. If he tries anything I shall aim the spray straight at his eyes and then while he struggles to see I’ll knee him in the balls and bash him over the head with the plunger. Then I’ll make my escape. Charlie will be so relieved that I got out alive that he will, no doubt, suggest we start again.

I cautiously enter the kitchen and amazingly, there is no sign of the engine parts. The oak table has not only been cleared but also washed down. A pot of coffee is bubbling away on an Aga which I hadn’t noticed yesterday, or more likely, couldn’t see because of the mess. Croissants sit temptingly on a plate. Oh, he likes to fatten his victims up first does he? What a bastard. Well, he’s picked on the wrong one this time.

‘Did you sleep okay? I know it’s not the best bed.’

I jump at the sound of his voice. He stands by the back door smiling. I’ve got one hand behind my back and a loo plunger in the other. I only need rubber gloves and I would pass as Mrs Bouquet. Oh my goodness, is that blood on his shirt and jeans. I attempt to hide the fly spray and accidently hit the spray nozzle. A mist appears from behind me. Shit. He seems not to notice and walks to the Aga. Molly quietly follows and flops onto the flagstone floor. Why is she is so exhausted? No doubt she’s been helping to move the bodies. Oh Alice, do stop being so dramatic. You’re sounding worse than Cas.

‘What’s that behind your back?’ he asks
, his voice gruff and his eyes like steel.

‘Nothing,’ I say in a high
-pitched voice while struggling not to choke on the fly spray.

For a few seconds we stare each other out and I fumble with the nozzle.

‘If it’s nothing why are you hiding it?’

My mouth is so dry I feel sure my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

‘I know you killed them,’ I say, the words choking from my lips.

He gives an evil grin.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘The blood,’ I say pointing to his shirt.

‘I had a calving at about five this morning. I’ve not had time to change yet. I had to milk the cows.’

Calving, milking the cows? Oh no I am making a total prat of myself aren’t I? He looks at me oddly.

‘Alice, are you on drugs? Is that what’s behind your back?’ he asks, his mouth tightening.

I hold out the can of fly killer.

‘And before you even suggest it, no, I don’t sniff fly killer. I heard these noises in the attic and well, I thought, I thought …’

Oh Christ on a bike, what did I think? He looks down at the blood on his shirt.

‘You thought I killed someone up there? As much as I can see that rape and pillage would appeal I just don’t think I’ve got time to fit it into my day. Sorry to disappoint you. That’s just my mad wife you heard.’

I gape at him.

‘That’s a joke. I think there are crows nesting there. Now, I didn’t know what to get for breakfast so I bought some croissants while I was in the village. Help yourself. I’ve got to fix a couple of fences in Meadow Field before I can move the cows. If you can feed the chickens and collect any eggs that would be great. See you later. If you have any problems text me.’

‘But I can’t get
a signal here on my Blackberry, is there any way of fixing that?’

‘Fixing the bad signal on your mobile?’

I nod. I know I don’t speak West Country yet but my London accent isn’t that hard to understand surely?

‘Well you could fit a phone mast in the nearest field.’

Very funny.

‘By the way, you may need to do a shop. There is a store in the village I’m just about out of everything, and you need a bulb for your room. The one I put in there is actually out of my bedroom, so if you wouldn’t mind. I’d better get off. Jed may well come over later. He’s got stuff to do in
the shop.
’

‘Jed?’ I ask bewildered.

Either I’m totally thick or is he being deliberately vague.

‘He works on the farm. You did meet him when you arrived. He rescued most of the sheep you let out. I thought I’d better mention it. What with your imagination and everything you just might think he’s the Boston Strangler and bop him one with that toilet plunger.’

He grabs a croissant and has eaten half of it before reaching the door. Under his breath I hear him mumble
crazy woman
. I cringe. Did I really just accuse of him of being a mass murderer? I embarrass myself, I really do. After coffee and croissant and with my Blackberry propped up on the windowsill where I hope there may just be some signal, I decide to explore the house with the brilliant idea of making a detailed list of what needs to be done. After ten minutes I throw the list in the bin. This house doesn’t need a clean, it needs demolishing. One look at Edward’s bedroom and I’m close to ordering a skip. He has clothes everywhere, and I mean everywhere. There are jeans slung over the back of chairs, tops and jumpers in a heap on the floor. Shirts are hanging above the windowsill and outside the wardrobe. Obviously he hasn’t quite worked out how to open the wardrobe door. The bedside cabinets are piled high with books on veterinary practice and old copies of the
Sunday Times
. The bed is unmade. I turn to leave the room and gasp as I catch sight of myself in an old battered dressing table mirror. I look like Dracula’s daughter. I’d completely forgotten about my make-up last night. Edward Fairfax saw me looking like this and didn’t say anything. My eyes have black rings under them where my mascara has smudged, and there is one of those big sleep creases down my left cheek making me look like a gangster’s moll. Worst of all I’ve got those crusty bits stuck to the corner of my lips and my eyes. My fringe is pointing upwards like someone glued it together with PVC glue. I wince at the memory of facing Edward Fairfax. How must I have looked and with the stupid fly killer behind my back too? I comfort myself that at least no one else saw me like it, and rush to the bathroom before they can. The bathroom is freezing and I take the quickest shower I have ever had. The familiar smell of my perfume relaxes me and I decide I can do this.

Okay Alice, one step at a time. After all, you’re not Superwoman and Edward Fairfax wouldn’t expect you to be. On second thoughts, knowing him he probably would. Fancy accusing me of being on drugs? What a cheek. Still, I suppose it’s no worse than me accusing him of being a mass murderer. Right, what has the day got in store for me then? Knowing my luck some bloody farm animal will charge at me and by the time Edward gets back I will have been devoured by vultures. The police will have to identify me by my dental records. I really should consider a career as a crime writer; I’m wasted at this farm manager dogsbody stuff.

Okay, feed the chickens and collect the eggs. How hard can that be? Harder than you would imagine seeing as I have no idea where the food is kept but more importantly I have no sodding idea where the chickens are kept either and I have no intention of walking all the way to End Field just to text Edward Fairfax to ask him where they are. They must make some kind of noise. I’ll just walk around the farm until I hear them. Even I know a chicken when I see one. The sight on opening the front door is so beautiful it takes my breath away. The view across the fields is magical. There is a mist in the valley and the sun glistens on a rolling patchwork of green and yellow fields for as far as the eye can see. The air is fresh and cool, and it is so peaceful. I walk to the side of the house and in front of me is the chicken coop. Several chickens are running free and pecking at the grass. Well, that was easy enough. There are also dozens of bruised apples on the ground and I look up to see not only one apple tree, but several. I then find myself getting all Mrs Beeton like, and thinking I could bake an apple pie later. Bearing in mind I have never made an apple pie in my life. This is what the country does to you it seems. Further along are the milking sheds, well I presume those things are for milking. Earlier I would have imagined them to be torture chambers. Karen’s voice echoes in my head,
Honestly, I’m not being funny but what are you like Alice?

The chickens are all nestled together and look quite harmless. Lugging the huge bag of feed that I found in the house I gently approach the hens. They look at me intently.

‘Nice hens,’ I murmur gently bending down to get their feeding bowls, only to get a sharp peck on my hand from the nearest one.

‘You bitch. Don’t you forget where you are on the food chain missus. I have seen the likes of you in the freezer section at Tesco’s, and believe me, it’s not a pretty sight.’

She then proceeds to peck at the other hens as they rush towards the food. A trickle of perspiration runs between my breasts and down my arms.
This farm lark is harder than I imagined. A Land Rover screeches down the drive and I turn dropping some of the feed near my feet. The next thing I know the hens are pecking away at my ankles and I am hopping from one foot to another. The Land Rover comes to a halt and I attempt to stop my war dance and look dignified as Edward climbs out. Thank goodness I tidied myself up. I’m acutely aware that I may be hanging lopsided however, as I forgot to put on my perfect fitted bra, but at least I’m still not holding the loo plunger.

‘I forgot to give you this,’ he calls, walking towards me.

I throw the seed into the buckets and step back, kicking the most vicious hen as I do so.

‘Dinner,’ I hiss at her before turning to greet Edward.

He is holding a small Nokia phone.

‘Oh, I
…’

‘Is it too basic for you? Sorry, I just didn’t think the
re’d be much call for emails here.’

He has such a manner about him doesn’t he?

‘No, really it’s very kind of you. It would actually be very useful. Thank you so much. What do I owe you?’

He pushes his hands into his jeans pocket
s.

‘It’s only a Nokia phone, not a holiday in the Bahamas.’

At that moment that bloody chicken pecks me again and I jump back and am in his arms. I’m not sure if I fell on him, or if he deliberately stepped forward. Whichever way it goes, his arms are around me instantly, warm, comforting and safe. He releases me just as quickly and I step to the side of him away from the hen.

‘You need to watch that
one; she’s taken a liking to you, as did Molly. You obviously have a way with animals,’ he says, covering my embarrassment.

‘My charm hasn’t worked on you then has it?’ I mumble.

‘Oh God, that was rude I’m sorry.’

The hen pecks me again.

‘Suitable punishment,’ he smiles.

‘That one is going to be dinner tonight,’ I say, feeling a blush creep up my face.

‘Maybe in a couple of months,’ he says with an evil grin, ‘she may well be.’

He turns and without another word gets back in the Land Rover and drives off. I am so going to hate it here.

‘Hello there, you look lost.’

The breezy voice belongs to a woman with rosy cheeks and short brown hair which has a red streak down the middle. She is wearing long dangling earrings and a multi
-coloured shawl. Over her shoulder is an enormous tote bag. Several bunches of dried lavender protrude from the top, and the fragrance drifts on the breeze and caresses my nostrils. I imagine her to be about sixty, but I’m useless with ages. She clasps the handlebars of her bicycle. My mother would have called her
one of those modern women,
which is my mother’s term for a lesbian. Any woman with short hair and dangly earrings is a lesbian according to my mother. That’s probably why I never ever had my hair short. I probably grew up with the belief that getting your hair shorn turns you into a lesbian. My mother has all kinds of strange ideas. She’s convinced that I lost my virginity to a Lil-lets tampon and there’s no swaying her.