Darla put on some clothes and headed downstairs. She’d make a cup of tea and then she’d explore the garden. She wasn’t a gardener but she could run a lawnmower up and down and hopefully that was all they meant by her having to tend to the garden and stock. She yawned as she filled the kettle and gazed through a dirty net curtain. She blinked a few times and then realised that she’d overfilled the kettle. The neighbouring farm seemed very close to this house. Darla put down the kettle and went to investigate. There was a room off the kitchen with some sacks and a key in the back door.

Outside there was a big garden and an ornate low red-brick wall with a rounded top that ran all around it but there were a number of wire enclosures on the other side. The first of which she could see contained chickens. She walked to the wall and looked across at the hens. Her presence seemed to set off a cacophony of noise. The cockerel started up again, as did some nearby ducks and geese in the pen behind. Darla could see a gate in the wall so she went to investigate further. A new noise joined the birdlife as she discovered a small pen of weird-looking sheep with little horns in the last enclosure.

‘Hello,’ she said. Two of them jumped in the air and the others continued to bleat at her through the wire. Who did this lot belong to? She looked around and that was when she spotted an even higher wall that went further down past a large green space and then right around all the animals to join to the garage. Darla had another look. This was all part of the property, not a neighbouring farm. The low wall was there to separate the normal garden from the menagerie. All these noisy creatures must have been the stock that the agent was talking about. This was suddenly a very different job to her usual problematic canines, and the responsibility hit her like a speeding bull.

Darla checked the sacks by the back door and sure enough they contained pellets and grain, which she assumed was animal feed. There was also a small, untidy pile of hay. The only problem was, she had no idea who was meant to get what. She found a bucket and decided to start with refilling their water because she had no idea how long these poor things had been left alone. She got mobbed in each enclosure but after a few squeals from herself she managed to refresh all the water dispensers. She returned with some food from each of the sacks she’d found and the chickens came to peck her feet so she threw down a selection and backed away which distracted them.

Hopefully they’d recognise what they usually ate and leave the rest. They had a little wooden hut in the pen so she had a peep in there and found some eggs. She carefully put a couple in her pocket and feeling like a burglar she crept out, being sure to shut up properly afterwards. She did the same with the ducks and the geese. The ducks were quite friendly and she’d fed ducks before so they felt like the least of her worries. The geese were the opposite of friendly and seemed most put out that she was in their pen even if she was bringing food and water. With a squeal she dropped the food and ran.

Once she was safely on the outside of the enclosure Darla had a good hard look at the sheep. That was when she realised they were goats. She tried the same plan with them and chucked in a bit from both sacks but they seemed to hoover up anything she put down at warp speed and then wanted to devour her jeans. Getting out unscathed was a victory. She felt overwhelmed as she stared at all the creatures in the pens – this was like a petting zoo. She was out of her depth. Darla knew nothing about farm animals and she’d never had this many creatures of any sort to look after before.

‘Not as alone as I’d thought,’ she said to herself.

‘Meow,’ came a reply. She turned around to find a large grey cat sitting on the low wall watching her.

‘Hello, are you another inmate I haven’t been told about?’

The cat walked along the wall, following Darla to the gate where it hopped down and trotted at her heels. ‘Another one for breakfast then. I hope you know where your food is kept.’

When Darla opened the door the cat trotted inside, leapt onto the kitchen table and recoiled at the mouldy mug. The cat gave an accusatory look at Darla.

‘Hey, this is not my mess. Your owner left it like this.’ The cat flicked its tail. ‘But I guess dying is a good excuse.’ The cat mewed pitifully. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ added Darla, taking the eggs carefully from her pocket and placing them on the table.

She put out her fingers for the cat to sniff and they began rubbing around them. ‘I’m glad you’re friendly. Have you missed a fuss?’

This time a long meow. ‘And you’re hungry.’ A quick scan of the floor told her there was a distinct lack of any food or water bowls. While she was pondering where to look there was an ominous sound next to her as the cat patted the eggs off the table and they smashed on the stone floor. It peered over the edge of the table at the mess. ‘I don’t suppose you eat those do you?’ Darla tentatively picked the cat up. There was no sign of claws, which was good. Darla knew from bitter experience how cats could be and had gone through many boxes of sticking plasters as proof. But this one seemed nice. Now it was on the floor the cat turned up its nose at the broken eggs and ran to the fridge. ‘You’re not meant to have milk but maybe there’s something else in here that you like.’ Darla opened the fridge door and she and the cat looked inside. There was milk past its sell-by date and lots and lots of grated cheese, most of which was still in date although only just. Darla offered her new furry friend some grated cheese. The cat licked a bit and then spat it out. ‘I’ll take that as a no then.’

Darla went on the hunt for cat food. The weird curtain-strewn cupboards held lots of tins but they were all for human consumption. No sign of cat food anywhere.

‘I have to go to work but I’ll be back in three and a half hours with some food. Okay?’ she said, putting down a cereal bowl filled with water.

The cat purred deeply and snaked around her legs. She’d take that as a yes.

A phone call to the agency filled in a few blanks. They clarified that the message they had received had said garden and livestock but that had got amended somewhere in the message chain. They confirmed that more food was being delivered and checked that she was okay to continue with the job. There had been a brief moment when she’d wondered if she should take the get-out option she was being offered. Yet the thought of leaving The Brambles and a place to stay for five months was enough for Darla to banish it from her mind. The menagerie did worry Darla but she liked a challenge and was actually really pleased that there was a cute cat. The house had seemed large so the thought of another heartbeat living inside with her was comforting. And at least that was one animal she knew how to look after. The others would take some googling because she’d have to gen up on them and fast.

After her cleaning job Darla went to the supermarket and got a couple of tins of cat food and some tuna to tide her over until the delivery, as well as some of her favoured cleaning products. There was little she liked more than making her mark on a grubby home; the pleasure of getting it spotless was immensely satisfying. As there was a queue at the supermarket she also had a chance to watch a few farming videos on her phone but none of them were particularly helpful, although she had enjoyed watching lambs and goat kids skittishly bounce around.

When Darla returned to The Brambles there was no sign of the cat but the other animals were all hollering for more food. She found a couple of glass jugs in the kitchen, filled them from the sacks and ventured out. She was met by the same racket she’d experienced that morning. ‘Shhh, I bring food.’ There was a brief lull in volume. ‘Now who wants what?’ she asked, opening the mesh door into the geese enclosure. They all ran at her with wings spread wide and honking loudly. Darla chucked the jug’s contents on the floor and fled back the way she’d come. She repeated it for the ducks and then went to the chickens. Unfortunately the cockerel was marching up and down like a beady-eyed sentry. Every time Darla went to step inside, he about-turned and flew at her with wings flapping and a particularly menacing screech.

‘Okay, I get it. This is your home and I’m an intruder,’ she told him – perhaps empathy was the best approach. ‘But if you and your um . . . Girlfriends? Lady friends? Wives? Ooh, is this where the phrase birds comes from?’ The rooster cocked his head at her. ‘Anyway, whatever. If you want some food then you need to back off.’ He came closer and pecked menacingly at the mesh. ‘Fine. Let’s try something else.’ Darla walked around the side of the enclosure and flicked a little bit of grain into the top corner. After a moment or so curiosity got the better of one of the hens and she came over and started hoovering it up. The cockerel was there in a flash. Darla dashed back to the entrance, quickly went inside, deposited the food and was about to escape when the rooster looked up. They made eye contact.

‘Bugger it!’ said Darla and she pelted back out with the sound of flapping and screeching close behind her. She slammed the door shut just in time and took a moment to compose herself. Her heart was racing. The cockerel strutted up and down with his feathers extra puffy, looking mightily proud of himself. ‘Yeah, well I made it out alive so who’s the real winner?’ He squawked and flapped triumphantly. ‘And same to you,’ she said before going back inside to clean as much of the house as she could before her shift at the bar.

Darla was cleaning glasses when Cameron arrived. ‘Hiya. I hear tomorrow’s the big day,’ she said, feeling quite sorry that she wasn’t going to be there to witness the encounter with Barry. She was secretly very proud of her bright idea and how far it had come.

‘You know what? I’m kind of looking forward to it.’

‘Really?’ Darla couldn’t hide her surprise.

‘Yeah. I mean I love my folks but what Ros is doing for her dad is something else, and I really want this to work mainly because . . . of how Ros is. She’s kind of . . . unusual. Is she always like that?’

‘Like what exactly?’

‘I don’t want you to think I’m bad-mouthing your best friend . . .’

‘You’re not. Tell me some specifics and I’ll tell you if it’s normal for Ros or if it’s because she’s a bit wound up about my fake-dating idea.’ Darla was keen that nobody should forget the origins of the whole scheme.

‘Okay. Well, for starters she’s not exactly the friendliest person. I mean she’s not rude. At least I don’t think she means to be. She’s obsessed with work and I get the feeling she doesn’t know how to relax. I’d describe her as quite repressed and she has to plan everything to the nth degree. I mean, like, she has lists all over the show. She’s even brought a flip chart stand home from work. Who does that?’

‘That’s her own stand,’ said Darla.

‘Blimey. Didn’t see that one coming.’ Cameron pushed a hand through his hair, making it stick up and stay there. ‘I guess it might be handy for . . . nope, I’ve no idea why you’d buy one.’

‘She got it a while ago so she could apportion chores with her boyfriend at the time,’ explained Darla. ‘Actually the day before they broke up as it turned out. She’s nice when you get to know her.’

Cameron raised an eyebrow.

‘Not warm and fuzzy nice, but what you are struggling with are things I like about her. She’s consistent, never moody and she always has a pen and paper on her. Sometimes even sticky notes,’ she said.

‘You’re right, she has lots of good points and she’s being really generous over how much she’s paying me. Although she did ask if I could get my hair cut and have a shave before tomorrow.’ He widened his eyes.

‘Actually, she does have a point there,’ said Darla.

‘Hey,’ said Cameron, rubbing his hand over his chin. ‘It’s stubble. That’s trendy.’

‘It’s a scraggy beard. That’s lazy. I agree with Ros on that one.’

‘You’re going to tell me everything else is normal for Ros, aren’t you?’ asked Cameron.

‘Pretty much. Watch out tomorrow though because she will be hyper stressed.’

‘What happens then?’ Cameron looked alarmed.

‘It’s best you don’t know in advance,’ said Darla, slapping him manfully on the shoulder.

Chapter Ten

Darla was exhausted by the end of the day. She’d been up extra early, thanks to the noisy cockerel. She’d worked her cleaning job only to come back to The Brambles and clean the kitchen although despite all her efforts it still looked only marginally less grubby. She’d had better results in the bathroom where the bath now gleamed, the taps shone and she no longer needed to hover her bum over the toilet seat. She’d not managed to fix the dripping tap so the constant noise made her feel like she was on Countdown and had to hurry up. She’d vacuumed and dusted throughout. The bedroom windows had been open most of the day and it now looked and felt fresher. She’d endured a long and busy shift at the cocktail bar thanks to a hen night and now she was ready for her bed.

She pulled onto the drive and cut the engine. She let herself in and walked through the house. She went to get herself a glass of water and through the kitchen window she could see a light bouncing around outside. Her breath caught in her throat – she had an intruder.

Darla picked up the nearest thing there was that might pass as a weapon and crept outside with the soup ladle. She clutched her phone in her other hand. She could video the intruder as evidence or perhaps she should go back in and call the police. It dawned on her how vulnerable she was with just a soup ladle to protect her and she froze by the gate. The intruder was bending down on the other side of the bird pens but there was no sign of the animals as they’d probably gone into their little wooden huts to sleep, which was what she’d hoped she’d be doing around about now.

Suddenly the intruder stood up and started to head her way. In her panic to get back inside unnoticed Darla tripped over her own feet, stumbled into the low wall and tipped right over the top of it, landing in a heap on the other side and losing the ladle.

Big thudding footsteps approached her as she felt around for her weaponised utensil and scrambled to her feet without it. ‘Stop! I’ll call the police!’ she yelled.

For a moment she was blinded by torchlight. Her heart was thumping hard and blood was rushing through her system. ‘Is this yours?’ asked a gruff voice, shining the light on the soup ladle lying on the grass. It looked quite menacing as the torchlight glinted off it. She wished she’d kept hold of it now.