‘Ooh those stairs’ll be death of me,’ said Barry, puffing out a breath as he came into the bathroom.
‘Dad!’ She didn’t like it when he talked like that. It would have been fine a few months ago but now it was no joke. ‘Do you think we should get a stairlift?’ she asked, checking the water temperature as Gazza shuffled backwards away from the jet of water.
‘Don’t be daft. Waste of money.’
‘Not if it would be useful and save you getting tired.’
‘They cost thousands and for just a few . . . Nah, not worth it.’ Ros’s heart clenched. ‘Hey, Cabbage. Don’t look like that. It’s fine.’
‘But it’s not fine, Dad.’ She swallowed hard. It felt like nothing was ever going to be fine again. She was worried about him because he seemed to still be in denial.
Barry turned his attention to Gazza. ‘I’ll hold him; you dowse him. And then you can tell me all about this new fella of yours.’ At least for a few minutes that took her mind off her father’s health.
***
Ros had managed to sidestep the interrogation by saying that it was best if he waited and met Cameron tomorrow. She wasn’t ready to fly solo on the questions and answers just yet. Thankfully her dad didn’t push it and they had bathed the reluctant Gazza together in companionable silence. It gave her time to think about her morning with Cameron and the revelation that they both liked cricket. She was still thinking about it that evening.
If she was being honest Ros was surprised that she and Cameron had anything in common. She wasn’t being unkind, they were just vastly different people, as their long list of differences had shown. But at least they both liked cricket. Whilst Ros didn’t play, she had watched hundreds of matches and helped make the sandwiches on many occasions. Barry was and had always been into cricket and the fact that he’d had a daughter instead of a son did not stop him from sharing his love of the sport.
Now Ros thought about it, her dad had never restricted her to what might be termed girls’ activities; he’d always encouraged her to go for what she wanted in life. Thanks to him she’d never felt any of the limitations or desire to submit to the gender norms other women frequently were burdened by. He probably didn’t know it but Barry Foster was quite the feminist. Barry would still have been playing cricket for the Hampshire seniors over fifties had it not been for his diagnosis, but thanks to a friend he was still making it to watch some of the matches. At least there was one topic of conversation they could all join in with tomorrow.
Tomorrow! Ros hadn’t been so apprehensive about a Sunday lunch since her dad had had a go at making vegan Yorkshire puddings. Bugger. A thought struck her. What if Cameron was a vegan? That was something she’d not thought to ask. Then she remembered the pain au chocolat and hot milk he’d had with his coffee and relaxed. He wasn’t a vegan. But he could still be a vegetarian so she pulled out her phone and composed a message. While she was doing so she double-checked her list and added in a few last-minute questions. She was feeling ill-prepared and Cameron was slow to reply, which did not help her stress levels.
Ros tidied up her already neat apartment but at least it gave her something to do even if it only killed the best part of half an hour. Saturday nights were always a bit defunct but tonight she wished she had something to take her mind off Sunday. She had a strict rule of not working at weekends. She knew Darla thought she was a workaholic and it was true that she gave the company more hours than she was paid for during the week, but her dad had instilled in her that it was important to have weekends off. He saw them as time with his daughter but also as a chance to recharge his batteries and said he worked better in the week because he’d had a break.
For once in her life she wished she had hobbies, something to keep her busy. Quite a few of the women at work did crochet or knitting on their lunch break. Ros struggled to see the point of taking hours to produce something she could easily buy in a shop. She switched the television on and scrolled through the channels. There was no news on and everything else appeared pointless. She sat in silence, which gave her thinking time, which wasn’t helpful. Perhaps they were rushing into this. They hardly knew anything about each other. She’d never done anything like this in her life and it went against her sensible approach to everything. If Cameron didn’t reply soon she would have to seriously consider cancelling lunch.
He finally texted back:
Answers: Carnivore, size 11, bees, cuddles, sharks and ghosts tied. Stop worrying about tomorrow. Your dad’s gonna love me ☺
She wished she shared his confidence.
***
Darla slept surprisingly well. The mattress was remarkably comfortable and she felt the fact that she knew she was here for a while had aided her sleep. Usually she was automatically on countdown until she had to pack up again and move, but not here. Also there had been no restless pets to interrupt her slumber. Or so she thought.
She was dragged abruptly from a lovely dream about Tom Holland by the most awful sound. Like something crossed between screeching brakes and a rooster crowing. She sat up in bed. The noise went again: it was an actual cockerel doing his level best to say cock-a-doodle-doo. It was not the nicest wake-up alarm she’d ever had but she was now definitely living in the countryside. Hopefully whoever owned it would be able to switch it off or whatever you did to chickens to keep them quiet.
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.
