‘I thought as much, so I’ll handle the deliveries,’ said Elliott. ‘But what I really need is someone to feed the cade lambs.’

‘Whose lambs?’ asked Darla, scanning the many cute new arrivals; adorable fluffy lambs were skittering about, whilst others fed from their mothers. It was a lovely scene to witness and reminded her of the farming videos she’d binge-watched on her mobile when she’d first moved in at The Brambles.

‘Cade lambs are the orphans or like in my case where the ewe has given birth to three and can only really cope with two. They’re all next door under a heat lamp but they’re going to want feeding again in about half an hour and I’m already multitasking.’

Feeding lambs sounded like something she could do. ‘Okay, point me in the right direction.’

‘Great,’ said Elliott, who then proceeded to give her fast and lengthy instructions of how to make up milk from a powdered feed and how much to give them and how to make sure they all got enough.

‘Can I just recap?’ she asked. ‘Powder and bottles in the kitchen. Make up one litre of mixture and split into four bottles, one per lamb.’

Elliott looked surprised. ‘Spot on.’

She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or slightly insulted.

‘I need to get on. Shout if you need anything,’ he said, pointing to a very fat sheep lying on its side.

Darla went into the farmhouse and switched on the kitchen lights, which was when she was met by another surprise. What Elliott had failed to mention was that his kitchen looked like a dairy had exploded in there. The sink was full of used bottles – there must have been a couple of dozen, all with a dribble of milk in the bottom. The kitchen table looked like something very similar to a crack house in a crime drama she’d recently watched as there were two sets of scales, a few spoons and lots of white powder scattered all over it. Darla set about tidying up because that was something she was good at and she’d be able to work better if everything was clean and uncluttered.

Once the kitchen was sorted she realised she was missing one key piece of information: how many lambs she needed to feed. She left the bottles to drain and went to investigate. The barn creaked as she slipped inside. Under a glowing lamp was what she could only describe as a pile of lambs, like a sloping pyramid. As she came closer sleepy eyes opened and regarded her with interest. They were the cutest things she’d ever seen and it made her heart squeeze that these poor little mites couldn’t be cared for by their mums. She was suddenly very keen to do a good job.

A white one with a black head scrambled out of the pile and ran to the mesh bleating. Apparently this was like a battle cry as they all then woke up and joined in the noise, which was quite something as there were a lot of them. Darla tried to count them but they wouldn’t keep still. Clearly they were all very hungry so she made an estimate and went to make up some bottles.

Darla filled up all the available bottles and left the ones she couldn’t carry standing in a sink of warm water to keep them at temperature while she ferried the eight she could manage into the barn. As soon as she opened the door the bleating started up again and only got worse as she squeezed into their pen with a wiggle, keen not to let any of them escape. She made sure the gate was closed and sat herself down on a hay bale. Big mistake. All the lambs tried to join her as they desperately clamoured to get to the milk.

‘Whoa!’ she cried as they overpowered her and she toppled off the hay bale backwards still clutching the bottles, some of which leaked over her. There was a moment where the assembled lambs stared at her but it was only fleeting before they all jumped on top of her. ‘Oof!’ That was when she knew she needed some help. ‘Elliott!’ she yelled.

As she daren’t let go of the bottles, she couldn’t defend herself against the multitude of little lamb feet parading all over her in their frantic attempt to get fed. She didn’t hear Elliott appear until she heard his laugh. Not really the supportive response she’d been hoping for.

‘Did you get ambushed?’ he said through his laughter.

‘Something like that. They’re monsters.’

‘Yeah, the whole wolves in sheep’s clothing thing is true. You okay?’

‘Absolutely fantastic, thanks. I needed a lie-down, so where better?’ She glared at him.

‘Here, let me show you,’ he said, striding through the gate to join her. He took two bottles from her arms, popped them in his pockets and picked up two lambs; one under each arm. He nudged open a gate between where they were and the empty pen next door. Darla tilted herself up so she could see better. It was a bit like watching telly at The Brambles. She and the other lambs watched as Elliott sat down on another hay bale, put down the lambs, pulled the bottles from his pocket and they both immediately began to tug on the teats. Despite her uncomfortable position she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of their little tails whirling around as they downed the milk mixture in record time.

‘See. Easy,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘If you feed them in there you’ll know who’s had what.’

‘Okay,’ said Darla, still lying on her back.

Elliott came over and with strong arms he helped her to her feet. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said with as much confidence as she could muster. But she soon discovered that was far easier said than done.

Darla tried her best, she really did, but all the lambs wanted the bottles regardless of whether they’d been fed or not. The lambs were all variations of black and white so it was difficult to tell them apart, a fact she discovered when she carried two into the end pen, put them down and then had to concentrate very hard on which were the two already fed and which were the ones she’d just brought in. It was like they’d been cloned.

They had no idea about manners and happily pushed each other out of the way. One grabbed a bottle by the teat and wrenched it from her hand and ran off with it, quickly becoming frustrated when they couldn’t get the milk to come out properly. And when she did manage to get the right lamb on the right end of a bottle she had to hang on tight with both hands because they had more suction than the best industrial vacuum cleaner on the market. It wasn’t long before she was exhausted, splattered with milk and getting grumpy.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Elliott, popping his surprisingly cheery face over the split barn door.

‘Rubbish. I’m rubbish at this. I can’t keep track of who’s who or who’s had what. I’m worried someone will not get fed and die. Could we swap jobs? Is there much blood involved with delivering lambs?’

Elliott didn’t bother to hide his glee and held up his bloodied palms, making Darla’s stomach churn. ‘I think birthing difficult lambs on your own is tough even for me,’ he said. ‘You’d probably be better off sticking with these guys.’ A little black lamb bleated his frustration at not having had his breakfast yet. ‘Let me get cleaned up and I’ll give you a hand.’

‘Thank you,’ said Darla and the little black lamb bleated as if in agreement.

A few minutes later Elliott returned with a bale of straw on his shoulder. ‘Mind out,’ he said as he plonked it over the mesh. ‘I’ve had an idea.’ Darla waited while Elliott brought in more bales and built up a wall around Darla.

‘I used to love making forts when I was a kid,’ she said, as he placed another bale in place.

‘Me too. Hours of fun. But we’re not playing forts today. Right, here’s the plan. I’ll pass you a lamb to feed in there so the others can’t get to you and that one can’t escape until it’s fed.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Darla, impressed with the solution.

Elliott grinned. He went into the neighbouring pen, picked up two lambs and came back. He then climbed over the bales and plonked himself down next to Darla. They were now sitting thigh to thigh in a small straw fort. The warmth against her leg was reassuring. ‘Pick your lamb,’ he said.

She went for the smallest in the hope it was less vigorous with the sucking than the one under his other arm. She handed him a bottle and he swapped her for the lamb. One on one it was a lot easier and as the others couldn’t see what was happening their bleating had reduced. ‘Hold the bottle a little higher, so they don’t take on too much air. There you go. Good job,’ he said with a smile and she felt like she was finally being useful.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ros usually liked Sundays but the thought of her mother still being at her dad’s made her feel tense. The fact that Cameron was going with her this time was both good and bad. She was pleased to have his support, even though she knew she was paying for it. But she feared their façade may not withstand her mother’s scrutiny. Ros hadn’t slept much, desperately thinking through all possible scenarios and even more desperately looking for ways to mitigate them. The problem with that was that the scenarios she was able to conjure up appeared infinite and none of them good.

The other issue was that Ros really didn’t know her mother at all, so trying to predict how she would react to Cameron was almost impossible. Would she even care that he’d moved in with Ros only a few months into a relationship? She had no idea because the bottom line was her mother was a stranger to her. How could she not be, having walked out on Ros when she was seven years old? Ros huffed into her healthy muesli mix that Cameron had made for them both.

‘Let me guess,’ he said, pointing a loaded spoon at her across the table. ‘You’re worrying about your mum?’

‘Very astute.’

He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I think you’re overthinking it. Barry was cool about me moving in. And when your mum gets to know me she’ll love me too.’ He beamed a smile at her.

‘I admire your optimism but I don’t think it will be that easy this time. And whilst she is my mother, it feels odd to call someone I feel I barely know “Mum”.’

‘Then just call her Amanda. Can I offer some advice?’

‘Of course.’

There was more spoon waving. ‘Don’t let her wind you up. Or at least don’t let it show.’

‘Again very easy to say but—’

‘Yeah, I know. Look at it this way. All of this was for Barry, not your mum. If she disapproves, so what? Making Barry feel that you won’t be alone after his demise is all that matters. It’s all about Barry’s peace of mind and that’s still what we’re focused on. Okay?’

‘I guess you’re right. I wish I knew how long she was planning on staying around for.’

‘Probably until . . . you know,’ said Cameron, finally eating the muesli on his spoon.