Kitty's Countryside Dream (3 page)

F
ollowing
Tom through the oak door, I found myself standing in an office. There was a desk situated in the middle of the room, with a high-back, brown leather chair pushed underneath. The walls were pinned with what seemed like thousands of winning rosettes that fluttered in the draught when Tom opened the door. There were numerous filing cabinets and piles of papers, and there on the wall, in pride of place, was a portrait of a smiley woman holding a chicken that looked a lot like the chicken I'd run over with my bike on arrival at the Lodge. I wandered over to the photograph to take a proper look. Pausing for a moment in front of it, I squinted to focus my eyes. I recognised that smile. It was the same smile as Mum's. Instantly I knew who this was; there was no denying the fact this woman was the image of Mum. This was the first time I had ever seen her – my grandmother, Agnes Porter.

Tom stood still; he didn't interrupt my thoughts but watched me whilst I studied the photograph. I could feel his eyes on me and he remained silent until I was ready to speak.

‘My grandmother?' My voice faltered as I said it. It seemed funny calling her that. Where had she been all my life and why didn't I know she existed? Yet she must have known I did to leave this farm to me.

‘Yes, that's Agnes.'

‘She's holding a silkie.'

‘You're learning fast – I'm impressed. You do have the makings of a chicken farmer; it must be in the blood. That's Dotty in the photo; she was Agnes's pride and joy. Dotty has won competitions for the best breed all over the county, nothing less than first prize every time. They were inseparable; she spoke to that chicken like it was human and they even ate their lunch together, can you believe that?' He laughed.

Usually I felt socially awkward around new people but Tom made me feel at ease.

Glancing up at my grandmother's photograph, a surge of excitement ran through my veins; this was an opportunity to be grasped with both hands – a new beginning for me.

How difficult could running this place be? Granted, I was a little scared to hold a chicken, but one step at a time – I could learn. Plus I had nothing else in my life; nothing else had ever been handed to me on a plate. This was my chance – it couldn't be that hard.

‘I'm afraid we've only got apple tea. I've been wanting to nip out all morning to buy some proper teabags, hope you don't mind,' Tom said, handing me a mug while gesturing for me to sit down in the high-back leather chair behind the desk.

Taking the mug from him, I sipped the tea and placed it on the coaster on the desk. Never having tasted apple tea before, I concluded it was an acquired taste.

‘The solicitor provided me with some paperwork informing me this place is mine.' The minute I said ‘this place is mine' I instantly regretted those words, feeling they were a little forceful. ‘I don't want to step on your toes or anything,' I quickly added, placing the letters down on the desk. The thought flashed through my mind that if Tom was suddenly put out by my arrival he may decide to leave the Lodge, which would leave me in a complete and utter mess. I wouldn't have a clue how to run this place.

Perching on the side of the desk, Tom picked up the evidence and glanced over it. ‘Yes, this is the same paperwork that was sent through to me here. I knew someone would be coming, I just didn't know who and when.' He gave me a lopsided grin. ‘Well, well, well, boss, I will do you the honour of being your right-hand man, if you'll still have me of course, and showing you the ropes. You'll have this place running like clockwork in no time at all.' Tom stood up and, thrusting his arm towards me, shook my hand vigorously. ‘Welcome aboard.'

I let out a sigh of relief and had the urge to stand up and hug him. I didn't of course, but I could feel a tingling pulse racing through my body, and knew I was blushing. A handshake would do just fine for now.

‘Eek, crikey it looks like I've gone and landed myself a chicken farm!' I laughed, sinking into the leather chair and spinning it around like an excited child.

I quite liked the idea of Tom being my right-hand man, whatever that entailed. I knew I couldn't run before I could walk and I was more than happy to leave Tom managing the farm while I learnt everything there was to know, even if it took a while. I was looking forward to the new challenge, learning the ropes from Tom. At school and college I always seemed to get on well with the opposite sex. I smiled, remembering one of my best friends from school, Jeremy Whiteman. He had been my friend in class five of primary school. He wasn't like the other boys in my class, and he didn't like football. I'd met him in the library. Every lunchtime after we'd eaten we used to browse through hordes and hordes of books. One day I'd tripped over my shoelace in the dinner hall and catapulted my food straight up into the air, and unfortunately it had landed directly on the head of Miranda snooty nose, the most popular girl in the class (though I couldn't work out why). Honestly, you'd have thought someone had died by the sound of her anguished cries. I personally thought the tomato pasta did wonders for her appearance, but the wail drew the attention of the headmaster, who demanded the person responsible for this catastrophe make themselves known immediately. Quaking in my untied shoes, I had just been about to step forward when Jeremy Whiteman's voice had echoed in the suddenly silent hall. ‘It was me, sir.' He was marched off to be interrogated in the den of what was the headmaster's office before I could own up. I had the same gut instinct about Tom as I'd had about Jeremy – that he was a genuine person – and I hoped we were going to be good friends.

At that moment the door opened and a girl walked in. She looked at Tom. ‘Are you going to introduce us?'

The girl standing before me was wearing olive-green overalls; she was the image of a proper farmer, with the filthiest wellington boots that I had ever seen. Her hair was light brown, piled up loosely on top of her head in a bun with trailing curls, her cheeks were glowing and her face was one of natural beauty. I wasn't sure why but I immediately felt deflated and could feel a pang deep in the pit of my stomach. The pair of them looked like the perfect Hollywood couple standing before me, apart from the attire and the wellies. He was handsome and there was no denying she was exceptionally beautiful.

‘Jeannie, meet Kitty. Kitty, meet Jeannie. Kitty is our new boss.'

I took a deep calming breath, and, standing up, I offered my hand.

‘Please to meet you, Jeannie.'

Jeannie glanced in Tom's direction; he motioned to her to shake my hand.

‘New boss?' Jeannie asked.

‘This is Agnes Porter's granddaughter,' Tom relayed.

‘Oh I see, delighted, absolutely delighted, to meet you,' said Jeannie, shaking my hand.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the stench.

‘Whoa, what's that smell?' I cried, immediately taking a step backwards.

Tom laughed.

Jeannie grinned. ‘That, boss, is the smell of the countryside and the sheer hard work of mucking out over a thousand chickens this morning, not forgetting Conker.'

‘Conker?'

‘The beautiful black Shetland pony – he lives in the field just at the back of the farm. Colourful character he is, to say the least, and quite partial to biting one's bum through the fence if you aren't careful.'

Her aroma didn't leave me enthralled about my new choice of employment; the stench was one of countryside dung. My nose began to twitch so I wrinkled it, then rubbed the end to try and block out the awful smell.

‘I've only been here a few weeks myself,' she said, still with a friendly smile.

Phew. I felt a sense of relief run through my body. I must remain professional at all times, I must, I must, were the thoughts racing through my mind. How silly was I being, thanking the Lord that Jeannie and Tom couldn't possibly be a couple after only working together a few weeks. But what was it to me anyway? He was probably in a relationship; men as handsome as he was were not single. I bet he was settled down with a beautiful wife and equally stunning children. The last relationship I'd had was nearly four years ago and a very distant memory.

Tom turned towards Jeannie. ‘I suggest if all those coops are scrubbed and fresh bedding laid in all, you deserve an early dart.'

‘That was the suggestion I'd been hoping for and one I'm certainly not going to argue with.' Clapping her hands together then giving Tom a cheeky thumbs up, she squealed, ‘Fantastic, I'm going before you change your mind. See you tomorrow, boss, and you too, boss.' And with that she skipped to the door. With a wave above her head, she was gone.

‘She's a character that one, like a big kid, and has certainly jollied up the atmosphere around here in the last few weeks.' Then, looking at his watch, he said, ‘Kitty, I must dash, how about coming back in the morning and I'll begin to show you the ropes?'

Suddenly I felt disappointed. Maybe he was just late for a meeting or something. I had appeared unexpectedly and no doubt his day would have already been planned out.

‘Not a problem, I'll see you bright and early,' I replied, a little saddened. I would have quite liked to have stayed for the rest of the day.

We both headed towards the door; Tom took a huge bunch of keys out of his pocket and locked the office behind us. I watched him amble towards a small cottage situated left of the driveway. It was beautiful. I squinted to read the name – Brambleberry Cottage – etched into the slate sign on the wall next to the door. Tom opened the cottage door then kicked off his boots outside and disappeared indoors. That must be where he lives, I thought – not only handy for work but if he was living on site that would definitely mean I'd be seeing a lot of him.

Heading for home, I began to wheel my bike back along the tarmacked driveway, keeping an eye out for Dotty. I was desperate not to be clumsy and trip over my bike for a third time today or run over any wandering chickens.

I was actually looking forward to tomorrow; it had been a while since I'd had so much to look forward to. There were exciting times ahead and so far my new adventure suited me down to the ground. Well, all except the apple tea and the smell of chicken dung. I wasn't sure I would ever get used to those.

I
t was
Tuesday morning and I was woken by the sound of the milkman clanging his empty bottles into the crates on the back of his float. Peering out from behind the curtains, it seemed the whole world and his wife were already up and bustling about their business in Rosefield. Alfie gave a stretch, jumped down from the bed and followed me into the kitchen for breakfast. I felt an exciting flutter in my stomach; today I was going to learn the ropes of my new successful empire. I could imagine myself sitting in my office at Bluebell Lodge, singing along to the radio whilst completing all the administration duties.

Pouring myself a mug of tea and spreading strawberry jam on a croissant, I could feel myself smiling, wondering what the day ahead had in store for me.

Suspecting Tom and Jeannie would already be at the Lodge by now, I was aiming to arrive as soon as possible and I was sure 9 a.m. would be bright and early enough. I reckoned Jeannie was roughly my age, mid-twenties. I didn't want to cast any aspersions, but apart from her rough-and-ready clothes she really didn't look like a chicken farmer. I could visualise her on the front cover of Vogue, a model in the making, strutting up and down the catwalk in the highest of heels. I didn't anticipate she would stay at the Lodge long; it was probably more like a stopgap in-between jobs until she found something of a more suitable nature.

Once I cleared away the breakfast dishes, I found myself standing in front of my wardrobe, swiping the clothes on the rail backwards and forwards, pondering what to wear. I'd only brought a few changes of clothes with me in my suitcase on the train; I was still waiting for the rest of my belongings to arrive. Finally I settled on a plain duck-egg blue cashmere sweater with a navy pleated skirt that fell just above the knee, opaque tights and black ballet shoes. Swirling around in front of the mirror, I was pleased with my choice. There was no doubt I had dressed to impress. I gave myself a nod of appreciation in the mirror; I looked boss-like and ready for my first day of work at the Lodge. In the past few years I hadn't taken any pride in my appearance whatsoever. I hadn't needed to – I never had anywhere to go or anyone to impress. My hair lacked style – it was dull, boring and scraped back in a ponytail. Oversized sloppy jumpers graced my body and jeans were a must every day of the week, but if I was going to be working in an office every day now I might need to revamp my wardrobe.

With one last twirl and a pat of Alfie's head, I grabbed my coat and threw my lunch into the basket of my bike. I didn't know what the rules for lunchtime would be, so I thought it was best to go prepared; I didn't want to go hungry. The air outside was fresh and crisp. After fastening the buttons on my coat, I bumped my bike down the steps and on the pavement. Closing the front door, I swung my leg over the bike, pushed on the pedal and I was off.

Suddenly I could feel myself beaming as I cycled to work. It had been years since I'd had a purpose, and now I was about to take the chicken world by storm, whatever that involved. In my head I already had the day mapped out. Tom would spend the day at my side in the office, showing me the files, accounts and how to invoice. We would laugh and joke and drink numerous mugs of tea, and I didn't mean the apple variety. Luckily I'd remembered to throw some teabags, milk and sugar into my basket, along with some of the fantastic chocolate flapjack I'd purchased from the baker's the day before.

Arriving at the gate of Bluebell Lodge, the padlock was positioned in the same place on the ground, meaning I wasn't the first person to arrive, which was good because I didn't have any keys to let myself into the office yet. Cycling up the drive, I spotted Dotty; she was pecking about quite happily on the gravel outside the cottage I'd seen Tom disappear into yesterday. His boots were no longer outside his front door so he must be around the Lodge somewhere.

Turning the corner towards the office, I spotted Tom and Jeannie sitting on the picnic bench outside the office, hugging mugs of tea; both were kitted out in overalls and wellies.

Tom raised his hand and waved at me. ‘Good morning, boss! Is this what you would call bright and early? Some of us have been up working since 5 a.m.,' he said, winking playfully.

Jeannie was grinning at his joke. Even though she was covered from head to toe in chicken muck already, she still looked gorgeous – sometimes life was so unfair.

‘Good morning,' she said. ‘Ignore him – he's in one of his wind-up moods today. You'll be fed up with him by lunchtime. I think the smell of chicken poo has gone to his brain.'

The stench of their clothes was already making me splutter and choke. Goodness knows what jobs they had already undertaken this morning to smell like that. I was just thankful I was escaping inside for office duties.

‘Good morning to you both. I'll just hang my coat up and pop my lunch in the fridge, and I'll be right back with you.' Propping the bike up against the wall of the office, I disappeared inside with my lunch. Scouting around, I couldn't seem to locate a fridge anywhere, so still grasping my lunch, I slung my coat over the chair and headed back outside.

Both Tom and Jeannie were chuckling when I re-appeared.

Ignoring their slightly annoying behaviour, I piped up, ‘I can't seem to locate the fridge?'

‘If you walk to the end of that barn and turn right, you'll see the storeroom. Go in through the wooden door and it's in there,' Tom replied, pointing in the direction of the barn whilst winking at Jeannie.

What was it with those two this morning? They seemed hyper and full of mischief. Walking to the end of the barn, not only could I feel their eyes watching me, but I could hear their sniggering. Turning the corner, I was relieved to finally be out of view. This place was huge; there was barn after barn, field after field.

Arriving in front of the door, I pushed it open. Two piercing eyes stared back at me. It was another of those strange chicken breeds but with a completely different appearance to Dotty. I wondered what ‘flavour' this one was. My new feathered friend, with its short curved beak and a vibrant red comb on top of its head, had a red flappy beard-type body part hanging down underneath its chin, or whatever the equivalent was on a bird. It had a mahogany body but each feather was also striped with black and tipped with white. The tail was impressive, essentially black and white but with longer feathers displayed beautifully. It was standing on a hay bale looking straight at me.

Taking a few steps towards the bale, I leant over to stroke the magnificent creature. The strange gurgling sound it released from its beak immediately led to the quick retraction of my hand. It stretched its neck and with an almighty crow I was deafened by the loudest cock-a-doodle-do I had ever heard. Stepping backwards in alarm my foot landed on an old rusty watering can and I lost my balance, tossing my packed lunch up into the air as I found myself toppling to the ground once more – only this time I'd landed in something squelchy.

The almighty creature instantly hopped down from the bale of hay and with a Tyrannosaurus-rex-type swagger, it pecked furiously at my home-made granary cheese-and-pickle sandwiches.

Hearing giggles from behind me, I swiftly turned my head to find Tom and Jeannie crouching behind the door, acting like international spies.

‘Come on out, I've seen you,' I said wearily.

Tom pushed Jeannie playfully through the doorway, still laughing. ‘So you've met Paddy then? He's partial to sandwiches.'

‘He's a Speckled Sussex, a rooster. A very handsome fellow, don't you think?' Jeannie added.

I glanced up to find Tom's helping hand stretched out to pull me to my feet yet again.

‘Thank you,' were the only words I could muster.

My tights had snagged and my skirt was covered in dung.

‘Whoops, very fresh dung, that,' Jeannie said, sniggering.

‘I think you may need to change into those,' Tom suggested, nodding towards the far side of the storeroom.

Brushing down my skirt and not forgetting my dented ego, I swivelled my head in the direction of his nod. There, hanging from a peg, was a set of overalls with the name Kitty labelled above the hook. Beneath the overalls, placed on a bench, stood a pair of wellington boots, looking a lot like my size.

‘I'm not sitting in the office in them,' I stated. ‘I'll wipe my clothes down; I'll be all right thanks very much.'

‘You can't stay dressed like that.' Jeannie chuckled, patting my arm.

What did they mean? I didn't see anything wrong with my appearance; in fact this morning it had taken me the best part of an hour to dress well.

‘You won't be sitting in any office; this place is an all-hands-on-deck type of place, manual labour at its best. The main task is the welfare of all the birds, and by that I don't mean you two,' Tom teased diplomatically.

‘OK, OK, no need for your sarcasm, I get the picture.'

Jeannie's smirk didn't go unnoticed.

‘But you did look good,' Tom piped up.

‘Very yuppie businesswoman,' Jeannie joined in.

Feeling like an absolute idiot I could feel the fire burning brightly in my cheeks. I'd assumed I would be sat in my nice new office, hugging my warm mug of tea. I didn't actually think I would need to get my hands dirty in any way, shape or form. It wasn't entirely my fault either – neither of them had explained what was expected of me – but I didn't think this was the time to be stamping my foot like a disgruntled toddler. They must think I'd got ideas above my station; cock of the roost, so to speak. Praying I hadn't ruffled their feathers, I unhooked the overalls from the peg.

‘Well in that case, I can't wait; point me in the direction of the changing rooms.'

‘You can get changed in here. Don't worry about Paddy – he won't look. Oh, and for the record, there is no fridge, your lunch hangs on your peg in a carrier bag of your choice.' Tom sniggered.

‘Or on a Friday we treat ourselves to chips and gravy on a tray from Freda's Chippy, the best chip shop around.'

Kicking off my ruined ballet shoes, I irritably waved my hand at them. ‘Go on then, get out of here, oh and a mug of tea wouldn't go amiss. And I mean a proper cuppa not that awful apple rubbish.'

They vanished out of sight and the door shut behind them. As they strolled away, I could hear their laughter echoing between the barns.