The Sweetest Thing (16 page)

‘Clever, isn’t she?’ says Guy. ‘Wait a mo’. I’ve got some grain in the Land Rover.’ He fetches a small brown bag and throws out a couple of handfuls for the hen to peck at before I help him take the rest of the birds out of the crates. There is a lot of noisy squabbling before they settle down, the greedier ones continuing to search for grain, the quieter ones settling to sleep, lying on the straw. One perches on the edge of the crate.

‘They’re all quite different characters,’ I observe as we back out of the stable, watching out for potential escapees. I close the bottom half of the door behind us and Guy and I stand side by side, leaning over the top, watching the hens. At least, I’m trying to watch the hens, but find my gaze repeatedly veering towards
the man at my side. ‘I’ve never thought of a chicken as having a personality.’

‘I reckon you should call that bossy one Fifi,’ Guy says, pointing to the hen that is pecking at her neighbour’s eyes.

‘Guy, show some respect,’ I say archly.

‘Yes, I shouldn’t malign her,’ he agrees. ‘You must let this lot get used to being in here for a couple of days, then you can let them out so they can forage around the garden and the paddock. You probably won’t get any eggs for a week or two. They’ll need access to water. Oh, and I’ll let you have some layers mash until you get your own.’ He looks at me quizzically. ‘Layers mash – it’s their food. They also like mealworms as a treat. Live ones.’

‘Ugh, I’m not sure I can cope with that! I’m not sure Sophie will either.’

‘Did you know that a chicken can catch and kill a mouse?’

‘You’re putting me off eating eggs now.’ I’m not off chickens though. I can’t stop watching them. ‘Thanks, Guy,’ I say eventually. ‘What do I owe you?’

‘Ruthie’s always glad when they go to a good home, so you don’t owe me anything, although I wouldn’t mind a piece of cake, if there is some? I thought I could smell baking.’

‘There’s a lemon drizzle cake in the oven. Why don’t you come in for some lunch – if you aren’t in a hurry?’

He glances at his watch.

‘I’ve got a couple of hours till milking.’

‘I have to leave at two-thirty to meet David anyway,’ I say. ‘Don’t you ever get fed up with working here? It must be such a tie.’

‘To be honest, when I do manage to get away on holiday, I miss it.’ He smiles again.

‘The kids are going to be miffed that they missed seeing the arrival of the hens.’

‘I’ll bet. You know, we’ll have to arrange a love match sometime,’ Guy says as we head indoors. ‘Between Napoleon and your hens,’ he goes on, his tone laced with humour.

‘So we’d end up with chicks,’ I say, the leap in my pulse rate slowing now he’s confirmed that the love match he’s planning isn’t to be between him and me. However, I’m quite excited – the idea of having chicks appeals to my maternal instincts.

‘That’s what usually happens.’ Guy grins as he takes a seat at the end of the kitchen table. I remove the cake from the oven and leave it to cool on the rack while I make a couple of sandwiches.

‘It has to be cheese and pickle,’ I say, offering him a plate. ‘There’s no ham or hummus – Adam must have raided the fridge before he left.’

We eat and chat about Guy’s plans for a new cowshed and mine for a stall at the next Farmers’ Market while Lucky sits at my feet, begging for crumbs, until gone two when I tell Guy that I have to get going.

‘I don’t want to keep the children waiting,’ I say, picking up my bag and keys.

‘And I mustn’t be late for the ladies,’ Guy says, smiling. ‘I’ll see you around, no doubt.’

‘Sure.’ I call Lucky and let Guy out through the front door before locking it behind me. ‘’Bye then.’ Our farewell feels awkward. Friends, or a bit more than that? I wish I knew where I stood with him.

I begin to understand why Lucky’s previous owners dropped him off on the M5. In the car, he barks all the way to the McDonald’s at Sparkford, and then when I get there, I’m not sure what to do with him because there’s a sticker in the window of the 4×4 I’m parked next to that reads ‘Dogs Die in Hot Cars’. It’s almost four but it’s still pretty warm and I’m reluctant to let Lucky die, especially now that I’ve invested quite a lot of money in him. I take him out of the car on his lead, but the sign on the door of McDonald’s reads ‘No Dogs’. I stay outside.

I can’t wait to see Adam, Georgia and Sophie again. If it hadn’t been for Guy and Lucky, the weekend would have seemed very long. I catch sight of David’s car pulling in and jog over to greet them. The girls give me a hug while Adam focuses all his attention on Lucky who jumps up, leaving muddy pawmarks on his jeans.

‘Dad, I’m starving,’ Adam says, looking up at his father.

‘Okay, you can have a burger if you want one,’ David says. ‘Would you like a coffee, Jennie?’

‘I’d love one, but someone will have to wait outside with Lucky.’

‘I will,’ Adam says.

‘So will I,’ says Georgia.

‘And me,’ says Sophie, and I smile to myself. They’ve missed the dog more than their mum.

David buys burgers and fries to take out for them before we sit inside with our coffee.

‘Did you have a good weekend?’ I ask.

‘It was fun,’ David responds. ‘How about you? Have you managed to sort out a bit more of the house?’

‘Not really, but I have been working on my business
plan. I’ve decided to have a stall at the next Farmers’ Market, to test the water locally.’

‘How’s the cake-baking going? What are you turning over so far?’ Taking my silence for what it is, he goes on, ‘I didn’t think so. You know, Jennie, you just aren’t hungry enough. You have to have real passion –’ he hits the centre of his chest ‘– here. It isn’t going to work, you know. You’d be better off getting a job, working for someone else.’

‘I don’t want to work for anyone else. I have a quality product I know I can sell. You were the one who suggested I might make a business from baking, if you remember.’

‘I’d pack it in if I were you, get shot of that big old house and use the equity to buy something much more modest in the suburbs.’

‘What did you say?’

‘You’ll never make it there on your own, without your parents at your beck and call.’

‘But they never were.’

‘They were always around at ours – or your mother was anyway. Helping you out with this and that. And your sister and Summer. You’ll be back within a year. Why not save yourself a load of grief and come back now?’

‘No way, David.’

‘It makes sense, Jennie. Adam and I had a heart-to-heart this weekend. He didn’t want to move to Devon in the first place, and I’ve been checking out your local school and it isn’t great.’

‘It’s fine. I looked at the tables, for what they’re worth, and the school’s about average.’

‘Average isn’t good enough. And it isn’t just about exams, it’s the social aspect too.’

I know what David means – he wants to expose his son to the movers and shakers of this world.

‘You can’t buy friends …’ I say.

‘But,’ David interrupts, ‘you
can
buy influence. I want the best for him, Jennie. For God’s sake, why can’t you see that? See past the divorce, see past your bias against me, and look at what’s best for our son.’

‘I know what’s best for him,’ I say stubbornly. ‘I’m his mother.’

‘And I’m his dad,’ David says smugly. A muscle in his jaw tightens. ‘So why was I the last to know about Adam’s new job on the farm next door? Why didn’t anyone run it past me first?’

‘I didn’t see any reason to.’

‘We agreed – you have full custody, but we make joint decisions on behalf of the children.’ He pauses strategically before the browbeating starts again, and I can feel the anger bubbling up in my belly. ‘What about his schoolwork?’

‘He’ll do it – I’ll make sure of that. And this job will give him a sense of responsibility, and the satisfaction of earning his own money – something he’s worked for, not just been given.’ Like me, I think. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about this, David.’

‘What about my weekends with him? What then?’

‘There’s no problem. Guy’s made it clear he’s flexible.’

‘I don’t want my son thinking he’s going to be a farmer either,’ David says. ‘He can do so much better than that.’

‘There are other ways to live, David. And this has nothing to do with his future career. If he were doing a paper round, you wouldn’t assume he’s doing it so he can end up working in journalism. This is ridiculous.’ I
can’t believe we’re arguing again. I thought all that was supposed to stop when you got divorced. If anything, things are worse for us.

‘What do you know about this Guy bloke?’ David blusters on.

‘Enough – he’s a decent man.’ My voice trails off. I thought David was a decent man once. Maybe I’m not such a good judge of character, but I like Guy and I don’t like what David’s implying. I’m sure I’d have heard on the grapevine if there were anything odd about him. This is about David himself, not Guy. David’s problem is that he no longer has control. ‘Adam will be fine,’ I say firmly.

I try to talk to him and the girls on the way back to Uphill House, but Lucky will not stop barking. Not only that, but Sophie is so tired she falls asleep, Georgia suffers a bout of travel sickness in silence, and Adam concentrates on trying to distract Lucky who is perched on his lap. Nothing he says or does makes any difference to either the frequency or the volume of Lucy’s protests.

‘That bloody dog,’ I say, exasperated.

‘I expect he’s afraid you’re going to abandon him again,’ Adam says protectively.

I don’t say that I might just do that if he doesn’t shut up, because expressing my feelings would only upset the children.

It’s a relief when we get back and I can park the car in the yard, turn off the engine and let the dog out. Peace at last.

‘Don’t go inside just yet,’ I tell the children. ‘There’s a surprise. No, there are ten surprises. Look in the stable, the one at the end.’

‘Is it chickens, Mum?’ says Sophie, rushing to the
door and struggling with the bolt at the top. ‘I do hope it’s chickens.’

‘Guy brought them over for us,’ I say.

‘Oh,’ says Adam, and I wonder if I detect a note of disapproval in his voice.

‘It was very kind of him,’ I point out. ‘He also wanted to know if you could start milking tomorrow morning.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I knew you’d do that.’ Adam eyes flash with resentment, an expression he’s refined and perfected over the past few months. ‘You’re always making decisions for me when I’m perfectly capable of making them for myself.’

‘I’m sorry, but you weren’t here.’

‘You could’ve texted me.’

‘Mummy!’ Sophie exclaims as she disappears into the stable. ‘Thank you. I love them.’ There’s some squawking and flapping and she reappears with a chicken in her arms. ‘This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me …’ She beams. ‘We’ll be able to have eggs for breakfast.’

‘You don’t like eggs,’ Adam says.

‘I do,’ Sophie says.

‘Adam, leave her alone,’ I say. ‘Sophie, Guy says it will take the hens a while to settle down. They won’t lay eggs immediately.’

‘I don’t mind,’ she says.

‘I think they need more straw,’ says Georgia, looking into the stable.

‘I’ll find them some tea,’ I say.

‘What about mine?’ says Adam.

‘You’ve just eaten,’ I say, laughing.

‘That was hours ago,’ he says. Then, grinning, checks his watch. ‘One hour and twelve minutes to be precise.’

‘Go and have some cake – I think Guy’s left some.’ Guy again. I notice how Adam’s body stiffens slightly and I don’t believe that this reaction is to hearing about the cake. I can foresee trouble ahead. When David abandoned me I couldn’t imagine moving on myself, but after this weekend, when I’ve enjoyed the company of an attractive and attentive man, I’m beginning to think that I might be ready to change my mind.

I reach out from under the duvet and hit the alarm. Five a.m. I never used to get up this early on a Monday morning when we lived in London, but I drag myself up and knock on Adam’s door.

‘Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead,’ I call softly.

‘I’m awake, Mother.’

‘Are you decent?’ I push the door open to find him already dressed in his jeans, kicking through the discarded clothing on the floor – a bit like the chickens searching for food – until he finds the T-shirt he wants. I notice a pair of dark eyes shining out from under Adam’s bedding and smile to myself. I’d missed Lucky last night, but as soon as Adam arrived home, the dog forgot all about me and followed my son around like his shadow.

‘I wish you wouldn’t say that wakey-wakey stuff any more.’

I’ve always said it, since they were tiny babies.

‘It’s embarrassing, especially when Josh used to be
round ours for a sleepover.’ Adam pulls a white T-shirt over his head.

‘He didn’t mind.’