‘Do you blame them?’ Dulcie pointed at the view through the window. ‘Look at it! This place is gorgeous.’
‘It is,’ Carla agreed, accepting a mug of fragrant coffee. She had been travelling for ages, and this was very welcome.
Dulcie joined her at the table, cradling her own mug. ‘I can’t believe the investigation is dragging on for so long, even if that ratbag is out of the country. Surely they can carry on without him?’
‘Apparently, he didn’t give a statement, or whatever it was that HR wanted him to do before he went on annual leave. He’s in Mexico currently.’
Dulcie gave her a shrewd look. ‘Was this holiday already planned, or did he decide to flee the country because he didn’t want to face the flak at work?’
‘I’m not sure he had any flak to face,’ Carla replied miserably. ‘I’m the bad guy, remember? I’m the one who ‘threw herself’at him.’ She did air quotes with her fingers. ‘Vicky says everyone knows, despite it supposedly being confidential.’
‘He’s leaking it,’ Dulcie said. ‘He’s going on the offensive and getting his version in first, so no one believes yours even though it’s the truth.’
‘I can’t go back there. The thought of walking into the office makes me feel sick. Thank goodness HR agreed I could take leave until it’s sorted out. Without pay, of course. But I don’t care. I would happily live on fresh air if it meant I didn’t have to go back there.’
‘What will you do? Resign?’
Carla shook her head. ‘I want to, but it’ll make me look guilty.’
‘Can they sack you?’
‘Probably. Definitely, if they believe Yale. Which they will.’
Dulcie reached across the table and clasped her hand, saying gently, ‘Don’t you think it’s better to resign, instead of being sacked? Especially if you’ve no intention of ever going back.’
Carla lowered her head. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she replied, her voice breaking.
‘Whatever you decide, you can stay here for as long as you need.’
‘You might regret saying that.’ Carla’s chin wobbled.
‘Nah, the bright lights of Birmingham will lure you back eventually. How many times have you told me that Picklewick is a lovely place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live here?’ She finished her coffee. ‘Drink up and unpack your case, then I’ll introduce you to the goats and show you how you can earn your keep.’
‘Please don’t tell me you want me to milk them,’ Carla begged.
‘Better! I’m going to do goat walks.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Not at all. You’ve heard of llama walks? Well, I’m going to be offering goat walks. Goats are nicer than llamas because they don’t spit.’
‘You want me to walka goat?’
‘Why not? They’ve got to start their lead training, and getting out in nature will do you good. You’ll be the farm’s official goat walker from now on.’
Carla almost wished she was back in Birmingham. Almost, but not quite.
Carla had seen goats before. The last time she’d visited the farm, Dulcie had been looking after the two goats belonging to the stables. Now though, Dulcie had eighteen goats of her own.Eighteen!She also had a flock of chickens, several cute bunnies, and a cat. How did she cope with all those animals, especially the goats?
Carla found out the following morning after Dulcie had shown her the changes she’d made since her last visit.
‘I milk the adults every morning,’ Dulcie said, rattling a bucket filled with something she called sheep nuts. It was ridiculously early, but Carla had been awake and heard Dulcie pottering around downstairs, so she’d got up. She was beginning to think she should have stayed in bed.
They were standing next to a gate leading to what Carla could only describe as a kids’ play area – but for goats. As she watched the young goatlings jump and prance as they followed their mums, she wished she had half their energy. She felt like she had been steamrollered, picked up, then steamrollered for a second time.
Dulcie rattled the bucket again and opened the gate, careful to keep the treats out of the animals’ reach. Tutting, she said, ‘You know the rules, girls; you have to wait until you’re in the milking parlour.’
Bemused, Carla watched as Dulcie shepherded the goats inside, before attaching the milking equipment to their udders. The goatlings didn’t seem at all bothered as they trotted off to the barn for their own breakfast of fresh hay, bleating loudly with excitement.
