Rita frowned. ‘Gone where?’
‘No idea, but I could tell she wanted to escape without a word. Yesterday, some bloke picked her up in a black Mercedes. She had a suitcase with her.’
‘A suitcase?’ Rita’s voice was weak.
‘You probably know already… but when she saw me walking across the courtyard she seemed a little jumpy.’
Rita shook her head slowly. Her hair was still dripping. So were her lashes.
‘I know nothing, as usual. She’s such a dark old horse, that one. Did she say anything to you?’ Rita screwed up her nose.
‘Nada. Just jumped in the car like a woman half her age and off they went. I saw then she was smiling, so I shouldn’t worry.’
Rita’s face looked torn between a laugh and a cry.
Teo shifted his weight awkwardly, then looked at her with quiet concern.
‘Do you want to talk to me, Rita?’ he asked softly. ‘I know there’s something wrong.’
The kindness in his voice almost undid her. ‘I’m just tired. It’s been a bit stressful lately, you know.’
‘Tomorrow, if you get a minute and the weather is calmer, let’s go to the barn for a little Savasana together.’
‘I’d love that.’ Rita managed a half smile.
‘Oh,sí, sí. I have something for you.’ Teo pulled a crinkled plastic bag from under his coat. ‘Me and Jude got carried away at Betty’s. A ham hock roll and a cinnamon bun going spare.’
Rita swallowed hard and looked away, her eyes stinging. Oh, how she wished this beautiful, thoughtful young man could be the son she’d somehow lost along the way.
‘You’re such a good lad. Thank you, so much. And I could do with the sugar, to be honest.’
And as Teo made his way out to Archie’s Land Rover, Rita realised it wasn’t sugar she needed to get her back. It was the truth.
Rita lit a few candles around the bath, steam curling upwards, fogging the mirror. With a deep sigh, she slipped out of her towel. She had just put one foot into the soothing hot water, when a shriek split through the storm from outside. It was high, panicked. Then another. Definitely not human. Or one ofthe chickens.
She listened intently. Another shriek, then a furious bleating from the direction of the goat pen.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Rita groaned.
She grabbed her towel, went to the window, squinting through rain-spattered glass. The outdoor floodlight flickered on and off in the wind. Shapes moved in the chaos. A fox maybe? The bleating continued. Not stopping to think, she threw on whatever clothes she could find from the drying rack, then grabbed the old shotgun that Sennen had told her to get rid of.
As she charged downstairs, Henry raised an eyelid, then with a sleepy harrumph settled back down to sleep. Throwing on wellies and her favourite raincoat with the hood pulled up, she made her way out into the weather.
The wind punched her in the face, but undeterred, she ran, skidding over mud, and calling out to her beloved goats that she was on her way.
By the time she reached the goat pen, the torch string between her teeth, she knew it wasn’t a fox. Of course, it was Camilla. So wrapped up in her own world of woe, she had forgotten it was near her due date. Feeling a huge pang of guilt for not being the dutiful goat mother she had always been, she dropped the gun and launched herself over the fence. Bribing the other three with treats she had in her coat pocket, she herded them into a separate part of the shed.
The distressed goat was down, belly heaving, eyes wild. Her cries were guttural, sharp, full of pain. She was in labour. And from the look of it, she was in trouble.
Rita fell to her knees.
‘Oh, no. No, no, no, girl… I’m here now. I’m sorry, darling.’
Reaching for her phone with shaking fingers, she called the vet. No answer. Straight to voicemail! She left a quick message then tried to think who could help. Teo was with Jude, Zenya was on the vegan cookery course she had said she’d pay for, and even Hilda, who could have maybe helped to a degree, had buggered off with her suitcasesomewhere.
In a panic now, she called Stan.
‘Stan, it’s Rita; Camilla’s in labour. She’s struggling.’
