“Are you going to talk to me about what happened with you and Noah?”
My stomach plummets. It was only a matter of time before she asked. I open my mouth to reply, though I really have no idea where to start, so it’s a saving grace that a loud rustling in the bushes distracts us. Oxford lets out a low growl followed by a halfhearted bark as a goat appears through the hedge halfway down the garden and trots up to where we’re sitting. It stands there, staring at us, until my mum hands over a slice of toast with marmalade.
Now I understand why she made enough to feed a family of six.
“Mum! I can’t believe you’re still feeding Churchill!”
“He comes every Saturday,” she says by way of explanation.
“Don’t let Dad catch you. He’s still pissed from seven years ago when Churchill stripped half the apple orchard.”
She hands over another piece to the patiently waiting goat. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Valentine Nook villagers single-handedly keep Churchill alive and thriving.” I grin with a shake of my head. “He’ll leave here and go to someone else who’ll feed him a second breakfast.”
She strokes down his face. “That’s okay. He knows who loves him best.”
Deciding Churchill has had enough, I take the final piece of toast and bite into it. “It’s whoever feeds him last, Mum.”
My mum lets out apfft, only for Churchill to turn around and leap over the side gate into the field next door. Oxford stands, spins until he’s closer to her than me, and drops down again. His head rests on her lap this time, as if saying, “Don’t forget that I loveyoubest.”
Raising my arms, I stretch to momentarily ease the stiffness and tension in my body. The fog has almost disappeared, leaving behind a cloudless and beautiful day, if freezing cold.
I might have grown up on a farm, but I’ve become accustomed to beginning my days with a surf, and I miss the heat of the sun I left behind. I’ve barely moved my body since I came back, and coupled with the anxiety I’ve been stockpiling like it’s going out of fashion, it’s high time I did.
Plus, I have very little else to do after checking on the cows. A small crew of farm staff rotates the cows everymorning for the daily milking. They’re all perfectly capable of running the place without my father, but I know if I don’t go, he’ll only insist on going down there himself.
Throwing off the blankets and braving the chill, I stand. “I’m going to go for a run over to the dairy. Do you want me to pass the bakery on the way home?”
“Yes, please. And I won’t say no to a box of flapjacks either.”
“You got it,” I reply with a laugh because she already knew it was happening.
The flapjacks from The Beanery are more addictive than crack. I tried for years to get the recipe out of Claudia, but she won’t give it up.
I manage to dress in enough workout gear to keep me warm without restricting blood flow, although being cold just motivates me to run faster. As long as I don’t get frostbite, I’ll be okay, and ten minutes later, after returning for a beanie, my feet are pounding down the winding lane to my parents’ dairy farm. In the summer, we can leave through the gate in the garden, but it’s too muddy in the winter. And I hate mud.
The scent of manure circles the air, and I breathe it in willingly. It’s a smell that will forever remind me of being home, of being in Valentine Nook, and of the memories that inevitably follow. Hendricks, running through fields of long grass and sunflowers, sharing cold bottles of beer by the waterfall with Annabel and Mary while we watched the boys jump off the highest rock and hit the bottom. I’d hide behind the safety net of my sunglasses so no one could see me watching Hendricks. And later, when he’d go off with Ella Cartwright, or Millie Jones, or Zoe Glasston, no one could see the hurt I’d ignored for years.
What made it worse was that I knew that none of those girls cared about Hendricks. They just wanted to get with a twin, and it didn’t matter which one because they couldn’t tell the difference.
Not me. Miles annoyed me at the best of times, and the rest I’d be on the verge of inciting violence. Hendricks was the only one I wanted.
Deep in my thoughts, I arrive at the farm just as I hit my stride. I’m greeted with mooing and hooves clopping across the farmyard to the milking stall. Pete, my dad’s farm manager, is guiding the Ayrshires with their chestnut and white markings through the gate, with the help of a couple of younger farmhands. I haven’t seen him since before the Christmas holidays because I’ve so far managed to visit when he’s been busy elsewhere.
I’m tempted to turn around, but as the last cow passes through, he spots me and waves. “A’right, how’s it going?”
Swiping a bead of sweat from the end of my nose, I wave back. “Good, just coming to check you’re okay.”
I add an eye roll, which he interprets exactly how it’s meant to be.My dadneeds to be told all is well. Daily.
“Tell him we’re doin’ fine and missing him.”
I snort, followed by a dribble of snot that I wipe away as quickly as I can. Damn this cold weather and my runny nose.
“I doubt that, but I’ll tell him anyway.”
His eyes flick to where the cows are being lined up in the milking barn, checking the guys are okay before striding over to meet me. It’s not that I don’t want to speak to him. I just don’t really want to get into a conversation because I know how it will end.
