But Milo’s out of his jacket, throwing it to Fliss and he’s running over. ‘No, I insist, this one’s mine.’
The donkey welfare woman obviously thinks all her Christmases have come at once. ‘So manyvolunteers, I’ll go and get more shovels and yard brushes.’
So much for the ‘so many’. What actually happens is Milo and me get the shovels, Libby gets to take the photos, and the rest of them peer in from outside the stable and pull faces and wrinkle their noses. For once I’m in agreement – if I’d personally had any idea about the reek of donkey droppings, I’d never have let myself get pushed into this. But thanks to Milo attacking this with the same dedication, awesome pecs and light hands he applied to breakfast, we’re soon looking at a clean floor, and a very full barrow.
Libby jumps forward, pushes her phone into my hand and seizes the barrow handles. ‘Okay, I’ll take it from here, you get me pushing the barrow out of the stable, Ivy.’
She’s actually so small, she almost disappears behind the heap of sopping poo and straw in the barrow, but that only adds to the effect. We have to do several tries before we get a take with her hairband straight, a fake smile on her faceandthe donkeys each side watching as she emerges. But I have to agree, for the cuteness factor alone, it was worth the effort.
Then suddenly there’s a cry from Fliss. ‘Awwww, Oscar, can you see what’s coming now?’
Across the yard the fluffiest, dinkiest donkey is being led towards us.
When Libby sees what’s coming she drops the barrow in the middle of the yard and rushes over too. Cute doesn’t begin to express what I’m looking at – its hooves are tiny, its legs are wobbly, and best of all, it’s wearing a Santa hat. And anyone whose heart doesn’t instantly melt when they see him can’t be human.
Tiff’s tutting. ‘It’s very demeaning to put animals in clothes.’
Merwyn who’s rocking his fleece-lined red velvet all-in-one with legs and diamanté trim catches my eye and rolls his.
Tansy joins in. ‘It’s not animal rights is it?’
As Milo puts down his shovel and goes straight in to tickle the over-sized ears, Libby’s clearing her throat. ‘Okay, everyone get behind me and the donkey, and let Ivy take our donkey sanctuary selfie.’
I’m holding up the phone trying to fit them all in. ‘Okay, all squeeze together … and smile.’ I’m saying it out of politeness, knowing most of them won’t. ‘Just one or two more … thanks, all done.’
But Libby’s got other ideas. ‘Right, put Harriet’s buggy on the end, and this time we’ll all fan out around the donkey and go again.’
She’s made it impossible for me. ‘You’re too wide to fit on the screen now.’
Libby’s barking instructions. ‘It’s fine, just move back until you get us all in.’
I’m shuffling backwards down the yard. ‘Still not working.’
‘Keep going … further away.’
I start with little steps. Then I make them bigger and Tansy and Tiff are still not in the frame. As I step back again I hear Milo call out, ‘Watch it, Ivy.’
I’m calling back, looking at the screen. ‘Nearly there … one more step and Tiff should be in.’ Then something knocks the back of my knees. And when I try to take another step, instead of moving back, I’m over balancing. As my spine arches backwards into mid air I throw my arms out sideways, and something is braking my fall. As my back and bottom land on something soft and forgiving there’s a lurch and the scrape of metal on the concrete of the yard.
‘Jeez!’ I’m thanking my lucky stars for soft landings. Then as I ease myself up the wheelbarrow handles come into view somewhere near my flailing feet. And as my bottom sinks deeper, even though it’s comfy there’s a stench engulfing me. ‘Donkey poo?OMIGOD!’ Only I could manage to land in a wheelbarrow full of muck.
‘Wait there, Ivy, don’t move!’ It’s Libby, barking. ‘AND FOR CHRISSAKES, DON’T DROP THE PHONE!’
As if I’d move. Even though there’s a dampness creeping around my thighs and back when I try to lever myself up, I’m actually completely stuck, because my knees are hooked over the extra deep barrow edge. And then even though I’m still I realise the stables I’m staring up at are starting to tilt. Very slowly. Then a second later the tipping speeds up, the sky flips, and there’s a huge clatter and a massive jolt as the barrow hits the ground. And next thing I know, my shoulder crashes onto the concrete, I’m rolling sideways being ejected from the barrow and a whole shower of soaking straw and donkey droppings are raining down on top of me.
As disasters go, this makes my Christmas tree landing seem like a good day. I’m screwing my eyes closed, pinching my lips together and blowing so I don’t get poo in my mouth. Clinging onto the phone for grim death. Working out what to do next.
The first voice to come through the shouts is Milo. ‘Ivy, what the hell … give me your hand …’ They’re so poo covered, he must be well brave as well as stunning.
Then Libby. ‘Get the phone first, Milo, get the phone …’
Then someone wrenches it out of my grip, and as I push myself up to sitting I see Fliss looking down at me. She’s shaking her head, but I can see from the way her shoulders are wobbling that the laughter’s about to explode.
‘Don’t start …’ I know I’ve got to get in first.
She lets out a shriek. ‘But you should have seen it, it wassofunny. First the way you sat down in the barrow like it was an armchair. Then the way you tipped sideways ever so slowly and the whole shitload showered down on top of you.’ She’s laughing at Milo. ‘Don’t worry, these things happen to Ivy all the time, she’s like our own personal stunt woman.’ She looks back at me and winks. ‘Isn’t that right, shit head?’
‘Let me.’ He’s holding out his hand to me. One tug, I’m up on my feet, hobbling around, trying to dance the dirt off.
