Pink Wellies and Flat Caps by Lynda Renham Page A

between my breasts and down my arms. This farm lark is harder than I imagined. A Land Rover screeches down the drive and I turn dropping some of the feed near my feet. The next thing I know the hens are pecking away at my ankles and I am hopping from one foot to another. The Land Rover comes to a halt and I attempt to stop my war dance and look dignified as Edward climbs out. Thank goodness I tidied myself up. I’m acutely aware that I may be hanging lopsided however, as I forgot to put on my perfect fitted bra, but at least I’m still not holding the loo plunger.
    ‘I forgot to give you this,’ he calls, walking towards me.
    I throw the seed into the buckets and step back, kicking the most vicious hen as I do so.
    ‘Dinner,’ I hiss at her before turning to greet Edward.
    He is holding a small Nokia phone.
    ‘Oh, I …’
    ‘Is it too basic for you? Sorry, I just didn’t think the re’d be much call for emails here.’
    He has such a manner about him doesn’t he?
    ‘No, really it’s very kind of you. It would actually be very useful. Thank you so much. What do I owe you?’
    He pushes his hands into his jeans pocket s.
    ‘It’s only a Nokia phone, not a holiday in the Bahamas.’
    At that moment that bloody chicken pecks me again and I jump back and am in his arms. I’m not sure if I fell on him, or if he deliberately stepped forward. Whichever way it goes, his arms are around me instantly, warm, comforting and safe. He releases me just as quickly and I step to the side of him away from the hen.
    ‘You need to watch that one; she’s taken a liking to you, as did Molly. You obviously have a way with animals,’ he says, covering my embarrassment.
    ‘My charm hasn’t worked on you then has it?’ I mumble.
    ‘Oh God, that was rude I’m sorry.’
    The hen pecks me again.
    ‘Suitable punishment,’ he smiles.
    ‘That one is going to be dinner tonight,’ I say, feeling a blush creep up my face.
    ‘Maybe in a couple of months,’ he says with an evil grin, ‘she may well be.’
    He turns and without another word gets back in the Land Rover and drives off. I am so going to hate it here.

Chapter Twelve
     
    ‘Hello there, you look lost.’
    The breezy voice belongs to a woman with rosy cheeks and short brown hair which has a red streak down the middle. She is wearing long dangling earrings and a multi -coloured shawl. Over her shoulder is an enormous tote bag. Several bunches of dried lavender protrude from the top, and the fragrance drifts on the breeze and caresses my nostrils. I imagine her to be about sixty, but I’m useless with ages. She clasps the handlebars of her bicycle. My mother would have called her one of those modern women, which is my mother’s term for a lesbian. Any woman with short hair and dangly earrings is a lesbian according to my mother. That’s probably why I never ever had my hair short. I probably grew up with the belief that getting your hair shorn turns you into a lesbian. My mother has all kinds of strange ideas. She’s convinced that I lost my virginity to a Lil-lets tampon and there’s no swaying her.
    ‘Divine isn’t it?’ she continues, pointing to the lavender.
    ‘Oh yes, it smells lovely. I’m actually looking for the supermarket.’
    Oh dear, did that make me sound disinterested? It’s just I’ve been searching for the supermarket for the past fifteen minutes. If I have to circle the village a fourth time and pass the dead pheasants and little rabbits hanging in the butcher’s window, I think I will go mad. I’m sure we don’t have that in London. I imagine if we had, Charlie would have made an enormous fuss and reported them to the animal protection society. Then there was the baker who I passed just as many times and where the appetising smell of Cornish pasties and fresh bread wafted towards me. I was very tempted the second time around to purchase a pasty there and then, not to mention the lovely doughnuts covered in icing sugar. The only thing that