Pink Wellies and Flat Caps (15 page)

‘I don’t suppose you’ve used a teat bucket before have you?’

I look at him over the rim of my cup.

‘Is this some country breakfast ritual you’re going to introduce me to? Actually no, I haven’t, not in the past year anyway. Strangely enough there isn’t much call for teat buckets in the city. Although I can’t think why not, as I know several people who could use one.’

He laughs. Blimey, it’s been years since I made someone laugh. Charlie used to give me strange looks whenever I cracked a joke. Georgie would laugh like a drain, but I always thought she was just being nice.

‘After breakfast I’ll show you how to use one. To the calf it is just like a teat from her mother’s udder, shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll be in End Field most of the day. I’m fixing the gates before I move the
herd into that field. Regarding money and things …’ He looks embarrassed and places a credit card on the table with a notepad and an envelope.

‘That’s for food and stuff
around the house. The pin number is in the notebook. I thought we’d give it two weeks, see how we go. In the envelope is two weeks’ pay in advance. I’ve rounded it up to four hundred. Make sure you buy everything for the house with the card, even things for your own room, and don’t forget to get a receipt.’

He scratches his head and I see flecks of red in his hair in the light from the window.

‘I’d better get back,’ he smiles, takes a final gulp from his coffee mug and wipes his mouth with a serviette before heading to the door.

‘Text me when you’re ready and I’ll show you the calf. Can you feed the hens this morning and collect the eggs? It is going to rain later so you’ll need to put buckets
on the landing. The roof leaks. I’ll fix it later if I get time but it’s not a priority right now. The farm needs a lot of work. I’ve fed Molly, but she can always eat more if you have time, plus there is a basket of ironing that needs doing …’

I stare at him. It all started off so well.

‘I’ll stick a broom up my backside and sweep as I go shall I?’

‘That would be useful if you could do that. Of course, there is also the rabbit stew you promised, unless you plan on going out again?’

‘Not unless you’re planning on asking me?’

‘No, I wasn’t planning to.’

‘That’s good, because I would have said no.’

‘That’s just as well then.’

Well, that’s that. God, the rabbit stew. I’d forgotten about that. How the hell do you make a rabbit stew anyway? I’m certainly not going to ask him. I’ll look online.

‘I’ll be cooking dinner later,’ I say. That way I haven’t committed myself to rabbit stew as such have I?

He dons his cap and grins warmly.

‘
See you later. Don’t forget the buckets or we’ll have a flood, and be careful with that broom.’

Well I never, he does have a sense of humour. Thirty minutes later and I am showered, dressed and looking every inch the country girl in my jeans and Aran jumper. Shame about the footwear. I don’t think Marks and Spencer riding boots were made for farming. I’ve already slipped twice in the mud and dung that leads to the cowshed. I arrive at the door, slip again, curse and grab the nearest post, which shakes and shudders under my weight. The place absolutely stinks. I seriously consider going on Ebay and finding a gasmask. These fumes could kill me. The blocked loo at the surgery was child’s play compared to this. I’ve yanked my hair back and clipped it up with a slide and although my headache feels a little better, I’m still not as clear-headed as I’d like to be.

‘You’ll ruin those boots.’

I turn and feel my feet slip. His arms steady me and then leave my body quicker than greased lightning.

‘You’ll need
wellingtons. There are several pairs in the cupboard under the stairs, I’m sure there will be a pair that will fit you. That jumper is too good for the farm too. It will be ruined in no time, it only needs the tractor to splash through a puddle and you’ve had it.’

Before I can respond he has left my side and is striding ahead into the shed. No wonder he doesn’t have a wife. Charm and tact aren’t his best qualities.

‘Here she is,’ he says affectionately, and for a second I think he is introducing me to the cows. I look at the baby calf. She is black and white with a cute little wet nose on her baby cow face, and big brown sad eyes with eyelashes to die for. It comes to something when I start envying the lashes on a cow.

‘And here’s the teat bucket
.’

Heavens,
is that what I think it is? A huge red penis stuck to a bucket? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? It looks like an early 19th century vibrator. Very much a do it yourself job. Well, I know where to come when my batteries die. Why is it I can’t stop thinking about sex these days. I can’t be trusted in the country, all my hormones seem to get stirred up. He shoves it into my hands. Is that a smile on his face? He’s mocking me. Just because I’m wearing my Marks and Spencer boots it doesn’t mean I can’t storm away. I might well storm and then slide into a load of cow dung admittedly, but storm I can. The bloody teat bucket is covered in mud, and now the mud is all over my jumper. Before I know what I’m doing I’m holding it by the penis with my hand wrapped tightly around it no less. What do I look like? Don’t even think about it.

‘I said that jumper was no good for the farm,’ he says, picking up a pail of milk.

‘You can go off people you know,’ I mumble, pulling the clean part of my jumper out of the calf’s mouth. I’ll need a whole new wardrobe once the week is out. Next stop Sue Ryder then. Not much call for decent stuff round these parts it seems. The charity shop must be stocked to the brim with torn jeans and boiler suits not to mention second-hand flat caps. The calf pulls at my jumper again and I yank it back, slipping as I do so.

‘Wait here,’ snaps Edward irritably.

Moments later he returns with wellingtons. Not the height of fashion, but far safer. I reluctantly lean on his shoulder to remove my boots. The warmth from his body is so intense that it quite startles me. He still smells of soap, but there is a strong smell of manliness about him that is quite overpowering.

‘I’ll leave the milk for you. She needs feeding in the morning and again in the evening. Before dinner is best
.’

He takes the bucket from my hand and fills it with milk.

‘This bit.’ I pull a face as he holds up the teat.

He sighs.

‘It’s no good if you’re not going to take things seriously. I’ll do it myself. You just clean and iron and shop. That’s what you do best.’

He sloshes through the mud, splattering me with cow dung. I feel it splash onto my jeans and I want to cry. I didn’t want to come to the sodding country. I certainly didn’t want to be dumped just a few weeks before my wedding or have my home pulled from under my feet by a no good bastard of a man. Now here goes another one thinking he can treat me like shit. I don’t think so.

‘Now hang on a minute,’ I say and feel annoyed that my voice shakes.

‘I’m doing the best I can. I didn’t want this God
-awful job and if your mother had told me you were so sodding objectionable I wouldn’t have taken it. The thing is I don’t have any other job. In fact, I don’t have a home either. I don’t have anything. My fiancé dumped me a few weeks before my wedding and now he’s seeing a brunette with big tits while all I’ve got are lopsided ones. And all I’m left with is …’ I wave my arms around angrily, ‘this. And an oversized penis in a bucket, and that just about says it all doesn’t it?’

I storm past him, slipping and sliding in the mud and dung as I go. It is raining. Wonderful, I shall no doubt get soaked. I feel tears stain my cheeks
and wipe my face angrily. Shame on you Alice letting another man make you cry.

‘Bollocks to it,’ I mumble.

He gently clasps my wrist.

‘Alice, I’m sorry. I was
n’t aware of the job and fiancé thing. He’s obviously a fool. I mean, who goes out with brunettes with big tits these days? It’s so last century isn’t it? And for what it’s worth I don’t think you’re lopsided in any way.’

I give a half-
hearted smile and he hands me the bucket.

‘Do you want to try the oversized penis? It might cheer you up.’

I blush and take the bucket without meeting his eyes.

‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,’ I say smiling with my eyes downcast but I can’t stop the
tears which escape and land onto the teat bucket.

Edward shyly lays an arm on my shoulder.

‘Hey, he’s not worth crying over.’

‘It must be me,’ I say self pityingl
y. ‘What woman loses her fiancé a few weeks before her wedding day? A bloody careless one that’s what.’

‘No, a lucky one. J
ust think, you could have married the plonker.’

I sniff noisily and he pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket. The calf looks up at me and s
ucks hungrily on the teat. Well this is it, I find myself thinking. This is the closest I’ll ever come to being a mother.

‘I wanted children by the plonker,’ I say blowing furiously into the tissue.

‘You wanted little plonkers did you?’ He smiles and diplomatically removes his arm. ‘You’ve got an oversized penis in a bucket now, what more could you want?’

‘Quite right,’
I agree while thinking a penis bucket is not quite as good as the real thing is it?

‘Twist that spine. That’s it. There’s nothing like a good spinal twist to relieve that tension. Now let’s do the same on the other side.’

Don’t ask how I have managed to get myself into Lydia’s yoga class. I only came for a rabbit stew recipe and the next thing I know she has me twisting my limbs this way and that, along with two other women who must be seventy if they’re a day, and worst of all, they’re wearing leotards. But one of them has a brilliant recipe for rabbit stew, and more importantly, Lydia has the fresh thyme that is the ultimate ingredient. Edward’s friend Sara from Cockspit is gyrating herself into a perfect half lotus beside me, and offering side dish advice with every exhalation.

‘Baby carrots,’ she exhales
, ‘and baby peas,’ another inhalation, ‘go so well with rabbit stew.’

I attempt another deep breath.

‘Hold it,’ instructs Lydia, and begins to count. Jesus, can’t she count any faster. ‘And … out.’

I exhale and gasp before I die on the spot.

‘Shallow breathing is not good Alice, you need to
feel
the breath,
feel
the breath,’ says Lydia, pushing out her chest by way of a demonstration. Right away I can see she is wearing a fitted bra. She hangs so perfectly. I feel myself growing insanely jealous. Anyway, I do
feel
the breath, enough to keep me alive anyway. I breathe my way towards the water dispenser. Georgie is quite right, I am so unfit. Thirty minutes of yoga and I am sweating buckets and feel half dead.

‘Let’s work those pelvic muscles now shall we. Control the flow,’ encourages Lydia, gently pulling me back before pushing me onto the yoga mat. Of course, the minute she mentions the flow I feel an urgent need to go to the loo.

‘Contract those muscles Alice, that’s it. Now relax. That’s the way. One pelvic contraction a day keeps incontinence at bay.’

This may just be the day that I don’t keep incontinence at bay. Sara meanwhile is contracting so well I’m beginning to think she is about to
give birth. As for the seventy-year-olds, well I’m seriously concerned about them. With every contraction one of them moans so much that I wonder if I should call an ambulance.

‘Well done Gloria,’ encourages Lydia.

‘How are you getting on?’ Sara asks without showing a single drop of sweat.

Don’t you just hate well-conditioned women? They always manage to make you feel so inadequate don’t they? I wonder if
Big Tits Brunette is fit. Probably she is. I imagine Charlie is looking for someone who is everything I am not. What I should do is pack in all this pelvic contraction and penis bucket rubbish, and drive back to London to have it out with Charlie. What is wrong with me, letting him go so easily? He was my fiancé for heaven’s sake. Am I going to let some big tits brunette steal all that? Yes, I most likely am. After all I can’t force Charlie to love me can I?

‘Onto your tummies now ladies, we’re going into the cobra.’

It sounds and feels like some kind of jungle warfare. I can almost hear an army officer shout
Forward men into the cobra.

‘Are you okay?’ Sara asks.

‘Fine,’ I reply breathlessly, feeling my spine creak under the strain. ‘I feel more stretched than an elastic band, but apart from that, things are going okay.’

She laughs huskily.

‘Ted is a little stressed at the moment. It’s good you’re here to help.’

S
he’s got a nerve. Maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed if she helped a bit. She obviously likes Edward, although God knows why. If it were Charlie I’d be there like a shot. Thoughts of Charlie remind me of the Brunette with Big Tits again, which in turn reminds me of the penis bucket and Chloe the little calf. I thought it would be nice to give her a name. I wonder what the brunette’s name is. I just hope she isn’t called Chloe. No, Charlie would never go out with a Chloe. I must ask Edward for the broadband password so I can get online and check my Facebook profile. I hope Charlie hasn’t deleted me as a friend. Friend, that’s a laugh. I was more than just a friend. I should change my status to single too. I must do a status update, something like:
Held a huge penis in my hands today. They have big ones in the country
. Oh yes, that would make Charlie think.