Kitty's Countryside Dream (7 page)

A
t the ridiculous
time of 4 a.m., I turned on the bedside lamp and propped myself up against my pillows. Reaching for my book, I began to read. Usually within no time, I would feel myself dropping off to sleep, but after five minutes I gave up. It was no use; I couldn't concentrate on the words and my mind began to wander. I was wide awake. Thoughts of Tom filtered through my head. The double date was already playing on my mind. I kept trying to tell myself that he was going on a date with Jeannie and it wasn't a big deal, but who was I trying to kid?

It was a very big deal.

What could I do about it anyway? Absolutely nothing, so why was I losing sleep over it? I never lost a wink of sleep over Clive Ramsbottom, the obsessed trainspotter.

I tried to read again and before I knew it, it was 6 a.m. I found myself dragging on my overalls and pushing my feet into my wellington boots. Wheeling the bike through the hallway, I'd decided I might as well be up at the Lodge. It was pointless hanging around here with nothing to do for another few hours and Alfie was still curled up fast asleep. Trying to block all romantic nonsense from invading my head, I cycled along the quiet street in the darkened morning sky.

The air was a little nippy so I pedalled faster, trying to keep warm. Arriving at the Lodge, the padlock was flung on the ground in its usual place, which could only mean one thing: Tom was up and already moseying about.

Riding past the cottage, I could see the outside light was shining up the yard and his boots were no longer sitting outside the front door. Hearing a distant shout of my name from the barn, I pretended I hadn't heard him. I carried on until I got to the office, where I dropped off my bike. My stomach was twisting in knots; the feeling of gloom lay in the pit of my stomach. I just needed to forget about Tom and Jeannie and get on with my job.

‘Good morning, Kitty, I've been shouting you!' Tom smiled excitedly when he reached me.

How could anyone be so smiley at such an early hour and how could anyone look that handsome?

‘What are you doing up at this time?' he queried.

‘I couldn't sleep, had a bit of a restless night.'

‘Ooo, excited for your date with Robin?' He grinned warmly.

That was the last thing I needed to hear. There was nothing like rubbing my nose in it.

‘Ooo, excited for your date with Jeannie?' I blurted out, mimicking him and then feeling totally shitty.

My lips started to quiver; damn, I was going to cry. Tom was silent and I risked a glance. He looked upset.

‘I'm feeling a little sad this morning, Kitty. I've been up since the crack of dawn scouring every barn, every hay bale, but I still can't find her.'

‘Who?'

‘Dotty – she's disappeared.'

‘Granny's favourite chicken?'

‘Yes, she vanished yesterday from the yard and no one has seen hide nor feather of her. I'll be deeply upset if the fox has got her.'

I nodded. ‘I'll have a look about for her.'

I felt so despondent about the double-date situation that it was good to have a distraction, though I didn't like the thought that Dotty was missing. I began to hurry over to the furthest barn in search of her.

‘Hang on. Before you go …'

My heart lifted. This was the second he would look deep into my eyes and tell me he'd made a mistake – he didn't really want to wine and dine supermodel Jeannie but preferred average Kitty; it was me he wanted to whisk off on a date.

‘Yes?'

‘Can you feed the chickens in the bottom paddock? The food's in the stable. Fill up all the red feeders then let the chickens out of the coop to roam around the field.'

My eyes were now blurred with the ambush of tears. Trying to ignore the queasy feeling in my stomach, I turned and walked away from Tom, up the yard. He still wanted to date supermodel Jeannie. Of course he did.

Trudging towards the field, I wiped the tears from my eyes. Kitty Lewis, you need to get a grip of yourself – whatever will be will be. Concentrate on your work and throw yourself into the business. Do not fling yourself at the first man you have a crush on. It didn't matter how many times I gave myself a good talking to, I still felt devastated.

Arriving at the bottom paddock, there was a right old racket sounding out from every henhouse.

‘Bwok, bwok, bwok, bwok.'

Swiftly climbing over the rickety old fence, I moved towards the houses, panic beginning to take over. The chickens sounded like they were distressed.

Feeling flustered, I decided I would free the chickens first then locate the food from the stables, as per Tom's instructions.

Wrapping my fingers around the chains, I pulled. The doors to the coops were unleashed, flinging them wide open. Peering back at me were hundreds of alert orange eyes, sitting above light coloured beaks. Collectively those beaks looked lethal. All the hens were identical, each with a smooth rosy face, small red earlobes and an attractive mixture of browns and blacks with a beetle-green sheen to their feathers.

In a synchronised hop from their perches, the chickens were soon happily foraging around outside in the grass.

Mission chicken was so far successful.

Hurrying towards the stables, I found the huge sacks of chicken pellets leaning against the back wall. Inside each sack was a scoop. If I was going to wander back and forth with a small scoop it would take me forever to load up the trays with their food. Using my initiative, I hunted around the stable for a bucket. Finding one, I filled it to the brim with pellets and sauntered back out to the field.

Crouching down and squeezing myself between the slats of the wooden fence, I swung my bucket of feed and headed for the red feeding trays.

All of a sudden there was an eerie silence around me, not one bwok, not one cluck and not one cock-a-doodle-doo.

Swiftly swinging my head around to look, I saw thousands of chickens standing still, their beady orange eyes locked in my direction. An uneasy feeling swept through my entire body.

I took a step forward.

The chickens also shunted forward in my direction.

I took another step forward.

They copied.

I picked up my pace and then began to run like hell towards the feeders whilst glancing backwards over my shoulder.

In a Jurassic Park-style moment, a thought flashed through my mind: I was stranded on a tropical island in an isolated Central American location populated with cloned dinosaurs, or to be more precise, cloned chickens.

Willing my legs to move faster, the chickens were now thundering towards me with a certain type of determination.

My mouth opened and I let out a high-pitched scream that echoed all around the fields.

Suddenly I was in the middle of a chicken stampede. Hundreds of squawking chickens ran at me, their wings flapping and feathers flying. In a complete frenzy, they launched themselves in my direction with their eyes locked on the bucket of feed. Still screaming, I catapulted the bucket up into the air and my body hit the ground hard. Hundreds of chickens appeared to be scuttling all over me whilst they pecked at their food. Lying on the ground, I played dead. I didn't dare move or make a sound in case they realised I was still there.

‘For heaven's sake, Kit, what are you doing down there?'

‘Tom, help me,' I squealed indignantly.

Tom extended his hand to yank me up.

I blinked up at him, clutching at my clattering heart; I gasped for breath then grabbed his hand.

Hauling me up with his firm grip, I was back on my feet. I felt embarrassed; once again there I was lying on the ground in front of Tom. No wonder he wanted to go out with Jeannie, who made all this look like child's play. She seemed to manage to do all the farm jobs without even breaking a sweat and never ended up on her back in a field, having to be rescued.

‘Are you OK?'

‘Do I look OK?' I stared at him thunderously.

Ignoring my outburst, he took a handful of corn from the tossed bucket lying on the ground and scattered it in the opposite direction. The chickens bounded away.

‘They could have killed me,' I blurted.

‘A little overdramatic, don't you think? They were just hungry.'

‘Hungry? Hungry? They would have eaten me alive if I'd given them half the chance.'

‘Kitty, before you open the door …'

‘Oh back to the full Sunday name now, are we?' I interrupted, knowing that I was being rude, but it just wasn't turning into a great day.

Tom looked at me incredulously.

‘Kit, before you open up the doors or the hatches, the food needs to be placed in the trays first, otherwise they'll eat you alive.' He laughed.

‘I'm glad you find it funny because I certainly don't.'

‘It's just a little setback and one you won't forget in a hurry. Fill the food trays up then let the chickens out – simple.'

I cleared my throat and was about to throw a sarcastic comment in his direction then thought better of it, just in case he was a chicken charmer and could entice them to fly at me once more.

‘Do you want to talk about it?' Tom asked.

‘Talk about what?' I barked back.

‘Your bad mood today.'

Great.

‘No, I'm not in a bad mood; there's nothing to talk about.'

Leaning forward, he gently plucked a chicken feather from my hair.

‘A bit of mud suits you – gives you a country appearance,' he stated, changing the subject quickly.

Looking down at my overalls, I cringed; they were splattered with mud and squirted with chicken mess.

‘You are doing a grand job,' he encouraged.

I glowed.

‘Pink suits you – you're blushing.' He nudged me and gave me a mischievous grin.

‘Oh shut up, Tom. Stop teasing me.'

Folding my arms, I stomped off, muttering something about making myself a cuppa. I felt sure that if I had turned round, I would've seen Tom grinning.

F
riday night was
upon us and not just any Friday night but the night of the so-called double date.

With much teasing from Tom and Jeannie all throughout the week, I'd made it clear to them on numerous occasions that my only involvement would be to attend and enjoy a night out with friends after a hard working week. They, of course, completely ignored my protests and, with their juvenile behaviour, took it upon themselves to chant, ‘Kitty and Robin sitting in the tree, K I S S I N G,' every time I had the unfortunate pleasure of passing them in the yard.

My stomach had been churning the whole day and I was hoping to have been struck down by a deadly disease, but it seemed luck was not on my side and it just wasn't meant to be.

Choosing an unassuming outfit of white skinny jeans accompanied by a pale blue tunic – bluebell white to be precise, according to the label – I completed the look with my old tatty grey pumps. Inconspicuous and comfortable was the only way to go on a night out of this nature, and the thought of tottering around in high heels filled me with dread. This was a night for keeping my feet firmly on the ground. Giving myself a quick twirl in the mirror, I had to admit the outfit might have been simple but it was indeed striking.

The next hour flew by; my hair was blow-dried, my nails painted and I sat in front of the mirror applying my make-up. Keeping to the au-natural look, wands of black mascara complemented by a nude shiny lip gloss completed my look and with a few squirts of perfume I declared myself ready.

Hearing the taxi beeping outside, I grabbed my coat and bag from the table in the hallway. Reluctantly shouting ‘goodbye' to Alfie, I closed the front door and walked down the stone steps towards the car. I spotted Jeannie and Tom straightaway; they were already settled in the back seat sharing a giddy moment of laughter. I immediately felt deflated.

Right, focus Kitty – remember you agreed to do this, oh and he's Jeannie's date for the evening not yours.

It was time to get this night over and done with.

Taking a deep breath and wearing a smile, I clambered in beside the pair of them. I was hit with the scent from Tom's aftershave, which suddenly made me go weak at the knees as I slumped down into the seat of the taxi.

‘You scrub up well,' Tom commented.

I gazed up at him and thanked him politely with a smile.

‘You look lovely too, Jeannie,' I managed to say, which wasn't difficult for Jeannie; she was one of those lucky people who could wear a black bin bag and it would automatically look like a stunning fashion creation straight from the catwalk.

‘Thanks, Kitty. Robin's going to meet us in the pub because he finished work late. He won't be long.'

I nodded.

On arrival at the pub we wandered through the double swinging doors and started to nudge our way through the crowds, with Jeannie leading the way. In contrast to the quietness of the street outside, we were suddenly deafened by noisy chatter and music blaring from massive speakers that surrounded the square dance floor I'd spotted in the corner of the room. It was already jam-packed with Friday-night drinkers and dancers who were enjoying their freedom from work with a whole weekend to look forward to.

My goodness it was warm. Engulfed by the sweltering heat, I immediately began unzipping my coat and threw it over my arm whilst following Jeannie and Tom like a lost sheep.

A confident Jeannie had already miraculously strolled ahead, bypassed the masses and pushed her way through the thirsty revellers and was now in deep conversation with the barman.

Tom had stopped in a space. I lingered behind him and we waited patiently for Jeannie's return. Watching her across the room, a smile crept across my face, remembering Mum's favourite saying: ‘Kitty, you only need three friends in life: a lawyer, a policeman and a barman!' Well, from where we were standing, it certainly looked like Jeannie had mastered the third.

She hollered in our direction over the heads of the noisy crowd.

‘What are you pair having to drink?'

‘A pint for me, oh and get one for Robin too, he won't be long. What about you, Kitty, what would you like to drink?'

I'd thought about this dilemma for the whole afternoon. My options were limited: wine – the root of all evil, which without a shadow of a doubt would flow through my body in five seconds flat, leaving me talking gibberish all night long and with the hangover from hell in the morning – and beer, which left me forever frequenting the facilities. Oh gosh, I didn't know.

‘Come on, we're dying of thirst here, Kitty.'

‘Gin and tonic please,' I piped up.

‘Nice choice!' Tom said.

I had no idea where that request had come from.

If the truth be known, never having tasted gin and tonic in my life, I thought it sounded classy. I'd watched many a late-night movie where the sophisticated woman snapped her fingers to the passing waiter and ordered one.

‘With a slice?' Jeannie shouted over.

‘A slice of what?' For a moment there I was confused; why would I want a slice of cake with a drink in the pub?

Giving the impression I couldn't hear properly due to the racket of the drinkers, I cupped my hand around my ear, mouthing, ‘I can't hear you.'

‘Lime, do you want lime in your drink?' Tom whispered quickly. He'd suddenly realised I wasn't at all a social butterfly and didn't have a clue what she meant.

‘Yes please,' I shouted, giving Jeannie a thumbs up. However, she had taken it upon herself to answer for me and was already facing the barman, with the drinks lined up in front of her.

Heads turned whilst Jeannie squeezed back through the muttering, disgruntled crowd, who were not impressed with her rapid serving of beverages.

‘It's not what you know, it's who you know!' She giggled, handing us our drinks.

‘Who's that then?' I asked, genuinely intrigued.

‘Danny,' Jeannie responded whilst glancing back in his direction. ‘He's worked here for years.'

Danny proceeded to serve a rowdy stag party that had surged towards the bar after building up a sweat on the dance floor.

Suddenly we were interrupted by the double doors of the pub flying open, and then I saw him, the man with the warm smile, making his way over to where we were standing.

‘Aha, here he is!' Tom waved him over.

Luckily for me he didn't resemble my last blind date in any way, shape or form but why would he? I should have figured any brother of Jeannie's was surely going to be beautiful. His dark curly hair fell across his golden skin, his hazel eyes flashed instant warmth, and his jaw was firm and strong. His beauty could take anyone's breath away. My eyes travelled up the length of his body. He was the kind of guy who belonged on the cover of a romance novel, not in the local pub of Rosefield.

Tom heartily shook Robin's hand.

‘Kitty, I would like you to meet Robin. Robin, meet Kitty.'

My eyes met his shyly. Leaning forward, he slipped a kiss on both of my cheeks, taking me by surprise.

‘Hi, Kitty,' he said in a lovely low, soothing voice.

Oh my.

Feeling socially awkward, with a nervous smile, I managed to say, ‘Hi,' and then I quickly averted my eyes from his and took a sip of my drink.

Trying to keep the smile on my face was a challenge in itself as the gin and tonic slid down my throat, leaving a very bitter aftertaste. Staring down at the glass, I wasn't impressed with the sophisticated drink and was rather regretting my choice; I should have dived straight into a bottle of Pinot.

Looking up, I could feel Tom's eyes upon me; his amused face was watching my every move. Taking another sip, I raised my eyebrows in his direction and mouthed, ‘What?' He threw his head back and chuckled loudly after probably guessing it was the first time I'd ever tasted gin.

How did that man read me like a book?

Robin and Jeannie observed us both with a quizzical glance.

‘Shall we grab that table over there?' Tom nodded towards a vacant table in the corner, situated away from the now rapturous stag party who'd been reunited with the dance floor and were currently jumping around on invisible pogo sticks and singing at the tops of their voices.

‘Yep, let's go – it beats getting pushed from pillar to post standing here, and then we've also got a base for the evening.'

Robin patted Tom on the back whilst moving towards the table. Jeannie hung back and gave my hand a quick squeeze whilst no one was looking. ‘Well come on, spill the beans, what do you think of my brother?' She winked.

‘I don't know,' I whispered back. ‘I only met him two minutes ago.'

Jeannie tucked her arm through mine and led me in the direction of the awaiting dates at the table. ‘Come on, you'll love him. He's so charming.'

Approaching the lads, I actually felt the colour drain from my face and wasn't sure whether that was down to the heat, the gin or the fact any minute now I was going to have to make conversation with a complete stranger. Dutch courage was needed. Taking another large sip of gin, I held tightly my smile whilst the awful drink slithered down my throat.

Pulling out a chair like a true gentleman, Robin looked at me with those amazing eyes.

‘Take a seat, madam.' He slipped into the chair next to mine.

‘So, Kitty, what kinds of things do you like to do?' Robin asked softly.

All eyes were on me.

What sort of question was that? My mind went completely blank.

I tensed up; I didn't like to be put on the spot and I began to drum my fingers on the sticky wooden tabletop, suddenly feeling a little bit teary.

‘Our Kitty loves rescuing old birds from the clutches of restaurant owners at the market,' Tom said, lightening the mood. I could have kissed him for changing the subject and freeing me from the scrutiny.

‘Tut, tut, Kitty. But that was rather hilarious,' Jeannie hooted. ‘I couldn't believe it when you brought the chickens home to roost, so to speak.'

Blinking the teary mist away from my eyes, I giggled too.

‘That was the best decision I've ever made,' I said, remembering the look of horror on Tom's face when I thrust my hand into the air and bid on our own chickens.

Jeannie held her glass in the air. ‘I propose a toast to Kitty for rescuing those hens.'

‘To Kitty,' the rest of them echoed.

‘I was sorry to hear about your mum; Jeannie filled me in. Do you have any other family in these parts?' Robin enquired.

I braced myself and took another sip of my drink.

‘Not that I'm aware of, but who knows? I only found out my grandmother died a few months back after believing she'd been dead for years,' I blurted out.

Robin's mouth fell open and the look of surprise on his face said it all.

‘That must be a shock to your system,' he said.

‘It's OK; there isn't a lot I can do about it. The truth is, Robin, I've been the sole carer of my mum for the last few years and all I like to do is read. It wasn't until the last couple of weeks – when I met these two lovely people – that I actually started thinking about my future.'

Tom smiled warmly. ‘I'm glad we're good for something.'

‘Mum passed away not so long ago, and Dad was killed in a car accident when I was ten. I have no brothers or sisters and it was a strange situation when I was summoned to the local solicitors' office and informed I was now the proud owner of a flat and Bluebell Lodge in a place I'd never heard of, left to me by Agnes Porter.'

My voice was shaky; I still found it extremely difficult to talk about. I loved my parents deeply and it was a lonely existence without them.

‘Gosh, it must be such a difficult time,' Robin said.

I was filled with an intense yearning to dispose of this topic of conversation as quickly as possible.

‘It's fine, what can I do about it?' I answered, avoiding all eye contact and swigging the last of the gin from glass. It wasn't fine though, was it? It wasn't that simple. I wanted answers; I wanted to know why I never knew my grandparents. Why had I never met them? I wanted to know why my parents kept the truth from me. I had all these questions I needed to ask and no one to answer them. One thing was for certain though: tonight was the first and last time I would ever be drinking gin. Sophisticated or not, it wasn't for me.

I rubbed my eyes. Feeling a lonely tear slide down my cheek, I brushed it away. I was aware all three of my new friends were watching me intently.

Eager to change the subject, I smiled. ‘Next time I'm invited out remind me not to blubber like an idiot.'

Tom took my cue and moved the conversation on.

The next hour or so flew by. Still feeling nervous, I let the others dominate the conversation. All four of us laughed at Tom's silly stories of scrumping apples from the orchards at the back of the Lodge and Robin admitted to being a keen fisherman as a child – well, for one summer only it seemed, until he discovered Amy, the blonde girl whose father owned the local fish-and-chip shop.

‘My round next. Are we all having the same again?' Tom asked, throwing me a sly grin.

‘A glass of wine would be perfect for me this time, thanks.'

Tom swigged the last of the beer from his glass. ‘I thought so. The hard stuff didn't take your fancy then?'

I managed a sarcastic smile in return. I liked Tom's sense of humour. I liked Tom full stop.

‘Tequila please,' Jeannie insisted.

‘Er no! Once she starts asking for tequila that means only one thing – she's forgotten her limits and it all goes downhill from there.'

‘Argh go on, please.' Jeannie dropped her gaze to her empty glass. ‘You are such a spoilsport, Robin,' she joked.

‘Same again for us both,' Robin confirmed, sliding their empty glasses towards Tom. Standing up, he grabbed the empty glasses and manoeuvred his way towards the crowded bar. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched him until he disappeared.