Now that would have been bad enough. But, oh, no, I wasn’t done yet. I was on a roll! When all the bottles were empty a few days later, I came to with the mother of all hangovers and discovered that not only was I unemployed but that I had, during my mind’s hiatus from sensible decision making, agreed to a sale on my apartment and bought a Victorian farmhouse in need of renovation and several acres of land with the proceeds. And a flock of sheep. Apparently, they were yet to arrive. I felt a fresh wave of nausea as my mind helpfully played out my life implosion in full technicolour for me. What the flock was I going to do with a flock of sheep?
Surely there should be a sensor built into all digital devices that assesses your blood alcohol level and bans you from doing anything monumentally stupid until it registers that you are sober. Unfortunately, there isn’t. So I did. And here I was.
And now I had a new humiliation to add to the ever-growing pile. The image of Hot Plank Man looking at me and grinning as he drove off replayed in my head and I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I turned into the driveway that led to the farmhouse. What the hell had happened to my life?
2
As much as I would like to say that I had embraced this new life and was now a whizz with a power tool, I don’t think there’s any need for me to disavow you of that belief. I was not. I had never done an iota of DIY in my life. Not once. And now I had a ruddy farmhouse to renovate. My last few days had been spent trying to block up a gap in the fence where some random chickens kept wandering through into the garden and pecking at the French windows. Well, they would be if there were any French windows there. Currently they were pecking at the plastic that was covering the gap. God knew who they belonged to but the way it was going, one might end up in the oven! OK, that was a lie. There was no way on God’s green earth (and to be fair, it was exceptionally green around here. Probably because it hadn’t stopped raining) that I would ever cook anything I’d spoken to.
I dashed out of the car in my huge knickers and third-rate bra and fiddled with the lock, pushing myself into the hall, and grabbed a coat off the hook before running back out and wrangling the wood out of the car while trying to avoid the remaining bits of glass that used to be my rear window.
‘Come on!’ I yelled. Yelling at inanimate objects was another of my more recent hobbies. After I’d been so keen to get the wood into the car, the planks had now got wedged in. I gave them another good heave to release them, which did the trick perfectly. It also released me from my standing position and I ended up flat on my back in one of the many,manymuddy puddles that surrounded this ‘idyllically situated residence’.
‘Oh, forfuck’ssake!’ I screamed out the words to the leaden sky and lay there, freezing my arse and every other exposed part of me off as tears of frustration flowed down the side of my face. A tap on my shoe made me lift my head the tiniest amount to see a chicken pecking at my now-pretty-much-ruined three-hundred-quid trainers.
‘Go for it. Just carry on and eat me alive. I don’t care any more. Bring your friends.’ I plopped my head back down in the mud. The only sounds were the rain and this persistent sodding chicken clucking softly. In another situation, that might be quite soothing but right now, I’d give anything for the sounds I’d grown up with. The ones I was used to. The ones that suited me. Traffic, sirens and the general hubbub of London. Even the birds were quiet here, sheltering from this infernal rain.
‘If you don’t feed them, there’s every chance of that happening.’
My eyes flew open and, with horror, I found the handsome face of the man I’d clobbered earlier looking down at me. The planks I’d bought were lying next to me.
‘Need a hand?’
I pushed myself up, hands sliding madly in the mud as I did so. He reached down, hooked one hand under my armpit and hoisted me to my feet.
‘Thanks,’ I replied, immediately wrapping my Barbour around me in an attempt to cover as much as possible. Although I was aware he’d already had an eyeful earlier this afternoon. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but how did you get here and what do you want?’
‘There’s a bloody great gap in your fence line the other side of the paddock.’ His voice was deep with that hint of gravel that normally made my insides do a little sexy dance. Unfortunately, my insides were currently frozen solid and dancing was the last thing on their mind. Raindrops dripped off the brim of his eminently sensible waxed hat as the grey eyes considered me with a blank expression before he dropped his gaze momentarily to look at the wood that was getting wetter by the moment. ‘Is that what that lot’s for?’ He pointed at my purchases.
‘No.’
‘Good, because it’s completely wrong.’
I swallowed the lump I felt forming in my throat. ‘Thanks for that,’ I snapped back. ‘Did you actually have a reason for trespassing or are you just testing out illegal ways onto my property in order to critique my buying habits?’
He held out a packet of nails. ‘You dropped these earlier while you were fighting to get the wood in your car.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I reached out to take them with one hand while making sure my coat was still tight around me. ‘Thanks. Um… how did you know where I lived?’ I was suddenly aware that I was in the middle of nowhere with a strange bloke twice my size. I shoved the packet of nails in my pocket and wrapped the coat even tighter.
‘Don’t worry. I didn’t follow you. It’s a small village. Everyone knows a buyer from London purchased this place recently and you’re a strange face, so I just put two and two together.’ He took a step back. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘You didn’t.’ The words fired out automatically. I’d been fiercely independent for long enough now that this had become my natural response.
He nodded but it was obvious from his expression he didn’t believe a word.
‘Might be an idea to get some sort of security system fitted. The village isn’t far but you are still out on your own here.’
‘I’ll add it to the list,’ I replied and even I could hear the despondency in my voice.
The man did a tiny squint before holding out his hand. ‘Jesse Woods.’
‘Felicity DeVere.’ I took the shovel-sized hand and shook it. I’d seen his brow twitch as I rolled out my name but he kept any comment to himself. I was sure it would be part of an ‘amusing story’ at the local pub later. Right now, I didn’t care.
Squaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuk!
Both of us looked down at the persistent chicken.
‘You really do need to feed them. They should probably be in the coop in this weather anyway.’
