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He makes a nondescript grunt, but pulls the car into a grassy lay-by.
I get out of the car and walk around to tap on the driver’s window, which he slowly winds down. Ted looks up at me and I see his full face for the first time in daylight. He has these dark, penetrating eyes with heavy lids that track my gaze – they’re a little intense, unnervingly so. I glance away, then ask, ‘Would you like to come?’ assuming he might want to stretch his legs.
‘I’m good, thanks. I’ve seen cows before,’ he says, pulling a newspaper from the passenger seat and unfolding it in his lap. I suspect Beardy McCastaway lacks the rapport necessary to be a real tour guide.
Approaching the cow field fence, I take a long, deep breath. The early morning air is yet to be warmed by the sun, but the sky is a vast, vibrant blue, like a freshly unboxed day. Alongside the narrow road, ivy-covered oak trees sit behind a bosky bank of hawthorn bushes and wild grasses. It’s so peaceful, I can hear the birds chirping in the trees, the low hum of a tractor several fields beyond, and the faint buzzing of flies as they flit around swishing cow tails. I step cautiously up the bank, fearful of spooking the herd, but the few cows standing near the fence simply eye me with idle curiosity.
I read about Jersey cows in the in-flight magazine – they’re famous for producing amazing milk. They’re basically the Kate Mosses of the cow world: elegant, angular frames, soft fawn, teddy-bear-coloured bodies, and wide doe eyes. One with a dark brown face and long lashes blinks at me, flicking flies away with a twitch of her head.
There is a photo of my mother next to a cow just like this one, so I turn my phone around to try and take a similar shot.
‘OK buddy, don’t move,’ I say quietly, shuffling myself into position. It’s hard to get the angle right. Maybe if I just step up onto the fence rail, I’ll be able to fit both of us in the frame. In fact, I could climb over into the field, just for a second, and the positioning would be so much better.
As I’m stepping down onto the grass, I feel a sharp jolt of pain and my leg suddenly buckles beneath me. I lose my footing and fall flat on my face, my phone flying from my hand. What the hell was that? I scramble to my feet. Turning around, I see a thin wire running alongside the wooden rail – an electric fence. Ten points to me for being a complete urban cliché and not noticing that. Brushing down my dress, I see a muddy mark near the hem. What an excellent start to the day; electrocuted and muddied before it’s even 10.a.m. Just as I’m thinking it can’t get much worse, I feel a nudge from behind. One of the cows is pushing into me.
‘Hey, back off.’
When I look up, more cows are heading in my direction.
‘Go away!’ I plead. ‘Just shoo, will you?’ I point a stern finger at the nudgy one.
‘What are you doing?’
My head snaps back around to see Ted standing by the fence, watching me with a bemused expression. Nudgy is now looming over me, and I reach out my hand to push her away. ‘They’re not pets, you can’t get in and stroke them,’ says Ted, looking at me like I’m completely clueless.
‘I know that! I wasn’t trying to pet them. I didn’t know the fence was electric and – hey, go away!’ The running cows are getting closer, and I feel a rising panic in my chest. People die from being trampled by cows, don’t they? It always seemed a rather comical way to go, but now I’m staring death in the doe-eyed face, it doesn’t seem funny at all. ‘Ahhhh!’
Ted jumps over the fence in one swift movement – he’s surprisingly nimble. He walks purposefully towards the cows with an arm outstretched and says in a deep, stern voice, ‘Back you go now.’
The cows obediently scatter.
My heart still pounding, I look at Ted, impressed. He’s like a cow whisperer.
‘They’re only young heifers, they won’t hurt you.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to get in here, I’m not a complete idiot.’
His lips twitch, like he’s about to smile, and now I feel embarrassed that I freaked out about the admittedly rather small cows.
‘Did you get the photo you wanted?’
‘No, I dropped my phone when I fell,’ I say feebly.
Ted shakes his head, takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair before replacing it. Unlike his beard, his hair isn’t flecked with grey; it’s thick and brown. In fact, he’s got surprisingly good hair beneath the ridiculous cap.
The ringtone of my phone punctures the air. Ted and I search the long grass by the fence for the source of the sound. Ted gets to it first, but by the time he’s handed it to me the ringing has stopped. Unknown caller. Damn, it might have been J. Le Maistre.
‘I’m sure they’ll call back. Do you want me to take a photo for you?’ Ted asks, distracting me from my disappointment.
‘Well, they’ve all gone now,’ I say, waving a forlorn hand towards the retreating gang of cattle. ‘And I think I might have gone off cows.’
He laughs, a proper chesty laugh, and I can’t help feeling like I want him to take his cap off again, so I can see what his eyes look like when he laughs like that.
‘Come on, Lady Muck.’
He reaches out to take my phone, holding it up to take a photo with the cows in the background. I feel self-conscious beneath his gaze. Then he hands it back and wordlessly holds out his arm to help me climb back over the fence. It’s a gentlemanly thing to do, and his forearm feels firm and steady beneath my hand. At the car, he opens the rear door and points to the seat.
‘Just sit there a minute,’ he instructs me.
