Chapter Sixteen
Jamie
I’d promised Will I wouldn’t complain about the cold, so I didn’t. At least not out loud.
Freezing wind whipped my exposed skin as the quad bike bumped over the snow, and my gloved hands clutched at Will’s waist as I held on for dear life.
The seat wasn’t really designed for two, and it meant an uncomfortable ride, but I’d been told it was the easiest way to get where we were going.
Behind me, the two sheepdogs, Nell and Moss, sat in a small, flat bed.
Both of them had been eager to get back to work, bouncing around Will’s feet and climbing onto the bike with a single word when Will and I had emerged from the house.
Will had warned me they weren’t pets and to let them be. If they wanted to talk to me, they would, but they weren’t the sort of dogs who’d come looking for cuddles and belly rubs.
“How’re you doing back there?” Will called as we slowed for a moment.
“I’m good,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound like my lips were numb. “Glad you leant me your coat.”
“Yours wouldn’t have done you any good up here.”
I had to agree. My coat was another pretty but not practical part of my wardrobe.
Before we’d left, Will had handed me one of his old coats and told me to put it on.
It was a bit ragged and worn and smelt vaguely of what I assumed was sheep, but I had to admit it had done the job.
He’d also given me a pair of boots and another pair of thick socks to put on since the boots were about a size too big, along with a tweed flat cap and a pair of gloves.
I’d caught sight of my reflection in the car window as we’d passed and realised I looked completely unrecognisable, like an alternative-universe version of myself.
“I’m just going to get the gate,” Will said as he brought the bike to a halt in front of a large, metal gate set into a stone wall. As he dismounted, I saw where we were headed and gasped.
Beyond the gate lay the moorland. It was covered in a thick blanket of snow that glittered in the cold morning sunlight and seemed to stretch out beyond the horizon, which fell away in the distance.
The landscape was bleak and wild with strands of heather and the odd bush or tree poking out from the snow.
In one direction, it seemed to rise impossibly steeply, and in the other, it seemed to curve into the earth.
I had never seen anything so beautiful.
Will turned back from the gate and must have seen me staring because I caught the hint of a smile on his face. “God’s own country,” he said as he climbed back onto the bike and rolled it through the open gateway.
“It’s… it’s incredible,” I said.
“Aye, that it is.” He dismounted and went to shut the gate. “Not far now. There’s an old barn just over that hill that we use for hay storage. Ewes’ll be up there waiting.”
“Don’t they get cold?” I asked as we started moving again, my hand tightening on Will’s waist.
“No, they’ve got a nice thick fleece, and they know where to find shelter if they need it. They’re a hardy breed my Swaledales. They’re born and bred on these moors. It’s where they’re most at home, and I’ll only bring them in if I need to.”
“Will they give birth out here?”
“Aye, they will. Like I said, they’re at home here.
It’s where they feel safe. If the weather’s proper shit, I might bring them in, and if any get into trouble, we’ll bring them into the lambing barn, but we try to get them out as soon as possible.
Sheep worry, and it’s not good for ’em. That’s why lambing’s so hard.
Someone’s got to be up here at all hours in case something goes wrong. ”
I gripped his waist tighter, gazing out over the landscape. “How does that work? Do you have to set up a rota? Do you have to camp?” God, I couldn’t imagine camping out here, certainly not in this weather. Camping was very high on my personal ‘nevers’ list, and it didn’t appeal in the slightest.
Will laughed, the sound bold and joyous.
“Mostly Higgs and I’ll take it in turns to run shifts.
Usually, we get another pair of hands in too.
Sometimes we’ll come and stay out here. We used to bring one of the old shepherd’s huts out, but they all got turned into holiday lets for our posh glamping stays, so mostly we’ll just camp in one of the old barns.
They’re warm and dry, and there’s a couple of them about depending on where we lamb. ”
I couldn’t think of anything to say because all I could think about was how Will had given up some form of potential comfort to give himself another income source, and from what I knew about Will, that wasn’t something he’d have done without a lot of thought.
He’d shown me a couple of them as we’d driven up the road towards the moor, and from a distance, they’d looked very cute and cosy. I could see why people liked them.
I tucked myself in closer to Will and held on tight, watching the moorland roll past us.
As we got a bit closer, Will slowed and gave a single command to the dogs who hopped off the bike and began to lope alongside us, easily keeping pace.
“There we are,” Will said. “Right where I knew they’d be.” He chuckled and turned his head. “I came up here this morning to do a quick headcount and throw out some pellets, but they want more hay, and I’m late getting it out, so they’re waiting for me.”
I glanced past him, and sure enough, on the gentle slope below us, I saw a flock of sheep spread out around an old stone barn that seemed both at odds with and part of the landscape.
Will gave another command to the dogs, and they slowly cut down the side of the hill. “We’ll just bring them in a little, then you can put some hay out, and I’ll give a few of them a once-over. One of them looked like she might be limping earlier, and I want to get a better look.”
“Sure, I can do that,” I said, uncertainty rising in my chest. I was sure it couldn’t be that difficult, but my experience with both animals and anything resembling physical labour was nonexistent.
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you what to do,” Will said. “I’m not just going to dump you there and expect you to figure it out.”
“You’d be within your rights to do so.”
“No, I wouldn’t. You’ve not done this before, and I want it done right.”
Will pulled the bike to a stop not far from the barn, where the dogs were holding the sheep in a loose circle.
I’d never seen sheep up close before. Will’s had black faces with distinctive white markings across their noses and eyes that almost looked like goggles or eyepatches.
They all had little curled horns that tucked over their narrow ears, and long, shaggy-looking coats over their round middles.
They were watching us closely with what I could’ve sworn was suspicion.
One of them let out a demanding bleat, and the rest took up the call. Will chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed off the bike. “All right, all right. Hang on. Honestly, more demanding bunch I’ve never met.”
I swung my leg off the seat, my feet crunching in the snow. Was it silly that I was a little afraid? I’d not spent any time around animals besides the occasional cat or dog before.
“Don’t pay them any mind,” Will said, seeming to sense my hesitation. “You pay them no mind, they’ll pay you no mind. And don’t be afraid to push them off if they get too demanding when we get the hay out. Come on, let me show you what we need to do.”
He led me over to the barn door and pulled a key out of his pocket. The door was solid and in better repair than I’d expected, but then again, I supposed it had to be well maintained to be of any use.
“We’ll get a couple of bales out,” Will said as he pushed the door open and gestured for me to follow him.
I got a waft of dried grass as I stepped inside, the smell reminding me of the long, hot days of summer.
It was warm and almost comforting. The bales were large and stacked on top of each other from wall to wall, but a lot of them were already missing where they’d been used.
“Think you can carry one?” Will asked.
“I can try.”
Will nodded and walked over to part of the stack, bending down to grasp what I realised was two thick strands of orange string holding the bale together. He hefted it upwards and started to carry it towards the door. I stepped quickly out of the way and went to fetch another.
It turned out hay was a lot heavier than it looked.
“Shit,” I muttered as I gripped the string and heaved it off the floor, feeling the twine digging into my hands. “How the hell does grass weigh this much?”
I staggered, the bale swinging in my hands as I struggled to keep my grip. The journey to the door felt like a mile, and I was already sweating inside my layers.
“Do you need a hand?” Will called, looking up at me as I took a tentative step into the snow. He’d already gotten his bale open, and there were sheep clustered around his feet.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice coming out as a strangled yelp. “Where should I put it?”
“Just over there.” He pointed at a clear spot in the snow. “Need to spread them out a bit.”
I tried to answer, but it was pointless. How was I so out of breath already? I took a few more staggered steps, doing an awkward half run, half wobble out to where Will had pointed. I dropped the bale onto the ground, my breath coming out in ragged pants that fogged and steamed in the air.
“You all right?” Will asked, appearing beside me.
“It’s… Fuck, how the fuck are they that heavy?”
Will patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.” He pulled an old knife out of one pocket and handed it to me. “Just cut the bailer twine and pull it off.”
“Bailer twine?”
“The orange twine. Just cut each open, then pull it off and put it in your pocket. Don’t leave it lying in the snow or the bloody sheep’ll eat it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. God love ’em, but they’re not the brightest bunch.”
“Okay. I can do that,” I said. “Do I just leave it here, then? When I’ve taken the string off.”
“If you’re not surrounded, take some of the sections and shake them out,” Will said.
“The bale’s made up of a load of compressed slices like a loaf of bread.
Get a couple at a time and shake them out so you’ve got a few piles.
Just makes it easier for the sheep, and it’ll keep them moving.
Mimics grazing a bit more than just getting it off the bale, plus it means more of them can get to the hay at a time.
Stops them arguing with each other and means everyone gets some. ”
“I’d rather not get in the way of any arguments. I am rather squishy.”
“You’ll be fine. And if you need me, I’ll be here.” His smile filled me with reassurance, and I watched him walk back towards the main part of the flock, calling one of the dogs over to him.
I turned back to the bale in front of me and bent down to cut the string.
Forty minutes later, I was sweating, sore, and felt like I’d actually achieved something for the first time in my life as silly as that sounded.
I’d put out three bales of hay while Will checked over the flock and moved a few bales of hay in the barn to make sure they weren’t all going to come crashing down as soon as we left.
I’d tied the bailer twine into a bundle and stuffed it into my pocket alongside the knife, and it felt strange putting my hand in my pocket and feeling them there.
It was like having proof that I’d done something.
Afterwards, Will and I climbed back onto the bike, Nellie and Moss hopping on behind us.
“What next?” I asked, wrapping my hands around his waist again.
I was surprised by the enthusiasm in my voice because I’d never expected to be excited about the idea of any kind of work, but there I was.
I didn’t want to go back yet. I wanted to do more.
Even if it was just moving hay or helping Will count sheep or whatever other small tasks he could trust me with.
“Don’t you want to go back?”
“No, not yet. I want to help.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind if you’ve had enough.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I like being out here with you.” I tightened my grip on his coat, resting against him as I looked at the sheep and their hay, then out across the moorland.
There was something about being there that was making me feel things I’d never experienced before, but I didn’t know if it was just the place or the person I was there with.
I already knew there was something about Will that drew me to him, and I wasn’t ready to stop exploring that. Not when there was so much left to discover.