Chapter 6
Gemma woke in an instant, clawing at her face. Something had touched it. Something wet… and slimy. Her hands encountered a cold spot, and fur… lots and lots of fur.
Her eyes flew open, blinking surprise at her rude awakening and the shaft of bright morning light falling across the bed. But most of all they registered surprise at having been awoken by a huge and exceedingly hairy dog.
She could hear a series of shouted exclamations, the voice which made them becoming louder as it neared until Willow suddenly appeared at her now open door. Gemma scrambled to sit up, clutching at the covers as she tried to push the dog away.
‘Gemma, I’m so sorry! That dog has no manners at all and he— Mulligan… get down!’
Willow came forward to grab the dog’s collar, attempting to haul him off the bed, even though the dog clearly had not finished his extensive greeting of Gemma.
Gemma swiped at her face, attempting to rid it of saliva and the awful smell which came with it. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a dog.’
‘We don’t. He belongs to a friend of ours. He gets a bit excited when he’s meeting new people, but once he gets to know you, he’s fine. He is a bit… big, though.’
‘Big? He’s huge!’
‘He’s mostly golden retriever, we think. But there’s a bit of something else in there as well, I reckon.’
‘Yeah… horse,’ replied Gemma, finally managing to push the dog from the bed. She reached for the duvet, suddenly aware of her less-than-glamorous pyjamas. And the fact that they had llamas printed all over them.
‘He shot through the door before I could stop him,’ said Willow, her face full of apology. ‘I’m so sorry… But I hope you managed to sleep okay before it was rudely interrupted?’
‘I did, actually,’ replied Gemma, belatedly realising how true this was.
She’d had the best night’s sleep in ages.
In fact… She scrambled to look at her phone.
‘Blimey, is that the time? I never sleep this late…’ Now it was her turn to look apologetic.
‘Not making a great first impression, am I? Sorry, I bet you’ve been up for ages. ’
Willow smiled. ‘I have… but that’s because I’m an early riser anyway. And whatever time you get up is fine, honestly. Otherwise we’d feel horribly like we were ordering you about.’
‘Even so…’ Gemma stared at the dog who was now lying on the floor, breathing heavily as if he was out of puff. ‘I’ll get up now.’
Willow nodded. ‘Come on then, Mulligan, out. Time you went and found your master.’
Gemma stared at her, suddenly taking notice of the dog’s name. ‘What did you call him?’
‘Mulligan,’ replied Willow, smiling. ‘Kind of suits a big oaf like him, doesn’t it?’ She frowned. ‘Is everything okay?’
Gemma pulled a smile back onto her face. ‘Yes, fine… It’s just an unusual name.’
Willow looked perplexed. ‘I’ve never really thought about it…’ She shooed the dog through the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? What do you like to drink in the morning?’
‘Oh, coffee, please,’ replied Gemma immediately. ‘Black, and very strong.’ She paused. ‘Um… would it be possible to have a quick shower? I wasn’t sure about the water situation.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Willow, much to Gemma’s relief.
‘We try not to waste water where we can, but believe me, once you’ve been here a few days you’ll realise that the shower is a necessity.
Or maybe it’s just me… I always seem to come in covered in mud.
’ She paused by the door, her hand very firmly on Mulligan’s collar.
‘I’ve put a set of towels out in the bathroom for you – the blue ones – but if you need more, there are plenty in the cupboard. Just help yourself.’
Gemma swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’
The kitchen was filled with the most incredible aroma when Gemma entered it some twenty minutes later. Coffee and something else, something savoury… ‘Is that bread I can smell?’ she asked. ‘Real bread?’
Willow turned from the counter where she was standing. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘I used to joke that Rowan’s bread-making skills were one of the reasons I married him, but I think it might actually be true. Would you like some for breakfast?’
Thankfully there was now no sign of Mulligan. ‘Please,’ answered Gemma. ‘That would be lovely. But let me fetch it… just show me where everything is.’
Willow smiled. ‘Okay… but not until tomorrow. Today, I shall wait on you. It’s the least I can do. Toast, is it? How many slices?’
‘Two? Is that okay?’
‘Of course,’ replied Willow. ‘There’s coffee in the pot, if you’d like to help yourself.
’ She directed Gemma to the table, where a collection of mugs lay ready and waiting.
There was also a selection of jars, all different sizes and topped with red-checked covers instead of lids.
She peered at the labels: rhubard and ginger jam, bramble jelly, apple cinnamon butter (whatever that was), and Rowan’s rum marmalade. They were clearly homemade.
‘The apple butter is particularly good,’ said Willow, noticing the direction of Gemma’s look.
‘It’s a bit like a curd, but… more buttery.
Obviously…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Plus, I made it, and although Rowan’s marmalade is pretty darn perfect, it’s not as good as that.
’ She grinned, cheeky and mischievous. ‘At least, I think so.’
Gemma returned the smile. ‘I shall be sure to try it.’ She glanced at her watch. It was just after ten. ‘You’ve probably already done a whole heap of jobs,’ she said. ‘But what would you like me to do once I’ve finished my breakfast?’
‘Well, the hens will have just about finished laying now. Would you like to collect the eggs? And then I can give you a proper tour of the place. The kitchen gardens – some of which you’ve seen – but also what Rowan has been working on.
He’s rigging up some solar panels with the friend I mentioned, the one who helped us build the house.
He’s a bit of a guru when it comes to that kind of stuff. ’
Gemma nodded. ‘Sounds good, although chickens are a complete mystery to me, I’m afraid. I’m not even sure I’ve seen a live one up close – mine normally come on a plastic tray wrapped in clingfilm.’ She paused. ‘How do you, um…’ She drew a line across her neck. ‘I’m not sure I could…’
Willow smiled. ‘I definitely couldn’t. My girls all have names, and they all have personalities too, just as we have. Myrtle is a cheeky so-and-so while Eloise has perfect manners. I could never eat them.’
A wave of embarrassment rose over Gemma. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’
But Willow batted away her apology. ‘I think most people assume we eat them, but that doesn’t seem fair after a lifetime of laying eggs for us.
Our old ladies stay with us until it’s their time to go, and that’s bad enough.
Besides, we’re vegetarian so…’ She checked herself.
‘I probably should have mentioned that. I hope it’s okay? ’
‘Again, not something I have any experience of,’ admitted Gemma. ‘But if last night’s dinner is anything to go by then I’m a happy convert.’
Willow dipped her head. ‘You will say, won’t you? If anything makes you unhappy or uncomfortable. It doesn’t sound as if you’ve had an easy time of things recently, and being here is going to be a big change for you. I’d hate to make it worse.’
Inexplicably, Gemma’s eyes filled with tears and she picked up the jar of marmalade, pretending to study its label further. ‘I think a change could be exactly what I need,’ she replied. She put the jar down again. All the label told her was the variety of oranges it had been made of, and the date.
‘Even so…’
Willow was studying her; Gemma could feel the weight of her gaze. ‘I promise I’ll say something,’ she said, blinking rapidly. Fortunately the toast popped up at that moment and she was saved from having to make further comment. Willow was right, though: the apple butter was delicious.
‘See if you can guess which one is Myrtle,’ said Willow a little while later as they approached the chicken coop.
It lay in a field of rough grass to the rear of the old farmhouse which was bordered by a thick hedge to the left and a stand of old apple trees at one end.
Willow stood back to let Gemma inside the large wire enclosure which surrounded the hens’ wooden ‘house’.
Gemma was rather more concerned about the chickens in general, than her ability to tell them apart.
They were a lot bigger than she thought they would be and there were rather a lot of them.
She tried to count them in her head but it was impossible – they never seemed to stand still.
She stifled the urge to yelp as several came a little too close for comfort.
‘So the hens are free-range,’ said Willow, joining her.
‘They would generally hang around the house until they’ve finished laying anyway, but after I’ve fed them I let them out and then they wander all over.
We only put them inside at night, otherwise Mr Fox is liable to help himself, and he is definitely not a vegetarian. ’
Gemma nodded, watching their antics. ‘I reckon that’s Myrtle,’ she said, pointing to the chicken who seemed to be moving the fastest, and who also kept darting straight at Gemma in the most alarming fashion.
Willow grinned. ‘See, you’re a natural.’ She handed Gemma the basket she was carrying.
‘And in no particular order, the rest are… Eloise, Verity, Henrietta, Gertie, Floss, Petunia, Daisy, Sybil, Miranda, Briony, and this little one’ – she stooped to scoop up the chicken nearest to her – ‘is Jemima. There are twelve altogether.’ She held the chicken out to Gemma, who instinctively took a step back.
‘Maybe when I’ve got to know them a bit better,’ she said, hoping Willow wouldn’t laugh at her. She cleared her throat. ‘So where do I get the eggs from?’ she asked.