Read Online Beneath the Tor by Nina Milton - Free Book Online Page B

was a curious hen, bright eyed and comical. I’d had her and her siblings for over a year; a farmer had given me a recently hatched clutch of Sussex hens and they’d been productive and so beautiful to look at.
    I went into the lane at the back of my garden. My house was on the edge of a sixty-year -old estate. Behind the lane was a patch of scrubland. I half slid down the slope to the stream that was almost a drain, filled with rubbish and old bikes. I clambered back up, still calling, over and over. “Florence? Flo? Chuck-chuck -chuck?”
    Florence wouldn’t go missing by choice. As soon as dusk fell, my hens took themselves off to bed. My neighbours, the Wraxalls, were happy to feed them in the mornings if I was away. The only tricky bit was checking they didn’t escape the fox-proof run as they fed them. The Wraxalls had said nothing about a missing hen when I’d popped in to thank them after I’d got back.
    â€œDamn. Damn!” I kicked at the water-butt , making it slosh and spill. It seemed a shitty thing to happen, as if the spirit world was reminding me that the loss of a hen was not to be compared with the loss of a partner. Brice must feel a hundred times worse than I, a million times more heartsick.
    There in my garden, I sobbed for the deaths of Florence and Alys.

    I waited until I’d recovered my composure before I rang my boyfriend.
    â€œHi,” I said. “S’me.”
    â€œHi, Sabbie. I’m in a meeting.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI’ll come over later, okay?”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œBye, then.”
    â€œBye.”
    That conversation rather summed up our relationship: me passive and ill at ease, him busy and distracted. Rey was at the near-centre of my world while I was at the edge of his.
    I wasn’t sure how I’d let it get like that.
    I rewound the thought, because I knew exactly how I’d let it get like that. When it came to men, my solid perspective on life goes all distorted. Like I’ve picked up the wrong spectacles. At least with Reynard Buckley, I knew I had a good guy. He wasn’t abusive. He wasn’t using me as eye-candy (fat hope!) and he wasn’t a two-timer —he was still officially married to Lesley, but she was living with another man and I wished that relationship a long and happy existence.
    I flicked a duster and a floor mop over the house, which looked crumby after two nights away. I checked my phone diary. I knew it would be empty, as I should’ve been at the workshop, so I had a free day. As I stared at the screen, the phone buzzed in my hand.
    â€œHello? Is that Sabbie Dare?”
    â€œSpeaking.”
    â€œOh, er … a friend gave me your card.”
    The caller sounded a bit frantic. “You’d like to book a therapy session with me.”
    â€œEr, yeah, that would be great.”
    â€œReiki, reflexology, aromatherapy, or shamanic therapy?”
    â€œUh, I dunno. The last? Yes, the last one.”
    â€œOkay. Usually, people book a prelim appointment and then think about taking a course of therapeutic shamanism once they’ve met me. Would you like to do that?”
    â€œEr … yes … I don’t suppose you’re free now, are you?”
    â€œI am, but you—”
    â€œWould it be okay if I saw you this morning? I have your address. I could come straight away.”
    â€œWell, okay, if you’re sure.” I took a breath. Her urgency was catching. “Can I have your name, please?”
    â€œLaura Munroe. If I set out now, I could be there soon.”
    â€œDon’t rush, Laura. You need to give me an hour to prepare for you.”

    I changed into my black shamanic gown which fitted my figure from shoulders to hips then flared out to my ankles, bright embroidery swirling round the hem. I loved pulling on that dress; it transformed me. I brushed my hair, merciless as I tugged the bristles through the tight curls which had a