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Authors: Cathy Woodman
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it’s no problem with Guy there. I lug one of the last packing cases out of the way.
‘Here, let me have that,’ Guy says, moving towards me.
‘I can do it,’ I say in no uncertain terms.
‘I’ve been eating your cake.’ He stands right in front of me, his hands on the case. ‘It’s the least I can do in return.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ I say, mollified. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’ His mouth curves into a wry smile as he takes the load from me. ‘I think.’
‘We’ll have to move the old tractor,’ says Adam hopefully.
‘Does it still go?’ says my dad.
‘Why do men go weak at the knees at pieces of old machinery?’ I ask Mum, as the two of them are looking at it with Guy. I can see nothing attractive about this unprepossessing grey vehicle that stands in the way of the solid oak table lying on its side at the back of the barn. It’s a third of the size of the one Guy was driving when we met him in the lane, it looks a bit rusty and, for some reason – to keep the water out maybe – it has a tin can over the end of its vertical exhaust pipe.
‘I reckon she’ll go all right, although she hasn’t been started for months.’ He scrambles on to the seat – this tractor doesn’t have an enclosed cab – and turns the key that’s been left in the ignition. He glances at me. ‘We don’t have much crime out here. Besides, I can’t think anyone would want to steal this thing.’ He turns the key again. The engine coughs, sending the tin can shooting up and hitting the roof of the barn, before it falls down and rolls clattering across the floor.
Adam can’t stop laughing. Neither can I, partly because of the tin can, partly because Adam is creased up with tears in his eyes.
‘I should have taken that off first.’ Guy grins. ‘I always forget.’ He turns the key again, and the engine chunters into life. He rolls the tractor out into the yard, crushing the can on the way. ‘You’ll need to hang on to this, Jennie.’
‘Um, why? What on earth am I going to do with a tractor?’
‘Use it to take care of your land, of course.’
‘I thought it took care of itself?’
‘You can’t leave it to its own devices – you’ll get allkinds of weeds.’ He smiles again. ‘Your neighbour won’t like that.’
‘I see.’ Actually, I don’t, because all this about having to drive a tractor and control weeds is a bit of a surprise to me.
‘If you aren’t going to graze it, you’ll need to harrow and cut the grass in the paddock and under the apple trees. As for the weeds, you’ll have to dig out any ragwort because I won’t have any of that growing next door to me. I cut hay to sell and my horsey people won’t buy it if it has any ragwort in it.’
‘Ragwort’s poisonous,’ says Georgia, interrupting.
‘And how do you know that, young lady?’ Guy says.
‘I’m going to have a pony and I’ve been reading books to make sure I know how to look after it.’
I feel a rare surge of maternal pride.
‘Do you think your mum knows how to drive a tractor?’ he asks Georgia.
‘I expect she could learn how to, if she got a book about it from the library,’ Georgia says optimistically.
Guy turns to me as he jumps down from the tractor. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll go fast enough for you, Jennie.’
In spite of determining not to, I blush. How does this man manage to disarm me? I put it down to the cider, I think, walking past him to look at the table. Adam and Guy drag it out on to the cobbles. It’s dusty and scratched, and I’m not entirely sure I want it, but Guy’s convinced that it’s just what I need.
‘A bit of sanding down and it’ll be as good as new,’ he says, then shows Adam how to reverse the tractor back inside before saying he’s got to get back to the farm.
‘So soon?’ says Mum. ‘It’s only half-past nine.’
‘I’ve got an early start – as always. The milking,’ headds in explanation. ‘Cows don’t milk themselves,
‘Here, let me have that,’ Guy says, moving towards me.
‘I can do it,’ I say in no uncertain terms.
‘I’ve been eating your cake.’ He stands right in front of me, his hands on the case. ‘It’s the least I can do in return.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ I say, mollified. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’ His mouth curves into a wry smile as he takes the load from me. ‘I think.’
‘We’ll have to move the old tractor,’ says Adam hopefully.
‘Does it still go?’ says my dad.
‘Why do men go weak at the knees at pieces of old machinery?’ I ask Mum, as the two of them are looking at it with Guy. I can see nothing attractive about this unprepossessing grey vehicle that stands in the way of the solid oak table lying on its side at the back of the barn. It’s a third of the size of the one Guy was driving when we met him in the lane, it looks a bit rusty and, for some reason – to keep the water out maybe – it has a tin can over the end of its vertical exhaust pipe.
‘I reckon she’ll go all right, although she hasn’t been started for months.’ He scrambles on to the seat – this tractor doesn’t have an enclosed cab – and turns the key that’s been left in the ignition. He glances at me. ‘We don’t have much crime out here. Besides, I can’t think anyone would want to steal this thing.’ He turns the key again. The engine coughs, sending the tin can shooting up and hitting the roof of the barn, before it falls down and rolls clattering across the floor.
Adam can’t stop laughing. Neither can I, partly because of the tin can, partly because Adam is creased up with tears in his eyes.
‘I should have taken that off first.’ Guy grins. ‘I always forget.’ He turns the key again, and the engine chunters into life. He rolls the tractor out into the yard, crushing the can on the way. ‘You’ll need to hang on to this, Jennie.’
‘Um, why? What on earth am I going to do with a tractor?’
‘Use it to take care of your land, of course.’
‘I thought it took care of itself?’
‘You can’t leave it to its own devices – you’ll get allkinds of weeds.’ He smiles again. ‘Your neighbour won’t like that.’
‘I see.’ Actually, I don’t, because all this about having to drive a tractor and control weeds is a bit of a surprise to me.
‘If you aren’t going to graze it, you’ll need to harrow and cut the grass in the paddock and under the apple trees. As for the weeds, you’ll have to dig out any ragwort because I won’t have any of that growing next door to me. I cut hay to sell and my horsey people won’t buy it if it has any ragwort in it.’
‘Ragwort’s poisonous,’ says Georgia, interrupting.
‘And how do you know that, young lady?’ Guy says.
‘I’m going to have a pony and I’ve been reading books to make sure I know how to look after it.’
I feel a rare surge of maternal pride.
‘Do you think your mum knows how to drive a tractor?’ he asks Georgia.
‘I expect she could learn how to, if she got a book about it from the library,’ Georgia says optimistically.
Guy turns to me as he jumps down from the tractor. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll go fast enough for you, Jennie.’
In spite of determining not to, I blush. How does this man manage to disarm me? I put it down to the cider, I think, walking past him to look at the table. Adam and Guy drag it out on to the cobbles. It’s dusty and scratched, and I’m not entirely sure I want it, but Guy’s convinced that it’s just what I need.
‘A bit of sanding down and it’ll be as good as new,’ he says, then shows Adam how to reverse the tractor back inside before saying he’s got to get back to the farm.
‘So soon?’ says Mum. ‘It’s only half-past nine.’
‘I’ve got an early start – as always. The milking,’ headds in explanation. ‘Cows don’t milk themselves,
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