It Started With A Tweet(60)

‘So, Daisy,’ he says, walking around the kitchen, opening cupboards and shutting them again. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

I don’t know why I assumed that, as a farmer who lives on his own, his farmhouse would be a mess, maybe it’s because ours is in such a state, but his is ridiculously tidy and not at all what I was expecting.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a china teacup. He blows on it and a spray of dust fills the air. I think he catches my reaction, and he hurries over to the sink to wash it.

I don’t really want a cup of tea, I want to check my emails and Twitter, but I’m guessing that he doesn’t get many visitors and it would be rude of me to say no.

‘Thanks – milk, no sugar.’

‘Right you are. Take a seat,’ he says, pointing at the sofa in the corner of the kitchen that I’m sure was once red, but it’s now hard to tell with the assortment of black and white dog hairs that cover it.

I get nearer and his sheepdog, who’s already sitting on one side of it, is looking at me as if I’m trespassing.

I hover awkwardly before Rodney spots what’s up. ‘Down, Shep,’ he says, and the dog jumps off immediately.

As Rodney turns to make the tea, I see Shep give me a scowl before he curls up in front of the Aga.

I look around the kitchen and I realise how homely it is. The Aga’s throwing out a welcome amount of heat as, even though it’s May, without the sun there’s a real chill to the air. The sofa in the kitchen is a nice touch, as I imagine in winter, if you’re out in the fields all day, coming to sit here after lunch or in the evening would be nice and cosy.

‘There you are,’ says Rodney, placing my china cup, which looks like something my nan would have owned, on a small table to the left of me, before he joins me on the sofa. A little too close for my liking.

‘So, Daisy, are you and your sister going to be living at the farm? We could do with some more young ladies around here, we could.’

‘Um, actually we’re only here for a few weeks to do it up. It’s going to be a holiday let,’ I say a little guiltily, bracing myself for the reaction and tirade that Jack gave me when I told him our plans.

‘Ah, right,’ he says a little sadly. ‘That’s all people want to do with the farms these days. Too hard being a farmer. Not that you’ve got much land at yours anyway. The Johnsons took most of it over after Ned went into hospital the first time.’

It hadn’t occurred to me that Rosie has a whopping great barn and farmhouse but only one smallish field. It makes sense that the land was sold.

I pick up my cup of tea and I try to blow on it to cool it down. The quicker I drink it, the quicker I might be able to go on the Internet. I can feel my palms getting clammy and my head feeling dizzy at the thought that any second now I’m going to be logging on. All those messages! Hopefully, the Twittersphere will have forgotten about #priceless. I can’t wait to see what I’ve missed.

‘But still,’ he says, a twinkle in his eye, ‘you’re here for a few weeks. We can still make the most of that now, can’t we?’

He edges slightly closer to me on the sofa and it makes my teacup clatter on the saucer.

‘Oh, um,’ I say, not entirely sure what to do.

I’m not certain how old Rodney is; his skin’s got that weathered look to it, and with the beard and greyish tint, it’s hard to age him. He could be anywhere from early fifties to mid-sixties. Either way, he’s out of my maximum Tinder age bracket for sure.

I try and ignore his shuffle and drink my tea, not only scalding my mouth but gagging at the fact that the milk is a little bit sour. The big greasy fry-up didn’t settle my stomach enough from the hangover to drink it.

I set the tea on the sideboard instead.

‘Where is it you’re from, then? I’m guessing you and your sister are from some city, judging by your shoes.’

I look at my New Balance gym trainers, which are caked in a thick layer of crusty mud.

‘That’s right. We come from Fleet, in Hampshire, but I live in London now and Rosie lives in Manchester.’

Rodney looks pleased that he guessed.

‘And what do you think of our neck of the woods?’

‘It’s pretty,’ I say, thinking that I really want to log on now. I can hear the pings of Facebook and the dings of my email calling to me.

‘I could never leave this place. Been here all my life. The farm’s been in the family for generations. Although that’ll stop when I’m gone, you know. Unless I find another wife and have some little ones.’

I’m trying not to look him in the eye, as I get the impression he’s looking at me expectantly, as if I’m the one who’s going to provide him with an heir.

‘Um, so is it OK if I check my emails?’ I ask, glancing around for a computer as a lifeline.

‘Oh yes, your emails,’ he says nodding and smiling as if I’ve told a joke.

I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea. It’s funny, as I don’t feel in danger with amorous Rodney, but I do feel as if he’s got the wrong end of the stick.

‘Um, yes,’ I say standing up. I plant myself over near the dog and the Aga, which is so lovely and warm. ‘Is your computer in the lounge?’

I look over at the nearby door.