Page 29 of Still Falling for You

What a two-faced bitch. I bet there’s a story brewing in her head already. She’s probably wondering how she can spin it to get the most reaction.Attacked by a semi-wild pig while staring longingly at her ex-lover.

‘Cut the crap, will you?’ I say without preamble, surprising even myself. Between her and John, I’ve had my fill of people trying to manipulate me. Everything in her expression changes with my words. At first, she looks shocked, her painted eyebrows almost disappearing in her black fringe, but when I don’t back down, her expression turns nasty.

‘You should be careful what you’re saying around thechildren, Holly.’ She scolds me like I’m one of her pupils. It vexes me to no end.

I instil zen into my voice. ‘And you should be careful what you spread around the school about me. I’ve had enough of your toxic gossip. If you have anything to say about me, you can say it to my face.’ Judging by her stunned expression, she didn’t expect me to be so direct, but I haven’t finished. ‘I don’t appreciate you talking about me behind my back, and I can’t imagine Alex does either. We’re both human beings and deserve more respect than that. Just because you work in a primary school doesn’t mean you should behave like a ten-year-old.’

At the mention of Alex, she perks up. I stop her there.

‘If I hear you spreading any more gossip, I will go directly to Jane and accuse you of defamation. I don’t think you would appreciate a warning on your record. Also, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from telling her how you fiddled with the maths mid-term test results spreadsheet so it looked like you got better data than you actually did.’ She blanches. She didn’t expect me to know, but I’m not stupid. Plus, I regularly rummage through her folders.

I put my hand up before she spouts any more venom.

‘Enough gossip about Alex. If you have any issues with him as your manager, fair enough. Go and speak to Jane or Alex himself. Those are the appropriate channels. If you have a problem with him on a personal level, I guess that’s your own issue, and as such, should stay where it belongs. One would think you’re obsessed with him.’

‘Don’t stick your big nose into other people’s business,’ she lashes out. I suppress an urge to touch my nose and check its size. Her voice dips low like my words have hurt her, and I see it then and there. I just about stop myself from flinching at the realisation. Something has happened between her and Alex and for a short moment, I squirm uneasily. Did they date? Or worse, did they have a fling? Various scenarios flash through my headuntil it starts spinning. I shake to clear it.

I feel like screaming, like I need to be anywhere but here, so I thrust my bucket forcefully into her hand. ‘I’ve had enough of swine for today. You can take over.’

When I spin on my heel, my eyes catch something coppery through the trees on the other side of the fence, but I walk away too fast to really focus on it.

13

I end up feeding goats with four year-three boys and one year-four girl. Compared to the stressful start of the trip, I spend a peaceful hour just watching children having fun. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I haven’t encountered any adults since the incident with Danielle. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already spoken to John about my mad ways.

‘Who knew that goats pooed so much,’ I mumble to myself, distracted.

Being a city girl, I somehow had completely unrealistic expectations of farm life. I visualised rolling hills, long grasses gently swaying in the wind and sheep and goats bleating in the distance. Instead, everything smells of faeces, and both the sheep and goats are so loud it hurts my ears. Also, the goats are sort of cross-eyed which unnerves me.

‘Yes. They do,’ someone agrees to my right.

I steel myself; there goes my peace. Where’s the chain mail and armet helmet when one needs it? But instead of emanating annoyance per usual, Alex pulls his lips into a rare smile as he passes me a bucket full of dry food.

I shake my head vigorously. ‘Over my dead body.’ Whenhis outstretched arm doesn’t move, I elaborate, ‘They’re prone to attack when food is involved.’

I speak from experience here because earlier when the animals were herded for feeding, they went into a mad rush to get to the bucket first, ramming each other out of the way like it was a rugby game. I was surprised red steam didn’t escape their furry nostrils, their eyes didn’t turn red, or their horns didn’t grow and curve like the Lord of Darkness inLegend. I really admire the kids feeding the beasts, but I wouldn’t touch them with a stick.

I must say some of this out loud if not all because Alex snorts. I frown, dismayed. ‘My distress is hilarious to you, is it?’ Why he’s suddenly in such a good mood is beyond me.

‘Well, I must admit that your sense for drama has not abandoned you. Duty calls.’

‘What if they charge?’ I’m so nervous I’ve lost my ability to filter my words.

‘Then I’ll jump in your way and be trampled by goats. I’ll be labelled a hero.’ He grins, and I keep wondering at his sudden change of tune.

‘A vice principal in a local primary school gets smothered by goat poo in a heroic attempt to save one of his teachers. The article is writing itself in front of my eyes as we speak,’ I announce with the gravitas the statement warrants.

‘Are you stalling for time?’ He’s not impressed by my journalistic skills.

I mentally brace myself when I climb over the fence, but because I’m holding the bucket while scaling a metre-high fence, it’s a too challenging task for my mediocre coordination skills. Alex ends up steadying me by holding my arm. His hand feels warm and firm on mine, and the contact sends a tingling sensation across my body. I can’t pull my arm out of his without diving headfirst, but as soon as I’m steady, I take a step back to regain my equilibrium because my internal organs have turned into jelly cubes. I’m not sure whether it’s the prospect of beingtrampled by ravenous goats or Alex’s hand on me that makes me lose my composure.

I check the watch on my free wrist and then tug at my shirt. I’m about to retie my hair, but a clearing of a throat stops me in my tracks. When I can’t use any more delay tactics because I’ve been caught red-handed, I steady myself and shake the bucket, the contents rattling ominously. I embrace the incoming death.

A few goats lift their heads, their bulgy eyes growing big with frenzy as they register the bucket full of goodies. Excitement is palpable in the air, my knuckles stiff around the handle.

‘This is like a start to most horror movies,’ I mumble, and somebody barks behind me, snapping the tension in half.

‘How many horrors with goats as the main villain have you seen?’ Alex is sceptical.

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