Page 41 of The Wedding Game

‘Every night?’

‘Mostly,’ he confirms.

‘Oh. Well, you do that and I’ll pretend to be a farmer’s wife for a bit.’

‘A farmer’s wife?’ he asks with a knowing smile. ‘Soundsgood,’ he says. ‘I think I’m running out of food, though. Might be cheese on toast at this rate.’

‘When do you shop, if you work all the time?’

‘Usually on Sundays, but I’ve been enjoying myself with you too much to ruin it by suggesting a trip to the supermarket.’

‘Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll go for you tomorrow while you’re at work, if you like?’ I suggest.

‘Really?’

‘Only if it’s walkable, though. I can’t drive.’

‘You can’t drive?’ he questions, shock passing over his face.

‘I live in London. I’ve never needed to drive.’

‘Right,’ he replies, thinking about this. ‘Have you always lived in London?’

‘No. I’m from Hertford, but I went to university in London and then stayed there. I never took driving lessons; they were too expensive for a poor student like me.’

‘I guess everything’s different in the country. I learned to drive as soon as possible. Dad let me drive him around the farm in his four-by-four and I learned to reverse-park in between farm machinery.’

The calf doesn’t return, so Josh pulls some apple slices out of a little bag from his pocket and tells me to coax the cows over with them. ‘Healthy snack,’ he says, and the slices disappear out of my hands and into their soft mouths, one by one.

‘So if you can’t drive,’ he says, ‘I guess that only leaves the farm shop up the road. It’s just before you get to the village. We need some top-up supplies. My mum’s old bike is in one of the outhouses. It’s got a big basket on the front. I’ll give it a check-over and you could take that? Have a cycle around the countryside for a bit, if you want, first? Go sightseeing?’

‘OK,’ I smile. ‘Leave the shopping to me,’ I instruct. And then I remember that I’m broke. ‘How much do you think it might …’ I start.

But Josh remembers too. ‘I’ll give you my credit card. You can tap it.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, feeling embarrassed.

Later, in bed, Josh slumbers peacefully – the sleep of a hard-working farmer who’s been up since 5.30 a.m. I’m restless,unable to drift off. I think it’s because I’ve not had enough exercise today. I’m not a gym bunny, but I usually leave the flat every day and speed-walk (because I’m late and get my 10,000 steps in super-fast) to whichever job I’m at. And at weekends, when funds allow, I’ll meet friends for lunch or pop down the road for coffee and a croissant. Today I’ve been down to the cow shed and back. And that’s it.

I can’t wait to get out tomorrow, ride Josh’s mum’s bike and shop for food. Somehow this mundane-sounding activity feels exciting. I’ve never been to a farm shop before. As I’m mentally planning myI’m-going-to-a-farm-shop-on-a-bikeoutfit I wonder how many days’ worth of food I should buy, and how much I can bring back on a bike. I curl into Josh as he sleeps, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. He sighs and turns into me, which feels so comforting. But for reasons I can’t fathom, I still can’t fall asleep.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

After a week, Scarlet is bemoaning the fact I’m not coming home.It’s only been a week. Chill out. I’ll come back soon, I promise.

I will. I can’t stay here for ever. As much as I’d love to. The job hunt continues. Scarlet and I send messages back and forth, but her job is busy and she’s filling her evenings by watching all the stuff she series-links on our TV catch-up, which I’m just not that into. She says my prolonged stay elsewhere feels like a mini-divorce. Although she knows I’ll be back at some point and I indicated as much to Josh, he seemed up for me staying another week. I think that’s probably enough time together, so that we don’t overdo things. In the meantime, Scarlet’s whizzing through all those cop dramas I can’t stand as quickly as possible.

It’s a shame TV doesn’t have a x2 speed option, the way audiobooks do,she laments one evening as I’m cooking potatoes dauphinoise and chicken Kiev for me and Josh.

I realise, in hindsight, this dinner is going to be garlicky, but it’s too late now. I’m learning how to play at being a farmer’s wife, even if I’m not one. I’m enjoying it. It’s novel. It’s nice not to be temping, and I’ve decided not to think about how broke I am. Not this week. I’m on a sort of holiday.

I glance at the phone as Scarlet’s next message lands. I’ll reply later, when I’m not willing 500ml of cream to simmer, but not burn. I’ve learned how to find my way around this Aga and I’m secretly very proud. It’s a genius contraption. I might suggest to Scarlet that we get one, although I think the weight of this in our first-floor flat might kill the tenants below, if it ever plummets through the floor. Also, the expense of the thing. I’ve googled.

It turns out Scarlet can’t wait for a response, as my phone rings. Josh looks up from a copy ofFarmers Weeklyas I swipe to answer.

‘Are you still alive?’ she asks, ‘because you didn’t acknowledge the genius of my two-speed comment.’

‘I’m acknowledging the genius now,’ I tell her with mock-seriousness. ‘Although I know you can increase the speed on YouTube videos, if that’s any use to you?’

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