Page 48 of Love ad Lib
He glanced to the right. ‘Sorry, I forgot to mention we were going to pass it.’
‘Wow. It’s real.’
He laughed. ‘It is.’
‘Can we visit on the way home? If there’s time?’
Henry looked happy. ‘Yes, of course.’
Libby smiled back. Leaving London behind she was beginning to feel more like herself. This job may be slightly terrifying, but it was also exciting. Everything was going to be fine.
Until it wasn’t.
The nerves started to bite as soon as they turned off the A36 and the roads became narrower.
Within ten minutes they’d crawled to a stop behind a slow-moving wall of Friesian heifers. As the first waves ofEau de Countrysideassaulted her olfactory nerves, Libby grabbed Henry’s handkerchief and held it to her nose.
‘Er, sorry, hang on,’ he said, tapping the aircon’s recirculate button on the dashboard.
The action didn’t seem to make any difference to the overwhelming stench.
One of the farmers, dressed in dirty blue overalls and shit-stained wellington boots did a double-take when he saw them and strode forward. Henry wound the window down.
‘Henry! How be on, young ’un?’
The man appeared to be in his sixties, with ruddy cheeks and grey hair sticking straight up. Under his overalls he wore a red t-shirt consisting of more holes than fabric.
He leant down and shook Henry’s hand, then peered in at Libby. She brought the handkerchief away from her face. The smell was unreal.
‘Eh up, and who’s this lovely young lady then?’
Henry cleared his throat. ‘This is my girlfriend, Libby,’ he said confidently. ‘Libby, meet Richard Rogers, one of the farmers in the area.’
She smiled and waved, trying to breathe as little air as possible.
‘Well, well, well, three holes in the ground.’ Richard shook his head. ‘You staying long?’
‘Until Tuesday,’ Henry replied.
Up ahead, the cows were squelching their way into a field.
‘Right you are then.’ Richard glanced across at her. ‘First time meeting the family?’
She nodded.
He let out a bellow of laughter. ‘Good luck.’ He patted the side of their car then jogged down the road after the cows, giving Henry and Libby a wave as they drove slowly past.
Henry pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck. ‘They’re not that bad, I promise.’
‘The cows or your family?’ she joked weakly.
He shrugged in response.
There was nothing he could do or say now to calm the butterflies in Libby’s stomach. The flapping of their wings increased to a frantic thrum when they drove through the centre of Foxbrooke. The high street was old and chocolate-box quaint, built from Cotswold stone. There were no chain shops or coffee houses. It was so different from London.
‘We have a Costa Coffee in the Precinct centre, which is behind the high street,’ Henry said, as if reading her mind. ‘And a small Co-Op. But if you want a larger supermarket, you have to head to Bath or south towards Midsomer Norton and Paulton.’
He turned right down a narrow street lined with small cottages on either side.
