Free Appleby Farm by Cathy Bramley

determination. ‘It’s got a lovely view and we get to smell the apple blossom while we work.’
    At the edge of the orchard I flopped down on to the grass, exhausted. She was right; the white and pink apple blossom flowers had a lovely delicate scent. In front of us was Calf’s Close, the field where Uncle Arthur was currently weaving in and out of his herd with an attentive Ross at his side.
    ‘See,’ giggled Lizzie, collapsing beside me. ‘I told you the view was great.’
    The first job was the worst: scraping off several years’ worth of chicken poo. For the next half an hour we distracted ourselves with a game of ‘would you rather …’ in which we tested each other’s preferences for random things. We found to our delight that we shared a love for Harry Potter and cinnamon on cappuccino but clashed over Brussels sprouts (I could eat them by the plateful).
    ‘Sorry,’ Lizzie declared finally. She held up a hand and made a choking noise. ‘But I’m not choosing between gherkins and pickled onions. Neither should be fed to humans.’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Nor animals, come to that.’
    ‘Ha!’ I dropped my disinfectant spray on the floor and threw my arms round her neck. ‘You passed my friend test, Lizzie, because that one was a red herring. I’m with you there one hundred per cent. Ooh, you’re buzzing.’
    I stood back to let her retrieve her phone from her bra. ‘No pockets,’ she giggled, followed by a grimace, eye-roll and stab at the phone.
    ‘Victoria,’ she said, her face losing its customary warmth. ‘What do you want?’ This last uttered in a flat, un-Lizzie-like tone.
    I raised my eyebrows but she just frowned, so I left her to it and wandered back into the yard to wash my hands. Odd that she’d got mobile phone reception in the yard. Must remember that. I was just contemplating popping into the kitchen to stick the kettle on, when Eddy arrived in the yard on the tractor, pulling the fertilizing unit behind it.
    ‘Dinner time already?’ I called as Eddy got closer.
    ‘No, your uncle’s radioed me over,’ Eddy shouted above the fut-fut-fut of the tractor engine. ‘He’s here, look.’
    I turned to see Uncle Arthur and Ross, both of them with hands wedged in pockets, striding towards us.
    ‘Crofters Field was looking a bit churned up,’ said Eddy, jumping down off the tractor. ‘So I’ve moved the cows to Oak Field. That OK, Arthur?’
    ‘Ay.’ Uncle Arthur pushed up his cap and scratched his forehead. The stitches were starting to pull and it was driving him crazy. ‘Ground’s heavy up there after last week’s rain.’
    ‘What’s up, then?’ said Eddy. ‘I’ve only done half of one field.’
    ‘Come and take a look at this calf.’
    ‘Problem?’ I said, traipsing behind the men as we headed back to Calf’s Close.
    ‘One of the calves isn’t doing too well,’ said Uncle Arthur. ‘Her ears are back and judging by the mother’s full udders, she’s not feeding.’
    ‘I spotted it,’ added Ross proudly.
    ‘Well, that has ruined my day,’ Lizzie said with a scowl as she fell into step beside me. ‘Ruined it. Where we going, by the way?’
    ‘Calf’s Close to see a poorly cow,’ I said, linking my arm through hers. ‘What has ruined your day and who’s Victoria?’
    ‘My older sister. She’s only sodding-well moving back to The Lakes from Liverpool. I thought I’d got rid of her once she got a job on Liver FM. Honestly,’ Lizzie huffed, ‘she’s got a mean streak longer than Lake Windermere, that one. If she was here now, she’d try to steal you off me.’
    I felt a rush of warmth for my lovely new friend and her unexpected insecurity. ‘She wouldn’t, would she?’
    She widened her eyes. ‘Yep.’
And him
, she mouthed, nodding at Ross. ‘Even if she didn’t fancy him herself, she’d flirt with him just to scupper my chances.’
    ‘Is this the one with a pony called Star?’
    Lizzie’s face softened. ‘No, that’s Poppy. She’s