Free Vintage by Olivia Darling

stared out of the car window in horror. If Mr. Harper feared for his Audi, Kelly feared for her boots.
    A large puddle loomed across the track ahead of them. It was as wide as the child’s paddling pool in the park nearKelly’s house and the muddy water made it impossible to tell how deep it was.
    “I guess we’ll just have to chance it,” said Mr. Harper, manfully.
    It was a bad mistake. The Audi got just halfway across the mini-lake before it was stuck. The channels were too deep, impossible to navigate in anything less than a Land Rover. Mr. Harper revved the engine but the car was going nowhere. Not forwards; not backwards. Just nowhere.
    “I’ll have to get out and push,” he said. “You steer.”
    “You are fucking kidding me,” said Kelly.
    “I’ll steer if you push?” Mr. Harper attempted a joke that failed to elicit a smile from either of them.
    “Fuck off.”
    Mr. Harper opened the car door and looked at the puddle that swirled around the car as dark as chocolate milk. Wisely, he took off his shoes and rolled up his trousers before getting out. Kelly moved across into the driver’s seat.
    It was hopeless. After three more minutes of wheel-spinning, Mr. Harper reappeared from behind the car. He was absolutely drenched from the water that the tires had kicked up. He opened the driver’s door and leaned inside.
    “I don’t seem to be making much progress,” he admitted. “Perhaps if we push together?”
    Kelly stared at him in horror. “I’m not getting out of here,” she said. “Send someone to fetch me.”
    Mr. Harper nodded with resignation. He got out his mobile to call the farmhouse. There was no signal.
    “What now?” Kelly asked him, her voice getting shrill with panic.
    “Just stay here,” said Mr. Harper bravely. “I’ll walk down there. It can’t be far.”
    “It better not be. I’m cold and hungry.”
    “And I’m soaking wet,” said Mr. Harper. He waded to the other side of the puddle, put on his shoes and followed the path until he was out of sight.
    “Great.”
    Kelly remained frozen behind the steering wheel, staring in the direction Mr. Harper had disappeared. Forgetting his experience, she pulled her mobile out of her handbag. She could at least call one of her mates and moan until she was out of this hellhole. But her phone could find no signal either.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she swore at the screen. “For fuck’s sake! I didn’t even want to be here. I just want to go home!”
    Then all was quiet again. Nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the wheat in the fields on either side. Nothing at all. Until a frog jumped from the puddle through the open driver’s door and straight into her lap.
    It was more than three quarters of an hour before Mr. Harper returned. By that time, Kelly had almost given up hope. As it was, she had completely lost the will to be polite or friendly to her father’s solicitor and the man who made up the rescue party in the Land Rover.
    “Hilarian Jackson,” said the man, extending his hand. Kelly could tell at once that he was posh. He was properly equipped with Wellington boots and had the red face of a bon viveur. “I’m representing the trustees today,” he explained to Kelly. “Piggyback?”
    “Anything. Just get me out of here. A frog left slime on my skirt.”
    Hilarian just laughed. “They don’t call this Froggy Bottom for nothing. Let’s get you in my car.” He hauled her out of there and gave her a fireman’s lift.
    The view from that final bit of road was breathtaking,but Kelly didn’t notice. She was almost crying as the Land Rover crested the last hill that hid the vale of Froggy Bottom. She didn’t see the chalk cliffs stretching into the distance or notice the seabirds wheeling overhead, brilliant bright white flashes of flight against the blackening clouds. She certainly didn’t notice the neatly planted vines, marching up the south-facing slopes like regiments of thin, green soldiers.
    All