Saturday morning, and a low lying mist was obliterating the view of the lower valley. Only the taller leafless trees and hilltops, poked through the fog. A bleary, red Autumn sun lit the landscape a beautiful pale pink, it looked like a Disney land scene. Mike and Jan both spent a lot of time watching the skies. It was still a revelation to see so much of it, and the huge variety of cloud shapes and colours. And they would often call each other to come out side to see a particularly spectacular combination.
‘Time to get up, son,’ Mike shouted up the stairs, ‘I’ve had my breakfast already - and checked the animals.’
‘Coming Dad,’ David rattled down the uncarpeted old stairs and rushed into the kitchen.’
‘Good boy, have your breakfast and we’ll be off.’
‘I’ve got fifty pence to spend, Dad.’
‘Ten shillings,’ Mike said, converting to comforting ‘real’ money, ‘cor, if we had ten bob at your age we could have bought the whole of Woolworths.’
‘Don’t exaggerate Mike,’ Jan laughed, ‘only half of it.’
‘Two and sixpence would have been a fortune,’ Mike continued.
‘You sound like an old man,’ Jan grinned, ‘going on about the ‘old days.’
Mike too laughed at the silliness of it all.
‘Righto sunshine, ready?’
‘Yes dad, bye mum.’
It was about half past eleven when Mike and David drove back into the yard. Mike turned off the engine and stared ahead. David too was somewhat dumbstruck.
‘What the hell is going on?’
‘It’s those funny Welsh ladies again, dad.’
The Three Bears had returned. Not that Mike had seen them before, but they were easily recognised from Jan’s description. However, this time they were not in their Sunday best, but dressed for a killing spree. Each of them were wearing workaday clothes and had, tied around their waist with baling twine, crude aprons consisting of a Hessian sack, bearing the logo ‘Best British Potatoes.’ And of course their Wellingtons. Middle bear, Ann, and Little bear were sitting on old wooden packing boxes taken from the barn, and were de- feathering decidedly dead and bedraggled hens. As they worked, the heap of feathers around their legs grew ever deeper. Occasionally the breeze would chase the tiniest finest feathers around the yard and then waft them high into the air. They were chatting in their Mother tongue and occasionally screeched with raucous laughter. Then, from inside the barn where the fowls had been penned, Big Bear appeared holding a squawking hen by it’s legs. Striding across to the seated workers, she held the critter by its neck and gave a swift pull. The squawking stopped abruptly, and Big Bear took up her place besides the others and began adding to the pile of feathers. Mike had never seen anything like it. Certainly he had never killed anything larger than a garden slug. He had been so mesmerized by scene; he hadn’t thought that the killing might upset David. However he was unconcerned and engrossed in the comic he’d bought in town.
‘Right, son, we better go in and see your mum and find out what’s going on.’
The women had given Mike the slightest of glances when the van came into the yard. Now as he and David got out, there was even less interest. They gave a brief nod as he passed and continued with their chatter.
In the house another surprise awaiting him. Jan was at the large kitchen table with her hand deep inside a naked hen. A bucket on the floor contained much pink and bloody bits and pieces of hen innards.
‘My God Jan what’s all this about?’
‘I know, I know, it’s not my idea. I just mentioned the hen business to Ann the other evening at the W.I, and then this morning she and her pals turn up to do ‘the business’ as she said. To be fair they’re only trying to help us out –I think they enjoy showing us townies the ropes.’
‘But what the hell are you doing with all this chicken meat?’
‘Well - they say the best thing to do with old hens is to make them into chicken pies.
‘Blimey, we’ll be eating pies for ever.’
‘Ann says only about ten of them will be any good the others will be too old or skinny and she said to chuck them on the muck heap – or bury them.’
‘We haven’t got a muck heap – yet, so I’ll have to dig a hole somewhere. Anyway, how did you know how to clean them?’
‘I didn’t did I, they showed me how to do it – not a nice job but lots of cheap pies,saves us money. The trouble is, our freezer is still stuck in the barn – we haven’t used it since we’ve been here. Well, there’s no room in here anyway. Do you think you could rig something up to get electric to the barn and start it up?’
Mike gave a huge sigh, he hadn’t had his elevenses yet and he needed his caffeine boost.
‘I suppose so – no peace for the wicked. We could do with electric over there anyway. I’ll see what I can do for now, though it’s a pity I didn’t know about it before. I could have bought some proper power cable in town.’
‘Yeah, I know love, sorry, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ Jan said sympathetically, and dropped another handful of slippery innards into the bucket.
Mike stood purposefully back out into the yard, however the testing of his commitment to country living wasn’t over.
‘You come to help, have you? Have a go at this.’ He wasn’t given any chance to answer as Big Bear handed him a flapping screeching bird.
‘Hold it tight – that’s it - by the legs. Your other hand here behind the head – see?’ Her large, work reddened hands dwarfed Mikes, but he did as was told. And under the warm feathers his hand felt sinews and bone parting and the bird was silent. There were murmurings of approval from the women.
‘Fair do’s, that was the old cockerel – not easy that one. See, you’re a farmer now.’ The three women tittered and continued with their task, and Mike walked away towards the barn with an unseemly degree of satisfaction.
‘Bloody hell, what a day.’ Mike poked the fire sending sparks streaming up the chimney. The comedy programme ‘Bless this House’ was on the television but they weren’t really watching and only occasionally glanced at the screen.
Jan gave a weary sigh, ‘I’ve seen enough chickens to last a lifetime. And now I’ve got to start making pies - when I get a cooker of some sort.’
‘I haven’t forgotten, at least the freezer seems to be working okay. But I must get some proper cable and do the job properly.’
‘Mmm,’ Jan said absent-mindedly, ‘even the kids went off to sleep early.’
‘Not surprised really, they haven’t stopped messing about outside all day, building yet another den and whatnot. They had a great time.’
‘Put the telly off, lets get some rest, shall we love?’
‘Yeah, better head for bed I suppose. I’ve lots to do tomorrow.’ Mike yawned, got up, crossed to the fire and knocked the log remains to a safe position.
‘Me too, mum and dad will be here soon and we still haven’t got that room ready – and get a cooker sorted,’ Jan sighed with the stress of worrying about her outstanding work load.
‘I’ll give you a hand with the spare room; we’ll soon get it ready. After all, we’ve still got two weeks to do it.’
Jan too yawned, and rose from her chair, ‘yeah, okay, Darl, oh, I’m shattered, lets get some sleep.’
‘Come on then, it’s eleven, time for bed.’
Across the valley, the old antique wall in the lounge clock struck eleven. Chris was alone. With her two offspring in bed and Keith away until morning, she was feeling very isolated and lonely, but not particularly missing Keith. Perhaps boredom would have better described her mood because although she liked the farming life well enough, she still longed for the nearness of a big town and having lots of people around her. With the evening dishes washed and put away she was sitting at the kitchen table drinking – and smoking. She had found a nearly full bottle of wine that Keith had started, and was supping with relish. Chris gave a big sigh, stubbed out her cigarette and got up from her chair; carefully burying the fag remains in the kitchen waste bin. Keith believed that they had both had given it up some time ago, he had, but she was now a secret smoker. Picking up her glass and the wine bottle she moved into the comfort of the other room, but remembering to spray the kitchen with air freshener to kill the fag smoke before she left. The lounge as she called it, was, like Jan’s and Mikes sitting room-as they called it, a large room with low-beamed ceiling, and small deep-set windows.
She put a log on the enclosed modern wood burner fire, put on some of her favourite records, and slumped into her favourite chair. Pouring another glass of wine, she sat, staring at the glass fronted fire and the flaming logs.
Chris didn’t look at the world, and her place in it as Jan did. She was confident and happy with her body – well, apart from her ‘small’ breasts, but love and deep concern for others were not concepts Chris thought about. And debt never bothered her, Keith sorted all the money side of things. She was at the same time a somewhat disaffected, and yet, gregarious person. She could go through all the social and marital niceties as required but not be unduly affected by them. And she was clever at manipulating situations to suit her, and Janice was a blessing to her, someone to use, to enjoy and damn the consequences. In a way Jan was as detached from the ‘norm’ as Chris was, but Jan wanted, strove to be, a loving wife and mother whereas Chris didn’t. And Chris liked sex. She liked it very much. Men, women it didn’t matter, it was all sex all pleasure – and no guilt. And she had been with other men, before and since her marriage, not that Keith knew, but she had never been with a woman, but she had thought about it, often.
The room had now warmed, and she slipped off her cardigan, filled her glass again and stretched out her legs towards the fireplace. The wine was doing its work and her mind was letting go of the everyday farming and domestic matters. She was now missing Keith, not so much for his conversation, but for his body. She liked his masculinity, his hardness, and his degree of indifference towards her. The alcohol continued its relaxing effect, and through the haze Janice came into view. Although it was now a couple of weeks since the car event, she could clearly see and hear her now, gasping with excitement, her body trembling and twitching as she came. It had given Chris a satisfying feeling of power -and arousal, and she had gone home to Keith that night to with more than her usual eagerness for bed, for sex. Unusually, these memories were arousing her, yet she rarely indulged herself in this way preferring being intimate with actual people. To her, the actual interactions with others were the most important and exciting element, not the memory of it. But tonight, without hesitation, she lifted her skirt and slipped out of her knickers. She savoured the moment, running her fingers slowly through the triangle of curly light brown hair, eventually, touching, feeling between her thighs, letting out little sighs of pleasure as she fondled and probed. Her other hand was twisting and pulling vigorously on the nipple of her breast. As she touched and rubbed and fingered, she missed being filled with the hardness she liked. With lustful ingenuity she poured out the last of the wine - the cold hardness of the bottle neck enhancing the sensation, the pleasure…
Outside, the figure moved closer to the window with it’s open curtains