Page 31 of The Perfect Blend
“She certainly did. I loved them too!” I said. “Yours of course come a close second, but please don't tell the other ladies that!”
Sheila's eyes twinkled, and she hefted some flowers onto her hip so she could tap her nose conspiratorially.
“You’ve got excellent taste, my dear. Your secret’s safe with me. You know we’ve got room on the rota if you wanted a shot at it yourself.”
I let out a short laugh, “I’d have to hire the village florist - I’m ashamed to say I have none of Mum’s skill.”
“That's alright, dear. You’re more like her in other ways. Let me know if you hear of someone for the rota. Or if you fancy popping down to join us at the WI meetings one of these weeks,” she said.
As much as I loved the group of ladies my mother had been friends with as part of the Women’s Institute, I didn’t think it was for me just yet. The WI may well be the backbone of many a rural community, but the reputation for older ladies with a passion for crafts, jams and community events wasn’t far off the mark. If I went, I would definitely be the youngest there. And though this might not be the case everywhere, the Church, the WI and the Mothers Union women were one and the same, the beating heart of our little Village, and I wasn’t quite ready for the fearsome politics of the church flower rota. Never say never, but not just yet.
“Maybe in the future Sheila, you’ll be the first to know if I plan on attending,” I said truthfully.
“Right you are, petal,” she said with a cheery smile. “See you now!”
“See you!”
I’d moved past her and was a few steps ahead before she called back to me.
“Oh, Robin!”
I turned back around to face her.
“Yes?”
“I do hope that nice young Mr Spencer is taking good care of you, dear,” Sheila said with an all too knowing look in her eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs Jones,” I said. I should have known she’d never be able to leave it alone. She was like a dog with a bone when it came to gossip.
She gave me another hefty wink, the weight of which I thought she physically wobbled under, before turning around to go into the church.
I rolled my eyes to the heavens and set back off down the cobbled path to my car, Beanie by my heel.
In the field next to the graveyard, a herd of sheep were grazing peacefully. Beanie watched them as she walked.
“Don’t even think of it,” I warned her. She looked up at me with baleful eyes.
“Oh yes, I mean it.” Beanie dutifully looked away, avoiding looking at both the sheep and at me. I’d been quite firm with her around sheep ever since that first run in with Zach.
As the path wound towards the road, it came closer to the field. The sheep looked up through a gap in the wall where the farmer had patched it with a wire fence. They bleated.
Beanie took a jump toward them.
“Beanie!” I chastised. “Heel!”
But the jump had scared the sheep and they took off at a dead run away from the fence.
My heart dropped as Beanie started to give chase.
“Beanie! No! Come back!” I shouted, but all sense had left her. Her head was in the chase and she paid no heed to me. Furious and panicked I kept shouting for her to come back as I dashed after her, but in no time she had jumped over the wall into the field and was off after the sheep. My two legs, more used to walking than running, were no match for her furry four.
I prayed heartily that she didn’t scare any of them to death as I swore and puffed my way over the wall Beanie had hurdled. I finally made it over the wall into the field and ran, still shouting, ungainly over the uneven ground.
“Beanie!” I screamed, as she raced ahead of me, leaving me further and further behind. In minutes she was gone and I was left shouting hoarsely after her, furious and feeling stupid. Beanie was so good the rest of the time, I felt like a terrible dog owner for having left her off lead when I knew there were sheep about. Sure, they were in the next field but this was the last time I’d have her off lead within a square mile of any sheep. If I so much as heard a single baa, I would have Beanie clipped onto the lead before she could so much as think about the fluffy things.
All these furious thoughts flew through my head as I ran through the field after her, and then clambered over the next wall and raced through that field as well. Eventually I had to slow down to a brisk walk, with a stitch burning up my side. My voice grew more and more hoarse and my thoughts changed from fury to worry. Where could she possibly have run off to?
An hour later and I’d searched and re-searched all the adjoining fields. Had she been dog napped? The sheep were still here but where was my dog? Why wasn’t Beanie coming back when I called for her?
