Zara Stoneley - Summer with the Country Village Vet

‘Of course not.’ Mrs Potts looked at her as though she was a simpleton. ‘The fox will get them, won’t it?’ She made a cut throat gesture that looked slightly sinister, as she headed back across the playground and Lucy scurried after her.

‘It will?’ The sense that she’d entered some kind of tranquil backwater where life was idyllic started to disperse.

The drive up the M6 motorway had left her frustrated and tense (sure that she would be late, and she was never late), and then she’d lost her way twice which had left her with sweating palms and the start of a headache, but the moment she’d entered the village the stress had started to ebb away and as her shoulders had relaxed she’d eased back on the accelerator and started to appreciate the pretty flower strewn hedgerows.

By the time she’d reached the well-kept village green with its swathes of bright dancing daffodils the pounding in her temples had stopped. Momentarily.

Until she’d taken an unwanted tumble back to her childhood, before being unceremoniously tossed to the curb by a very big man. With a firm grip, tousled hair and gorgeous eyes. Oh hell, now all she needed was for him to be one of the parents and word would soon get round that she was up for a grope with any passing strangers. Not that she’d actually kissed him. Luckily. But she had rubbed herself against him. And wriggled against his crotch.

What the hell was she was letting herself in for?

‘It certainly will. Foxes can be relied on.’ They ground to a halt, and Lucy nearly cannoned into her. ‘Believe me, the children only make that mistake once. And we have the vegetable patch of course.’ Mrs Potts was on the move again. Of course. At Lucy’s previous school they’d settled for egg shell men with cress hair, and a sunflower growing competition. And her sweet peas. Something caught in her throat at the thought of the seeds in their packets waiting to delight her class who had very little colour in their lives – apart from Pokemon and Marvel heroes.

‘Picking their own beans is far more rewarding than a gold star on a chart, and if the slugs or rabbits eat their lettuces well there’s a lesson or two to be learned, isn’t there? Oh now would you look at the time! Come on, chop, chop, we’ve got a lot to fit in today.’

It was no wonder the staff were happy to be treated to an extra portion of biscuits, working here would burn more calories than a double dose of Zumba followed by a Spin class.

‘We don’t normally take on temporary staff, but we’re in rather a difficult situation, and you do seem ideal for the job. We need somebody who will fit in, and I’m sure I speak for everybody else when I say I think you’ll slot right into life at Langtry Meadows Primary School.’ Timothy Parry, the head teacher looked round the table for confirmation.

A bearded governor leant forward – his forearms on the desk and an earnest expression on his face – then suddenly smiled, showing a chipped tooth. ‘The children loved you. Always a good sign, that is.’

Lucy wasn’t sure ‘loved’ was the right word. Her second worst nightmare scenario (after being sacked) had to be a lesson where a child turned out his pocket to reveal an astoundingly large amount of soil and worms. The child in question, a chubby farmer’s son called Ted with bright blue eyes and a pudding-bowl haircut had then tried to present her with the longest worm he had, ‘to match her long hair.’ He’d stretched it out so that it dangled ever closer to her head. Assuring him that the other applicants would be devastated if she accepted, she’d persuaded him to deposit the wriggling but rapidly drying out creature into a jar, for release into the wild at break-time.

‘I’m Jim Stafford. I’ve seen more interviews than you’ve had hot dinners my dear, and I’m telling you, you’re spot on.’ The governor leaned forward even further and tapped the back of her hand, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial level. ‘Ted Wright’s father used to be the Head of Governors and he takes it very much to heart does our Edward if anybody upsets his little Teddy.’

Ahh, so that explained that one. Diplomatic relationships with parents was an essential part of the job that unfortunately had been barely touched on during her teacher training, and she’d had to learn fast.

Timothy coughed, politely regaining control. ‘Edward would normally be here himself, but I’m afraid he had other commitments.’

‘Sheep.’ Jim tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

‘Sheep?’

‘Lambing time love.’ He nodded wisely. ‘Busy time is spring.’

‘A masterstroke to slip in the animal welfare implications, as well as showing such equanimity to your fellow applicants.’ A thin, well-dressed woman with her hair scraped back into a severe bun chipped in, steering them back onto the matter at hand. Lucy had a vague idea that she’d been introduced as the former deputy-head, ‘ now retired, but very active in the community ’. ‘One of our interviewees abandoned his post after Daisy produced a frog from her pocket.’ There was a disapproving tut lurking just behind the thin lips. ‘What does he expect in the countryside? Honestly!’

The nearest to wildlife Lucy had seen in the classroom at her previous school had been head lice, at least frogs didn’t make her want to scratch her head in sympathy – which the sight of nits always had.

The interview with the school council, the pupils, had been the most astounding part of this whole process. At all her previous interviews, the children had asked well-thought out (and no doubt prompted) questions about positive reinforcement and community spirit – the children at this school had been more interested in her reaction to frogs, whether she agreed with Alice’s dad that ‘those buggers sat behind desks had no right to tell him when he could cut the sodding hedges’, and what she thought about the country pong in the air following the liberal slurry spraying over the weekend.

It had taken all of Lucy’s self-control to stay in her seat, and to resist putting a peg on her nose. She was not a country girl; she didn’t like mess, unpleasant smells, or any kind of large livestock in the immediate vicinity. She really had never ever considered when hedges were cut (but maybe the ‘buggers’ had the bird’s welfare at heart?) and she really did wonder what she was letting herself in for. But now that she’d got over the initial shock of being cast back to her childhood, and been able to rationalise that it wasn’t the same after all, she’d been able to admit to herself that the village was really the most gorgeous place. Ideal for a week’s chilling out kind of holiday, but what working here would be like could be a different matter altogether.

Except it was simple. She was saving her house, her future. She had to concentrate on that. This was a short term solution, for a few weeks cover. It would be good for her, help her lay some ghosts to rest, and then she was sure something more suitable would turn up. All would be well. She’d be back on track.

‘Oh no, what a shame.’ She dredged a weak smile up, thinking herself lucky that she’d only had to cope with worms, and tried to remember which one Daisy was.

‘That lass is just like her dad.’ Jim chuckled. ‘I remember when he brought his ferret in to school, took it out in the middle of the 11 plus exam. Teacher was as calm as you like, whisked it away and stuck it in a cardboard box. Shame of it was that the bugger had eaten his way out by the time we’d finished, whole school had to join in the search.’

Quoting health and safety rules probably wasn’t the right response. ‘Well children will be children.’ She crossed her fingers under the desk, hoping that if she got this job neither frog nor ferret would find its way into her classroom.