Evie Wyld - All the Birds, Singing

Lloyd was bent over, cupping his nose in his hand. He checked for blood and there must have been some because then he threw his crook away from him and stamped his foot like a toddler. I let Dog in and gave him a biscuit.

When Lloyd came in he had his scarf wrapped around his face and neither of us mentioned it. He glanced at Dog and Dog pretended not to see him.

‘I’m going to check on the sheep,’ I said, looking at the space near his head.

‘Great,’ he said, maybe a bit too brightly, ‘I’ll come too.’

‘I did warn you, and to be fair, so did Dog.’

Lloyd poured himself some coffee. He took his scarf off to drink.

‘It was more of a head-butt than a bite,’ he said.

I nodded, taking in his red nose. ‘He must like you.’

Lloyd squinted at me like he was trying to work out if I was taking the piss, and I tried to look serious.

On our way out the door, Dog caught a mouse and tossed it about while it squeaked, keeping it alive for too long. Eventually though, he crunched it up. Lloyd avoided looking at him.

‘Sometimes I don’t know you at all,’ I said to Dog, but he wasn’t bothered.

We walked in silence up the steep way to the top field. Lloyd wheezed behind me. When I looked there was a soft frown on his face and he leant heavily on his stick. I stopped and pretended to check the fence. Lloyd panted.

‘What are those for?’ he asked, pointing at some dried moles that hung from the fence. Don’s work.

‘Telling the time,’ I said.

‘Really?’ He bent down and squinted at the closest mole, as flat and dry as the sole of a shoe. ‘Is it like a sundial?’

I looked at him to see if he was joking. He switched eyes.

‘They make the ground lumpy,’ I said, but he either misunderstood or didn’t understand anything at all because he continued to squint at the mole from different angles. We moved on up the hill towards the top field, and I picked an old sloe and handed it to Lloyd.

‘You can eat these,’ I said, and he bit into it.

‘Fuck,’ he said, and spat it out.

I laughed. ‘Have you not seen Crocodile Dundee ?’

Lloyd wiped his mouth over and over on the back of his hand.

‘Stop picking on me,’ he said.

At the top of the hill, I shook a can of feed and watched the faces bob up and scrutinise me. A few of the greedier and more pregnant ewes started forward, their bellies swaying like hammocks.

‘I need to move some of them into the shed,’ I said. ‘Could use your help.’ Usually one or two went their own way when I tried mustering them down to the pens, and it took a while on my own to get them back.

Lloyd looked steadily at the sheep approaching and said nothing. He looked like he was thinking about running away. I tied Dog to the fence so he wouldn’t interfere.

‘You stand there,’ I said, pointing to a spot just beyond the gate, ‘and stop them from escaping.’ I opened the gate to the top field. ‘Wave your hands about if they run for you. Shout at them. That sort of thing.’

‘What do I shout?’

I looked at him.

‘Whatever you like.’

I rattled the shaker again and a few more lifted their heads up and stared. Some began bustling down towards us, others followed.

‘Here sheep sheep sheep,’ I called.

As they got closer, I backed away, so that they would follow me into the other field. The first fifteen or so were in the bottom field, and then a Blueface with twins inside her gave the eye to Lloyd. He saw her coming and sent his legs wide apart and waved his arms about. The sheep kept on going, and Lloyd yelled, ‘Fuck you!’ at the sheep, which peeled off away from him and back down the hill. Dog whipped around on the end of his rope like a pike eel.

I closed the gate and gave them what was in the shaker.

Lloyd untied Dog, who peed angrily against the gate post then patrolled up and down, his hair raised. Lloyd leant heavily on the fence.

‘You okay?’ I asked and he straightened up. I tried not to smile.

‘It was all I could think to shout.’

I shrugged. ‘Worked.’

Lloyd wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes brightened.

‘Quite invigorating really,’ he said.

I walked up to the hawthorn stile and looked back down on the house. Over on Don’s side of the hill I could see the yellow glow of his electric lights — every window lit, even in daylight, like he was trying to burn off the fog with them. On the border of his property, I saw the vixen again, dragging with her a large bird, a pheasant maybe, I was too far away to tell. She pranced, holding her kill high, weaving and bouncing. I glanced at Dog but he had his nose to the ground smelling out the things that had been there in the dark. If her cubs had made it, they’d be getting bigger soon, hungrier, and the lambs were coming. I watched her disappear into the woods, and heard on the air the far-away tinkle of Don’s digital radio, which played tinny pop music. I patted the pocket with the fox bait in.

‘Hey.’ A girl was sitting on the stile, smoking. ‘You’re the woman in Samson’s old house.’

‘Who are you?’ I said, suddenly aware that I may have been talking out loud to myself.

The girl blew out a waterfall of smoke which played over her face. It must’ve stung her eyes but she showed no sign of that.

‘I’m Marcie. I went to the same school as him. I know you from the shop.’

‘Oh.’ She looked different out of her thick green tracksuit. She wore a full face of make-up and her hair was dirty blonde, straight and still.

Marcie narrowed her eyes at me. ‘This is public property, you can’t do anything about me being here.’ She squinted at me.

‘No. Would be good if you took your rubbish with you though.’ She didn’t react, apart from to take an open can of drink from the pocket of her overcoat. She drank it looking me in the eye, like she was waiting for me to be shocked.

‘What are you doing anyway?’ she asked, putting her can carefully back in her pocket.

‘I’m laying fox bait,’ I said, to have something definite and grown-up to offer her.

‘Isn’t that against the law?’

‘That’s fox hunting.’

‘Same difference.’

‘Not how most people see it.’

She lifted herself off the stile and came and stood next to me. Dog presented his nose to her and she touched it.

‘Your dog’s pretty wild-looking.’

‘He’s okay.’

‘What’s his name?’

I toyed with making one up to avoid the questions, but couldn’t think of a name that would be convincing.

‘Dog.’

Marcie shrugged off this information.

‘So what’ve you got against the foxes?’

‘It’s lambing season. You’d know that, being from around here?’

She hissed breath through her teeth. ‘I keep out of it. As soon as I can I’m away from here anyway.’ She drew her hair back from her head into a high ponytail and held it there. ‘I want to be in London. Or Sheffield.’

‘Cities can be crappy places too,’ I said.

She shrugged and let her hair drop back down to her shoulders. ‘At least they’re not boring.’

‘I suppose.’

‘So they eat the lambs?’

‘What?’

‘The foxes?’

‘Yes. I’ve seen you before.’

Marcie’s face showed no surprise or intrigue. ‘I told you — I know you from the shop. Anyway, everyone here has seen everyone before.’

‘Out on the Military Road. I’ve seen you there before. Your friend showed me his arse.’

‘He shows everyone.’

‘It wasn’t very nice.’

‘Take it up with him,’ she said and got her cigarettes out of her pocket. She shook two out. ‘Smoke?’

I looked at her for a moment. ‘Thanks.’ I don’t know if she expected me to take one, but again, there was no reaction. She held a lighter out to me and I made a shield with my hands to light up then handed it back.