Isla’s Summer

This is my entry for the 2021 summer contest.

This is unlike any of my other stories, as it is a straight romance.

It is a very long, slow burn love story, in fact, the longest story I’ve ever written and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

Please be tolerant with me about any mistakes. The story’s length is too great to ask any of my usual beta readers or even voluntary editors to endure, when they all have their own projects.

If the conversation seems a little staccato to begin with, it’s because I am trying to reflect character’s early attempts at British Sign Language.

Again, if you can bear with me, as I know I’ve not followed BSL exactly grammatically, in order to help most readers.

If this doesn’t suit you, then please, read my other stories or other contestant’s stories.

~~~***~~~

Sat at my favourite spot on the grass, I enjoyed watching ducks silently diving and fighting for scraps, sending expanding ripples across the large pond in front of me. The trees that surround the pond waved silently in the breeze, allowing the late spring sun to stream through the leaves above, warming me.

Summer was knocking on the closing door of spring. Wildflowers and weeds had blossomed, speckling colour in the greenery skirting around the pond. Bushes surrounding the pond hung under the weight of their spring growth spurt, with some or their branches dipping into it. The wheat field surrounding the pond is lush green, with tall strands reaching for the sun.

Even before I could walk, I’d visited this pond with mum and dad, then as a little girl and now as a woman. Although I could only hear it for the first six years of my life, before I lost the last of my ability to hear its beauty. It has always been my sanctuary, my happy place. Somewhere I can relax and hide away from the outside world.

I still love to name the ducks, although I’ve gone through generations of Mrs Puddle-duck over the years of seeing mothers with their chicks. The pond has been my muse for my few novellas and my self-illustrated children’s books, giving me my favourite but the smallest of my three incomes. I was sitting thinking over some ideas for a new children’s book, whilst pondering on the year ahead.

I watched the latest Mrs Puddle-duck waddle around the pond feeding, hounded by several suitors, or maybe she already had a brood somewhere in the reeds and bushes at the edge of the pond. My mind drifted to the problem at hand. How could I get a tractor cute enough to appeal to children?

A stone flew across in front of me, making me jump in surprise, and struck the water in a small eruption, causing the ducks to scatter in fright. Shocked at this intrusion, I sharply followed the trajectory of the stone off to my right to see a man stood ten steps away, silhouetted by the sun behind him. The strong sunrays sting, forcing me to shield my eyes with a hand as I tried to focus on the dark stranger.

Surprised and a little frightened to have an interloper, a stranger, in my special place. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular physique, standing menacingly with hands-on-hips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As a slim, unathletic woman, I couldn’t offer any defence against him, should he have tried to overpower me.

No one has ever visited me here except for mum and dad. Dad has a lifelong agreement with the farmer, which allowed me free rein to visit the pond and spinney surrounding it. The pond isn’t visible from either the driveway to the farm, nor are there any paths or rights of way to give access. No one has chanced upon it in all my 28 years. Yet this stranger stood before me.

Panicking, I look over my left shoulder across the field and hedgerow, to home safety and any possible help. I could see mum oblivious, focusing on her book whilst sunbathing on the patio. I glanced back at the stranger, terrified; he would step forward, to catch me unawares.

He remained rooted to his original spot. Still unable to see his face or read any emotion with the sun directly behind him, but his shape continued to menace as he shuffled from one leg to the other.

The stranger seemed to realise my dilemma and stepped sideways into the shade of an adjacent beech tree, allowing me to drop my shielding hand and open my eyes.

The stranger lifted his hands off his hips and slowly signed, “Hello, me G. A. R. Y.”

This was a pleasant surprise for a stranger to sign off the bat. To spell out his name in full, bode well, but how could he know I was deaf?

No longer squinting against the sun’s glare, as my eyes adjusted I realised he was the eldest son of the farmer. I’d only ever glimpsed him at family gatherings, local fetes and fairs, but he’d been away from home for years.

Now able to read his face, he no longer looked threatening, carrying a smile with a kind, rugged face. His shuffling, reflecting nerves, not threatening at all. His handsome looks, strong muscular build and work overalls suggested he works on the farm but also epitomised any historic romance novel’s hero.

I sign in response, “Hi G. A. R. Y… Me I. S. L. A.”

After spelling my name in full, I repeat it showing him my sign name. I use the third finger of my right hand across my heart on my chest for the `I’, followed by the sign for an island.

Gary nodded. Although he already knew my name, he copied my signing. Although deep in thought with his eyes furrowed, he signed, “Island… Why?”

“I. S. L. A… Island in Spanish. My sign name. I, Island.”

He nodded and smiled wider as he understood and copied it with a nervous naivety, showing him to be new to signing. Normally, people only learn to sign after they’ve met me, not before. Either he’s picked it up on his travels or he’s learned to sign for me because I know no one in his family is deaf.

Gary signing, “Hi, I home from travel. I want meet you.”

He blushed and beads of sweat appeared on his brow, but it wasn’t that warm in the shade. Why would he still be nervous of me? He’s lost any boyish chubbiness from when I last saw him and is now a rugged, muscular, handsome man, slightly taller than I with short blond hair, carrying several days of rough, unkempt stubble.

His strong blue eyes bored into me as if wishing me to understand something he couldn’t say. He looked uncomfortable standing there, still dancing from one foot to the other. It was flattering to have a man visit, who seems to have learned to sign for me!

I sign, “G. Sit, okay?” And point to the grass near me.

He nodded, relieved to step closer and sit cross-legged, but still looked nervous.

Gary smiled apologetically and signed, “Sorry I throw stone. You no see me.”

I sign back, “Okay. No one has visited me here, ever. You surprised me.”

Panic span across Gary’s face and he waved his arms to stop me with frustration crossing his eyes.

I lip-read Gary saying, more to himself, “Shit, she signs so fast.”

Thankfully, with us both growing up in the same area, his accent is far easier to lipread than ninety percent of the people I met at university, where there was a multitude of national and international accents.

I realised that we’d reached his limit. He’s gone further than many who have tried. His signing still showed a beginner’s naivety and without expression or mouthing the words in support, but he showed great promise. I met him halfway, speaking as best I could and signing to help him relax.

“Gary, okay… I lip read… Hard to talk… But I’ll speak… And sign… Slow.”

Gary looked relieved as he listened patiently. Seeing him straining to hear every word in slow motion told me that my speech was worse than mum lets on, but then she was used to it.

Gary slowly spoke and signed, choosing his words carefully to match his known signs. “Thanks, it’s good if you sign and speak. I will try to copy you. Tell me if I’m bad?”

I nodded, impressed that anyone would take this trouble to learn to sign for me, even if he used the thumbs down sign for ‘bad’ but it was more important that I understood, than for it to be signed correctly.

Sure, at university, others signed, but that was because either their siblings were deaf or it was part of their course. That is how I met my best friend, Sarah. Her brother is deaf, so she could already sign, which brought us together.

Why had Gary come here? Was he here to ask me something? I’m an illustrator, caricaturist, artist, and author, being trained in law and journalism. What could a farmer possibly need to ask me?

I signed, “G. Why did you come here?”

Gary’s whole demeanour fell apart, his face filled with panic, embarrassment, and fear. His hands fell away, unable to translate his stammering speech. After a long, frightened pause, he stood up, looking as if he would take flight, but his hands searched deeply into pockets to pull out his smartphone.

He frowned with embarrassment. His fingers worked through screens, then his thumbs frantically typed. At each pause, I expected him to hand me his phone, but he would continue to type.

Eventually, he gingerly handed me the phone, as if it could explode at any minute. I reached out and turned the screen to see his text message.

Hi Isla.

Sorry, I’m crap at signing as I’ve only just started.

Growing up, I always saw you sat here at this pond.

Dad would never let me meet you. You and your pond were always out of bounds.

Later when I came home from university, I still saw you sitting at your pond.

But you were still out of bounds.

Then you went to university, and I missed seeing you.

I left to travel the world. No matter where I was in the world when I thought of home

I thought of you sitting here, by your pond.

When I returned, I didn’t feel I was home until I saw you sat here.

But now dad can’t stop me. So I’ve finally come to meet you.

I looked up over the top of screen to see Gary, with his huge frame, trying to curl up and disappear into a hole in embarrassment. He would now dwarf his father. A warm shiver ran through me. No man had ever said anything like that to me.

He’d missed seeing me sitting at my pond. Why would his father forbid him from meeting me? Gary, being older, was a few years above me at school. As captain of the rugby and cricket teams, he had a reputation of girls flocking to him. Has he secretly held a torch for me this long, or am I just forbidden fruit?

Sat there, he didn’t look like the womaniser I’d imagined. One thing was for sure, he was no Shakespeare, but that was the most awkward, romantic display I’ve ever received and my heart fluttered into beating furiously in my chest. What can I say to follow that?

Looking back at his phone, I copied and pasted his words to a text and sent it to my phone, saving my phone number under ‘Isla’ into his contacts. Now we had each other’s numbers.

Passed him back his phone, my smartwatch vibrated. I opened my bag and sought my phone out, opened his text and saved him to my contacts. I then forwarded him a link to my ‘speech to text’ app and sent it to him.

I looked up and watched his face change from pleased to a smug grin as his phone vibrated in his hand. He opened my text then beamed back at me to sign, “Thanks.”

Gary said, “I’ll download the app later?” I repeated it in sign language for him, as he nodded and copied my signing.

I signed and said, “Is this your lunch hour?”

Gary signed and said, “Lunch fifteen minutes. I work for my dad.”

He shrugged, giving a mock frown, then grinned, pleased to be confident enough to sign again.

I signed and mouthed, “But you’ve not eaten anything?”

“I start at five, so all gone!”

Gary said and tried to sign, “Sorry, I have to go… And drive my…” He fumbled, able to mimic driving, but not the last word. He got up, walked out into the sunshine to point behind the trees and said, “Tractor.”

I got up and walked to join him, my eyes following his guiding finger, to see a behemoth of a tractor parked inside the field’s gate. Before I could stop myself, I laughed aloud.

Mum tells me I laugh in a piglet like grunt, so I instinctively covered my mouth with my hand, trying to hide the sound. His eyes widened, and he smiled. Was he pleased he’d made me laugh?

I say and sign, “That’s not a tractor, that’s a house on wheels!” as I point at his tractor.

Gary laughed and said as he signed, “But it’s my house on wheels!” whilst pulling a hurt face.

I loved his humorous turnaround and before I realised it, I’d laughed again to see him smile in response. Does he like my laugh?

I signed, “I see you tomorrow, lunch?”

He smiled and nodded in excitement, signing back. “Tomorrow,” and waved goodbye.

He walked back to his house on wheels, with an awkward gait, walking around the crop, stumbling when he turned to look back at me, smiling, embarrassed as he stumbled onwards. He had a rugged, handsome exterior, but had given me a hint of a soft, shy interior.

Once back at his tractor, using his powerful arms and legs to climb up it. He almost floated up to his cab, high in the sky. He reversed out and then jump down to close the gate. Once back in his watchtower of a cab, he glanced back, giving me one last chance.

I signed. “I’ll bring you a sandwich tomorrow?”

He cocked his head to one side, unsure. I repeated the signing slower. He smiled but shook his head, not understanding. I broke it down to, “tomorrow, I bring you.” Then mimicked holding a sandwich in my hand and taking a bite out of it, causing him to laugh and nod. I rubbed my tummy, promising him it will be a good sandwich.

He laughed inside his cab and held up his two hands. His thumbs stretch out tips together, palms facing each other and fingertips together, making a triangular shape. I lip-read him, saying, “Cheese,” then break his triangle to sign, “Please.”

I showed him the correct signing of ‘cheese,’ which he copied with a grin. He turned in his seat and set off, bouncing down the lane in his tractor on its enormous wheels, desperate to achieve the thirty mph speed limit.

I stood there, heart fluttering, watching him disappear. I gulped in fresh air as I’d been holding my breath, like a young girl that had discovered the cool boys smoking behind the bike sheds. His text was wonderful, innocent and lovely. I reread it from my phone as my heart continued to thump in my chest.

I turned to sit back down and glanced back to home to see mum standing at the garden gate, looking surprised. She signed, “You okay? Barney said Gary was home.”

‘Barney’ to his friends, or Mr Barry Barnes is Gary’s dad. We use the sign of a barn for his name, as he doesn’t sign, he’ll never know.

“Yes, okay.” I signed back, trying not to grin and wave, like a smitten girl.

“Time for tea?” Mum pointed to the pond, indicating that she would come to me. She loves this pond as much as I do but realises I need some personal space, so leaves me to it more often than not.

The afternoon span by as mum and I chatted. I sketched various cartoons of tractors, trying to decide on what would look more child friendly. All options ended with either Gary in the driver’s seat or his face on the tractor.

Mum laughed at each one, immediately recognising his caricature, teasing me, as any good friend should when realising spring has sprung for me in more ways than one.

I tried faces on the grills, with lights as eyes, cabs with smiley faces. Regardless of combinations, Gary slipped into each doodle and remained at the forefront of my mind, each attempt causing little flutters in my heart. How could a short meeting cause such distractions?

The evening span by, until led in bed trying to sleep, wishing for morning to come. I couldn’t sleep with my anticipation keeping me awake. Above all, despite my hermit-like lifestyle, it was exciting to have a man appear in my life after all this time. Gary was handsome and a man of mystery, with so many unanswered questions over his approach today.

I’m not sure how long I tossed and turned, but eventually, morning came. My body and mind were reluctant to start the new day, regardless of last night’s excitement and anticipation. Lying in bed, I allowed my mind to run over everything I had considered last night once more until I motivated myself into getting up.

Working from home is a significant benefit for me. As per my normal routine, I drift from bedroom to kitchen, make some tea and toast, then crept to my home office (my brother’s old bedroom), without waking my parents. My first order of the day is to tackle the largest and most demanding of my incomes.

I check my subscription pages and have contacts from an author and a journalist requesting work. I regularly work for this journalist, so I know what will fit his request for a cartoon caricature of a politician in the limelight. The author’s work is more long term, so I request a manuscript of his work and a rough outline of the illustrations he would like.

I scan through various news channels and undertake some searches to see if I can glean any additional background information on the journalist’s request for his article today. It takes a few trial sketches until I have several choices that I send to him, but I already have a good idea of which one he will consider.

I’m finished by mid-morning, so trot downstairs to have a coffee with mum. Although as we talked, I’m finding Gary creeping into my thoughts more. Mum noticing my eyes glaze over as my mind span ahead to lunch, already anticipating our conversation and the first question I wanted to answer.

After a coffee break with mum, I return to my computer to check through emails and reply to any fan mail of my cartoons or books. The author had responded with some outlining information so I trial sketch some imagery to return to him.

The journalist confirmed my assumption for his selection of my work. My satirical cartoon will be on the printing presses before lunch and will be online almost immediately.

Between emails and replies to fan mail on various websites, I found my mind wandering, following farming articles, or my pen doodling tractors, driven by handsome Gary’esk farmers.

Lunchtime arrived, and I skipped downstairs to join mum alone in the kitchen, with dad at work in Hereford. We made a salad for us, but I also excitedly made doorstep sized cheese sandwiches for Gary. Squeezing the thick slices into a snap top sandwich box, I dropped in some pickled onions and a bag of ready salted crisps.

Thankfully, at present I don’t have any research commissions, so this afternoon, I’m free. After finishing lunch with mum, I tried to walk as casual as possible down the garden path carrying my sketchpad, with the sandwich box and a bottle of water.

I passed through the gate that separates our garden and the field. As I turned to latch it closed, I looked up to see mum smirking at me, seeing through my thinly veiled excitement.

My casual wander to the pond became a nervous, fast walk down the field. Rather than walking directly to my spot, as per usual, I skirt the edge of the field at first, then cut across furrows to the pond to reduce any damage to the wheat crop.

I’d set my smartwatch to ring an alarm at 2pm, about the time Gary first arrived, to save him from throwing any more stones. Today I elected to sit in a more elevated position that gave me a view between two tree trunks of the field’s gate.

I tried to remain calm as the time ticked by, long after my alarm have vibrated on my wrist. After glancing at my watch for the hundredth time, my eyes returned to see the gate dwarfed by Gary’s enormous house on wheels.

This time he had parked tight up to the other side of the gate. He stepped out of his cab and down onto the top of the gate to jump down. He too wandered around the edge of the field, taking the long way round towards me.

Whilst I struggled to restrain myself from waving madly at him, he calmly signed greetings to me as he walked around the field’s periphery.

“Isla, I hope you have my sandwich ready? I’m starving.” He signed with a huge cheeky grin on his face.

“Hi, Gary. Yes, but I’m not sure if it is big enough.” I replied, making sure I hid the sandwich box behind me.

He sat closer to me, with a little nervous shuffle, maybe feeling the same nerves as I am.

“Before I give you your small sandwich, can you answer a question first?”

“Okay.”

“Your signing is very good. Much better than any novice. How long have you been signing and why did you learn?”

“That’s two questions. Do I get two sandwiches?” He grinned a cheeky grin again, making me smile and my heart flutter more.

“Maybe… Answer and there may also be a surprise.” I smiled back at him, pleased with being able to keep cool whilst butterflies somersaulted inside me.

“You’re a tease.” He grinned, but once again his cocky demeanour changed to nerves and his eyes dropped away from mine.

“I started teaching myself signing in the last six months of my USA work visa because I wanted to return home and meet you as an equal. But this is much harder than watching YouTube or online tutorials.”

I almost leapt for joy. He had been learning to sign for me. He must have seen my eyes light up, as he cheered up too, but not for the same reason.

“Please, can I have those sandwiches now? I’m starving.”

I nodded as I handed him the sandwich box. He laughed silently and grinned when he saw two huge sandwiches inside the box. Opening it, he politely took a bite of the one and then waved one of the pickled onions in the air.

“My surprise for being a good boy?”

I nodded, and he took a bite. He opened the packet of crisps and offered me one.

“No. Thanks. I ate with mum, earlier.” At first, I felt rude for refusing his offer, but watching him empty the contents of the lunch box made me realise how hungry he was.

“So what have you learned from YouTube?”

Gary promptly ran through the alphabet… Backwards. I nod being quite impressed. Then he ran through a load of nondescript words that he had memorised. Looking pensive, he began signing, but this time he was more theatrical in his signing, expressing the words emotionally, whilst also speaking them.

“I’m, going under and this time I fear there’s no one to save me.”

“This all or nothing got a way of driving me crazy.”

“I need somebody to heal, somebody to know, somebody, to have, somebody, to hold.”

“It’s easy to say, but it’s never the same.”

, I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain.”

“Now the day bleeds, into the nightfall and you’re not here, to get me through it all.”

As he signed, my mind raced. Is this poetry he has written about a lost love or about me?

“Wow G… That is beautiful; I didn’t know you wrote poetry?”

“I don’t, it’s a song.”

“You write songs?”

Gary looked shocked, as if I were an alien.

“No, they’re from a song by Lewis Capaldi. It’s on the radio all the time.”

As soon as he said it, he realised the implication, and a wave of shame washed over his face. He quickly signed an apology.

“There’s no need to apologise. The words are wonderful, and you signed it so well. I wish I could hear the music. You taught that yourself that song, just from watching YouTube and Google?”

“No… I cheated, in a way. There is a great Facebook page where a woman sings popular songs either on her own or as a group, using sign language. She posts songs on her Facebook page, ‘Sign along with us’.”

I pulled out my phone and typed in the search. I showed Gary the page that appeared, and he nodded to confirm that I’d found the correct web page.

“She taught her little brother to understand signing, as he has cerebral palsy and a brain injury. She produces loads of videos and I copied her because the words repeat through each song. It has helped me build up a larger vocabulary. I just need more practice.”

I looked back at my phone and scanned through the Facebook page. This girl is inspirational, winning awards and TV appearances; I made a mental note to read more later.

“So you’ve been signing karaoke-style into a mirror for six months?”

“Yes, but with signing, I can’t hold a pretend microphone hairbrush.” Gary mimicked holding a microphone and then pretended to brush his short hair with it.

Once again, he had me grunting little snorts of laughter with his childish imagery.

“Joking aside G, the way you expressed the emotion as you signed, whilst speaking the words, is very good signing. The practice has been good for you.”

Gary smiled, washed the last of the water down, glanced at his watch, then stood and I followed suit to stand with him. “Sorry, time to go. Can I order another Sandwich for tomorrow?”

I nodded so hard I thought my head would fall off. He moved to step forward, as if to kiss me, and I was about to step forward to meet it, but he faltered and checked himself, stepping backwards instead. He smiled and mouthed thanks, turning to walk the long way back to the gate. His head hung low as he walked, as if he regretted missing the moment.

I watched him climb up the gate, then step across to his tractor’s stair tread. Standing there, he turned with a wide grin and signed, “Thanks, tomorrow, bye.”

He waited until my response of “Ham?” but looking nonplussed; I revised it to, “a surprise sandwich, tomorrow, bye.”

His infectious grin appeared, and he ducked through the large door into his cab, waving one last time. His tractor pulled into the lane to bounce once more into the distance. I watch him disappear, elated by my news.

The fact that he’d learned to sign for me made my heart thump in my chest. To have such a handsome hunk make such a gesture was like receiving jewellery on Valentine’s Day. None of my previous suitors had made that commitment, at least not until after they thought I was interested in them.

Although now Gary was more than just a pin-up to me. He’d impressed me, made me laugh and made me feel special… Three things no other suitor had achieved in such a short time. I wanted to tell mum everything, but even as I turned to see mum at the gate, with a tray of teapot and cups to join me, I’d already decided that maybe I’ll keep this to myself for now.

Over the next few days, my routine changed and for the first time in my working life, I found myself clock watching, willing for lunchtime to arrive. Each afternoon, during our brief time together, Gary’s signing improved as he told me about his day and his work on the farm.

I also shared some of my cartoons and doodles with him. He was enthusiastic to learn about my books and my writing. Although I’m not brave enough to share my new children’s tractor based storybook ideas with him yet.

However, when Friday lunchtime came, there was an obvious change in his mood, as he seemed to return to his original nervous self when we signed our usual greetings. Causing me to ask, “You okay?” He bit his lip, glancing away, unsure.

In a split second, my mind span, expecting the worse of a myriad of horrors. After this week of scratching his surface, of getting to know him, and raising my hopes for some form of a relationship. Was this all too good to be true?

This happened all the time when younger, no soon as I had a hint of a relationship, the same old story, that ‘They only want to be my friend’. I wanted to scream, terrified some awful admission was about to be declared. My heartbeat thumped in my chest, and butterflies stomped around my stomach.

He sat there fidgeting, turning back to face me again, with sweat on his brow. He signed, “I’ve never been so nervous… Can I take you out to dinner, tonight?”

My lungs burst as I guffawed, one of my grunting laughs in relief to see him smile and blush. I tried desperately to make it look as if I had at least paused to think about it…

But ruined it by immediately signing back, “Yes, please.”

“Thank fu…” Gary blurted out, remembering I’m can lip-read him, then signed, “Sorry… I’ve never been so nervous asking any woman out to dinner before. I’d like to repay you for your sandwiches this week… Is that okay?”

“Yes… Yes… Okay.” I signed, then in case I sounded too eager, “Only in exchange for my sandwiches?”

“I also need more signing practice!” Gary signed with a huge grin.

He had improved and now he’s speaking whilst exaggerating his expressions, adding greater depth to his signing. He was definitely also doing some homework at night.

My heart continued to thump in my chest, but now with excitement. This week I hadn’t dared to even hope for a date! I’d had a few brief flings at university. Since I’ve been a lonely fish in a dry sea for too long and now Gary has broken that spell.

My excitement burst forth, signing fast. “Where are we going? What time are you picking me up? What do I wear?”

Gary laughed a silent laugh. It looked like a genuine belly laugh coming from deep down. How I wish I could hear him.

He signed, “Where do you want to go?”

I shrugged in defeat. It’s been a long time since I’ve been taken out to dinner. I’ve had Sunday lunch with mum and dad before now at local pubs and once for the local law society dinner (but I don’t think that counts).

Both were two extremes, so I don’t know anywhere suitable for a first date. With us being equal distances between Ross-on-Wye and Hereford, there were a whole host of options.

Gary looked as indecisive as I felt, then he signed, “I’ll ask my sisters. They will know. Although they will want more answers than I can give them.” He looked more worried about his sisters than one would have thought from a strapping young man.

Gary wolfed his sandwiches down and left in a hurry, signing from his cab an apology and showing eight digits. I nodded and signed back. “Eight. For my dinner surprise!” He grinned and bounced off down the lane in his tractor.

Mum joined me in my excitement as I told her over tea that afternoon. Mum has always been my closest friend and confidant. We furiously signed about what I was going to wear, nothing too formal if it was the ‘Black Bear’ pub in the village, but not too casual if it was the ‘La Parisienne’ restaurant in Hereford.

I daren’t eat a nibble all afternoon. Neither could I focus on my stories nor on sketches. So I answered some fan mail and emailed my best friend Sarah, who immediately text me back.

< So who is this Gary you’ve been hiding in the bushes by your pond? >

She repaid me for all the years I’d put up with hearing her conquests of suitors at university, as she requested all the details as texts ran between us throughout the afternoon. This all added to the excitement that built until later, once I was in the shower, when it developed into panic.

Poor dad, recently home from work, was sitting downstairs, enjoying a cup of tea with mum. To have me run in, still wrapped in towels, grab mum and pulled her upstairs. Once in my bedroom, I showed her the two dozen dresses and outfits I had spread around, frantically signing for help to choose the best one for my date.

Mum looked shocked at me, then grabbed me and held me in a tight hug. She pulled back and signed, “Oh Isla, you wonderful happy thing. You’ve hours yet. Calm down. Come and have a cup of tea with your dad and me.”

She guided me back downstairs to sit with dad, who remained poker-faced. He knew mum had me covered and pretended to continue reading his newspaper. Mum spirited a mug in front of me, full of tea, and a thin slice of homemade chocolate cake. She sat opposite and signed away.

“Oh honey, you’ve got yourself all in a twist. I know it’s exciting, but he’s only a boy!” She smirked and shrugged with a motherly `there’s more fish in the sea’ look.

“Mother! You know he’s not just any boy… He’s the most handsome fish I’ve caught in many years and the only date too.”

“You are smitten. I’m happy for you. He is handsome but I hope he’s grown up a bit since he left.”

“What?”

“He was a wild one and had a reputation in the village. The reason his dad sent him on his travels.”

“They sent him away?”

“Yes. Barney had to pick him up from police stations once too often. The local police sergeant warned him to leave before they placed a custodial sentence on him.”

“No? He isn’t like that, mum. He’s been a perfect gentleman. If anything, he’s a big softy as he’s worked hard on his signing and I’d like to think that it was all for me.”

“Oh love, I’m not saying he isn’t. It’s just I’m worried that he hasn’t shrugged off his old habits and I don’t want you caught in the middle.”

“I’m an adult mum and I need to make my own decision, even if everyone else thinks they are the wrong ones.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong… I don’t want you hurt, love, but G, had a reputation.”

As mum signed ‘G’, dad’s eyebrows raised and dropping his paper he signed, “Who is G?”

Mum shushed him with a look that said I’ll tell you later. But dad drove it home, forcing mum to finger spell out, “G, A, R, Y. Barney’s son. He’s taking Isla out to dinner tonight.”

Dad knew Gary had been meeting me at my pond but now his face showed he disapproved of it going further, glaring at mum but kept his opinion to himself.

“Dad, he’s been the perfect gentleman all week.” I signed, and dad returned a parental acceptant smile, but his eyes reflected his gross disapproval.

Mum quickly changed the tone and started signing about what to wear. We chatted for ages, using up a second pot of tea before I had to return to the shower to sort out my now dried bird’s nest of hair, wetting it again to get my long blond locks under control.

I returned to my bedroom to find mum sat on the end of the bed, wearing a big smile. With my previous selections returned to their wardrobes, leaving just three spread out on the bed. All three were lovely spring dresses, but I knew straight away the one for tonight. Mum agreed and left me alone to dress.

With mum gone I dug into the back of my lingerie drawer and pulled out my ‘Lucky date specials’ as Sarah called them. This was only the second chance I’d ever had to wear them. A nice low cut white bra and silk slip, with a white thong.

Even though I’d shaved my legs, and even between them, I had no plans for Gary to see anything tonight. It was all more for my benefit, a chance to feel sexy and chic for a change. I slipped my chosen yellow open shoulder dress with floral summer prints over my head and let it drop over me.

The short zip up its low bareback is easy to pull up once the light hoops settled on my shoulders. I tightened the thin belt and admired myself in my full-length mirror. The ruffled over knee skirt hung over my bum with enough material to look flouncy but not enough for a Marilyn Monroe pose, should I stand on a subway grill.

I grabbed a matching yellow bag, which I soon filled with some cash, credit card and phone. I wrapped my smartwatch on my wrist and slipped on a pair of matching yellow heels. Not too high to be pretentious in a pub and neither too flat for a restaurant, whilst allowing me to run if I have to (I once got caught in a rainstorm on a date and only just caught the last bus home).

My smart wristwatch buzzed as I stepped downstairs, displaying the front doorbell. I scampered the last steps down, thankful that neither mum nor dad had moved from the sofa. I waved goodbye and, taking a deep breath, answered the door.

Gary stood there clean-shaven, hair brushed back, a little red-faced and again doing his nervous shuffle from foot to foot. He wore some tight, narrow cut black jeans, black shoes, with a neat blue shirt, open at the collar and a navy blue blazer.

He stood back a little, looking a little gob smacked, to sign, “Hi, sorry I’m early? Your tractor awaits.” As he gestured towards the driveway.

‘He bloody better not have brought his tractor.’ I panicked, looking to the driveway to see a large ‘Chelsea tractor‘… A Land Rover Discovery parked next to dad’s Volvo. I involuntarily let out a piglet laugh, to see him look smug at having obtained the right result.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s my sister’s surprise.”

Gary’s signing was getting better and better, as he walked me to the car and opened the passenger door. It was a climb for me into the high car. At least he’d cleaned my seat, as the rear seat had a dirty rug on it, dog chew toys, and the car stank of wet dog.

Seat belts on, I felt the car vibrate as it started. We pulled out onto the main road and turned left, heading to Ross-on-Wye, so that narrowed the choices down. Gary tapped me on the knee but kept his eye on the road and asked, “Can you lip read me side on, as I can’t sign and drive?”

I slowly answered, but I think the engine noise almost swamped my voice as Gary leaned over to hear me.

“It’s… Hard… But okay.” He nodded and smiled.

“I’m sorry, I’m so nervous. My sisters reserved us a table and gave me instructions so I know where to go.” He said, whilst signing with his left hand. Thankfully, the car was automatic, so it didn’t seem too dangerous.

My mind was pondering the possibilities of destination, as we drove over the motorway, then over the river Wye, which narrowed the choices down. Before entering Ross, we turned left to follow the river and left again to a riverside car park of the pub, ‘The Anchor’. The warm late spring evening had encouraged lots of people out walking the river or sat out on the pub’s picnic tables outside.

Before I knew it, Gary was opening my door for me and giving me his arm to help me step down. Whilst we didn’t hold hands, he did politely hold my arm as we walked across the car park towards the pub.

Whilst excited to be arm in arm with a handsome man, on my first date in a long time, it was disappointing that his sisters had recommended a pub. Although, rather than walking to the pub, he guided me to the building on the left that I’d never really noticed before.

The sign over the door announces an unadventurous name, ‘Le Brassiere.’ We were greeted at the door by a penguin suited maitre d’hotel that was straight out of a Disney film. Gary confirmed his sister’s booking, and we followed him into the converted orangery to our table, between a grand piano and some large French doors overlooking the river.

I sat with my back to the piano, allowing me the view over the river. Gary sat opposite, pulling his chair round closer to me, to avoid obstructing my view. A waitress brought us a choice of still or sparkling water. Whilst handing us menus, Gary took the opportunity to order drinks.

I sat admiring my date and the view, as Gary looked at his menu. I lip-read him say to himself, “I’ll fucking kill those two.”

Glancing at the menu, I saw the prices. These weren’t pub prices, these were sky-high, rocket-fuelled prices. I tapped the table to catch Gary’s attention.

“It’s okay. We can go halves on the bill, or we can go elsewhere, I don’t mind.”

In reality, I did mind, as the location made me feel quite special for my first date in ages.

Gary smiled and gave a negative shake of his head to sign, “No, not the prices, look.” He nodded, indicating for me to look behind. Over my shoulder, a young smartly dressed woman was sitting down at the piano preparing to play.

My heart dropped at the insinuated insult from his sisters. All my life I’ve suffered other people’s idea of a joke, unable to retort in a quick zinging, cutting reply. The excuses of ‘It’s only a joke’ or ‘It’s only banter,’ wear thin over the years.

“But your sisters know I am deaf… Is this their idea of a joke?” I signed, furious. This was not funny. Gary caught most of what I signed and waved a negative at me.

“No, they don’t know that you’re my dinner date. I didn’t tell them… The joke is on me. I hate classical music and yes… The prices are part of their joke. I can’t let my sisters win, so if you don’t mind, we have to stay.”

I came down off my high horse and imagined how chuffed his sisters would be if we were to leave, for either reason. I could see his point. He seemed as stubborn as I could be at times.

I mimicked laughing, avoiding the expulsion of my piglet grunt noises, signing. “I am happy to pay half, as it is expensive for a first date.”

“So we are on a date?” He grinned.

“Date or signing practice, your choice.”

“I choose date.” Gary signed, as his smile grew. I smiled back, pleased with his choice as well.

Then Gary grimaced, looking at the piano. I placed my hand on the side of the piano and could feel the vibrations of it being played. Whilst not catching each tone, I can follow the tune, from the vibrations and the tempo. I exaggerated nodding my head in time to the music and smiled at his discomfort.

Hurrah for Gary’s sisters. They’d stitched him up good and proper. I think I liked them already, with their creative sibling rivalry.

“Are you ganging up with my sisters?… You can feel the music and like it?” Gary signed.

“Yes, and… Yes… But only to stick one to your sisters when you tell them!”

Gary chuckled, as the penguin suited Maitre d’ arrived with horror on his face. He spoke only to Gary, who couldn’t hide his amusement. I couldn’t see what the penguin was saying, as he had his back to me.

Gary signed to me, “You okay with the piano? They have no free tables if we want to move.”

My blood hit boiling point. This penguin was concerned that I may not want to be near the piano, but spoke to Gary, committing the usual insult of ignoring the deaf person to speak to the ‘normal’ hearing person.

I rapped my knuckles on the table to attract his attention. In my slow speech, knowing it will make him even more uncomfortable, but he deserved it, I told him.

“I am deaf… Not stupid… You can… Talk to me… I can lip read.”

With the Maitre d’s attention on me, Gary signed, “Yes, make him feel worse.”

The poor Maitre d’ looked at the floor, wishing for a hole to open up and swallow him whole. “I’m sorry Madam. The reservation stipulated the table to be close to the piano. We did not know you’re impaired. I can only apologise on behalf of the management and myself. It was only when we saw you signing that we realised.”

Unfortunately Le Brassiere was full, so the poor Maitre d’ had no alternative. We pretended, reluctantly offering to remain where we were, and suffer the indignity. As soon as he left, Gary and I signed how clever we were, although in hindsight, maybe we had been a little cruel, but the penguin deserved a brief lesson in inclusivity.

They must have disseminated the news through the staff as when the waitress arrived with two flutes of a rose coloured bubbly drink, placing mine first but not knowing who to look at first, bouncing her attention between us, looking relieved as she left.

Gary raised his glass, and we touched glasses, as Gary said, “To our first date, signing practice and my awful sisters.”

His humour tickled me as I took a sip. I recognised a favourite drink of mine. A French Kir royal, a black current apéritif in champagne. I placed my drink down to sign, “An excellent choice… I like, thanks.”

As I read the wonderful choices, my eyes kept being drawn to the prices. They are extortionate. Despite Gary acting the gentleman, I was glad I brought my credit card with me. I’m sure I earned more than a farmhand, but I’ll have to be diplomatic when the time comes.

My choices were simple, as I love French cuisine and it looked as if Gary knew his, as it wasn’t long before we had both placed our menus down. The Maitre d’ must have been watching us like a hawk, as he appeared as we sipped our drinks.

He approached me first this time. It is no use me trying to pronounce the French with a pianist playing behind me to drown me out. I pointed to my selections on the menu, including a large glass of Rose’ and only had to answer, “Medium,” when asked how I wanted my steak cooked.

Gary confirmed his order and a drink. When the Maitre d’ left, he had some dignity intact this time. Gary signed, “The Pianist stopped playing whilst we ordered and restarted when he left.”

I sat back, soaking in the view of my handsome date, savouring him and the ambience with the last of my drink. The location was lovely, and it was nice to watch people enjoying the evening outside, although I was quite hungry now.

“Okay, signing practice now. You can ask me anything?” Gary signed.

I thought I had lots I could ask, his travels, and about the farm, but the question on the tip of my tongue came out.

“Why did your dad send you away to travel and what is your reputation?”

Gary looked shocked, slumping back in his chair, shoulders dropped. He took a deep breath and began.

“You will find out when my sisters meet you… I was wild when younger. I could not understand why I could drive a tractor or a motorbike on the farm, but not on public roads. So they always caught me driving without a licence. I never cared about consequences. I was young and invincible.”

Gary’s signing couldn’t keep up, but when he faltered, I read his lips and signed for him to repeat it back to me.

He continued. “At school and university playing sports, I realised how strong I was. I got in with the wrong friends, started drinking too young and got into fights. As I could drive, I stole cars for fun, even golf carts and tractors. Then one day dad tired of me. He and the local police sergeant warned me, to go travel the world, grow up or end up in prison.”

You could see he was nervous and ashamed about his confession. More importantly, his explanation tied in with what mum had told me. So he was telling the truth. Thankfully, for him, our starters arrived. He used our pate and toast as a distraction, but my mind had moved to the next progression.

“G, mum said your reputation was also with women?” She hadn’t said exactly, more of insinuated. It was like a sledgehammer that hit him. His face became solemn, and he slumped further into his chair.

“I’m sorry Isla, I won’t lie… I want this to be a fresh start, so I will tell you everything… Being captain of rugby, cricket, and swimming teams, girls flocked to me. I didn’t need to try, it was too easy. I was not nice. Girls were easy to drop and find. It was not a good moral lesson in relationships.”

His face was guilt-ridden. Thankfully, he had some respite as staff removed our empty plates and fresh drinks arrived. He sipped his newly arrived lager

“It’s all a bit of a cliché, but travelling brought me a new perspective. It took years, but I like to think that I’ve now grown up.”

I now felt guilty for asking. Finding no real skeletons in his cupboard, but pleased he had come clean and not cover up his past or emotions behind it. I thought I’d better change the subject.

“I’m glad you’re home now, buying me dinner. What are your plans? Stay for harvest, then off on more travels?”

Gary sat upright in his chair.

“No. I’ve finished travelling. Well, except for holidays. I meant what I said that first day at the pond. No matter where in the world I was, I missed home and seeing you by your pond.”

I couldn’t bask in his flattery for long as our main courses arrived, but Gary continued, becoming more engaged.

“Dad is old now and I’ve been talking with my sister and we all have similar ideas to improve the farm for the future.”

After our first few bites, in his excitement, he continued talking in between mouthfuls, signing with his knife and fork in his hands. He was getting messy. It was like watching a TV with snowstorm like interference on the screen.

I put my knife and fork down.

“Stop. I can’t understand with your mouth full.”

Whist signing, I stuck my tongue in my cheeks, mimicking him eating. Then, in a flash of devilment, I mimicked giving a blowjob with my one hand, and my tongue stuck in the opposite cheek (I had learned a few extracurricular activities at university).

Gary spluttered, nearly choking on his food in shock, whilst I giggled, shocked at myself. His shoulders jumped up and down, whilst laughing behind his hand that now covered his mouth, as he fought to keep the food in it. I quickly signed my apologies, and we both settled down to continue eating without any further signing.

No soon as Gary finished his last mouthful, he signed.

“You have a naughty side too?”

“Who me?… No, you must be mistaken.”

“I nearly choked!”

Gary feigned chocking, wrapping his hands around his neck, cocking his head to one side, and hanging his tongue out, mocking me.

“Behave.” I looked around. Concerned people would see, but the Maitre d’ was busy serving another table, not noticing Gary’s antics. When I looked back at Gary, he was sipping his drink, looking innocent.

“Who me?… No, you must be mistaken.”

He repeated my signing back to me, smiling cheekily.

Not for the first time that evening. His humour made me smile and my heart flutter, enjoying his company. Even at college, friends would be guarded and over-cautious, possibly even nervous about signing openly in public. But Gary wasn’t, being calm and confident, making me relaxed in return.

“Before our meal rudely interrupted us, you were going to tell me about your plans for the farm?”

Gary’s eyes lit up, and he returned to his original description of their plans for the farm. To continue with the arable farming but also to gain greater grant funding by improving the sustainability of the land they don’t currently utilise.

He went into detail about their plans. Lower fields near the river, which they now drain, but have a low crop yield, they’ll return to wetlands. This will gain them extra grants because of the new planning to reduce flooding. During heavy rain, the wetlands can soak up extra floodwater from local streams, avoiding over saturating the river Wye.

The bonus will be the additional wildlife that this will attract, which will support additional grants for the diversity of the land. It will also attract some additional income from the local hunting and shooting clubs for the extra wildfowl that it will attract.

Some of their woodland is perfect for introducing free-range pigs. Gary’s sisters have already approached local meat outlets, cafes and restaurants that see a benefit in purchasing local free-range produce. To sweeten that attraction, they are planning on breeding local rare breeds, such as the much-loved Gloucester Old Spot.

As he went into detail, I knew I could help, as I have done both research and diagrammatic sketches for Stuart Longford, one of the leading agricultural specialists in the UK. He’s on various government quangos and lectures at colleges around the UK.

My immediate instinct was to cut in and declare my connection with Stuart and knowledge, but something at the back of my mind warned me to hang back. Not that I suspected anything untoward. I want him to like me for who I am, not who I can bring to the party.

“I’m sorry Isla, I’m boring you, let’s talk about something lighter.”

No, that was the last thing I wanted. I enjoyed seeing his excitement about his projects, his plans, and his future. I don’t want to show my full hand just yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ask questions if I play dumb.

“No, G, far from it. You sound as if you’ve thought about it. However, what is their minimum requirement; it can’t be as simple as just ticking a box on a form?”

“Oh, that is a relief. The last thing I want to do on a first date is bore you. So be ready for some boring facts. The minimum requirement is 5% of the gross land area to be wetlands. We’ve been surveying and we think we can get to 8%. If we clear some ditches, widening them and open up sluice areas and include your pond with the lower flood pond, we can reach 12%.”

“You’re going to flood my pond?”

“No… But it catches runoff in heavy rains and it counts as wetland, as we have the ducks, the pond and the reed beds on the far side. It also counts towards our diversity grants, where we have to meet a minimum of 15% and again our hedgerows and wooded areas count.”

“How do you confirm you’ve met their qualification for the grants? It can’t be as easy as filling in a form?”

“Oh no, it’s an application process at first, then DEFRA come and survey, several times over a period until you gain the full qualification.”

“Have you been able to make a start on all these plans?”

“Yes. My evil sisters, Cat and Helen, got a head start before I came home. They’ve made pig runs in the lower woods and were hoping for our first litter of piglets soon. They will be our first free-range guests.”

“Oh wow, that’s great. So have you made a project plan for your application and deliverables?”

Gary looked a little put back at the question. I had to bite my tongue to not go further, despite having an overwhelming desire to get involve and spend more time with Gary. I may not know one end of a plough to another but I can project manage, read legalese and complete forms.

Deep in the pit of my stomach, I still want to hold back, until I am sure it is me he wants, not my talents or an easily available fling. I flinched at my own thoughts. Would he really be that shallow, after all his words? Although I have only really known him for five days. I’ll email Stuart, in the background, and see what he comes back with. Gary doesn’t need to know, yet.

Thankfully, Gary was deep in thought. “No, Cat & Helen scribbled some notes and we’ve listed out what we need to do, but not in any particular order. Our priority is maintaining our existing crops and harvesting. The arable side of the farm is its backbone and we can’t set that to one side.”

I’m now champing at the bit to offer my services… Still, doubt kept nagging at me, holding me back.

“So why the piglets?”

“Helen found a perfect Gloucester Old Spot sow at a cattle auction, unable to resist the urge to buy her. She was like Jack and the beanstalk. She went to sell some old farm gear, to return with all the farm gear and a sow. Then she spoke with her boyfriend, Kevin, and before you knew it, the sow they had her inseminated and now she’s pregnant.”

“Why couldn’t she wait?”

“They already class the sow as free-range, so it is easier to claim the piglets are too. We crashed together a pig birthing pen and large free run in the woods closest to the house. In a way, we needed a kick up the backside to start and a herd of piglets will do that.”

“Gloucester Old Spot, that’s the cute pink ones with black spots?”

“Yes, those are the ones. Every kid’s farmhouse toy set has them.”

Our deserts had arrived and sat there whilst we chatted. Thankfully, it wasn’t hot enough for either of our choices to melt into chocolate soups. We ate slowly, taking a mouthful between talking.

“So, would you like a farmhouse toy set, with accompanying piglets, for your birthday present?” Gary asked.

“How do you know my birthday’s coming?”

“Every year in July, I see your garden covered in bunting. Mum and dad used to buy you a present and go to your party… And I asked my mum this evening, to be sure.”

I blushed. Embarrassed at my earlier ill thoughts of him, this was a pleasant turn of events.

“I’ll have to invite you now… Now you know about my secret party.”

I frowned, pretending dismay.

He was right, every year mum and dad would hold a birthday garden party for me. Mum, dad and I were thinking of a few close relatives and some of my old University friends that can make it. It will be a first for a ‘suitor’ to attend. Maybe he’ll be a ‘boyfriend’ by then?

“I promise to behave and not eat all your cake. Although I can help you blow out all your candles.”

“I’m not that old!”

I pointed my dessertspoon full of ice cream threatening him, accompanied by a dagger’d look from my eyes.

Gary gave me a mock-frightened look, whilst his shoulders gave his chuckling away. My heart fluttered again, wishing I could hear his voice and encouraging me to blurt out my connection and offer to help, but thankfully, I kept quiet and my hands focussed on the last of my ice cream.

“I’m not sure I want to invite you now.”

“I’ll buy you a nice present if you do.”

“Okay, in that case, you may come, but I don’t want your reject Christmas aftershave or old Christmas socks.”

“That’s a shame. I had hoped to give you a Christmas jumper my aunty had given me.”

No other potential boyfriend had treated me in such a casual manner, nor made me feel so relaxed in their company. It was pure joy and for what little remained of the meal, we teased each other, and I delved deeper into his hopes for the farm.

Even though we had long finished our coffees, our conversation was not yet exhausted, and we continued to ignore the glances from staff keen to close up.

“Do you fancy a walk along the river before it gets too dark?”

“Yes, why not?”

The penguin Maitre d’ appeared as if by magic as soon as we stood to leave. Gary got his credit card out even before he opened the polite pretend booklet that hid the bill. I slipped my credit card out of my purse and handed it to him.

“It’s not fair for you to pay these prices, just to satisfy your evil sisters. I’ll pay half.”

He smiled politely. You could see he wanted to refuse, but was unsure of what was waiting for him on the bill. He was pensive, almost frightened, as he opened the book and unravelled the bill. His face relaxed, and a smile crept on his face as he handed me back my credit card, shaking his head.

“No, it’s my treat, after eating all your sandwiches.”

He folded his credit card into the booklet and followed the penguin to his till. I followed, but felt disappointed that he refused my offer. It wasn’t fair for him to pay these rocket-fuelled prices.

Once we were outside, with the bill settled, I felt I had to assert myself. I’d made my mind up. I work hard, as I know he does, so it would only be fair. My sandwiches are not an equal exchange.

“G. I may be a woman, but it’s not fair for you to pay those prices on our first date, in fact, on any date. I work and can pay my way. I feel a little insulted.”

Gary smiled and calmly pulled his wallet open and handed me the folded receipt.

The bill read like the national debt as it totalised down each item. My eyes settled on the total figure at the bottom, with service charge and tax, but they had crossed it out with a message beneath.

‘Please accept our apologies and we look forward to your patronage again.’ They had written a new total figure beneath, that was half the original.

Gary smiled and shrugged his shoulders, as my hot air evaporated and I smiled back an apology, putting my high horse away yet again. He laughed, scrolled the bill up and tossed it into a waste bin.

“That can be our secret. My evil sisters need never know.”

I nodded in agreement and before I could stop myself; I grasped his hand, and we walked across the car park to the riverside walk. Despite enjoying walking in the twilight cool by the river, feeling comfortable and at ease with Gary holding my hand, I still feel jealous of the few other couples walking, chatting side by side without the hindrance of signing to communicate.

I would love the ability to just chat, hands-free, with Gary walking by my side. I built up courage just to try, and hoped it was quiet enough for Gary to hear me without straining.

“I’m… Having a… Wonderful evening… Even… The… Bridge… Isn’t… Spoiling it.”

The view as we walk from Ross-On-Wye down the river is beautiful, with farmland on both banks and woods in the distance. Only the M50 Motorway bridge spanning across the fields and river from right to left, spoil the setting as cars and lorries speeding silently across.

My few words took a lot of concentration from both of us, but a tight squeeze of my hand rewarded my efforts.

Gary then released my hand, jogged ahead and turned to walk backwards, as he signed.

“I’ve had a lovely evening too. You have been wonderful company.”

“G. You’ll trip and fall in the river… Stop.”

“No… I’ve canoed down the Amazon, skied and climbed mountains, so I think I can walk backwards along this river.”

His heel caught the only stone on the dirt path and he stumbled backwards, thankfully into a bush and not the river. I burst into my piglet laughter, unable to stifle my snorts at his predicament.

“You’re not supposed to laugh at your date.”

“But you’re funny and… You should be in the river.”

A couple scuttled by watching as Gary tried to remove himself from inside the riverside bush, whist I snorted and we both waved our hands, signing furiously teasing each other.

“Is back flipping, trapeze in your resume with your canoeing, mountain climbing and skiing?”

“I am so pleased you are enjoying my entertainment.”

“Is this something I’m also to keep a secret from your evil sisters?”

“Oh please, yes… Never, ever tell them.”

Now he was out of the bush and brushing leaves off his blazer, twigs and thorns stuck to his trousers. To help, I dive in a pick and brush debris off his jeans and shirt. I enjoyed continuing to stroke his chest long after his shirt was clean. Beneath, there wasn’t a millimetre of fat on him.

My heart pounded, and I looked up, we’re close, eye-to-eye, I could feel his warm breath on my face. My mind is screaming ‘Kiss him, now is that moment.’. I left my hands resting on his chest and lean forwards into him…

His arms lift mine away, stepping back away from my advance. The kiss isn’t going to happen. I’m devastated. All the signs were there.

‘What have I done wrong, is it because I laughed at his fall into the bush?’

“We should return to the car before it gets too dark.”

I nod, still in shock about what happened. All the signals were there, a great evening, a lovely meal, a few drinks, and a romantic walk along the river. We walk back with more than enough light to see our way, but this time, we aren’t holding hands. I feel gutted and a little sick in the pit of my stomach.

We climb into the wet dog smelling car and he drives me home. Neither of us talking or signing and I’m now sulking, turning from bitter, and disappointed to angry, and frustrated.

‘Has he led me on? And for what reason?’

We pull up into the driveway and I’m bursting with emotion. As soon as he pulls the handbrake on, unable to contain myself any longer, I slap him as hard as I can on his shoulder.

“Where was my kiss, by the river? Why didn’t you want to kiss me?”

He looked gob smacked and stunned, in shock.

“I thought you like me… you learned to sign for me?… You’ve taken me to dinner, we’ve had a lovely evening, you said so… Yourself and you held my hand… BUT no kiss… Why? What is wrong with me? Is it because I laughed when you fell in the bush?”

I sat staring at him, determined not to move until I have an answer. I’m not sure what I’m reading in his face, shock, surprise or anger it is hard to tell what he is thinking.

“No… I’m sorry.”

Gary signed, deep in thought, holding his hands, palms up to me, imploring me to listen.

“I wanted to kiss you, but I don’t want you to think that I’m the old me… The one your mum and dad think I am. I don’t want a shallow girl just to take dancing and have a tumble in the hay with, to forget the next day.”

“Is that what you think I am?” I sign, and as soon as he understood, he grabbed my hands.

“No.”

He released my hands and asked me to listen once more.

“I want you. I want an intelligent, pretty woman, who listens, makes me laugh, makes me happy, who wants me for who I am, not my muscles, nor my father’s money… One I want to remember in the morning.”

His eyes and face told me he was telling the truth, and he meant it.

“I do like your muscles, they are a bonus.”

I tried to lighten the mood, feeling guilt after his honesty.

“Isla, I want you, I love making you laugh… I know how to pick up a girl but I don’t know how… How to romance a woman.”

Those last words hit me in the heart. He wants to romance me? Above all, he used the term `love’, not ‘like’ and woman.

“You don’t know how to romance a woman?”

Gary shook his head, almost ashamed.

“I’ll tell you how… You kiss her when she wants you to.”

I grabbed his blazer shoulders and pulled him into me. I leaned towards him. He could easily have resisted, but even with his face showing terror, he came in, turning his head at the last moment as our lips met.

This was our first genuine kiss… Our lips parted and our eyes met again. I saw relief in his eyes but that was not enough; I knew what I wanted. I pulled him back to me, but this time as our lips met, I pushed my tongue in and he responded.

I felt his warmth and ignoring the slight after dessert taste; he tasted of strength, care and compassion. Our kiss lingered as he reciprocated with his tongue, and his muscular arms held me in our embrace. He timed his withdrawal perfectly, leaving me wanting more, as we both sat back, half-embarrassed, half-pleased with ourselves.

I looked away to the house and noticed our lounge curtains flutter. Either mum or dad were watching us. Gary tapped me on my knee, attracting my attention.

“I’m sorry. I had such a lovely evening I didn’t want to spoil it, with you thinking I was returning to my old ways. You’re too important to me. I love your company.”

“Okay, so with signing lessons I now have to give you romancing lessons?… Lesson one, Next time you wine and dine me,” I made a tick motion with my hand in the air,

“Or you take me on a romantic walk,” I made another tick motion with my hand.

“Or you entertain me with falling into a bush,” I gave him another tick.

“And you think I’m trying to kiss you… Kiss me.”

Gary smiled widely. “Sorry, what did you say?”

I was about to repeat my complete explanation when I realised he was baiting me, “Kiss me.”

He leaned once more across the centre console and pulled me into him, and we kissed again. This time there was passion and strength behind his kiss, and I felt more than my heart flutter. He held onto me as our tongues fought in our mouths with passion.

When we settled back into our seats, we were both panting and grinning at each other. I didn’t want the evening to end, although I didn’t want to go all the way with Gary yet… I still had questions to ask, and I enjoyed talking with him.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea or more coffee?”

“No… I think your parents are waiting,” He had noticed the curtains fluttering too.

“It is late… I have a busy day tomorrow, and I have sisters to chastise. I’ll text tomorrow.”

He was right, as the lights were still on downstairs and it was late, but it was good to know he was going to text me.

“Isla, thanks for a wonderful evening. I’m sorry I upset you. I know it is hard to believe, but it was the one thing I was trying to avoid.”

“I had a wonderful evening until you failed to kiss me… You redeemed yourself at the last minute, but I don’t want to make a habit of slapping you to get what I want.”

He grinned, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t plan it that way.”

“Maybe you need help with your planning?” I hinted at my thoughts of things to come.

“I think I’d like that, whilst also keeping my evil sisters out of the decision-making process.”

I opened my door and as the interior light came on, the lounge curtains fluttered once more. I looked at Gary and he looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Thanks, G. Overall, I have had a wonderful night, but you need more practice.”

He nodded, smiling, watching me climb down out of the car. I closed the door and watched him but then realised; he was waiting for me to enter the house before leaving. I walked to the front door, slotted the key in the lock. I turned as I opened it, to stand in the open threshold, glancing back to him as the car shuddered and its lights came on.

His shadow in the dark looked at me, caught in his lights, “Thanks, I had a wonderful night G.” I signed and blew him a kiss, just before he reversed out of the driveway and drove away, his lights travelling over the hedgerows, to turn off down the farm’s long drive.

I closed the door behind me and stormed into the lounge to mum and dad watching TV, trying not to look guilty.

“Had a nice evening love?” Mum signed, smiling.

“You watched us through the curtains?”

“Only because we heard Gary shout. Your dad was concerned.”

They had me there. I did hit him. “Sorry, everything was okay. We had a lovely evening mum.”

I was too excited not to tell them about the evening, Gary’s sister’s involvement and their trick, how the meal went and our discount, but asked them not to tell Gary’s sisters (not that they meet them but dad drinks with their dad).

Although dad was quick to guffaw and comment, “That sounds like something Cat and Helen would do. Anything to pay their brother back for years of trouble.”

Mum cut him short with a withering look.

Mum was pleased that I had enjoyed myself and dad staying neutral after his comment. I avoided telling them about him not kissing me, and the following conflict in the car.

Later led in bed, my thoughts ran over the night. Gary really was top-notch boyfriend material. He was handsome, muscular, intelligent, whilst planning for his future, paying attention to me and making me laugh. Above all, he excites me, not just in a Disney fairytale way with unicorns and fairy dust, but he makes my heart flutter and all the other things a girl wants from a man.

In the morning when I checked my phone, I found a text from Gary, sent at five a.m. apologising once more. He may not be Shakespeare, but his naivety betrays an honesty that others don’t see in him.

In hindsight, in the cold light of day, I can almost see his logic in avoiding my kiss, although he now knows the error of his ways, which brought out some grovelling within his text, which felt both satisfying and rewarding.

Over the next few weeks, we continued to cement our relationship and my trust in him. We continued our lunchtime rendezvous, whilst also going out together a few times a week to local pubs for drinks and sometimes also for dinner.

Handholding, kissing and even cuddling became more relaxed and frequent. Still, Gary refused to enter my parent’s house at the end of an evening, always with the same excuse of his early start the next day.

With me, he continued to be the epitome of a gentleman, always making me feel as if I were the only person worthy of his affections. In short, I felt I was that one person, unique to him, as I felt he was to me.

The days grew longer and spring gave way to summer. Harvesting started energetically as the grass was ready for silage and the principal crops turned from green to dry brown, promising golden crops to come. Gary was busy but always had time for me, even though I tried not to infringe on his busy farming life.

In the meantime, in the background, I had approached Stuart Longford, and he’d given me a lot of research material, sample applications and examples of farms that had succeeded with similar projects. Like any top MI5 agent, I had been quietly prying Gary for information and had built a project plan with guidance for grant applications.

On the day of my birthday BBQ, I was excited, as Gary would finally have to enter my home. The barrier between him and dad was palpable, and I wanted it to end, as they are both special men in my life.

Mum welcomed me down to breakfast.

“Hi, love. G is having a wonderful influence on you, as you’re wearing more dresses now than your usual shorts, leggings or jeans.”

Bonus point to Gary on that one. Mum was right, as always. Seeing Gary’s eyes light up whenever I wore a new dress was worth it, and the weather was too nice to spoil it in trousers of any sort.

The world and our garden are in full bloom now and I could see dad putting up a camping gazebo over the BBQ area, thankfully more to keep the sun off, rather than rain. As always, dad’s prize chrysanthemums were open, just in time for my birthday.

For once, my birthday landed on a Saturday, making it nice to have a birthday coinciding with my party, although as a young girl it was a bonus, as it felt like you had two birthdays. My actual birthday with family and a second party birthday with school friends, not that I had many.

We weren’t expecting many, although apart from Gary, I was especially looking forward to having Sarah visit. She had travelled down late last night and was staying with another friend, to arrive early afternoon.

A host of relatives were due to arrive, although I’m not too sure of the reasoning behind such a celebration of one’s 29th. It feels like the first knock on the door of middle age, which is unfair as today middle age is nearer forty and not thirty.

The morning flew by and my smart watch vibrated at each doorbell press as guests arrived. This year, like the last few, my brother wouldn’t be present as he emigrated to the USA with his wife, which would be too much of an ask for him to return just for my party.

Sarah was an early arrival, which was fun as we caught up on gossip, although she admitted it was more to her wanting to see Gary in the flesh. I had asked him to come for one o’clock, but by two-thirty, he was obvious by his absence.

Dad saw me talking to mum about his absence and gave me an ‘I knew it couldn’t last’ roll of his eyes look. Mum and Sarah were more tactful, although more than one relative gave me a look that told me they thought Gary was more of an imaginary friend.

As the clock ticked towards three, I was chatting with a group of over sympathetic relatives. Mum caught my attention with a wave and pointed to the garden gate. Gary stood on the field side, with his dad looking sheepish, although in his usual farm overalls, looking at my dad to shrug an apology.

I tried in my best casual saunter, to wander down the garden path, keeping my anger at bay, with Sarah and mum behind. Gary looked apologetic, wearing trousers and a sweaty shirt that looked a little bedraggled considering he was coming to a party.

Gary gave me a slightly crumpled envelope that must be my birthday card, and I introduced him to Sarah. Mum invited him into the garden although he was reluctant to enter, looking at dad.

“I’m sorry Isla, it took longer than we expected to prepare your surprise.”

I glanced at the envelope and tore it open, wondering if it would give some hint at what made him late and sweaty. The card is typical supermarket fair, but without any surprise inside. I shot him a questioning look. Opening the gate, he grasped my hand and led me into the field.

We walked around the field, now carpeted with tall browning crops, like the pied piper followed by Sarah, mum and our party guests. The nearer to my favourite spot at the pond we got, the more a red bow and large box came into sight. We dodged through the crop to gather around the large red box that was as large as our sofa.

Gary smiled jubilantly at me, “Happy Birthday Isla, pull the bow. No shaking it, no guesses, just don’t eat them all at once.”

He pretended to pop a chocolate in his mouth as he motioned for me to pull the bow open. Sarah and mum were as excited as I was. The little spot was now full of party guests, all excited and looking at Gary.

As soon as I caught anyone’s gaze they mouthed `pull the bow Isla.’

I held my breath, unsure of what it could be. I pulled the loose end of the large red silk bow. The loops slipped through and the ribbon fell away. The large box’s wrapping fell as the retaining bow pulled clear. Beneath wasn’t just a rectangular box, it was a timber double bench.

I pulled the wrapping clear. This was fabulous. I glanced at Gary, smiling at the proud look on his face. This was no ordinary park bench. It had side tables, cushions, and the seat curved, so anyone sat on it would be half turned, not quite facing each other. Looking at Gary, I was gob smacked. This was a very special present, and he knew it.

“I made it myself. Look.”

Gary stepped forward and lifted the seats, showing me storage beneath for the cushions. Gary leaned over to the side and slid out a desktop that slotted into the armrest.

“You can use the desk to draw on or share sandwiches with me… Or tea with your mum.”

“It’s wonderful G. I love it.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off it, studying it, it was big and heavy. They must have carried it from the gate to the field.

I could see half-hidden behind a tree, a saw, spade, and some shortcut timber. I looked at the chair legs. They had cut the legs to suit the uneven, sloped ground, whilst levelling the immediate ground under each leg. This was why they were so late and sweaty.

“Sit, try it out.”

Gary invited, turning to mum to encourage her to try it too. I sat on the far side with the desktop. The bench was solid. No matter how much I shuffled or rocked on the deep-set cushion, it didn’t budge, not even when mum joined me, sitting alongside, nodding her approval.

I got up to check out the storage beneath. It had a waterproof lining, with more than enough space for the cushions. Mum swapped with Sarah, who also nodded her approval. This beat all my birthday and Christmas presents in one.

My heart raced. He may not be Shakespearean in his prose, but this spoke volumes, he’d made this… For me. I could see the pride on his face, with a little doubt.

“It is okay?”

“Yes.” I squealed, in a voice many of my relatives would have only heard decades ago, nodding my head.

I ran to him and threw myself at him, throwing my arms around him, to give him a hug and kiss, both of us nervous of the audience. I don’t know how long I held him in tight, feeling his warm, damp body.

A tap on my shoulder told me enough was enough, and I pulled free to see Sarah nodding at the embarrassed relatives stood around, none too sure what to do.

I dropped free from Gary and stood back, turned to my audience and announced, signing, “This is Gary… My boyfriend,” in my defence.

As I signed it, I realised that this was the first time I had acknowledged the relationship as such. Until then he had been just `Gary’ but this act seemed to make him now ‘my boyfriend’, which whilst a little childish, the term is a novelty for me but endearing.

Being my relatives, they could all sign and they all politely nodded, aunties and uncles introduced themselves, shaking his hand. Mum had already gathered up all the wrapping paper and bow, signing we should return to the party.

Holding Gary’s hand, we walked with Mum, Sarah and a few relatives back to the garden while others stayed to sit and enjoy my new bench. Entering the garden, we could see both our dads had set up at the BBQ, beer in hands cooking, happy to both be wielding spatulas.

“It looks like your dad is staying. You had better phone your mum and invite her, or she’ll be on her own at the farm.”

“She may prefer it that way, so she can get some rest.”

Gary signed back, laughing as he phoned his mother.

The afternoon flew by. It was nice introducing Gary to everyone, having aunties sign their approval, and seeing their surprise to have Gary sign his thanks back to them. He was a hit with all my relatives, especially with my favourite uncle, who took him to one side to chat over the complexity of the carpentry in my birthday bench.

Whilst Uncle Bob’s approval is rewarding, I still yearn for dad’s. He was busy with Barney, both flipping burgers and sausages on the BBQ. He and Barney are old friends, not paying too much attention to the party, so I couldn’t judge his reaction to having Gary on the property.

Mum’s approval was apparent, as she boasted to aunties and Grandparents over Gary’s present and his worldly exploits. She kept smiling at Gary and I, like a mother hen checking out her brood. I couldn’t help but enjoy watching Gary closely, as we each browsed the party, offering to refresh drinks or offer desserts.

Gary’s mother arrived and hastened over with a card in hand, joined by Gary.

I could easily lip-read his mother. “Happy Birthday Isla, I’m sorry it’s late.”

I opened the card, to see a nice card signed ‘From Barney and Sally‘, in what is obviously Sally’s handwriting.

“No, that is lovely, it’s not late at all, thanks Mrs Barnes.”

I signed, and Gary interpreted.

“Oh, Isla, there is no need for Mrs Barnes… Sally, please.”

Gary signed laughing, even though I think he realised I was lip-reading her.

Sally was carrying a small supermarket carrier bag and, unwittingly, I reached down to take it off her, selfishly assuming it was another present.

“Oh, sorry Isla, I brought a fresh shirt and a pair of shorts for Barney, as he’s still in his farm gear. Once he’d given Gary my cushions for the bench, helped him place it, and then he was to return home. Look at him, standing there like a beer-swilling yokel.”

“Cushions?”

I added two and two to realise that the curved bench cushions can’t be shop brought.

“Sally, did you make the cushions for the bench Gary built?” I signed.

Gary looked sheepish and replied without translating for his mother.

“Sorry I meant to say, I made the bench but mum made the cushions.”

I gave him a playful slap on his arm, his mum puzzled and none the wiser.

“Gary, tell your mother the cushions are fabulous and you didn’t tell me she’d made them. They are wonderful… Thank her.”

This time Gary translated and his mum shot him a shrivelling look, then I gave her a big hug and a kiss on her cheek and in my squeaky, piglet voice, “Thanks… Sally.”

The benefit of signing is that I can communicate with my mother across the length of the garden without distracting anyone else by shouting (not that I could shout) once I had her attention.

“Mum, Gary’s mum, Sally, made the bench cushions… It makes the bench even more special.”

Mum hurried to us to greet Sally and have her confirm the news. Mum and Sally may not be as close as dad and Barney, but mum realised the inference of the present as much as I did. Sally approves of Gary and I, even if Barney and dad may not.

The afternoon wore into early evening. Sally got Barney into cleaner clothes and gradually the party dwindled. Sarah and I spent a lot of time together, as we needed to catch up. Soon even Sarah had to return to her friend for the night, leaving Gary and I alone.

Guests gone, our parents sat on the patio away from the BBQ, finishing some wine, beer and the last of the desserts.

“Fancy trying out your birthday present?”

Not needing to be asked a second time. I held his hand, and we walked down the garden, drinks in hand, through the gate. It was nice to sit on the bench, without an audience this time. Once seated, it proved Gary had the angle of the curved bench just right, so we could both sit together and sign.

Sally’s cushions were perfect for the bench, making my favourite spot even more special, as we signed away our memories of the day. Gary explaining how, even with his heavy harvesting schedule and taking me out, he had still managed to design and build the bench. Once roughed out, his mum made templates to make the cushions.

It was a lovely evening, as we signed and finished the last of our drinks. An evening chill crept over me, so I curled my feet up under me to lean on Gary and cuddling up to him. I’ve never felt so relaxed with anyone, enjoying his musk and solid body next to mine.

A long silent pause felt a little cumbersome, as I wanted to sign and chat, but with my one arm around him, it wasn’t easy. I shivered in a chill breeze brushing over the pond. Gary shuffled to stand, disturbing my cuddle further. I shot him a withering glance, and he signed, “Shush. Wait.”

He opened the cubby storage beneath his seat and pulled out a tartan rug. Giving me a smug smile, he sat back down and pulled me across to him. I dropped to lie across his lap and he spread the rug over my legs and waist. He pulled my now free backrest cushion over, so I could rest my head on it, keeping my hands free.

“Have you had a nice day Isla?”

“I’ve had a lovely day G. One of my nicest friends has given me a wonderful present.”

“Only a nice friend?”

“He’s a very special friend…”

I wriggled on his lap and felt a hand ruffle my hair.

“A little bird told me… He is your boyfriend.”

“He is a boy… And he is a friend… Okay… He is a very special friend.”

It was nice to feel him chuckle his reaction. I’d have loved to talk with him more, but I was tired and curled up on his lap on my bench was perfect. It was nice in the last light of twilight, covered by a rug watching the ducks on the pond. His one hand stroking my hair and his other hand wandering over my legs, hips and bum, but no further.

I wanted his arms around me, so I pulled his closest arm down to hold, leaving his wandering hand softly stroking my body with the odd squeeze. I’d have liked to roll over to face him and go further in this perfect moment… But I was too tired and this moment was way too nice to spoil.

The setting sun turned the sky into an orange glow, which slowly diminished as the ducks swim to their hiding places and darkness crept over us. Even the brightly coloured wildflowers were dipping into darkness, aided by my eyelids drooping downwards.

Suddenly I shook awake from a deep sleep. The world was shaking me. My head fogged by being dragged out of slumber, I realised Gary had picked me up, with the rug draped over me and it was now dark. Hooked up in his arms, he carried me across the field back home. I wrapped my arms around him and led my head on his shoulder.

“I… Must… Have… Fallen… Asleep.”

I pig squeaked in apology…

I felt vibrations through his shoulder, not knowing whether it was his reply or a grunt of effort as he stumbled across the dark field. When we entered the garden, light from our conservatory flooded over us.

We halted outside the conservatory, and Gary lowered me to stand on my own two feet. He shook and folded the rug. I brushed myself and tried to shake myself awake. I followed him into the conservatory to find both sets of parents sat with drinks, smiling.

“Sally, your cushions are too good. I fell asleep.”

I signed, trying to explain the late hour, feeling four pairs of eyes on me. Mum translated for me, but whilst three pairs of eyes accepted the explanation, my dad’s eyes still looked sceptical and judgmental.

Is he just being overprotective of his daughter?

Gary nodded, but it is an improvement to see dad warming to him as he offered us both a drink. I shook a negative head, unable to drink any more alcohol.

“Does anyone fancy an Irish coffee to end the day?” Then mum signed, “Isla?”

“No, not for me mum, plain old tea would be nice.”

As I joined her to make my tea.

Mum went through the ritual of making Irish coffee for the five of them. I carried the tray of drinks back out to the conservatory to find Gary had pulled the one sofa around, so we could all sit and chat.

After serving the drinks, I sat next to Gary, feeling a little self-conscious in front of all of our parents. Mum, sensing a stalemate in conversation, asked Gary about the impending birth of the piglets and their plans for the free-range pigs.

Gary explained and signed along, even though speaking to mum. This allowed me to follow the conversation without lip-reading, which would have caused me to crane my neck. It also allowed me to interject when Gary confused a few details.

In one of my corrections, I gave a little of my game away, exposing my in-depth knowledge, not only of his and his sister’s plans, but also the bureaucracy that surrounded it. This surprised everyone, except mum, who knew my tenacity for diving headlong into every detail of any project I undertake.

Gary looked surprised, knowing he hadn’t supplied me with that piece of information. He picked his explanation back up and continued. Going into depth about all the grants and additional income, they were hoping to win, to guarantee the continued profitability and sustainability of the farm.

During his enthusiastic explanation, I enjoyed seeing both his parents nod in agreement and support the plans. Scanning both our parents’ reactions, I realised he had impressed dad with the scale of the improvements and his involvement in the farm’s future.

Gary’s mum and dad joined in, with Gary continuing to sign a translation, continuing to help me even though I could lip read. The conversation became a little more convoluted and lighter in tone as everyone got involved.

I’d like to think Gary impressed dad as the conversation continued, as he looked more relaxed with his presence, even when he noticed us holding hands. Despite the enjoyable company, I caught mum yawning and, like a pandemic, I soon followed suit, for Gary’s mum to pick up the next bout of yawning.

“Come on Gary, walk your mum home.” Sally requested as she got up, “But I think we’ll walk back the roadway. It’s too late to be falling into ditches or ponds.”

There were goodnight kisses and hugs all around as the four parents went out, walking to the front gate, leaving Gary and I alone in the conservatory.

“I’ve had a lovely day, thanks G. I think you are a hit with mum and dad.”

“I’m just glad to be a hit with you and to be promoted to boyfriend level.”

We both laughed and embraced. It was lovely to be in his loving warm arms for one last time this evening. I hoped he could stay, but whilst I feel ready, I don’t think dad is… Just yet.

Gary gave me one of his bear hug squeezes and we kissed one last time as he joined his parents outside. After a brief chat with mum and dad, the three disappeared into the gloom beyond the front gate.

I collected the cups and debris, taking it all into the kitchen and began washing up. Mum and dad followed to join me. Dad came over and gave me a hug, looking a little awkward.

“Night love, I hope you’ve enjoyed your birthday.” He pecked me on the cheek and climbed the stairs to bed.

Mum waited until he had gone to sign. “G, has impressed your dad. I thought he was ever going to come around, but the high level of his signing, even translating for his mum, has broken your dad’s icy exterior.”

We laughed, as dad had anything but an icy exterior.

“G, has changed. Barney and Sally are overjoyed that he’s making plans with Cat and Helen for the future.”

“I’m so glad, I was worried about dad.”

“I still can’t get over the bench he has made. Sally was telling us about the long hours he spent in the one workshop creating it, all with timber from the farm. She played down her part in making those cushions. They are lovely.”

“Oh, mum… It’s the best gift ever, better than any jewellery, especially as he made it… It was lovely of Sally to have made the cushions.”

“He has become special to you, hasn’t he? We’ve noticed a difference in you since he first visited you. You’re happier, even wearing more skirts and dresses… We’re worried you were becoming a hermit… Living, and working here, never going out or making friends.”

I nodded, knowing her mother’s intuition was right. He is very special, and I wanted him to become more. We hugged good night and worked our way upstairs to bed, turning lights off as we went.

I slept in late the next day and had more of a brunch with mum in the garden. Spring was now well behind us and we’re into summer. The green crops were now browning off and will soon be golden, ready for harvesting.

Dad was busying himself in the garden, weeding as usual. It seems gardening is ten percent growing and ninety percent weeding. His vegetable patch down the bottom of the garden was in full growth and we could pick a cabbage and some runner beans for dinner.

The week passed with Gary and I continuing to meet for sandwiches but now sharing my birthday bench. Our texts were less matter of fact and more loving, often about nothing at all. Then finally one morning a text from Gary arrived.

< Hi, I’m in one of the lower fields but will pick you up at two pm, if you want to see eight cute pink spotted piglets. Xx >

< Please… see you then. Xx >

I walked past my pond, through the field to sit on the gate whilst I waited. A little after two, Gary arrived in a tatty Toyota pickup truck that had seen better days. It seemed to be typical farmyard transport. As it had so many dents, it looked like it had been the football in a football match, set on fire, buried, then resurrected.

After a kiss, Gary gave me a dusty rug to cover a very dubious broken passenger seat. At least the seat belt worked, even if the window didn’t. Unable to lower the window, I had to put up with multiple farmyard smells inside the cab, as he drove us down to the farm to park by a farm building.

We walked up a short dirt road towards a wood that ran alongside the farmhouse, through a gate and into a pen. Unlike most pigpens, the fence ran around several trees and was as large as our garden.

Inside the pen was the birthing hut, with runs for the pigs to enter and leave. Gary opened the human size door, on it’s side, for me to enter. Even before I entered, I caught a waft of pig smell that, whilst I expected it, I was unused to the strength of it.

Once inside and joined by Gary, with the door closed behind. Even with a skylight and the faint glow of an overhead light, my eyes had to adjust to the gloom.

The large sow was on its side, with seven piglets suckling, safely behind a rollover bar. Gary had explained the design of the hut to me in one of our earlier conversations.

One unfortunate piglet had not remained behind the safety of the bar. The sight of a squashed, dead piglet, coupled with the smell, was too much for me. Making me feel sick and a little feint.

“G, I can’t stay, it’s too much. Sorry.”

He understood immediately and nodded, pointing for me to leave.

“Go, I’ll stay and sort it out.”

I dashed out of the hut and the pen to walk away from the scene. Able to clear my nostrils, but not my mind from that dreadful scene. I wandered a little aimlessly up and down the farm track by the pen, annoyed with myself.

If I wanted to be part of Gary’s world and baulk at this simple fate of nature mixed in with farmyard smells, I’d have to overcome my petty fairytale instincts. The world is not all unicorns and fairies, nor perfume.

Something caught my peripheral vision and saw Barney walking towards me from the farmhouse. Rather than seeing the happy, jolly face I saw on my birthday, he looked furious. I think I missed most of what he said, but able to lipread a little of the tail end of his rant.

“You shouldn’t be here, girl… This is no place for you… You’re not to come onto the farm..”

Now he was closer. I could feel his anger scaring me. I tried to sign my answer, but he doesn’t understand and he can’t hear my pathetic voice.

His eyes then gibed past, to look beyond me, with his finger pointing at me and repeating his tirade. I turned to look at his target and Gary was storming out of the pen, dead piglet in hand.

I tried signing to Gary to understand what was happening, but he and his father had closed in on each other and were shouting incoherently. Barney with his back to me and with Gary obscured by Barney, I couldn’t lip-read either, but the anger in both their body posturing was frightening.

I walked away, never having encountered such conflict, even at university. I couldn’t even watch, as I slowly walked back the way we came, unsure of my part in Barney’s anger and why he directed it at me.

Walking away, I saw high on the ridge, to my right, about a mile away was my parent’s house. I decided on a coward’s way out and return home to relative safety. Then an old, large, dray horse, with white hair hiding its hooves, walked into my view, watching me.

I recognised it as Barney had used it for historical farming demonstrations, at local fates and fairs, to pull vintage equipment and farm-carts for rides. I remember as a girl having ridden on a cart pulled by the horse.

The horse was in a large paddock, but rather than the usual low wire fencing, this paddock had high timber fencing with strong horizontal slats. Despite its height, the horse could only hook his head over the top slat of the fence.

“Hi, boy… ” I mouth and step towards him as he leaned towards me.

Having ridden many ponies and horses, I know where they like to be scratched and stroked. This horse loved the attention, leaning on the fence to get closer. When younger at pony club I gained the nickname ‘Pony Whisperer’, as they all seemed calmer around me.

This horse was no exception, and he seemed to understand my silent words I mouthed to him.

“You all alone?… No one to ride you… eh?”

His head nodded and bucked, and he brought his body around alongside the fencing, so now I could now stroke his main. I stepped up onto the lower slat of the fence for an advantage. Stroking his ears and ruffling his mane, he was calm and kept pushing my arm along his neck with his nose.

“Aw boy… No one to ride you…”

After a lifetime of reading facial expressions on both humans and animals, I could swear he understood, as he brushed my shoulder with his nose, as if encouraging me to get on.

“Do you want me to ride you?”

He nodded…

How can this be…? Is it just coincidental… “Do you want me to ride you?” I silently asked, whilst signing this time. Again he nodded and as I leaned over to stroke him again, he bit onto my dress’s shoulder ruffle to pull me over, encouraging me to mount him.

“Okay…”

I climbed up another slat, like a rung on a ladder, and he pressed his body closer to the fence, which bowed under the pressure. His nose stretched to push me round onto him. I stepped up another slat and stroked down his mane and along his enormous back.

One more step up and I could reach my leg over… I leaned my weight on the fence and rubbed my foot and leg onto his back, still not sure… His head whipped around the other side of him and bit into the material of my nearest dress shoulder ruffle, pulling me onto him.

I laughed, as I fell onto him, dragging my second leg over the fence, for it to fall between him and the fence, as he stepped sideways away from the fence. I continued to stroke his mane and neck, leaning onto his head to laugh and rub my nose in his mane, breathing in his stinky horse musk.

I could feel his heavy feet plod as he walked further into the paddock, his back barely registering my presence. It felt as if I were sitting on a walking skyscraper. Scratching his ears and hugging his neck, I turned to see if Gary and Barney had yet to come to blows.

The scene was the polar opposite to what I imagined. Both were standing in awe on the farm track, watching me on this thundering magnificent horse, stomping around the paddock.

“Isla, get off that horse… he’s dangerous…” Gary signed.

They both had a look of concern on their faces, but I couldn’t understand why… This big, gentle old horse was nothing of the sort. I sat up in defiance and, holding onto his mane with both hands, I kicked my heels.

Baddoom, baddoom came the vibrations through me, as he moved faster, following my exact instructions through his mane and body. We cantered around the paddock to come to a rest short of Gary and Barney, but the dray wouldn’t get close to them or the fence.

“Isla, honest, that horse is dangerous, no one has ridden him in years… He will bite you and buck like a bronco any minute… Please… For me… Come down.”