COUNTRY LOVING

Rural life isn’t always idyllic, especially when it comes to dating…

‘Accident-prone widow seeks white knight’

WHEN MY LATE HUSBAND WAS A CHILD, A HORSE-DEALER USED TO ORGANISE THE CAROL SINGING IN THE VILLAGE. He’d drive the singers from farm to farm in his horsebox, complete with a piano in the back, and it was very popular – until the night he had a pony to deliver, and insisted on bringing it along, too. I always think about this man on Christmas Eve, because I pass his old cottage as I walk up through the narrow lanes to Midnight Mass. The whole landscape is dark and hushed, the sky a dome of stars, and I love knowing a story about every sleeping house I pass.

This year I was hurrying towards the cosy little church with more urgency than usual, because I’d heard that my attractive neighbour, Matthew Antiza, was planning to be there, and I hoped – a bit pathetically, I know – that I’d get to talk to him. First, though, I had to stop and check on some farm animals. A few days earlier, another neighbour, Stuart, had had a heart attack and, since his wife, Pearl, was with him in hospital, I’d offered to help out.

There wasn’t much to do: they only rear beef and keep a few pet ducks. My husband always insisted that you could see a person’s character reflected in their animals. If he’s right, then Pearl is intensely talkative at night – like her tiny call ducks – and equally reluctant to sleep in the right bed.

Stuart’s temperament was harder to see in his cattle. I’m used to mine – which are cheeky and affectionate – so his seemed strangely wild. But that may be because he’s bought new ones lately. This evening, one of the newest, a Charolais heifer, was missing. I crunched across the frosty grass and found her, a field away, up against a hedge. Her back was to me, and I could tell from her hindquarters that she’d just calved. It was a surprise, as she’d shown no sign, and it definitely wasn’t planned: farmers prefer beef calves to be born in the spring.

I thought I could see movement on the ground ahead of her, so I got closer to check on the calf, using my phone as a torch. Just as I reached the white cow, she turned, lowered her head at me and shook it from side to side.

I knew what that meant. I turned and ran, my phone falling out of my hand, but she was too fast. She hit me with such force that I was knocked to the ground. I could hear her furious snorting – and then she knelt on me. I’d heard about this; it’s the strangest way to express extreme anger. I may have passed out briefly because the next thing I remember was finding myself alone on the freezing ground.

I was too dazed and numb to move at first. I began, rather melodramatically, thinking what a stupid way this would be to die. Once, I would have been glad to rejoin my darling husband, but now, after nearly two years of dating and meeting new people, I desperately want to live. Then I heard a voice calling my name. It came gradually closer – until a light was on my face, and I heard Matthew say, “Imogen!”.

I looked up at his dark silhouette. He was kneeling, too. ‘How did you…?’ I said. ‘As if I wouldn’t notice you were missing!’ he said, his voice breaking. “From anywhere! And want to find you, and be with you!” Maybe I dreamt he said that. But if I did, I don’t want to wake up.