Cricket by Anna Martin Read Free Book Online

almost impossible to know that from where he stood now. From the back of his mind, Henry summoned the phrase “England’s green and pleasant land.” It had never meant much to him before, but now….
    The countryside really did roll. It wasn’t flat, like the plains of the Midwest he’d encountered on a college road trip from New York to Las Vegas he’d taken with his friends. In the middle of America, occasionally a feature would thrust itself up from the land, claiming prominence from the unrelenting flatness.
    Here, the land seemed to rise and fall, hills and forests and farmland blending together in a patchwork of green. Apple orchards and cows in fields and horses grazing in pastures… this was the idyllic England he thought didn’t really exist. Surely it was too much of a cliché to be real.
    The walk took him nearly an hour, but only because he kept stopping to snap pictures with the vague thought of e-mailing them back to his mother, not that she’d appreciate them. Henry wasn’t much of a photographer, that much he knew, but it was hard to take a bad picture of this landscape.
    At the door to the farmhouse, he hesitated and checked that he had the right name, then knocked. Henry had called ahead, checking that Ryan Burgess was at home and open to a visitor. He was still slightly nervous about approaching the man attached to the gruff voice who had grunted his agreement to a meeting.
    From somewhere deep inside the house, a dog barked and a man yelled at it. The door swung open to reveal a man, barefoot, in jeans, wearing a thick knitted sweater.
    Henry guessed this must be Ryan.
    Ryan pushed his hand through his thick crop of light-brown curls and frowned.
    “You’re Henry?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Ryan.” He offered his hand, which Henry shook. “Come in.”
    Henry had a few moments to gather his impression of a warm, welcoming house with rich wooden floors before a huge dog ambled up, sniffed his crotch, then reared up to plant big, furry paws on his chest.
    “Hulk! Down!” Ryan shouted, grabbing hold of the scruff of the dog’s neck and hauling it back. “Sorry, mate, he’s a bit of a nightmare. Hulk!”
    The dog turned several circles, then insinuated himself between Ryan’s legs.
    “Is that a sheepdog?”
    Ryan gave him a lopsided sort of smile. “It’s a cross between a purebred English sheepdog, belonging to my mum, and whatever mongrel fucked the bitch down the park and knocked her up.”
    “That explains it.”
    “It’s a fucking pain in the ass, is what it is. Sorry. Want a cuppa?”
    “A cup of what?”
    “Tea.”
    “Oh. Yeah, sure.”
    Following Ryan through to the kitchen, Henry had time to solidify his initial impressions of a house that had to be huge. They passed several rooms, although many of their doors were shut, before entering a sun-drenched kitchen that looked out onto the countryside Henry had been admiring.
    “Nice view,” he commented as Ryan filled a kettle and set it on a wide stove to boil.
    “It’s hard to find a bad one around here. Sit down.”
    Henry did and found the mongrel-sheepdog’s head on his knee within moments.
    “Do you not like dogs? I can kick him out if you like.”
    “He’s okay. My mother had a poodle that she was in love with. It died a few weeks before I moved out here.”
    “Ah, it’s hard to lose a pet. I swear this one answers to Hulk more than he does his proper name, but I wouldn’t do without him.”
    “Do you actually have sheep?”
    “Fuck, no. They’re stupid fucking animals, sheep.” Ryan moved around the kitchen with ease, selecting two striped mugs from a cupboard, milk from a large fridge. There was a matching teapot on the counter that had tea leaves dumped in it, then the boiling water, which was allowed to steep before being filtered into the mugs.
    “The only tea I’ve ever drank before was Lipton’s,” Henry admitted as Ryan passed him a mug and pushed the sugar pot toward him.
    “Get used to it, then,”