Cricket by Anna Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

they’re geese,” Ryan said with a touch of humor coloring his voice.
    “Oh.”
    The farm was split down the middle by a central road… dirt track , Henry corrected in his mind. Although he’d not seen any large machinery or tractors, there was evidence that the latter, at least, must exist somewhere due to the deep tracks in the mud.
    The horses and birds were closest to the house, and on the opposite side of the track, Ryan pointed out a mass of wildflowers and herbs, not seeming to grow in any particular order.
    “The organic flower industry is still fairly young,” Ryan said, “but there are more conscientious florists starting to crop up. We supply nearly everything to a couple of shops in Bristol and one in Exeter.”
    “Who maintains it?”
    “Me, mostly,” Ryan said. “But a lot of it takes care of itself. I buy stuff from local markets and stick it in the ground. Some of it grows, some of it doesn’t. The stuff that grows works well. It’s like a cottage garden, really, just on a much bigger scale. Plus, I like the smell.”
    “Counteracts the horse manure?” Henry offered.
    “That,” Ryan agreed. “And there’s a reason why the pigs are behind it.”
    “Pigs?” Henry echoed faintly. Ryan just smirked.
    “We keep them for educational purposes, really. After the first four or five school trips I had come through, I realized that there’s a good opportunity to offer tours and the like, and people will buy into it. Pigs are good for that. People like to see pigs on a farm. And the goats.”
    They stopped at a gate, and Ryan easily hopped up onto the first rung and leaned over, whistling sharply. Henry edged up to the gate, where five enormous black and pink pigs ambled around a fairly large enclosure.
    “These are Gloucester Old Spots,” Ryan said. “Not entirely sure what I’m going to do with them. Don’t think I could stand sending them down to the butcher.”
    “Do you get attached to them?”
    “Sort of. I can’t really kill anything that has a name.”
    “They have names?”
    “Of course. Victoria, Emma, Melanie, Melanie, and Geri.”
    “The Spice Girls?”
    “Yup. But we refer to the Mels as B and C.”
    Henry laughed and shook his head.
    “You know what the sad thing is, though? Children these days have absolutely no idea who I’m talking about. I should have named them after those runty kids in One Direction.”
    “Please,” Henry said, shaking his head. “Don’t.”
    “Wait till you meet the goats.”
    “I take it they’re named too?” Henry asked as they left the pigs and moved to the next enclosure down.
    “Yup. Elton and Gaga.”
    “Ah. The queens of pop.”
    Beyond the pigs and the goats, the farm stretched away into fields where vegetables were grown organically, to the very edge of the property, where there was one final barn and an apple orchard.
    “I’m trying to make my own cider,” Ryan said. “Not allowed to sell it yet, though. I don’t have a license. I’m working on it, so keep an eye out for it in the pub.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    They started to make their way back up the dirt track, and Henry shook his head.
    “I can’t believe this place. I suppose, logically, English agriculture had to be around somewhere, but Hollywood tends to make you think that it can’t possibly be real.”
    “This is no idyllic dream,” Ryan said, frowning. “It takes a lot of work to maintain.”
    “And you run it all yourself?”
    “No,” he admitted. “I’ve got two regular workers who mostly take care of the land and whatever grows in it. And I take kids who are travelling through the area for casual work during harvest, and sometimes, if they’re good with the animals, they stay on for a while.”
    “Any plans to expand?”
    “Not right now. I’ve got my local connections, the pub in town, a couple of grocers, and there’s a pretty big boarding school just a few miles down the road. They get pretty much all their fresh veg from me.”
    “Not a