The cold November wind was cutting straight through my thick waterproof jacket, pushing all the warm air in my fluffy thermal shirt into the wrong places and sending an icy chill straight to my skin. I tried not to show it as I watched the dirty green tractor make a slow turn at the bottom of the field, carefully following the muddy track that ran along the hedgerow and turning towards me.
I gave Dad a wave which he returned, lifting two fingers off the wheel to acknowledge he'd seen me, then I jammed my hands into my pockets and hunched my shoulders, trying to keep the cold wind off my neck. The top field was always bitterly cold when there was a wind up, and today was no exception. There had been a frost that morning and no leaves were left on the trees which sporadically grew out of the stark hedge, and when I slowed my breathing, trying to put mind over matter and imagine myself warm, I watched a solitary crow swoop out of the branches of a tree and start scavenging in the freshly ploughed field.
"You look cold, Danielle, love!" Dad yelled from his cab as he pulled up, diesel engine roaring and mud dripping from the tyres.
"I feel cold, Dad," I replied with a smile. "Should've put on gloves when we came out."
I reached out with a bare hand and grabbed the metal of the tractor, hauling myself up and through the glass door to get in next to Dad. He had the heater on and over the muddy smell I could smell his aftershave, which he used to mask the usual smell of a farmer at work.
Dad rubbed a browned hand over his stubbly jaw. "I would've liked to have got started on the sheep field but we're losing the light and you probably need to get back, if you're going to go out tonight." He glanced at me as he navigated the tractor through a gap in the hedge and into the next field. This was the sheep field, although it hadn't had sheep in it in all the nineteen years I'd been alive. Tradition kept the name alive and Dad loved the tradition of the farm.
"I've got time, don't worry," I assured him, although when I looked at the clock on the dashboard it was perfectly clear I didn't really. Dad sensibly ignored my protest and turned again, the low red glow of the setting sun making his hair look more of a chestnut colour than the usual deep browny-black. He was getting some flecks of grey in there but some ancestor had gifted him a great hair gene and even at forty-five he still looked ten years younger. He attributed it to plenty of fresh air, in his usual way.
"Don't worry, love, I've been meaning to give the fertiliser man a call anyway and if I go back to the house now I should have time," he explained, putting his foot down and letting the engine roar again, bouncing over the uneven track towards the farmhouse.
I didn't reply, I just felt grateful for the warmth of the cab. It was Saturday, although there were no such things as weekends on the farm, and I'd got plans to meet my best friend Mandy, whose real name was Samantha, and share a lift into the local town to go drinking and try to meet some lads. Mandy had a vague contact with a local rugby team who said they'd be out tonight, and although I'd told myself I wouldn't get excited, the idea of an evening with a good-looking rugby player sounded much nicer than studying my business textbooks in my room.
I'd left my phone in the house as taking it out on the farm generally meant dropping it in a muddy puddle, and when we got back I had a message from Mandy.
Mandy: Let me know when you're on your way x I've got some numbers for taxis to take us home later but I might not need them if I'm bouncing on some ripped guy all night...
Dani: you're disgusting as always babe x just got in so give me half an hour to come over
Mandy and her parents, Ryan and Olivia, and little brother Harvey, farmed the next farm over from ours. We were Ash Tree Farm, they were Hope Farm, and I'd known Mandy since we were in nappies. I loved Ash Tree, farming and my dad, and ever since Mum had died when I was ten we'd been a team - plus Derek, the farmhand who worked five days a week for us. Mandy wasn't as much of a farm girl as I was, and whilst I was studying business management at college so I could run the farm one day, Mandy was studying hairdressing.
"Don't mind the mess, Harvey got back covered head to toe in mud," Mandy explained when I arrived at Hope Farm, a giant holdall slung over my shoulders with my going-out clothes in. It had been a cold walk up the road in the dusk but it felt worth it to be inside with the farmhouse fire roaring and Olivia drying muddy boots on a rack.
"Hi Dani, lovely to see you," Olivia said, giving me a hug once I'd wrestled myself out of my coat. "Ryan'll run you down into town when you girls are ready to go."
"Will he now?" Ryan asked, grinning at me before leaning over to give Olivia a kiss. He was a tall man with silver-grey hair, the same weather-beaten skin my dad had and a permanent smile on his face. Olivia was like an older version of Mandy, although she dyed her hair blonde these days and had some more laughter lines. Mandy hadn't inherited her dad's height, and she and Olivia were petite and curvy.
Mandy's room was a tip, with most of the floor area covered in clothes and discarded makeup. She sat me down squarely in front of her dressing table mirror and said for the hundredth time, "I just love your hair, there's so much you can do with it. Mine is so thin and breaks so easily." I'd got my dad's hair, the thick black colour, and Mandy had always been jealous.
I spent an enjoyable fifteen minutes painting my fingernails whilst Mandy did my hair with tons of hairspray, then she did her own hair and I got dressed. Living on a farm ten miles from the nearest shop seriously limits your fashion options, so online shopping was a godsend and I modelled my form-fitting black-and-white striped dress for Mandy who watched admiringly.
"I can't decide between the gold and the purple," Mandy said, pulling two identical dresses out of plastic bags to show me. "I'll return whichever one I don't wear."
"Purple, definitely," I told her. "The gold is too pale, it'll wash your hair out."
Mandy looked critically at the dresses. "You're probably right. Let me try this one on."
Mandy's problem with off-the-peg dresses was that they were never designed to fit her bust, and even the most flattering bras usually left plenty of cleavage spilling out. I was moderately proud of my C-cups and my dress was showing them off pretty well, but any guy we happened to meet would always notice Mandy's chest first. This purple one was no exception and after five minutes of wrestling in front of the mirror, she was finally satisfied with the way everything sat. I pushed my feet into heels, knowing I'd be regretting it by the end of the night.
"You'll freeze to death in those dresses, girls," Olivia warned us when we came back downstairs. "Take a coat."
Mandy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, my muddy coat will really complete my look," she said back, and Ryan laughed as he twirled the key of his pickup on his finger.
"Come on, let's go," he said, to keep the peace. "If you get too cold then maybe you'll learn your lesson."
It only took fifteen minutes to drive into town, downhill all the way, and Ryan dropped us right in the market square.
"If you get stranded, I'll leave my phone on tonight," he reassured Mandy as we climbed out.
It was actually warmer down here in the valley than it had been up on the farm and I didn't feel as cold as I thought, although my bare legs were definitely chilly and I looped my arm through Mandy's so I could squish up next to her.
"Let's start in Goldie's, there's usually someone to buy us a drink in there," Mandy suggested, and we picked carefully over the cobbles in the direction of the Golden Crown public house. Goldie's was usually an older crowd, a mixture of crusty old blokes who'd lived here since forever and middle-aged couples drinking lagers and wines, but there were limited options in town so you had to take what you could get. At least it was warm inside and, after Mandy had lingered by the bar for ninety seconds with her chest pushed out, the barman came over with two cocktails.
"Courtesy of the two gentlemen over there," he said, pointing to the other end of the bar, looking bored.
The two gentlemen in question were both at least forty, possibly older, and looked like out-of-towners here on holiday. Mandy sipped her cocktail and gave them a thank-you wave, and pretty soon the two blokes slid along the bar to talk to us.
"You two out for some fun tonight?" the shorter of the two men asked, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.
"We're not tarts," Mandy said, darkly.
The men guffawed.
"Sorry love, didn't mean to cause offence," the man said, eyeing up Mandy's tits. "I just meant, you're not here waiting for your boyfriends, are you?"
