fcn round 3: eggs
Arthur was collecting the eggs when he heard the car - and he looked up, as he always did, ready to give the visitor a welcoming wave, only to pale immediately on recognising the numberplate of the land rover that was approaching.
Moving as fast as he dared while carrying the eggs, he scuffled out of the hens’ enclosure, almost tripping over Edwina as he went. Arthur squeaked and apologised to her, and shut the wire gate behind him just in time to stop Diego, the rooster, from following him out.
He deposited the eggs in the basket he’d accidentally left outside, then sprinted across the yard and round the back of the house, heading for the barn. Douglas met him halfway.
“Arthur? Is everything alright?”
“Where’s Mum?” Arthur asked, seeming not to here. “Is she out with the sheep? Is she–”
“It’s Tuesday,” Douglas said. “She’ll be at the market. What’s happened?”
“It's—my dad’s here,” Arthur said, eyes wide in horror. “He can’t be here while Mum isn’t here. He might to try to steal the farm—”
“Arthur,” said Douglas calmly, putting a hand on his shoulder, “He can’t steal the farm. Alright? He can’t. Not even in that ugly great car of his, it wouldn’t fit.”
Arthur looked somewhat relieved at this.
“Tell you what, I was just going to refill the troughs on the top field,” Douglas continued. “But you’d probably be better at that, I can never remember which way round the taps go. Could you do me a favour, and sort that out, while I go and see what your father wants?”
Arthur nodded. “I can do that.”
“There’s a good lad.” Douglas patted him on the arm as they parted. He made his way back around to the main yard, mouth set in a firm line. Gordon Shappey wouldn’t know what had hit him.
(Although it had just walked out of the pig sty, so maybe he would be able to guess.)
