The Gastropoda Imperative - Peter Barns (i like reading books .TXT) 📗

a bout of laughter. “Morons,” she called back over her shoulder.

Lyra spent a good half hour in the small supermarket, picking up the items her mother had listed for her. She had sneaked in a couple of bars of dark chocolate that she would stash away when she got back. Chocolate was her one vice.

Having finished the shopping, Lyra loaded up her backpack and picked up the plastic carrier bag that she’d had to buy to pack the rest of the shopping in. It was going to be a long trek back to the cottage.

Reaching the bus shelter, Lyra stopped for a rest, putting the carrier bag down with a sigh. It had become so heavy that she’d begun to wonder if she’d be able to carry it all the way back to the farm. She was contemplating hiding it somewhere, so that her mother could come and pick it up in the car later, when a head suddenly popped around the battered screen.

The head was quickly followed by the rest of the boy. He looked to be about eighteen to her and had the most amazing hazel eyes. Tousled blond hair hung in a lock over his forehead.

“You okay?” he asked.

Lyra nodded. “Yes, just on my way home with some shopping.”

“Exciting life you lead,” he replied, face breaking into a huge grin.

“Are you waiting for a bus? Is there one that goes from here up passed Sea View Holdings?” Lyra asked.

Another boy and a girl appeared from inside the bus shelter. The girl was slim, with curly dark brown hair. Her thickish eyebrows spoiled an otherwise pretty face. Lyra put her age at somewhere near her own. The newcomers smiled a greeting.

“The buses stopped running along here years ago,” the blond boy said, rubbing his hand over his chin, which had a fine blond fuzz covering it.

If his hair had been darker it might have looked okay, but as it was, Lyra thought it looked a bit silly. “Oh, okay. Thanks,” she said, picking up the bag again.

“Hang on a sec,” the second boy said. “Are you going to walk all the way up to Sea View with that lot?”

His hair was fairly long and a bit straggly, and he wore his grey hoodie and jeans long and loose. Lyra thought he looked a mess.

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the girl.

“He’s my brother,” the girl said, nodding at the gangly youth.

“Older brother,” he responded, giving a short wave of his hand. “Name’s Fin. This is my little sister, Willow. The big lump with the designer stubble is Troy.”

Troy threw his friend a look and Lyra giggled.

“Want a hand with that lot?” Willow asked.

“That would be really great,” Lyra said with a smile. “Guess I bought way too much.”

“What woman doesn’t when she’s out shopping?” Fin’s comment got him a shove in the back from his sister and they both laughed. He held out his hand and Lyra gave him the carrier bag.

“I’ll take the backpack,” Troy said.

While handing over the backpack, Lyra’s fingers brushed Troy’s and she felt a tiny electric shock run through them. Blushing, she looked away.

“So what do we call you,” Troy asked.

“The phantom shopper?” Fin suggested.

“It’s Lyra.”

“That’s a nice name,” Willow said.

Lyra smiled, her face turning even redder.

“Come on then,” Troy said, slinging the backpack over his broad shoulders as he set off along the road.

During the walk back to the cottage, Lyra learnt that Troy was going to University in a few months and that he wanted to be a barrister, like his father. Willow was still at school, like herself, and Fin was at college, taking a course on computer programming.

When Lyra told them that she wanted to go to university and study to become a biologist, they all raised there eyebrows.

“Well good for you,” Willow said.

“Hey, did you hear about the accident last night?” Fin said.

“The car that drove off the cliff?” Troy asked.

“What happened. I haven’t seen the news today?” Lyra leant forward as she walked, looking around Troy towards Fin.

“David Scott drove his car straight off the side of the cliff.” Fin slapped his hands together. “Pow! They found his secretary’s body but his must have been swept away by the tide.”

“That’s terrible,” Lyra said.

“Yeah, such a waste. They reckon she was a real good looker.”

Willow slapped her brother on the arm and he jumped up and down shouting, “Stings. Stings,” rubbing his arm, a wounded expression on his face, acting the hurt little boy.

“Serves you right. You can be such a cretin at times,” Willow said.

Arriving at the cottage, Lyra’s new friends were made welcome by her mother. “Can I get you a drink or anything?” she asked them.

“A whisky would go down great just about now,” Fin said, eliciting another slap from his sister.

“Don’t take any notice of him,” Willow said. “He thinks he’s some kind of comedian.”

The group sat around the garden table, chatting and laughing, while Lyra’s mother made them coffee and sandwiches. She even managed to dig out a can of larger for Troy.

Willow kept checking her mobile, and at one point Fin snatched it out of her hand. “Shall I send him a sex text?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face.

“Don’t you dare,” Willow shouted, snatching her phone back.

“Her boyfriend, Robbie,” Troy explained, tilting his head and raising his eyes skywards.

“Here. Look,” Willow said, handing her mobile across to Lyra. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Lyra saw a picture of a boy about her own age. His crinkly hair was cut short and his skin looked smooth. He had the most enormous smile on his face. He reminded Lyra of a young Denzel Washington.

“Ooh Robbie,” Fin said, digging his sister in the ribs.

“Will you cut it out!”

Lyra could see that Willow was embarrassed and smiled across at her. “Just ignore the idiot,” she said.

For a moment the group fell silent and she was worried that she might have gone too far, too quickly. But then Fin slapped the table and laughed. The others joined in, and Lyra relaxed.

They spent the next couple of hours enjoying the chat and sunshine.

After they’d left, Lyra’s mother made some lunch and they sat down at the big kitchen table to eat. “They seem like a nice bunch of kids,” her mother said.

“Mum, they’re not kids. And neither am I.”

“You’ll always be my baby, Lyra.”

Swiping her mother’s hand away, Lyra smoothed down her hair where her mother had tousled it.

“And don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at that Troy boy, either.” Her mother giggled behind her hand. “Oh I like that. Troy boy, get it?”

Lyra sighed, trying to ignore her mother’s inane banter.

“He’s far to old for you. You know that, right? Right?” she emphasised when Lyra didn’t answer.

“Mum!”

“I’m just saying.”

Lyra put down her knife and fork. “I’ve only just met him. I don’t even know him, mum. Will you just leave it.”

“Me thinks the girl doth protest too much,” her mother murmured under her breath, clearing the dishes from the table.

Lyra felt herself blush again and stood up. “I’m going out to check on the animals,” she said, grabbing her coat as she walked out.

The day had turned dull and a fine rain was falling. The kind that drenched you without really trying.

Chapter 11

Lyra was fuming.

Picking up the bucket again, she shoved it back under the goat and sat down on the narrow wooden seat, determined that no stupid animal was going to get the better of her today. Cherry looked back along her flank, and Lyra could have sworn that the goat gave a crafty smile.

She’d been here two weeks and still couldn’t get the hang of this milking lark. Her aunt had made it quite plain how important milking the goat regularly was, leaving them strict instructions on how and when to do it.

Lyra’s mother told her that she had to go back to London for the day, so Lyra would have to step up and do the job. “If we miss two milkings, the poor animal will start to dry up, and we don’t want that to happen, do we, darling?”

“Yes we bloody well do,” Lyra had muttered under her breath.

Looking down at the milk now staining her jeans, Lyra took a deep breath and tried again.

“Okay Cherry,” she said, leaning over and grabbing the goat’s teats. “Stand still for me like a good girl.”

As soon as Lyra’s hand touched the goat’s teat, it arched its back and hooked the bucket out from under its udder with a back foot. The bucket bounced across the floor with a loud clang.

“You’re going at it all wrong, Missy,” a voice said from behind her.

Lyra gave a scream and jumped to her feet, heart beating so wildly she could hear it thumping in her ears.

“Jesus, you stupid sod. You made me jump out of my skin.”

The man leaning against the doorframe was thin and tall, with a bony face that cast his deep eye sockets into permanent shadows. His longish black hair was unkempt. It flowed across his shoulders when he shook his head and pursed his lips.

“No need to be so unpleasant,” he mumbled. “Was just trying to be helpful.” Turning his back, he began walking away.

“No. Hold on,” Lyra called out after him. “Do you know how to milk a goat?”

He turned back. Giving quick glances right and left towards the ground as he nodded. “Milk Mrs Proctor’s goat all the time,” he said.

“Are you Piers Booth?”

Lyra’s aunt had told them that a man might turn up looking for work, and that if he did, to give him some chores and she would settle with him when she got out of the hospital. Lyra wasn’t expecting it to be the tramp she’d seen drinking at the top of the track the day they arrived though. Although looking at him closer, he didn’t seem like such a tramp now, more like someone down on his luck.

The man nodded again. He seemed ill at ease, his eyes flicking here and there, as though continuously on the search for something.

“Jesus, she never told us you were such a—,” Lyra spluttered to a stop, embarrassed at what she’d almost said.

Piers looked down at himself, then back up at her. He began to walk away again.

“No, wait,” she called. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just—” She left the sentence unfinished, waving a limp hand at him.

He turned and came back. She could see that he was clean shaven and had appeared to have washed himself. It was just his clothes that were dirty. She backed away from the door so he could walk passed her into the shed.

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he said, sitting down at the milking bench. Readjusting the clamp holding Cherry’s head, he patted her on the rump. “Old friends, me and you. Ain’t we girl?”

Cherry rolled her head up and back, as though agreeing with him. Slipping his hands under the goat, the man set to work and Lyra heard the splashing of milk into the bucket. After awhile he stopped and turned to her.

“Hold out two fingers,” he said. “Like this.” Extending his arm, he angled his wrist downwards, pointing his first two fingers at the floor, at the same time folding his thumb and other fingers out-of-the-way.

Lyra did as he asked, a bit uneasy about what he might be up to at first. She jumped slightly when the man grabbed her fingers between his thumb and first finger, squeezing them lightly. His fingers were long and bony.

“See, start at the top. Like this. Nudge the udder before you begin. Then—” Squeezing her fingers tighter, he drew his grip along them. “Like that,” he said. “Not too hard. Just hard enough to draw the milk down. You see?”

Lyra nodded her head.

Piers stood and waved at the stool. “Now you,” he said.

Lyra sat down, and after a bit more instruction from the man standing at her shoulder, began to get the hang of it. She was nowhere near as fast as he was, but she wasn’t making too bad a job of it, considering.

After Lyra had finished, the man sat in her place and took hold of Cherry’s teats again. Lyra was surprised at how much milk was still left in the goat’s udder. She thought she’d got it all out, but no.

“The last