Page 13 of For My Finale

L ilah had her reservations about the farm. For a start, she had a feeling that most chihuahuas weren’t farmed. But then again, what did she know? Secondly, it was awfully early. The sun was bright and golden, but this was not a normal time to be awake.

Still, there was an arrangement here. She strode through the farmyard, proud that she’d remembered to wear boots and not anything impractical, until she found a burly, weathered man in a worn-out flat cap and mud-streaked wellingtons.

“George Thompson,” he said gruffly. “You’re late.”

“Am I?” Lilah said airily. “It’s still terribly early.” She wrinkled her nose. The place smelled. Not the sort of wholesome outdoorsy smell she might have expected. But a stench that was, unmistakably, well, manure related.

“You’re an actress,” George grunted.

“I was an actress,” Lilah corrected, looking around and wondering where all the dogs were.

“Hmm.” He clicked his tongue. “Alright then. Let’s see if you can star in a real job then. Ever worked a day in your life?”

“Acting is work,” Lilah said, lifting her chin.

“Yeah, course.” He clearly didn’t believe her. “Alright then, best get started. First job, you’ll need to be mucking out that barn over yonder. You see the one there?”

Lilah stared at him. “And by mucking you mean…? ”

He tossed her a pitchfork which she only just caught before it pierced her. “Shoveling dung,” he said shortly. “Get to it then.”

It took approximately five minutes for Lilah to regret every decision she had ever made in her life up until this point.

She stabbed her pitchfork into the straw, managing to scoop up a reasonable amount of the offending material, only to immediately be caught off balance by the unexpected weight of it, and to slip on something unseen.

With a shriek, she tumbled backward, landing directly on something that was thankfully soft. Slightly less thankfully, it turned out to be a pile of cow manure.

George sniffed. “Might want to watch your step there, missy.”

Lilah groaned and gritted her teeth. “I hate it here already.”

“City girl, eh?” George said, offering her a dirty hand.

Lilah reluctantly accepted it, yanking herself up and wiping her hands on her already ruined trousers.

“You’ll live. Happen I should have started you off on something easier.

Though I don’t know what’s easier than mucking out.

” He considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Come on, follow me.”

She followed him to a small outhouse, where he pointed to a large sack.

“That there’s chicken feed,” he said. He pointed toward an enclosure. “Them there’s chickens. Take the feed and feed ‘em.”

She eyed the sack, then the coop. It seemed easy enough. “Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Leave it to me.”

Perhaps she should have been slightly more skeptical.

She lifted the sack and carried it into the coop.

But the moment she opened it, the wind picked up, blowing fine, powdery feed directly into her face.

Coughing and spluttering, she tried to shake it off, but the sudden movement and availability of food excited the chickens, which promptly flew at her in a flurry of feathers and squawks.

“I’m under attack!” Lilah shrieked.

George, who was waiting outside the coop with his arms folded, shook his head as he watched her flail wildly in an attempt to escape the angry poultry.

The sack overturned, spilling feed everywhere.

Chickens swarmed to the mess, pecking frantically.

Lilah, relieved to be left alone, turned and tripped over one, which squawked, resulting in her falling flat on her back for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“I hate it here,” she said again.

“Maybe we just haven’t found the right chore for you yet,” George said doubtfully. Then his face brightened. “There’s always sheep, though.”

Lilah sighed, got to her feet, and followed George over to a nearby field.

“Now, this is simple,” he said, looking proud of himself for thinking of it. “All you’ve got to do is walk behind ‘em, all gently like, and guide ‘em into the pen. Nothing to it.”

Predictably, there turned out to be rather a great deal more to it.

Lilah attempted what she imagined to be a firm and authoritative farmer stance, waving her arms in a haphazard manner, as she thought a shepherd would probably do. The sheep seemed… unimpressed.

Rather than heading toward the pen, they scattered in every direction.

“Go that way!” she shouted. But they ignored her, settling down to munch on some grass.

“You’ve got to be gentle,” George said, leaning on a stone wall and watching.

Lilah took a deep breath and tried again, stepping forward carefully. One sheep eyed her warily, then bolted, leading the others in a full-scale escape attempt.

“Oh, come on,” Lilah cried, chasing after them before slipping over on the damp grass and falling on her back again.

This time, George actually laughed.

She was slower to her feet this time. And when George led her back to the hen-house and instructed her to look for eggs, she flat-out refused.

“I’m not setting foot in there with those psychopaths again,” she said .

George looked thoughtful. “You could learn some milking, I suppose. I mostly use machines these days, but hand-milking is a skill.”

“Cow milking?” Lilah asked carefully. “And that involves… what exactly?”

George told her.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly.

He nodded. “Shall we say that you’re not cut out for farm life, then?” he said.

“I think that’s something that we can both agree on,” Lilah said.

He pointed toward the farmhouse. “The door’s unlocked. You might want to go and have a wash up before you go.”

Gratefully, she walked back toward the house.

???

Blossom leaned on the farm gate, one foot on the bottom bar, watching as Lilah carefully closed the farmhouse door and picked her way across the farmyard.

“She’s quite a good actress,” she said to George, who was leaning on the gate next to her.

“Happen she could have acted a bit more as a farmer, then,” he grunted.

“Mmm. Looks like this isn’t her calling,” Blossom said, as Lilah joined them.

“She’s bloody useless,” said George.

“Hey, I’m standing right here, you know,” said Lilah indignantly.

“I’m off to find my sheep,” said George, pushing himself off the gate.

Blossom waited until he was gone, surveying Lilah. Lilah’s normally sleek hair was coming loose from its bun. There was a highly suspect streak of something on her cheek. And the smell of manure was somewhat overpowering .

“What happened?” Blossom asked, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

“It’s a long story,” Lilah said.

“Mmm. George called it a shit-show. I wouldn’t mind hearing your version.”

Lilah groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Look, you asked if I liked animals, so I thought this would be a good fit.”

“You said you loved animals and they loved you,” Blossom pointed out.

“Dogs,” Lilah said, looking at her. “I like dogs, Blossom.”

Blossom stared at her, then shook her head. “We don’t farm dogs in this country. And you could have mentioned that.”

Lilah rolled her eyes. “Well, excuse me for not specifying that my affections don’t extend to woolly monsters with dead eyes.

“Sheep?” Blossom asked, determined not to laugh at her.

“The damn things don’t listen,” Lilah complained. “They don’t move where you want them to, and one of them almost took me out at the knees.”

Blossom sniffed, then wished that she hadn’t. “And the, um, manure situation?”

“I tripped.”

“Into—”

“Into a lot of it, okay?” Lilah said.

Blossom finally let out a snort of laughter before she could stop herself. Lilah glared at her. “Come on,” Blossom said. “Let’s get you home before you traumatize any more farm animals.”

They walked side by side down the winding lane that led back home, insects buzzing and the sun warm on their shoulders.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Blossom had another moment where she couldn’t believe she was actually walking next to Lilah Paxton.

Then she sniffed again and sort of wished that she wasn’t walking quite so close.

Then, out of nowhere, Lilah said, “You should tell Ives about the cafe.”

Blossom stiffened. “What?”

“Well, if not Ives, then someone,” Lilah said. “You’re obviously worried about it.”

Blossom exhaled slowly. “You’ve guessed then.”

“Doesn’t take a genius,” said Lilah. “I’m guessing that something like that new franchise opening up could be enough to close you down, right?”

The words were just out there, just said like that, and couldn’t be taken back. Blossom nodded.

“You should fight it,” Lilah said.

Blossom couldn’t think of anything to say, any way to explain that she couldn’t fight it. Not just her. Not Blossom Baker.

Their hands brushed as they walked, just for a brief electric moment, and Blossom’s breath caught. There was a second where nothing happened.

Then Lilah glanced at her sideways and lifted an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

Blossom flushed. She was unclear on whether or not this was a serious question. “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.”

Lilah snorted. “Good. Flirting with a famous movie star would be crazy.”

She was clearly teasing, and Blossom forced out a laugh. But it felt just a little too hollow. Maybe because Lilah was absolutely right. Liking her was ridiculous. Why on earth would someone like Lilah Paxton ever be interested in… well, in someone vaguely normal.

They turned into their lane, and Blossom sighed with relief. She was ready for this walk to be over. Until she saw what was standing in the front garden.

Billy.

“Oh no,” Lilah said, taking one look and bolting toward her own front door. “Nope, I’m done with creatures for today.”

“He’s harmless,” Blossom shouted, laying a hand on Billy’s back.

“I don’t care,” said Lilah, unlocking her door. She glanced back. “The door’s always open if you want to talk about that cafe stuff,” she said, before going inside and closing her door.

Blossom sighed and stroked Billy’s nose. “At least someone loves me,” she said.

Billy huffed in reply.

“Fine, alright, come around to the kitchen window, I’ve got your carrot,” she said.

As she went into the house, she felt more conflicted than ever. It was like the world was forcing her to change. And she didn’t like it.