The day we buried the llama was wet.
     Jenny was there. And Flo. That was important. We couldn't make chocolate brownies without her. Baking day.
     Mum was in the barn. She made three pots of coffee that day. None of us drink coffee.
     And Joe and I finally kissed.


     I'd always lived in our farmhouse in the hills. I was only 18, but to me that was a lifetime. In the Middle Ages a girl was married and a mother by the time she was 18. Me, I was just out of school and boyfriendless, again.
     I lived with my mother Helena, my sister Jenny and our cousin Flo. Jenny was 16. She was taking a year out of school. I knew she wouldn't go back, because of Flo. Now, Jenny said talking about herself, she could be of some use to us. Flo was 15. She'd been living with us since she was a kid. She was happier and safer here.
     Our farmhouse wasn't a 'farm' house. It was big, with a fireplace in every room. Wooden floors. Stone walls. An attic the length of the house. Views across the valley. I lived in the attic. Jenny in the master bedroom. Flo in the second bedroom. Mum slept in the barn in winter and the treehouse in summer. She found it more convenient when inspiration hit her. Mess and dust had the run of the living room (sorry, drawing room - our Grandmother left a lasting impression on the place) as noone used it. We all came together in the kitchen. To stoke the fire, eat, bake and make phone calls. At least we had the phone line. Though not the computer. Its remains were in the lower field, with the subsiding shed. 
     It all started with the shed, well Susan and the shed.


     Anyway, yes, the day we buried the llama was wet. Pouring down. Bucketfuls. Drenching. Soaking.
     There was me, Katy, by the side gate in sou'wester and wellies. Clutching a coil of rope, waiting for the others. Mum was adding final touches to her most recent painting, Jenny needed to finish the chocolate cakes.
     I checked my watch. Five more minutes was ok. I didn't mind. I liked the rain. There was something about the determination of rain. Pelting storm or persistent drizzle. It still came. 
     Hopping from foot to foot, I looked across the grass. Under the eaves of the farmhouse stood Flo. Bucket in hand, smiling. She was often there when it rained. No water was going to get into our kitchen, she had proclaimed. We'd had a leak that came through the ancient downpipe and straight through the window frame. I hadn't the heart to tell Flo that I'd fixed the leak last autumn. She loved standing outside in the rain, holding a bucket to a leaking roof. I wouldn't deny her any bit of happiness she had.
     As the rain beat down harder on my head, I saw a dark shape emerge from the back door. It stopped, spoke to Flo, then made a dash towards me.
     Jenny splashed her way across the grass, wobbling as her boot heals kept sinking in the mud. She stopped right in front of me, our long rusty crow bar held in front of her.
     "Ok, ready," she announced from under the brim of her straw hat.
     "Mum's still in the barn," I shouted above the torrent coming down between us.
     "Never mind, she knows where we are. She's only coming to watch."
Jenny grabbed my elbow and propelled me across the gravel drive. I knew the lower field would be flooded. Perfect time to do the job. We headed out the gate.
     I always admired my younger sister's determination. If it had to be done, it would be done now. Not tomorrow. Now. We had to get down to the lower field before Susan realised.
     Walking along the road, I heard something zooming up behind us. Surely not? Susan couldn't see us from the manor. We scuttled to the soaked verge as the land rover sped past us, horn honking. Susan had realised.
     "Bugger!" yelled Jenny and broke into a run, "she'll beat us to it."
The dark shape ran madly down the road, water crashing everywhere around her. I let her run. Whether Susan got there before us or not, it didn't matter. She couldn't do anything.
I strolled along, drops of rain plonking onto my head from the line of family oaks - one planted in memory of every dead family member since, well since before Grandmother could remember when she was alive.
     "Hurry up!!!!"
Waving from the stile, the dark shape of Jenny then leapt over and continued her sprint towards the gully of the lower field. The land rover was parked half in and half out of the broken gate. Susan obviously in too much of a hurry to get out and open the gate.
     I paused on the stile. There they were. Fighting. Susan trying to wrestle the crow bar away from Jenny. My sister trying to kick our aunt's legs from under her. And all the while, the shed was sinking deeper.
     "Bring that rope!"
Her arm waving frantically, Susan shouted at me. Climbing over the stile, jumping down into the mud. I hated her. The police and social services may never have been able to prove anything, but I knew. And I hated her.
     Shaking my soaked hair out of my eyes, I made my way towards them. Still fighting. Was neither of them going to save the shed?
     "About time." Susan snatched the rope from me.
I watched her, fascinated. Swiftly tying one end to the door handle, she ran round the shed, wrapping the rope like ribbon. Was she going to pull it out? A sort of one sided tug of war? Tying the other end to the land rover, she threw herself behind the wheel.
     Oh, I see. It'd never work. Too much mud. Susan hadn't really thought that one through. She was only local Brown Owl because of who she was, not what she knew.
     "Don't be stupid!" Jenny had realised as well.
The engine sputtered. Roared, then wimpered. Another sputter, a lurch forward. Choked then died.
     I could see Susan cursing. A smile played over my lips. I did hate her. But I didn't want her to see me smiling.
     Suddenly the land rover came to life and hurtled across the boggy ground. Tumbling towards the old yew. It wasn't going to stop!
     Squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the crash.
     No sound.
Carefully opening them, I looked round. The land rover was sideways, in a mire of its own. Sinking. Susan was struggling with the door. Pushing it upwards, she hauled herself out of the cab. Cursing profanely. She leapt down into the mud. Cursing more profanely now.
     I smiled. A small laugh escaped before I could stop it.
Susan threw her glare at me. Trying to pull herself out of the mud. Still cursing.
     Oh dear.
Quickly I turn and left. It wouldn't do to upset her further after she'd lost both her precious shed (exactly why it meant so much to her I had no idea; she never explained) and her land rover in one day. I decided to head home. No more to be done.
     The slight figure in dungarees came to a stop in the middle of the road ahead of me. Golf umbrella in one hand, camera in the other. Her head swayed back. Something had caught her attention. Crouching, clicking. Mum never went anywhere without a means of capturing the moment. Smiling, I waved my arm over my head.
     "Mum!"
The figure slowly turned. Letting the umbrella tumble to the ground. Sweeping an arm through the air in reply.
     "Hello darling." She kissed my cheek when I reached her. "All done?"
     "Well," I said, slipping my arm through hers, "in a manner of speaking."
     "Not saveable?"
     "No. Shed or land rover."
     "Oh dear!"
She stooped to retrieve the umbrella, swishing it back over our heads. We strolled along the verge, back towards the farmhouse.
     "What a shame," said Mum, "I hope Susan is ok."
     "No."
     "Oh dear." Mum reached gracefully upwards and tweaked a leaf from Uncle Tollie's oak. "Perhaps we should offer her our truck to use?"
I shook my head. Not if the earth were coming to an end. Anyway, Susan wouldn't take it. 
     "No. She'll just go buy a new one."
Mum nodded slowly. "Yes, of course she will."
We'd reached the side gate. Stopping, Mum gazed across the valley, sighing.
     "Beautiful."
And I had to agree with her. Hugging her close, kissing her cheek, I let Mum go.
     "Be careful in there."
Mum turned and smiled at me, touching my cheek. "I shall be darling," she almost whispered, and began walking away, already thinking back to her painting. I watched her go.

     "You know how it happened!"
     "It had nothing to do with it! You built it wrong. That's why it sank."
     "Oh no. That thing of yours was loose in the field. It chewed away my foundations."
     "What!..."
Chewing away the foundations? Now she wasn't thinking normally.
     "Don't be stupid," I spat at Susan, exchanging venomous looks and words across our kitchen table.
She'd invited herself in, barging through the door. Flo had screamed and fled the kitchen as soon as she saw her mother. I wanted her out.
     "Leave, Susan."
Raising her eyebrows at me, my aunt straightened herself up.
     "You know you are never welcome in our house. Leave."
     "I want that thing gone," she said, taking a step towards the door.
     "Leave."
There was a knock at the door. He was early. Her hand on the door, Susan opened it.
     Joe.
     Bags held before him. Smiling beautifully. His smile faded as he saw who had opened the door.
     "Oh, hello Lady Susan," he said, brushing his way past her.
Placing the bags of chicken feed on the table, he looked across at me "Hey, lovely. Two more bags for you."
His voice. His eyes. Everything about Joe made me a little wobbly. I smiled back.
     "Thanks, Joe."
His blue eyes flicked quickly over his shoulder.
     "Susan was just leaving." I said.
     "Charming!" Insulted, she swept out the door, stalking down the path.
Joe's hand on my arm made me jump.
     "You ok?"
I nodded. Going a little weak as I stared into those amazing blue eyes.
     "I should go. Deliveries."
     "Of course."
Following him outside. The rain had stopped. I could feel the damp rising from the ground. Joe stopped. Turned and looked at me.
     "You all ok?"
I nodded. I couldn't help staring into his eyes. Wonderful.
     "Good." Joe kept looking at me. "I should go."
I nodded again. Me, unable to speak? There's something new. He had more deliveries to make. And me, Jenny and Flo had to get started on the scones.
     "I have to go into the village," he said, reaching out towards my face.
     He's going to!
And he did. Placing the softest of kisses on my cheek, Joe turned and was walking away.


     As Joe left it been pouring again. I stood there, letting the drops bounce off my head. Watching him drive away. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I'd kiss him.


     "Flo?"
Peering round the bedroom door. She was in there. Huddled up in the corner. Teddy bear grasped to her. My heart ached looking at her.
     "Hey, hon, it's ok."
I reached out and touched her head. She closed her eyes.
     "Gone?" she whispered.
     "Gone." I knelt down beside her. "Come help us make the scones."
Flo's eyes brightened. "Scones. Yes!"
She stood up. Slipped her arm through mine. We strolled back to the kitchen. Jenny was already measuring out the flour.
     "Scones, Jenny," said Flo. And she was back to bustling round, smiling.
Wiping flour from her hands, Jenny looked at me, asking. I nodded. Flo was ok.
     "Once we get these in the oven, we can have some lunch," said Jenny.
     Lunch. Well, there wasn't much of a choice. Down to last night's leftovers. Anyway, we'd have money tomorrow. Today was baking day. Ready for the village market tomorrow.
     I left Jenny and Flo kneading and cutting. I loved the smell of baking. Divine. But I wasn't that good at it. More the salesman than the baker.
     I went into the pantry. There they were. Up on the top shelf out of reach of the chickens. Perhaps they couldn't fly but ours were very good at shelf hopping. Four pasties. Handmade by Jenny. I stepped onto the stool to reach for them.
     "Jenny! No!"
A crash and a scream came from the kitchen. Flo?
I tumbled from the stool. Dashed back into the kitchen. Flo was shaking in the corner. Arms out stretched, wanting to do something. Paralysed by fear. Jenny was sprawled across the table, flour dust floating through the air around her. Susan was standing over her. Hand on Jenny's throat.
     I made straight for Susan. Hitting. Kicking. She swung at me. Taking her eyes from Jenny. That was the split second my sister needed. In an instant we had her on the stone floor. My foot on her chest. Jenny's hand on her throat. Susan squirmed about uselessly.
     "Let me go. How dare you!"
I pressed harder with my foot. I did hate her. And it wouldn't have been difficult for me to press even harder.
     "Don't you come in here threatening us," Jenny shouted in her face.
     "I want that thing of yours gone!"
     I pressed a bit harder. "It won't happen."
     She struggled. "Get off me!"
     Well, she'd squirmed enough. I took my foot off. Jenny then let go of her throat. She scrambled to her feet. Looking rather undignified. Susan stared first at me, then Jenny, then Flo. The look she gave sent Flo hurrying to hide behind me.
     "How do you live?" She threw an arm out, gesturing round our kitchen. "You bake cakes. You sell cakes. You buy food. You bake more cakes. That's it. Pathetic. And your precious mother..never been right in the head..." 
     Jenny advanced. Shoving her aunt back against the wall. "Get out."
     Susan should have taken the opportunity to leave then.
     "And her.." Pointing at Flo, who'd buried her face in my back. I turned to face Susan, shielding Flo.
     "You bitch." Jenny was on her. Pulling her by the arm. Pinning her against the door frame. "After what you did to her, you come in here..."
     "Jenny." I knew to stop her.
My sister paused. Slowly took her arm away. Propelled Susan out into the rain.
     "Stay away from us." 
     "Or what, you'll call the police!" A slight hysterical edge slipped into Susan's voice.
     "No." 
So calm. But the threat in Jenny's voice was obvious. Susan hesitated. Then turned and headed down the path. We watched her disappear into the downpour. I felt it, in my shoulders and my neck, that something was wrong. That this wasn't finished. Flo began sobbing. Turning round, I hugged her tight against me. She shook under my arms.
     "I got you. She's gone, hon."
Taking in huge gulps of air, Flo's tears slowed.
     "Darlings!"
Mum was standing in the kitchen doorway. Shaking her wet hair.
     "I thought I heard shouting." She was at the sink, filling the kettle. "Is everything all right?"
     "Susan," muttered Jenny.
Flo shuddered. I squeezed her hand.
     "Oh Flo dear, are you ok?" Mum was by her side, stroking her niece's hair. Flo nodded, leaning against her. "I think we all need tea."
     Jenny was back to making scones, stamping the cutter into the dough. Quiet but not calm. Flo was getting down the Wedgewood from the dresser, measuring out tea leaves, pouring the water. Mum delicately poured herself a cup.
     "Katy, honey?" Mum was looking at me, her hand on my shoulder.
I smiled at her. Squeezed her hand. "I'm fine."
     "Good." She smiled and drifted back out the door, into the rainstorm and disappeared.
     "Right," announced Jenny, banging the Aga door closed on the trays of scones "once these are done, we're finished. Flo, can you take these out to the truck?"
     Flo jumped up from the table, forgetting her tea. Eyes brightening. She took the boxes of muffins from Jenny. Almost skipping out to the garage.
     "Jenny? You ok?"
She nodded. Packing the cooled chocolate cakes. Carefully. She was calmer.
     What was that?
I stopped. Holding my teacup in mid air. Jenny and I looked at each other. Even above the sound of rain, we heard it.
     Crashing. Then a scream.
     "That's coming from the barn," said Jenny, dropping the box of chocolate cakes onto the stone floor.
     I didn't notice the shattering of my tea cup as we raced outside. Rain blurred my vision for a moment. But I knew where to run.
     There was screaming. Honking. Splintering wood. I rounded the corner of the garage. Sprinting for the barn. Suddenly, Flo was in my arms, screaming. Pointing.
     Susan.
Axe in hand, she was hacking away at the outside wall.
     "Jenny?!" I yelled into the rain.
She appeared, stumbling, hair plastered to her face. I gave Flo into her arms and pushed them back towards the house.
     "But Katy, I..."
     "Jenny, please," I said urgently, Flo screaming and shaking, "please! Take Flo. GO!"
They ran, not looking back.
     Squealing. Crashing. Our llama! Susan was after our llama.
I began to wrestle the axe from her. She shoved me back into the soggy ground. And began chopping at the wall again. She was nearly in. I kicked out at her, just like Jenny had done in the field. Down she came. Right on top of me. Still tightly gripping the axe. Heaving herslf up. I grabbed at her.
     I wasn't quick enough.


     People say that they saw something dramatic happen in slow motion. This did. I remember Susan breaking through. Mum running out, screaming straight into her, punching her. But Susan brushed her aside. Going straight for our llama. He reared up. She lifted the axe.
     One blow to his head.
Our llama went down. Mum screamed. The rain became even heavier. Susan stared. Dropped the axe. And ran.


     Mum wanted to bury our llama in the garden, behind the barn. Jenny and I'd dug the hole. Flo had stayed in the kitchen. I'd tried to coax her out. She wouldn't move from by the fire. I'd kissed the top of her head and left her with a fresh pot of tea. Then I'd gone out to help Jenny.
     Mum had made coffee. Three pots. We all hated coffee. I think she made it to calm herself down. She's arranged the pasties on the Royal Albert. We had to eat, she said, our llama was peaceful now. We had to eat.


     Joe.
In the dawn he looked so handsome. Warm light playing around his dark hair. Tall, dark and handsome! He was standing by the hole in the barn wall. He looked up when he heard my boots crunching. Taking my hand, he kissed it.
     "You ok?"
I nodded.
     "You dug the hole and buried him?" Sounded impressed. And sad.
     "Me and Jenny. Flo chose the flowers."
     "How is she?"
     "Scared. Won't come out of the house."
Joe took my other hand. My heart turned over. I would kiss him. I touched my lips to his cheek. Smelling him, his cheek soft. Pulling me to him, Joe held me close. His arms strong against my back.
     "I'm sorry. If I'd've know.."
     "Joe." I pulled back. "Don't. You couldn't have known that Susan'd see him in the field. Mum shouldn't have left him cooped up in the barn."
     "But..." he started.
I kissed him on the lips. It went straight to my head. I felt dizzy and happy all at once.
     "Well," he said, staring into my eyes, "come on, you guys'll be late for the market."
Yes, the market. Jenny'd be waiting. I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward and kissed him again. He smiled. Squeezing my hand.


     The day after we buried the llama was cloudy. But no rain. It had outdone itself yesterday. There was nothing left to throw at us.