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two piles of medium and large.
    â€˜Egg production varies from breed to breed, or flavour to flavour in your case.’ She winked. ‘All the chickens living on the farm are free-range and each field is divided into sections. We tend to keep the birds that can offer a more prolific return; Rhode Island Red, New Hampshire Red and the Sussex are all breeds that are fantastic, reliable layers.’
    My face must have said it all; Jeannie was talking a completely different language to me.
    â€˜Don’t look so worried – you’ll soon get the hang of it all. Each morning we collect the eggs from the coops. We work a section at a time, taking care not to mix up the eggs. We collect the eggs in those wire baskets hanging up over there,’ she said, pointing to the far end of the barn, where there were numerous large blue wire baskets hanging from the wall. ‘Once your section has been collected, you bring those eggs back here and place them on the correct table. So, for example, if you’ve collected the eggs from the Rhode Island Reds, take the eggs over to this table and separate them into medium and large and place them on the trays, labelling them with today’s date. Then move onto the next section and so on.’
    â€˜Gosh, it’s like a military operation. I have no idea what a Rhode Island thingy even looks like, except it will have a beak and cluck. You’ve learnt your stuff quickly, Jeannie,’ I joked.
    â€˜I’ve got a brother and we were brought up on a farm, so it’s in my blood. At the age of three I bonded with my first pet chicken, Delilah. She clucked around after me all day long. I’m an outdoors kind of a girl; I’d rather be getting my hands mucky than working in a stifling office shuffling paper with the suits.’
    â€˜How are you pair getting on?’ Tom asked, popping his head round the door.
    â€˜Yes, all OK, we’re just chatting about the early-morning starts and the weekly rota for egg collection.’
    â€˜Did you mention whoever is on the early-morning shift finishes their day at 3 p.m. and the rest of us take care of the locking up of chickens in their houses at night?’
    â€˜Chickens have houses?’ I began to chuckle, imagining all of the chickens lying down in their beds and switching off their lights.
    â€˜Yes, the two most basic requirements for our birds is space and shelter. They need to roost at night, both for their own comfort, away from the wind and rain, and to protect them from predators, which is usually the fox.
    â€˜Anyway, after lunch I’ll give you a full tour of the farm, but for now I think we can safely declare it’s lunchtime.’
    â€˜Yay, I’m famished,’ shouted Jeannie.
    â€˜Here, Kit, catch.’
    Looking up, I saw some foil-wrapped sandwiches flying through the air in my direction, thrown by Tom.
    â€˜I mentioned to Lucinda your unfortunate introduction to Paddy and your lack of lunch and she’s very kindly given you her sandwich. She’ll grab something from the bakery when she finishes her rounds.’
    â€˜Oh, how very kind and thoughtful, thank you very much,’ I said, relieved, hearing my stomach gurgle with hunger.
    â€˜OK, I’m off back to the cottage. I’ll see you on the bench in an hour.’ And with that he strode away and was gone.
    Unfolding the foil from my sandwiches, I could feel Jeannie’s eyes on me.
    â€˜What?’ I smiled.
    â€˜Cock-a-hoop, nicknames already, Kit, and it’s only the first morning. Something tells me you pair are going to get on just fine,’ Jeannie joked.
    â€˜Shush, stop teasing.’ I smiled but could feel myself blushing. I’d immediately noticed that Tom had shortened my name to Kit, and to be honest, I think I quite liked it.

Chapter Seven
    S oon after we finished our lunch, the sky began to darken and within no time at all the heavens opened. It began to bucket