“Taking
over the animal sanctuary was a mistake. We should have sold it to
the bloke with the massive car” Chloe trudged through the mud, a
bale of straw over one shoulder. Her hair wasn't going to thank her
for the abuse.
“What
bloke?” Shellie, her best friend since the started infants school
together ten years ago, hurried to catch up, the bucket of water she
held in both hands becoming less full by the second. “What did he
want it for?”
“How
should I know? A Supermarket, probably. Or another housing estate.
There's a moratorium on greenbelt use in Wiltshire. They all want
brownfield sites to build on.” She kicked a sod of mud with the
side of her Wellington boot. “And this is about as brownfield as
you get. Shit-coloured, in fact.”
“Who was
this bloke, then? Was he rich?” Shellie put the bucket down to open
the latch to the stables. In the kennel block on the other side of
the courtyard, the dogs were already barking, expecting their dinner.
“Must
have been.” Chloe put the bale down. “His driver gave him a piggy
back so he didn't get his feet muddy.”
“But
your dad wouldn't sell?”
“No.
'Profit mongering begger' Dad called him.”
“Good
to know your dad has ethics, though.”
“Ethics?
He wanted twice what the bloke was offering.”
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