I wandered around the side of the house and stuck my head in the barn on the way. The tractor was there but the quad bike wasn’t. A sigh of relief escaped. She was most likely somewhere on the farm. I tried the back door, which was open and I swapped my tatty trainers for the wellies I’d borrowed before. I put my hands in my pockets and strode off towards the animals. The sun was barely starting to warm things up and I breathed in the fresh air. Here it was easy to understand why it was called fresh air. It was different – like it was purer, filtered somehow. There was a scent about it, sort of grassy with a hint of earth. I sounded like the bloke off the wine programme Dad used to like to watch.

‘Tom!’ The shout was distant.

I turned my head in the direction of Maggie’s voice. She was down in the field with the ewes and she was waving. I waved back and pointed myself in her direction. As I got closer I could see she was still waving. For a moment I was chuffed by how pleased she was to see me. Then I realised it was more of a hurry-up wave.

‘Come on!’ she shouted and I started to run.

I halted at the fence and took in the scene. Maggie was next to one of the ewes, which was lying on its side. Maggie was kneeling on one of those green pad things that gardeners use and she appeared to have her hand stuck up the sheep’s arse.

‘What the…?’ was all I could think to say.

Now I took a proper look at Maggie I could see she was wearing a dressing gown with what looked like checked pyjamas underneath. Maggie and the sheep puffed out a breath at the same time. ‘The lamb’s stuck. She’s been in labour for almost three hours. If we don’t shift it we’ll lose them both. She’s exhausted.’

Maggie looked more tired than the sheep. How did you tell if a sheep was exhausted? It looked the same as the others that were walking about. Apart from the other one on its side. ‘Is that one okay?’ I asked nodding at the far corner of the field.

Maggie twisted to look. ‘Flaming Nora! She’s in labour too. Can you go and check on her?’

‘Err, yeah… What am I checking for exactly?’ I climbed over the fence.

‘Under her tail. How far into labour is she?’ I must have looked blankly at her so she elaborated. ‘Check her fanny!’

‘No way.’ I held up my hands like a spy about to be shot. I would have preferred to have been shot rather than look up a sheep’s vag.