I wake alone and stretch in the dawn light as it streams through the window. Where is my man? I make my way downstairs; the house is empty. Where is he?
I look out the back and catch sight of him in the gardens.
Elliot has his back to me and is looking out over the lake, fully dressed in his suit with his coffee in his hand, the steam from his cup rising in the cold air. The ducks are around his feet, happily pecking at the ground. He walks along, totally entranced by his surroundings as they all follow him like long-lost friends. Every now and then a duck gets too close and he kicks his leg out to clear himself some space.
I lift my phone and take a few photos of him. He really does love this place and I can’t say I blame him. I love seeing him so happy here.
A loud sound comes up the drive and I look out of the window to see a utility truck pull up.
I watch through the window as Elliot walks over and talks to the man in the truck. They shake hands as they introduce themselves.
Who’s that?
I go out to the front just in time to see the man unload Billy the goat from the back of his truck.
“My apologies,” Elliot says as he takes the rope tied around Billy’s neck. “I don’t know how he got out?”
“This is the fourth time in two weeks,” the man says.
Elliot notices me. “Alan, meet Kathryn, Kathryn, this is Alan. He owns the property next door.”
“Hello.” I smile. “What’s happened?”
“Your goat keeps getting out. I found him on the road.”
“Oh.”
“I’m worried he’s going to cause a car accident and someone will be killed.”
“Yes.” Elliot frowns as if imagining the scenario. “Thank you for bringing him back. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get out again,” he says.
“Nice to meet you.” Alan smiles as he gets back into his truck. We give him a wave and he drives away.
“What did you do?” Elliot snaps at his goat.
The goat looks up at him, totally clueless.
“Bahahaha,” Billy bleats loudly.
“You want to run away? That’s fine with me.” He pulls the rope and the goat follows him on the leash. “Just don’t do it on the fucking road.” He keeps walking over toward the paddock.
“Bahahaha.”
“Go inland, fuck off to bumfuck nowhere and don’t come back. But don’t do it on the fucking road.”
“Bahahaha.”
I roll my lips as I follow them to stop myself from laughing out loud.
Elliot opens the gate to the top paddock and leads him in. “You are now grounded to the top paddock.”
“Bahahaha,” Billy bleats.
“Seeing that you can’t be trusted.”
Oh my lord, this is priceless.
Tough guy Elliot Miles grounding his goat.
He undoes the rope around Billy’s neck. “I’m watching you, fucker. One wrong move and it’s off to . . .” He pauses as he thinks of the right wording. “The knackers.”
“Bahahaha.”
“Do you know what they do to naughty goats there?” he asks.
I burst out laughing.
“Go inside,” Elliot snaps.
I turn and walk inside as I continue to laugh.
“Bahahaha,” Billy bleats.
“Stop making that noise, too,” Elliot barks.
I giggle as I walk up the stairs. My life is officially complete.
I’ve heard it all.
“Bahahaha.” The loud noise echoes through the silence.
I glance at the clock: 1 a. m.
“Bahahaha.”
“Fuck this,” Elliot whispers as he throws the blankets back.
I scrunch up my face to stop myself laughing; this is comical. Billy hasn’t stopped crying all night.
Elliot opens the window in a rush. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he yells, the sound of his voice echoing around the valley. He slams the window shut so hard it nearly breaks.
He gets back into bed and rustles around.
“Bahahaha.”
I smile into my pillow.
“Dumb fucking goat,” Elliot whispers under his breath.
“Bahahaha,” the loud bleat echoes.
This really is bad.
How the hell are we supposed to sleep at all?
“Bahahaha.”
“That’s it,” Elliot explodes, and he jumps up and storms downstairs like the Hulk.
I hear the front door open in a rush and I run to the window and open it to watch what he does.
He marches out to the paddock. “What?” Elliot cries with his arms wide. “What the fuck do you want?”
Billy looks at him blankly.
“You have food, you have water. You have the whole fucking paddock to yourself. Is that not good enough for you, you spoilt fucking goat?”
“Bahahaha,” Billy bleats.
Elliot turns and kicks a bucket as hard as he can; it goes flying into the air and crashes spectacularly to the ground. “See that?” he yells at Billy. “There’s more of that coming your way if you don’t shut up.”
I laugh out loud.
Elliot marches back inside and I hear the front door slam. He stomps up the stairs and picks up his phone and sits on the window seat.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Googling how to kill a goat, what do you fucking think?”
I laugh.
“This isn’t funny, Kathryn,” he growls.
“It is.” I get up and walk over to him and sit on his lap. Oh my God, he really is googling how to kill a goat. I take his phone from him and throw it on the floor, kiss him softly. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him,” I whisper.
“There is-impending death.”
“No, I mean maybe he’s sick.”
He stares at me.
“Put some earplugs in, take a sleeping pill or something, and tomorrow we’ll call the vet. He will know what to do.”
Elliot lets out a shaky breath as he tries to calm down.
I smile up at my man and push the hair back from his forehead. “He’s just a little goat.”
“Who’s ruining my fucking life.”
I stare up at him in the darkness. I always knew he was a hothead, but I thought it was only me who annoyed him to boiling point. Every day a little more of the Elliot Miles puzzle falls into place. And every day, he becomes a little more endearing.
“Come on. Bed.” I pull him by the hand.
“How?” he snaps. “This is intolerable.”
“Oh . . . boohoo.” I roll my eyes as I climb into bed.
He cuddles my back and pumps me with his hips. “I’ll give you fucking boohoo.”
I wake alone, and exhausted.
The last time I looked at the clock it was 4:38 a. m.-we’ve hardly slept at all. I throw on some clothes, go to the bathroom, and make my way downstairs. “Elliot,” I call. No answer. I walk to the sliding glass door and look out to see a car as it comes up the driveway. Who is it now?
Elliot meets the car and a man gets out; they fall into a deep discussion and head toward the paddock.
Oh no, who’s that?
I quickly walk out of the house. “Hello.”
The man turns to me. “Hello. I’m Mathew, the vet.”
“Oh.” Relief fills me.
A trace of a smile crosses Elliot’s face; he knows who I thought it was, a hired goat hitman. “This is Kathryn.”
“Hello.”
“He’s this way.” Elliot gestures to Billy’s paddock.
For fifteen minutes we both watch in silence as the vet checks Billy all over.
“Well,” Mathew says. “You have nothing to worry about, he’s perfectly healthy.”
Elliot sighs. “What’s wrong with him then? He keeps running away, he’s crying all the time.”
“He’s looking for a mate,” Mathew says. “It’s normal for a goat of around this age to want . . .”
“He’s horny?” Elliot fumes.
“Figuratively speaking. Yes.”
Elliot glares at Billy and gives a subtle shake of his head. “How old is he?”
“Around three years, at a guess.”
“And how long do goats live?”
“Approximately fifteen years.”