Page 11 of The Bordeaux Book Club

At first, they’d thought about buying a B&B, or maybe even a café. But as Nathan had put it, they’d only end up being slaves to their customers instead of their boss at the newspaper. ‘Why not try to be self-sufficient? Answering to no-one,’ he’d suggested.

Only it wasn’t no-one, she’d realised in the years that followed. Now their boss was bloody Mother Nature. And she could be unpredictable at best, and downright mean on a particularly bad day.

Leah had loved it at first. This idea of living more naturally. Of bending with the seasons and becoming more attuned to things. Now, sometimes, she felt completely at the mercy of nature. Hated the sudden ice-snaps that would come in May just when you felt things had improved. And the way a packet of seeds rarely produced what was pictured on the front. Hated the fact that until they actually became not only self-sufficient, but able to generate some income (something that now seemed impossible), she was stuck with one foot in the UK, working shifts remotely and not fully immersing herself in her chosen country.

As she heard the car purr out of the drive, Leah blew the steam from the top of her coffee and sipped, feeling the warm liquid move down her throat into her grateful stomach. Maybe it would be nice to have the morning to herself, she thought. Spend a bit of time with Scarlett.

She looked over at the chicken house, its inhabitants already out in the wire-fenced run, stalking and looking and clucking together. She really ought to collect the eggs. She was nervous of the chickens and always relied on Nathan to deal with them. If anything, his willingness to always be official egg collector had exacerbated her fear – it had been a long time since she’d ventured into the coop. She knew it was irrational – for goodness’ sake, they were only chickens! But something about the way they looked at her just freaked her out.

‘I honestly don’t think they like me,’ she’d told Nathan once.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he’d laughed. ‘Think of all those lovely peelings you keep feeding them.’

She’d smiled and tried to shake the feeling, but it had remained.

Then again, if she was absolutely honest, the thought of getting Scarlett up and trying to convince her to reach into the chickens’ poo-sprinkled straw nest and retrieve warm, dirty, feather-stuck eggs was even more terrifying. She sighed as she remembered a smaller version of her daughter slipping on her wellies and running over with a basket, giggling delightedly. Had she treasured them enough? Those moments before her little girl had disappeared? Should she have hugged her more, breathed her in? Stored those magical moments to help her get through this more barren season?

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Self-indulgent. She set her coffee down on the bench and stood up. She’d do it now, to avoid having to think about it. Grabbing one of the metal baskets from the hallway, she strode over to the chicken run as if telling the chickens that she, not they, were in charge here. They stared at her, their sharp little eyes far from convinced.

‘This is it, girls,’ she said to them, unhooking the little metal clasp and letting herself into the run. The chickens began to mumble and cluck around her. One particularly stringy bird – they’d nicknamed her Gollum – made her jerky way towards Leah and began worrying at her leg. ‘I thought chickens were supposed to be harmless,’ she said, trying to nudge it away. ‘Not now, Gollum.’

Gollum looked up at her as if to say,Well, you called me Gollum – do you expect me to like you?

‘I’m warning you,’ she said to the chicken. ‘No sudden movements.’

Gollum’s eyes seemed to glint as if the chicken had understood and Leah had the sudden urge to run. To leave it all to Nathan on his return.

Instead, she crossed the poo-and-straw-peppered grass at the bottom of the run and reached into the darkness of the hen house – feeling a little like a contestant onI’m a Celebrity – Get Me Out of Here!

Soon she’d found a warm shell under some straw; she withdrew her hand and triumphantly placed the egg in the basket. Another rummage, another egg – this one cooler and garnished with poo.Great, she thought to herself,really living the dream here. Gollum continued to worry at the leg of Leah’s jogging bottoms and she wished she’d gone for her wellies instead of grabbing her easy-to-slip-on crocs. She reached forward again, her hand rummaging in the straw. One more egg. Probably that would be it. At least, it would do.

She added it to the basket and stepped back, only to feel her foot touch on something soft. A sound – more like a scream than a squawk – filled the air. ‘Gollum! Oh, sorry,’ she said, realising she’d stepped on the bird’s tail end briefly.

But Gollum must have decided enough was enough. With a loud crow, she fluffed up her feathers, flapped her wings and lunged forward, pecking Leah on the leg.

‘Ow!’ she said, kicking at the bird. ‘Get off!’

If anything, Leah’s attempt at self-defence simply seemed to anger Gollum more. The bird flapped her wings again, this time raising herself up a little and managing to plant a quite painful peck on Leah’s hand. ‘Gollum!’ she said, ‘stop it!’

But it was too late. The other hens had noticed.

Chickens might not be the friendliest of creatures, nor seem as if they have each other’s backs. But something about the attack seemed to spook the other, usually more friendly, birds. Another fluffed and pecked, then another. They chattered wildlyas they closed in. ‘Get off!’ she said, trying to shake her leg in their direction. ‘Get off or I’ll… I’ll…’

The chickens, now worked into a terrified, angry frenzy, paid no notice.

Soon, Leah was racing for the wire door, chickens in hot pursuit. She suffered four peck wounds and a number of scratches, nearly trapping Gollum’s wing in the door in her attempt to escape. Her hands were shaking as she pushed the small, metal hook back into the eye of the door lock and finally secured the birds in their run.

Her heart was hammering as she examined her wounds, then sighed as she realised the basket, with its three measly eggs, was still sitting in the centre of the run. Sod it, Nathan would have to fetch it.

In none of her investigations into chicken rearing had she come across any stories of chickens attacking their owners. Roosters, yes. But chickens? Nathan had reassured her that her fear was unfounded. Well, now she had the bloodied evidence to prove him wrong.

Making her way back to the house, she felt a couple of self-pitying tears well in her eyes. It wasn’t the peck wounds making her cry – they were superficial at best, and she’d had a booster tetanus shot the year before. But when your husband seems off with you, your teen girl appears to hate your guts, then you get attacked by a flock of chickens, well, it does nothing for the self-esteem.

Moments later, she wrenched the front door open and stepped back into the warmth of the hallway. Scarlett was there – unusually early – dressed in a towelling dressing gown and a pair of trainers, hair in a towel. She looked at her dishevelled, slightly tear-stained mother and crinkled her nose. ‘What happened toyou?’ she said, accusingly.

‘Gollum.’

‘What?’

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