‘Ah, that’s the billy,’ said Scrubby. ‘He’s in breeding condition a bit early this year. I reckon the young ‘un can smell him all right.’
A rapid smacking sound was coming from the back of the pick-up. The goat was wagging her tail so fast it was beating a
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tune on the metal sides. She was straining at her tether until the
O
collar bit into her neck deep enough to choke her. She yelled again when she saw Wilford.
‘Are you going to mate her now? Can we watch?’ asked Sam.
“Course you can. I don’t even charge for tickets.’
The goat tugged them over to a low stone building, not much bigger than a pig sty, with an enclosed vard on two sides. The building seemed to be the source of the smell. The three old men bent to peer through a small opening into the gloom of the shed. They could make out something large and hairy moving restlessly inside, pawing at the gate with its hooves and rubbing its head on the walls.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Sam. ‘He’s got a pair of bollocks on him as big as your prize turnips, Wilford.’
The goat looked suddenly as though she might change her mind and go home.
o
‘Come on, Jenny,’ said Wilford gently.
Together, they pushed the goat into the yard and Scrubby drew back a bolt on the door. They let out a concerted breath as the billy emerged steaming and snorting. He was twice the
J o ‘ o o
size of the young goat, with a powerful chest and a dense, matted coat. He had thick, twisted slabs of horn curling on to the back of his head like gnarled tree roots, and along his spine the hair was going thin, revealing grey patches of flaky skin, tough and wrinkled like the hide of an elephant. The two goats began to circle together, sniffing excitedly at each other’s rear ends. The billy’s top lip curled back to expose his bare upper gum in a grotesque, leering grin as he savoured the scent of sexual promise.
Scrubby was looking curiously at Harry, scratching at his beard and tugging at an old bit of baling twine lashed round the gate of the enclosure.
The heard you’re the bloke who found that lass that was murdered over your way.’
‘Aye, news travels well round here.’
‘It’s a bit of a funny do that, isn’t it?’
‘Bloody hilarious,’ said Harry.
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‘I saw her picture in the paper. Bashing her head in is about the last thing most young blokes would wanl to do with her. ‘Oh aye?’
‘Don’t you think so?’
‘She was only fifteen,’ said Wilford, without looking round. Scrubbv seemed to recocmize something in the tone of the
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reply.
‘I suppose so,’ he said.
In the enclosure, the billy was trying repeatedly to manoeuvre himself into a position to mount Jenny from behind, but the goatling was getting frisky. She was lighter on her feet than the billy, and every time he approached her she skipped away, turning to face him, then trotting off again, her tail wagging provocatively. The billy was growling from the back of his throat with his mouth hanging open, producing a deep moan like a wild animal in pain. He kicked at Jenny with his front hooves, smearing
dirty marks on her flanks. As he got more frustrated, he began to
y & ‘ o
gobble excitedly. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and saliva flew. The feet of the two goats were churning up the surface of
o o 1
the enclosure, and dust coated the white hair on their legs. In
‘ o
avoiding the billy, Jenny tripped, stumbled to her knees, got up and skipped away again.
‘It doesn’t look like she’s cooperating,’ said Scrubby.
Sam nodded. ‘Playing hard to get.’
‘She’s only a young ‘un,’ said Wilford. ‘She doesn’t know what’s happening.’
‘She has to stand still, though.’
Scrubby reluctantly climbed over the fence into the enclosure. The billy growled at him, then returned his attentions to the nanny.
Next time the young goat came within reach, Scrubby grabbed her by the neck and pulled her towards him. He twisted her collar until he had her in a stranglehold, with her face turned up towards him and her eyes rolling in alarm. She was panting by now, her nostrils pink and flaring and her sides heaving.
