Agnes hadn’t got a boyfriend. Her father was the only man allowed into her life. Wild hair, twenty-two, scraggy, many said she was a witch. Then a boy came along and he knew she wasn’t a witch. She couldn’t be, witches didn’t exist . . .Dating the Witch, one of three short stories.
In a Panic
Young Dixon came across the field. Agnes was carrying an armful of branches. In a panic, she walked faster but there was nowhere to go. He was a solid looking man with grey eyes, young and strong. He weighed her up. She was wild looking and grubby, but two things were good about her. She had astonishingly white teeth. They almost shone when she opened her mouth. She also had a good figure. Her stained raincoat did not conceal the firmness of her body.
His mates took the piss.
“You wouldn’t dare date the witch!” Atkinson had taunted. There were five around the bar. They all laughed. “She’d turn you into a toad!”
Dixon told them to shut up. He wished he had kept quiet. For once he did not feel like one of the lads. She was nothing like they imagined. He could tell.
“You’ve been driving the tractor,” he told her.
Agnes scowled and remained silent. She kept on walking towards the hedge.
“You don’t have to say owt if you don’t want,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“Bugger off,” she whispered.
She ignored him and started to repair the break in the hedge. Seeing a loose branch he dragged it over and let it fall alongside her. After a moment she built it into the gap. He found another and bent down to lodge it in place. He worked carefully and made it fit properly. Then he turned another branch across the first and got that to fit. Two of their branches linked together in a firm line.
He did not speak and Agnes suddenly bent down and picked up another and worked that in alongside his. The cows had torn a ragged hole and it took them twenty minutes to block the gap. When it was done it was a good job. She knew it.
“Do you want to go out with me?” he asked.