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.”
Elliot exhales heavily. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, please send me the bill.”
“No problem at all.” They shake hands. “Goodbye, Kathryn.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
He drives off and Elliot marches back down to Billy. “Are you fucking kidding me? You kept me up all night because you’re horny?” he whispers angrily. “Just what I need, a sex maniac goat.” He storms back up to the house.
“What do you expect?” I call as I pat Billy’s head. “He is your son . . . after all.”
“Shut up,” Elliot calls as he walks. “I’m not in the mood for your shit today, either.”
I walk down the street with Daniel, who’s come to have lunch with me; it feels like forever since I’ve seen him. “Can we have Thai?”
“No.” I sigh.
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to eat an entire kilogram of rice and I’ll be tired as fuck all afternoon.”
“Hmm, the dreaded carbohydrate coma.” He exhales as if exasperated and I feel guilty.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Thai. I’ll have you know I’m tired as fuck today. Elliot’s goat kept us up all night.”
“What?” He screws up his face. “Elliot Miles has a goat?”
“Yep. And ducks, and a weird sheep . . . -like thing.”
He widens his eyes as if surprised. “Who knew?”
I giggle.
“When are you going to invite me over?”
“Soon.” I shrug. “It’s only early days, you know.”
“Oh my God, look who’s coming.” He looks up ahead.
“Who?”
“It’s Rande Gerber.”
“Who?”
“Cindy Crawford’s husband.”