Appleby Farm (18 page)

I grinned. ‘Just like it.’

A grain of hope swelled in my imagination as I envisaged Charlie and I working on the farm together …

‘Not that I’d ever want to live on a farm. Give me a city skyline with taxi ranks, Indian takeaways and a bit of good old-fashioned pollution any day of the week,’ he added.

The hope dissipated and a sigh escaped before I could rein it in.

‘Hey, Green Eyes, less of the sighing,’ Charlie said soothingly. ‘You’re doing great. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few weeks. You up there, me down here. This separation isn’t easy for either of us, but you know what? I’m very proud of you. How many other women would sacrifice their nice cosy lives to help out family?’

‘Really?’ I could feel a sob pressing at my throat and I bit down on my bottom lip.

‘Yeah, really. So, how did it go in Paris?’

I told him about my heart-to-heart with Mum and the loan from Dad and about my madcap scheme to turn the barn into tea rooms and that it might take ages but that if I couldn’t make the farm profitable then Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur wouldn’t be able to retire. All the time I was thinking that every word was a nail in the coffin of our relationship. Finally I ran out of things to say and I fell silent, breathless and anxious.

Charlie was quiet for a few moments. I could hear his breathing and I tried to match my breaths to his, as if somehow that would close the gap between us.

‘Babe, you do what you need to do,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll support you as much as I can from this end. And we’ll get together as often as possible. It doesn’t have to be the end, does it? Unless that’s … is that what you want?’

I shook my head. Tears were streaming down my face; I was a lucky girl to have Charlie in my life. ‘No,’ I managed to blurt out.

‘Don’t cry. Listen, if it’s not too much for your aunt and uncle, why don’t I move my shifts around, get a few days off and come up to stay?’

‘I’d love that,’ I croaked. ‘It’s a good job this isn’t a video call, I’m a complete mess!’

‘I doubt that,’ he said gently.

Suddenly a massive wave of doubt reared up in front of me. What was I doing, thinking about staying in the Lake District away from my lovely man? Perhaps I should just bail my aunt and uncle out of their debts, sort out extra labour for the summer and leave them to worry about the farm’s future. Oh God, I was so confused.

‘You’re doing the right thing, Freya, and I’m proud of you.’

He couldn’t have said anything more perfect if he’d tried. My heart throbbed with relief. I closed my eyes and imagined his strong, comforting arms around me.

‘Thanks, Charlie, I needed that,’ I sighed.

Fifteen minutes after our call ended I climbed into bed and zonked out as soon as my head touched the pillow. Hardly surprising after the all the travelling I’d done in the last forty-eight hours, not to mention the monumental journey my emotions had been on.

The next morning I woke early and opened the curtains to find a bright golden dawn greeting the tiny village of Lovedale.

I took a deep, contented breath and gazed at the acres of Appleby Farm stretching up to Colton Woods, across to Willow Farm and down the valley into the distance.

In
The World According to Freya
, everything is doable. And I genuinely believed that. Not in some airy-fairy motivational mantra way. More of a conviction that if it feels right, I should go for it.

And as crazy as it seemed last night, now, as I faced a fresh new day, my idea to open the Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms felt absolutely right.

Gradually we all settled into a new normal life of sorts. Uncle Arthur was home and convalescing, much to his and Auntie Sue’s relief. Banning him from attempting to do any work had not been the issue that we’d envisaged: by the time the poor chap had eaten breakfast, had a bath, shaved and put on clean pyjamas he was worn out and needed another lie-down.

With Lizzie and Ross’s help I’d given the farm office a mini makeover and now it was a much more welcoming and fragrant place to work. The smelly old carpet had gone and we’d scrubbed the old floorboards, the walls had been painted a cheerful shade of pale primrose, Ross had sanded down an old sewing table I’d found abandoned in one of the sheds and I’d tucked it into a corner to use as a desk. On it stood my sparkly new laptop, a jug of bluebells and … drum roll, please … a wireless router. YAY! I’d had broadband installed so I could Skype, FaceTime and iMessage to my heart’s content.

Other than a quick spritz with some beeswax furniture polish, I hadn’t touched Uncle Arthur’s desk. After all, it was still his office and I was looking forward to his return to work, probably as much as he was. I was coping with the farm correspondence for now, but there was still so much about the running of the farm that I didn’t have a clue about.

It was Friday morning at the end of May and I was filling in forms for the Vintage Tea Rooms planning application, humming happily to myself when Auntie Sue appeared at the office door with my lunch, closely followed by a hopeful Madge.

‘It’s all very hi-tech in here now, isn’t it?’ Auntie Sue marvelled, sliding a plate of cheese on toast and a mug of tomato soup on to my desk. ‘All these new wires and things. We’ll be catching up with Willow Farm at this rate.’

‘Mmm, delish, thank you!’ I bit into the crunchy toast and wiped the cheesy stringy bits off my chin.

Madge licked her lips longingly and I accidentally on purpose dropped a piece of crust on the floor for her.

‘Who’s running Willow Farm these days?’ I asked. ‘I’ve seen Harry from a distance, but not had chance for a chat.’

‘Harry manages it. We see quite a lot of him as a rule. Nora and Jim retired to Bournemouth a few years ago, lucky pair.’ Auntie Sue sighed wistfully. ‘Do you remember how Jim got really bad arthritis when you were in your teens?’

‘Er, sort of.’ I stirred my soup and frowned.

‘Well, the doctor’s advice was to retire as soon as they could and move down south. Apparently, it’s done wonders for Jim’s health. Tough on Harry, though, having all that responsibility at such a young age.’

I nodded. ‘It must have been.’ I’d managed to escape responsibility until I was twenty-seven and I was still finding it hard to cope.

Auntie Sue perched her bottom on the edge of Uncle Arthur’s desk. ‘I’m surprised you’ve not been to see him. You two used to be thick as thieves. In fact, Nora and I used to think the two of you would start courting at one time.’

I laughed. ‘No, we were just mates and that was years ago. I don’t suppose we’ve got much in common these days! Anyway, I’m sure I’ll bump into him soon.’

Not that I was complaining but with all the paperwork for the barn conversion, unravelling Uncle Arthur’s invoicing system, market research for the menu, putting mood boards together for the décor and sorting out the broadband, I’d barely had time to see anyone over the past few weeks.

‘He’s a grafter, that boy, and making a good job of it, by all accounts. Mind you, he’s got it all computerized up there and he’s expanded. No wonder he’s still single. Perhaps he’s still carrying a torch for you?’ She raised her eyebrows knowingly.

I tutted at her. ‘Stop stirring, you! Besides, we’ll have our farm records computerized soon. I’ll have to show you how to use the internet, Auntie Sue. You’ll be able to find all sorts of lovely recipes online.’

She harrumphed and shook her head. ‘I’m perfectly fine with my Delia and Mary Berry books, thanks all the same.’

‘Well,
they’ve
both got websites and, look at this …’ I dropped my toast back on the plate and tapped at the laptop, sprinkling crumbs liberally on the keyboard. ‘Ta-dah! So have we!’

‘Good gracious,’ exclaimed Auntie Sue when the holding page for Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms appeared on screen. ‘Can you order a cup of tea on there?’

‘No,’ I laughed. ‘But customers will be able to get directions, check out the menu and drool over your cakes before they even get here. I might even set up a webcam in the chicken run so that people can see exactly how free range our eggs are.’

The website was still under construction but I could already tell it was going to be fab. It was a going-away present from Anna, who had proved yet again to be an amazing friend.

She had boxed up the remainder of my meagre possessions ready for Charlie to bring to Lovedale. And when I’d called to thank her for all she had done for me, she wouldn’t hear a word of it.

‘You dropped everything and moved your life to Kingsfield for me and Mum when she broke her ankle,’ she’d argued. ‘It’s no surprise at all that you’re doing it again for
your
family. I will miss you, though,’ she’d added softly.

‘Aw, ditto, Anna,’ I’d replied. ‘But you’ve got an open invitation to visit and I hope you will.’

There was a pause down the line.

‘You know what I’m like, Freya: happiest at home. And I’ve decided to help Mum out at the café on Saturdays. I’m doing the breakfast shift so she can have the morning to herself. But I’m always here for you at the end of the phone.’

We’d ended the call with her offering to build me a website for my tea rooms and giving me the name of someone who could do me a good deal on a laptop. Which I’d taken advantage of.

‘This isn’t all too much for you, is it, Freya?’ clucked Auntie Sue, frowning gently. ‘Your uncle and I are very grateful …’

‘I know,’ I stood up and wrapped my arms around her. ‘You keep saying. Every five minutes.’

Her soft body shook with a chuckle as she acknowledged I was right.

‘But I promise you, I’ve never been happier. Yes, I’m living in a bit of a whirl, but I like whirls – they’re exciting. Besides which, Charlie and Ollie will be here in a few hours for the weekend and I can’t wait for you to meet them. And if Charlie were to love the farm as much as I do, well …’ I shrugged, not wanting to tempt fate.

My head was all over the place at the moment. One minute I was trying to imagine a future for Charlie and me at the farm and the next I was reminding myself that my current career as manager of Appleby Farm was just a temporary role.

Mind you, there was a fire station four miles away from Lovedale … that had to be a possibility, hadn’t it? A transfer from Kingsfield to Cumbria?’

‘Ooh, yes, I meant to ask …’ She blinked rapidly, poked at a loose thread on the sleeve of her cardigan and two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. She was blushing, which was odd. ‘What should we do, bedroom-wise? I need to go and make up some beds.’

‘I thought they could go in the bedroom next to yours with the twin beds, in case Ollie wakes in the night or something,’ I said, picking up my soup.

‘Right,’ said Auntie Sue, looking relieved. ‘Only we wouldn’t have minded, you know, if you and Charlie wanted a double bed … Your uncle and I have already discussed it.’

‘Gosh, this tomato soup is hot,’ I mumbled, hiding my face in the mug.

Eek! My turn to blush. I was twenty-seven and a woman of the world and not at all prudish about my sex life, but the thought of the two of them discussing it made my toes curl.

I cleared my throat. ‘Anyway …’

‘So what are you up to this afternoon, love?’ she asked.

I smiled gratefully at the change of subject. ‘I’m learning about beef farming with Eddy.’

It was a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, or rather cow-and-calf, I supposed. What I still needed to get my head round was how Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur could ever retire while they still had the herd.

The business was simple enough: the eighty head of beef cattle produced calves that Uncle Arthur reared on the farm and then sold. The sale of the calves paid the feed bills, the vet’s bills, Eddy’s wages and all the other farm costs. The question was, if the farm stopped breeding calves, then surely there would be no major costs, would there? So they could retire. But then what would happen to the herd? Could they be sold, perhaps? And without knowing the ins and outs of my aunt and uncle’s finances, would they have any money to live on?

One thing was for certain: Uncle Arthur’s health had to come first and running a busy farm could really not be the best way for a seventy-five-year-old man with heart disease to be spending his days.

‘Ooh, I’ll have to tell your uncle,’ she said, breaking into my reverie. ‘He will be pleased to hear that. He loves those animals like his own children.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s already started mithering about being allowed to see them.’

And there was me plotting to sell them off. My stomach flipped uneasily as I shared the last of my cheese on toast with the dog. Auntie Sue swooped on my empty plate and mug and headed for the door with Madge at her heels.

‘Well, I think I’m better suited to the tea rooms really,’ I said with a rather forced laugh, ‘but there are one or two things I want to know.’

‘Fair enough, love. And thank you for suggesting that we subcontract out the silage this summer. And … well, helping out with the debts. It’s a load off your uncle’s mind.’

‘Glad to help,’ I said, feeling a rush of love for the pair of them. I’d paid off the seed supplier, the tractor loan and the tax bill, and there was still money left to pay for some extra help this summer and leave them a bit in the bank to cover any unexpected bills. ‘Now, I’m off to find Eddy and learn about the Hereford herd. Do you think I’ll need rubber gloves?’ I giggled.

As it turned out Eddy drove me up to Oak Field in the Land Rover, so no close contact was required. What a relief! As docile as they looked, I was still quite nervous of the huge creatures and happy to stay within the confines of the vehicle.

The herd was split into three groups. This particular batch was made up of about thirty cows and their calves, dotted around the middle of the field under the dappled shade of three oak trees. We circled the group slowly, bumping about over the deep ridges in the field. The windows of the Land Rover were wound down and the sweet smell of fresh grass mixed with the more pungent aroma of cow pat filled the air. A few of the calves were suckling, some of the cows were lying down, others were grazing and one cow, rather embarrassingly for me, was humping another.