Appleby Farm (7 page)

‘Brandy for shock, please, Bill!’ shouted Uncle Arthur, pressing his good hand into the small of my back to propel me forward. ‘Coming through!’ he added with too much enjoyment at all the drama for my liking.

‘Arthur!’ called a squat bald man in a polo-neck jumper, wearing one black and one green wellington. ‘Heard you had a brush with death yesterday. Let me get you a pint.’

The hand fell away from my back and my uncle was gone.

‘Bleedin’ Nora.’ Lizzie relieved me of the cool box and handed me a bar towel to wipe my face and dab at my knees. A brandy appeared on the bar. I smiled my thanks at Bill, the landlord, a balding man in a very snazzy waistcoat, and swigged at the glass. I squeezed my eyes shut as the fiery liquid burned the back of my throat. My lips felt bee-stung and not in a good way. I swiped at a bit of dribble.

That was better, sort of. I took a deep breath and a second mouthful.

‘Oi, there is a queue, you know,’ a voice chuckled in my ear, mimicking my stroppy outburst from the bridle path earlier this afternoon.

I swallowed the brandy and whirled round to locate the source of the jibe. A man, elbowing a path away from the bar while balancing three pint glasses in his hands, turned back and winked at me. I gasped for air and a hand flew to my mouth. Was that …? It must be. It was. Harry from Willow Farm. And it must have been him on the phone shouting away at the top of the hill.

Wow! I almost didn’t recognize him. He hadn’t changed a bit. That didn’t make sense. He was bigger. Obviously. And older. Duh! My heart was thumping. What was it – ten years? It must be. Ten years since I’d seen him. Blimey, where had the time gone? Same cheeky smile, though. Fancy that.

I watched him until his broad shoulders became swallowed up by a noisy crowd of men.

Harry Graythwaite. My neighbour, my mate, my partner in crime – through my tomboy phase, through my teenage years, every school holiday I spent on the farm. Until I was eighteen and we’d gone our separate ways.

Bloody hell, it was good to see him. He looked … well … great. I should go and say hello properly. Apologize for my manners earlier …

I set my brandy glass down on the bar and surveyed the wet patches on my knees. Maybe not tonight. I might not be the most preeniest of girls, but I did have some standards.

‘Er, hello!’ Lizzie was grinning at me, arms folded, head cocked to one side. ‘I thought you said you were spoken for.’

I turned back to the bar and giggled. ‘Sorry, Lizzie. Had a bit of a shock.’

Understatement. I didn’t know which was worse, falling over on the way to the pub or bumping into Harry again looking like a bedraggled wasp.

‘I can see that. Now, do you want a proper drink?’

‘Yes. Cider, please.’

I pulled my phone out of my handbag while I waited for her to come back with my drink. No signal here, either. How did people cope, I wondered, not being able to talk to their other halves? My stomach flipped.

Like Charlie.

I hadn’t spoken to him since arriving at the train station last night. I should have phoned him from Knots Hill earlier. He’d be thinking about me. I hoped. I’d been thinking about him, too, in between everything else that had gone on today. I made a mental note to call him from the farm’s landline and slipped my phone away.

‘Get your chops round that.’ Lizzie placed a pint of cider in front of me. I sidled round to where it was quieter at the glass collection end of the bar and Lizzie followed me down. ‘So, tell me about this fella of yours, then.’

Tonight she was wearing a cropped cotton top decorated with white and yellow daisies, her hair was arranged in loose curls and her lips shone with a soft pink gloss. She looked like the Goddess of Spring. I was surprised she’d even consort with me, looking as dishevelled as I did. But I was glad of her company and began to tell her about Charlie – how we met and my job and his allotment. I chatted away for some minutes but couldn’t help noticing that she kept glancing over my shoulder. Finally, I could take it no more and turned round to see what was catching her eye.

‘Don’t look,’ she hissed.

‘What at?’

‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ she replied, nodding at a woman who was waving an empty wine glass at her.

Just as she returned, Uncle Arthur appeared at my shoulder, holding a full pint.

I frowned at him. ‘What are you drinking, Uncle Arthur?’ That wasn’t his first pint. He was swaying and his eyes were slightly crossed.

‘Not for me, lass, thank you.’ He lifted his pint to toast Lizzie and me, and took a long slurp.

‘So what brings you to Lovedale, Lizzie? Ha,’ he chortled into his glass, ‘Lovedale Lizzie. Sounds like a boat.’ He raised his glass again. ‘God bless Lovedale Lizzie and all who sail in her!’

Lizzie and I exchanged amused looks. Actually, mine was more worried than amused. I was going to be in so much trouble with Auntie Sue if I brought the invalid home roaring drunk.

Lizzie started pouring a pint of Guinness, ripped a bag of peanuts off the card strip next to the optics and popped the lids off two bottles of beer pretty much all at the same time before answering.

‘I’m from Ambleside. Split up with my boyfriend just after Christmas. Irreconcilable differences.’ She smiled a sad smile. ‘Three pounds fifty, please,’ she added to a youth who didn’t look old enough to be drinking lager.

‘What do you mean?’ I took a sip of my cider and pressed Uncle Arthur’s arm back down to the bar as he tried to gulp at his pint. ‘Slow down! I had enough trouble negotiating the lane on the way here without having to carry you back up it.’

He shrugged me off and took a deliberately long drink.

‘I couldn’t take it any more,’ said Lizzie. She held her little finger in front of our faces and waggled it. Uncle Arthur choked on his pint.

‘Oh!’ I said, not knowing quite how to respond to that. I banged my uncle on his back.

‘Pinky ring. To start with. I let that one go. Then it got worse. Choker chains, dog tags … A man shouldn’t wear more jewellery than his girlfriend, should he?’

Uncle Arthur’s mouth fell open. I shook my head.

‘When he bought a bracelet with snake heads on it, enough was enough. So I dumped him and moved to Lovedale where I intend to marry a farmer and ride my horse all day long. Farmers don’t wear jewellery.’ She folded her arms and I caught her darting a glance at Uncle Arthur’s hands and neck. Unsurprisingly, he was not bejewelled.

‘Oh my God, oh my God, he’s coming.’ Lizzie tossed her hair over her right shoulder and then again over her left. ‘Act natural.’

I began to turn round but Lizzie shook her head frantically. ‘Don’t look,’ she hissed.

‘I’m off to join the lads,’ said Uncle Arthur, spotting a gap in the conversation.

‘Hi, Ross, what can I get you? Same again?’ purred Lizzie.

Ross nodded. He was tall and slim with sandy hair, long pale eyelashes and high cheekbones. He held out his glass to Lizzie: rough hands, dirt ingrained into scrubbed fingernails. No jewellery. Not beefy enough for my tastes, but he had a friendly face and Lizzie was clearly besotted.

‘Are you a farmer, Ross?’ I asked after introductions had been made. Lizzie simpered over the Windermere Pale Ale pump and batted her eyelashes at him.

‘Not yet, but that’s the plan.’ Ross flashed a shy smile at me. ‘I’m studying for a degree in agriculture at the moment. And then I’m hoping to invest in my own farm. I’m a mature student, before you ask, but I’ve had to take a year out after a family bereavement. I’m the only one left now …’

Lizzie arrived back with his pint and pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Poor lamb.’

Ross flushed and quickly dipped his face into his glass.

He was such a sweetie; I could see why Lizzie was smitten. And how awful to lose his parents so young.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that. You must have had a lot to deal with,’ I said softly, pretending not to notice his blushes.

He nodded. ‘Thanks. I’ve had to sort out my mum’s will and stuff. The university has kept my place open so I can start again in September to do my final year. Most of the house clearing and legal stuff is done now, though, so I’m spending far too much time in the pub these days.’

‘Lucky us,’ said Lizzie, tossing her hair again.

Ross cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be honest, my mates, this pub, that’s what’s got me through the last few months. But now I’m ready to do something. Get some practical farm experience.’

‘So …’ I glanced over my shoulder to where Uncle Arthur was sitting in the middle of a group of men, slapping his thigh appreciatively and guffawing at some joke or other. ‘You could say you’re at a loose end for a while?’

Ross nodded and slurped his ale. My brain was whirring like billy-o. It could work. It could be absolutely amazing. I pulled Eddy’s list out of my handbag and handed it to Ross. ‘Do you know how to do this lot?’

Ross put down his glass and scanned the list, frowning with concentration. Lizzie was darting me curious what’s-going-on looks and I tipped her a teeny wink.

‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Ross. ‘Although I might need a bit of guidance on some of it. Why?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Uncle Arthur stagger to his feet. Offering guidance to a young would-be farmer was right up my uncle’s street. It would keep him occupied and out of mischief at the same time. There was just one potential sticking point …

I took a deep breath. If you don’t ask you don’t get, right? ‘What would you say to some unpaid work experience at Appleby Farm until you go back to uni?’

Ross opened his eyes wide, Lizzie squealed and clapped her hands, and Uncle Arthur stumbled up to the bar, squeezed himself in between me and Ross and burped. ‘Pardon me.’ He stared up at Ross, bleary-eyed. ‘Who’s this, then?’

‘I’m your new apprentice, sir,’ said Ross, extending a hand to Uncle Arthur. ‘If you’ll have me.’

The following Monday was a bank holiday. Unfortunately cows don’t appreciate the rare opportunity for a day off so it was business as usual at Appleby Farm. It was also Ross’s first day. After a hearty breakfast of sausage sandwiches cooked by me (a bit black on the outside but nothing that a dollop of brown sauce couldn’t cover up) it was smiley faces all round as the farm’s vast staff assembled in Uncle Arthur’s tiny office to receive orders. I say ‘vast staff’ because everything is relative and with the addition of Ross, me and Lizzie (it was her day off and apparently she had nothing to do except make huge doe-eyes behind Ross’s back) to the workforce of one – i.e. Eddy – that was an increase of 300 per cent.

Auntie Sue had been so delighted about the news that Ross was joining the team that she forgot to be cross with her husband for drinking too much when I’d finally poured him back into the farmhouse after eleven o’clock on Friday night. And she was still smiling three days later.

At that moment Benny and Madge, as if wanting to be considered part of the team, trotted through the door. Benny immediately slalomed his body around everyone’s legs and Madge, who was licking her lips suspiciously, slunk under the desk to lie on Uncle Arthur’s feet.

‘It’s like old times, isn’t it, Arthur?’ Auntie Sue beamed from her position behind her husband’s chair with her arm around his shoulders. ‘With all these people in here.’ I felt a wave of love for them. Such a great team, the pair of them. They didn’t have much, but they had each other.

Like I had Charlie.

My face broke into a grin that I just couldn’t wipe off.

I’d spoken to him last night. And after he’d told me about him and Ollie having a great time at the annual Ivy Lane Easter egg hunt and I’d told him about the cow that had had trouble calving on Saturday but was OK now and we’d declared that we missed each other, something marvellous happened. At the very same moment, just after a tiny pause in our news, we both said those magical three words. The words that change a relationship from being a bit of fun into something special.

I love you.

And I did. I loved him and even though the Cumbrian landscape and the nose-achingly fresh air and the fickle weather made my heart sing with exquisite pleasure, I couldn’t wait –
could not wait
– to get home to my boy.

And in forty-eight hours I would do just that.

In the meantime, I had chores to do. I tuned back in to Uncle Arthur’s rundown of the day and tried to keep my contented sigh to myself.

‘Can you get on with fertilizing some of the grassland, seeing as we’ve had it dry for a day or two?’ he asked Eddy.

Eddy nodded. He was swivelling round in the ancient office chair opposite the desk and slurping at the third mug of tea I’d seen him drink since breakfast. Probably trying to wash down the carbon-coated sausages.

‘Want me to take the young-un out with me?’ he asked.

Young-un was Ross. Eddy had admitted that he was pleased to have extra help, although I did catch him muttering that he wasn’t going to play nursemaid to a wet-behind-the-ears student. But I took the fact that he was requesting the pleasure of Ross’s company on the tractor as a good sign.

‘Not till this afternoon,’ replied Uncle Arthur. He was pretending not to be enjoying himself, having a bigger team to organize. But he wasn’t fooling me. There was a spark back in his eyes and more energy in his movements. Having a young man about the place was better than any dose of medicine. ‘First I want him to check on the calves with me. How do you fancy learning how to worm a herd of cows, lad?’

‘Smashing.’ Ross nodded, folding his arms across his chest. I smothered a giggle. If that wasn’t proof of a serious intention to become a farmer, I didn’t know what was. ‘I’d love that. Tha—’ He closed his mouth just in time.

Ross hadn’t stopped thanking everyone this morning until Uncle Arthur had told him to ‘put a sock in it’. And he looked every inch the farmer in his navy overalls and boots.

Lizzie looped her arm through mine and mouthed ‘bless him’ at me. Another one who couldn’t wipe the glee from her face.

Ross could only stay until September when he was due back at university, so it wasn’t a long-term solution, but for now, it gave the farm some much-needed breathing space. And I felt a huge sense of relief knowing that when I went back to Kingsfield, Uncle Arthur wouldn’t be overdoing it all summer.