‘Let’s go and grab some of the grub that’s on offer. We can eat enough to keep us going for the rest of the week, if we’re lucky.’
So we tour the different food stations and Bev helps herself to nibbles of satay chicken, little cones filled with salmon mascarpone mousse and bite-sized toad-in-the-holes, while I sample the halloumi bites and tomato bruschetta. There are platters laid out with every kind of food you can imagine and Bev samples each and every one – though she nearly baulks at the oysters. Can’t say I blame her. With a grimace, she swallows one.
‘Slimy snot,’ is Bev’s verdict. She necks her wine to take the taste away. ‘Shall we go and find our lot, then? I suppose we must.’
So we pick our way through the partygoers, grabbing another glass or two as we do, and go in search of our dear students and animals.
Then Bev says, ‘OMG! That’s only Ross Kemp. I’ve so got to get a photo. Come with me.’
‘No, no, no.’ I’d die of embarrassment.
‘Catch you in five minutes, then.’ With that, Bev dashes off to grab her man and leaves me abandoned in the middle of the lawn.
Chapter Eighty-Six
I give up waiting for Bev to come back and head off towards the Hope Farm enclosure. I spot Lucas before I see anyone else. He’s lurking on the very edge of the party by himself and looks forlorn. Like me, the art of socialising does not come easy to him. Tonight, he’s clad in an all-black ensemble – shirt, jeans, boots. Which is maybe Lucas’s idea of smart. I’m not sure. He’s wearing black eyeliner and mascara which makes him look even paler than usual and his hair seems not to have been combed for a week or so. I think that’s intentional too.
I never thought that I’d want children of my own, but every time I see Lucas my heart tightens and I think this is as close as I’ve ever come to maternal love. He touches a softness inside me that I’ve never experienced before. I can look at a baby animal and go all squishy, but I’ve never done it with a human before. Of course, I adore all of our students – they all have their own quirks, foibles and downright eccentricities – yet I’ve never quite connected to any of them in the way I have with Lucas. I want only the best for him and I bet his mum would be really proud to see him now. I want her to be able to hear his poetry, to see that he has such potential, that he’s compassionate and caring even though he can be a complete pain in the bum. Is that what loving your own child is like? If it is, then it’s a very good feeling.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘All OK?’
He nods. ‘Cool.’ Then he holds up a bottle of beer. ‘Fourth one in and feeling mellow.’
‘You shouldn’t even be drinking,’ I remind him.
‘Daddy Dearest said it was all right.’
‘Well, go easy,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t mind clearing up after animals, but I don’t want to be doing it after you.’
‘We have staff for that.’
‘That makes you sound like a brat and you’re not. Just relax and have fun … ’
‘But not too much fun.’
He’s in a weird mood, a bit wired, a bit petulant, a bit agitated. I wonder why? Perhaps, like me, he’s anxious for it all to go well tonight. After all, the future financial health of Hope Farm depends on it. I wish I hadn’t reminded myself of that and take a swig of my own wine.
‘Watch how you go, yourself,’ Lucas notes. ‘You’re not used to strong drink.’
‘It’s nerve-wracking, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘Are you sure that getting hammered isn’t a really great idea?’
‘Positive.’ I take another swig. ‘How are the kids and the animals faring?’
‘Hunky-dory,’ he says. ‘Dumb and Dumber are sending out cute vibes. Tina Turner hasn’t bitten anyone yet. All in the garden is rosy.’
‘Your dad’s doing a very good thing,’ I say to him.
He softens. ‘I know.’
‘You seem to be so used to battling him that you don’t know when to stop.’
‘He is an arse a lot of the time,’ Lucas counters.
‘So are all parents. It’s part of the job description.’ I wonder if Shelby has told him yet about going to LA. Even the thought of him leaving makes my stomach lurch, so I can’t begin to think how it will hit Lucas. Shelby risks losing any chance of a good relationship with his son for ever. Just as bad, it will break my heart to let him go. Still, I don’t want to think of that now. Not tonight.
‘I’m pleased that the farm is going to continue, though,’ Lucas adds.
‘Me too. I can’t bear to think of what might have happened to us all if your dad hadn’t stepped in.’
‘Want to walk down to see them all?’
‘I hope none of them have rolled in mud since they were washed this morning.’
‘The animals or the students?’
I laugh. ‘As always, it could go either way.’
‘They’re doing a great job,’ Lucas says. ‘Jack and Seb are handling it like pros. Both of the girls look amazing.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Get a grip,’ Lucas snaps. ‘They’re children and don’t you dare tell them I said something nice about them or they’ll be looking at me all googly-eyed again.’
Tamara, in fact, has recently had a birthday and is just over a year younger than Lucas. Yet in terms of maturity they are miles apart, so I get what he means.
‘I was just hopeful for a moment, that you might actually like someone.’
He glares at me. ‘I don’t really like girls.’
‘Do you like boys?’ I venture. ‘If you do, it’s OK.’
‘What? Of course it’s OK. It’s not the dark ages or the 1960s or something.’
‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘Then stop pretending to be hip. I don’t like boys either. What I’m saying is I don’t like girls or boys that are kids.’
‘Oh. I see. Can I point out that you don’t like adults much either?’
‘You’re all right,’ he offers grudgingly. ‘Mostly.’
I smile at him. ‘I think that’s what you call damning with faint praise.’
‘Yeah, well stop trying to tell me about the birds and the bees and we’ll be cool,’ he grumbles.
‘Is there anything else we need to do for tonight?’ I venture, trying to steer us back onto a safer course.
‘I made sure there were some deckchairs reserved for everyone at the front.’ Lucas points them out to me.
‘That’s kind of you.’
‘I know what this crowd are like.’ He flicks a thumb towards the main event. ‘They always want to be seen to be doing good, preferably in the front row.’
‘As long as they fill the buckets up, I don’t mind what they do.’
So we walk together down to the front of the little copse and see the animals in their fenced-off area. All looks reassuringly calm. Sometimes Tina Turner gets a diva mood on her and you can’t do a thing with her. Tonight she looks pleasingly compliant. A few people are milling around having photographs taken with them. The parents who volunteered with the preparations this morning have been replaced by the second shift and they’re doing a great job. I should encourage this more often. As I generally don’t like people, I try to do everything myself and keep other people well out of the mix. Working with Shelby has shown me that great things can happen if you let other people in. Though I’m not sure that I need to let them quite as ‘in’ as I’ve let ‘in’ Shelby Dacre. If you know what I mean. Moving swiftly on …
The bunnies and the goats are getting lots of cuddles, mostly from people in their finery, which makes me slightly nervous. Buzz is having more selfie action than I thought possible, but he seems to be coping admirably. As Lucas said, our youngsters are doing really well too. They’re out in force, chatting to people about the work of the farm and helping them to take photos. It’s lovely to see them blossoming. When some of them first came to us they wouldn’t have known how to hold a conversation and this is a great mark of their progress.
They are all dressed so smartly – and Lucas is right, the girls look great even though they have even more make-up on than I do, which makes them look so grown up. My heart swells with pride to see them.
After a few minutes, Bev joins us and declares, ‘I have totally snogged Ross Kemp.’ She holds up her phone and, on her screen there’s a picture of her being pecked rather chastely on the cheek by said celebrity. ‘My life is complete.’
‘Lovely pic.’
She kisses her screen. ‘How’s it all going here? Everyone behaving?’
‘Yes. No problems.’
‘I might go and do another round of celeb-spotting if you don’t need me.’
‘Fill your boots,’ I tell her. ‘After all, we might never again be in such close proximity to television royalty and I have plenty of help here.’
Then, as she goes to leave, we see a man striding purposefully towards us. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s only when he gets close that I realise just who it is.
‘Well,’ Bev says, ‘Blow me down with a bloody feather.’
Exactly.
‘All right,’ Alan says when he reaches us.
We both stare at him, temporarily rendered speechless. Even Lucas is gaping. ‘Fuck,’ he murmurs to no one in particular
Apart from the fact that I’ve never seen Alan do anything more than a leisurely saunter, the rest of him is unrecognisable too. His beard has been shaved off, making him look about ten years younger and considerably more handsome than anyone could have imagined. The flowing locks of straggly grey hair have gone and are tamed into a neat man bun. His dinner suit is beautifully cut and, beneath it, his shirt is crisp and white. Not a band T-shirt in sight. Plus, he’s holding a bouquet of red roses.
Unlike us, he seems entirely unfazed by his new appearance.
‘What?’ he says when still no one speaks.
‘You.’ I stammer. ‘You. Look at you.’
He glances down, seemingly surprised that we should, in fact, be at all surprised. ‘You said smart.’
‘I said smart,’ I agree. ‘I didn’t expect complete and utter transformation.’
Alan merely shrugs, while Bev is standing there like a statue, stunned and apparently struck dumb.
‘Flowers,’ Alan says. ‘For you.’ He holds out his bouquet to her. Mine and Lucas’s heads swivel towards Bev as if we’re watching a tennis match. Transfixed by this new man, she slowly takes them. Her mouth’s ajar, but no words are coming out.
I nudge her.
‘Thank you,’ she squeaks. ‘They’re lovely.’
Alan nods. ‘We’ll have that hot date sometime, then.’
‘Yes,’ Bev manages. ‘Next week suits me.’
‘Right. That’s settled.’ Alan claps his hands together. ‘Where’s the beer?’
Chapter Eighty-Seven
The concert’s about to start, so I wrest the students away from the animals and settle them in their reserved deckchairs in the front row of the audience. Lucas and I sit down at the far end of the line.
To great applause, whooping and cheers, Shelby bounds onto the stage and takes a bow. He is the consummate professional and looks so at ease up there. His world couldn’t be any more different to mine.
‘We’ve got a great programme for you this evening, ladies and gentleman,’ he booms out. ‘It’s all in a fabulous cause. We’re here to support Hope Farm, which you may have visited over in the corner. Molly Baker does fantastic work supporting teenagers with autism, learning difficulties and mental health issues. But it all takes huge amounts of money to keep afloat and that’s where you come in. Enjoy the show, avail yourselves of the wonderful food and wine, but please dig deep into your pockets to help fund a great cause.’
More clapping.
Shelby holds up a hand, clearly used to working an audience. ‘Enough from me. Let me introduce our first act. All the performers tonight have given their time freely and we couldn’t be more appreciative. So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, let’s give a warm welcome to the cast of Flinton’s Farm!’
A number of people who I assume are Shelby’s colleagues join him on stage. They’re all dressed as farm hands in checked shirts and jeans. Scarlett Vincent is obvious by her absence and I assume that it’s still all over between them. That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.
Someone strums a guitar and they launch into a comedy song about a combine harvester which gets the audience joining in. Then they sing ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and McFly’s ‘All About You’. I feel quite emotional that this is all in aid of Hope Farm. Everyone has put so much effort into it.
The cast leave the stage and are replaced by a folk group, who launch into a lively set with fiddles blazing which gets everyone up and dancing. Despite it being a fast song, Bev and Alan are locked together in an embrace. Lucas grabs my arm and we do what might be classed as a do-si-do. We whoop as we swing each other round until we’re dizzy. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Shelby watching us as he claps along to the beat.
Then a beautiful young girl takes over and sings with a voice like an angel.
‘She’s good,’ Lucas says with an approving nod.
‘Who is she?’
‘Phoenix Jade. An up-and-coming pop star.’
‘Oh.’ He looks at her in a very dreamy way and I don’t think it’s for my benefit. He might not like girls in general, but he seems quite taken with this one.
Two more acts follow and we lose ourselves in the music. Too soon, as the applause is dying down, Shelby comes back on stage to draw the evening to a close. It’s all rushed by in a blur, but it’s gone beautifully and I’m so grateful to everyone taking part. I’ve even talked to people – strangers nonetheless – about the farm. Go me!
‘Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen,’ Shelby says. ‘I think you’ll agree that it’s been a great evening of entertainment. The performers have all been wonderful and if you haven’t donated to keep Hope Farm afloat yet then there are buckets circulating. For credit card donations, see me later! Please put your hands together for all our fantastic supporters.’ He waits until the applause finishes again. ‘Before we wrap it up, I’ve got a favour to ask of one very special person here.’ He glances towards us and I feel myself colour up. ‘My son, Lucas, is a poet and I’d love him to come up and perform the poem he’s written about saving the farm.’
Lucas turns and scowls at me. ‘You knew about this?’
‘I swear I didn’t.’
‘Fuck,’ he mutters.
‘You should do it, though,’ I whisper to him. ‘For your dad. For me. For the farm.’
His look darkens. ‘No pressure, then.’
‘You can do it,’ I assure him. ‘You know you can.’
‘I haven’t got anything prepared and this place is full of professional performers, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
I take his hand and squeeze it. ‘Then they’ll understand how difficult this is for you.’
From the stage, Shelby shouts, ‘Come on, Lucas. We’d love to hear you. Wouldn’t we, ladies and gentlemen?’
Much cheering from the audience.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Lucas mutters as he stands. ‘I’m going to KILL someone! I’m just not sure who.’ But he marches to the stage nevertheless and my heart jumps into my mouth.
Oozing reluctance with every ounce of his being, he climbs the steps to the stage.
‘My beautiful boy, Lucas!’ Shelby grabs Lucas in a bear hug and ruffles his hair. Lucas shies away. Only the alpacas are more sensitive about getting their hair touched. I could shake Shelby as he has no idea how to handle his own child.
He ushers Lucas to the microphone and then steps away, as a hush falls over the audience. It’s so quiet that I can hear the blood rushing in my own ears. Lucas stands there looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. A rabbit who knows he’s about to be involved in a terrible car crash.
Chapter Eighty-Eight
After what seems like an eternity,
Lucas finally opens his mouth. His voice comes out as a croak and he says the first line of his poem and then grinds to a halt again. I can see that his hands are shaking and his breath is coming in shallow pants.
‘You can do it, Lucas,’ someone shouts from the audience and Lucas’s head snaps up.
From my seat, I’m willing him to do well. I’m sure that Shelby did it in good faith, but this could crush his son’s fragile self-esteem. Lucas’s poetry is the only thing that he has that he’s brilliant at and I don’t want him to fail. If he can’t do this it will only make him doubt himself.
‘Take deep breaths, Lucas,’ I whisper. ‘Take deep breaths.’
On the stage, he does just that. Then he starts again, but in a faltering voice. Next to him Shelby steps up to the microphone. He looks directly at Lucas and joins in, feeding him the lines to his own poem.
I can only think that Shelby must have learned the words from the YouTube video I showed him. Lucas is so shocked that he’s almost stunned into silence again. But he recovers well and, emboldened by his father’s presence, starts to grow in confidence.
‘You can do it,’ I murmur. My palms are sweating as I watch. ‘Come on.’
A few more lines and they’re both getting into the rhythm together – although Lucas still looks astounded that his dad knows the words to his poem. As it goes on, Lucas starts to take the lead and I can feel myself breathe once more. Finally, he gets into his stride and his performance starts to flow. Shelby goes to takes a step backwards to leave him to it, but Lucas catches his hand and pulls him back to his side. They finish the poem together with Shelby’s arm slung round his son’s shoulder, encouraging the audience to join in at the rousing end.
When they’re done, Shelby holds up Lucas’s hand like a champion and the crowd go wild. As one, they leap from their seats and give Lucas a standing ovation.
Lucas laughs and looks at his dad, bemused.
‘That’s for you, son,’ Shelby says. ‘Want to do another one?’
Lucas laughs nervously. ‘OK.’
Happiness for Beginners Page 31
