The Barn on Half Moon Hill

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Every single one of them – you can test me if you like. Go ahead and ask questions about them,’ he said. ‘Including the last one when you said you weren’t going to write any more.’

  ‘I started to feel a bit stupid,’ said Cariad. ‘I should have stopped writing much sooner.’

  Franco reached for her hand across the table. ‘No, no. I loved getting your letters. Sometimes they were the only bit of sanity in my life.’ Then they had to pull apart as Sue needed to put down a huge pot of tea, two mugs and a plate full of buttered bread triangles in the middle of the table.

  ‘I kept your guide to grieving for a dad on my wall for a long time,’ Franco went on. ‘It helped me a lot.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cariad with a smile. ‘I’m glad it did.’

  ‘It’s in a box with all the others now. It was kind of you to send it to me. I hope someone helped you through your grief.’

  ‘I’ll pour, shall I?’ Cariad lifted the teapot. She didn’t want to talk about her father. It would make her upset and today was enough of an emotional roller-coaster to deal with.

  ‘I read them all again before I came to England.’

  ‘Yeah, course you did.’

  ‘I did. I wanted to make sure I had you here —’ He pressed his fist into his heart ‘— so I wouldn’t miss you. I couldn’t see you, at first, then I heard Becky’s, or Lacey’s, voice in the crowd. She sounded just like I imagined her to. All witchy and yeurch.’

  Cariad smiled. ‘That sums them both up. I expect I’ll have a lot of questions to answer when they see me later.’

  ‘Why don’t you move out? They sound awful.’

  ‘They are.’ Cariad sighed. ‘But I can’t afford another place yet.’ I did a stupid thing you see . . .

  Sue was on her way back over with two oval plates full of fish and chips and curry sauce and a puzzled expression weighing on her eyebrows.

  ‘You’re not out of EastEnders, are you?’ she asked Franco, staring at him over the top of her glasses. ‘You’ve got a look of Beppe di Marco. Or was it his brother? Now what was his name again?’ She called across to Ena. ‘Ena, what was Beppe’s brother called in EastEnders?’

  ‘Geoffrey,’ said Ena, who was wiping down a table.

  ‘No, it was something Italian . . .’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Giovanni? I know . . . Gianni, that was it. Then again, he’d be much older than you because I’m going back a few years. You look Italian.’

  ‘I’m not Italian or off the TV,’ said Franco, shaking his head. ‘I’m a builder. From Bally . . . cork . . . bottle.’

  ‘That rings a bell.’ Sue sniffed. ‘Anyway, enjoy your dinners. Did I tell you there’s ten per cent off today?’

  ‘Absolutely you did,’ replied Franco, in his real accent so to make up for the error he then threw out a, ‘to be sure.’

  Jacques and Eve were sitting in their office, waiting for the grumpy old coffee machine to do its magic. It took an age for it to heat the water and push it through the ground beans, but it delivered a premium brew.

  ‘Did all that just happen?’ asked Jacques, thumbing backwards to where the men were taking down the temporary stage. ‘Did a Hollywood actor really borrow my spare jeans and run off with our ice-cream lady?’

  ‘I hope he looks after her,’ said Eve. ‘Effin didn’t look very impressed.’

  ‘Did he say they’d been writing to each other?’

  ‘That’s one hell of a pen-pal.’ Eve sighed. ‘Mine was a boy from Belgium who used to send me pictures of donkeys. Then, when he eventually sent me a photo of himself, well, let’s just say, the donkeys were much better looking. He was called Jacques too, come to think about it.’

  Jacques grinned. ‘And here’s me thinking you fell in love with me because I was unique and not because you have a thing about my name.’ He tried not to make it sound heavy when he asked: ‘You do love me, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Eve returned quickly. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

  ‘You’ve been quiet recently. There’s something on your mind,’ he said.

  ‘No, there . . . well, yes, there is. But let me just get on with sorting it myself. I don’t need any help.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, wishing she would let him in.

  ‘I can’t wait to see us on the TV later,’ said Eve. The moment had passed. Jacques wouldn’t find out over this coffee what was going on in her head.

  Chapter 4

  ‘This looks great,’ said Franco. ‘I haven’t eaten all day. And the food in the hotel last night wasn’t to my taste. I have to try this curry sauce.’ And he started to tuck in, while Cariad sat and stared at him.

  She thought that looking at his face was like viewing a piece of iridescent glass which shifted colours at the tiniest tilt of angle. Franco reminded her of Henry Cavill, of Sean Connery, then a moment later of Christopher Reeve . . . maybe even, he was a little Fabio-esque from all those romantic book covers, with a hint of Raul Cruz, the chef from the TV who made her mother fan her face whenever he appeared on a cookery programme.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Franco asked, when he became aware of the heat of her gaze.

  ‘I think I’m either dreaming or someone has slipped some LSD into my system.’

  ‘Just eat. The curry sauce really is very good,’ said Franco, pointing to her plate as if he were her mother.

  Cariad picked up her knife and fork and sliced into the batter surrounding the fish.

  ‘I have never had British fish and chips before,’ said Franco, his mouth glossy. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me they were this good? What does Gianni di Marco look like?’

  ‘No idea,’ replied Cariad, though she thought that he sounded handsome with a name like that.

  ‘The view looks familiar,’ said Franco, through a mouthful of chips, pointing out of the window with his knife. ‘You sent me a picture of it a few months ago, didn’t you?’

  Cariad was impressed that he’d remembered. ‘Yes, I did. I think it’s lovely around here.’

  Franco tapped his chin, hoping that might speed up his thought processes. It did.

  ‘This is Half Moon Hill, right? La Collina della Mezza Luna.’

  ‘Er . . . yes. That’s right.’

  ‘You said you were going to live up here one day.’

  ‘Did I?’ Had she told him that?

  ‘Yes, you did. And if you’re testing my memory, you also told me that you had a dog called Fenn and that Gwyneth Owen kissed your boyfriend Wyn and that you were going to be a dancer and you sent me photos and drawings of all the trophies you won, then you suddenly said you weren’t. I always wondered why that was.’

  Cariad shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just went off it.’

  ‘When I was in the stage show of Dirty Dancing, I thought of you sometimes.’

  ‘Yeah, course you did.’

  ‘It’s true, I did. I thought that if we ever met I’d like to dance with you.’

  ‘I don’t dance any more,’ replied Cariad, dabbing at her lips. ‘Anyway. Wyn got Gwyneth up the duff. They got married in a right rush. Mam said she was the ugliest-looking bride she’d ever seen, but I think she just said that to make me feel better. It’s what mams do, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Franco answered, though he didn’t know what it was to have a relationship with a mother who cared enough. He was, and always had been, more of a cash cow to Helen Mezzaluna than a son.

  ‘Have you been staying in one of those big London hotels then?’ Cariad asked, glad that the taxi driver had alerted her to the joys of Sedgewick’s curry sauce.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Very luxurious. Yet strangely, also very characterless and cold.’

  ‘Do you have those riders, in hotels? When stars ask for daft things like kittens to play with and stuff?’ asked Cariad, reaching for a slice of bread. ‘I’d have a big box of expensive chocolates with all the toffee ones taken out and a massive selection of bath bombs.’

  Franco laughed. Cariad Wil
liams was even more funny and sweet in person than she was on the page. ‘I used to, when I was younger and more stupid and arrogant. I would ask for impossible things, expensive things.’ He gave her a pained smile as some unpleasant memories smacked his brain.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I’m very easy to please. I occasionally ask for Gatorades and Twinkies – my God, I love Twinkies so much. Though I might start asking for British curry sauce. Am I okay having more bread? I’ve had more than my fair share.’

  ‘Yes, take it. I just want this one,’ replied Cariad, nibbling delicately on the sandwich she had made herself out of chips and curry sauce.

  ‘Boy, it’s good stuff.’ Franco was eating as if he had been locked up for a month and starved. ‘I have to come here again.’

  ‘Might not be here next time,’ said Cariad. ‘I think the restaurant will be closing.’

  ‘No! Why’s that?’

  ‘There’s a businessman who has bought a pub down the road and he’s turned it into a fish-and-chip restaurant. Duncan Grinter, he’s called, horrible man. One of those flash types who doesn’t care about people, just profit. The food is nowhere near as good, but he can afford all the fancy PR and advertising. He’s already closed a few businesses down by opening up rival ones nearby.’ Cariad sighed. ‘It would be a proper shame if Sedgewick’s closed. You don’t get a view like this in Grinter’s place for a start off.’

  Franco stared out of the window at the smoky blue-tinged Pennine hills in the distance and the cloudless sky above them.

  ‘I don’t see much of England when I come here. No countryside, unless I’m flying over it. What’s Wales like?’

  ‘Rainy,’ said Cariad. ‘Green, beautiful. At least where I’m from – the Mawddach estuary.’

  ‘I know, I know. You sent me photos of your giant who lives in the mountains. Idris.’

  Cariad was surprised that he’d remembered that too. In fact – skip that – she was gobsmacked.

  ‘My mam used to tell me that Idris used to lie on his back there and look up at the stars. And if I didn’t get to sleep, I’d disturb his peace and quiet and he’d come looking for me.’ Cariad laughed. ‘I used to rap on the window, hoping I’d wake him and he’d turn up outside our house. Not the result my mam was after.’

  ‘Your mom sounds great.’

  ‘She is,’ Cariad smiled fondly. ‘She’s started seeing Arfon Davies from across the street. He’s always had a soft spot for her and he’s a lovely man. I know she was worried what I’d think, but she’s too young to be by herself, so I told her to get in there. She’s been lonely since Da went.’

  ‘And no man on the horizon for you? No more Wesleys?’

  Nefi blw! Heaven’s above! He really had read her letters thoroughly.

  ‘Definitely not. He wasn’t a proper date anyway. I think it was a practical joke. Something Becky and her fella dreamed up.’

  Franco whispered something dark under his breath. It sounded like a hex.

  They carried on eating, but at a slower pace now as they were almost full up.

  ‘Everything all right with you two?’ Sue appeared at their side to inquire.

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Franco, clicking his fingers as an idea came to him. ‘Cariad, do you have a phone?’

  ‘Of course. Do you need to ring someone?’ she said, handing over her iPhone.

  Franco reached out for it and told Sue not to leave. ‘Let’s have a photo. The three of us.’

  ‘I’m not . . .’ Sue protested lightly, but Franco was too charming to turn down seriously. He asked the gentleman on the next table if he would mind taking the picture. Sue stood in the middle, Franco picked up his plate and menu, making sure that the name of the restaurant was facing the lens. Cariad stood at the other side of Sue. Then they changed positions, with Franco in the middle, arms around both ladies.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so painful, was it?’ said Franco to Sue, as they viewed the photos on the screen. ‘You look great.’ Funniest of all was Ena photobombing in the background.

  ‘And, Sue, you can tell everyone you had your picture taken with Michael Bublé. But not the real one.’ Franco winked at her.

  ‘The Irish Michael Bublé with the funniest bloody accent I’ve ever heard.’ Sue chuckled. ‘Do you want anything else or shall I tot up your bill? Apple pie? Treacle tart? Sherry trifle. All home-made. Not like Grinter’s darn t’road.’

  Cariad shook her head. She hadn’t any room left for more.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ said Franco, sounding more South African now than Emerald Isle as he sat back down in the red-cushioned booth.

  ‘That was nice of you, having your picture taken with the waitress.’ Cariad smiled. ‘She’s going to drop with shock when she realises who you really are.’

  ‘Send Sedgewick’s the picture, Cariad. They can tell everyone that Franco Mezzaluna eats here and they have the proof. Grinter’s darn t’road won’t be able to get that kind of PR.’

  His Yorkshire accent sounded more Irish than his Irish one did.

  ‘Aw, that’s lovely.’ Cariad grinned. ‘I’m changing my opinion of you.’ She settled back down on her seat and put her phone back in her bag. She couldn’t wait to email that photo to her mam.

  ‘Good.’ He grinned back. ‘I’m glad I got something right today.’

  ‘So, what’s happening when you get back to America then?’ said Cariad, pouring out the last of the tea from the pot.

  ‘I start work on another film in two days. My leading lady is a renowned pain in the ass. And an ex.’

  ‘Oh dear. All your girlfriends sound like horrors. Hollywood versions of Becky and Lacey. I hope you find someone nice soon.’

  ‘Someone like you.’

  Cariad gulped. Had he really said that? She had a sudden vision of floating down the aisle of a huge cathedral, wearing a white silk dress with a forty-foot train but the image dissolved no sooner than it had formed.

  ‘I don’t think we’d make a very good couple,’ said Cariad, with a small shrug of her shoulders.

  Franco opened his mouth in a mock gasp. ‘You’re turning me down, Miss Williams?’

  ‘I couldn’t do with all that jet-setting. And living my life under a microscope. I don’t know how you do it.’

  Franco downed the last of his tea. ‘I’ve lived in the spotlight for so long, I don’t know what else there is,’ he said.

  ‘You’d find something if you had to,’ said Cariad, taking her purse out of her handbag.

  It sounded to Franco that she was speaking from experience.

  Jacques found Eve in the reindeer hut. She had her head in her hands and she was crying.

  He rushed over to her and put his big arms around her and pulled her into his chest, and she let him.

  ‘What is it, my darling? What’s the matter? It’s killing me, seeing you so upset. Is it something I’ve done?’

  ‘No, it’s not you, it’s me.’

  It’s not you, it’s me. Is this how this was going to go? That famous way to end a relationship when you had fallen out of love with someone?

  ‘I need to know, Eve. Whatever it is, I need to know.’

  Eve lifted her head. ‘It’s Jonathan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  Chapter 5

  ‘I’ll ring a taxi for you,’ said Cariad, as they walked outside.

  ‘Wait a few minutes. I want to look at some of your beautiful Yorkshire scenery,’ replied Franco, taking in the view from the top of Half Moon Hill: the stunning old railway viaduct, the cluster of houses that made up the market town of Penistone, the farms and their fields, the tall, white wind turbines in the distance, their blades resting today in the still air. It was the most gorgeous summery late afternoon; the air was as warm as a coat yet only a couple of hours ago he had been surrounded by snow in Winterworld. It had been a very unusual day all round, though as far from unpleasant as it was possible to get.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, as his eyes touch
ed on a single-storey wreck across the road.

  ‘It’s sort of an old barn,’ said Cariad.

  ‘Let’s go look.’

  ‘There’s nothing there.’

  ‘Humour me.’ He held his hand out to her. ‘Come on,’ he urged, when she wouldn’t take it. Eventually, she slipped her hand into his and felt his fingers tighten around hers.

  ‘It’s been empty for years, apparently. There’s nothing to see,’ she protested as he pulled her along with him.

  ‘You’re still limping.’

  ‘I know. That Becky one gave me a hell of a kick.’

  They crossed the road and walked down the overgrown path to the building which had so intrigued Franco.

  ‘I’ve always dreamed of owning an old place in England,’ Franco said. ‘I want to spend more time in this country and I like this view a lot. Imagine how it would be to wake up to it. Especially on a snowy morning. Plus, it’s on Half Moon Hill, maybe that’s a sign I should buy this old ruin and breathe new life into it.’

  The building was indeed a wreck. Franco peered in through one of the broken windows and saw a long, wide hall, part mirrored on one wall.

  ‘What was this place? It doesn’t look much like a barn inside.’

  ‘It used to be a school once, a dance school.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No, I’m not. It closed down and for a while one of the local farmers used it for his animals and to store his hay in. Then it was considered too dangerous to keep any livestock in so it’s just been left to rot.’

  ‘How many years has it been empty?’

  ‘A long time, but it came up for sale at the end of last year.’

  ‘No one has bought it and it has a view like this?’ Franco raked his fingers into his wavy black Italian hair.

  ‘You can’t build anything else on the land. You’d only be allowed to renovate this back into a dance school, that was the proviso of the sale, and it would cost far too much money.’

  Franco turned on his heel to look at Cariad. ‘You seem to know quite a lot about it.’

  ‘I know ’cos I flaming own it. It’s mine,’ she replied with the heaviest of sighs.