The Little Orchard on the Lane: An absolutely perfect and uplifting romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘I know… well, I’ve seen them on TV.’

  Posy’s laughter was louder now. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said once it had calmed down. ‘I’m just not into him. I know he’s Cain’s best mate and all, and you’re trying to get off with Cain, and you have this little daydream where we date them at the same time so we can do double dates, but it just isn’t going to work. Not for me anyway. Sorry.’

  ‘You couldn’t at least give him a chance? You might surprise yourself and have a good time. You do remember what a good time is, don’t you?’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny.’

  ‘I’m being serious. I hate to say it but I’m not the only one – these days it feels as if it doesn’t happen all that often.’

  ‘Everyone’s saying I’m miserable? Great! Couldn’t you have told me this before?’

  ‘Of course everyone isn’t saying that. All I meant is people have commented that you don’t come out as much as you used to.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Posy twisted a loose thread on a nearby cushion. ‘I suppose I’m getting a bit bored of the same places and faces…’

  ‘Wow, thanks. Now I’m offended.’

  ‘Not you,’ Posy said with a half-smile. ‘Never you.’

  ‘I should think not. So it’s a no to the party?’

  ‘I’m not sure – I just don’t think I can muster the enthusiasm. Say you’ll forgive me… go on, say it.’

  Marella sighed. ‘Of course I do. But don’t think I won’t try to persuade you again before Saturday.’

  ‘You can try, but it doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.’

  ‘So… the weekend in the countryside was good?’

  ‘It was. Surprisingly good; I actually really enjoyed it, and I think Mum did too.’

  ‘Really? I thought you were terrified to meet these people?’

  ‘I was. But they’re lovely and it’s so beautiful where they live… If you could see it.’

  ‘I did – you sent me photos. Lots of photos. It looked very nice… green… You know… countryside-y.’

  ‘It is. You’d hate it.’

  ‘With a passion. The countryside is weird – that’s why cities were built.’

  ‘So weird…’ Posy agreed with a wry smile. ‘All that clean air, no car fumes, miles and miles of grass and trees and flowers and pretty houses and not a graffitied tower block in sight. Nobody slamming into you rushing to get somewhere or angry drivers trying to mow you down because you’re crossing the road too slowly for them. A lovely cooling breeze blowing through the apple trees instead of sticky, grimy summer heat and the sound of birdsong instead of honking car horns. You’re right – it is weird. I can’t imagine why anyone would choose to live there.’

  ‘You have just summarised all my problems in one paragraph,’ Marella said, grinning. ‘Sounds just like some Sunday night drama – you know, the ones where the most thrilling thing that happens is old Farmer Smith’s pig gets piles. I’m sure it’s utterly charming to look at but it would get boring very quickly. You’re a city girl, Posy – you need to remember that. You’re about as urban as it gets.’

  ‘I know, but I’m just so bored right now.’

  ‘Boredom is no reason to live in the countryside. If you’re bored come to the party with me on Saturday.’

  ‘Not that kind of bored. You’re going to laugh, I know, but these days I feel as if I just want something else. I’m sick of bars and nightclubs and constantly checking I’m still cool enough.’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t have to worry about that in Somerset. They’d think you were an absolute radical there, an enfant terrible with your fancy city ways.’

  ‘It’s not that backward! Sure it’s a slower pace of life but they’re hardly living in the Dark Ages. The lady who owns the guest house we stayed at moved there from London and she loves it.’

  ‘Oh God! Please don’t tell me this woman has persuaded you to do that! Are you going to write some horrible book like A Year in Provence following your escapades after you escape the rat race, find love with some country bumpkin and spend the rest of your fertile years pregnant?’

  Posy couldn’t help but laugh, even if Marella’s appraisal of the average Somerset resident was far from complimentary. ‘Don’t worry – if the desire ever comes over me I won’t expect you to read my horrible book and I certainly won’t expect you to babysit my massive brood.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Marella stifled a yawn. ‘I’m sure it was very lovely, and I’d probably like it for a day or so but that would be my absolute limit. Anyway, I suppose you’ll be seeing these people again?’

  ‘They are my family, weird as that sounds. And I think they’re really making an effort.’

  Marella’s taunting grin faded now, and she was serious. ‘Are you really alright? I suppose it was strange. I suppose they must feel terribly guilty about everything.’

  ‘A little,’ Posy replied. ‘I think they feel responsible for what happened, even though they couldn’t possibly be. When my mother ran away from home she was twenty, but Giles was younger at sixteen and Asa was only ten. It’s hard to understand these things at that age, let alone do anything about them. I think, over the years, they tried to persuade Philomena to make amends with my mother but she just wouldn’t. From what Giles tells me, I think my mother would have been just as stubborn. I think she just didn’t want to have any part of that life once she’d left.’

  ‘And you still don’t know where she ended up?’

  ‘When they heard about her death, she’d been living in Argentina. She’d been working as a fruit picker, which is ironic when you think about it. But I don’t think she ever settled down in one place for long and I don’t think she had a proper job or a family.’

  ‘She sounds like a free spirit.’

  ‘I know, I’m very boring in comparison – if she’d met me I’m sure I’d have been disappointing. I feel as if I have far more in common with Giles and Asa already than I ever would have had with Angelica.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how I would feel about any of it. It would be horrible knowing my mother didn’t want to keep me.’

  ‘I thought it would bother me, but it doesn’t. She probably wouldn’t have been half the mum my own lovely mummy is. I think, on balance, I’ve had a much better life here than I would have done with her.’

  ‘And your dad is the guy she was supposed to be having an affair with in the village?’

  ‘I think so. Apparently he moved away with his wife not long after the affair became public and Angelica’s father died.’

  ‘And he’s dead too?’ Marella asked, going over information that Posy had briefly communicated via text but hadn’t explained in much detail. ‘It’s all a bit tragic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Giles and Asa say they don’t know where he went to live when he left the village and they said they could find out more for me, but I felt like it was all a bit awkward and not something they really wanted to do.’

  ‘So you’re going to leave it at that?’

  ‘When things are settled a bit and I feel that we’re all comfortable enough with each other, maybe I’ll take them up on the offer, but not yet. I mean, he might be my biological father but it’s hard to feel one way or another about him when he means nothing to me except for that. I don’t even know whether he knew about me, but I’m assuming that he didn’t as he never tried to find me. Perhaps I can be content with the family I have found who do want to know me.’

  ‘It sounds messy.’

  ‘It does a bit,’ Posy agreed.

  ‘Well, I know you’re getting to know them and I think that’s very important for you, but from a totally selfish perspective I hope you’re not going to be missing every weekend – you have to come to some of these parties with me.’

  ‘I will,’ Posy said. ‘Just as long as Vincenzo isn’t there.’

  ‘So, are we doing lunch tomorrow then, or are you going to stand me up for that too?’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ Posy chided.r />
  ‘I’m not being like anything, but lately there’s no telling with you. Will I be blessed by an appearance at the restaurant or not?’

  ‘Of course,’ Posy said. ‘I wouldn’t miss that.’

  ‘Good, because I’ve already made a reservation.’

  ‘Of course you have,’ Posy said, laughing. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there.’

  Chapter Seven

  She’d been away from London before, of course, lots of times. But never had her return felt so strange and off. Posy was happy enough to get back to work knowing that an exciting new project to design the interior of a swanky café-bar had just come in, and new projects were always fun. She was pleased that things had gone well in Somerset too, but despite all the reasons she had to be content, she was still gripped by a vague sense of melancholy as she boarded the overground train to travel into the office, a strange, unshakeable, low-level sort of… she could only describe it as dread.

  Colleagues – older and more jaded, only working to pay the bills – had often described the ‘Sunday Night Dreads’, that sense of the weekend ebbing away to bring another unwelcome Monday, but Posy had never felt like that herself. And anyway, it was currently Monday morning. If it was the Sunday Night Dreads, why were they so inexcusably tardy? Why couldn’t they have shown up the night before, on time and easily banished by a stiff drink?

  She caught her connection to find the Tube as busy as the overground. It was always busy, of course, but even by Posy’s standards this was hot and cramped and almost insufferable. Usually, a busy Tube journey was a minor irritation she’d shrug off, a necessary price to pay for living in the city, but today it only added to the distinct feeling that she just wanted to be somewhere else.

  Anywhere else.

  Well, perhaps not anywhere.

  Somewhere like Somerset.

  Actually… just Somerset.

  Taking a breath and doing her best to shake the strange mood that had settled over her, she pulled out her mobile to check her emails. If there was anything urgent waiting for her at work she might as well know about it in advance. No matter how horrible it might be, at least if she was aware of it she’d be ready.

  There was something about post-work drinks on Friday, a reply to a request for paint samples, lots of general housekeeping stuff about training and fire doors and people leaving dirty dishes in the communal kitchen, but nothing to worry about.

  But then, even though she ought to have been relieved, that fact alone was vaguely disappointing and unsettling. What the hell was wrong with her?

  To take her mind off things she clicked onto her Instagram feed. There was the usual parade of photos: nights out on the town, babies, pets, successful bakes, screenshots of jogging routes and finishing times… and then there was a photo of Oleander House.

  Posy’s breath caught in her throat. She wouldn’t have imagined she’d react like this, but somehow it had caught her off guard. Carmel had posted it and captioned it ‘Lovely weekend at this beautiful house’ though she hadn’t given any more specific details than that. Posy half wondered if Giles and Asa would be OK with their house being on Instagram, but perhaps they wouldn’t care; after all, the business they ran from there had an extensive social-media presence and a website with many photos of the house and apple presses that anyone could see.

  Relaxing a little, she looked more closely at the photograph. Carmel had dabbled in photography when she was younger and she certainly hadn’t forgotten how to frame a subject. The place looked stunning, caught in the rosy light of the golden hour, the branches of a cypress tree dripping into the foreground. Her mother had probably done a little editing to heighten the colours; the scene was vibrant and almost hyperreal.

  Even though Posy had visited and met her new family there, it was still strangely alien to her that real people lived in a house like this; normal, down-to-earth people just like her. By their own admission, they’d been fortunate to inherit Oleander House and privileged to grow up there, but it still seemed incredible to Posy, like the sort of thing you saw only on films or TV.

  Whatever Carmel had done with the photo, Oleander House looked achingly beautiful and Posy felt a strange tug. All she wanted right now was to be back there, roaming the orchard or the meadows with the sun on her back, crickets in the grass and birds singing in the trees. Already the weekend felt like a distant dream, a tantalising taste of a different life.

  She closed the page and opened her camera roll, scrolling through her own photos of Oleander House, Karen’s guest house, of fields and trees and flowers and orchards.

  Mentally shaking herself, she locked her phone. It’s just the Monday blues, she told herself sternly.

  The train halted and Posy looked up to see yet more people cramming into the already packed carriage. If Einstein had been there, he’d have been taking notes to rethink everything the world knew about physics because, despite appearances to the contrary, they all eventually found somewhere to stand and the train started off again.

  Posy tried not to make eye contact with a woman who had her knees pressed against her; any closer and she’d have been sitting on Posy’s lap. She let out a deep sigh, drew in a damp breath, and once again wished she was in the wide, sunny meadows around Oleander House instead of sitting in a sardine can of sweat and disgruntlement.

  It was strange just how profound an effect visiting Somerset – and more specifically Oleander House – had had on Posy. While she’d often felt bored or dissatisfied with her life as it was now – and she realised that in many ways she had no right to be – she’d never actively desired to change it.

  Was that what was happening now? Was this some kind of tipping point? A crossroads in her life? And if it was, why now? Why at all? She had it good in London, didn’t she? The perfect life, the envy of so many, and yet something was missing. She’d always known, deep down, that something was missing, but while previously it had been hidden, the noise and bustle of her existence muffling the voice that wanted to tell her so, over the weekend it had suddenly become loud enough to be heard. It didn’t want to be ignored any longer and Posy wasn’t sure she wanted to ignore it anyway.

  Which was all very well, but what was she supposed to do about any of it?

  * * *

  ‘So, you’re back amongst the living then?’

  Marella reached for the carafe and poured herself a glass of iced lemon water. The restaurant was busy, as it always was on any weekday lunchtime, other workers sitting virtually shoulder to shoulder at the long trestle tables that ran the length of the room, all making the most of a fleeting burst of freedom. Posy had never liked the seating arrangements here, having to sit on benches with a dozen or so other people as if she was in a school hall or prison canteen, but Marella was obsessed with the food and so Posy often acceded to a request to make this their lunch venue. Today was no different and, if anything, Posy had even less inclination or energy to argue. She hadn’t managed to shake the strange, melancholic feeling of dissatisfaction that had plagued her on the Tube that morning, despite having been so busy at work that she’d barely had time to spare another thought to any possible explanation.

  She looked up briefly from where she was trying to get her chopsticks to tackle a particularly troublesome gyoza from the plate they were sharing.

  ‘You do know London isn’t actually the centre of the universe, don’t you?’

  ‘Try growing up in Sheffield and you’ll soon realise it ought to be.’

  Posy raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t let your parents hear you say that. I’m sure they think Sheffield is perfectly lovely.’

  ‘It’s alright for you – growing up here you take it for granted. As soon as I could spell London I knew I’d move here one day. I was desperate to get here, but I’m beginning to wonder if you’re desperate to get out. Which, in my humble opinion, is complete madness. Why would you want to leave a place where you have absolutely everything you could ever need? You know the grass isn’t greener anywh
ere else…’

  ‘It’s definitely, empirically, incontrovertibly greener in Somerset,’ Posy said with a smile. ‘You can’t deny that – it’s scientific fact.’

  ‘Yes, it’s picture-postcard lovely. The gazillion photos you sent me told me that. It might look nice but you’d be bored inside a month if you lived there.’

  ‘Maybe…’ Posy replied slowly. It wasn’t what she was thinking but perhaps Marella had a point. The idea of life there was impossibly romantic but she was viewing it as just that – a romantic ideal. The reality was probably bugs and slurry and patchy phone signals. Oleander House and the surrounding area looked beautiful in the sunshine but perhaps it wasn’t quite so appealing mired in a freezing grey sleet in January. Like going on holiday to Greece and daydreaming you lived there, just for a while as you wandered the beach. The reality would be very different, but the dream was nice to indulge in. Perhaps she wasn’t appreciating enough just what she had here in London?

  ‘It sounds as if your meeting went well, though,’ Marella said.

  ‘I actually can’t believe how well it went,’ Posy said. ‘They were so welcoming. ’

  ‘There you go then – you’ll be seeing plenty of Somerset from now on; the best of both worlds.’

  ‘Sometimes things are so busy here… I honestly don’t know how much time we’d have to go.’

  ‘Nice to have the choice at least.’ Marella slurped an extra-long noodle into her mouth and licked a blob of sauce from her chin. There were no airs and graces with Marella. She often said you could take the girl out of Sheffield but you couldn’t take Sheffield out of the girl. Not that Posy would ever want to.

  They’d met on the first day of art college. Actually, they’d both made friends with other people on the first day of art college, quickly realised how boring those other people were, and, by the first lunch break of that first day, had managed to ‘ditch the dodos’ (as Marella had called it) and snuck off to the pub together without them. They’d collaborated on art projects, fallen asleep at bus stops together after heavy student nights, holidayed together and eventually graduated together. They’d even – on occasion – dated the same boys, though not at the same time.