Summer in the Orchard (Little Somerby)

by Fay Keenan

  ‘And what do they think about it? Your parents?’ Sophie asked.

  Alex paused for a split second before replying. ‘My mom died at the end of last year, but I think she’d have really liked the idea. My stepdad’s been really supportive but he’s not in great health himself.’

  Sophie’s heart lurched. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’ Alex shook his head and then smiled slightly. ‘Mom was really fond of the area where she lived, so I think she’d like it that I’m making a go of something new there. But if I am going to make it work, I need a crash course in cider blending! There’s quite a difference between producing a few bottles at home and scaling that up, or so I’m led to believe, so I’m looking forward to learning a lot from Carter’s – and you.’

  ‘We can guarantee you that here.’ Sophie replied, relieved that the conversation was moving on. ‘You’ll have plenty of ideas to take back with you.’ She glanced at her schedule for the day on her iPad. At this time of year, when the cider business was gearing up for the first pressings at the end of the summer, it was all about planning ahead. ‘Shall we get started?’

  ‘Sure,’ Alex replied. He seemed to hold her gaze a little too long, and Sophie felt her cheeks growing warm. She made it a rule never to fancy anyone at work, and for ten years she had stuck to it; workplace romances were just too awkward, in her opinion. She’d seen Laura’s devastation when she’d split up with her last boyfriend, who still worked in the cannery, and she didn’t want to get involved with someone she’d be forced to see every day if things went wrong. After her heartache over Mark, too, she was on her guard even more. There was no doubting that Alex was attractive, though.

  Banishing the thought from her mind, Sophie started by showing Alex the cider vat floor, where the forty-eight enormous steel vats stood, ready to be filled with the apple mixture that turned, like magic, into the bestselling varieties of Carter’s cider through its own process of natural fermentation. This truly was the industrial arm of the business, and as Sophie explained about the thousands of litres of cider that were produced here every day she saw Alex shaking his head in mild disbelief.

  ‘These steel vats are from Germany,’ she said as they looked twenty-five feet upwards at the solid, shining, implacable units that lined the fermenting room. ‘Every time one needs replacing, it’s brought in on the back of a flatbed truck with a crane, and then winched through the roof into place. The roof slides back, and we need to make sure that it’s a dry day when we do it or it gets very messy in here.’

  Moving on, Sophie showed Alex her favourite part of the farm, where the oak vats were kept. Pushing open the door to the barn, she paused, inhaling the scent of oak and age. The vats exuded a sense of timelessness, dark and mysterious in their presence. They were the jewel in the crown of the business. ‘These go back to the very start of things,’ she said, as she pushed open the door further to admit Alex. ‘They’re what most people think of when they think of cider, although they tend to only hold the speciality varieties these days – Eloise, of course, and the Vintage years, as well as the seriously strong Somerset Sprite.’ Walking through to where the first vat stood, she rested a hand briefly on the side of it. Thirty-four feet high, and fifteen feet in diameter, made of oak that once housed the finest Scotch whisky, their slats were roughened and darkened by decades of use. It was as if they were still living, still breathing, still watching.

  Alex circled the vat, craning his neck upwards to take in the sheer height of them. ‘They’re beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Breathtaking.’ Following Sophie’s lead, he placed a hand on the side of the nearest vat, feeling its rough texture under his palm.

  ‘They’re stunning, aren’t they?’ Sophie agreed. She couldn’t help herself; her eyes drifted from Alex’s face to where his hand, fingers splayed on the side of the barrel, rested, back to his lips and then down his body. He seemed completely lost in the moment, and she felt a jolt of something that felt very definitely like attraction. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted; he was clearly entranced by the sight, sound, scent and touch of the ancient wooden structures that gave the barn its name. Get a grip, she thought. No relationships at work, remember?

  Coming back to the moment, Alex dropped his hand. ‘I wish I could afford something like this for Adelaide’s,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure I could house something on this scale.’

  ‘There are a couple of smaller ones in the shop.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chance to see them and taste it all over the next few weeks, too. Although I’d bear in mind that some of our varieties can give you quite a sore head if you have too much of a good thing!’ Sophie remembered quite a few of her own nights lost to Somerset Sprite, back when she was a teenager.

  ‘I hope so.’ Alex’s gaze returned to Sophie’s and she was taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. The oak vats affected nearly everyone the first time they saw them, and Sophie had witnessed their thrall on countless occasions. Their very presence was enough to render even the most eloquent people speechless; and that was before they’d had a taste of what was in them.

  ‘It’s so good to be here, to learn how the professionals do it.’ Alex continued, seemingly collecting his thoughts. ‘Hard cider’s not yet such a big deal at home.’

  ‘Hard cider?’

  ‘The stuff with the alcohol in,’ Alex explained. ‘If you ask for cider in Canada, you’re likely just to get apple juice. Although the ice cider’s fermented, of course.’

  ‘Ice cider?’ Sophie asked, baffled. She knew a lot about cider, but she hadn’t heard of that.

  Alex smiled, seemingly pleased to be able to impart some knowledge to the cider expert. ‘It’s made mostly in Quebec from frozen apples and can be really strong.’

  ‘It sounds like you could teach me a thing or two!’ Sophie laughed, then blushed. ‘Perhaps we should organise an exchange trip.’

  Alex laughed too. ‘Let me get Adelaide’s up and running first, and then you’re welcome to visit any time you want.’ His eyes were still locked on hers, and Sophie felt herself growing even warmer under his gaze.

  To break the tension, she suggested they head back to the office. Alongside all the practical things to take in, an internship at Carter’s involved quite a lot of reading and learning about the company, which Sophie wanted to start as soon as she could. After all, there was a lot for Alex to learn, and only a few months to do it in. As they left the barn, Sophie noticed for the first time that Alex’s slightly bow legged walk seemed to be more pronounced. She wondered what might have caused it. An ex-professional rugby player she’d once gone out with had a similar gait; perhaps it was a sporting injury? Tearing her gaze away from Alex’s back view again, mindful that she didn’t want to be caught ogling the intern, she closed the door to the barn and headed back to the office she shared with David, which would also be Alex’s base for the duration of his internship.

  The rest of the day passed swiftly, and Sophie was relieved. It wasn’t that she minded tutoring him, but having someone shadowing her was going to take a bit of getting used to. Just as she was leaving, wondering whether or not to stop in on her grandmother on the way home, she saw Alex and Matthew walking across the courtyard. He’d been summoned back to Matthew’s office at the end of the day for a first day feedback session, and Sophie was surprised to see the two of them still deep in conversation. Sophie was once again able to appreciate how in step they were for two such tall men. She decided she’d give visiting Lily a miss tonight; she didn’t want Lily quizzing her about the new intern. She was sure that Lily would have found out through the grapevine that the person Sophie was tutoring wasn’t some graduate from the local secondary school, and she knew that Lily’s mind would only go in one direction. Heaven forbid, Sophie thought, if Lily actually met him. Shaking her head, she began the walk home.

  3

  ‘All right, love?’ Brenda, the formidable landlady of the Rose Cottage Bed and Breakfast,
called as Alex turned his key and pushed the heavy wooden front door open. ‘Have you had a good day?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, ma’am,’ Alex replied as he hurried through the cool hallway of the cottage, his boots tapping against the tiles of the floor as he approached the stairs. Catching sight of Brenda buzzing around her living room, straightening magazines on the immaculately polished coffee table and whipping out a duster for the ornaments on the mantelpiece, while her husband Roy slumped in his armchair watching the early evening news, Alex quickened his pace. He liked the centrality of the B & B, but Brenda was a talker, and after a long first day at Carter’s he wanted to be alone to gather his thoughts.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed across the landing and into his room. The bed had been neatly made, once again; almost too neatly for his liking, and there was an almost overpowering scent emanating from a jar of sweet peas that Brenda had placed on the small desk in the corner of the room. Under his bed was his wheeled suitcase, and his clothes were hung neatly in the small pine wardrobe on the other side of the room. Reaching under the bed, he retrieved the suitcase, which he’d padlocked again before putting it out of sight.

  Glancing around to ensure that the bedroom door was shut, he opened the lock and unzipped the compartment on the inside of the lid. He pulled out the sheaf of papers hidden inside and sat down on the edge of the bed. Untying the red ribbon that kept them all together, his hands trembled as he separated out around half a dozen letters; letters so passionate that when he’d first read them, he’d struggled to acknowledge that they were intended for their original recipient. At the bottom of the pile of documents was a dog-eared photograph, yellowed with time and slightly creased across the middle. The photograph said more than the letters ever could, and for a while Alex just looked at it, trying to connect. He’d looked at it a thousand times since his mother had passed everything on, but it still brought him no closer to the truth.

  ‘Will you be wanting dinner, my lovely?’ Brenda’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs, so strident that it could penetrate closed doors.

  Alex jumped as if he’d been caught in some misdemeanour. ‘No, thank you, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’m going to go for a run and I’ll get something later.’ He couldn’t get used to the English bed and breakfast culture, where there seemed to be an obligation to make oneself accountable to your landlady at all times. When he’d watched Fawlty Towers with his mother as a kid, he’d thought it was all too absurd to be true, but elements of the beloved British sitcom did seem to exist in the hospitality industry, at least here in Little Somerby. Brenda certainly had a touch of Sybil Fawlty about her. He carefully retied the ribbon and put the papers back into the suitcase, being sure to secure the padlock before stashing it under the bed again. It wouldn’t do to leave them lying about.

  Changing swiftly into his running gear, he headed back out onto the landing. A run would clear his head, he thought. There was so much to take in, and not just the information overload that Sophie Henderson had joked about when he’d first met her this morning. Crossing continents for the summer, for a job that barely paid enough to cover his weekly rent at the B & B, immersing himself into a whole new career, meeting new people… he felt overwhelmed by it all. Not to mention the more personal reasons for his visit to England.

  Alex began to jog, trying to find his own pace on the narrow pavements of Little Somerby until he could reach the Strawberry Line, which ran parallel to the village centre. A former railway branch line that had been closed during the 1960s, it was now a foot and cycle path that ran from the World Heritage site of Cheddar through to the railway town of Yatton, with plans, eventually, to extend from the coast at the picturesque seaside town of Clevedon down to Yeovil. Popular with locals and tourists alike, it was a great introduction to the Somerset landscape – at least that was what the leaflet in the B & B had said. Although Alex didn’t fancy doing the whole of the run from Little Somerby to Cheddar, which was an eight mile round trip, he did want to see the disused railway tunnel that was about halfway down the Little Somerby stretch of the line.

  Finding his pace, his feet got into a rhythm. The Strawberry Line was bordered each side by elder and oak trees, the elders in full flower, their gentle scent wafting into the early evening air. As Alex passed the local football club, he smiled to see a group of primary school children kicking a ball around. The season was over for now, but clearly the passion still remained. Jogging further, he passed fields of ewes calling throatily to their lambs, and the lambs bleating in sleepy response as the day began to cool. The honeysuckle in the hedgerows waved gently in the breeze, giving off its own sweet aroma, and gradually allowing him to shrug off the pressures of the day.

  As he approached the railway tunnel, the air around him changed, becoming cooler and damper. Huge banks of rock reared up on either side of the tunnel’s approach, covered in vivid green ferns and moss. Feeling a flutter of apprehension, Alex picked up his pace a little as the yawning mouth of the tunnel approached. In the light from the other side he could see a cyclist approaching, so he kept to the left hand side, assuming that the road rules would be the same here as on the street. Entering the tunnel, he realised too late that the solar lights weren’t working, so in the centre of the tunnel he’d be running blind. He hoped the path was even; he didn’t fancy a trip to the local hospital if he could help it.

  Slowing his pace to adjust to the darkness and the rough path underfoot, Alex could hear his own regular breathing echoing off the walls of the tunnel, which dripped with condensation, splashing into pools in the recesses of the walls. The crags and bumps of the uneven, rock hewn sides of the tunnel reared into view in the almost darkness, like the ghosts of long ago trains. Alex felt his spine tingling in response, and unconsciously upped his pace towards the light. In the distance, he could see the cyclist growing nearer, but the illusion of the tunnel made it seem endless. Breathing more heavily, he pushed on, waiting for the moment when the light would penetrate the all encompassing darkness.

  What was he really in Little Somerby for? he mused as he pounded on. What was he hoping to find? Was it truly about starting afresh, or was he trying to cling onto the past, to the shreds of memories that weren’t even his? Was this decision to run a cidery merely an early onset mid-life crisis, or could he really see himself making a success of it? So many questions were spinning in his head, after only a day at Carter’s, that he wondered how he was going to feel when he was weeks into the internship.

  As he reached the end of the tunnel, when the light began to infiltrate the darkness, his thoughts turned again to Sophie, whose welcoming smile and bright blue eyes had immediately put him at ease. She’d been completely professional, and was clearly very knowledgeable, and spending the day with her had been as much of a pleasure as a learning process. Emerging fully into the light, he couldn’t suppress the thought that Sophie would make a good friend; perhaps, even something more. But there was no point in thinking that way; he was only in England until the end of September, and after that he’d have his hands full with running Adelaide’s full time. Not to mention that his recent track record with women wasn’t exactly worth shouting about. Messy didn’t even begin to cover it. It was probably just as well he’d decided to steer clear of dating in the aftermath of his mother’s death; he had enough to work through, without throwing falling in love into the equation. Alex picked up his pace once more, heading out onto the main road and back towards the heart of the village, which, he thought, was the only heart he should be thinking about right now. Pushing all further thoughts out of his mind, he concentrated on throwing off his jet lag, and headed back to the B & B.

  4

  The first week of Alex’s internship passed surprisingly swiftly, and Sophie was starting to get used to having him around as a colleague. He was keen to learn, asked sensible questions and seemed to really listen to the answers she gave. She was actually rather enjoying teaching him. However, they’d not discussed much about
their own lives, Alex seeming to prefer to deflect attention from himself to the processes of learning a new trade, and Sophie because she was, by nature, quite a private person; more so since she’d split from Mark, who’d thankfully not contacted her since their impromptu meeting backstage at the careers day. She was curious about one thing, though: how Alex was finding the Rose Cottage B & B. Brenda’s reputation preceded her.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Alex laughed. ‘At least as far as living locally is concerned. It made sense to live in the village for the duration of my internship, rather than have the expense of hiring a car and living outside somewhere.’ Alex turned back to Sophie, who was waiting by the office door with her iPad in her hand, preparing to check ‘the stats on the vats’ as she called them: overnight figures such as temperature, acidity and tannin levels, fermentation rates and suchlike. The technology was so advanced that each of the forty-eight tanks on the main fermentation floor could be checked remotely at any given time. The up to date figures were accessible online 24/7. David, who suffered from recurring bouts of insomnia, had been known to log in at three in the morning to check the levels as a way of sending himself back to sleep.

  ‘Means you’re a bit landlocked, though,’ Sophie said. ‘Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick of the sight of Little Somerby?’

  Alex laughed. ‘I grew up in a small country village, so I was used to walking miles to get anywhere,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t really worry me.’

  ‘You’d better download the app for the local bus company, then, if you want to go anywhere bigger than Little Somerby!’ Sophie smiled back. ‘Or I can always give you a lift if you get stuck.’