‘Oh no,’ I gasped, turning to Charlie. He frowned with concern and reached a hand out to my arm. ‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s out of hospital but he’s a bit worse for wear and he’s mithering something chronic. I hate to bother you and I know it’s short notice, but do you think you could come up and help out for a few days?’
Charlie was still looking at me anxiously but I didn’t make eye contact. I had a few days off and as Ollie was around it looked like I wouldn’t be ‘having fun’ with Charlie. I glanced at my watch. Five o’clock. The train journey would take a couple of hours at least, plus I’d need to pack a bag …
‘I’ll be on the next train,’ I promised, crossing my fingers that there would be a train at some point tonight.
I ended the call, telling her that I’d let her know what time the train would be in as soon as I was on board.
Finally, I looked Charlie in the eye. ‘I’ve got to go home.’
‘To Paris?’
My parents lived in Paris. Before that they’d lived in Brussels. Before that Johannesburg, Singapore, Sydney, Kuala Lumpur and Washington, DC … From memory they’d moved house seventeen times. But I’d only ever called one place my home.
I shook my head. ‘Appleby Farm.’
Chapter 3
The train hissed to a standstill at Oxenholme station shortly after ten o’clock. Only a handful of passengers disembarked and by the time I’d faffed about stuffing my belongings into my rucksack and left the carriage, the platform at the little station was eerily deserted. I searched up and down for a familiar face – or any face, come to that – but couldn’t see another soul. There was, however, a long metal sign displaying the message ‘Welcome to The Lakes’, and despite the circumstances of my impromptu visit, my heart skipped with happiness as I inhaled my first lungful of the fresh night air.
I was in the Lake District. My favourite place on earth.
I walked towards the exit with an eager bounce in my step, out of the station and towards the tiny taxi rank where, hopefully, the lift that Auntie Sue had arranged for me would be waiting. The journey to the farm took about half an hour and I couldn’t wait to see her and Uncle Arthur. I had a quick scan around but the car park and taxi rank were completely devoid of cars so I plonked my rucksack on the floor against a stone wall and sat on it while I waited.
The last few hours had whizzed by. After Auntie Sue’s call for help, Charlie and I had hugged each other for the longest time and then I’d dashed back to Anna’s house to pack while she booked me a ticket online. Anna, being the ace friend that she was, made me a cheese and pickle sandwich, reminded me to pack my wellies and drove me to the station. I didn’t breathe a word to her about the whole ‘bit of fun’ convo with Charlie because … well, because she’d probably think I was making a fuss about nothing and also because, after me, Anna was Charlie’s number-one fan and she may well have sided with him.
The way things had been left between Charlie and me bothered me a lot. But during the train journey, I’d tucked my worries aside and decided to concentrate on what had been going on at Appleby Farm. I’d called Auntie Sue from the train. Apparently, Uncle Arthur had had an accident in his tractor this morning. The tractor had overturned and he’d broken his wrist, split his head open and bruised several ribs. He was OK now, a bit shaken-up, but nothing too serious. Poor old sausage.
There was still no sign of my lift and I strained to listen for an approaching car. Nothing. I was just contemplating calling for a taxi when my mobile rang. My heart fluttered when I saw Charlie’s name flash up on the screen. Thank goodness.
I slid the phone under my hair to my ear and smiled as I answered his call. ‘Hey.’
‘Are you there yet?’
‘I’m off the train. Just waiting for a taxi.’
‘On your own? In the dark? You be careful.’
My smile grew bigger at the concern in his voice. He did care about me, of course he did.
‘This is Oxenholme village, Charlie,’ I giggled. ‘The most dangerous thing I’m likely to encounter is a lost sheep.’
‘Even so … Freya?’
There was something about the tone of his voice – softer, lower – that made my insides quiver. I gripped the phone tighter and swallowed. ‘Yes?’
There was a pause down the line and I heard the creaking of leather, which probably meant he was on the sofa in his flat. ‘I just wanted you to know that you make me very happy.’
‘Ditto,’ I said, smiling down the line at my big softie of a boyfriend.
‘And you are a lot more to me than a bit of fun.’
His words flooded through me like warm honey. I leaned back against the cold stone wall and cradled the phone to my cheek. ‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ I said softly. ‘You mean a lot to me, too.’
A car with a rasping engine and rattling exhaust pipe came into view and flashed its headlights at me.
‘Maybe when you’re home …’
Home. My heart thumped at that. After six months, Kingsfield still didn’t feel like home.
‘… we can all go out for the day: me, you and Ollie?’
‘I’d love that!’ I jumped to my feet and performed a five-second tap dance.
The car, which I could see now was actually a tatty red van, came to a halt in front of me with a ratchety yank on the handbrake.
‘My lift’s here, Charlie. I’ve got to go.’
I blew him a kiss down the phone, said goodnight and slipped the phone back in my pocket, grinning like a loon. I felt so much better after talking to him. Shame he wasn’t here with me now; I’d have loved to show him off to my family. Maybe next time.
The driver’s door of the van opened with a creak and out stepped Eddy Hopkins, my uncle’s right-hand man – quite literally at the moment, given his injuries – and the man who taught me to milk a cow when I was eight.
‘Eddy! Gosh, what a lovely surprise!’
I sprang over to him, threw my arms around his neck and kissed his surprisingly smooth cheek.
‘You’re here, then.’ He stepped back, holding me at arm’s length, and squinted at me. I’d forgotten he wasn’t one for physical contact. He had a piece of rolled-up tissue protruding from one nostril and his aftershave was eye-wateringly strong.
‘Looking well, Eddy.’ I beamed at him and waited for some sort of reciprocal compliment.
‘You’ve filled out a bit,’ he said, a shadow of a smile lifting one side of his face.
‘Cheers.’ I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help grinning. Ever the charmer, our Eddy.
He strode to the rear of the van and opened one of the doors.
‘Thanks for fetching me,’ I said, swallowing a chuckle at the worn-out elbows of his tweed jacket and the elastic bands around the soles of his boots, presumably to stop them flapping. Eddy was in his late fifties, he’d never been married, had a minimalist approach to anything vaguely domestic and was what you might call frugal when it came to clothing.
‘I swear you were wearing those boots last time I came,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘Nowt wrong with these.’ He inspected his footwear and shrugged. ‘And I’ve put new elastic bands on ’em specially for you.’
He hefted my heavy rucksack onto his shoulder effortlessly and slid the bag inside.
‘Get yourself in’t van. Your aunt and uncle will be waiting up for you,’ he said, nodding towards the passenger side. He pulled the tissue out of his nostril, inspected it with a grunt and shoved it in his pocket.
I yanked the handle several times before the door swung open. ‘What happened to your nose?’
‘Cut myself shaving, trying to rush so I wouldn’t be late picking you up.’
I pressed my lips together to smother a giggle. I remembered now. He was always stubbly by noon because he shaved before going to bed instead of in the morning to save himself time when he got up.
‘Well, I appreciate it. Thank you.’
The passenger seat was
missing most of its upholstery and was currently occupied by a small, wiry black terrier, who turned excitedly on the spot several times with its tongue hanging out.
‘Out the road, Buddy,’ growled Eddy, hooking his finger through the dog’s collar and pulling him out of my way.
I sat down, shut the door and did up my seatbelt. Buddy sat down too, on my lap, his face inches from mine. Eddy started up the engine – foregoing his seatbelt, I noticed – and seconds later we were on our way.
We trundled along dark country lanes towards Lovedale village and Appleby Farm for several minutes before Eddy spoke.
‘Glad you’re here.’
I turned to face him and tried not to inhale Buddy’s hot meaty breath. There were no street lamps on this stretch of the road and only a faint glow from the dashboard to light Eddy’s features, but I could see his furrowed brow.
‘Uncle Arthur’s OK, isn’t he? I mean, apart from a few cuts and bruises, and the broken wrist?’
Eddy sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head. ‘I’m probably speaking out of turn but I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Hitting a ditch and overturning the tractor? It’s not like Arthur. He knows them fields like I know me own face.’
The face you sliced into earlier with a razor? I snorted softly to myself.
‘Better, probably,’ he said, shooting me a flinty look.
‘Do you think there’s more to this accident than meets the eye, Eddy?’
The van rounded a sharp bend, Buddy dug his claws into my jeans to keep his balance and I gasped in pain. Eddy, seemingly oblivious to his passenger’s anguish, sighed. ‘I hope not, lass. For his sake, and your auntie’s. Farming’s a tough business. Arthur’s got me to help him, but even so, there’s a lot to do.’
I nodded. My memories of holidays spent at the farm when I was growing up were happy ones. In fact, I’d spent the happiest days of my life there, but my aunt and uncle were on the go all day long. The farm spanned 150 acres of land, mostly given over to sloping grassland where the cows grazed, with some crops grown on the flatter bits to keep the cattle going during winter when the grass didn’t grow. Eddy was their only employee and for the first time since leaving Kingsfield it dawned on me that I was going to have to roll up my sleeves and muck in.
The farming calendar was pretty full on, day in, day out, seven days a week. Time off was scarce, money was in short supply and every day brought new challenges, from bad weather to sick animals. And yet Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur were the most content people I knew and devoted to each other, even after goodness knows how many years of marriage.
‘How can I help?’ I asked, as much to myself as to Eddy. It had been years since I’d milked a cow and even then I had only been playing at it. I could probably drive a tractor at a push, but I didn’t fancy doing anything complicated like spraying crops. My heart sank as reality hit home: I wasn’t much use to them at all, really.
Eddy chuckled. ‘Oh, Sue will keep you busy. She’s got a dodgy knee now, so she’ll probably get you to look after the hens.’
‘Right. I can do that.’ One of my jobs growing up had been to collect the eggs. That would be a piece of cake.
‘Veg patch probably needs looking at, too.’
‘OK.’ At least my experience on Charlie’s allotment would come in handy.
‘And the office is a bit of a state.’
I shuddered. ‘Not my forte, offices, but I’ll do my best.’
The next section of road was lined with street lamps as we entered the tiny village of Lovedale. Eddy indicated right just after the White Lion pub and thankfully slowed down as we turned on to a bumpy track.
The farm gate was pushed back as far as it would go against the hedge and I could just make out the Appleby Farm sign attached to the top bar.
Ahead, at the top of the track behind the cowsheds, stood the stables, and to the side of the barns sat the farmhouse. It was a moonless sky and the building itself was barely visible amongst the shadows of the night, but lights twinkled in every one of the nine windows in its front façade. I don’t think I’d ever seen a building look so inviting and welcoming in my entire life.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is,’ I gasped, clutching a surprised Buddy to my chest as tears pricked at my eyes.
Eddy stopped the van in the yard. I jumped out and dragged my rucksack out of the back before he even had a chance to get out.
The noise of the van had woken up the cows. One or two began to moo and I could hear the swishing of straw and snorting and sniffing coming from the cowsheds as the animals protested at having their evening disturbed.
Eddy opened his window instead and I reached in and hugged him tight before he could lean away.
‘Thanks for the lift, Eddy. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, I expect.’
‘Damn,’ he grumbled, ferreting in his pocket until he found another piece of tissue, or possibly the same piece as before. ‘You’ve set the bleeding off again.’
I waved him off and opened the wrought-iron gate in front of the farmhouse, my fingers fumbling with the latch in my haste. A wide shaft of light suddenly illuminated the path and Auntie Sue emerged, her face beaming as she wiped her hands on her apron.
‘Welcome home, lass.’
She opened her arms and I raced into them.
Chapter 4
Auntie Sue’s hug sent me straight back to my childhood. She pressed me to her bosom and I breathed her in – fresh bread and Nivea face cream – exactly as I remembered. I sighed contentedly.
‘I’ve missed you so much, Auntie Sue,’ I said, feeling ridiculously emotional all of a sudden.
She leaned back against my arms and peered at me. Two fat tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. ‘Well. This is a blessing in disguise. I think you’ve grown even more beautiful in the three years since you were last here.’
‘Three?’ I gasped. ‘It can’t be, surely.’
My aunt nodded sagely. She was in her seventies, had a cloud of fine white hair, the figure of a woman who enjoyed both baking and eating, and the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
A pang of guilt stabbed at me as I did a mental calculation. The last time I was here must have been the summer before my parents moved to Paris. I’d come back for a few days before starting a new job. I racked my brains to remember which job it had been … the pub in Cornwall, that was it. The following Christmas I’d spent two days at my parents’ elegant Parisian apartment and ever since then, I’d worked over the Christmas period – which gave me an excuse not to join them again. And my summer holidays were usually spent somewhere hot, with friends.
I’d neglected the two members of my family whom I loved the most and the fact that it had taken Uncle Arthur to be mangled underneath a tractor to get me to visit them made me feel awful.
‘I’m a terrible niece,’ I muttered.
‘Pshh. Rubbish,’ she replied briskly, dabbing at her face with the hem of her apron. Auntie Sue had shrunk, I realized. We used to be the same height, but now she had to look up at me.
‘You’re here now and I can’t tell you how grateful we are. It’ll do your uncle the world of good seeing you about the place. He’s so stressed with his accident and everything. I hope we haven’t put you out?’
I shook my head. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be and as luck would have it I’ve got the whole of the Easter weekend off anyway.’
‘Is that young Freya?’ Uncle Arthur’s gruff voice travelled through the open door and we both laughed.
‘Sure is!’ I replied, breaking our hug. I planted a kiss on my aunt’s soft cheek and carried my rucksack inside.
The front door led straight into the farmhouse kitchen. The room was warm and cosy, and smelled of wood smoke and baking. On one side of the room, a gleaming black Aga was tucked into an inglenook fireplace next to which two cats were curled up in a basket, soaking up the range’s warmth. A huge scrubbed-pine table with benches running along its sides and a chair at each end dominated the cen
tre of the room, and at the far side an assortment of comfy armchairs were arranged around a blazing log fire.
Wisps of dark grey hair were just visible over the back of the middle chair. Uncle Arthur was in prime position in front of the fire, his feet propped up on a footrest and Madge, the black and tan mongrel dog who had to be at least fifteen by now, was stretched out under his legs. I dropped a kiss on his cheek and squeezed my bottom on to his footrest so that I could see him properly. Madge nudged my leg with her nose and I scratched the top of her head.
‘Blimey, look at you! Looks like you’ve done ten rounds in a boxing ring,’ I exclaimed.
His hair had been jet black when he was younger, but it was still thick and he had bushy eyebrows to match, although one was now covered with a bandage. His left arm was in plaster and his chin was cut and bruised, but his dark eyes were still twinkly behind his glasses.
‘Looks worse than it is.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple of days.’
‘Are you in much pain?’
‘Nooo,’ he said, rather too quickly for my liking. ‘I’m drugged up to the eyeballs for starters. Don’t tell her indoors, though,’ he chuckled and then winced, laying his plastered arm across his ribs, ‘I quite like being waited on hand and foot.’
Auntie Sue tutted affectionately, bustled over to the Aga and slid the kettle on to the hotplate.
‘Tea, love?’ she called.
‘Um …’ I was ready for a drink, but I was shattered, too. And I knew that the pair of them would usually be in bed by now. Uncle Arthur was already in his dressing gown and pyjamas.
‘Or hot milk?’ she asked, selecting two mugs from an overloaded pine dresser.
‘Oh, yes, please.’ My eyes roamed the shelves of the dresser, stacked with crockery: pretty milk jugs hung from a row of hooks, Auntie Sue’s ‘everyday’ mugs filled one shelf, cups and saucers another, and the top was lined with her collection of teapots of every shape, colour and size, from novelty cats to vintage china. I’d spent hours playing with them when I was a little girl.
Appleby Farm Page 3
