Appleby Farm

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Yes, love, she’s brighter today and she’s feeding now. The cow’s a good mother, she’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good.’ I was going to miss all this – the cows and the hens, these two lovely people, Lizzie …

  I pressed my face against my uncle’s bristly cheek. ‘Take care of yourself,’ I said, kissing him tenderly. ‘And go easy on the beer, OK?’

  There was a knock at the door and Madge and I fell over each other to answer it. Madge, because she had a vendetta against the postman for some reason and me, because I was expecting Eddy to arrive any second to take me to the station.

  Madge won. I scooped her up with some difficulty and opened the door. The postman, a thin and unsurprisingly nervous man wearing shorts and a woolly hat, held out a letter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eddy’s van pull into the yard. My heart bounced. Time to go.

  ‘Recorded delivery,’ said the postman. ‘Needs signing for.’

  ‘I’ll sign!’ Auntie Sue bustled over, tutting affectionately at the writhing dog I was doing my best to hold on to.

  Both of us saw the official-looking red stamp on the envelope at the same time. Auntie Sue bundled the postman and his letter outside on to the step and I dropped the dog to the floor.

  Ten seconds later, she came back in.

  ‘Auntie Sue?’

  She flashed me a silencing stare and darted off towards the office. ‘Forget you saw that,’ she said quietly over her shoulder.

  FINAL NOTICE in large red letters wasn’t that easy to forget. And the fact that she wanted me to forget hardly put my mind at rest. I frowned and opened my mouth to say something but the front door flew open again and Eddy’s face appeared.

  ‘Make haste, lass, or you’ll miss this train!’

  Chapter 8

  Anna was waiting for me outside the station in Kingsfield as planned. She wrinkled up her nose as I climbed into the passenger seat of her Mini Cooper and gave her a hug.

  ‘Poo! You stink,’ she laughed, extracting herself from my arms and turning on the engine.

  I scooped up the ends of my hair and sniffed it. ‘Of what?’

  ‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, animal poop.’ Anna put the car into reverse, pulled out of the parking spot and accelerated away rather quickly.

  ‘Oops. Soz about that.’ I looked down at my boots, which were pretty disgusting. And the little mats in her car were immaculate, or had been at any rate. ‘That could be cow pat, chicken poo or horse manure.’

  Anna grinned at me. ‘It has been so boring without you.’

  On the surface, Anna and I were unlikely mates. I was outgoing and she was not. She was neat and orderly and I was not. If she were one of my uncle’s herd, she’d be the timid one, the one most likely to hang back and miss out on all the food, whereas I’d be the troublemaker, the one encouraging the rest of the herd to join me on the rampage, breaking for freedom at the earliest opportunity.

  We met at a music festival a few years ago. The girl I had gone with had had to go to the first-aid tent after only a few hours, suffering from sunstroke. Her parents had come to collect her, leaving me on my own. As luck would have it, Anna had pitched up next to my spot on the campsite, only to realize she’d left her tent poles at home. I’d offered her room in my little pop-up thing and we’d been friends ever since.

  The Mini hurtled round a corner and I grabbed on to her shoulder as I was flung towards her.

  ‘Sorry.’ She grimaced. ‘In a bit of a rush. I’m on a deadline and I’ve fallen behind.’

  ‘Really? That’s not like you.’ I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Was it my imagination or did she look a bit shifty? ‘What are you working on at the moment?’

  ‘A new website for tickle my fancy dot com.’

  I snorted with laughter. ‘You’re kidding, tell me more!’

  I love hearing about Anna’s business. She specializes in creating websites for the nichiest of niches in the online dating world and has come up with some corkers since I’d been living with her.

  Anna flicked a grin at me and put her foot down to get across the traffic lights before they changed to red. ‘It’s for women who love men with facial hair.’

  The two of us burst out laughing. I’d stopped being surprised by the weird and wonderful dating websites that Anna told me about. I mean, for example, who would have thought there would be a niche for those whose overriding criteria in finding a mate was a shared passion for the ukulele?

  Anna is probably singlehandedly responsible for more romantic couplings than any other person on the planet. Ironic really, I mused, surveying her pretty face; she’d been single for two years.

  ‘So when are you going to sort out a date for yourself?’ I asked, quirking an eyebrow her way.

  ‘I’m working on that next, as it happens,’ she giggled.

  ‘Seriously?’ I turned my shoulders round to face her properly.

  ‘Yep. Kingsfield curves dot com,’ she smirked. ‘For men looking for boring homebirds with big bums.’

  ‘Anna!’ I folded my arms and tutted. ‘There’s nothing wrong with loving where you live. And you are neither boring nor in possession of a big bum. I’d love to have curves like you.’

  ‘Urghh, child-bearing hips, you mean.’ She shuddered. ‘Not that I intend to bear any children, suitable hips or not, ta very much.’

  I rolled my eyes and patted her on the head. ‘Sure,’ I said, earning myself a frown from my housemate.

  In my experience career girls always declared that. Until the right man came along and they changed their minds. Anna had a lovely figure, more curvaceous than mine. Not that she was a chubster, she was just soft and more feminine and had boobs that met in the middle. I, on the other hand, could be mistaken for a teenage boy from a distance.

  She steered the car round a corner, more slowly this time, and brought her hands back to a perfect ten-to-two position on the steering wheel. Anna always sits completely straight-backed when she drives. Not that I’m a careless driver, but my own particular set of wheels is a sky-blue VW campervan and when you drive it (or him, I should say: he’s called Bobby) you just sort of naturally relax. Every journey in him has the potential for adventure, rather than being simply a means of getting from A to B. Anna’s car was smart, reliable and efficient; Bobby couldn’t boast any of those attributes, but he was a real head-turner and I adored him.

  ‘Charlie came round last night, by the way.’

  Anna’s words roused me from my reverie. I blinked at her but she was staring ahead and concentrating on the road.

  ‘Did he?’ My voice came out a little sharper than I’d intended. ‘Why?’ I added, more gently.

  Anna flicked her honey-coloured hair from her face. ‘Wanted to check what time you’d be back, he said.’

  He knew that. I’d phoned to let him know yesterday.

  My silence must have worried Anna because she reached across and squeezed my arm.

  ‘Hey, he was just lonely. He missed you, Freya. A lot. He talked about you non-stop and I think he felt bad about upsetting you before you left.’

  I nodded. Of course that was the reason he’d been round and it was so sweet that he’d been pining for me. ‘Thanks, Anna,’ I said with a smile.

  We pulled up into a space behind Bobby outside Anna’s terraced house and she cut the engine.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ she said with a contented sigh.

  After stashing all of Auntie Sue’s goodies in the kitchen and unpacking my rucksack, I took a long, hot shower. Whilst I was amused by Anna greeting me with ‘poo, you stink’, I didn’t want Charlie to do the same. Actually, I was quite attached to the aroma of the farmyard but nothing said passion killer quite like Eau de Cowpat and I didn’t want anything to spoil our reunion.

  Thirty minutes later, I was scrubbed, shampooed and shaved in all the right places and wrapped in a towel in front of my bedroom mirror.

  I was tugging a super-sized comb through my tangled locks when Ann
a appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Wow, your hair’s grown long,’ she whistled, folding her arms and leaning on the door frame. Her own hair was cut into soft layers framing her face and finished at her shoulders. Annoyingly she didn’t even have to do anything fancy to it, like daily blow drying or straightening or curling. A brisk rub with the towel and it just seemed to behave itself.

  ‘Do you remember those Play-Doh hair studios, where the hair sort of erupted out of the plastic heads like volcanoes?’ said Anna, miming a hair eruption with her hands.

  ‘Yes, a volcano!’ I laughed as I fought to release my hair from the comb. ‘That is exactly what this looks like!’

  ‘A gorgeous fiery volcano, in your case,’ she added, sighing wistfully. ‘I don’t think mine would grow that long if I wanted it to.’

  ‘I’ve always had long hair,’ I said with a shrug and inspected the ends for splits.

  ‘Anyway. I’ll leave you to it.’ She wandered off into her own room.

  I distinctly remember the moment I vowed to always have long hair. It was during a rare trip to see my parents at their house in Sydney, Australia. I was floating in the pool on an inflatable lilo. Julian was there too, on holiday from work.

  ‘What would you like for your fourteenth birthday, Freya?’ asked my mum, carrying a tray of drinks out to the poolside.

  I knew my parents would spend a fortune on me if I wanted them to. But even at that age, I was unimpressed by wealth and the way they thought that they could flash their cash in my direction and I would forgive them for sending me to England and forgetting about me for ninety per cent of the time.

  ‘A boyfriend,’ I’d replied slyly. Partly because I knew it would provoke a reaction from my dad, who was sitting under a parasol working – always working – and partly because it was true. All the girls in my class had boyfriends – real or imagined, I wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell at an all-girls boarding school.

  My father had lowered his sunglasses briefly and looked at me over the top of them. ‘Perhaps you’ll have more luck next year,’ he’d said, returning to his financial report, ‘when you look less like a boy yourself.’

  I’d slipped off the lilo and into the water to hide my burning face and when my lungs couldn’t last any longer I came up for breath to find my mother holding a towel out for me.

  Julian, despite being nearly thirty, still apparently felt the need to compound my humiliation.

  ‘One–nil to Dad, I think, sis,’ he chortled.

  So that was it. Cue long hair, vest tops with hidden support and a pair of those flobbery bra-stuffers. I seem to remember Harry Graythwaite going red the next time I saw him. So at least somebody noticed.

  Dropping the comb on my dressing table, I opened my single pine wardrobe and rummaged inside for something girly to wear. An outfit that said ‘take me off’, preferably. My lips tweaked into a smile. Could I ask Anna to disappear for an hour when Charlie arrived or was that too rude? Not to mention too obvious.

  I was just pulling my arms into on an off-the-shoulder soft green jumper to go with my denim skirt when Anna called to me.

  ‘Charlie’s here.’

  ‘Eek, I’m not dressed yet!’ I squeaked.

  I stuck my head through the neck of the jumper, dived to the doorway but Anna rushed past me and clattered down the stairs.

  ‘I’ll open the door for him. Then I’m off to my mum’s. See you later.’

  ‘Thanks, Anna!’

  She was a fab friend, I thought, as I dashed down the stairs a few seconds behind her. The front door was wide open, Anna had gone but Charlie hadn’t yet appeared. And then suddenly there he was, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bunch of pink tulips in the other.

  I launched myself at him, jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist, covering his face with kisses.

  ‘Whoa!’ he laughed, desperately trying to hold on to me, the flowers and the wine all at the same time.

  ‘Charlie! I’ve missed you so much!’

  ‘Me too. Welcome home, gorgeous girl.’

  He carried me in and kicked the door shut behind us.

  ‘Into the kitchen first,’ I demanded with a giggle, ‘for glasses and a vase for those lovely flowers.’

  Charlie poured the wine while I arranged the tulips, though it took me longer than normal because I kept stealing glances at him; it was so lovely to see him. And when his eyes caught mine my heartbeat almost doubled.

  He stepped close to me and handed me a glass.

  ‘I know we haven’t been together very long,’ he said, tucking a strand of my still-damp hair behind my ear, ‘but life’s so much brighter when you’re around. Does that sound really cheesy?’

  I shook my head and swallowed the lump in my throat. We’d always had such a playful relationship and serious moments between us like this one were rare. Sometimes he almost felt like a big brother. A nice one, obviously, not like Julian.

  ‘No, Charlie. It’s not cheesy at all.’

  ‘To us.’ He touched the edge of my glass gently with his and we both sipped at our wine.

  It was cold and delicious, and luckily gave me back the power of speech.

  ‘On the phone, you said we could perhaps have a day out, you, me and Ollie. Did you mean it?’

  Charlie grinned. ‘If you think you can handle it. He’s a bit full on.’

  I nodded, a huge smile plastered across my face.

  ‘How about Sunday?’ he suggested.

  ‘Perfect! We could go out in Bobby, have an adventure.’ I started planning it in my head. We could have a picnic, go to a zoo, where was the nearest zoo …?

  ‘He’d love that.’ Charlie smiled and reached for my glass. He set it down and pulled me close so that I could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said, placing slow, soft kisses in the hollow above my collarbone, making me shiver. ‘You smell divine.’

  Mission accomplished in that department.

  I pulled his face up to mine and traced his lips with my fingertip as I gazed into his eyes.

  He was mine and I loved him.

  ‘Exactly how much have you missed me?’ he murmured.

  I looped my arms around his neck.

  ‘This much,’ I said, covering my mouth with his.

  Chapter 9

  The day out with Charlie and Ollie dawned. Very early, in my case. I’d been awake since sunrise (six a.m. approximately) worrying about our interview, I mean our excursion, and I had been giving myself little pep-talks ever since. Like, for instance: For goodness’ sake, Freya, it’s a day out with a small boy, not a grilling by Lord Sugar.

  But what do you even say to a six-year-old boy?

  Although I’d moaned about it (privately) at the time, meeting Ollie at the café had actually been a good idea. Asking if he wanted a straw for his banana smoothie was an awful lot less complicated than … well, whatever I managed to conjure up today in the way of conversational gambits.

  Sweets, the coward’s way out, I thought, as I stuffed packets of popping candy into one of the campervan’s narrow cupboards. If all else fails, we could bond over E-numbers.

  But what if he’s not allowed sweets? Or what if he goes home and tells his mum that I fed him junk food all day? My stomach lurched and I dashed back inside, grabbed a bag of apples and a tub of raisins, and stuffed them in behind the sweets.

  OK. I was ready.

  One last look in the rear-view mirror to check I didn’t have toothpaste on my chin and I set off on the short journey across Kingsfield to pick up Charlie and Ollie. I hoped my outfit was OK. I’d plumped for jeans, my Converses and a hoody. And yes, I had looked like a teenage boy when I stood back to check out the ensemble in my mirror, so I’d added a push-up bra. Then took it off again as it seemed inappropriate. And put it back on again on the basis that Ollie was six and therefore more likely to be interested in the popping candy than my sideways profile.

  Bloody hell, I was nervous. My han
ds kept slipping on the leather cover round the steering wheel.

  Much as I loved my campervan, it was too long to park in a normal-sized space and the steering was heavy too, so by the time I pulled up outside Charlie’s block of flats, diagonally to the kerb, I was perspiring with exertion as well as nerves.

  The entrance door to the flats flew open and Charlie and Ollie appeared. My heart melted at the sight of them: the broad handsome daddy, holding hands with a small blond-haired boy, who was waving and bouncing on his toes as he came down the path towards me.

  I waved back madly, a grin – albeit a slightly hysterical one – stretching from ear to ear.

  This was it.

  I exhaled and inhaled yoga-style as they approached. If Charlie really was The One, then today really mattered. Today I was being auditioned for the role of Stepmum. Charlie and Ollie came as a package and I was under no illusion: if I failed to pass muster with Ollie, it could well be curtains for the story of Freya and Charlie.

  ‘Cool!’ marvelled Ollie, with big wide eyes as I opened up the pair of rear doors to let him see inside. He slipped into one of the little seats and rested his elbows on the table. ‘Do you live in here?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, kissing Charlie’s cheek and feeling relieved that he didn’t flinch under his son’s watchful gaze. ‘I live in a normal house. Very boring, sorry.’

  Ollie jumped up and started opening cupboards. ‘I’d live in it if it was mine. Is there a bathroom?’ he asked, peering up to the far end.

  I shook my head. He was adorable. ‘No. Kitchen sink, yes, but bathroom, no.’

  He stared at me from under long eyelashes. ‘Then I definitely would.’

  Charlie laughed, climbed in beside his son and ruffled his hair. ‘A shower dodger, aren’t you, mate?’

  ‘Freya?’ asked Ollie, bounding over to where I was leaning on Bobby’s open door.

  Eek. I wasn’t sure I was prepared for an awkward question so early on in our day. I swallowed. ‘Yes?’