Appleby Farm

by Cathy Bramley

  Money. Her answer to everything. I watched her turn away and jog back up the stairs.

  I sighed, a great shuddering breath.

  Well, that went well.

  Chapter 15

  Back out on the Rue de Rivoli there were more people milling about and quite a bit of traffic. Taxis were few and far between, though, and it took me some time to flag one down.

  I instructed the driver to take me to Charles de Gaulle airport and turned my attention to the little envelope. It had my name written in Mum’s graceful writing on the front. I squeezed it: a bit lumpy and not very thick. Not stuffed with twenty-five grand, then.

  I slid my finger under the flap. Out fell a note and a familiar item that I hadn’t set eyes on in years. It was a keyring with a tiny little book attached to it. The rubbery cover had the words ‘The World According to Freya’ embossed on the front.

  I laughed softly to myself, intrigued. I remembered the keyring really clearly; it had been one of my prize possessions for years.

  The letter was written on an ordinary sheet of paper, torn from a notepad as if done in haste, which, judging by the way Mum had left the living room so suddenly, it probably was.

  Even before I got to the end of the first line my eyes were blurred with tears and my throat was throbbing. Everything I thought I knew about her shifted.

  I tore my eyes away from the letter, rubbed the tears from my cheeks and lifted the plastic cover of the keyring to reveal several tiny pages. I read the words on the front page.

  Freya

  You are a natural leader, headstrong and stubborn, efficient and determined. You have a wealth of creative ideas, you are proud and need to feel appreciated.

  My skin tingled with goosebumps. Was that how she saw me? I’d had no idea. I was just Freya, the girl with no life plan, no career. I closed my fingers around the keyring and turned back to Mum’s letter.

  She was proud of me? I’d never known any of this; I’d no idea that she felt this way. Tears streamed down my face and I lunged forward and banged on the glass screen separating me from the taxi driver.

  ‘Monsieur, turn around! Rue de Rivoli, s’il vous plait!’

  Five minutes later I was back outside the Honoré Appartements, handing a twenty-euro note to a bemused taxi driver, not least because the fare had only cost eight euros. I was still trying to persuade him with my limited vocabulary to keep the change, when the glass door to the apartments swung open. A familiar elegant woman with glossy hair, wearing a camel-coloured trench coat stepped out into the street and strode away purposefully.

  ‘Zut alors, au revoir!’ I cried, not sure what else I could say to get him to unlock the door. Finally, the door-release light came on and I leaped out of the car.

  ‘Mum!’

  She stopped in her tracks and turned towards me. Seconds later we were in each other’s arms. This time our hug was real. She held on to me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe and I cried big fat tears and left mascara tracks on the lapels of her smart coat. But I don’t think either of us minded. Because for the first time in nearly twenty years we had shown each other what was really in our hearts.

  ‘I can’t believe you came back.’ She pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears.

  ‘I read your note, I …’ I swallowed. My heart was racing and suddenly I wanted to talk and to listen and to really get to know my mum. ‘It was so beautiful. I had to come back. I wanted to hear more.’ I shrugged self-consciously and we both smiled.

  ‘Let’s go into the park,’ said Mum, tucking her hand through my arm.

  We headed for Café Renard, just off the Allée Centrale within the Jardin des Tuileries, and chose a table underneath the red awning, surrounded by sycamore trees. My head was in a whirl. I was arm in arm with my mum – something I wasn’t sure we’d done for twenty years – the sun was shining and I was in Paris. Even the air smelled French: an exciting mix of fresh coffee, strong cigarettes and delicious pastries. Even though I was dying to have the proper talk that Mum had mentioned in her letter, for the moment I was happy just to soak everything in.

  A rather aloof French waiter presented us with huge cappuccinos and for a few moments we sat quietly, simply watching the world go by, both of us content in each other’s presence for the first time I could remember in so long.

  I watched a young couple with a pram, arms entwined around each other’s waist, both unable to drag their eyes away from their baby, and my heart twisted as an image of the unused cot at the farmhouse flashed into my head.

  ‘Auntie Sue took me up to the nursery at Appleby Farm,’ I began, peering over the rim of my cup. ‘It must have been heartbreaking for them not to have children if that was what they wanted.’

  Mum sipped her cappuccino and pressed a napkin to her lips. ‘She lost the babies very late on in the pregnancy each time, I think. Before your father and I even got married. But in those days you just got on with it. Such a shame. In some ways I think it made them stronger; they’ve always been such a loving couple.’

  My face softened. ‘And they spoilt me rotten!’

  Our eyes met and Mum placed her cup down gently in its saucer.

  ‘You were happy with them, weren’t you?’

  It was a question, but at the same time it wasn’t. She was justifying her actions and as much as I was enjoying this new intimacy, I needed to get to the truth.

  ‘Yes, Mum, I was eventually. But I’d been happy with you before you sent me away.’

  She winced and gave her head a tiny shake as if she wasn’t sure where to begin.

  ‘When you were seven several things happened. Your father was offered a new post in Kuala Lumpur. It was a fabulous opportunity for him but when we arrived we found out that the nearest school to the house was fifteen miles away. And on top of that, it didn’t have the best reputation.’

  I remembered that house. It had been a sprawling, single-storey thing, surrounded by masses of tall trees with rubbery leaves. The maid had spotted a huge snake slithering across the road once, screamed her head off and the gardener had leaped out and sliced through its body with a machete.

  My pulse raced and I stared down at the dusty ground. ‘Closer than England, though.’

  ‘True.’ Mum nodded. She reached for my hand and squeezed it. ‘Your father was very focused on his career; he’s never been what you might call a “people person”.’

  We exchanged knowing glances at that. Understatement of the year!

  ‘But back then,’ she continued, ‘he was even more single-minded. If it wasn’t about making money, Dad wasn’t interested. And I had my role, too: holding the best dinner parties, making connections with the managers’ wives, organizing our social calendar to ensure we were seen in the right places. Status became everything.’

  ‘And there was no room in this social whirl for a little girl?’ I asked, working really hard to keep the resentment out of my voice.

  She sighed and patted my hand. ‘Of course there was, but I already felt that I’d failed your brother …’

  Mum began to explain how Julian had been overlooked by his father, the man he idolized, until he finally unlocked the key to gaining Dad’s attention: money. My brother had started to become more and more interested in making a profit, even asking Dad to invest his pocket money in the stock market so that he could have his own little share portfolio.

  ‘By the time Julian came back from university that summer, aged twenty-one, he’d turned into a younger and even more extreme version of your father. Only interested in what he could get out of others, judging people’s value by how much they were worth in monetary terms. I blame myself, of course, and your father. We were caught up with the lifestyle and it rubbed off on him. He was obsessed with status and possessions, and he treated our staff so badly that our maid left. I was at my wits’ end. Our social circle revolved around the bank, we mixed with wealthy, money-orientated people. I felt as if it was inevitable that you would turn out the sam
e way.’

  I shook my head. ‘But I’ve never been like that. I mean, look at me …’ I plucked at my skinny jeans and T-shirt. ‘Hardly the look for someone besotted with finery, is it?’

  Her lips twitched at that. ‘You’re beautiful, darling, and that smile is worth a million dollars, believe me. Sue and Arthur have very little and yet they radiate happiness, and that was the sort of environment I wanted for you. When I suggested to your father that we send you to boarding school in England and ask your aunt and uncle to look after you in the holidays, I half expected him to say no. But Kuala Lumpur wasn’t the safest of places back then and we both agreed you would be better off in their care. On the day Julian accompanied you to Heathrow on that flight, my heart broke into a million tiny pieces. From that day on I felt like I’d lost my little girl for good.’

  I tried to lift my cup but my hands were trembling. I remembered that day so clearly: I had been terrified at the airport and convinced that I must have done something terrible to warrant being sent away from my mum.

  ‘Why did you never tell me any of this?’ I asked shakily.

  Her eyes met mine. ‘Because I’ve been a terrible mother. I made very selfish choices. Because I felt guilty and sad. I still do.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  I leaned forward and hugged her, inhaling her delicate scent of fresh laundry, shampoo and vanilla.

  She pulled away after a few moments, clasped her hands in her lap and slipped her diamond ring on and off her finger.

  ‘If I’d been a better person, I could have kept you with me and made sure my influence was the strongest one in your life. But I was caught up with the luxury of the ex-pat lifestyle. I liked having maids and dressing up and going to parties. I’ve led a very shallow life and I apologize for that. And I’ve paid the price: your father and I have made friends all over the world but my own children are virtually strangers to me. You don’t know how lonely that makes me feel.’

  My heart ached with sadness for her as she lowered her head so that I couldn’t see her eyes.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mum, please. I’m glad I know the truth and, for what it’s worth, I think you probably did the right thing. Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur looked after me as if I was their own. And …’ I hesitated and took a deep breath. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Oh, Freya. You don’t know what it means to hear that. Can we start again? Can I be a part of your life?’

  I couldn’t speak so I nodded instead.

  ‘And if I ever get the chance, I promise I’ll make a better job of being a grandmother than I made of being a mother.’ We hugged again for ages until the French waiter cleared his throat and collected our empty cups noisily. We pulled apart and smiled at each other shyly. We still had a lot of catching up to do and we would have to work at getting to know each other again. But it felt like we’d recaptured something special today.

  I rummaged in my bag for the euros I’d managed to scrape together last night and dropped them on the table.

  ‘Come on, Mum.’ I grinned, pulling her to her feet. ‘I’ve still got a few hours until my flight. By the time I leave Paris, you’ll know every last detail about me. Promise.’

  As I headed back to the airport to catch my evening flight I could not wipe the big daft grin off my face. The day had been a huge success. OK, I didn’t get the money I needed, but I had something better: I had my mum.

  Chapter 16

  My boomerang brain kept me awake with its constant to-ing and fro-ing from scheme to scheme for the whole flight home from Paris, which was amazingly short, and even the train journey up to the Lake District, which was tediously long. Just as well because while I was availing of the train’s free WiFi to google ‘making money from farms’, an email from Dad popped up.

  ‘What have I done this time, Dad?’ I muttered, steeling myself for another dressing-down as I clicked ‘open message’.

  I scanned the email and whilst I only had a vague idea about part of it and one word seemed a bit rude, I got the gist of it and the gist was abso-bloody-lutely marvellous.

  Dear Freya,

  After you left – rather abruptly, if I might add – I did a bit of digging into that investment of yours. An ROI of 25 per cent in today’s flaccid market isn’t remarkable [thanks, Dad] but it’s not to be sneezed at, either. Therefore I’ve decided to loan you the full amount that you need for a fixed term to be agreed. Please note, Freya, that this is a loan and I expect it to be repaid. Your mother assures me that you will do so and I hope she’s right. Good luck.

  Best

  Dad

  PS I’m charging you interest at half a per cent over base, which I’m sure you’ll agree is more than generous.

  If you say so, Dad, whatever ‘base’ is.

  Sometimes I found it next to impossible to put Uncle Arthur and my dad together as siblings. Were there any two men in the universe less alike? Anyway, putting family differences aside for a second … HURRAH!

  I was so amazed and delighted that I squealed and drummed my feet on the floor, waking up the only other occupant of the carriage: a rumpled-looking vicar who’d been dribbling in his sleep all the way from Manchester.

  ‘Sorry!’ I trilled to the startled clergyman, holding up my phone. ‘Good news!’

  ‘I thought it was a fire alarm,’ he stuttered. He looked a bit odd now he was awake – his chin had been digging into his dog collar during his nap and it had left him with a sad-looking crease under his mouth. ‘Thank you, anyway. I think this is my stop.’

  I was still full of the joys of Parisian spring when Ross collected me from the station. His car was much nicer than Eddy’s skanky old van and had the added benefit of no Buddy, the black terrier with halitosis. It was, however, one of those souped-up hatchbacks with an exhaust that sounded like it had whooping cough and such low-profile tyres that when we went over a humpback bridge I feared mightily for the skin on my backside.

  ‘I’m not much of a one for words,’ Ross shouted over the hum of his turbo-diesel engine. I sneaked a peek at his fine-featured profile – amazing eyelashes. ‘But thanks for fixing me up with work at the farm. I’ve learned more in the last couple of weeks than in two years at uni.’

  ‘Ha,’ I yelled back. ‘You’re a godsend: free labour and Eddy hasn’t got a bad word to say about you. I should be thanking you.’

  Ross went pink and stared out of the windscreen.

  ‘How much do you think it’ll cost to get a subcontractor in to do the grassland for the summer?’ I asked.

  He sucked in air thoughtfully. ‘A hundred-odd acres of grassland … now then, um …’

  I waited patiently.

  ‘Mow, forage and transport by trailer to the clamp?’

  I nodded, pleased that I understood all the jargon. Foraging meant chopping the grass up into tiny bits. Thank you, Google.

  ‘Well …’ He scratched his head and gave me an apologetic grin. ‘No idea, sorry. Fancy a drink at the White Lion before I drop you back at the farm?’

  I rolled my eyes and giggled. I suppose it was a bit too much to expect from a student farmer. And actually a quick drink at the pub and a chat with Lizzie would be nice. But before I had a chance to answer, my mobile rang.

  ‘Hello, Auntie Sue!’

  ‘Uncle Arthur is definitely coming home tomorrow, love!’ cried Auntie Sue. ‘Isn’t that great?’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ I agreed. ‘Just popping to the pub before I come home. That OK?’

  ‘Of course, you enjoy yourself. I’ll put your dinner in the Aga to keep warm.’

  ‘Oh yum, thank you. Oh – Auntie Sue? I’ve had the best day ever at Mum and Dad’s, and everything is going to be fine. Really.’

  We said our goodbyes and I sat back in my seat, gripping the door handle as we raced towards Lovedale, with a massive smile on my face and a fizzy feeling in my stomach. The future of Appleby Farm felt like it was back on track and I had never been so excited in my life.

  The White Lion was its u
sual busy Sunday-night self. Consequently, Ross and I didn’t spot Lizzie straight away as we made our way to the bar and elbowed our way in between a group of hikers, who were hogging most of the bar even though they’d all been served. But then I heard her shouting ‘excuse me’ on the far side of the pub as she collected empty glasses rather bravely, I thought, in the direct path of the darts board.

  She looked across, spotted us and marched in our direction. Her thunderous expression startled me; she was flouncing, flaring her nostrils and tossing her hair vigorously. I’d never seen this side to Lizzie and judging by the way Ross tucked himself behind me, neither had he. She had eight empty beer glasses pinched between her fingers and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was spoiling for a fight.

  ‘She doesn’t look very pleased to see us, does she?’ muttered Ross.

  ‘What’s up, matey?’ I joked, in an attempt to raise a smile.

  She came to halt in front of us and dumped the glasses down on the bar forcefully. Her pretty face was all screwed up and there was a peachy-pink flush to her cheeks.

  ‘Ross kept his hands on the steering wheel at all times. Scouts’ honour,’ I said, doing a three-fingered salute.

  Lizzie’s face sagged. ‘Oh, I know, sorry.’ She tilted up her face to Ross and I turned away discreetly while the pair of them smooched their hellos.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ murmured Lizzie, curling her arm round his neck.

  Ross went red. ‘I’m nipping to the Gents,’ he said, sliding out of her grasp and disappearing round the bar towards the loos.

  ‘You look stressed, Lizzie,’ I said, giving her a quick hug.

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘I know I should ask about Paris, Freya. But seriously. What a chuffin’ day. You’ll never guess …’

  She glanced over my shoulder to the other side of the bar, watching Ross, I guessed, and then huffed. ‘Look at her! What the bobbins is she up to now?’

  I followed her glare to where a petite twenty-something with dark hair, fake eyelashes and far too much lipstick for a country pub was picking bits of fluff of Ross’s jumper.