Appleby Farm

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘You’ve got a secret admirer, lass,’ chuckled Uncle Arthur.

  Which was a bit worrying, seeing as the only men I saw these days were Eddy and the vet. Neither of whom you could call ‘a catch’.

  The delivery man dashed outside, hotly pursued by Madge, and trawled through a stack of paperwork on his front seat. He returned two minutes later looking apologetic.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, pressing his lips together. ‘There isn’t always a card, especially if they’re from a secret admirer. Call the shop; they’ll have a record of it.’ He winked, handed me a business card and jogged off.

  ‘Told you. Secret admirer. Any more tea in that pot?’ Uncle Arthur held up his mug hopefully.

  Lizzie got up, slid the kettle on to the Aga hotplate and made him a fresh cup.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, tucking the card in my apron pocket, planning to deal with it later. ‘They will look gorgeous on top of the counter next to the cash register. Auntie Sue, you’re good at flowers,’ I said, handing them over. ‘Can I leave them with you?’

  ‘Yes, love.’ She immediately started unwrapping the cellophane and separating out the stems.

  ‘I have to say, Freya, you’re very good at delegating these days,’ Uncle Arthur pointed out, slurping his tea.

  ‘Hmm, well, I’ve learned from the master.’ I grinned, catching Auntie Sue rolling her eyes. ‘Right. Where were we?’

  ‘Ribbon-cutting ceremony,’ Tilly reminded me.

  ‘Thanks, Tills.’ I reached out and squeezed her hand.

  Tilly had been a boon and I would be very sad to see her leave this evening. But leave she must, because Aidan was whisking her off to Venice to some swanky hotel in the morning. And I’d offered to give her a lift to the station as soon as we’d cleared up for the day.

  ‘OK, so I’m expecting my friendly planning officer to turn up and someone from Cumbria Tourism, too, so—’

  Just then Madge skittered across the floor to the door and whined to be let out.

  ‘Madge, for goodness’ sake! I’m never going to get through the agenda,’ I said testily, stomping over to let her out.

  ‘She’ll be after her morning egg, Freya, you know what’s she’s like,’ chuckled Auntie Sue.

  I glanced at the clock. Sure enough it was half past nine. A wave of fear washed over me. We opened at eleven.

  Tilly giggled. ‘I can’t wait to tell Aidan about this.’ She shook her head. ‘A dog that knows exactly when it’s nine thirty and trots off to—’

  ‘Oh my life, Freya!’ shrieked Lizzie. ‘The radio. Victoria’s show. She said it’ll be on at nine thirty.’

  It took us four and a half minutes to locate the radio and tune it in to Radio Lakeland, by which time I had beads of sweat the size of golf balls popping out on my forehead and it took all my self-control not to wail with frustration, convinced that the ‘Victoria’s Secret Cafés’ feature would have been and gone by now.

  We gathered around Uncle Arthur’s radio, which he called a ‘wireless’, and listened in silence while the weather man informed us in an overly jaunty voice that we were in for some light showers later on. Then, finally, Victoria came back on air.

  And the time is nine forty a.m. and you’re listening to Victoria Moon. Now all my regular listeners will know that I love nothing more than getting out and about, and talking to local people in my series called ‘Victoria’s Secrets’, uncovering some of the most secret locations in The Lakes and bringing them to your attention.

  ‘Brillo pads!’ squealed Lizzie. ‘We didn’t miss it after all!’

  ‘Shush!’ I shushed.

  And today in the first of a new series, ‘Victoria’s Secret Cafés’, I visit a rather unusual venue in an old farmyard barn in Lovedale.

  A shiver ran down my back and I glanced up at Lizzie.

  Call it a sixth sense, but there was something in the way Victoria lingered on the word ‘unusual’ that made me fear for what was coming next.

  And by the look on Lizzie’s face, she was sensing it too.

  ‘We’re on, Artie. Are you listening?’ Auntie Sue hissed.

  ‘Yes, love.’ He leaned across and took her hand. A look passed between them and I guessed that he’d just squeezed her hand three times. ‘It’s exciting, isn’t it?’ he said, hunching up his shoulders.

  I dragged my eyes back to the radio, a smile on my lips.

  Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms is, as the name suggests, situated on a farm, and guess what? They open to the public today. Yes, that’s right, lucky little me was able to get an exclusive preview of what owner Freya Moorcroft claims will serve the widest range of teas in The Lakes! Although I must say, she gave a tinkling laugh, when I was there all they offered me was boring old English Breakfast tea. Hardly very imaginative.

  ‘The cheeky moo!’ gasped Lizzie, flaring her nostrils.

  I placed a calming hand on her arm. ‘Let’s hear her out,’ I murmured. Although to be honest my spirits were taking a bit of a nosedive.

  So my verdict? I wasn’t able to sample any of their advertised homemade cakes, unfortunately. She sighed. I caught Tilly’s eye and shook my head. This woman was unbelievable. She had turned down Auntie Sue’s homemade scones … However, I can tell you that the interior is more rustic than vintage at the moment, but who knows, things may improve once the tea rooms are finally finished. The builders were very much in evidence when I was there. That grating tinkly laugh again.

  I looked at the rest of my team. Lizzie had her head on the table, Tilly looked very pale, while my aunt and uncle were staring at each other in a state of confusion.

  I reached across to turn the radio off. I’d heard enough, but Victoria piped up again before I had chance.

  Oh, one teensy word of warning, peeps. A little bird told me that poor Appleby Farm has recently suffered an outbreak of a terrifying contagious disease, so if you’re in any way concerned – my advice? Leave it a month or two before popping in for a cuppa. Now, let’s play some music …

  A rush of nausea surged from my stomach to my throat and I swallowed hard.

  I lowered the volume of the radio and looked round the table at the stunned faces of my dear friends and family.

  ‘We’re ruined,’ whispered Auntie Sue, two channels of tears forming down her cheeks. ‘Who’s going to come now?’

  Uncle Arthur put his arm around her shoulder and she sobbed into his neck.

  ‘We keep having bad luck, Artie. When’s it going to end? Let’s just sell up. Start our retirement before it’s too late.’

  Lizzie clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh, Freya, I’m so sorry. I should have known. I should have seen this coming. I blame myself.’

  Tilly stood up to try to comfort me, but I shook my head, unable to speak. I strode from the kitchen and stumbled out into the yard, gasping for air. How could she? Why would she? And … and … what was I supposed to do now?

  I pushed open the farmhouse gate and dropped to the floor, perching my bottom on the step. I’d worked non-stop all summer towards today. Overcome all sorts of little problems. But nothing like this … attack from Victoria. I suddenly felt drained and heavy-limbed.

  Brushing tears of frustration from my eyes, I spotted a small white envelope on the cobbled ground. I blinked and stared at it. Freya. I could definitely read the name ‘Freya’ on the front of it.

  I reached forward and grabbed it. It must have fallen out of the bouquet of flowers and fluttered under the van. I slipped my finger under the edge of the envelope and tweaked the card out, wondering and hoping …

  I held my breath.

  Congratulations on the opening of your tea rooms. I’m sure you’ll make a success of it. Sorry I can’t be there.

  Your proud Dad xxx

  A bubble of laughter fizzed up inside me. I hadn’t expected that.

  Oh, Dad. I held the card to my chest. He was proud of me. And here I was whimpering on the doorstep like a sad puppy. Thank you, Dad, I thought, your timing was abso
lutely perfect.

  I jumped to my feet, bursting with energy. He was right. I would make a success of it.

  ‘Right, folks,’ I yelled, running back up the path towards the kitchen. ‘Come on. One hour till party time!’

  Chapter 29

  I bounded back inside, wreathed in smiles, took a big breath and dug deep for inspiring words. Tilly, Lizzie and Auntie Sue blinked at me expectantly.

  ‘Yes, it is a setback. Yes, we could have done without that poisonous review.’ I hesitated and pulled a face. ‘Slight understatement there.’

  I attempted a laugh but it emerged more like a squawk.

  Blank faces stared back at me.

  I tried again. ‘Come on, chaps, don’t look so down. I believe in what we’re trying to do and I know you do too. And once people come through the doors they will love it. Fact.’ I jabbed a finger in the air to drive home my point.

  It took me a few seconds to notice that Uncle Arthur was no longer sitting down but standing in the doorway to the hall. His eyebrows were knotted and he rocked on his tiptoes, jingling the coins in his pocket.

  ‘Tell her, Artie,’ Auntie Sue whispered.

  ‘What? What is it?’ I swallowed and the hairs on my arms stood up.

  Uncle Arthur coughed, folded his arms and looked down at the floor.

  ‘You just missed your brother on the phone.’

  I groaned. ‘Not again. Tell him to leave us alone. Especially today. We’re too busy to listen to …’ My words dried up as I noticed everyone’s nervous faces. ‘What is it?’

  ‘He’s found a buyer for Appleby Farm, lass,’ said Auntie Sue quietly, a pink blush creeping up from her neck to her cheeks.

  ‘Another farm wants to take it on,’ added my uncle, stroking his chin. I hadn’t seen his pallor so grey since his heart attack.

  ‘But …’ Words failed me. I sank down on to the bench at the kitchen table. Nobody spoke.

  I had a contingency for every eventuality today, or so I thought: an umbrella stand if it rained; outdoor tables and chairs if it was sunny; a bucket of carrots and little bags of corn for children to feed the animals; vegan, gluten-free, nut-free and diabetic treats for special diets and even, much to Auntie Sue’s disgust, some non-dairy ice cream! The one thing I didn’t anticipate was an eleventh-hour sabotage attempt from my big brother.

  Tilly and Lizzie scooted up along the bench and slung their arms round me, muttering condolences.

  What was the point in even opening the tea rooms now? Even if people did turn up – and that was looking unlikely, thanks to Victoria – who knew whether we’d even still be here in two months’ time?

  I class myself as a happy-go-lucky sort of person, but at this moment, my powers of optimism were being well and truly tested.

  The radio was still on but I was too distracted to notice which song was playing. However, I did tune in when I heard Victoria’s voice. In fact, my whole body did, tensing like a tight rubber band poised to go ping.

  Ooh, she trilled, we’ve got a caller on the line. Hello there, you’re live on air speaking to Victoria Moon!

  Um. Hi, said a youngish male voice. I just heard your review of Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms and I—

  My ears pricked up. That voice sounded familiar …

  Hold your horses! Tell the listeners your name and where you come from, giggled Victoria.

  Oh. Sorry. It’s Harry Graythwaite and I’m from Lovedale.

  My heart went boom at the sound of his voice. What was he up to?

  ‘Harry?’ Tilly hissed. ‘Is that your Harry?’

  I nodded rapidly. Lizzie nudged me and I realized what I’d done and turned scarlet. My Harry.

  Well, he-llo, Harry. Again. More giggling.

  I gritted my teeth. The woman was such an outrageous flirt.

  Lizzie shot me a look. ‘I’m going to kill her,’ she muttered.

  Yes, well, as I was saying, I’m calling about Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms.

  I loved the way he gave it its full name like that.

  And I was a bit confused when I heard your review. He chuckled.

  You and me both, I agreed silently.

  Because I was there the other day and had the most amazing chocolate fudge cake, washed down with a pot of lapsang souchong.

  Auntie Sue and I exchanged looks and shrugged. That was news to us!

  Really? said Victoria incredulously. Well—

  And the views from the barn. In a word. Wow. Breathtaking. On a clear day you can see right down the valley from Lovedale all the way to Lake Windermere, sparkling like a sliver of sapphire in the distance.

  You make it sound so romantic, said Victoria breathlessly.

  At last, I thought, something she and I agreed on. I looked round the kitchen and bit back a giggle. It looked like we all agreed. Tilly and Lizzie were chewing their bottom lips, Auntie Sue was clutching her bosom and even Uncle Arthur had gone dewy-eyed.

  It is, Harry replied and then lowered his voice. And on a serious note, you didn’t get your facts straight. It’s true that Appleby Farm was hit by TB a while ago but it poses no threat to humans and I’m delighted to say that the vet tested the herd last week and gave them the all-clear.

  Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur gave each other relieved smiles and I crossed my fingers; only one more test to go in September and if that was clear as well, life could go back to normal.

  Really? Gosh, I didn’t know that, stuttered Victoria.

  And Appleby Farm needs our support now more than ever. We’re all part of a unique community here in Cumbria. The Moorcrofts are doing what they can to preserve a traditional Lakeland farm and I think that should be applauded and supported. Don’t you?

  Well, I—

  And what better way for children to learn about our heritage than to see a working farm in action while enjoying freshly made produce. And I’ve heard that the first fifty children to visit today will receive a free cookie.

  Eek! I looked at my watch. Time until launch: one hour. Number of cookies baked: zero.

  ‘We don’t have any cookies!’ Auntie Sue whispered anxiously.

  I shushed her as Victoria asked Harry whether he would be coming to the launch. I held my breath.

  Sadly I can’t make it. One of my sows has gone into labour and she had eight piglets last time and one of them got his head stuck—

  Whoa, thank you, Harry, family show, et cetera …’

  So, if you’re listening, Freya, sorry I—

  Clunk.

  Oh dear, said Victoria swiftly, we seem to have lost Harry. Let’s play some music …

  I snapped off the radio and stood up, head in the whirliest whirl ever. I was struggling to take everything in: Julian’s call, Victoria’s scathing attack and now Harry’s heroic attempt at damage limitation, which was so amazing and kind and completely unexpected. Our little team had been through the wringer this morning and it was up to me to get everyone back on track.

  I put on my best encouraging smile. ‘OK. The way I see it is this …’ Julian is a tossy-tosspot and I hate him, was what I thought, but instead I said, ‘Whatever happens, whether you do decide to sell to Julian’s farm person, Uncle Arthur and Auntie Sue; whether two or twenty people turn up today after Victoria’s glowing review, one thing is for absolute certain: Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms are opening today. We have guests arriving in one hour and Harry Graythwaite has thrown us a lifeline. So let’s go out there and give our visitors a huge Appleby Farm welcome.’

  Tilly and Lizzie whooped and clapped their hands.

  ‘Oh,’ I laughed, ‘and does anyone have a recipe for cookies?’

  ‘I do!’ yelled Tilly. ‘I make chocolate chip cookies with the children at school all the time.’

  ‘Fabulous!’ I beamed. ‘Right. Action stations. Auntie Sue – scones please. Lizzie – over to the tea rooms and set up cups and saucers on every table. And I’m going to prep the fruit for the ice-cream sundaes. OK, chop, chop.’ I clapped my hands and the
y all leaped into action.

  And suddenly we were back on track, full of vim and vigour, and brimming with purpose. The kitchen filled with clouds of flour and the aroma of chocolate as Tilly and Auntie Sue started their baking. Uncle Arthur began to slope off to the office and I ran out to the hall and caught him up.

  ‘Uncle Arthur!’

  He turned and I grabbed hold of his hands. You could never mistake him for anything other than a farmer: the sleeves of his check shirt were rolled up as a concession to summer, although he still had a flat cap on, and he was wearing braces to keep his baggy trousers up now that the results of his new diet were beginning to show.

  ‘I know how important it is to the two of you to retire. And I am all for that. Truly. No one deserves to take it easier in their old age more than you.’ I grinned at this last bit.

  ‘Oi, less of the old,’ he chuntered, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I just …’ I swallowed a lump in my throat, suddenly unsure of myself. Was I being fair? Should I simply let them retire, sell up and let the farm go, make it as easy as possible for them?

  Or fight for it? Because once land has gone, it’s gone for ever. Fact.

  ‘I don’t want you to sell the farm,’ I blurted out. ‘Just give me a chance to make a go of it.’

  Uncle Arthur’s shoulders sagged. ‘Freya, lass, there’s no one I’d rather see staying on here, keeping the Moorcroft family at Appleby Farm, than you. You know that.’

  I nodded hopefully. He cupped a rough hand round my cheek and rubbed away a tear that I hadn’t realized was there.

  ‘Look, Uncle Arthur, I haven’t got enough money and I haven’t quite got my head round what I’d do with a huge farmhouse and a hundred and fifty acres of land. But I just have this feeling here.’

  I pressed a hand to my heart.

  ‘It’s doable. I know it is. I just haven’t worked out how yet. Do you have to sell? Can’t you stay in the farmhouse and rent out the fields?’

  He lifted his cap and scratched his head.

  ‘Your brother has come up with a good offer from another farm. We haven’t talked money yet, I know,’ he admitted, ‘but at least the land would stay as farmland, which is a big plus in my book. And your auntie can have that bungalow she’s after.’ He peered into my eyes and we shared a smile.