Spring Fever (Tales From Appleyard Book 2)

by Emma Davies

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ she asked, her face pulled tight with emotion.

  ‘Pretty much every bloody where,’ he replied, his features contorting as he shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable.

  Freya closed her eyes and swallowed. ‘Please, please promise me you will never do anything like that again,’ she whispered, laying a trail of bubbles across his chest with the sponge.

  Sam’s eyes were dark in her shadow. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, guilt wrought large across his face, the enormity of what had happened that afternoon beginning to take its toll. ‘It seemed like the only thing we could do at the time, but I probably wasn’t thinking straight… I seem to be good at acting like an idiot just lately.’ He let his eyes rest on hers for a moment. ‘I’d never do anything to hurt you, Freya, I hope you know that.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered back. ‘I know it was all well intentioned,’ she added, and they both knew their conversation had gone way beyond the events of the afternoon. She moved the sponge a little lower, in soothing circles. ‘I love you,’ she said.

  Sam lifted a hand half-heartedly. ‘Sorry, Freya, but I can barely raise a smile,’ he said, misreading her intentions.

  She gave a low laugh. ‘You muppet,’ she smiled fondly. ‘Just lie there and close your eyes.’

  ‘I love you, Freya,’ he said, and then did as he was told.

  She scooped up a pile of bubbles and with the gentlest of touches began to soap every inch of his skin, finally washing the day clean from his body.

  Chapter 19

  Stephen licked his lips, and took a huge gulp of tea, replacing the mug on the table with a satisfied sigh. He looked down at the empty plate in front of him, where not a trace of the enormous breakfast he had just eaten remained.

  ‘Merry, that was superb, thank you. And just what the doctor ordered.’ He watched her at the stove where three frying pans were currently on the go. She was in her element.

  She turned to face him, brandishing a pair of tongs. ‘Jolly good. Now be a love and take that lot through to the dining room for me can you?’ She nodded towards the tray on the table, piled high with an assortment of mugs, two plates of biscuits and an enormous teapot. ‘Can’t keep the troops waiting.’

  Stephen did as he was told and Merry eyed her watch once more, wondering how long her husband was likely to be. She couldn’t wait to see the smile on his face when he returned to the house. He was in for such a surprise. She turned her attention back to the frying pan nearest to her, where six rashers of bacon were crisping nicely. Freya and Sam had better hurry up or she’d be banging on their bedroom door.

  She was just turning out three perfectly fried eggs when the door opened behind her and Sam shuffled in, Freya hot on his heels, a solicitous arm on his back.

  ‘Ah,’ she winced. ‘Yesterday catching up with you is it?’

  Sam groaned. ‘Don’t. I can hardly move this morning. Freya had to put my bloody socks on for me.’

  Freya nodded brightly, confirming his words. ‘Sad, but true. I’ve told him not to get used to being waited on hand and foot, mind. It’s only for the next day or so, while he still has hero status.’ She smiled fondly at his stooped figure as he gingerly lowered himself into a chair.

  ‘Well then, maybe this lot will make you feel a little more human,’ said Merry, placing an enormous plateful of food in front of him, similar to the one that Stephen had just demolished.

  Freya sat down beside Sam. ‘Thanks Merry,’ she said, accepting her breakfast with a grin. ‘This is fantastic; I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I began to smell this lot from upstairs. It was very good of you to let us all stay over.’

  Merry simply waved her tongs in acknowledgment. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘It’s the least we could do.’ She looked down at her own breakfast. ‘And this is just like the old days; cooking for the masses. I’ve rather enjoyed it to be honest, and quite relieved to know I can still do it.’

  Freya raised an eyebrow. ‘Another opportunity to be explored perhaps…Five Penny House B&B?’ Merry said nothing, but Freya knew her too well to expect an answer. ‘Where’s Tom anyway?’ she asked instead.

  Merry speared a mushroom. ‘He’s just popped into the village to see how things are this morning,’ she said, blushing a little. ‘… And if I’m honest to go and shake a few hands. Cora came to see us first thing and apparently news of yesterday’s events has spread far and wide. There isn’t a soul round here who doesn’t know what you’ve all done for the village.’ She eyed Sam warmly. ‘So I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to being the centre of attention for a while.’

  Sam grimaced, but continued to eat steadily. He swallowed and looked around him. ‘So where’s Stephen? He hasn’t gone home, his truck is still outside.’

  ‘No, he’s still here. He’s just gone to take some tea to our guests. I expect he’s still nattering.’

  Sam looked about him. ‘Guests?’ he said.

  She was about to reply when Freya cut across her. ‘My God, where did that come from?’

  ‘Quite something isn’t it?’ replied Merry, without looking up. She knew exactly what Freya was referring to.

  ‘It’s beautiful. But it wasn’t here yesterday surely? I would have noticed it.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Cora brought it round this morning.’ She laid her knife and fork down on her plate. ‘She thought that now might be the perfect time to return it, even though of course, strictly speaking it belongs to her.’

  Freya swung her chair round a little so that she could get a better look at the painting which was propped up against the far wall. ‘Is it who I think it is?’

  A huge smile crossed Merry’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘The Marchmont family. Christopher, his wife, Marina, and their daughter, Catherine.’

  But, it looks like it was painted yesterday.’

  ‘I know, that’s the most remarkable thing, isn’t it? I think they’re pleased to be home.’

  Sam put down his own fork and looked at the oil painting which had so caught Freya’s eye, a portrait of two women, and a man, a little behind, his arms around them both. Happiness shone out of their faces, the paint gleaming as if lit from within.

  ‘Is that your painter?’ he asked, remembering some of the conversations that Freya had relayed to him.

  ‘One and the same,’ nodded Merry. ‘It hasn’t hung in this house for a very long time. Cora said Christopher couldn’t bear to look at it after they died and he removed it to an upstairs room where it stayed in the back of a wardrobe. It’s so sad.’

  ‘So how did Cora get hold of it? I don’t understand,’ asked Freya.

  Merry gazed at the painting, a soft expression on her face. ‘Because he could never truly bear to be parted from it, even in death. I think he understood that after he was gone no-one would care for it, least of all his rather grasping relatives, and so he left it to Cora in his will. It’s hung in her dining room ever since, waiting for the time, she said, until she could return it to its rightful place.’

  Freya gasped, her eyes unexpectedly filling with tears. ‘Oh, that’s beautiful, Merry,’ she sighed, her hand lying over her heart. ‘You will put it up won’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said her friend softly. ‘I know just the place.’

  Sam looked between the two women, both of whom he had known since childhood, both the truest of friends, and now one a woman he loved with all his heart. He looked back at the painting, recognising the feeling that shone from Christopher’s eyes, and he smiled.

  ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the house is no longer cursed.’

  All three looked up suddenly at the intrusion into their thoughts as Tom strode into the kitchen. His face was wide with delight. ‘It’s official apparently, according to the landlord of the Apple Cart. Seeing as how we all saved the village, the curse has been lifted. What do you think of that?’

  Merry looked up at her husband, noticing the expression on his fa
ce. Her laughter rang out loud around the kitchen. ‘I should think so too,’ she giggled. ‘Although that’s not all,’ she added. ‘We have a few guests who’d like a word with you…’

  ‘Yeah, what’s with all the vans outside? Where did they come from?’

  ‘Well the blue van belongs to the landlord’s brother in law, who’s a builder as it happens. The green van belongs to his mate, a plumber, and the white van to his mate’s brother who’s an electrician. Apparently they’d heard of the issues with getting this place ready, and in honour of you helping to save the village from flooding, they wondered if you might be needing a hand with anything?’ She grinned. ‘So, I’ve plied them with tea and biscuits.’ She winked at Sam. ‘They’re in the dining room; ready when you are.’

  Tom snatched the last chunk of sausage from his wife’s plate. ‘Well then, I best not keep them waiting any longer had I?’ And with that he strode back out.

  Merry smiled to herself; there was a man on a mission if ever she saw one. She looked back at Sam, a contented sigh escaping her. ‘And have I managed to fill you up?’ she asked, ‘or do you need even more breakfast?’

  Sam patted his stomach. ‘Well, I didn’t think I would manage that, but I surprised myself actually.’ He glanced towards Freya. ‘So thank you, Merry, but we really should be getting out of your hair. Now that the rain has stopped I think we need to go and see what sort of a crop we’re going to be left with this year.’ He passed a weary hand over his face, tired, but resolute in the face of what he needed to do next. ‘And when we’ve done that I need to focus on what’s really important at Appleyard and stop being such a prat. No more fanciful stuff, just concentrate on what we’re good at, which is producing beautiful fruit, our way, and no-one else’s.’ He leaned across the table and took hold of Freya’s hand. He opened his mouth to carry on, but Freya forestalled him.

  ‘Actually I’ve been thinking about that,’ she said, holding Sam’s look and returning the pressure on his hand. ‘I’m not sure it’s fair to carry on as we are Sam—’ She caught sight of the expression on his face and quickly laid her other hand over his. ‘What I mean is that it was unfair to think that you could move into Appleyard and simply carry on as if your life before never existed. It’s too big a leap, and it’s far too close to home having Stephen on our doorstep doing exactly what we do. There have to be changes if we’re all going to get along. I wanted everything at Appleyard to be as it always had been, but I was wrong, Sam.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s time for things to change, to make Appleyard ours, not mine with you just having to slot into the way I want things. You’re right when you said we should do what we’re good at. We’ve always been about making beautiful fruit, about taste above all else, so what do you say we stop producing cider and do something different instead?’

  Sam sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Like what exactly?’ he asked, a little cautiously.

  ‘Well, Merry and Tom have a shop opening soon that is going to stock gourmet produce… handmade, local, gourmet produce… why don’t we start making juices instead? Beautiful single variety pressed juices, clever blends so there’s something for every palate? Cordials, old fashioned apple curds?’

  Freya let out her breath bit by bit as she watched the slow smile start to gather on Sam’s face, the corners of his mouth begin to twitch, and the light flare in his unusual green eyes.

  ‘I think that’s an absolutely bloody fantastic idea!’ He turned to look at Merry for confirmation. ‘Freya Sherbourne, you are without a doubt, one of the most amazing women I have ever known.’ He gave Merry an answering nod before turning back to Freya, his eyes soft. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

  A small noise behind him made him turn and his face immediately fell.

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ said Stephen, coming into the room. ‘She is an amazing woman.’ He came up behind Freya and placed both hands on her shoulders, dipping briefly to kiss her cheek. ‘And one who talks an awful lot of sense too,’ he added as he sat down. ‘In fact, she’s really very eloquent when she gets going, isn’t that right, Freya? She certainly told me a few home truths.’

  He let his words hang in the air for a few moments, knowing that his silence was making Sam feel even more uncomfortable, but knowing too how important it was that he got this right. He turned his attention full on his brother.

  ‘I want to apologise, Sam,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve been a complete pig-headed bastard, for years in fact, not just recently, although my latest outburst was exceptional, even for me. You came to offer your help, although why you think I deserve it is beyond me, but still you did, and all I could do was throw it back in your face.’ He paused to push the hair out of his eyes. ‘You see I was scared of what I was going to do. For years I’ve belittled you, made things difficult for you, whilst all the time letting you take care of all the business… I couldn’t help overhearing what Freya suggested just now and I think it’s a brilliant idea, not because it’s one less competitor for Braeburn, but because I want you to have something, for yourself, like Freya said, something that has nothing to do with me.’ He offered his hand for Sam to shake. ‘The only thing is,’ he added ruefully, ‘that I wondered whether I might ask for your help first, just to get me on my way. I haven’t got a bloody clue what I’m doing and you’re the expert after all.’

  Sam stared at his brother, his mouth hanging open. He took the proffered hand and swallowed hard.

  ‘Well,’ said Merry brightly, clearing her throat and picking up the plates from the table. ‘I can’t believe the weather this morning. There’s no trace of yesterday’s storm. It’s going to be the most beautiful day.’

  Six Weeks Later

  Chapter 20

  Freya wasn’t sure which were brighter; the colours in the room, or Merry’s and Tom’s smiles as they posed for the photographer. He, like everyone else seemed stunned by the transformation of the shop he was standing in, not simply because the array of goods on offer looked so inviting, but because, in all his thirty-two years of life he had never been inside a village shop that looked the way this one did.

  In fact, Merry was the only one who wasn’t surprised by the way things had turned out. As every cabinet had been moved into place, every display case installed, every picture hung on the wall, hers had not been the only guiding hand, of that she was absolutely convinced. Even Tom had stopped making suggestions, seeing the resolute look on his wife’s face and the day-by-day transformation she was wreaking. She knew exactly what she was doing, and bit by bit the shop grew around her.

  First to be installed were the cupboards they had found all those weeks ago, dusted off, and with glass fronts protecting their contents, but otherwise completely untouched from the last time they had appeared in this shop – a time before Merry and Tom were even born. They were a perfect time capsule, and having been given pride of place on the wall facing whoever entered, they were as much a talking point as the vibrant art on the walls, or the reclaimed and renovated furniture which offered up whatever the locals could possibly need.

  A selection of wooden tables running the length of the room held baskets packed with local produce. Jersey Royals jostled for space with fresh young carrots, and golden loaves of bread that brought the memory of the cornfields with them. Desk drawers were pulled open and filled with an array of tins and packets, and huge bookcases leaned against the walls filled with packets of flour and sugar and the biggest eggs that Freya had ever seen. A sign on a far wall pointed the way to Gorgeous Gifts and Gourmet Goodies, a space to invite and captivate, where many a weak-willed moment would occur as goods found their way into baskets.

  And pride of place, carefully arranged on every inch of spare wall space were all of Christopher’s art works; bold and brilliant, an exuberance of colour and joy.

  Merry stood behind the till now, her husband just behind her as they chatted to the last customers of the day. The last of a very long line in fact, of which many would soon become friends.
She knew that today they had been a curiosity, perhaps tomorrow too, but soon in the very near future, their customers would be back, by routine, out of necessity, or simply because The Five Penny Shop was a part of their community, and it belonged to them now.

  With a final warm goodbye and a thank you, Merry turned slightly to acknowledge Cora, waiting patiently with Robyn. She gave a nod to the portrait behind her. Hung on a pale lemon wall, a portrait of a man, and his wife and daughter, their beaming smiles radiating out across the space and returned by all who gazed on them.

  ‘So what do you think now, Cora? Have we done well?’

  ‘Oh, I reckon so. I think Christopher would be very proud, and rather honoured too.’

  Merry surveyed her friend for a moment.

  ‘Then I’m glad. But not just because I hope that Christopher and his family will never be forgotten, but because at times I did wonder if I wasn’t just the teensiest bit mad. It’s only when I see all this that it makes sense, to me anyway. It feels like it was meant to be.’

  ‘Then that’s exactly what it is. You know this could have been such a difficult time for you and your family. A new house, a new business, a new baby. It could so easily have overwhelmed you, and I think it’s something most people wouldn’t be brave enough even to try. I think that perhaps Christopher wanted you to make a go of things too, and his story became… an encouragement if you like.’

  Merry cocked her head to one side.

  ‘How so?’

  Cora fiddled with the rattle on Robyn’s pushchair. ‘Well, Christopher became so overwhelmed by his grief that he closed the doors to everything else in his life; he lost his fight and his spirit; he forgot how to chase the dreams he had as a younger man. He, more than anyone perhaps, understood how hard life can be sometimes; maybe he wanted to remind you that with all that happens in our lives we must remember to live.’