by Sue Limb
We went into the farm kitchen first, as usual – Martin’s usually in there at a quarter to nine, shouting down the phone to all and sundry and giving everybody their orders for the day.
Apart from Martin, who was talking to Prozac and Silkvest, and Sarah, who was reading The Rough Guide to Provence, Lily was drifting around in a kimono, making toast.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘How’s it going?’
I introduced Chloe and we stood and watched while Lily buttered her toast and slathered loads of home-made marmalade on.
‘God, I so admire you working for Dad,’ said Lily. ‘It would drive me mad being up in that field for just ten minutes.’ She gave us a flirty wink. Sarah gazed at her in adoration, the way mothers do.
‘Lily was forced to do weeding from an early age,’ she explained. ‘One of my biggest mistakes. She now hates vegetation.’
‘My aim is to move into a seventeenth-floor apartment in the city,’ said Lily. ‘And with any luck I will never have to look at another leaf again – except as part of a fabulous side salad, of course. Well, good luck today – I hope it stays dry for you.’
She picked up her toast and a mug of tea and disappeared from the kitchen with a stylish whirl of the kimono and a slight waft of something by Armani.
‘She is working,’ Sarah explained apologetically. ‘I don’t want you to think she’s just lounging around at home. She does help with the farmers’ market stall on Saturdays, so she’ll be up at dawn then. And she does work four nights a week in a club in town. And she’s got a massive vacation reading list from Oxford.’
‘She works in a club?’ said Chloe. ‘Wow!!’
‘Not dancing, or anything vulgar like that,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘She’s bar staff. She’s got a lovely little uniform: crisp white shirt and pencil skirt. Very classy.’
This was obviously what Lily had told her mum. Personally I had a suspicion that she spent the evenings hanging upside down from a pole wearing nothing but a feather Sellotaped to her bum. But you couldn’t tell the parents that, could you?
Martin sent the Polish guys off to do something with tractors, and turned to us. ‘Picking and harvesting today, girls!’ he said, trying to make it sound like a special treat. ‘Brendan will show you what to do. We’ve got farmers’ markets tomorrow and Saturday, so Thursdays and Fridays are always flat out. Off you go!’
So far, disastrously, there had been no glimpse of Oliver. But as we wriggled back into our wellies and set off across the yard, we heard the sound of the rattly old Land Rover approaching. My tummy did one of its somersaults. But it was only Brendan.
‘Hey there!’ said Brendan, putting on a primeval farmer’s voice. ‘Are you lorst? There’s no public footpath through ’ere! You’re trespassin’! Get orf my land!’
There’s something about being at the wheel of a Land Rover that gives a guy sex appeal even if he’s very bad at accents.
‘Hop in!’ He reverted to his normal Irish accent. ‘I’ll get you started!’ He’d certainly got Chloe started. She giggled helplessly as she snuggled down beside him.
‘I’ve got some legendary sandwiches made by my dad,’ I informed him as we set off. ‘Or will you be too busy for lunch today?’
‘God, no!’ cried Brendan. ‘Life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t have lunch with you two! And Olly, of course. Besides,’ he went on, ‘I’m going to take you to my very favourite place today – right down in the valley bottom, where there’s kingfishers sometimes.’
Brendan drove us to the field for our morning toil, gave us a large quantity of big plastic bags and buckets and showed us loads of green stuff to pick for the market stall tomorrow. He drove off, promising to collect us at one o’clock. Chloe watched the departing Land Rover with a wistful look on her face.
‘Do you think Brendan likes me?’ she sighed.
‘Of course he likes you!’ I said. ‘In twenty years’ time you’ll be running a herb farm in Ireland together with three kids and a flock of goats!’
Chloe looked pleased but a bit anxious in case this fantasy proved incorrect, and went off to do the spinach and lettuces while I harvested the herbs.
I decided to annex the fantasy for my own purposes and was soon deep in dreams of a future in which Oliver and I ran a herb farm and had three kids called Parsley, Marjoram and Basil, who all spoke Latin on Sundays. Suddenly I remembered my phone was switched off. I turned it on and right away there was a text. It was from Tam.
SORRY I WAS GRUMPY. JUST FOUND BRILLIANT FLAT FOR US IN NEWQUAY ON INTERNET – HAVE BOOKED IT! TAKE A LOOK: WWW.BLUEOCEANFLATS.COM IT’S UTTERLY FABULOUS! CU TONITE LOVE TAM XXX
.
.
23
God! I so needed the Internet right now and instead I was wallowing in dung! I scrambled to my feet and ran down the rows of carrots to where Chloe was on her knees, cutting lettuces and listening to her iPod.
‘Chloe!’ I yelled. ‘Tam has found us a fabulous flat in Newquay!’
Chloe looked startled. I showed her the text and her face lit up.
‘Oh God!’ she drooled. ‘I can’t wait to see it! Maybe Brendan would let us have a quick look on his laptop at lunchtime!’
I spent the next three hours cutting herbs in a kind of trance. Mentally I was inhabiting a vast pink palace on a cliff top in Barbados. OK, I realised that the Newquay apartment wouldn’t be like that. I had just gone into vacation overdrive.
‘Brendan!’ yelled Chloe when the guys turned up at lunchtime. ‘Zoe’s sister, Tam, has found us a great flat in Newquay! Can we look it up on the Internet?’
‘Sure.’ Brendan grinned. ‘We’ll take a look on the farm PC when we get back after lunch. You’ll be working at the house this afternoon, anyway, making up the salad packs.’
I joined Oliver in the back of the truck as usual. He smiled. My heart turned over. He didn’t say much, though. It was always kind of awkward when we were alone together. Was it because we were paralysed by our hidden passion? Or were we just a couple of boring dorks?
‘God, isn’t it beautiful!’ I gushed, as we drove down to the valley bottom, where the rivulet chuckled along and the sun streamed down in divine dappliness through countless trees. ‘It certainly beats working for that hospitality firm.’
‘I hate hospitality,’ said Oliver. ‘Having to dress up like a flunky and hand round drinks to office workers.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, even though personally I have nothing against office workers, because my mum is one, and I can’t think of anyone who deserves a party more than her. ‘God! It was so hard persuading Chloe, though,’ I went on. ‘Beast asked her to work for them, and I think she was dazzled by the glamour of it all – and the big bucks.’
‘I hate Beast Hawkins,’ said Oliver, looking into the far, far distance with a cloudy expression. ‘I hate his attitude. Especially to women.’
‘God, you’re so right!’ I agreed fervently. I was so tempted to tell him about Beast coming round and hitting on me. But I thought it was probably more tactful to say nothing.
‘He chucked me out of the rugby team,’ said Oliver, turning his fab grey eyes suddenly upon me and causing my skeleton to melt with longing.
‘No!’ I gasped. ‘What happened?’
‘I should have been vice captain,’ said Oliver in a hesitant way. ‘I shouldn’t really be saying this, so don’t tell anybody, yeah?’ He didn’t want to diss Beast! How chivalrous!
‘My lips are sealed!’ I assured him, pouting. I hoped he had noticed how nice and pink they were.
‘I couldn’t stand their attitude to women,’ said Oliver. ‘And all that bingeing after matches. So gross. So he chucked me out.’
‘No!’ I breathed. ‘How totally unfair!’
‘I was a wing,’ said Oliver. ‘I can run a hundred metres in less than eleven seconds. But they didn’t want me there if I was going to spoil all their misogynistic fun.’
‘God! That makes me hate him even more!’ I said b
itterly. I decided to throw caution to the winds. ‘He actually asked me out but I told him I wouldn’t go out with him if he was the last man left alive.’
Oliver gave me a sudden look. I swam in his grey eyes for a split second – like a brief dip in the Atlantic.
‘Nice one,’ he said. My heart gave a little leap in celebration. Oliver admired me for rejecting Beast!
‘We could form a Beast Hawkins Hate Club,’ I quipped.
‘Good idea,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ll design the badge.’
At this point the Land Rover stopped and we all got out. The valley was a knockout.
‘If you’re really lucky,’ said Brendan, ‘we might see a kingfisher.’ We found a great picnic site on the riverbank under some willows and we all unpacked our food.
‘Wow!’ said Brendan. ‘You girls are certainly determined to drag me towards obesity.’
‘What do you weigh?’ asked Chloe.
‘Too much!’ laughed Brendan.
‘Don’t be an idiot!’ giggled Chloe. ‘There isn’t an ounce of flab on you!’ And she lurched across and actually grabbed a handful of his tummy! I was amazed at her forwardness, the hussy! I sat demurely on a potato sack, and stared at the river.
Oliver was ignoring Chloe and Brendan. He was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, peering into his packed lunch in that funny kind of way of his. Even though my dad had made my sandwiches, I somehow wished Oliver had made his own. I didn’t like to think of his mum preparing little treats for him. When we were married, she’d have to stop all that.
‘Let go! Stop it!’ laughed Brendan, as he and Chloe started rolling over and over. ‘I’m ticklish!’ Chloe was tickling him all over – well, almost – while I sat in embarrassed silence eating my sandwich. I wished Chloe and Brendan wouldn’t behave like this in front of Oliver and me. It kind of made it obvious that we weren’t rolling about and tickling each other. Even if Oliver did like me – and it was kind of hard to tell – I didn’t think rolling and tickling were in his repertoire. Fun with Oliver would be much more dignified and scientific. We would take tea together in his conservatory and discuss the most stylish forms of bacteria.
Eventually Chloe and Brendan got tired and lay on the grass panting and looking at the sky. I just went on chewing, even though Dad’s delicious salami and cheese sandwiches didn’t taste quite as wonderful as usual. It was something to do with Oliver. I couldn’t fancy him and tuck into my lunch with my usual greed. Love is so tricky.
Brendan rolled on to his hands and knees and grinned sideways at Chloe. ‘Never do that again!’ he said. ‘Or I might have to tie you up and throw you in the stream!’
Chloe giggled madly. ‘I didn’t realise you were into bondage!’ she said cheekily. ‘I thought you were just a harmless birdwatcher!’
‘Bondage, birdwatching, you name it, I’ll give it a go!’ said Brendan, crawling over towards the sandwiches. He selected one, and smiled in an enchanted way. ‘Never mind bondage,’ he said, ‘food comes first. These look superb.’ And he gave me a secret little grin.
As we ate, Chloe asked Brendan about Ireland, and he told us all about his family, who sounded quite mad and adorable, and his village, the most beautiful little place on a hill overlooking the sea …
‘Where do you live, Oliver?’ I asked, getting a bit fed up with Brendan’s boasting.
‘Oh, nowhere special,’ said Oliver, and he got up and walked off.
My heart lurched in panic. What had I said?
.
.
24
I stared in dismay as Oliver disappeared into some bushes. What the hell –?
‘Don’t worry, Zoe,’ Brendan grinned, ‘I think he’s just going for a pee.’
‘Zoe probably didn’t realise that Oliver pees like a human being!’ whispered Chloe, giggling.
‘I know!’ said Brendan mischievously. ‘He’s a god; he pees champagne!’
‘Anyway,’ said Chloe, turning back and gazing at Brendan with adoration, ‘tell us more about Bally-thingummyjig.’
‘I’ll have to show you it one day,’ he said, smiling at Chloe. Wow! This guy was keen! Talking about taking her home and showing her everything! I grinned at Chloe, and I was pleased for her, because although the sight of her and Brendan getting off together was undignified, she deserved some good times.
Soon Oliver emerged from the bushes trying to look as if he’d never peed in his life – as if he’d just disappeared to search for a rare lizard or something. He strolled along the riverbank for a bit, ignoring us and gazing at the landscape. Sarah had told us that this valley was an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty – well, I couldn’t help thinking, so was Oliver.
Eventually he returned to our picnic site, threw himself down on the lucky old grass, and closed his eyes. Five minutes later, Brendan pointed out some bushes a bit further downstream where one might hide and possibly see a kingfisher. It wasn’t the same bush where Oliver had peed. I was planning to revisit that secretly, later, and erect a shrine.
‘Oh, let’s go birdwatching now!’ cried Chloe, clapping her hands and jumping up and down (she had a lot to learn about birdwatching). I said I was too comfortable where I was. I leant back on the grass and stared at the sky through the willow leaves. My heart was thumping. Would Oliver say anything? I mean, anything special? I stole a tiny look at him. He was still lying on the grass with his eyes closed.
Chloe and Brendan went off and inserted themselves into the goddam bush for five minutes. God knows what went on, because of course they were invisible to me as well as the birds, but when they returned, looking very dishevelled, they reported that they’d not seen a single kingfisher. Presumably because they’d been too busy snogging.
All the time they were in the bush, Oliver kept his eyes closed. I know, because occasionally I took a tiny peep. He was so mysterious! I never had the slightest idea what was going on in his head. It was kind of wonderfully intriguing.
When we got back to the farm, Brendan took us through to the office for a minute and settled me down at the PC. I typed in www.blueoceanflats.com and the most wonderful photos appeared: a stunning balcony made of glass and metal with a view down from a cliff-top terrace to a great expanse of coastline.
‘Oh my God!’ I gasped. ‘Can that be it?’ The rooms were all to die for, furnished in fabulous plain white and blue and grey. There were two bedrooms: a double and a twin, both en suite and one with a jacuzzi, plus a state-of-the-art kitchen, a widescreen TV and DVD player, Wi-Fi, the works.
‘I’m well impressed!’ said Brendan, looking over my shoulder. ‘What an amazing flat! I think I’m going to have to come to Newquay too, just to visit you and sit on that balcony!’
‘You can come, of course –’ said Chloe quickly (acting as if she owned the place, even though it was my sister who had found it), ‘but be warned: it might not be a tickle-free zone!’
‘I’ll risk it!’ Brendan looked at her with dancing eyes. This was fantastic. Brendan might actually come down to Newquay with us!
‘What about you?’ I turned to Oliver. ‘Are you coming to Newquay too?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I was going to go with the rugby team, but now … I’m not sure. There’s a bunch of people going from the upper sixth – I might drop in for a few days.’
All afternoon Chloe and I were in the shed, stuffing plastic bags full of salad leaves and herbs and stacking them in boxes. Prozac was helping us, so we couldn’t talk about anything properly (questions such as ‘What were you up to in that hedge?’, for instance, were an impossibility). Despite not speaking much English, Prozac talked non-stop about the cheapest place to buy designer trainers. He was obsessed with ‘karbutzales’. Car boot sales, I realised eventually, not the name of a chic boutique.
At the end of the day, Chloe’s mum arrived to pick us up, because Chloe had a dentist’s appointment in town. We raved non-stop about the fabulous flat in Newquay, and Fran was impressed. They droppe
d me off at home, and I ran straight upstairs. Tam’s room was empty, so I popped into Dad’s study next door.
‘Tam came in and went straight out again,’ he said. ‘She looked very cheery.’
‘I bet she was cheery!’ I grinned. ‘Just look at the flat in Newquay she’s found for us!’ I barged him off the computer chair and got on the Blue Ocean Flats website.
Dad literally gawped at the photos of the divine apartment with its fantastic glass-and-metal terrace perched high above the sea.
‘My God!’ he said. ‘Are you sure you can afford that?’
‘Yeah, yeah, no problem.’ I hustled him away from that particular topic. I didn’t want Dad spoiling it with doleful adult asides about financial matters – although I did have a slight secret twinge of anxiety about whether we could actually afford it – especially since Tam’s not exactly famous for her financial skills.
I was drooling over pictures of the marble-floored bathroom when Mum got home. She was forced to admire the wonderful flat, too.
‘Trust Tam to go for something upmarket,’ she said with a proud sigh. ‘She’ll have to put in a bit of overtime to pay for this kind of thing. How much is it?’
‘Mind your own business!’ I blustered. ‘You needn’t worry! I’m earning too! And so’s Chloe! We’re all contributing!’
‘Of course, darling! I’m very proud of you!’ Mum murmured, but she was already on her way into the bathroom for her post-work shower, so she didn’t go into tremendous detail about how wonderful I was.
A few hours later, I was watching TV when the phone rang. Mum grabbed it. ‘Hello? … Hello, darling!’ She looked at us with rapture. Dad pressed the mute button on the TV remote. ‘It’s Tam!’ Tam doesn’t often ring from the Turk’s Head as it’s usually mayhem all evening. ‘OK, OK, she’s here! She wants a word with you, Zoe!’ She held out the phone. I grabbed it.
‘Hi, Zoe!’ Tam sounded jubilant. ‘Did you see the flat on the website?’
‘Yeah, great, fantastic!’ I enthused. ‘Brilliant! Well done, you, for finding it.’
