by Heidi Rice
Thoughts of Josh reminded her of the conversation they’d had last night when she’d explained in great depth why they mustn’t forget they were only visitors here. Maybe she should be taking her own advice?
Quite apart from her rocky relationship with Art, did she really have the right to suggest something that could be risky and would require a great deal of work when her own business hadn’t exactly been a roaring success and she was only here for the summer?
‘We’ve come to rescue you from the horror of the farm’s accounts.’ Tess pulled out a chair for Ellie and patted the seat. ‘Now sit down and take a load off. What do you need? Coffee? Tea? Gin? Whisky? Crystal meth?’
‘Coffee would be fab, if it’s not too much trouble,’ Ellie said. The nerves tap danced along her oesophagus as Annie concentrated on chopping off a slab of lemon drizzle. And Tess began ladling coffee into the cafetière.
Was it her imagination, or was no one making eye contact with her?
‘I’ll have one too, Tess,’ Dee remarked as she sat down beside Ellie.
‘Your mum says you’ve been hard at work on the accounts all weekend.’ Annie nudged the loaded plate across the table. ‘So either you’re a masochist or it’s even worse than we thought.’
The bold statement delivered in Annie’s no-nonsense accent and the concern on all three of their faces made two things clear.
The coffee and cake invitation hadn’t been as spontaneous as it appeared. And the farm’s dodgy financial situation was not going to be news to any of them.
This was an intervention pure and simple.
The good news was it was an intervention that was long overdue and that Ellie could wholeheartedly support, except…
She took a generous bite of lemon drizzle and let the rich, tart taste melt in her mouth, the nerves starting to jitterbug in her stomach as if they were in the final round of Dancing with the Stars.
Whatever her past issues with Dee, the opinion of all three of these women, their friendship and respect, had come to mean something to her, and she didn’t want to muck that up.
She sipped the coffee Tess placed in front of her, and swallowed the cake. Surely there was no harm in at least telling them the whole truth about the farm’s finances?
‘From what I’ve seen so far, your financial situation isn’t good,’ she said. ‘Certainly not if you want to keep the business viable for the foreseeable future. Or even the next twelve months, frankly.’
Tess sighed, Annie swore and Dee looked devastated. And it was that crestfallen look that had all Ellie’s caution jumping up and darting right out the window into the bright summer day.
Sod it, Dee was her mum. And she’d welcomed her and Josh here when they’d needed a place to stay. This suggestion didn’t have to have anything to do with Art. She was over-complicating things.
‘But I found something that might provide a solution,’ she heard herself saying. Pam’s idea was a good one, she’d laid the groundwork for something that could save this place. And however inappropriate it might be for Ellie to be making this suggestion, it was entirely up to them what they did with it. ‘Or at the very least is worth considering.’
Dee’s head came up. ‘What is it?’
‘We’re all ears,’ Tess chipped in.
Here goes nothing.
Ellie watched their faces, and took an unsteady breath, her stomach having jitterbugged right into her throat. ‘How do you feel about opening a farm shop and café on the premises?’
PART TWO: RELIGHT MY FIRE
THEN
Eloise Charlotte Preston’s Diary: Anyone who reads this will die a horrible death in total agony (worse than Jack’s in Titanic. MUCH worse).
1 July 1998
Two absolutely shocking things happened today and I don’t even know which is the most shocking.
FIRST BIG SHOCK OF THE DAY: I saw my mum and Pam kissing in the kitchen. Not a friendly peck but real snogging. Like Pam was trying to explore my mum’s tonsils. I mean, yuk! Who wants to see their mum kissing anyone? I wouldn’t even want to see her kissing Dad. What if my mum is in love with Pam? Is she really going to divorce Dad? She wasn’t just saying that! We may never go back to London. We’ve been here three weeks now and I’ve lost all hope. I’m going to have to write my dad and ask him to come get me.
I’ll have to do it tomorrow, though, because seeing Mum kissing Pam wasn’t the only shock of the day and after this shock I totally forgot to write to my dad.
SECOND BIG SHOCK OF THE DAY: I saw Art TOTALLY NAKED. I was hiding out in the old mill house after seeing Mum and Pam, when I spied him swimming in the millpond all by himself. I wanted to call out to him – it was hot and I wanted to go swimming too – but I didn’t call out in the end because I knew he’d just be nasty to me like he always is when I try to talk to him or join in with stuff. Plus, I’d been crying, so he’d probably call me Princess Drama again.
So I kept quiet and watched him swimming instead, and when he came out of the water, he had no swimming trunks on. He didn’t even have his underpants!!! And I could see EVERYTHING. His bum (very white compared to the rest of him) and all the places he’s got hair and even his you-know-what.
He has a huge scar on his stomach, which actually made me feel a bit sad for him. How the fudge-sicle did he get that? Did someone try to kill him? I know he’s super annoying but he’s not THAT annoying! I willed him not to put his clothes on because I wanted to go on looking and – guess what – he didn’t. He smoked a cigarette first, like that’s perfectly normal to do when you’re stark naked (as if!) and then he laid down in the grass and started to stroke his whatsit.
No really, he did!
He got all red in the face and started moaning and groaning and he was going for it so much I thought he might chafe himself. I almost laughed at first, because it did look pretty silly, but the laugh got stuck somewhere. And I got hot all over instead.
If Art had caught me watching, he would DEFINITELY have killed me. But that only made it more exciting.
Tomorrow I’m going back to the millpond and see if I can catch him doing it again. It totally took my mind off Mum and Pam – and the thought of having to be here for ever.
Even though Art’s not Leonardo DiCaprio (because Leonardo DiCaprio would never be so mean to me), he’s still almost as good-looking as him. And, let’s face it, I’m never going to get to see Leo naked or jacking off, especially if I get stuck in Wiltshire for the rest of my life.
But here’s the really cool thing: this evening when Art called me Princess Drama, I just thought about that big scar on his tummy and how he has a white bum and how he moans when he’s jacking off, and it totally didn’t bother me. In fact, I couldn’t help smiling. He looked really surprised, and then he shut up.
And, you know what, I don’t even care if he calls me Princess Drama again. Because Art just isn’t that scary any more.
NOW
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I still can’t believe they said yes.
Ellie stacked the pages that had finished spewing out of the co-op’s ageing printer, then stapled them into batches. She paused, aware her fingers were trembling, the memory of Tess, Annie and Dee’s enthusiastic support four days ago for her farm shop and café suggestion still a bit unnerving.
Of course, it had been a qualified yes. A yes that the four of them at the Lemon Drizzle Summit had decided to keep secret from the rest of the co-op, even Annie and Tess’s husbands, until Ellie could work out a coherent business plan.
The business plan that she was supposed to be presenting to everyone in approximately two minutes. No wonder her fingers were trembling.
Over the past week, she’d got stuck into her role as the new admin manager while also spending the last four days creating that business plan, which had meant contacting the Council Planning Department, looking at the financial projections in more detail, checking out investment possibilities and doing about a billion and one spreadsheets.
On top of that she had also taken it upon herself to finish correlating, alphabetising and reorganising all the paperwork, and worked out a system for filing the VAT and tax returns online.
The work had exhausted her, requiring ten-hour work days which had included some important field trips with Tess, a couple of meetings with their gang of four to hash out tonight’s presentation, a trip to the local bank to schmooze the manager and hours spent bent over the new laptop she’d bought to replace the ageing computer Art had inherited from Pam. She’d even taken it to bed with her last night so that she would be fully prepared for tonight’s meeting.
But now it was show time, and the storm of anxiety in the pit of her stomach from four days ago, when she had first suggested this idea to Dee, Tess and Annie, had become a Force Ten gale.
It shouldn’t be this important to her, that she – or rather they – got the vote of confidence they needed to go ahead with the shop. She stuck the printouts under her arm and headed out of the office.
It wasn’t that important. She was blowing this out of proportion. She had nothing to prove to her mother, or anyone else. This was just an idea. And it wasn’t even her idea, it had been Pam’s idea originally. If everyone else decided it was rubbish, it would be absolutely fine. And if they went for it, she could hardly take the credit.
The smell of freshly made coffee wafted around her as she walked down the corridor and through the kitchen door. Everyone sat round the table, chatting amiably, and she was struck anew by how much the place had changed from nineteen years ago. But then she’d changed too. The thought strengthened her resolve, as her mother and Tess and Annie threw her reassuring smiles from the head of the table.
Everyone gave her warm greetings, even the sleepy Melody sitting in her father’s lap with her thumb tucked in her mouth.
Everyone accept Art, who stood apart, propping up the sink, his hands wrapped round a mug of her mother’s coffee.
She shook off the trickle of apprehension. This wasn’t personal. And she needed to stop making it so. But, even so, her gaze lingered on him.
In a V-neck T-shirt that offered a tantalising glimpse of dark springy curls, and faded jeans that moulded to his long legs, his freshly showered hair slicked back from his forehead, he looked clean and probably smelled delicious. The memory of his scent, infused with hints of man musk and motor oil and the industrial cleaner he used to wash it off, spiced the air even though she was too far away to smell it.
Their eyes connected, and awareness skittered over her skin.
She ran her tongue over dry lips, recalling their meeting in the corridor outside her room the previous evening, while he was padding back from the bathroom, a towel hooked round his hips, his legs and feet and chest bare. Moisture had collected on the dark curls to drip through his six-pack. He had grunted a greeting and carried on walking, giving her the opportunity to follow his retreating arse down the corridor. His flexing glutes barely concealed by the towel.
She hadn’t slept very well last night.
He blew over the steaming coffee, never losing eye contact, and she felt the phantom gush of breath whisper over the skin of her cleavage.
Her mother bustled past, cutting off her line of vision. Ellie straightened, jerked out of her trance.
Get a clue, Princess Drama.
She had a meeting to chair. An important meeting. And entering into a fugue state over the memory of Art’s V was inappropriate. Not to mention distracting.
‘Everyone’s here.’ Her mother handed her a cup of coffee.
Ellie concentrated on adding a dollop of cream. She took a sip and placed the mug on the table, dispelling thoughts of Art and her inappropriate scent fantasies. She handed the stack of printouts to Annie to pass round.
Art glanced at his copy, before stuffing it into his back pocket.
Her heart did a somersault.
He’s dyslexic. It’s a fairly common learning disability. Get over it.
She cleared her throat. ‘Hi, everyone, thanks so much for coming tonight to the meeting me and my mum, and Tess and Annie have called.’ She launched into the introduction the four of them had prepared. ‘Hopefully this won’t take too long, but Tess, Annie, Dee and I have been working on something.’ She paused. ‘An idea, a fairly radical idea, but we think an exciting one, that we wanted to present to you guys.’
‘You can keep us as long as you like, if Dee’s walnut dream cake is involved,’ Rob Jackson, Annie’s husband, announced while cutting himself a slice of cake almost as large as the head of his toddler son Freddie who was squirming on his lap. Freddie reached out to sink his fingers into the frosting.
Ellie coughed out a laugh. But it sounded trite and forced.
What was she actually doing here? Her CSUB certificate said she had five years’ event-planning experience and knew how to get good flow round the food and beverages area during a non-profit fund-raiser. It did not mean that she could save this business, especially as her own business had already collapsed into a quagmire – not unlike the chemical potties she’d hired for the Orchard Harbor Jazz-ateers’ centenary festival last year.
She gripped the sheet of paper, feeling as if she had a spotlight shining on all her misplaced hubris and imperfections.
She took a steadying breath and talked herself out of the pit in her head. That jazz festival had been an event for three hundred people, and she’d managed to find replacement toilets at the last minute so none of the Jazz-ateers had been forced to crap al fresco in the driving rain.
The failure of her business hadn’t been her fault. And she had every intention of trying to resurrect it, in some form or another, when she returned to the US and the scandal of her impending divorce and Chelsea Hamilton’s baby bump died down. She could do this. She could present a well-intentioned business initiative to the families living on this fledgling housing co-op. Whether they chose to follow through on it would then be out of her hands.
‘Do you want to tell everyone Pammy’s idea?’ Her mother’s suggestion cut through the fog of insecurities. Ellie looked up from the sheet grasped in her hands to find eight pairs of eyes focused on her. Everyone except Freddie Jackson, who was bouncing up and down on his dad’s lap as if he’d just swallowed a pound of crack cocaine instead of a fistful of coffee frosting.
Only one pair of eyes held her gaze though, searing right through her composure to the washed-up event planner beneath.
‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced at the first bullet point on her notes.
Ignore Art, he can’t intimidate you any more.
‘Basically, we called this meeting because after having looked closely at the project’s accounts, I think the co-op needs to think about investigating new avenues for profit growth to create a sustainable future.’
‘The project’s purpose is to create a sustainable living for everyone here. We’re not trying to make ourselves rich.’ Art’s terse tone sliced right through Ellie’s composure.
Her bouncing stomach went into a tailspin.
She’d expected debate and discussion, and possibly some probing questions about what qualified her to make suggestions about the project’s future when she wasn’t a resident. What she hadn’t expected – or been prepared for – was to have the plan dismissed before she’d even presented it.
Suddenly all she could hear was the fake concern in Caroline Myerson’s voice as her final client sacked her, because having an event planner in the midst of an acrimonious divorce hadn’t been the sort of vibe Caroline had wanted for her thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration.
‘I’m not talking about getting rich,’ Ellie managed, clinging to her composure before her confidence crumbled completely. ‘I’m talking about establishing more of a financial cushion. At the moment you’re skirting the edge of financial ruin every time you need to buy a new piece of farm equipment or…’
‘That sounds serious,’ Jacob said, bouncing the other Jackson twin on his knee. ‘Are we about to go bankrupt?’
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br /> Art jerked away from the sink, the indolent pose history. ‘That’s bullshit. We’ve been in profit for the last two years.’
By a few hundred pounds.
Ellie swallowed down the retort with a gulp of coffee. Her purpose had never been to scare anyone.
Relax, rewind, re-engage.
She repeated the mantra that had seen her through the early days in Orchard Harbor, when she’d been touting for business and getting knocked back at every turn. If she could schmooze the ladies who lunched, she could schmooze the good people of Willow Tree Farm.
‘I didn’t say you’re about to go bankrupt,’ Ellie qualified, Art’s glare making her agonisingly self-conscious. Why was he being so combative? Even with his literacy issues, he must know the project was one broken boiler or Inland Revenue audit away from serious problems. ‘Your finances aren’t on a solid enough footing. You need more revenue to increase your available operating capital, not just to insulate yourselves against emergencies but also to make up for the shortfall in your income during the winter months.’
‘And Ellie’s discovered that Pam had a brilliant idea five years ago, which never got actioned…’ Tess sent Dee a consoling smile ‘…because of her illness, but which might be able to save all our bacons.’
‘Brilliant ideas are always welcome here,’ her husband Mike chimed in, his enthusiasm in marked contrast to Art’s antipathy.
At least someone was willing to listen without prejudice.
Ellie glanced back at her hit sheet, memorising the bullet points until her fingers had stopped trembling and her stomach didn’t feel as if it were about to plummet to the stone floor.
‘OK,’ Ellie began again. ‘Before I outline Pam’s idea, I want to give you an overview of why it could work.’ She kept her voice steady. Sounding confident was as important as being confident. ‘Basically, by far your most profitable venture is the products and produce you sell at the community markets in the region. I worked with Tess on the stall the Sunday before last and it was obvious you have a lot of regular customers in Salisbury alone. In contrast, revenue from orders for the dairy products and organic produce straight from the farm are much harder to come by because of the competition from the big supermarkets.’
