by Anna Bell
I’m not too sure why that bothers me so much. I guess I got the impression that he was a bit of a hermit, and I was somehow special for getting him to write me notes. Knowing that he’s some kind of ladies’ man makes me feel a bit ordinary.
‘She’s got two kids who go to the same school as June’s grandchildren. But, apparently, she keeps herself to herself.’
Gerry tuts and for once I’m with her, wishing they had more gossip about her.
The bell over the shop goes and a young woman dressed in tight, bright Lycra walks in.
‘All right,’ she says nodding over as she heads straight for the shelves.
‘All right, Trish,’ calls Gerry. ‘Give us a shout if you need any help.’
‘Will do,’ calls the voice.
I’m desperate to press them for more information about Jack, but the two ladies appear to be keeping schtum.
‘Oh my God, are these aubergines, in May?’ we hear Trish shout.
‘Oh,’ says Liz, clapping her hands over her mouth before releasing them and giving me a big smile. ‘I almost forgot.’
She walks round the counter and leads me to the fresh produce aisle. ‘Look, aubergines.’
She passes one to me and pats it in my hand. I’m not entirely sure what to do.
‘Um,’ I say, stammering for words.
‘It’s an aubergine. We don’t usually stock out of season veg, but we got them in specially for you. Not that I read your postcard, but the words jumped out and it seemed as if you were really missing them. I imagine in London you eat them all the time.’
It’s been a long time since I’ve had an aubergine, real or what the Emoji represents.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I say, nodding encouragingly. I pick up another and smile at her.
Trish takes a couple too, and Liz is practically beaming.
‘Told you they’d sell,’ she says to Gerry as she walks back round the counter.
‘Just these, is it, love?’ asks Gerry, obviously not impressed with the new stock.
‘Just those,’ I say sadly, wishing I could ask for the gossip on Jack too.
‘Have you met Trish?’ asks Liz as she approaches with her aubergines and bread.
‘No, I haven’t. Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Rosie and this is my sister, Daisy.’
‘Ah, you’ve moved into Upper Gables, with Alexis. You lucky ladies.’
Is there anyone in the village he hasn’t met and charmed?
‘Trish here teaches yoga,’ says Liz gently nodding.
‘I certainly do, at the village hall. Got morning and evening classes. I do personal training too.’
‘Oh great,’ says Rosie, ‘we should definitely look into the yoga – see, Daisy, we were talking about doing yoga on our detox.’
‘Detox?’ says Trish, raising an eyebrow.
Liz is looking as though her eyes are going to pop out of her head, and I don’t want Rosie to explain our digital detox; it’d be around the village before we knew it.
‘Uh-huh, but yes, yoga sounds great. Look, we’d better get to the pub as I’m about to eat those crumpets untoasted.’
Rosie winces at the thought.
‘Righto, nice to meet you, Trish. See you again, Liz, Gerry.’
As I’m leaving, I raid the leaflet holder, which is rammed full of other accommodation and local attractions, hoping that it will be good market research. Not that I can face looking at any of it in my hungover state.
We cross the road towards the pub, my mind whirring with thoughts of Jack and his lady friends. If only I had access to Facebook, I could have friend requested him and then stalked through his life for the last few years and seen his relationship history.
‘You OK?’ asks Rosie. ‘You’ve gone really pale.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing that a pint of coke and a read of these magazines won’t fix.’
I’m lying, as right now I’m pining for my old life. I can’t bear the thought that there’s information out there about a person and that I can’t get to it. I’ve got a digital itch to scratch and a magazine and a newspaper just won’t cut it.
Chapter Eighteen
Time since last Internet usage: 5 days, 23 hours, 17 minutes and 15 seconds
‘You can just drop me here,’ I say to Rosie as we pull into the driveway to our farm.
‘Here? Are you sure you want to walk along the drive? It’s no bother really.’
‘No, it’s fine. You might as well go straight off to the builders’ merchant. I’m feeling queasy after that big breakfast anyway a walk might do me good.’
I hop out of the car quickly so that she can’t read the expression on my face. I’m such a hopeless liar.
‘OK, then, I’ll see you later on. Don’t be out for too long,’ she says pointing out towards the village. ‘That black cloud doesn’t look good.’
‘No,’ I say shuddering. ‘It doesn’t.’
I wave her off as she turns out of the drive and heads in the other direction from Lullamby. I wait until her car disappears out of sight and I turn on my heels and head up towards Rodney’s farm. I cross the road and start walking quickly, or as quickly as I can on the uneven ground, up towards his house.
I knew it was perched halfway up a hill, and it looked steep, but I feel as if I’m scaling a mountain. Perhaps it’s just last night’s dancing to S Club 7, but my calves are burning. It seems I’m in desperate need of one of Trish’s yoga classes after all.
By the time I make it to Rodney’s front door, I’m huffing and puffing like I’ve scaled Mount Everest and I’m in need of supplementary oxygen.
There’s no doorbell, but it doesn’t matter as I can hear his sheepdog barking at full volume from inside.
‘That’s enough from you,’ I hear him shout and the dog instantly quietens.
The old wooden door opens and Rodney, who’s got a little bit of bread crust in his beard, is standing before me. His scowl instantly lifts as he sees it’s me.
‘Ah, the young lady of the Gables.’
‘Daisy,’ I say, realising that I hadn’t introduced myself properly. ‘You said that if I needed to use the Internet, I could come . . .’ I say peering into the dimly lit cottage and, for the first time, considering what I’m about to do. I’m about to go into a dark cottage with a slightly pervy farmer and no one knows I’m here. Hmm. The rational side of my brain that went on a personal-safety training day is trying to tell me that this is a bad idea, but the risk-taking side of my brain is telling me that I’m thirty feet away from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, my email . . . And besides, he’s not giving out any creepy vibes in the slightest.
‘Come on in,’ he says, holding his arm out in invitation.
I practically leap into his house.
‘So, Daisy,’ he says, walking around the kitchen, opening cupboards and shutting them again. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
I don’t know why I assumed that, as a farmer who lives on his own, his farmhouse would be a mess, maybe it’s because ours is in such a state, but his is ridiculously tidy and not at all what I was expecting.
Finally, he finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a china teacup. He blows on it and a spray of dust fills the air. I think he catches my reaction, and he hurries over to the sink to wash it.
I don’t really want a cup of tea, I want to check my emails and Twitter, but I’m guessing that he doesn’t get many visitors and it would be rude of me to say no.
‘Thanks – milk, no sugar.’
‘Right you are. Take a seat,’ he says, pointing at the sofa in the corner of the kitchen that I’m sure was once red, but it’s now hard to tell with the assortment of black and white dog hairs that cover it.
I get nearer and his sheepdog, who’s already sitting on one side of it, is looking at me as if I’m trespassing.
I hover awkwardly before Rodney spots what’s up. ‘Down, Shep,’ he says, and the dog jumps off immediately.
As Rodney turns to make the tea, I s
ee Shep give me a scowl before he curls up in front of the Aga.
I look around the kitchen and I realise how homely it is. The Aga’s throwing out a welcome amount of heat as, even though it’s May, without the sun there’s a real chill to the air. The sofa in the kitchen is a nice touch, as I imagine in winter, if you’re out in the fields all day, coming to sit here after lunch or in the evening would be nice and cosy.
‘There you are,’ says Rodney, placing my china cup, which looks like something my nan would have owned, on a small table to the left of me, before he joins me on the sofa. A little too close for my liking.
‘So, Daisy, are you and your sister going to be living at the farm? We could do with some more young ladies around here, we could.’
‘Um, actually we’re only here for a few weeks to do it up. It’s going to be a holiday let,’ I say a little guiltily, bracing myself for the reaction and tirade that Jack gave me when I told him our plans.
‘Ah, right,’ he says a little sadly. ‘That’s all people want to do with the farms these days. Too hard being a farmer. Not that you’ve got much land at yours anyway. The Johnsons took most of it over after Ned went into hospital the first time.’
It hadn’t occurred to me that Rosie has a whopping great barn and farmhouse but only one smallish field. It makes sense that the land was sold.
I pick up my cup of tea and I try to blow on it to cool it down. The quicker I drink it, the quicker I might be able to go on the Internet. I can feel my palms getting clammy and my head feeling dizzy at the thought that any second now I’m going to be logging on. All those messages! Hopefully, the Twittersphere will have forgotten about #priceless. I can’t wait to see what I’ve missed.
‘But still,’ he says, a twinkle in his eye, ‘you’re here for a few weeks. We can still make the most of that now, can’t we?’
He edges slightly closer to me on the sofa and it makes my teacup clatter on the saucer.
‘Oh, um,’ I say, not entirely sure what to do.
I’m not certain how old Rodney is; his skin’s got that weathered look to it, and with the beard and greyish tint, it’s hard to age him. He could be anywhere from early fifties to mid-sixties. Either way, he’s out of my maximum Tinder age bracket for sure.
I try and ignore his shuffle and drink my tea, not only scalding my mouth but gagging at the fact that the milk is a little bit sour. The big greasy fry-up didn’t settle my stomach enough from the hangover to drink it.
I set the tea on the sideboard instead.
‘Where is it you’re from, then? I’m guessing you and your sister are from some city, judging by your shoes.’
I look at my New Balance gym trainers, which are caked in a thick layer of crusty mud.
‘That’s right. We come from Fleet, in Hampshire, but I live in London now and Rosie lives in Manchester.’
Rodney looks pleased that he guessed.
‘And what do you think of our neck of the woods?’
‘It’s pretty,’ I say, thinking that I really want to log on now. I can hear the pings of Facebook and the dings of my email calling to me.
‘I could never leave this place. Been here all my life. The farm’s been in the family for generations. Although that’ll stop when I’m gone, you know. Unless I find another wife and have some little ones.’
I’m trying not to look him in the eye, as I get the impression he’s looking at me expectantly, as if I’m the one who’s going to provide him with an heir.
‘Um, so is it OK if I check my emails?’ I ask, glancing around for a computer as a lifeline.
‘Oh yes, your emails,’ he says nodding and smiling as if I’ve told a joke.
I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea. It’s funny, as I don’t feel in danger with amorous Rodney, but I do feel as if he’s got the wrong end of the stick.
‘Um, yes,’ I say standing up. I plant myself over near the dog and the Aga, which is so lovely and warm. ‘Is your computer in the lounge?’
I look over at the nearby door.
‘You don’t have to be coy with me,’ he says sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees, a lovesick look on his face. ‘I know you city girls are a bit more forward. I watch Made in Chelsea. You don’t need to pretend, I know you can read your mail on your phone. You came round here to get to know me better. It’s the George Clooney-older-man thing, is it?’
Uh-oh. This is not going to plan. All I wanted was to see what I was missing out on on Twitter and now I’m in danger of guest appearing on Farmer Wants a Wife.
‘I was hoping we’d get to know each other a bit more. It’s been a long time since I entertained a woman here, and I might be a bit rusty, but –’
Before I can say anything, Shep the dog begins to bark loudly at the door.
‘That’s enough,’ says Rodney as he walks over and opens it.
There, standing on the other side, are Jack and Buster. I sigh with relief as I watch Shep and Buster have a little sniff of each other’s bottoms before they settle side by side at the Aga as if they do this all the time.
‘Ah, Jack, cup of tea?’ says Rodney. ‘Kettle’s on, just made a cup for Daisy here.’ He points at me hovering awkwardly by the dogs.
‘Actually, I’m fine thanks, mate. It’s Daisy I came for. Rosie asked me if I’d come and get her to sort out a problem with one of the contractors.’
I look at him and he gives me a look to suggest I should play along.
‘Oh right, yeah. Thanks for the tea, Rodney,’ I say, heading towards the door as quickly as I can.
He looks a little crestfallen that I’m going. ‘Do you have to go? You could use the phone from here,’ he says a little hopefully.
‘We don’t have a phone at our end yet. But thank you again for the tea.’
‘You’ll have to come back and use that Internet another day.’
I wince as he winks at me. Jack gives me a look as it dawns on him why I’m actually here. We say our goodbyes and Rodney shuts the door behind us.
‘How did you know where I was?’
‘I was on my way to the village and I saw you walking up. Your red hoodie’s a bit like a neon signpost.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased – aren’t you supposed to be visible when you’re hiking?’
‘Well, it certainly did you some favours today.’
Jack climbs on the quad bike and he passes me a spare helmet.
‘You don’t expect me to go on that, do you?’
I look down at the incline of the hill and think I’d rather take my chances sliding all the way down on my bum.
‘I can leave you here with Rodney, if you like?’
I turn my head back and see that Rodney is waving out of the window at me, and I wave back quickly, before slipping onto the back of the quad.
‘You have to be a bit more careful, Daisy. You could have been stuck there all day if I hadn’t come along. Don’t get me wrong, Rodney’s a lovely man and he wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he could talk the hind legs off a donkey.’
‘Yeah, I get that now,’ I say sheepishly.
‘And not to mention, what would Rosie think? You checking your emails . . .’
‘You won’t tell her, will you? It’s not like I actually got to check them.’
‘Probably a good job too as I think Rodney keeps his computer in his bedroom.’
‘Why is his computer in his . . . I don’t want to know,’ I say realising that my visit could have got a whole lot more awkward. I’m actually glad that he was chivalrous enough to want to chat before he took me upstairs to see his computer.
‘Right, hold on,’ says Jack as he starts the engine.
‘To what?’ I shout, but it’s too late, he’s off. I grab on to his waist for dear life.
I close my eyes and scream all the way down the hill, which is so steep that it’s like I’m lying on top of Jack. I really wish I hadn’t eaten that big breakfast as I bet I’m going to squash him. Before long, we even out and
we’re back on our bumpy drive, and I try to wriggle myself away from being so close to Jack. He pulls up into our courtyard and I take it as my cue to get off.
‘Um, thanks,’ I say, almost shouting, as Jack cuts the engine. ‘I guess I didn’t think that through very well.’
I watch Buster as he sniffs his way around the courtyard, probably on the trail of more pigeons.
‘As I said, Rodney’s harmless, but everyone knows not to visit. Well, not unless you’ve got nothing better to do with your day. He’s just a bit lonely.’
‘Is that why you go up?’
‘Yeah, I try to go once a week. You know, ever since I arrived in the village he’s taken me under his wing. Telling me the best place to get things, checking on me when I’ve been climbing, translating the local dialect. He couldn’t have done more for me.’
I feel bad that I went up there with such selfish intentions. I’d only thought about what I could get out of the trip, not what it would have meant to him.
‘I’ve got to go to the village, so I’ll see you.’
‘Thanks, Jack.’
‘Did you want me to pick you up some sugar – you know, so you don’t run out and have to ask a neighbour?’ he says, giving me a slight wink.
I feel my cheeks flushing as I try to block out what little I can remember of the note I left him.
‘No, I’m quite fine, thank you. We’ve got plenty.’
I give him a quick wave and I turn to walk away as I hear the sound of his chuckle over the engine noise.
How embarrassing.
I walk over to the house and open the door, the coldness of the kitchen hitting me immediately. What this room needs is a warming Aga like Rodney’s. Perhaps it wasn’t a wasted visit after all.
I pull the leaflets I picked up from the shop out of my bag and pop them on top of the mountain of paperwork on the table, ready for me to peruse at a later date. I’m just thinking I’ll make a cup of tea when I hear a car pull up. I know instantly that it doesn’t have the right roar to be Rosie’s Land Rover and my jaw drops in shock as I turn and see who’s stepping out of a shiny Audi.
