by Katie Fforde
‘I think it’s cruel to keep old people alive beyond their natural lifetimes,’ said Roy. ‘We put down animals when they’re in that state.’
‘Amy is not “alive beyond her natural lifetime”,’ said Fran firmly. ‘She could live for many more years yet.’
‘Yeah, but in what state?’ said Roy. ‘She’s already losing her marbles. We don’t want a mad old biddy in an expensive care home.’
‘Roy? Could we just go home? Nice to see you, Megan.’
Unfortunately Roy didn’t pick up his clue to drive off.
‘Have you seen much of Antony lately?’ Megan asked, still leaning through Roy’s window.
‘Seeing him? She only spent the night with him. Dunno if the old lady would like to come and find out her beloved cousin is “sleeping with the enemy”.’ He waggled his fingers to indicate inverted commas as he spoke.
Fran wanted to groan but managed to keep it internal. ‘Oh, Roy! Can you stop harping on? I want to get home. I’m sure Megan will save you a seat at the pub.’
Megan, who’d been doing a fairly good impression of a friendly person, suddenly tightened her mouth. ‘Is this true?’
‘I’m not answerable to you, or to anyone. My business is my business,’ said Fran, exasperated.
‘I think Roy’s entitled to know,’ said Megan. ‘It’s not a secret, is it? Oh yes, I remember – it is a secret! Amy would never leave you the farm if she knew about it, would she?’
Fran wanted to get out of the car and stomp off but she wanted to get home even more. Just then her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Antony. ‘Hi,’ she said, before he could speak. ‘Yes, I’d love a lift home, thanks.’
She opened the car door. ‘As you would obviously rather spend time talking to Megan I’ve made other arrangements. And please don’t come home drunk again.’
‘Hello, darling,’ Antony said quietly, and kissed her.
It was the slightest, most harmless kiss, but it conjured up all sorts of blissful memories and stirrings from the night before. It took a lot of throat-clearing and shoulder-straightening before she said, ‘Hello back.’
He set off. They didn’t speak for a while and Fran realised how much she loved watching Antony drive. She loved seeing his well-shaped hands on the wheel.
‘What’s been going on?’ he asked.
‘Well, I was going to get a lift with Roy but then we met Megan. Apparently they are now “bessie mates”, although I can’t quite think how. They can’t have much in common.’
‘I think you’re overlooking one thing they very much have in common.’
‘What’s that?’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘They both want something you have, or might have.’ He looked embarrassed.
‘You mean Megan’s so jealous of me and you that she’s prepared to chum up with someone like Roy to get back at me?’
‘Exactly.’
‘God!’
‘This sounds awful, but she’s had her eye on me for some time now. I’m sure not for me but for my money. You’re standing in the way of what she wants – me – and what Roy wants – the farm. That could make for a very binding partnership.’
‘But no one knows if I’m going to get the farm.’
‘True, but you have got me.’
Fran allowed herself to sigh blissfully. ‘And Roy wants the farm. From Megan’s point of view there’d be satisfaction if she could stop me getting the farm as well.’
Chapter Twenty-One
A week after Fran and Roy had been called to her bedside, Amy was back at the care home. Fran had taken it on herself to make sure she had small, tempting morsels of food to keep her appetite from flagging. She was preparing to visit Amy now and Issi was making them a cup of coffee, having just given Fran an update on the latest calf to be born – a fine heifer with lovely markings.
‘You’re so good with the cows, Issi. I do admire you.’ Fran put some little frangipane tarts into a plastic bag and tucked it into the box. There was another bag with finger sandwiches and yet another with some bite-sized pasties.
Fran knew Amy would never eat it all but she wanted to offer her a choice, and it made her feel positive, thinking of things Amy might like to eat.
The doctors had warned Fran and Roy that Amy would never get back to being quite as well as she had been before her infection. Fran found this desperately sad. Roy seemed to think that the dangling carrot of his inheritance had just got a bit nearer.
‘Obviously I wouldn’t have got so involved with the cows if I didn’t have feelings for Tig,’ said Issi. ‘But now I’m interested because I really like them. Who knew there was a dairy farmer in me, struggling to get out?’
‘I wish I was a bit more like a dairy farmer. I like what cows produce – very much – but as for looking after them? I am still a bit afraid of them.’
Issi put a mug of coffee on the table for Fran. ‘It doesn’t matter though. You’ve got Tig to look after them for you.’
‘I know. I’m very lucky. Amy was very lucky.’ Fran snapped the lid on the box of tiny comestibles. ‘Although I do wish he’d told me he staggered the calving so we always had milk and didn’t let all the cows go dry at the same time. I wouldn’t have worried so much about what I’d do when there was no milk.’
‘He’s not a great talker,’ said Issi.
Fran noticed she didn’t seem unhappy with this state of affairs. Usually Fran would have made some vulgar reference to his other skills but today she didn’t have the heart for it. Antony was abroad and Roy kept making snide remarks about him being an International Man of Mystery, implying what he did was somehow immoral if not actually illegal. She knew that he was dripping this same poison into Amy’s ears, too.
Amy was fairly bright when Fran arrived at her room. She was up and dressed and sitting in the chair for the first time since her illness. She was obviously peckish, too.
‘What have you brought me?’ she said, putting on her glasses.
Fran took the top off the box. ‘Sandwiches, baby pasties and some frangipane tarts.’
‘Very nice. Give me a pasty. Let’s see how good your pastry is.’
As Fran knew her pastry was excellent she handed one over with confidence.
‘Mm, very tasty.’ But Amy put the pasty down half eaten. ‘I’ll try a sandwich now. What’s in them?’
‘Egg and cress.’
‘What I would like to try’, said Amy, when half a finger sandwich had been consumed, ‘is some of the cheese you make, which is apparently so wonderful.’
‘Oh, Amy, I can’t give you soft, unpasteurised cheese! I’d be had for trying to murder you. You said so yourself!’
‘What do you mean? What nonsense!’
‘Seriously. Elderly people shouldn’t have unpasteurised milk, or the products of it, you know that.’ Amy had clearly forgotten accusing Fran of trying to poison her with her cheese. Then Fran had a thought and pursed her lips. ‘However, a hard cheese might be OK. If you told me where the quarry was, for us to age the cheese in, you could taste for yourself how wonderful it is.’
‘I know how wonderful the milk is. I drank it for sixty-odd years. And I don’t think young people should be just handed things on a plate.’
As Fran had just handed Amy a plate with a frangipane tart on it, she couldn’t help laughing. ‘But it’s different for old people?’
But Amy shook her head. ‘You don’t get out on the farm enough, my girl. You’d find the quarry for yourself soon enough if you did.’
‘Roy hasn’t found it either,’ said Fran, resentment finding its way through her fondness for Amy.
‘Then he’s not going out enough.’
‘But Roy—’
Before Fran could expound, there was a noise. It was Roy. ‘What’s that about me?’
‘Nothing!’ Fran felt childish and undignified. It was time to go. She got up.
Roy instantly took her seat and scooped up about three sandwiches. ‘These are nice.’
‘They were for Amy! For her to have later,’ said Fran.
‘They’ll be stale later,’ said Amy.
It was all Fran could do to stop herself sticking her lower lip out and stamping her foot.
‘I’ve brought you some of that lemon water you like,’ said Roy, putting a bottle on the table.
‘Oh, Roy! You are kind,’ said Amy, obviously delighted.
‘I didn’t know you liked that,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve just been bringing you water from the farm.’
Roy, looking extremely smug, ate a pasty in one bite. ‘You should make a bit more effort to find out what Great-Aunt Amy wants,’ he said.
Fran felt pushed out and insecure. Did Amy really want to be called Great-Aunt? Had she been misreading the signs about what Amy needed? She was trying so hard to get it right, to please Amy, to make her happy, and yet Roy seemed to manage this without really lifting a finger.
‘I’d better go. Is there anything you need for next time, Amy?’ she said.
‘Roy will look after me,’ said Amy.
Fran felt cut to the quick. Amy could starve to death as far as Roy was concerned. She struggled to sound nonchalant. ‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
As she walked out of the care home she felt desperately hurt. And she missed Antony terribly.
Issi and Tig were at home, drinking tea by the fire. Fran flopped on to the sofa.
‘What’s up?’ said Issi. ‘Hang on, don’t tell me, I’ll make you some tea first. Unless you’d prefer wine?’
Fran glanced at her watch. ‘Wine, please.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ said Tig. ‘Unless you’d rather I went home?’
‘No!’ said Fran. She sighed. ‘Roy came while I was with Amy. Amy seems completely besotted with him. I wouldn’t mind, really I wouldn’t, not inheriting Hill Top. But Roy only cares about Amy because he wants the farm.’
Tig came back into the room with a bottle of red wine and some glasses. When Fran was settled with one they sat in silence for a while.
‘I try so hard to improve her life but no matter what I do, there’s always something Roy can do that’s better.’
‘What she would really like, I think,’ said Tig, ‘would be to see the farm again. Don’t suppose Roy could make that happen.’
‘But could I?’ said Fran, her spirits lifting a bit at the thought.
Tig nodded. ‘All you’d need is an all-terrain vehicle.’
‘A quad bike? But surely Amy couldn’t go on one of those?’ While she was denying it was possible, Fran was thinking hard. Of course Tig was absolutely right. Seeing the farm would be what Amy wanted most.
‘I bet Antony has a quad bike that can take a passenger,’ said Issi. ‘Or access to one, at least.’
‘I’ll email him,’ said Fran, excited at the thought. While her head believed he loved her, her heart was taking longer. It seemed so impossible that such a wonderful man could love an ordinary girl like her. She wasn’t overly modest, she knew she was reasonably attractive, but with Antony, she felt out of her league.
‘Shall I cook something?’ said Tig.
‘Yes please,’ said Fran.
‘I’ll help,’ said Issi. ‘You get in touch with Ant.’
Fran wished she could text him instead of emailing, then she wouldn’t have to write so much or wonder how to sign off. Sadly, the dodgy phone signal meant a text might not get through. She kept the email short.
Do you have access to a quad bike that takes two people? F x.
Who wants to know and why? A xx, he replied instantly, giving Fran a little burst of happiness.
Me, and it’s complicated. F xx (two kisses when he’d given two kisses was definitely OK).
Can you talk if I phoned you? A xxx.
People are here, F xxx was her reply. She’d have loved to have a long conversation with him but he’d have to use the landline and so it would have to be fairly businesslike.
The phone rang almost immediately.
‘What’s all this about a quad bike?’ he said.
Not the most romantic words ever heard but they made her smile inordinately.
A couple of weeks later, towards the end of April, Fran and Antony set off for Amy’s care home. It had taken a lot of organising and preparation but the day had come for Amy’s visit to the farm. And the sun was shining. Better even than fine weather was, in Fran’s opinion, the fact that Roy had gone down to Cornwall with some mates to watch some sort of match – football or rugby, or possibly even darts. He would be out of the way all day.
There was only one small cloud of anxiety threatening Fran’s happiness: how would Amy react to Antony? Roy had had ample opportunity to drip poison in Amy’s ear and had even taken Megan in with him to bump up the dose. According to a nurse, who had become a friend of Fran’s, Megan had pulled no punches, and had reported that Fran and Antony were living in sin (this expression had made Fran smile) with no regard to Amy’s wishes in the matter.
However, Amy hadn’t actually called Fran on this and Fran sensed that Amy didn’t believe it. And given that Antony had been away so much, and Fran had been working so hard making cheese and selling it to Roger (her produce had been a huge hit at the food festival), when she wasn’t making tasty morsels for Amy, it was very far from the truth.
‘Remind me,’ Fran said as they drove along the lanes towards town, ‘what did your grandfather actually do to annoy Amy so much?’
‘You’ll have to ask her that, but I think it was during the war. My grandfather was something to do with the Ministry of Agriculture. Amy accused him of telling people about the farm. Had things gone differently Amy and her husband would have had to plough their pasture to grow vegetables, or other crops.’
‘But that didn’t happen?’
‘No. I think the fields were too small and steep.’
‘So why the grudge?’
Antony shot Fran a look she couldn’t interpret. ‘I think Amy and my grandfather may have had a bit of a thing for each other.’
‘But they were both married!’ Fran was shocked.
‘No, no, long before that. I don’t know who broke up with whom but it obviously wasn’t great.’
Fran smiled. ‘Maybe Amy preferred her husband’s farm to your grandfather’s?’
Antony shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s water long under the bridge. We just have to hope that Amy won’t slap my face and refuse to get into the car.’
The thought of tiny Amy, leaping the couple of feet necessary to reach Antony’s face, or possibly climbing on a stool, made Fran smile.
Amy was in a wheelchair, waiting, when they arrived. She was excited but also a little frosty. Fran, wanting to avoid any awkwardness, hurried to greet her.
‘Hello, Amy. Are you prepared for this?’
‘I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss. I’m only going home for a day,’ she said crisply.
‘But I explained about the quad bike? It’s so you can see the fields and things. Antony is going to drive you. Let me introduce him to you—’
‘I know who he is, thank you.’
Antony, who had followed Fran more slowly, said, ‘I am very pleased to see you again, Mrs Flowers. It’s been a long time since we last met.’
Amy gave him a stiff little nod.
It took a while and a lot of patience to get Amy into the car. Fran held on to her stick, her handbag and her walker and eventually Amy was in the front seat. The walker went into the capacious boot. Then Fran got in the back of the car and Antony set off.
Fran’s instinct was to make polite conversation but she sensed Amy was not in the mood for small talk. Antony took them the scenic route, which he had obviously thought Amy would appreciate. But no. In contrary mood (which made Fran’s heart sink a bit) she said, ‘Why are you going this way? It’s far quicker up the main road.’
‘True,’ said Antony calmly. ‘I just thought you’d like a bit of scenery on your way. This way you can see the bluebells in Winfield Wood.’
‘I’ve seen more than enough bluebells in my life, thank you. I just want to get home.’
Fran began to fret. Supposing Amy was horrified by the changes she’d made to the house? Knocking out the fireplace? Putting away a lot of the ornaments and photographs? She and Issi had put back a few of the best photos but had agreed that Amy wouldn’t mind a bit of decluttering. Now Fran wondered if she’d got it all wrong and Amy would be devastated to see her old home so altered.
It had been decided that Amy should come into the house and have a light lunch before setting off across the fields.
Antony and Fran got her into the wheelchair and trundled her through the yard towards the back door.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘Let me look at everything!’
After a little while Fran realised that Amy was nervous too. She didn’t know what she was going to find and her beloved farm could have fallen into disrepair. She put the brake on the chair and let Amy look about her.
Tig emerged from the cowshed and came over. ‘All right, Amy?’
‘Tig,’ Amy replied.
‘Shall I bring you Flora’s calf to have a look at?’ he said. He looked at Fran. ‘She’s the mother of the calf you saw being born.’
‘That would be nice,’ said Amy.
Watching the two of them, who had until recently been colleagues, communicate, made Fran feel sad for Amy. She hadn’t just lost her independence when she went into a home, she had lost her job, her status, her reason for living. She had been coping with it very well, she realised.
Flora’s calf was duly presented, inspected and found to be good.
‘I think it’s time for lunch now,’ said Fran. ‘Time is getting on.’ However, it wasn’t time she was worrying about. It was Amy’s energy levels. If she was too tired she wouldn’t enjoy her tour of the fields. But she couldn’t say that out loud.
‘Well!’ said Amy, when she had arrived in the sitting room. ‘I must say, I quite like having the big fireplace back. We made it smaller during the war, you know, to save on coal.’
‘But didn’t you burn wood?’ said Issi.
Amy shook her head. ‘It took too long to drag it out of the woodland and chop it up. We were up against it, you know.’
