There was just an envelope from us left on the table.
Dan pushed himself up. ‘Hold on a sec before you open it, Popsicle, I think I heard a car.’
Poppy groaned as Dan let himself out of the kitchen. As he opened the door, Birdie sashayed in and sat expectantly at my feet.
‘He could be ages,’ said Poppy, frowning. ‘If I miss the bus, it’s his fault.’
I dropped a piece of bacon for the cat, smiling to myself. ‘He won’t be long.’
Sure enough, seconds later, a diesel engine rumbled closer and closer.
Poppy wrinkled her nose. ‘That sounds like a tractor, not a car.’
‘Go and look,’ I said, doing my best not to give anything away.
‘I’m not dressed.’ But she hopped over to the door and opened it. Her hand flew to her mouth and she squealed. ‘No way! Mum, look!’
I went to join her. Dan was sat astride his granddad’s vintage tractor. It was sparklingly clean, its red and blue paintwork shone, and there wasn’t a speck of mud on it. We had tied white ribbons and balloons on it last night and it looked, for a tractor at least, very pretty.
‘Happy birthday, Poppy.’ Dan turned off the engine and held up the key. ‘Your first set of wheels. Every farmer should have her own tractor.’
‘It’s really mine?’ she gasped.
Dan nodded. She squealed again and flew outside, wrapping her arms round his neck. ‘Thanks, Dad, Mum. I love it, I love it so much.’
Dan climbed down so Poppy could get into the driving seat. She turned the engine on and released the brake. My stomach lurched.
‘Dan,’ I yelled, ‘is that wise?’
Dan prodded Poppy’s leg. ‘Footwear,’ he shouted above the engine noise, pointing to her flip-flops. ‘Never operate farm machinery without decent shoes on.’
‘Sorry.’ Poppy pulled a face, realizing her mistake. She turned the engine off immediately and got down, still beaming. Dan and I exchanged proud looks. She’d be sensible; she knew how important safety was.
She crossed to where I still stood at the kitchen door and hugged me tight. ‘Thanks again.’ She kissed my cheek and then kissed Dan.
‘You’re very welcome, darling. Time to get dressed,’ I said, ushering her towards the hall.
She started to dash off but paused at the door. ‘I know I said I didn’t want a party, but could I have a few friends round tomorrow night? We could have a sleepover in the living room. I really want to show them my tractor.’ She clapped her hands together with joy. ‘I even love saying it. My tractor. Best present ever.’
‘Well, I’m away in London.’ I looked at Dan. ‘But Viv will be here to help out.’
‘I can cope with a group of teenagers,’ he said testily. ‘Course you can, love. How does takeaway pizza and ice cream sound?’
‘Amazing. Thanks. Don’t get big-headed or anything, but you’re seriously cool parents,’ she said breathily.
‘Oh Poppy,’ I said, filling up. Dan cleared his throat in a manly way.
Poppy turned to go and then stopped again. ‘I know I’m only a day older than I was yesterday, but I feel different. I feel … invincible.’
Dan and I watched her go. I slipped my arm around his waist. It was the first time we’d held each other since our row almost a week ago.
‘She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,’ I said. ‘Which, I think, is as it should be.’
‘Maybe, but I draw the line at all the women in my life running rings round me.’ He reached for his phone from the kitchen table, simultaneously extricating himself from my embrace. ‘It feels like my opinion doesn’t matter any more.’
‘That’s not true,’ I protested, stunned that that was how he felt.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Dan?’
But he shook his head and left for the farmyard, muttering that he had a farm to run.
‘Thanks, love. Now I’ll have to hurry you, I’ve still got five more collections to make before setting off down south.’
The courier, a portly man with a white comb-over and a snug uniform of polo shirt and cargo trousers, swallowed down the last of his tea and stood up, anxious to go. Naomi took his empty mug from him and put it in the sink.
‘There.’ I pushed my hair from my sticky forehead and stepped back to admire my handiwork. Four pies in Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery boxes, baked to perfection, though I said so myself. ‘All finished, in the nick of time.’
I’d been up since five, baking the pies for my competition entry. I had to supply four, all the same, and on the advice of Naomi, I’d stuck to the lamb recipe which I’d already had success with in the Cumbria’s Finest contest.
Naomi stacked the four pie boxes into the big cool box which I’d bought specially and tucked ice packs around them and put bubble wrap on top.
‘If there are points for aroma,’ she said, ‘you’re a dead cert. They smell incredible.’
She held out the heavy bag to the courier, who in return passed me an electronic device to sign.
I scribbled my signature. ‘You will be careful with them, won’t you? They’re free-form shortcrust and prone to splitting if they get flung about.’
Some of the other competitors from the larger producers had got their own exhibition stands at Britain’s Best Bites, but others, like me, would just have a presence on the Cumbria stand. Freya had arranged a specialist food courier to transport all the smaller producers’ entries safely. Now all I had to worry about was getting myself there.
‘Of course.’ He winked. ‘Unless I get hungry and then I might make one split on purpose.’
‘As long as you don’t start tucking into the Lyth Valley damson gin, you’ll be fine,’ said Naomi, showing him to the door.
I watched anxiously as he loaded the cool box into the back of the van.
‘Right. Gone.’ Naomi rubbed her hands together. ‘You can do no more. What’s next?’
‘Next I do this.’ I flung my arms around my sister-in-law and squeezed her tight.
‘All right, steady on!’ She peeled me off her and smoothed down the front of her T-shirt.
‘I’ve got so much to thank you for,’ I said, letting go of her reluctantly. ‘I’d never have contemplated doing any of this if you hadn’t nudged me in the right direction.’
‘Nudge? Full on fireman’s lift, you mean,’ she said, chuckling. ‘And don’t thank me. Just win, that’s all I ask.’
‘Is that all?’ I laughed. ‘There’ll be entries from all over the UK. Some of them will have been in the food business for years. Just getting this far is reward enough. That and meeting Harrison Finch, of course.’
As well as handing out the prizes tomorrow, the Countryside Matters presenter would be the guest of honour at tonight’s gala event. I promised Poppy I’d try to get a selfie with him. Not that she liked him, but she thought it was hilarious that I’d had a crush on him for years.
‘If you don’t get your skates on you won’t be going at all.’ Naomi looked at her watch. ‘Are you getting changed?’
I nodded and told her to follow me upstairs to help me pack while I put on some clean clothes.
‘That’ll do,’ I said, zipping up my overnight bag five minutes later, after changing into a clean dress and running a brush through my hair. ‘Ready when you are.’
Naomi followed me back downstairs and collected her car keys. ‘Is Dan not coming back to the farmhouse to say goodbye?’
I checked my bag for the train tickets for the umpteenth time, not meeting her eye. ‘We said our goodbyes earlier on. He and Cameron are on the upper slopes this morning bringing the sheep down, ready for clipping next week.’
We’d had a bout of flystrike earlier in the week; a common affliction suffered by sheep but one that needed urgent treatment. Without going into too much detail, it involved maggots. In some cases, Dan opted to shear them straight away to clean them up. And this time he’d given Cameron the chance to clip them and his first efforts had been im
pressive. So much so that Dan had decided that we’d shear our own flock this year instead of bringing in the contractors. It would mean a lot of hard work over the next couple of weeks, but it would save us a huge amount of money.
Naomi nodded. ‘I’ll be helping with that.’
‘As a shearer?’ I said, surprised. ‘You’re brave, most of our ewes weigh over ninety kilos and last year, some of them took great delight in struggling against the clippers for the entire time it took to relieve them of their fleeces.’
‘No, I’m not that daft. Dan’s asked me to be a catcher,’ she said casually, walking towards the door. ‘Let’s go.’
I froze. ‘That’s normally my job. Why has he asked you?’
‘I asked the same thing.’ Naomi pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘We had sharp words about it. Dan said he couldn’t rely on your availability any more and asked if the boys were around. But they’re away so I said I’d help, but I also said that I was sure you’d be there. He hadn’t been so sure.’
‘He said that?’ I swallowed. I’d been so selfish, not realizing the impact I’d had on Dan. I’d been too wrapped up in my own little world to notice. ‘He can’t rely on me any more?’
‘You’ve got a new focus and he feels threatened. He’ll come round and in the meantime, I don’t mind helping out.’
‘But we’re a team,’ I murmured sadly. ‘At least we were. I haven’t missed shearing for fifteen years.’
What was happening to us? For the last few weeks, all we’d done was fall out and make up again on a continuous loop. It was exhausting.
I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, train journey forgotten for the moment. I felt terrible that Dan had felt the need to find someone to replace me. The sheep were our livelihood. The farm was everything. Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery was just a way for me to have a little independence, to do something I loved, while at the same time bringing in a bit of extra money. I’d never set out to let Dan down. And it wasn’t worth it, not if it was going to continue to come between us like this.
‘The last thing I wanted was to cause trouble between you two.’ Naomi squeezed my shoulder. ‘And if I’m honest, I didn’t realize how much would be involved in running a little pie business on the side. You were making pies for all and sundry, like the old people’s luncheon club, and I wanted to see you get paid for your efforts.’
‘Don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault, it’s mine,’ I said firmly. ‘Poppy looks up to you because of your success with the farm shop and I wanted her to think that way about me too. I thought I could inspire her by being an entrepreneur like you.’
Her eyes lit up at that.
‘Both of you flatter me. But firstly, you already inspire her every day in more ways than you know, just by being you and with the loving family life you’ve created. And secondly, running your own business should be guided by a burning desire within you. This is your journey.’
‘I do have a fire in my belly for it now. In fact,’ I added with an uneasy laugh, ‘it’s spread like wildfire. It’s out of control.’
She laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. And talking of journeys, let’s get you on that train. Poppy will be gutted if you miss it. She’s so proud that her mum’s going to have a swanky time in London for two days.’
‘She is, you’re right!’
I blinked at Naomi as realization dawned: I didn’t need to run a pie business to inspire my daughter. I’d already done it. I’d shown her that by doing something you love and working hard at it, you could achieve great things, and by getting as far as Britain’s Best Bites, Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery had already served its purpose. I’d come back from London tomorrow night triumphant whether I’d been crowned by Harrison Finch or not; because in Poppy’s eyes I was already a winner.
And that was where it would end because I was going to halt my business plans.
I’d get my marriage back on track and I’d revert to being the Hetty who always had time to help others, the Hetty who Dan loved and relied on. It was a sacrifice, because I’d set my heart on something new, but as Anna had said, the more we love someone, the bigger the sacrifice we’ll make for them. And I did love Dan with all my heart.
I jumped to my feet and grabbed the notepad and a pencil. ‘Please could you take my bag out; I won’t be a second.’
Naomi picked up my bag and disappeared outside.
My note was only short, but I hoped it would tell Dan everything he needed to know:
Dan,
I’ve decided to put Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery on ice (not literally because that would result in soggy bottoms ☺). You and Poppy and Sunnybank Farm mean the world to me. Let’s not let anything come between us again. Looking forward to shearing time with you next week.
I love you
Hetty
xxx
PS Poppy if you’re reading this, STOP
PPS Go Team Greengrass!
I was humming happily to myself as I inserted the key into the door to lock it when the phone rang. I waited, letting the answerphone pick it up.
Hello? This is Gareth Brookbanks with a message for Hetty. The official taster gave your pie the thumbs-up. I’d like to trial it in four of our biggest stores. Shall we say … an initial order of twenty pies? Please call to discuss pricing. My number is—
I softly closed the kitchen door, not bothering to hear the rest. There was no point. I’d made up my mind. I’d go to London, I’d have my five-star adventure with my home-made pies, I’d bask in my moment of glory and then I’d come back to Carsdale and get on with the business of running a sheep farm. With Dan. And Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery would be just a delicious memory …
Despite all the dramas and the worries and my not inconsiderable nerves, I found myself enjoying my journey to London. The train rocked and rolled along the track, whizzing through the green fields, skimming past Morecambe Bay, so close to the coastline that I could see ripples on the sea, and then weaving through towns and cities as it threaded through the country towards London. I was served drinks and sandwiches, and chatted away to an old lady who got off at Preston and after that I sat and gazed and pondered.
Something – or rather, someone – dominated my musings more than any other.
Joe Appleton.
My heart fluttered every time I thought about him. I hadn’t seen him again since that meeting at Appleby Farm. I’d had one or two emails, nothing more. It had been Freya who’d sent me all the details I needed for Britain’s Best Bites, she who had organized my travel and my hotel and sent me the list of other local contenders. But I’d see him tonight. He was hosting a small welcome drinks thing, just for the Cumbria’s Finest contingent. I had so many questions to ask him. But would I have the courage to ask the one I really wanted the answer to: which girl had stolen his heart all those years ago? Who had broken his heart so badly that he’d literally vanished from our lives? I hoped against hope that it wasn’t me, because if so the next twenty-four hours would be very awkward …
Chapter 19
It was five o’clock by the time I slid the key card into the slot in my hotel room. My feet were aching from all the walking I’d done between tube platforms and I couldn’t wait to slip off my shoes and maybe have a nap before meeting everyone in the bar downstairs. The hotel oozed old-world charm and opulence and my room was lovely: the windows had the original leaded panes of glass, the ceiling was low and had dark beams running across it. There was a double bed, a delightful French dressing table and the nightstands on either side of the bed were covered in broderie anglaise cloths. I kicked off my shoes and smiled as the floorboards creaked under foot. There’d be no chance of creeping along the corridors at night undetected in this place. Not that I would. I laughed aloud at the idea and threw myself on to my bed. The mattress was deep and luxurious, the pillows soft, and I sighed with pleasure and just as I closed my eyes I remembered a missed call from Anna. I sat up, retrieved my mobile and played the message:
Have a fab t
ime in London, my lovely chum, enjoy every minute and make sure you get all the gossip from Joe, I want all the details. And don’t even think about getting an early night and missing out on that party – I know you. Love you loads but also slightly jealous right now. Kiss kiss!
I laughed to myself, glad she couldn’t see that I was already making myself comfortable on the bed, and reached across to the far nightstand to put my phone down. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was a bottle of champagne nestling in an ice bucket.
Nice touch, I thought, wondering whether this was Freya’s doing. Propped up against it was a stiff envelope addressed to me. Intrigued, I reached for it, slid a finger under the flap and pulled out the card. My heart squeezed with joy: on the front was a photograph of myself as a child, kneeling on a chair in the kitchen in our old house in Holmthwaite. Propped beside me was my very first cookery book by Delia Smith. I was gripping a mixing bowl with one hand and had the electric whisk in the other. My face, my clothes, the table and the book were covered in white blobs from where I’d sprayed the cake mix by accident. But my smile was huge and my happiness was clear for all to see.
There was a lump in my throat when I opened the card and read the message from Mum.
Dear Hetty,
Look at you. I think you were five years old, do you remember? You couldn’t even read the recipe by yourself. Regardless of that, and of losing most of your cake mix to the walls and every surface in the kitchen, you gave it your best shot, determined not to be beaten by any obstacle thrown in your path. You’ve been the same at every stage of your life. You have followed your own path, done things your own way. It has been my privilege to watch you grow and become the incredible woman you are today. And now there you are in London, competing with the best of them, because you ARE the best of them. My little Hetty, I wish I could be there to show you how much I love you. Instead, I’ve sent you some champagne so you can toast your achievements.
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