Hetty's Farmhouse Bakery

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Bart,’ said Anna, ‘you’re going to be okay, darling.’

  Silently I picked up my bag and tiptoed to the door. I don’t think anyone even noticed I’d gone.

  Chapter 24

  I drove home in a state of shock. I probably shouldn’t have been driving at all but I had to get away from Dan and Anna.

  In time I’d want facts. Hell, I’d want to know every last detail about why my boyfriend had cheated on me with my best friend. How could he have done that to me, and with her of all people? And when? Where had I been? How could Anna live with herself seeing me almost daily for the last fourteen years and keeping that sort of secret? And Dan. He had a son. All these years he’d had a son and Anna had denied him and Bart from having a relationship. Our past had been one big lie; goodness only knew what this was going to mean for our future.

  Eventually I’d want to know all these things. But for now I needed space to take in this new situation. And in the meantime, I’d focus on the most important thing: Bart had regained consciousness. If his first sentence was any sort of indicator, it seemed as if he might be okay. My world may have collapsed around me but at least I could keep coming back to that. Because whatever else might be happening, none of this mess was his fault.

  As I turned up the track to Sunnybank Farm, Ian was coming the other way. We slowed our vehicles as we came alongside each other, he in his battered old Land Rover and me in my Renault Clio.

  ‘You here again?’ I said, attempting a joke. ‘Is there nothing to do on your own farm?’

  Ian smiled at me and then did a double take. My eyes were probably swollen and bloodshot from all the crying.

  ‘There’s plenty,’ he said with a frown. ‘But Jayne says I need new trousers and wants me to go shopping with her. I’d rather chase escaped sheep all day than go shopping.’

  I made a noise roughly like laughter. ‘Show me a farmer who does like buying clothes. Anyway, I’m very grateful to you and so is Dan.’

  Ian ran through the jobs he’d done for us: he’d borrowed our quad bike and checked for problems with the flock. He’d hauled a ewe and lamb out of the beck. Mended the latch on a gate that was swinging open, refilled the lamb feeder in the ewes-with-twins field and even watered my veggie patch.

  ‘You did all that for us?’ His kindness caused my voice to wobble.

  ‘We know what it’s like,’ said Ian. ‘Farming doesn’t let up just because the farmer’s ill. Same when Dan’s dad died. Carsdale folk rally round. You concentrate on looking after each other. You’ll let me know if there’s anything else we can do, won’t you?’

  I thanked him again and he waved it away, asking how Bart and Dan were. I took a moment or two to find the right words.

  ‘Bart has just come round, thank heavens,’ I said. ‘And Dan’s coping with his injuries, but he’s in shock.’ Understatement of the year.

  ‘Aye.’ Ian nodded gravely. ‘A chap at Coniston fell under a combine yesterday. Lost both his legs.’

  I shook my head. ‘Who’d want to be a farmer, eh?’

  ‘It’s in our blood,’ he said, tipping his cap to me as he prepared to move off. ‘We can’t do anything about it. Father to son, down it goes. Or to daughter, in your Poppy’s case. Never seen such a chip off the old block.’ He chuckled. ‘By the way, I was thinking about your shearing. I know Dan and Cameron were doing it themselves this year, but Dan won’t be up to it now with a knackered shoulder. There’s a small team of clipping contractors who’d be able to do the job in exchange for parking their caravans in your yard for the duration of the season. If Dan’s happy, they can fit your flock in first.’

  ‘I’ll get him to ring you,’ I said. ‘Thanks again.’

  He smiled grimly. ‘Right, I’d better go, or the missus will be clipping me.’

  I waved him off and continued up the track to the house, thinking about what Ian had said about farming being in the blood and wondering about Bart.

  Bloodlines. The secret to a successful sheep farm. We had to plan carefully to protect bloodlines, ensuring our tups didn’t breed with their sisters. I pulled my car to a halt in the yard and Poppy ran out.

  ‘How’s Bart? Where’s Dad, I thought he was coming home?’

  ‘Long story.’ I sighed.

  I opened my arms and she ran into them for a hug.

  Poppy and Bart … No wonder Anna had reacted so strongly when he’d asked her on a date. How were we going to break the news to my daughter that Bart was her brother? I shivered involuntarily and Poppy dragged me inside.

  ‘Come and tell me everything. Gran’s already got the kettle on.’

  Half an hour later, I was alone. Viv had left for her own house and was dropping Poppy at her friend Matilda’s on the way. Naomi had phoned to ask if everything was okay because she’d had a call to collect Dan from hospital and she thought I’d be doing that. I fobbed her off with an excuse. Dan could tell her the truth if he liked. That his wife was too angry and upset to be in his presence, because he’d slept with her best friend and fathered a child.

  No biggie.

  I wandered through the house for a while, unpacking my bag from London, putting a load of washing on and rooting through the freezer for something for dinner. Every so often I’d grab my phone to send Anna a text before remembering that the reason I needed to talk to someone was because of Anna, and I’d put it down again.

  Outside the sky had cleared and when I opened the kitchen door to sit on the step and drink my tea, the air was warm and the view was postcard perfect: blue skies with powder-puff clouds above green hills dotted with sheep as far as the eye could see. Sunnybank Farm. Home since the day Dan had driven to Cornwall to collect me. I churned the memories of that summer over and over in my head. Everything had changed on the day we collected our A-level results. Even before Dan finished with me, he’d been distant; and looking back, Anna had avoided me too.

  Had Anna and Dan gone behind my back while we’d still been together or had it happened afterwards, whilst I was in Padstow with Gil?

  I took my phone out of my pocket and turned it over and over in my hand. I needed to talk to someone about this. I needed to say the words out loud; it would help me to process my thoughts. I could always ring Mum. Even though it was still only dawn in America, I knew she wouldn’t mind me waking her. I’d spoken to her last night to fill her in on the accident. She’d made me promise to keep her posted with news. I scrolled to her number and my finger hovered over it but I couldn’t call; the news of Dan’s affair with Anna wasn’t something I was ready to share with her yet. I needed to hear Dan’s side of the story first. But I yearned to talk to someone, someone who’d understand.

  As if in answer, the phone vibrated with a text message and I let out a long breath. Of course, this was who I needed to speak to, the one person who’d remember that summer as well as I did – Joe Appleton. I opened the message and my chest tightened as I read it.

  Hetty I’m worried sick about you. If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m coming to the farm.

  I texted him straight back.

  Please come now.

  My second text was to my sister-in-law.

  Sorry to be cryptic, but please can you keep Dan away from the farm for a couple of hours? There’s something I need to do.

  While I waited for Joe to arrive, I did what I always did when I needed to take my mind off things: I made a pie. First the filling: a summer pie of feta cheese, fresh spinach from my garden, sundried tomatoes, chickpeas and toasted pine nuts. I mixed and tasted and adjusted the seasoning, setting it in the fridge once I was satisfied with it. After plunging my hands into cold water and drying them, I rubbed butter and vegetable shortening into flour, lifting and sifting until my trusty ceramic mixing bowl contained a mound of golden breadcrumbs. In went the egg yolk and ice-cold water. I mixed lightly, taking care not to overwork the dough, and turned it out on to my pastry mat on the kitchen table.

  As my hands worked, my mind stilled. Ther
e was something timeless and grounding about making a pie. It nourished my soul and though I had to stop from time to time to brush tears from my cheeks, it felt like my own form of therapy.

  The dogs began to bark, heralding the arrival of a car, just as I’d rolled out my circle of pastry for the base. I quickly wiped my hands on my apron and ran to open the door.

  Joe’s pristine, expensive car purred to a halt, a sharp contrast next to Dan’s muddy Land Rover. Joe got out, reached into the back seat and produced a huge bouquet of flowers. My heart thumped and for a split second I worried that inviting him over was only going to complicate matters. But then he saw me watching him and a smile lit up his face. His lovely, friendly, familiar face that had barely changed since he was eighteen had been missing from our lives for far too long, and before I knew it I was running towards him and throwing my arms around him.

  ‘Whoa,’ he laughed cautiously as I squeezed the breath from his lungs and pressed my face to the soft cotton of his shirt.

  ‘I need a friend,’ I managed to say. ‘And a hug.’

  ‘You got it.’

  Even though I was probably crushing what looked to be really expensive flowers in the process, I leaned into him and revelled in the comfort of his arms and the subtle smell of his aftershave. After a couple of minutes of standing in our farmyard with the dogs woofing their excitement at our knees and my body trembling with sorrow and shock, I began to feel slightly less shaky and vulnerable. I pulled back and gave him a wonky smile.

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  He smiled. ‘Pleasure.’

  ‘Sorry about the mascara and dribble,’ I said, noticing the wet patch on his shirt.

  He shrugged and then kissed me on the cheek and presented me with the flowers. ‘I know you’ve had a horrendous twenty-four hours, but before you make me a very strong coffee and bring me up to date, on behalf of Cumbria’s Finest, congratulations on your silver award in the Britain’s Best Bites competition. We – I – am very proud of you.’

  Words choked in my throat and prevented me from replying. I lifted the bouquet to my nose and inhaled the perfume of peonies and roses, stocks and phlox, and had to work very hard not to cry again. I was a winner. But I felt like I’d lost everything.

  If Joe noticed that I hadn’t replied, he didn’t remark on it. He looked around him at the farm, which had been his playground for years; he’d hung out with Dan long before I’d ever met them. ‘This place,’ he murmured, shaking his head incredulously, ‘has not changed one bit.’

  ‘But it has,’ I said, swallowing. ‘It has.’

  In the kitchen I made Joe his very strong coffee. We didn’t have anything fancy so I put two big spoonfuls of instant coffee into a small mug and told him that would have to do. I made myself a cup of tea, shoved the flowers temporarily in the sink and Joe sat at the table while I finished my pie.

  ‘So,’ he said, wincing slightly at my coffee, ‘tell me about the accident.’

  And as I spooned my summer-pie filling on to my pastry disc I explained how several little mistakes had added up to the moment when our livestock trailer tipped, creating a chain of events so devastating that I thought we’d probably feel the ripples from them for the rest of our days.

  ‘Dan is okay. Being discharged today with a fractured collarbone, bruises and stitches in his hand – but it could have been much worse.’

  I set down my spoon and braced myself against the edge of the table, feeling my breath hitch in my chest.

  ‘And Bart?’ Joe frowned.

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Dan’s son, you mean?’

  Joe choked on his coffee. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. Dan and Anna have a son. Fourteen years old.’

  An odd look flashed across Joe’s face. It reminded me of the face Poppy pulled when I explained how to do a maths question and she insisted on working it through in her own head before finally accepting that I was right.

  ‘She had Dan’s baby,’ Joe murmured.

  My cheeks began to burn as he nodded slowly: he wasn’t surprised. I felt a stab of pain. Everyone knew. Everyone except stupid Hetty.

  ‘Bart sustained a blow to the head and was knocked unconscious,’ I said softly. ‘He’s also had surgery on a smashed ankle. But he’s awake again. Anna thought she was going to lose him and decided Dan should know who his real father is. And me,’ I added as an afterthought. Which is what I felt like. An afterthought.

  ‘Dan and Anna have a son,’ Joe repeated. His mouth had gone dry and his voice came out as a gruff croak. ‘I’m glad …’ He paused and rubbed a weary hand over his chin. ‘I’m glad he’s okay.’

  I arranged my features into a tight smile. ‘So all change for the Greengrass family.’

  I flipped the pastry lid over my rolling pin and laid it over the dome of the filling. Joe smiled softly and shook his head.

  ‘What’s funny?’ I said tetchily.

  ‘Watching you make a pie. Remember how I used to bring you and Anna pies and pastries from Appleton’s Bakery? I thought that was going to be my life for ever. And instead, it’s you who turned out to be the baker.’

  ‘Only for the family.’ I shook my head. ‘Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery isn’t happening. I decided that before going to London, I just didn’t have the heart to tell you. You were so focused on getting all your Cumbrian producers to London. But running my own business doesn’t fit in with my life on the farm. Oh God.’

  My face crumpled and I dropped into a chair. What life on the farm? Now that Dan and Anna’s secret was out of the bag, could I even stay at Sunnybank Farm?

  ‘I’m sorry, Hetty.’

  Joe circled the table and wrapped his arms round me.

  ‘I feel so betrayed,’ I sobbed. ‘You knew. You knew, didn’t you?’

  He lowered himself into the chair next to me.

  ‘I …’ He rubbed a hand through his beard and sighed. ‘I knew some of it. I didn’t know about Bart but I saw them together. And it broke my heart.’

  ‘Tell me.’ I gulped and managed not to jam my fingers in my ears. I needed to hear this.

  He squeezed my arm. ‘Okay. Remember when Dan, Anna and I went on that D of E expedition?’

  ‘Of course.’ I blinked at him, feeling my heart race. I already hated this story: Dan and I were still together then.

  ‘The trip was a disaster.’ He picked up an offcut of pastry and squeezed it in his hands. ‘Everything went wrong. The weather was diabolical, I lost count of the number of times we got lost and then on the second day when the rain was coming down so fast on the Welsh hills that we could scarcely see our feet, Anna’s partner Tasha slid on some loose slate and hurt her ankle.’

  I nodded, remembering her being carried out of the minibus with her crutches. I urged Joe to continue.

  ‘We thought she’d just twisted it and we tried to carry her down but we were weak from hiking uphill with those heavy rucksacks. Then she passed out and so we used the emergency phone and called for help and Tasha was taken off to hospital. When we eventually made it back to camp everyone was exhausted and worried about her. We asked if we could abandon the trip and go home but the assessor wouldn’t let us. Said this was just another challenge and all part of the experience. One we could have done without, to be honest.’

  He gave me a wry smile and flattened the lump of pastry into a long strip.

  ‘Because Tasha had gone, Anna had no one to help her put their tent up. So I went to help her out. She was shaky and cold from exhaustion and still upset about Tasha’s accident. She said she was dreading sleeping on her own that night. I put my arms round her and told her that I would always be there for her if she needed me.’

  My heart ached for him; he’d always been there for both of us, me and Anna. I’d missed out on so many years of his friendship and hoped now he’d be back in my life for good.

  ‘We had a campfire later on; the usual, all huddled on damp grass, burning sticks and wishing someone had brought marshm
allows. We had a few contraband beers to which the teachers turned a blind eye and the mood lifted. Then someone started drumming on those little camping saucepans and someone else started beat boxing, then Andy started singing that NSYNC song that Anna used to like.’

  ‘“Girlfriend”?’ I gave a harsh laugh. ‘How apt. I wonder if the fact that I was Dan’s girlfriend occurred to her at all while she was playing tonsil hockey with him.’

  ‘Can you remember the lyrics?’

  ‘I remember the gist of it.’

  ‘It’s about unrequited love.’ He fixed his gaze on me and I felt my pulse race. ‘About a girl who doesn’t notice the boy who’s in love with her.’

  Poor lovely Joe. He’d twisted the strip of pastry into a heart and now he placed it on to the baking sheet next to my unfinished pie. How insensitive of me not to notice his feelings at the time.

  I covered his hand with mine. ‘Joe, I’m sorry if I ever … if you felt—’

  He shook his head. ‘Let me finish. The singing went on for a while and later I looked round the circle and couldn’t see Anna. I was worried about her so I got up and went over to her tent.’

  He looked at me intently, his dark eyes boring into mine, and even though by now I’d guessed what was coming next, it still hurt to hear the words. My stomach clenched in readiness …

  ‘And there they were. Together. The two of them were inside her sleeping bag.’

  I clamped a hand over my mouth and hot angry tears ran down my cheeks.

  He cleared his throat and carried on. ‘I went into our tent and pretended to be asleep when Dan came in.’

  ‘And was that the only time?’ I said in a whisper. Everything hurt: my head, my heart, my lungs, even my skin felt raw.

  ‘As far as I know.’ Joe nodded grimly. ‘Yet still he managed to get her pregnant. If it’s any consolation, he felt awful about it and decided he couldn’t carry on going out with you after what he’d done. That’s why he finished with you when we got back home. You know the rest. After you left for Cornwall, Anna made a snap decision to take a gap year and Dan was taken up with the farm. I realized that I’d been wasting my time hoping that the girl I loved would ever feel the same way about me as I felt about her.’