by Emma Davies
‘View these as only temporary,’ said Merry. ‘We wanted to introduce some speciality products alongside the everyday staples we offer, but we didn’t have enough time before we opened to seek out the suppliers we really wanted to use: local people with fabulous local produce. We’re taking our time discovering who, and what is out there, people like you, Willow. So bit by bit, we plan to replace this lot with new lines as we find the right suppliers. What was more important in the beginning was to establish whether or not these type of products would sell, and admittedly we haven’t been open that long, but people do seem to like them. I’m convinced that we’ll continue to do well with them.’
‘But I’m not sure how long it will be before I’m up and running,’ said Willow. ‘I don’t want to hold you up, and I’m not sure yet what kind of quantities I’ll be able to make.’ She picked up a jar of bramble jelly, very similar in fact to the jars that lined her own pantry shelves at home. It was so exciting to see the possibilities of what the shop might offer her, but it also brought home just how much hard work this would involve, and what a big leap it would be for her. She still wasn’t sure whether it was something she should go ahead with, but all her instincts were telling her it was. Perhaps it was the fear of what she suspected was coming next that prevented her from making the next move.
‘Well, why don’t we take it a step at a time,’ said Merry. ‘Your fruit is amazing right now, and I would certainly love to sell some for you. Can you imagine how the strawberries would smell in here? Why don’t we start with some of the fruit varieties, and perhaps some bottles of your cordial, and that would give you a little more time to think about your other products, particularly the ice creams. It would also give you some time to have a play at home before you agree to provide us with anything.’
Willow didn’t mean it to, but her face fell a little. She should be treading more carefully here. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Merry, but this was a small community, and the village shop was the fount of all gossip. What would happen if people found out what Jude was planning before she’d had a chance to put her own plans into place? It didn’t bear thinking about, but time was of the essence now.
She was just about to reply when she noticed that Freya had put down the jar of olives she was studying, and was watching her intently. It threw her for a minute and she scrambled to say something quickly. Too late.
‘Willow, is everything all right? You can tell me to mind my own business if you like, but we’ve been friends for too long for me not to notice when things aren’t quite right. A couple of times now when we’ve talked about this new venture you’ve seemed almost panicky, as if things weren’t happening quickly enough. I mean, one minute you had a utility room, cleared out, but just a blank space, and almost the next day it was kitted out as if you were going into full production. Something doesn’t quite add up here…’ She stopped for a moment, thinking about what she had just said.
‘It’s not the business is it?’ she asked quickly. ‘Everything with Jude is all right?’
The question caught Willow off-guard. She thought she had hidden her feelings well, but Freya had put her finger on it with unerring accuracy. To her surprise she felt tears beginning to well up. What on earth could she say? She had no proof that her suspicions were true; they were based on dreams for heaven’s sake, and to admit them out loud was tantamount to admitting she was going mad. She would also be accusing Jude before she had any facts at all. It would seem like a betrayal, when all she was really trying to do was help. Just as quickly another thought came to her – a memory of a conversation with Freya in her kitchen, when she’d told her about Christmas and the stranger who had caused her to think a little differently. And here was Merry talking about a dead painter who had somehow provided her with the inspiration for her brilliant shop. Perhaps they would understand after all.
‘You’re going to think I’m quite mad,’ she started.
Freya laughed. ‘Oh, I’ve always known you’re mad,’ she said. ‘But since when did that ever stop us being friends?’ She smiled warmly, and when Willow looked across to Merry she saw the same expression echoed there too.
‘It’s really hard to know where to start,’ she began. ‘Everything with the business is fine, and with Jude too; more than fine, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. Despite his mother’s best efforts, his father brought him up in his own image, and although Jude thankfully is nothing like Andrew in many ways, they share the same relentless materialistic streak. It’s something I’ve always recognised in Jude, something that’s always worried me a little to tell the truth, even though for the most part he manages to keep it well in check. Even my mum warned me about it when we first got together.’
Freya came around the side of the table and perched on the corner of it. ‘Actually, I always liked your mum. A bit kooky admittedly, but she always seemed so vibrant, so alive. Don’t forget my own mum bailed out on us when I was only little. I loved my dad, you know that, but when I was younger your family always seemed so happy, and I always used to think how much fun it must be to be you.’
Willow touched her hand to her mouth. ‘I never knew that,’ she said, eyes starting to smart again.
‘Well I’m telling you now; one, because it’s true, and two, because I know you had a hard time when you were younger, kids calling your mum names just because she was a bit different to everyone else’s. But looking back, all I see is a bunch of kids who never knew any better. My life has shown me, more so over the last year, that not everything that happens to us can be explained. And neither is everything black-and-white; if we allow it life can be the most wondrous collection of colours, in every shade of the rainbow.’
Merry was nodding her head. ‘I agree. The things that have happened to me over the last few months probably don’t make any sense. If you ask my husband, he’d tell you a very different story. Whenever I try to tell him exactly how I feel about recent events, he gives me that weird look, you know, the one that says you’ve just had a baby and your brain is still a pile of mush. Whatever you need to tell us, I don’t suppose I’ll be the least bit surprised – just say it as it is.’
Willow smiled gratefully. ‘A few months ago I started to have dreams, nothing specific at first, just a vague feeling of unease. And it was at about the same time that Jude first mentioned he had a meeting up in Birmingham with his father. This alone was enough to set warning bells ringing.’ She nodded at Merry. ‘You probably don’t know, but Andrew is still a silent partner in the business. He and Jude started Middleton Estates mostly with his capital, and even now the strawberry fields, meadowland, our house, and everything else belongs to the business. It will all transfer to Jude at some point or another of course when Andrew dies, but it’s always made me feel uneasy; I feel beholden to him, even though I know he can’t take any decisions without Jude’s agreement. Jude has always run the company day to day, but he had a big meeting with his father at the very moment I started having my dreams. Other people might not see the significance, but to me it’s like a shining beacon.’
‘So what do you think is going on?’ asked Freya. ‘Couldn’t you just ask Jude?’
‘I could.’ Willow paused for a moment, wondering how best to phrase her next statement. She was painfully aware that any minute she’d be laughed out of the shop. ‘A couple of nights ago I had a vision that all the land around us was completely desecrated, torn up to make room for houses. I’m convinced this is what Jude is planning, or, more likely, is an idea that his father has hatched and Jude is going along with for some reason. I know it makes me sound like a crazy person but I almost don’t need to know any more than that. There’s no way I can talk to Jude about it, when everything I feel is based on dreams; he’d think I’m mad. So, the only thing I can think of is to offer Jude a real and valid choice, an alternative future and, importantly, a reason to go against his father’s wishes.’
‘Hence the new business venture?’ suggested Merry.
&
nbsp; Willow nodded sadly. ‘And the need to get it up and running in far less time than is really feasible.’
Freya crossed the room to stand by her friend’s side. ‘Then it sounds to me like we need a hefty dose of girl power to help things along. What do you reckon, Merry? It’s scary trying to do things like this on your own, and what could be more wonderful than Merry and me helping you out? Merry has the perfect place to sell your produce, plus business contacts coming out of her ears, I have some of the raw materials you need to get up and running, and I know where I can get more, and you have granny Gilly’s notebook. From where I’m standing, that’s a pretty powerful combination.’
Willow looked around the room one more time. All her instincts were telling her that this was the right thing to do, and they had never let her down before. Besides what other choice did she have? Her future with the man she loved, and that of her children, were at stake here. It was time to fight.
Chapter 5
Willow called Peter over to see her the very next morning. It was not long since his breakfast, but despite the early hour he’d already been hard at work for a couple of hours. It would be mercilessly hot out in the fields today with no shelter, and the strawberries were much better if picked when they still held the morning’s freshness.
She had a mug of tea waiting for him as he sauntered through the door, his enormous flip-flop-clad feet squeaking across her floor.
‘Ah, cheers,’ he said as Willow handed him his drink. ‘Is everything okay?’
Peter was one of the best students she’d ever had. Over the years they had ranged from the gormless to the adequate as long as she kept an eye on them, but Peter was different. Apart from Rachael who had been with them for the past three years, he was the only one with any initiative. He was quiet and studious, with floppy brown hair and a big bushy beard, but his unobtrusive manner belied a keen intellect and a sharp wit. They got on like a house on fire. Trouble was there was only one of him, and right now Willow needed six or seven.
She gave him a bright smile. ‘Wonderful,’ she replied. ‘How’s it looking out there today?’
‘Busy, and hot,’ he grinned. ‘But mostly hot.’
Willow looked at her watch. ‘Well let’s see how it goes. If the sky stays this clear, by two the heat will be unbearable. No-one will come to pick so you must call it a day. I don’t want you keeling over on me.’
Peter was six foot three and had muscles like Popeye, and his expression let her know in no uncertain terms that she was fussing, but she waggled her finger at him anyway.
‘Actually, I wanted to ask a favour if that’s okay? I’ve been having a bit of a think recently about branching out a little; making some cordials, ice creams, that sort of thing, but I’m a bit short on manpower. I don’t suppose by any happy chance you have a handful of mates who’d like some work over the next day or so? They’d need to be like you mind, not afraid of hard work.’
Peter wiped a hand across his lips as he drained the last of his tea. ‘Is that what the amazing smell is all about?’ he asked. ‘I was wondering. Can I see?’
He crossed to the sink and rinsed his mug under the tap, up-ending it on the draining board before turning back to her, an endearing query on his face. Willow had no choice but to lead the way out into the hallway and into the room opposite.
It didn’t take Peter long to assess what he found. He walked from one spot to the other, peering at the elderflowers, smelling the aromatic cordial and fingering the page in Willow’s notebook where her grandma had carefully written the recipe in her best copperplate handwriting.
‘So you need people to pick? And in huge quantities by the look of things. Maybe people to man the strawberry fields, and possibly people in here to keep the pans going?’
Willow smiled, watching Peter carefully.
‘Leave it to me,’ he beamed, with a glance out of the window. ‘Right, time I was back out there I reckon.’ He looked back at the room as he passed through the door. ‘Would the day after tomorrow be okay?’
Willow was right, by the time two o’clock came, the strawberry field was scorching. In fact, everywhere was scorching, but that had its advantages too. The picked fruit had marched out of the door during the morning, but actual pickers were reluctant to venture out which gave Willow the perfect opportunity to shut up shop early and pop over to see Henry. She had pored over his designs the night before, and every time she picked up the folder she found herself returning to one particular set of designs. The colours were striking, a vibrant lime green and a deep pinky-plum, and although the motifs and lettering were modern, there was something timeless about them too. She was sure that they would appeal to the market she was aiming at.
It was much cooler in the shaded lane and she walked slowly, taking the time to trail her fingers through the fronds of cow parsley along the verge, and inhale the gentle scent from the wild sweet peas which grew there.
Henry was in the garden when she arrived, standing among the tomatoes and sweet peppers which he’d planted to take full advantage of the warmth from the red brick wall that ran the length of one side. He waved a greeting.
‘Warm enough for you?’ he called, straightening up, one hand full of sweet cherry tomatoes.
‘Only just,’ she replied. ‘But alas too hot for my pickers. Most of them have sloped off to a deckchair and a glass of Pimms, so I thought I’d come and harass you instead.’
‘Lucky old me,’ he grinned. ‘Go on in, I won’t be a minute. Dinner won’t pick itself.’
Willow glanced at the array of vegetables and herbs in front of her. Whatever Henry was planning for his tea, she had no doubt it would be tasty. She followed the path to the wide French doors, both open, stepping over the two panting spaniels who were sprawled in the shade cast by the house.
Inside, the living room was cool and dark and she took a seat, admiring Henry’s artwork on the walls. All was quiet for a moment until the sound of a door opening caused her to look up.
A young woman stood in the entrance to the room, quite naked.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said, stepping into the room and looking around. ‘Does Henry know you’re here? I could fetch him if you like.’ She made no move to cover herself.
Willow was never very good at judging people’s age, but the lithe tanned body in front of her could be no more than early twenties.
Willow cleared her throat. ‘Sorry. I met him in the garden. He said to come on in….’
‘Okay,’ she said with a smile, looking down at her feet as if seeing them for the first time. Funnily enough her feet were not what was concerning Willow. ‘I should probably go and get dressed. Aren’t you hot?’
Willow managed a smile. ‘A bit,’ she said cautiously.
The young woman stared at her as if she was deranged, and with a nod and another smile disappeared back though the door.
‘Right, so a cup of tea is it?’ asked Henry coming inside. ‘Or something cold?’ He was carrying a trug full of salad vegetables.
Willow was still staring at the door in the corner of the room, feeling hotter than ever.
Henry followed her line of sight.
‘Ahhh,’ he said slowly. ‘I can see you’ve met Delilah.’
Willow gazed at him. ‘Delilah?’
He nodded. ‘As in Why, Why, Why Delilah… You know, the Tom Jones song?’
‘I can see why Delilah, Henry, she’s gorgeous… I just didn’t expect—’
‘She wasn’t wearing any clothes was she?’ Henry grinned. ‘She does that. She’s a goat keeper,’ he added, as if that explained it.
Willow remained seated, hoping for further explanation, but as Henry hopped from foot to foot it became clear that it wasn’t going to arrive any time soon.
‘Henry Whittaker, you’re a dark horse,’ she said in her best school matron’s voice. ‘And don’t tell me she’s your sister; nobody has a sister like that.’
‘No, she’s not my sister.’ He laughed. ‘She’s not my niece e
ither.’
‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?’ she retorted, getting up from the chair. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen another female anywhere remotely near here, so don’t go all shy on me now.’
Henry blushed a little. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’
Ten minutes later the three of them were sitting around the kitchen table, Delilah now ever so slightly dressed in a skimpy pair of shorts and vest top. She sat crossed legged in the chair, cradling her mug in her lap.
‘So how did you two meet?’ asked Willow. ‘You’re rather a long way from home if I’m right in thinking that’s a Cornish accent.’
‘You are,’ smiled Delilah, ‘but where I’m from, everywhere is a long way from home. I spend my life on the M5.’
‘I can imagine. So…?’
Henry shared an amused glance across the table with Delilah. ‘This might explain it,’ he said, throwing his foot up onto the empty chair next to Willow. He rolled up the leg of his jeans to reveal bright green socks. ‘Goat socks,’ he said. ‘At this precise moment I have about eighteen pairs, which is sixteen pairs more than I actually need.’
Delilah poked Henry’s thigh. ‘But you have to admit that the after sales service is spectacularly good…’
Henry sighed. ‘It is… which is why I have eighteen pairs.’
‘Oh, I see,’ giggled Willow.
‘We actually only met for the first time about three months ago,’ adds Henry. ‘Up until then, I’d ring Delilah to order another pair of socks and heave and sigh listening to her talk dirty to me in that fabulous accent—’
‘While I would swoon listening to his cut glass vowels… in the end I decided that although the poor man was pretty much keeping me in business, enough was enough, so I suggested we meet—’
