by Beth Moran
My instinct was to instantly brush off his concerns as preposterous, insulting. But this was his home, his life, and I owed him the respect of at least addressing his fears, so I took my time before I replied.
‘I’m not a quitter. I stayed in a job that was wrong for me for years, because I’d been raised to be so responsible that I’d stick with something even if it half-killed me.’
‘You hated your blog?’
‘No! Not that job… Anyway. Hospitality is in my blood. I know what this will take. And, while we’re being honest, where do you think Charlie got all those romantic ideas about providing a warm welcome to a weary traveller?’
‘Um… Pinterest?’ He winked, his open eye fixed right on mine. I disguised how it caused my stomach to backflip by pulling a face at him.
‘I’ve been lost, for a long time now. The first day I hobbled in here, bashed up and beside myself, I could still feel the peace oozing out of these walls. This place is a priceless treasure, buried underneath the grot of neglect and… and heartbreak. It would be an honour, the best thing I’ve ever done, to do this. If you don’t want it, can’t face the disruption or the mess or the strangers, then I’ll close the notebook and move on. But don’t not do it because you think I’m following a whim, or a guilty conscience. Honestly, I think if you say no then I’m just going to start looking for some other falling down farmhouse and buy that instead.’
Daniel looked at me for a long moment. I tried not to worry about what he really saw. ‘Okay.’
I think my whole face was beaming.
‘To the first step!’ Daniel clarified. ‘Sorting out the place to make it nice for Hope. Then we can rethink what to do next.’
I held up my glass in a toast. ‘The first step.’
Daniel shook his head as he raised his glass, but his eyes were smiling.
The logical place to start was the main living room. A large, L-shaped room with wooden French doors at one end, and enough seating for at least ten people, if you didn’t mind threadbare, sagging armchairs or a couple of dubious looking stains. As well as the seating, there were built in floor-to-ceiling shelves either side of a fireplace with a paint-chipped mantlepiece, various mismatched side tables, a scuffed bureau and a TV cabinet containing an old video player and even older TV.
The clutter wasn’t terrible, it was more the general air of tired neglect, reinforced by cobwebs in every corner and dust so thick it felt almost greasy.
Daniel had given me free rein to do what I liked with it all, as long as I didn’t get rid of the photographs, books and any other personal items I happened upon. I spent a day sorting the ornaments and other smaller items into stay, go or upcycle. I dusted what felt like hundreds of books, resisting the temptation to sit and read the whole lot while putting a few to one side for later. The moth-eaten curtains were unsalvageable, but after a good wash some of the sofa covers came up okay. The following day, Hope and I visited a discount interior warehouse and picked up a load of brightly coloured cushions and matching throws, along with new lampshades, drawer handles and plain cream curtains to avoid detracting from the incredible view beyond the window. By Friday, I had scrubbed away the filth, swept up the insect carcasses, and to my delight when Daniel helped me roll up the grubby carpet, we discovered solid oak floorboards underneath. I nipped back to the warehouse and splashed out on a couple of rugs.
Saturday and Sunday, we painted the walls a soft, buttery yellow, and then came the fun bit – putting everything back again. I used the furniture to create two separate areas, one focused on the fire, the other around the French doors. I finished off with fresh flowers in a pair of stunning vases I’d found in the kitchen, along with a few candles, plus I replaced the faded oil paintings of shire horses and farm implements with photographs of the family and what appeared to be an old map of the farmland that I found in the bureau. The overall effect was bright, tranquil and scrumptiously cosy. Given time, and a bigger budget, I’d replace the fireplace with a log burner, and repaint some of the furniture, get the sofas professionally re-covered. But for step one, Daniel and I had to agree, while celebrating with takeaway pizza and a couple of beers, it was not half bad.
Monday, I decided to stick to paperwork and planning while my muscles recovered. I had just sat down at the kitchen table with a panini when a discordant clanging sound rang out so loudly that Hope dropped her bread stick.
‘Eleanor, can you get that?’ Daniel shouted through from the study. ‘I’m three calculations away from a coffee break.’
‘I don’t know!’ I called back. ‘What is it?’
‘Front doorbell!’
‘You have a doorbell?’ I raised my eyebrows at Hope, who simply stared back expectantly. ‘You have a front door?’
It took another minute to wrench back the bolt and unjam the lock on the front door, which up until that point I’d presumed to be purely ornamental. Moving a cardboard box and an umbrella stand out of the way, I managed to heave the door open with an ear-splitting creak.
‘Oh, hi!’ I huffed, breathless from the exertion. It was Becky, Dr Ziva’s daughter who I’d met in the orchard.
‘Hi.’ Becky gave an awkward wave. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to go to all that trouble. Should I have used a different door?’
‘No, it’s fine!’ I opened the door wider. ‘Sorry to keep you standing about waiting in the freezing cold.’
‘No problem!’ It looked like it might have been a problem. Becky was wearing navy leggings, mud-encrusted boots and a huge brown fleece. Even with a stripy bobble hat perched on top of her curls, she looked frozen stiff.
We looked at each other expectantly for a few moments, as if not sure whose turn it was to speak next. ‘When we met in the orchard, you said to pop round, if I was at a loose end?’ Becky said, eventually. ‘To be honest, I’m at a loose end most of the time at the moment, but I wanted to leave it long enough to avoid seeming like I currently have no life. Or friends.’
‘Right, yes, of course! Come in.’ I stood back to let her in.
‘Oh no, I didn’t mean now, I wouldn’t just turn up and expect you to drop what you’re doing. Only I haven’t got your number, so I thought we could either swap numbers, or arrange a time when you’re free, and I’ll come back then.’
I stood back to let her in. ‘I’m free now. Please, come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Are you sure?’ Becky’s nose wrinkled up.
‘You’re not the only one who currently has no life. Or friends.’ I turned and strode as confidently as I could down the corridor.
Becky followed me into the kitchen. ‘Wow, this is nice! Looking a lot better than last time I came here. Which was years ago, to be fair.’ She went to coo over Hope, now smearing the soggy remains of her breadstick across the tray of her highchair, while I made us a pot of tea.
After a few minutes of stilted small talk, Becky put her mug down. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t not say anything.’
‘Um… about what?’
‘That’s your lunch, isn’t it?’ She nodded at the now cold panini. ‘I was going to pretend I hadn’t noticed, but one of the reasons I gave up my job was because I’m fed up with putting on a polite face and pretending all the time. And now you think it’s rude to eat your sandwich in front of me, when I’m the one who was rude for turning up here out of the blue and interrupting your lunch.’
‘Um… it’s fine.’
‘Please, eat your sandwich.’
Deciding that was probably the least awkward thing to do at that point, I took a token nibble.
‘Okay, so while I seem to be on an honesty roll, I’m going to take a risk and lay it out there.’
I reminded myself that Daniel thought Becky was a nice, normal person, and tried not to visibly brace myself.
‘I like you, Eleanor. I know this is a bit primary school, but I’ve spent too many years schmoozing and charming people and I’m done with being fake. I sort of felt like we clicked. Friends at first
sight. Is it too weird for me to ask if you’d like to skip all the faffing about and just be friends? Friends who can say, yeah, come in, but make your own cuppa because I’m in the middle of a panini. Without the need to be polite or worry about what the other one’s thinking?’
I took a long, slow breath. Not because I wasn’t sure what to say – because I wanted to savour the moment. I was done with being fake, too. And I wanted to eat my panini.
‘That would be lovely.’
My business plan shoved to one side, we spent the next couple of hours doing the general getting to know you thing. I explained how I knew Charlie, and the tentative plans for the farmhouse, both of us weeping as we shared our memories of someone who had been a friend to both of us. I did skim over my previous job situation, but that was because we were ‘done with being fake’, and Nora Sharp was nothing to do with the real me. Becky filled me in on her old job, and how she left because she couldn’t bear the loneliness any more.
‘I pretended I felt lonely because I travelled around so much, but the truth is I was a big, fat fraud who couldn’t trust the drivelling hogwash that came out of her own mouth. How could anyone get close to me, when there was no real me any more?’
I nearly told her, then. I would have told her, only Hope started crying because she was long overdue a nap, and by the time I’d settled her the moment had passed.
‘So, you and Daniel,’ Becky pronounced. I waited for her to expand, but no, that was it.
‘What about me and my friend’s brother who is also my landlord?’ I asked, eventually, just to stop her from smirking.
‘Your landlord who rescued you from the side of the road, invited you to move in and also happens to be both single, a really nice person and have a devastatingly sexy scar?’ She shrugged. ‘Just wondering how you were getting on. The two of you. All those cosy nights in together.’
‘Sounds like you should be the one cosying up with him if you think he’s that great,’ I retorted back, in a vain attempt to pretend I didn’t agree.
She flapped one hand in dismissal. ‘Nah. He’s not my type.’
I resisted the urge to ask if pie and pint loving tradesmen were her type.
‘So, how about you? Any sparks flying over the breakfast table? Are you like, spending your evenings hanging out together or what?’
‘Wow. This really is a no-holds-barred, right from the get-go friendship, isn’t it?’
Becky grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve no one to gossip to. Well, apart from Mum, and I’m not about to feed that beast.’
I coughed. Straightened my mug on its coaster and cleared my throat again. ‘Daniel is clearly a really nice guy. And yes, while we have spent some time together in between him working and looking after Hope, it would be far too complicated for me to entertain any notions of a spark. I love it here, and want to make a go of Charlie’s dream. Developing feelings for her brother, who is, as you said, my live-in-landlord, would be a catastrophic move. So, in answer to your question, we’re friends.’ I smiled. ‘Although I haven’t officially asked him.’
‘Okay, so to clarify, you fancy the pants off him but don’t know if he feels the same way and don’t want to make a fool of yourself?’
Before I could clarify her clarification by fudging something about how yes, of course I fancied him but I was hiding a horrible, shameful secret identity so couldn’t do anything about it even if he hadn’t been Charlie’s brother, my landlord and possible future business partner, another clang rang out.
‘What the hell?’ Becky made as if about to duck under the table.
‘It’s the doorbell.’
‘Wow. Sounds more like an intruder alarm.’
Which, it turned out, it might as well have been. Damson Farm was about to be invaded.
14
This time, Daniel got to the door before me. Due to my innate journalistic nosiness, I lurked a few feet behind him in the hallway to see who it was.
‘Ah, hello there!’ A man’s voice boomed. ‘Are we all right to leave our bags here?’
Then, as Daniel stood there looking a mixture of bewildered and incensed, the man wangled his way past him into the house, immediately followed by two women.
‘This is so not what we were expecting!’ One of them, dressed in what I knew to be a £2,000 coat, because I’d been given the exact same one in a different shade, muttered at the other, who scanned the hallway and stairs while unwinding a giant scarf from around her neck.
‘Well, in here’s not as bad,’ the scarf unwinder replied, grudgingly. ‘I mean, at least it’s authentic.’
‘Where do you want us?’ the man asked, who’d come to a stop by the kitchen door.
‘Um, how about back outside on the front step while we establish who you are and what you’re doing here?’ Daniel said, creaking the door open as wide as it would go.
‘Heh, heh! Very funny,’ the man chortled. ‘It’s the Stephe Winbrook party. Two doubles and a single. The other two will be arriving in an hour or so, they’ve got lost somewhere between back and beyond.’
‘I think you might be the ones lost, actually,’ Daniel replied, clearly losing patience. At that point, his phone rang from the study, and he quickly caught my eye. ‘I have to take that. Can you deal with this, please?’ He’d reached his study before finishing the sentence, firmly closing the door behind him.
‘I’m really sorry, but you must have the wrong place.’ Despite me knowing that this was true, I couldn’t help automatically taking the £2,000 coat when the woman held it out to me. You can take the girl out of hospitality…
‘Damson Farm?’ the man asked. ‘It’s taken us hours to get here. This had better be the right place!’
‘Uh, yes, this is Damson Farm. But can I ask why you’re here?’
‘We were invited! Booked the dates with Charlie yonks ago. She guaranteed a special advance rate for a midweek booking. Just the one night, like I said, three rooms. Perhaps you’d better check the system?’
My heart began knocking against my chest. Again, the hospitality in my blood kicked in. I smoothed down my jumper and stuck on my best smile. ‘Certainly, if you’d like to wait through here, I’ll do that right away. Did you say the booking was under Steve Winbrook?’
‘I most certainly did not! Steve!’ He let out a guffaw of laughter. ‘Steve!’ The women tittered along with him, shaking their heads at my preposterous mistake. ‘It’s Stephe. Rhymes with beef. Short for Stephen. With a ph. If you ask Charlie, she’ll remember me.’ He winked, and then winked again in case I’d missed it the first time.
I whipped open the living room door, hurrying in to scoop up a stray beer bottle left over from the night before, and straightening a couple of cushions. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable.’
‘I already have.’ He gave me a deft full-body scan and winked again.
‘Right, sir.’ I couldn’t force myself to say Stephe. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
I hurried into the kitchen to check the non-existent system for a non-existent booking, instead grabbing my hair in both hands and frantically whispering a summary of the situation to Becky.
‘Well, you’ll just have to explain what happened.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll do it, if you want.’
I ducked back through to the living room. One woman was perched on the same sofa as Stephe, mumbling into her phone, the other had her head in a cupboard. ‘Excuse me, you said you paid an advance rate? Can I please double check what that was?’
Stephe pulled his phone out and scrolled through it. ‘Two for the doubles, one-five for the single. That’s all meals and activities included. I did double check the offer on the website.’
There’s a website?
‘Right, £200, and £150. I’ll be right back.’
‘No, sweetheart!’ Stephe called after me. ‘Two thousand.’
Crap.
‘We can’t afford to refund them £5,000!’ I whisper-screeched at Becky.
‘Are you even liable?’ B
ecky was cool as a cucumber. In fact, from the glint in her eye I suspected she might be enjoying herself. ‘If someone who sold you a service has died, surely that’s tough cheese? Isn’t that what holiday insurance is for?’
‘What if that means Hope is now liable?’ I paced up and down, trying to get my head to stop spinning and start thinking. I had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie had taken thousands of pounds off these people, on the back of copious wild promises, without even considering the financial processes involved in setting up a business. If one of those snotty women got wind of this, who knows what the fallout would be? A bad review might be the least of our problems.
‘I think I’m going to have to go ahead and let them stay.’
‘What?’ Becky squealed. No doubt about it, she was loving this.
‘I can pull this off.’ I nodded my head, mentally ticking through a checklist of the basics. ‘We’ve got the bedrooms, I can rustle up some food, pour drinks. Figure out the rest as I go along. I can, can’t I? I mean, I’m not sure I’ve got any other option at this point…’
Clang.
‘That’ll be the remaining guests, then.’ I had to try and get the twinge of hysteria out of my voice.
I re-straightened my jumper, plastered the smile back on and went to greet them.
I was three steps down the hallway when Hope started crying.
So, Daniel emerged from his conference call to find five strangers lounging on his sofas, drinking tea out of his great-grandmother’s best china and eating freshly baked scones with the last of his jam and the cream I’d been saving for a pasta dish.
Becky and I were upstairs frantically chucking clutter into the tiny box room and making up the beds using a mishmash of bedding that we were hoping to pull off as quaint rather than 1980s Argos.
‘We’re going to have to put someone in Charlie’s room,’ I said, when he came and found us.
‘No.’ He scooped Hope off the bedroom floor.
