We Belong Together

by Beth Moran

  In order to cover all bases, I adapted the posts into real A4 posters, and printed out a pile of copies while Daniel was bathing Hope, ready to pin to every spare lamp post and available noticeboard the next day.

  All I had to do now was use my nationally acclaimed writing skills to pen a speech so convincing in its brilliance that everyone who heard it would be too enthralled to either shout me down, run me out of town or wallop me over the head with a bottle of cider. And, immediately after that we could get on with raising the funds to build the Ferrington peace bridge.

  You’re welcome.

  19

  On Tuesday, after a morning sanding the hall floor, which Hope decided was alternately hilarious and terrifying, I realised with a jolt that it was review day. I couldn’t resist peeking at Nora Sharp’s social media accounts, just to check Lucy was safe and well, of course. Safe, well and loving every minute of it, it would appear: #GoingGlobal #FlyingHigh #BetterThanEver. I then stuffed Hope into her snowsuit and we walked to the shops to buy bananas, a large slab of chocolate and, while I was there, I thought I might as well chuck in a newspaper.

  The latest review was for an exclusive spa resort off the coast of Italy. I spent a few minutes scanning images and wondering why I’d never thought of #GoingGlobal, and then I read the actual review and decided that wreaking havoc and destruction in one country had been more than enough. Nora Sharp was an ill-placed comma away from getting sued. Or fired.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Daniel asked, suddenly looming over my shoulder as I hunched at the kitchen table.

  ‘Not really.’ I twisted myself round to face him, plastering on a casual smile as I splayed myself across the open pages. ‘Just, you know, thought I’d see what was going on back in London.’

  ‘Missing the big city?’ Twin worry lines appeared at the top of his nose.

  ‘No!’ I replied, letting out a derisive laugh verging on a cackle. I took a moment to breathe. ‘I’m really not. I love it here. If anything, I’m looking to congratulate myself on making my best decision in years.’

  I’d straightened up in my efforts to appear honest – which shouldn’t have been that difficult, considering I was telling the truth. Daniel leaned closer, and while momentarily distracted by the proximity of his broad shoulder, accompanied by his now all-too-familiar scent and delicious warmth…

  While I may have been closing my eyes and enjoying a shiver of loveliness, Daniel spied the review.

  ‘Ugh!’ he snorted, causing my eyes to snap back open. ‘I can’t stand that woman. What kind of moral vacuum must she have crawled out of to be able to not only live with herself, but act like she’s proud of making a career from being unpleasant? I can’t understand why anyone would give her the time of day, let alone read that poison.’

  I flipped over the page, and tried to ignore the secret that thrashed in my guts.

  A couple of days later, firmly refocused on the future, I persuaded Becky to help me clear out a space in the barn that stood closest to the orchard. After swinging open the double doors and shining Daniel’s farmer-sized torch into the far corners, we agreed that a more professional opinion was required before venturing inside.

  ‘I’ve already called Luke,’ Daniel said, once we retreated back into the warmth of the farmhouse to ask Daniel. ‘He’ll pop by in an hour or so.’

  ‘It’s your barn,’ Becky squeaked. ‘You’re a fourth-generation farmer! Surely you don’t need Luke to check it out for you!’

  He grinned. ‘I’m a transmissions and distribution forecasting manager, and I wouldn’t risk setting foot in that barn without Luke’s go-ahead. Whatever you two are planning, I doubt it’s worth endangering lives over.’

  According to my research, using the barn was going to save lives, not endanger them, but I wasn’t about to argue against a visit from Luke.

  While we waited for him to arrive, Becky distracted herself from the urge to hide in the cellar by prodding me further about the event.

  ‘I think it’s a lovely idea, could be a great evening, and those are in short supply around here, but what exactly is the point? Usually these things are done to raise money for something. This is free.’

  I shrugged. ‘I thought it might be a nice way to get to know some people, and try out some ideas for the retreat, test some new recipes. If the space works, we could think about hiring it out as a venue for parties, or weddings. Even corporate events.’

  ‘Wow.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ve moved way beyond a retreat already.’

  ‘The event space is just an idea. Really, I wanted to put on a free party in the hope I might make a couple more friends.’

  ‘Or check out the local talent?’

  ‘Yes! That’s a good idea. We’ll be needing more help once we—’

  I realised by the look on her face that she was talking about a different sort of talent.

  ‘Well, maybe Luke will come along, so you can be the ones checking each other out across the cider barrels.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Becky burst out laughing. ‘Can you imagine him turning up to an Old Side event. He’d be lynched!’ Her laugh grew to what I considered to be completely out of proportion to the supposed joke. ‘Or… or imagine if you’d decided to carry out some sneaky scheme to get both sides together, and then a load of people turned up from across the river! It’d be a full-on riot!’ She snorted a few times, trying to get her next words out. ‘You’d have to flee the country! Daniel could never show his face in the village again. I mean, the reality would not be funny, but the idea of you thinking it might work is hilarious.’

  ‘I don’t think you give the people of Ferrington anywhere near enough credit,’ I huffed, ignoring a prickle of apprehension. ‘You and Alice didn’t take much convincing to work together. And when I was in the pub last week, Alice pointed out loads of people who’d sneaked over to the Old Side for one reason or another. I think this feud has become far more show than substance, only no one’s brave enough to say it.’

  Becky looked at me then, all trace of amusement vanished. ‘Eleanor, promise you won’t do something stupid. At least not without talking to me about it first.’

  Before I could garble a jumbled lie (or confess the truth), Luke appeared.

  After a rigorous inspection, he declared the barn to be solid enough. ‘It’s mostly surface damage, nothing that’ll put anyone at risk. Although that ivy could be the only thing holding the back wall together, so be careful with that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d have time to help us empty it?’ I asked. ‘I’d pay you for your time, of course.’

  Luke flicked his gaze across to Becky, loitering a few metres away in the shadow of an oak tree.

  ‘We’d both really appreciate the help, even if it’s just half an hour.’

  ‘I heard you make cakes.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m sure I could rustle something up. Why don’t you two get started and I’ll put the kettle on?’

  I returned with tea and a decent chunk of carrot cake to see Luke and Becky lifting either end of a rusty water trough as they carried it out of the barn. Becky’s face was glowing with exertion, her curls springing out beneath her bobble hat, and she looked positively gorgeous. I made a concerted effort to spend the next hour hefting the items small enough to carry by myself, leaving the larger ones for the two of them. It was working – Becky was keeping her composure, and even managed to stutter a coherent answer when Luke asked how the bees were doing.

  ‘I could bring a couple of jars of honey over, if you wanted any,’ she said, fiddling with her hat.

  Luke raised one eyebrow in reply.

  ‘I mean, I could bring them here! So you can pick them up when you come to install the bathroom.’

  He gave a curt nod. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Ever thought of moving out of the village, Luke?’ I asked, dumping a crate of screws in the growing pile outside the barn doors.

  He moved back inside to grab an old-fashioned roller lawnmow
er. ‘Got no reason to move.’

  ‘Well, then, Becky could drop her honey round to your house without it being a problem.’

  Becky glared at me, mouth hanging open, making frantic tiny slashing motions across her neck.

  ‘It’s not a problem for me now.’ He strolled past, swinging the mower as if it was made of cotton wool, not iron.

  ‘It’s a problem for Becky, given the response she might get from your neighbours.’

  He paused, mower perched on his shoulder. Becky looked as though she might faint, whether from the topic of conversation or how rugged and manly he looked, I wasn’t sure. Probably both. ‘As tasty as Ziva’s honey is, I’m not sure it’s worth me moving house for, given that we’ve agreed Becky’ll drop some at the farm.’

  I resisted the urge to explain that honey was not quite the point.

  Luke removed his gloves, pulled off his beanie hat to run a hand over his buzz-cut hair, then tugged it back on again. ‘Time I headed off.’

  ‘Well, thanks for all your help. Do you want me to pay now, or will you email an invoice?’

  He took three strides over to where the remains of the cake sat on a crate, grabbed the lot and took a giant bite. ‘Consider it paid!’ he called, words distorted by a full mouth. Then he shot Becky a wink, jumped in his van and left her swooning in the spray from his wet tyres.

  I spent that night twisting myself up in the duvet, imagining the various ways that the Ferrington mob might react to my idea. Then remembering how Becky had guffawed at the very thought of me inviting both sides to my stupid cider tasting, and spiralling into panic.

  I lugged myself down for breakfast as soon as I heard Hope wake up, opting for coffee and a square of apple cake. My housemates were already enjoying their eggy soldiers.

  After a fortifying gulp of coffee, I decided to go for it. I needed to be open about what I was planning. Given the risk – albeit surely a small one – of anything kicking off, Daniel had the right to know in advance, given that it was his farm.

  ‘So… one of the reasons I’m clearing out the barn is because I’m planning a low-key type thing.’

  Daniel looked up at me from under his brow.

  ‘This Sunday evening.’

  He waited, a blob of egg dripping off the end of his sourdough soldier.

  ‘Like, with, cider tasting and food samples and, um, a short presentation.’

  Daniel nodded, stuffing in the soldier in one bite. ‘I was wondering when you were going to tell me about it.’

  ‘You know already?’

  One corner of his mouth tweaked up. ‘I might not go on social media, but I do go into the village from time to time. Even if it wasn’t plastered up and down Old Main Street, this is a village. I couldn’t take three steps without someone asking if I was really giving away free alcohol in my barn.’ He took a spoon and scooped out the last piece of Hope’s egg for her. ‘I’m presuming it’s some sort of publicity thing. Not that I’m sure how many of the random Ferrings who’ll respond to the offer of free booze are the sort of clientele prepared to pay hundreds for a lifestyle reconfiguration retreat.’ He handed Hope her last piece of toast. ‘You might get some future cake orders, though.’

  ‘It’s not totally for publicity.’

  ‘Oh?’ He looked at me, the creases sharpening across his brow. ‘The short talk from a local?’ He sat back, eyes widening as he pressed a finger against his scar. ‘I’m not the local, am I?’

  ‘No!’ I gripped my hands together, took a deep breath. ‘I am.’

  ‘You? You’re giving a talk about Ferrington’s farming history?’

  ‘Um, sort of?’

  And then, because I couldn’t bear to keep another secret from this man, who made me feel like it might be worth being myself – plus, I was genuinely starting to worry that I might be about to incite a mass brawl on his property – I told him precisely what I was planning on talking about.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘That’s all you’re going to say? You aren’t going to tell me I’m crazy or that I’m going to be responsible for instigating the Great War of Ferrington? Or at least that it’s a total waste of time and effort.’

  He smiled. ‘How can trying to do a good thing be a waste of time? And as much as people might enjoy perpetuating the feud, very few of them would resort to violence, these days. Most likely people’ll simply turn around as soon as they get there and realise both sides are invited. Some might decide to stay and heckle, start some aggro, but I’ll deal with that. And you never know, one or two might even listen to what you have to say. In which case, it’s a start. One tiny step closer to your peace bridge.’

  Right then and there, I fell in love with Daniel Perry.

  ‘Maybe keep the cider samples small ones, though. At least until you’ve finished your talk.’

  20

  Becky and I spent the weekend getting things ready. Did I feel guilty, duping my business partner and new best friend into helping me scrub the worst of the dirt off the walls, climb a ladder to swap the cobwebs in the rafters for strings of fairy lights and set up picnic tables, lanterns, a couple of patio heaters and other various bits and bobs we needed, all under false pretences?

  Not as bad as I did when she donated two dozen jars of honey and a pallet of apples that Ziva had scrumped from the orchard the previous autumn. There wasn’t anywhere near enough to make cider, even if I had had the couple of weeks needed to brew some, but Hope and I spent most of Saturday whipping up cakes, pies and tiny individual pastries for sampling, supplemented by plums from a Nottingham wholesaler. I wangled a discount from a local non-profit organisation producing traditional cider from wild orchards and then spent the rest of my budget on a crate of damson wine, along with tiny, compostable plastic cups for tasting, and a load of cheap cheese and crackers to go with the chutney samples.

  Every time the anxiety started revving up again, I reminded myself of Charlie, and what she would have thought about it. I was certain that had she been here, she’d have been standing right beside me at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up and face glowing.

  The event was scheduled for 7 p.m. until 9. At 6.55, I added the last platter of cinnamon apple turnovers to the trestle tables lining one side of the barn. The lights were on, the heaters were blasting, and Becky and I were dressed in claret-coloured dresses to match the fruit themed décor (sprigs of dried flowers stuffed in milk bottles tied with red twine, red and green striped table runners, and strings of paper apples and plums draped from the rafters. Becky had even created a Damson Farm logo, thin, dark red text winding around a damson tree, which she’d blown up onto a massive poster and stuck on the back wall).

  At one minute past seven, Ziva arrived, arm in arm with Becky’s dad, closely followed by four of their friends. At two minutes past, Alice texted to say that she was on her way. At three minutes past, I was hiding behind the barn, bent over with my hands on my knees while trying not to throw up.

  What the hell had I done?

  Then I heard feet scrunching in the gravel behind me and a strong, warm hand gripped my elbow.

  ‘Come on,’ Daniel said, his breath warm against my neck. ‘Becky’s wondering where you are.’

  ‘I just need a minute,’ I said, breathing slowly to avoid retching in front of him.

  ‘No, you need to get back to your event. Any second now someone from the New Side is going to turn up and you need to be there to provide the voice of reason.’

  ‘Can’t you do that?’

  ‘This is your night, Eleanor. I’m not about to steal your glory.’ He twizzled me around to face him, taking one look at my stricken expression before pulling me into the warmth of his soft jacket, my face buried against his shoulder, his arms gently wrapped around me. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ve got your back. If it comes to it, Becky, Ziva, Alice, Luke… your back’s not that big.’ He gave it a friendly pat, as if to prove it. ‘We can cover it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this was a terrible idea,
and ban me from using your barn?’ I mumbled into his shoulder, wishing I could simply stay there.

  ‘Because it’s not.’ I could feel him smiling against my hair. How could one moment be so full of horror and so deliciously lovely all at the same time?

  ‘If it was a good idea, someone else would have tried it. No one else is stupid enough to invite the whole village to a joint event, as if all that’s needed is a teensy cup of cider and a piece of plum cake and everyone will live happily ever after.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because no one else is brave enough.’ He paused. ‘My sister invited the whole class to her birthday party, every year without fail.’

  ‘Did they all come? From both sides?’ I felt another painful wave of longing for my friend.

  ‘No. To my parents’ relief. But she kept on trying, anyway.’

  The headlights of another car lit up the darkness beyond the edge of the barn.

  ‘Come on, you’re freezing. And as much as I believe in you, I’ve left my daughter in what might be about to turn into a bloodbath.’

  I made a groan of protest.

  ‘Eleanor, you started this. Imagine if it actually works. Imagine if at least some of the people who come, decide to stay and mend some bridges. Wouldn’t that make it all worth it?’

  The thing with Daniel was, when he spoke, something in me couldn’t resist believing him.

  He pulled away, and I allowed him to steer me by the shoulders, back around the corner and over to where a gaggle of people waited near the barn doors. A rush of adrenaline zipped around my nervous system. Fear-based, mainly. But also, mixed in there was a tiny bit of excitement. The faces were beaming as they were greeted by Becky, who handed each person three cardboard tokens, each of which could be swapped for a sample of cider or damson wine.