We Belong Together

by Beth Moran

  I’d never written about Charlie, and even if I had, I hadn’t mentioned that she’d died, because I hadn’t known. I hadn’t told Lucy or Miles, so they couldn’t inadvertently mention it to anyone. There had been nothing on social media about Charlie’s death, because she had closed down her account, and Daniel stayed well away from all of that. Plus, the Perrys had worked hard to keep the whole thing quiet because of Billie’s issues around the way that she died.

  After going round and round, prodding at every argument, trying to figure out if I’d missed anything, I had to conclude that Grandma’s clue wouldn’t have helped anyone. I ached to talk it through with someone, a person who didn’t have most of their brain frozen solid in fear and so could think half-straight, but who could that be?

  There was no way I could tell anyone this, without telling them everything. It may have been twisted priorities, but that was what scared me most of all.

  Daniel arrived back at the same time as the walkers, who tramped through the door in a flurry of muddy boots and rosy cheeks just after four. The Tufted Duck being a B & B, they had all booked dinner at the nearest pub, about a quarter of a mile along the lake.

  ‘We need to think about food,’ I said to Daniel, once Hope had been settled with a bottle on Grandma’s knee in the lounge room, their presence nicely avoiding the post-creepy comment awkwardness. ‘I think I saw some pasta bake in the fridge.’

  ‘Is that a joke?’ Grandma said. ‘Whatever your parents might think, you three are meant to be on holiday!’

  ‘She’s got a fair point,’ Daniel replied, cradling his mug of tea. ‘I’m sure the pasta is lovely, but how about going out to eat?’

  ‘A good idea!’ Grandma said. ‘Somewhere swanky that even a big, fancy pants famous restaurant reviewer would approve of!’

  ‘Grandma,’ I chided. ‘I’m not that famous or fancy pants. And we can hardly take Hope somewhere like that.’

  ‘Well, of course not. Leave her with us. We’ll watch her.’

  ‘Um.’ I glanced at Daniel. While Hope was having a lovely time playing with Grandma’s beaded necklace, I wasn’t sure she was quite up to babysitting duties.

  ‘I’ve actually already booked us a table at the Red House.’

  ‘What?’ The Red House was about as swanky, fancy pants as Windermere got.

  Daniel shrugged, and behind his mug he appeared to be blushing. ‘We were driving past and it looked nice. It’s ages since I’ve eaten at a restaurant. And like Grandma said, you might be on a work trip but I’m on holiday.’

  Oh my goodness.

  He had booked us a meal in a restaurant.

  While one part of my brain knew this could be in order to relocate to a neutral venue to tell me that due to my inappropriate feelings I would need to move out of Damson Farm, a larger part was jumping up and down in a mixture of ecstasy, excitement and full-blown nerves.

  Surely this was a date?

  A man asking a woman, who strongly indicated that she found him attractive only hours earlier, to eat out with him in a fine dining restaurant? If it wasn’t a date, it was downright cruel not to be clear about it.

  My heart was flapping like a demented chicken.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, my voice humiliatingly hoarse.

  ‘Well, why wouldn’t he be sure?’ Grandma exclaimed. ‘It’s only a meal out, isn’t it? Although…’ She leant towards Daniel’s chair. ‘You are paying, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, given that I’m staying here for free, I think I’d better pay.’

  ‘Very good. I wholeheartedly approve. Eleanor?’ Grandma nodded, satisfied. ‘Go and do all the things I’ve not done since your Grandad was here, God bless him.’

  25

  On my first ‘first date’ since Marcus, back in June, I would have ideally had something nicer to wear than jeans and a baggy brown jumper. In a perfect scenario, I would have worn some make-up, and gone to the hairdresser for the first time in forever.

  I might have even worn shoes that didn’t have a rubber sole and laces.

  I tried to remind myself that Daniel had seen me looking far worse on many occasions, and at least I’d showered and brushed my hair this time, but still. No one wants to go to a Michelin-starred restaurant and look like they’d just rolled in off the sofa, even if it wasn’t a date.

  I eyed myself in the Pintail full-length mirror, thought about all my designer clothes left behind in London, and reminded myself how much happier I was to have left that shallow, fake life behind, too.

  Just then, my phone beeped with a message. It was Becky:

  There’s another bag in the car. Might be useful this evening xx

  What??

  For your date! XX

  WHAT?!?

  Did I guess right that you failed to pack anything other than jeans and jumpers?

  Before I could think of a reply, she sent one more message:

  Yes, I asked Daniel if he was planning on taking you out. He dodged the question but the dreamy look in his eyes gave the answer away. ENJOY!! And make sure you tell me EVERYTHING when you get back xx

  Wow.

  He’d thought about this even before the creepy comment.

  Even if he hadn’t thought about it himself, Becky had made him think about it.

  I checked the time, grabbed Daniel’s car keys from the bedside table and raced to the car.

  Half an hour later, looking pretty darn fine if I do say so myself in a black midi dress with mesh sleeves and a swishy skirt, my hair pinned up and wearing a pair of heeled ankle boots that had survived the trip from London, I went to find Daniel.

  He was standing awkwardly by the reception desk, facing the lounge room. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of Hope shrieking with laughter burst through the open door.

  ‘Hi,’ I managed.

  He spun to face me. ‘Oh. Hi!’

  For a long moment, we stood there, the air so still that I heard Daniel swallow.

  ‘Here.’ He managed a smile then, thrusting a bunch of pale pink tulips towards me.

  ‘These are lovely!’ They were. Simple, beautiful. Not a hint of showmanship. I hurried into the kitchen to put them in water, my heart pounding.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Daniel said, once I’d returned, nodding a little stiffly.

  ‘Thank you. So do you.’ He wore a moss-coloured shirt that made his eyes look green, and trousers that were smart without looking like he’d just left a work meeting.

  Wow. This was really happening. I was on a date with Daniel. I hoped we weren’t walking because I wasn’t sure how long my legs could hold me up.

  ‘Is Hope okay?’ I asked, remembering how unsettled she’d been the night before.

  ‘Your grandma is planning on letting her fall asleep while being cuddled. She’s got a bottle, a banana and unwavering attention. Plus the T-shirt I wore today. Oh, and your mum and dad have promised to Grandma-sit while she babysits. Hope’s more than okay.’

  A perfectly timed wave of giggles wafted through the door.

  Daniel checked his phone.

  ‘Come on then, the taxi’s here. My plan is to slip out without her noticing.’

  It was a clear evening, but not a cold one. The air carried a definite hint of spring, and the fading twilight shimmered on the lake. I pointed out the odd random landmark as we wound out of the town and to where the Red House nestled against the edge of the water. Its lights twinkled through the glass-enclosed deck that wrapped around the building so that patrons could enjoy the view whatever the weather.

  The restaurant was quiet, as expected on a Tuesday night in the middle of March, and our table was right up against the water’s edge. The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, but I could have watched the moon glimmering on the gentle waves all night.

  ‘Do you miss the lake?’ Daniel asked.

  I turned to see him watching me, grateful that the candlelight would probably hide my blush.

  ‘Sometimes.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve
not lived near water for six years, so having the Maddon nearby is brilliant.’

  ‘What about the mountains?’

  I took a sip of water. ‘Again, I’ve grown used to concrete and tarmac. While Nottinghamshire farmland is completely different to here, I’m simply enjoying being surrounded by fresh air and green spaces again.’

  ‘Good.’ He smiled and nodded. We both took a sip of water, and did some napkin straightening, menu inspecting and glancing about while we tried to remember how to make conversation at a dinner table. Something that had felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world until we dressed it up with a smart shirt and lipstick.

  ‘This trip is the first time we’ve been off the farm together since you found me in the ditch,’ I said, with a spark of realisation.

  Daniel looked up at me through lowered eyelashes. ‘That’s the main reason why I came.’

  Before he could say anything else, or I could remember how to breathe, the waiter arrived to take our order, and by the time he’d left I’d thankfully regained the ability to look in Daniel’s general direction and open my mouth at the same time.

  ‘So, what did you get up to today?’ I asked, at the exact same time he said, ‘Did you have a useful day?’

  Cue awkward laugh, which only made me feel even more awkward, until thankfully Daniel plunged in and answered the question.

  ‘I visited an orchard.’

  ‘Oh?’

  We paused while another waiter produced our wine with a flourish, inviting Daniel to taste it while completely ignoring me until he’d had the go ahead to pour a proper glass.

  ‘They have apples for cider, pears, and beehives.’

  I could see where this was leading. ‘It sounds great.’

  We talked about it right through our starters and main course. No more first date tension, simply me and Daniel dreaming and debating about another idea over dinner, only with a white tablecloth and classier tableware.

  By the time we ordered passionfruit cheesecake and rhubarb caramel tart, we had dreamed up a fully-fledged venture, carefully integrating the orchard year into the retreat events. Another member of Daniel’s team at work was looking to reduce their hours to part-time, and having totted up the figures, he had already spoken to his manager about a potential job share.

  ‘I’ve been saving money, investing in a fund for Hope’s future. I don’t know, uni costs, a nice wedding, enough to be able to hand what’s left of the farm over to her in a decent state. But all these plans for the retreat business got me thinking. The farm means so much to me, meant so much to Charlie, not because it’s been our family home for generations, but because it was our family home. Nearly every memory I have is of us being together. Grandad sitting me on his knee while he drove the tractor. Dad showing me how to mend a fence. Helping Mum collect the eggs. Every single type of weather you could think of, every season and time of day, I have a memory for. And while I loved roaming the fields alone, I knew that at some point I’d spot Dad or one of the farmhands in the distance, that Grandma would be in the kitchen or with Mum in the garden. Charlie would be out looking for me as soon as she got bored, which was all the time. It was always about family and then all that got lost. First when Dad died, and we sold most of the land and let go of the animals, but then after Charlie, it was like our family died with her. Especially since Mum doesn’t want to even talk about it, let alone visit.’

  ‘And burying your head in work meant you didn’t have to think about it.’

  Daniel sighed. ‘It’s almost like a part of me wanted to pretend the rest of the farm had gone, too. It was less painful than trying to keep it going by myself. Even if it did mean feeling guilty about letting the Perry ancestors down and being the family failure. But the family hasn’t died. My family is learning to crawl and hold a spoon and wave goodbye. And what are her memories going to be? Of a dad too tired and busy and miserable to even show her how to pick the apples that are right outside her garden gate? Will her memories of the farm be of a rundown mess?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t let that happen. I’m going to cut down my work days and introduce Hope to her orchard.’

  Daniel’s eyes sparkled as he shared out the last of the wine. I flashed back to the exhausted, lifeless man who I had met two months ago, and decided that if getting the Damson Farm orchard up and running would help keep this transformation, then I was with him all the way.

  ‘Right, I’ve done your question. Time for you to answer mine,’ he said.

  I broke off a forkful of tart, trying to work out what he was talking about.

  ‘Did you have a productive day?’

  ‘Oh! Okay. Um. Well. Productive in that I’ve confirmed the secret to the Tufted Duck’s success.’ Daniel waited while I ate the chunk of tart, the sharpness biting against the caramelised sweetness in a way that made me decide to ask for the recipe. ‘Mum and Dad know what their customers want, and they stick to it. Face to face contact, minimal online anything. No frills, no fuss, no faffing about. Just plain, simple, exactly the same as every other time they’ve been here, even if that is since 1972. Cheap, and if not quite cheerful, at least it’s clean and excellent quality.’

  ‘Useful, then?’

  ‘Useful in that it’s made me realise that the most important thing about what we’re doing isn’t trying to please everyone, but in making sure we decide what we want to be, being clear about that, and then sticking to it, so the people who do find us aren’t disappointed.’

  ‘So who are these people, and how do you know what they want?’

  I thought carefully about that, even as I felt a stab of shame at my cowardly censoring of the answer. ‘I’ve met a lot of people through work in the past few years. People like Stephe and Saskia, who have worked so hard to get where they are, whether that’s a job, or a look, a social media following. The right postcode, the right partner, all the right hashtags. Even being on holiday has to be the most fabulous experience. It’s exhausting trying to appear so chilled out and relaxed. I think maybe our target market is people who just want to not care about what other people think for once. To be a total mess, scrabbling in the dirt for potatoes, while possibly crying about how they’d love to feel this way all of the time, not just while on some quirky retreat. To imagine that if it was completely up to them, which at the end of the day it usually is, who would they be and what would they do.’

  I shrugged, finishing off my dessert. ‘Those sorts of people.’

  Daniel screwed up his forehead. ‘Ugh. You don’t get many of those in Ferrington.’

  I gave a pointed look. ‘It could be argued that you fit into that category.’

  His eyebrows shot up in horror. ‘What? I’m the complete opposite of that category. I don’t even go on social media.’

  ‘Working yourself half to death, refusing to accept any help in order to prove some sort of point. No time for friends, no energy for fun, not once asking yourself if you might actually prefer to give it all up and grow fruit or teach your daughter how to drive a tractor instead.’

  He ran a hand over his mouth, but it didn’t hide his grin. ‘Fair enough. There is one clear difference, though, between me and those sorts of people.’

  ‘Just one?’

  ‘I’ve figured out that things need to change without spending £2,000 on a life-regeneration retreat.’

  ‘No.’ I risked a smirk as Daniel paid the bill. I was tipsy, and happy, and so stuffed with delicious feelings for Daniel that I was having trouble keeping them from tumbling out. ‘It took picking up a random stranger in a ditch to get you there.’

  ‘Best random stranger I ever found in a ditch, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Only random stranger. I hope.’

  He held the door open for me, pointing to the taxi waiting by the roadside.

  ‘Could’ve been a thousand random strangers stinking of ditchwater, you’d still be the best.’

  Then he turned, face bright in the night air, and bent his head close to mi
ne, eyes burning right into the deepest heart of me. ‘It was the second-best decision I’ve ever made.’

  ‘Second best?’ I whispered, because the question begged to be asked, even if it was taking things slightly off-track.

  His eyes crinkled, and he answered at the same instant I realised. ‘Hope,’ we said together, smiling. I could be second best to Hope.

  ‘We should probably get back to her,’ I breathed. Daniel ignored me, instead he slowly reached one hand up and stroked my hair back from my face, keeping it caught in his hand as it rested against the side of my head. As every nerve in my body hummed with anticipation, he bent even closer, not once breaking my gaze, and then, so gently I might be able to convince myself later I’d imagined it, he closed his eyes at the very last millisecond and pressed his lips against mine.

  The taxi horn beeped. ‘Meter’s running!’

  Daniel pulled back, waving in acknowledgement while somehow keeping his eyes fixed on mine, and wrapped my hand in his as though he’d done it a hundred times before. We hurried to the car, climbed in and rode the brief journey back to the Tufted Duck in silence. Whether Daniel’s was regretful, embarrassed or contented I hadn’t a clue. Mine was a mix of the last two. Potentially the first one, depending upon what happened next.

  What happened was that Daniel kept my trembling hand tucked safely in his right up until we reached the kitchen door. He paused to smile at me – and by smile, I mean an expression of delight that I’d only seen him direct at his daughter prior to this moment – then he carefully smoothed back a loose strand of my hair, as if that one small kiss had been enough to dishevel my appearance as well as my heart. He cleared his throat, straightened his shirt and stepped inside.

  Mum was in the kitchen, boiling the kettle for her evening herbal tea.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Did you have a nice meal?’