We Belong Together

by Beth Moran

  After holding our breath for a couple of days while Becky bombarded her contacts with promotional links, we had our next booking. And then the next, and by the time we were ready to open our doors we had at least one booking every month until the end of the year.

  The weekend before the first guests arrived, Daniel and I celebrated with leftovers from the Pepper’s Pizza lunch run.

  ‘I know you’ve spent hours crafting perfectly planned menus, but nothing beats a Pepper’s Pizza.’ Daniel breathed a sigh of pleasure, leaning back against the newly positioned arbour.

  I pointed my half-eaten slice at him. ‘That’s because food is intrinsically emotional. Pizza to you is all about relaxing at the end of a busy week, it’s like an automatic trigger to chill out.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. That’s not it. Pizza is all those evenings when instead of eating alone, sat at my desk, praying my baby didn’t start screaming so I could get some work done before I collapsed face-down into my laptop, I got to spend my evening in the company of an astoundingly beautiful and interesting woman.’ He paused. ‘I mean beautiful on the inside.’

  ‘Oh, what, and interesting on the outside?’

  He laughed. ‘You are interesting on the outside. I could watch you all day. You’re both those things, inside and out. And you make me laugh. You give me hope… You are quite possibly the loveliest woman I know, and I love Pepper’s Pizza because it reminds me of you.’

  ‘Wow.’ It wasn’t possible to hide behind a tiny chunk of pizza crust, but I tried anyway.

  ‘You’ve changed everything, for the better.’

  ‘You’re one to talk. You’ve given me a whole new life.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘You gave yourself that life. I just offered a stuffy old box room and free rein of my kitchen.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You gave me hope.’

  ‘Well, sounds like we’re even then. Do you think we should have pizza at our wedding reception?’

  He winked, but it didn’t stop the flood of elation and guilt and panic all the same. I didn’t know how to feel about this horrible shadow that still hovered two steps behind me. Wandering through a sunny orchard packed with cheerfully hardworking people, the threat seemed a silly, distant memory from another lifetime. When Daniel was shut up in his study working all evening, or out on orchard business past sunset, every creak was approaching doom.

  I lay awake at night, and in the early hours of the morning, repeating Brenda’s reassurances like a mantra: It was a harmless stunt. Try not to worry.

  Until, two days before the guests were due to arrive, four days before Damson Day, as I sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a slice of rye bread with Damson Farm honey, a new message arrived through the website contact page:

  Your ‘about us’ page on the website appears to be missing some important information. Like who you really are and what you’ve done.

  Needless to say, my tea went cold.

  Daniel was down by the river with Luke and some of the older men who’d been helping out. He called and waved when he saw me coming, his face glowing, body barely able to contain his energy.

  ‘You’ll never guess what Frank and Eddie found!’ he grinned, bursting with glee.

  I eyed the enormous piles of lopped off branches.

  ‘Loads of brambles and undergrowth?’

  ‘Underneath the brambles and undergrowth. Take a look!’

  I waited for Luke to drop another huge branch on the pile, and then peered around it, my head in no state to start guessing what might be there.

  Oh, now that was worth getting excited about. It was a bridge.

  A narrow stone strip, no rails or other features, about ten feet from one bank to the other, and wide enough for one large man or a couple of children to walk across without risk of toppling into the water.

  ‘This bridge has been here all along? Did you know?’

  ‘I had no idea! This has been a thick mess of weeds for as long as I can remember. The brambles made it impossible to get near to it, even if we’d have wanted to. It was these guys who found it.’

  Frank pulled off his cap and scratched his bald head before putting it back again. ‘We got to talking, me and Eddie. Remembered that back in the day some of the New Side lads had used a different way to get over the river to the mine. Alec Perry let the bushes grow so that folks who didn’t need to know wouldn’t. We kept the smallest gap through the middle, had to crawl on hands and knees with every inch of skin covered to avoid getting half-scratched to death. We didn’t know if it would still be here, let alone be safe to carry any weight, but thought it worth a look, save us New Siders taking the long way round.’

  ‘It looks all right though, doesn’t it?’ Eddie added, with a smug smile. ‘James Perry knew how to build things to last.’

  ‘James?’ I glanced at Daniel.

  ‘My great-grandfather.’

  ‘Wow. This is incredible.’

  ‘Means we’ll need to get them young lads back, to get a path sorted, save us churning the meadow into a mud-pit,’ Frank said, rocking back on his boot heels.

  ‘I’ll put something on the Facebook page.’ Luke wiped a smear of dirt off his forehead with his wrist.

  ‘Tell them Damson Farm will pay good wages if they put the work in.’

  ‘Aye.’ Eddie nodded his approval. ‘We know the Perrys’ll do us right.’

  As I turned to go, Daniel took hold of my hand. ‘Did you need to ask me something, or did you just come to have a nosy?’

  I looked at my boyfriend, how his face shone, a Perry farmer in his element. I swallowed back the terror and dismay and offered them all a cup of tea.

  For the rest of the day, I sat at the laptop and scrutinised all those who had booked a stay so far, racking my brains as I scrolled through online images and LinkedIn profiles for any hint of a restaurant connection.

  I don’t know why I deleted the email as soon as I’d copied it into a new folder on my laptop. I don’t know why I didn’t call Brenda or alert Becky, who I knew would make me stop being an idiot and tell Daniel. I didn’t want it to be real.

  I told myself that I didn’t want to contaminate something as brilliant as Damson Day. I also didn’t want our first proper retreat to be riddled with fear and anxiety.

  I didn’t want to ruin everything.

  I made a promise, in order to prove to myself that I wasn’t always going to be a coward and a liar, that I would tell Daniel everything, including that I had invented Nora Sharp, as soon as Damson Day was over. I even put it in the calendar on my phone: confess.

  Did the thought enter my mind that in four days’ time it might be too late?

  If it did, I soon chased it out again.

  32

  Friday, the day before the retreat, Becky and I were flat out cooking and prepping and adding the last-minute touches. The garden was still on the wild side, the exterior of the farmhouse needed a lick of paint, but we were embracing nature, and as long as the house was clean and in good order, we were happy that we’d done enough for now. Alice was due to join us on Saturday, as all day Friday she was on shift at the pub, but to our surprise she skidded up the farmhouse drive while we were grabbing a quick lunch on the freshly weeded patio.

  Flinging open her car door, she tumbled out and hurried over to join us, face glowing, hair curled on one side, still straight on the other.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Becky asked as soon as she’d swallowed her mouthful of feta salad. ‘Is it Jase?’

  Alice, gasping for breath, could initially only shake her head and flap her hands about, while trying to smile. Once I’d pushed out a chair for her to collapse into, she managed to gasp out her news.

  ‘I only might have bagged us a celebrity event reviewer for Damson Day.’

  ‘What?’ Becky was ecstatic. I felt a prickle of horror at the back of my neck.

  ‘I sent her a few messages, but I never thought for one second she’d even read them, let alone
consider accepting. Not that she’s confirmed it as a definite.’

  ‘She doesn’t confirm unless she has to, waits to see if she gets a better offer,’ I mumbled, with a certainty that I knew who she was talking about.

  ‘What? Who?’ Becky asked, bouncing on her chair.

  ‘Nora Sharp might be coming to Damson Day!’

  I gripped the arms of my chair with both hands and tried not to swear out loud.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know!’

  While Alice and Becky watched a clip of a video on Alice’s phone, drowning out the audio with their increasingly overdramatic exclamations, I held on tight and waited for the world to stop spinning.

  ‘You don’t look thrilled, Eleanor. Why aren’t you excited about this?’

  ‘Um. She’s just a person… Damson Day is about Ferrington. And I can’t see her bothering to come all this way for what to anyone outside the village is a glorified country fete.’

  ‘Er, hello?’ Becky was baffled by my response. ‘It’s also about raising money for the bridge, which means raising the profile of the events. If millions of people hear about us, then loads of them will come to other events. Who knows what it might lead to? Never mind the boost to Damson Farm Retreats. This could be exactly what we need to get the business off the ground!’

  ‘Plus, she’s posted about it in advance, so even if she doesn’t come, we’ll probably end up packed out on the day,’ Alice said, eyes round with animation.

  ‘Do we want to be packed out with strangers on the day?’ I asked.

  ‘If they’re spending money, then yes!’ Alice grabbed Becky’s sleeve. ‘Maybe we should start selling tickets. Or limit numbers somehow? Can we do that at this late stage? I should probably speak to Daniel and see what he thinks. Check out the guidelines on crowd control.’

  ‘Daniel hates Nora Sharp.’

  They looked at me, faces full of hurt and bewilderment that I wasn’t jumping for joy.

  ‘Have you seen her reviews? Nora Sharp turning up is probably the worst thing that could happen. Daniel will be furious. Everyone will be fawning over her, taking all the focus off what the day is meant to be about – building something wonderful for this community. She’d hijack Damson Day and with one careless comment destroy our business before it’s even started.’

  I pushed back my chair and, heart stuttering, on the brink of hysteria, I fled.

  I was in my bedroom rewatching Lucy/Nora’s video for about the dozenth time. She’d been pretending to scroll through invitations, listing her ‘options for the week’. It had included new restaurants, an album launch and a bespoke cruise around the coast of Ireland. Then, right at the end, she’d added one more.

  ‘Now, what’s this? Damson Day. Oh my goodness, it’s like some retro country fair! I’ve half a mind to go simply because they had the guts to invite me. And come to think of it, it might be a nice change from nine-course tasting menus and small talk with impossibly rich people…’

  There was a tap on the door. ‘Can I come in?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Yes.’ I shuffled into a sitting position and pushed the straggles of hair off my face while Daniel took a seat on my bed, depositing a mug of tea and a raisin scone on the bedside table.

  ‘Becky told me what happened.’

  I sighed. ‘What, that I ruined their celebratory moment by freaking out and then ran away?’

  ‘That you shared some understandable concerns about a horrendous D-list celebrity derailing the day.’ He shuddered. ‘The thought of her flouncing about insulting everything we’ve worked so hard on – it makes me seethe, and she’s not even here yet.’

  I plastered on a watery smile. ‘She wouldn’t criticise while she was here. It’d be all fake smiles and mock politeness. But it only takes one wrong sentence from her and people will end up feeling crushed.’

  ‘I’m not so bothered about what she writes. People know what she’s about. I’m more annoyed that she’ll be stressing out the people who’ve been working so hard to make it a success.’

  ‘Well, if she was rude then it might unite the sides with a common enemy for once, help them forget how much they’re meant to hate each other.’ I sighed. ‘She isn’t going to come, anyway. I just hope Alice and Becky aren’t too disappointed.’

  Daniel gently took hold of my hand, looking carefully into my eyes. ‘Why did you hide up here, instead of talking it out with them?’

  My heart began to pound, and not because his eyes were so soft and kind.

  ‘I think I got overwhelmed by everything. This is your family farm. If the retreat doesn’t work out, then I can find another way to earn a living. But I’ve turned your home upside down. I guess the thought of Nora Sharp tainting it with her toxic opinions felt like one pressure too many.’

  ‘I wondered if it might have triggered some panic about the stalker. Given that you and Nora are both reviewers, your subconscious could have made a link.’ He tugged gently on my hands. ‘Not that I see you and Nora Sharp as having anything in common beyond both having been food writers.’

  I shrugged, my vocal cords too clogged up with sadness and shame to speak.

  He leant forwards and kissed me on the forehead. ‘You know, I might appear to be chilled and unbothered about this stalker freak, but don’t be fooled. I’m like an undercover bodyguard, alert at all times. I don’t believe they’ll show up – if I did, I’d have found us somewhere safe to stay weeks ago – but in the none in a million chance that they do, I’m here, and I’m on it, and I’ll defend you with my very life.’ He smiled, to show how preposterous the whole idea of it was.

  I forced myself to smile back. ‘I know. It’s last-minute nerves.’ I nodded to the bedside table. ‘A mug of tea and a scone and I’ll be fine. Can you tell Becky I’ll be down to help in a minute?’

  He kissed me again and left me to pull myself together.

  I scrolled through my phone to Tuesday, 6th May: confess.

  I had a sickening feeling that Nora Sharp might end up forcing a confession a day early.

  The next forty-eight hours flew past in a blur. Friday evening started with a confused and concerned apology from Alice on the phone, followed by an embarrassed apology from me, and went on to become a tornado of baking, prepping and final touches. After the expected next-to-no sleep, on Saturday morning I lugged myself downstairs to start again. The four guests, all female, arrived in a spray of gravel and overblown enthusiasm, declaring everything ‘totally perfect!’ and ‘super-cute!’ before devouring lunch on the patio.

  ‘I can’t believe how great this is, Tammers!’ Felicia, who had made the initial booking, shrieked as Alice and I cleared their empty plates. ‘I swear that gluten-free bread is a certified miracle.’

  ‘I know!’ Tammers hollered. ‘And when was the last time we ate cheese?’ She broke off into snort-laughs.

  ‘And it’s like, I don’t even care!’ another guest, who they called Dinky but whose credit card said Bethany Brown, tittered. ‘Bring on the cheese! Extra dairy, extra cheesy, please!’

  ‘This place is like a cross between Narnia, heaven and my Grandma’s house,’ the fourth guest said, tossing a mane of silver hair over her perfectly tanned shoulder. ‘It’s like anything is possible. They could totally bring out some cake and I would even eat some?’

  ‘Yes! It’s like my grandmother’s house!’ Tammers agreed. ‘Not Granny Rose, she lived in a haunted hovel. But Grandma Camelia, oh, I loved going to her house! And it was just like this, only with a pool and tennis courts.’

  ‘I think we can see a theme emerging for your sessions,’ Alice said to Becky as she loaded the dishwasher.

  ‘Oh?’ Becky was arranging cocktail ingredients on a tray. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘No.’ I scraped the smear of leftovers into the compost bin. ‘Underneath all the supers and perfects, they’re actually pretty super themselves. I’ve spent a lot of time eating in places stuffed with posh people, and I’ve never heard so much gratitu
de for a two-course lunch.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Alice grudgingly agreed. ‘Not a hint of snark between them. They’re like you two. Genuinely, nauseatingly nice.’

  ‘Sounds like it’s going to be a good weekend,’ Becky stuck her tongue out at Alice as she went to see for herself.

  I smiled as I carried on clearing up. I couldn’t see the resemblance to me, but almost everything about them reminded me of Charlie.

  In retreat terms, it was as good as we’d hoped. Our guests continued to bounce from one activity to another, enchanted by our tiny taste of country life. In response to their gentle begging, we even diverted the sunrise hike to visit some newborn calves.

  ‘Is he spoken for?’ Tammers asked Becky out of the corner of her mouth, her gaze transfixed on Luke, hefting trellis tables out of his van and over to the orchard in readiness for the stallholders on Monday.

  ‘Um…’ Becky turned a startling shade of damson.

  ‘Oh, okay!’ Tammers gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Say no more, I totally get it!’ She lent a little closer, electric blue eyelashes fluttering. ‘Though I must say, you have outstanding taste!’

  Seeing all the preparations going on, the foursome insisted on helping out on Sunday afternoon once the retreat was officially over, stringing up bunting and fairy lights between the trees, arranging tables and artfully stacking wood on the bonfire. They spent another hour in the kitchen cutting out apple scones and decanting jams into individual portions. Tammers would probably have stayed a week if we’d let her.