The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘There ya go, cowboy, let’s see if you’re all talk,’ Florence said, copying Jo in holstering her own weapon. They then counted out three paces backwards and turned so their backs were to each other. ‘Are ya ready?’ Florence then asked.

  Each took a deep breath in and yelled, ‘Draw,’ before making a dash to the paint tin. Cackles of laughter blared from the barn and continued into the evening. Had the paint been glow in the dark, they both would have been lighting up the path back to their huts.

  ‘Jo, I think the barn is going to look fantastic and I think George is going to love it. You are going to get this place back up and running, I know you will – and even with new management, the Hadlee name will be clearly on display with your beautiful huts and the cottage. I’m sure George will come around in time once he sees this place full of people,’ Florence said, smiling up at Jo as they trudged back to the huts, the paint on their skin beginning to harden, making them walk like robots.

  ‘Thank you, Florence,’ Jo started, softly, smiling down at her. ‘I’m starting to believe that we can make it into something special again too.’

  ‘Now, speaking of huts, please tell me about them,’ Florence requested.

  ‘What about them?’ Jo returned.

  ‘What inspired you to design and make them?’ Florence looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes, a dimple popping in her right cheek from the smirk on her face. Jo chuckled.

  ‘When I came back here for my grandma’s funeral, it was the only way I could think to help. As I mentioned, I was struggling to find the joy in my work in London and when I found out how badly the camp was struggling to survive, I did my research on other holiday sites and came across all sorts of huts. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to create something homey and simple, nothing high-tech and flashy like I had been doing for years whilst also appealing to investors,’ Jo explained, the moon highlighting his high cheekbones and the brown specks that sat upon them. ‘A few traders said they would only invest if they would be making money right away and so that’s been my project and my reason for staying this past year.’

  ‘Would you not consider staying and running the place with your grandad?’ Florence queried.

  ‘I’ve thought about it but it’s a huge risk, Florence. Doing all this has been a welcome break. It’s made me see that I have a little more freedom and choice of what jobs I agree to now in London, but I need to go back. The money is good; it’s stable. I’m not sure I’m ready to give it all up entirely yet,’ Jo explained. It was a reasonable answer, Florence thought, but she couldn’t help the sadness that weighed down her heart. She believed Jo could do magical things with this land, but it had to be his dream and if it wasn’t, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  ‘Well, I for one think you’ve created a bookworm’s haven. I truly hope that the new investors will make the most of that. I can see book clubs and writers’ retreats. Just think of all the bestsellers that could be penned inside your huts, with no distractions and such peace and tranquillity around them, this place could be a writer’s paradise. Oh, speaking of writing, you were supposed to write today,’ Florence said, raising a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m so sorry;

  I completely forgot my deal.’ She sighed, as they reached her hut first.

  ‘It’s no problem, Florence,’ Jo said. The same look from earlier passed over his face, the rise and fall of his brow, like his brain was processing something, something he wasn’t sharing. But Florence attributed it to tiredness, for she herself felt weary.

  She smiled a sad smile, feeling bad about forgetting her plan. ‘Tomorrow, you can write tomorrow,’ she said, through a yawn.

  ‘I have other plans for tomorrow. I think you deserve a day off from the barn; the new panels and window fittings need to be fitted before we can do much more anyway, and you are supposed to be on holiday,’ Jo noted, rocking back and forth on his feet.

  Florence felt her stomach sink at the thought of Jo having made plans without her but she guessed he was right: they had been working awfully hard on the barn and there was more she had to see and experience at the camp before her train home on Saturday morning. She hadn’t meant to take up all of Jo’s time this week, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t enjoyed his company.

  ‘Yes, of course. We should have a break and you probably have so much to do around here that I’ve kept you from,’ she replied, scratching at her forearm where the paint had set and was beginning to itch her skin.

  ‘Don’t be daft, ma lady, tomorrow I shall pick you up for brunch at half ten on the dot. But now what do you say to a hasty change and a stroll up to the café to see what dinner special Sal has on tonight?’ Jo asked in his regal tone, with a gesture towards the main cottage.

  ‘I say that sounds like a grand idea,’ Florence replied, matching Jo’s accent. They nodded at each other as Jo departed for his hut and before long were walking the grounds once more, lanterns now lighting up their path in the dark of the night, owls hooting in the distance and both Jo and Florence hungrily anticipating tonight’s feast – the barn work proving to make ravenous wolves out of the two of them.

  Sixteen

  With Jo planning on meeting Florence at her hut at half ten, Florence had indulged in a slow-moving morning of relaxing on her deck in her nightdress, dipping in and out of the books she had brought with her while sipping on copious amounts of tea from her small china teacup. Earlier the sun had been a spectacular sight to behold as it appeared to rise out of the lake, making the water dance as it did so. The birds as always were right on time with their morning’s gleeful chorus. As the gentle summer breeze blew, the smell of the sweet calla lilies perfumed the air, lending itself to the magical atmosphere and making every word Florence read pop off their pages. The characters came alive right before her eyes, more prominently than ever before.

  Now though, she threw on her vintage playsuit, the one with the collar and pearl buttons and wandered up to the cottage, wanting to check in on her nanna. George greeted her in a friendly manner and with a bright smile that made Florence wonder if things had settled between him and Jo. She desperately wanted to tell George not to worry and that Jo had a plan. Granted it was not the most perfect plan in the world, to Florence that would consist of the land staying in the Hadlee name, but it was a plan that at least would see the land taken care of and Camp Calla Lily thriving once more, but she wasn’t sure it was her place.

  ‘Morning, George,’ she said brightly instead.

  ‘Morning, my dear,’ George returned. ‘The phone is all yours. Please do say hello to Margot for me and that I look forward to speaking to her again this afternoon,’ he added, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue with his request. It felt as if lots of secrets had been unravelled in the last few days and it seemed to be doing everyone the world of good.

  Florence beamed but decided against putting George on the spot. He looked happy and she didn’t want to spoil that with an inquest into just how friendly he and her nanna were. That inquest would be saved for her nanna when she returned home. ‘Thank you and of course,’ she said simply. ‘How are you today, George?’ Florence then asked, resting her hands on the desk, and wanting to check in with him before checking in on her nanna.

  George looked up. ‘Better thank you, Florence,’ is all he said, not giving away his personal qualms with his grandson and therefore Florence did not let on that she knew anything.

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear,’ Florence said with a smile as George nodded and backed away to his office, giving her some privacy to talk with her nanna.

  After two rings, Margot picked up the phone, always somehow knowing it was Florence calling. ‘Hello, treasure,’ she said as Florence curled the cord around her finger. ‘What are you up to today, dear?’

  ‘Hi, Nanna, I’m just waiting for Jo, then we’re going to have brunch,’ Florence told her nanna. ‘How are you? Is everything OK there?’

  ‘Brunch sounds lovely and yes, nothing to worry about here, F
lorence. This spring chicken is just wonderful,’ her nanna informed her, with cheer in her voice. Florence chuckled, wondering if it had everything to do with her afternoon phone calls with George. It made Florence happy that they both had each other and that her nanna was able to bring some happiness into George’s day. She wondered if Margot knew about the troubles with the camp and made a mental note to ask her when she got home.

  ‘I’m glad. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I have so much to tell you,’ Florence said gleefully.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you too, my love. Now, you go and enjoy your last day,’ Margot replied, her voice sounding even more cheerful than seconds ago. Florence’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of hugging her nanna tomorrow. She hoped with all her might that telling Margot of her adventures would ease her nanna’s fear of Camp Calla Lily and inspire her to come back too.

  ‘OK, I’d best get back to my hut. Jo said he would meet me there,’ Florence replied. ‘Oh and George says hello,’ she added ensuring a cheekiness to her tone that her nanna would not miss. Florence then spun around on her toes, feeling a little floaty and unable to wipe the grin that came to her face when she thought of how George had blushed upon saying her nanna’s name. The romantic in Florence was ever present when it came to others.

  ‘Please tell George that I hope he is keeping well. Now run along, treasure, you do not want to miss brunch.’ There was no mistaking the delight in her nanna’s voice at the mention of George. Florence could picture the blush on Margot’s cheek too when she said his name.

  ‘Why don’t you check in on his wellness yourself when you rendezvous with him later? I love you, Nanna,’ Florence said, through a chuckle. She got karma for her cheek when she realised she had tangled herself around the phone’s cord when she went to return it to its receiver. Glancing around to see if anyone was bearing witness to her fumbling, she bent low and pulled the cord over her head, the curliness of it getting stuck in her hair. ‘Ouch,’ she whimpered, not sure whether it was a saving grace no one was around or more of a hindrance. It took two more twirls and a pivot before the phone was safely back on its perch. Florence straightened her glasses and patted herself down before heading to meet Jo. On her way she thought about her nanna and George. Florence could only assume their relationship was purely platonic. At the time Florence’s family used to vacation here Margot was still married and George had been too. But it had been such a long time now since Margot’s husband had passed. Florence didn’t remember much about her grandad as he died a few short months after she was born, and she never did know her grandparents on her dad’s side, for they had both died young. Since George’s wife had passed a little over a year ago, Florence wondered if he was lonely and that this might be a wonderful time for him and her nanna to be reacquainted.

  Florence practically skipped back to her hut where she found Jo in his spot under the magnolia tree wearing a loose white shirt, necktie and black trousers with sandals. Florence admired his style, for it was one she felt couldn’t be categorised; Jo wore what he wanted, and he suited everything he wore. She picked up her pace when the field dipped towards her hut, running towards Jo.

  ‘Did you know that your grandad knew my nanna?’ she said, a little loudly, startling Jo, who snapped his book shut and stood up to greet her.

  ‘He mentioned it just this morning, but it would explain why he has asked about you every day, making sure that I’m being kind to you and treating you well,’ Jo said, with a cheeky smirk. ‘I didn’t tell him that I dunked your head in to the lake yesterday.’

  Florence laughed, feeling that today was going to be a good day. Then with one hand on her back, Jo gestured in the direction of the barn and they walked along the field side by side.

  ‘Do you think they like each other? When I spoke to him the other day, he seemed to know lots about me, stuff that no one knows, only you and my nanna, so they must be close. He said that he talks to her most days,’ Florence told Jo, continuing the topic of their grandparents as they walked their familiar route.

  ‘I would say so. He spoke of Margot with great admiration and said she had been a dear friend for many years, and I’ve no doubt of her awesomeness if you are her granddaughter. I’m glad they’ve stayed in contact all these years. He certainly looked happy when saying her name.’ He then paused before adding, ‘I think it would be a shame to give up a friend like that.’ The words formed a pleasant stir in Florence’s belly. Was Jo attesting to their own friendship and that he might want to stay in contact with her when she left? She knew that she was going to miss him terribly, feeling that he was a part of her now, for he saw her and accepted her in ways that not many people did.

  Instead of ruminating on the question, she came straight out with it and asked, ‘Will you write to me, Jo?’

  Jo smiled a confident smile. The smile got broader with each new step they took in front of them. ‘Of course, you would do well to look out of your windows and keep an eye out for my owl,’ Jo replied, making Florence chuckle. She shoved him playfully, loving the way he blended the real world with books just as she did.

  ‘Why are we going to the barn? Did your order come in? Should we get on with the work? I think we should while I can still help you,’ Florence said, firing off her questions as she looked around the path at the primulas and daisies that lay beneath the trees on the trail towards the barn.

  ‘No, there’s no work to be done, though it seems fairies have been busy at work all night and I needed you to come and see what they have constructed. I was too scared to nosy alone,’ Jo said, sparking curiosity in Florence who glanced at him sideways, trying to figure out what he had been up to, to cause the mischief in his dimple.

  When they came to the clearing by the barn, Florence let out a gasp, her hands shot to her mouth in shock. String had been tied from one corner of the outside of the barn across to one of the giant oak trees that stood tall by its side. Sticks and thick branches had been dug into the ground to support a plethora of blankets to make a canopy and a small tepee. On the floor were more colourful blankets and a cosy-looking pink rug that cushions nestled atop, making the whole thing even more inviting. In the middle of the rug there was a picnic basket, but that was not the most marvellous thing of all, nor were the strings of lantern-shaped fairy lights or the candles dotted about, for when it got dark, it was the stacks of books that inhabited the tepee. Florence wouldn’t be surprised if Jo was solely keeping The Vintage Bookshop afloat with his purchases in the tiny village. The thought curved her lips into a bold grin as she took her hands away from her mouth.

  She glanced at Jo as if to receive the go-ahead to run and explore. He nodded and Florence dashed over to the blankets and kicked off her shoes before ducking her head inside the tepee and caressing every blanket that made up the canopy. Florence’s enchanted eyes lit up with a magical glow.

  ‘If you do excuse me, sir, I am now going to live here forever. I shall never leave,’ Florence announced, parking her bottom on the sun-drenched pink rug.

  ‘You know, that sounds like a marvellous idea,’ Jo replied in a wistful manner that caused Florence to tilt her head skywards to look at him. His face wore a smile so gentle and sweet that again she found herself wishing she had the power to somehow read his mind to know exactly what he was thinking at such precise moments as these. Of course, she could simply ask him but that would in turn require a reply and would distract from the way in which his lips curved softly, with a slight and perfect pout to them. When he realised she was looking at him, he winked, which sent that familiar swirl around her stomach.

  Before she could look away, he spoke. ‘No one back in London ever dares talk of fairies.’

  ‘That seems such a waste,’ Florence tried, though her mouth had gone oddly dry. She needed to look away from him. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker, a want, a plea to be seen.

  ‘I agree, but fairies are not manly. Going to the gym and lifting weights is manly,’ Jo continued,
as if reciting someone else’s words. He was still looking at her, though his eyes now were far away, which at least gave her a little respite from his piercing gaze.

  ‘Sure, that’s manly for some men, Jo, but fairies can be manly for others,’ Florence noted, getting the feeling that Jo was lost in personal memories and very much wanting to be there for him.

  ‘Florence?’ he said, stepping forward like he had been jolted back to the present. His voice this time sounded chirpier and more hopeful.

  ‘Yes,’ Florence answered, stretching over to grab the pile of books from inside the tepee.

  ‘What do you say of people who wear trousers with sandals and who quote books daily?’ he asked, taking a seat beside her on the rug. Florence shifted a couple of books slightly to accommodate him.

  ‘I’d say that those were the best kinds of people. Why, Jo?’ she asked thoughtfully, as Jo turned a book over in his hands.

  ‘I just wondered, is all,’ he said nonchalantly. Florence didn’t believe it was mere wonderment. It was an awfully specific question and one that evidenced experience. Had Jo been bullied for his peculiar ways? Though they were not odd to Florence, she too knew what it was like not fitting in, not conforming to what was referred to as the real world. Her heart gave a tug of understanding as she watched Jo kick off his shoes and lie on his front. He pulled out his notebook and pen, which made Florence squeal. ‘Are you writing the end of your great novel?’ she asked, resting her hand on the copy of Jo’s Boys she had picked up out of the pile.

  ‘I’m going to try,’ he told her, returning her smile.

  ‘I suppose I should stop talking then,’ Florence considered, giving Jo a playful wink, then she took a deep breath in as she looked over her surroundings once more. There was every chance fairies could live here, she thought.

  Suddenly, Jo pushed himself up to sitting position and pulled the picnic hamper closer to him. ‘I suppose you should – it would be impolite for me to respond with a mouthful of chocolate cake,’ he stated, opening the basket to reveal all sorts of wondrous treats.