The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘And what qualifications do you have?’

  ‘Can you email us over a copy of your résumé? No, well, this position is highly sought after. It would be advised that you get it over to us as soon as possible.’

  ‘What is your mobile number? Sorry, did you say you don’t have one? How do you expect people to contact you? A landline?’

  ‘How much experience do you have working with computers?’

  ‘One job in a theatre does not qualify you to teach drama, I’m afraid.’

  And so many times one could doubt themselves:

  ‘Maybe I could apply for this one, but I don’t have two years’ experience.’

  ‘That one looks interesting, oh but what is Pinterest?’

  ‘I can plan activities. I’d love that. No, I need an early years diploma.’

  When the clock indicated it was lunchtime, Florence felt utterly miserable and the tears she was trying to keep in were beginning to sting her eyes. She took off her glasses and massaged her temples while trying to steady her breathing.

  Maybe she was simply going about this the wrong way. If she was determined to find a job in a field she loved, the first thing she needed to do was research courses and see if she could acquire a qualification. That would mean a trip to the library to use one of their computers. Florence was aware that technology had advanced since she was a little girl. She wasn’t stupid when it came to understanding mobile phones and the usefulness of the internet. She had had to learn IT skills at school, and they had served her well during her time at Paperchains. Olivia would tell her about apps and had spent many hours encouraging her to purchase a phone so they could text, but Florence happened to like their phone calls from the landline. She rather enjoyed sitting in her cosy armchair and speaking with Olivia. She simply had no desire to stare at a screen the way she saw others do. That little portable device had been the reason she had lost her mum and it was not something she thought she needed in her life, but she had been doing a lot of rethinking over the past two days.

  Moving her cushions to one side, she made her way down the small corridor, absentmindedly tracing her fingers over the books as she walked past them and into the kitchen where her nanna was rustling up some lunch.

  ‘I can finish that, Nanna. You sit down please,’ Florence said, gently touching her nanna’s elbows and trying to edge her towards her chair, but the old lady stiffened.

  ‘Florence, I do not need to sit down. You can help me, but I will hear none of your worrying,’ her nanna said, shaking a wooden spoon that she was using to stir vegetables in a frying pan, at Florence. ‘Whatever is wrong, dear?’ Margot asked, noticing the redness around Florence’s eyes.

  Florence moved away to fill the kettle up to boil some water for the rice. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. Job hunting is just a touch daunting. I think I might need to get a qualification if I want to pursue a career in teaching children drama or assisting in drama classes. I have the experience with the theatre, but it’s not enough.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, I believe in you. I think you can do anything if you put your mind to it,’ her nanna said with a warm smile that crinkled her eyes.

  ‘Being at the camp made me realise how much I loved working with children. I miss my job at the theatre, and I don’t want to let what Ryan did stop me from getting back into it. I have spent five years behind a desk and whilst I’m not complaining – it put food on the table and paid our bills – I think I would like to look at other drama groups and classes. I let Ryan take that away from me and I can see that now, but I want to spend my days being creative again,’ Florence said with a determined nod. Saying her dream out loud to her nanna suddenly made her feel both invigorated and petrified. She didn’t want to fail. Her nanna had been an assistant at the local newspaper office, then when she had Florence’s mum, she became a stay-at-home mum while her husband worked. Margot had doted on her daughter but when Florence’s mum was all grown up, Margot had gone to work at a children’s bookshop. When Florence’s grandad had fallen ill before Florence was born, Margot had taken to being his full-time carer at home. One thing Florence remembered growing up was hearing her nanna’s stories about the jobs she had so loved. She had loved being around the news, seeing words come to life in print and had adored reading storybooks to kids at the bookshop. Florence wanted to have that same passion for her work once more.

  ‘I think that is a marvellous idea, honey. I know you will find your place,’ her nanna told her.

  Their lunch of a vegetable stir-fry was delicious and Florence took a moment to appreciate being able to enjoy a Monday lunchtime with her nanna before gathering up a few old printed résumés and a notebook and setting off to the library. It was quiet out in the early August sun and the roads looked beautiful lined with vibrant green conker trees. They reminded Florence of her days spent listening to Jo reading to her in his favourite spot under the particularly stunning magnolia tree, with its bountiful full leaves, by her pastel pink hut. She wondered how he was getting on with the barn, if he had completed it, if George and he were getting on any better. Without thinking she glanced up to the cloudless blue sky just in case any owls came swooping by and a chuckle escaped her lips when she realised what she was doing.

  She entered the library and found herself a quiet spot at the computer near the window and got to work making notes on all that she could find about theatre schools, kids’ classes and day and night courses for getting a teaching qualification. Thankfully all her GSCE grades had been high passes and so she didn’t need to retake any exams, which gave Florence a confidence boost. However, the courses would all cost money and they weren’t exactly cheap. She would be able to use a little of her savings to take the first leap if she ran it by her nanna, but she would have to find work to ensure the bills were paid.

  Satisfied that she had collected enough information, Florence packed up her notebook and returned home, where she spent the afternoon telling her nanna of all she had found out and ringing around the colleges to see if they had spaces available. As the summer sun drifted in and out of the evening clouds Florence sipped on her tenth cup of tea of the day and let out a sigh, causing her nanna to lift her head from the books she was reading.

  ‘I can do this, can’t I, Nanna? It all seems daunting going back to school now. What if I’m the oldest there?’ Florence asked, her stomach a twisted knot of nerves just thinking about classrooms and lots of new faces and people.

  ‘I believe that you already took the first steps in profoundly moving forward by going back to Camp Calla Lily. I believe that while it was scary, you did it and you are much brighter for it. A lesson you have now passed on to your ancient nanna. I believe, dear Florence, that doing something new will always be frightening. It does not mean we should not pursue it. Though my fears are still there, I feel inspired by you and so, my treasure, I believe you are more than capable of getting a degree and stepping into a world of learning and new people, when you are quite capable of stepping into worlds of dragons and goblins and often come out without a scratch,’ her nanna finished with a wink.

  Florence chuckled. ‘If the world of résumés and job interviews is anything to go by, I think dragons and goblins are much tamer.’

  Twenty

  Florence had spent the week organising her funds with her nanna and writing out a plan for her new start. She had been back to the library a couple more times to go over her options and had settled on acquiring an Associate Diploma in Teaching the Performing Arts with a renowned drama company that had schools all over the UK. She had been drawn to the website and had kept revisiting it in between her searches, for she loved the idea of holiday camps and weekend workshops for kids and how this specific school emphasised fun and creativity and setting her up for those kinds of events.

  Florence had put aside some money to ensure that the next two months of bills were covered and so she could see how much she had saved that could go towards her deposit while she sought out a new job. Money had always b
een tight for her and Margot and so Florence had become quite adept at saving. With her mum being a painter and her dad being an actor they had lived a modest life. Her mum’s paintings had been exquisite. If she thought hard Florence could remember watching her mum at work in the living room painting whatever came to mind. Margot still had one of her paintings hung up in her bedroom, but Florence had found it difficult to look at growing up. It was just another reminder of the incredible woman she had lost. Her mum’s paintings quickly sold to art collectors not long after they were put up in the local art galleries. This money kept her small family fed and looked after for months at a time.

  Florence’s dad would act and do his best but acting was tough. He made a pretty penny working on one of his proudest achievements: a long-running British TV show that was wildly popular and for which he appeared on three seasons, but much of his work came through being an extra or doing commercials here and there, in addition to his two runs on London’s West End. The humble savings that Florence’s parents had put aside for their little girl’s future had been needed for a much sadder occasion. Funerals were not cheap, and Margot had used her funds to bury her husband, only a few years before she had needed to dip into it again to cover what she could for her daughter and son-in-law too. It had been a trying and tragic time.

  Margot had done what she could, working in the local produce shop while Florence was at school, but she retired at sixty-five due to niggling health issues and also because by the time Florence started working at the theatre, Florence was insistent that her nanna rest and let her look after them. Florence had stuck to her word, putting all her money into bills and anything that needed doing around the house. Between her job at the theatre and her nanna’s pension, they had been living comfortably but frugally.

  Now, Florence felt grateful for her own small nest egg she had been saving, for she found that she was able to pay for a little less than half of her school tuition but would need to seek out a loan and hurry up in getting herself a new job to pay the complete fee and if she was to acquire a laptop. It was a lot to take on but surprisingly she felt inspired and capable after her time spent at Camp Calla Lily and after her talk with Margot.

  Now, Florence entered the living room with a tray of chocolate biscuits, a fresh pot of tea and a smile upon her face. Though the job hunt wasn’t moving quite as quickly as she would have liked or going quite as well as she had hoped – just yesterday when asked about a live stream, Florence had confidently babbled about a brook and given an answer she felt made her sound like an expert, only to find that a body of water was not quite what the lady had been asking about – she had been enjoying the extra hours in the day that she got to spend with her nanna. As she refilled her nanna’s teacup, she asked in her sprightly tone, ‘How is George? Have you spoken to him this week?’

  Margot’s brow furrowed, which made Florence freeze on the spot and her stomach sink. Her nanna’s face usually glowed at the mere mention of George’s name.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Florence urged, setting the biscuits on the tea table.

  ‘Yes, yes, sorry, dear. I cannot help the thought that he is deeply troubled, for he has been rather quiet this week. I’m afraid Jo has not returned from London and rumours are rife in the village. I fear he regrets signing over the land. I do think I would like to visit him sooner rather than later, if that is possible,’ Margot said. ‘But let us not worry,’ she added as Florence took to her spot on the couch.

  Her chocolate biscuit hovered inches from her lips. She had written two letters to Jo, which she had sent to the camp asking George to pass them on if he could, but she was yet to hear back from either Hadlee. Suddenly the idea of a mobile phone didn’t seem so terrifying but rather handy. ‘What rumours?’ Florence mumbled.

  ‘You know I do not care for rumours, Florence. It is probably mere waffle. People becoming on edge over seeing more men and woman in suits floating about. Do they not know suits are all the fashion these days?’ Margot laughed, making light of the situation. Florence gave a gentle chuckle and shook her head, trying to shake away her nerves. If there were businessmen and women in the village, they were no doubt just making acquaintance with the people of Lily Pines for when they took over the camp and helped George run things. It was most likely nothing to worry about and she did so love hearing her nanna talk excitedly about going back to Calla Lily.

  ‘I know why Mum and Dad loved the camp so much,’ she said, focusing on the more positive side to the conversation as she stared over at the bookshelf, her eyes glazing over. ‘The fields and the flowers lend themselves to the imagination so beautifully. There’s space to think and dream without so much traffic clogging the brain and you feel like you can do and be anything out there,’ Florence finished. Margot smiled and took a sip of her tea.

  ‘I believe it is inhabited by fairies,’ Margot noted with a wink that made Florence chuckle. Distracting herself from thoughts of what Jo was doing in London and if he was ever going to return to the camp or reply to her, she picked up her copy of Little Women and opened it to a random page. She had read the book so many times now that she could pick up from anywhere and still get lost in the story. However, while Beth played the piano in the depths of Florence’s mind, at the forefront she went over her plan for tomorrow, for her plan now had to move quicker so she could ensure funds for Margot and her to take a little holiday.

  ‘Nanna, I’ll be out most of the day tomorrow. I’ve got to go to the bank and continue my job search and Olivia rang earlier asking about going for a coffee when she finishes work. Will you be OK?’ Florence asked, looking over at her nanna who was sipping her tea thoughtfully, her book resting closed on her lap.

  ‘I will be fine, dear; you do not need to be fussing over me,’ Margot said, with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘If you speak to George, will you tell him that I was asking after him and that I send my love and maybe ask if he was able to pass my letters on to Jo?’ Florence added, returning her eyes to her book.

  Margot’s smile widened as her eyes surveyed her granddaughter. ‘Of course I will, my treasure.’

  Twenty-One

  The music thumped around the grand hall, the laughter and chatter of the guests competing with the merry rhythm. The chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling where they hung, and wine spilled over glasses as people cheered and accidently jostled one another in their jolly states. Florence had been wandering the quiet halls, choosing to occupy her time studying the larger-than-life paintings on the walls than mingling with the wild dancers. A particular painting had caught her eye and in front of it is where she now stood, staring into the thick brushstrokes and paint that twisted and curled off the page.

  It was growing late. The moon shone through the high stained-glass window and cast a creamy glow upon the art that made it difficult for Florence to pry her gaze away. The balls of her feet felt the late hour, wanting to find themselves relieved of the stone floor and pressed against the soft sheets of her bed, but the party was not over and it would be rude to leave early. Though Florence sincerely doubted anyone would know she had departed, for here she stood quite alone and content away from the masquerade, or so she thought.

  A small cough to the right of her made her jump. She turned her head and startled again as the culprit behind the cough looked at her from behind his gold-rimmed, white, black, and beaked mask. Florence’s pink feathered disguise dangled from her fingertips in her left hand.

  ‘Can I join you?’ the man asked, with a gentle bow, his hands behind his back. Florence recognised the voice, but it was hard to tell who the tall presence was and if she had met him before due to his cover. She hoped he would take it off, for it was tricky to see the full beauty of the painting through tiny eyeholes and sparkly decorative clay obstructing one’s view.

  Florence nodded and the gentleman took a step closer making her breath catch, for when he did so, the moon’s luminosity lit up his eyes and there was no mistaking the fellow. His eye
s were a vibrant hazel with mischievous turquoise flecks that Florence had seen many a time in her dreams, since that day she had rescued him from the storm. When the man caught her staring at him, her lips parted, his own lips curved to one side in a disarming and rather cheeky smile, almost like he could sense Florence’s desire. The spark between them tickled her skin and when the man lifted his hand to remove his mask, Florence feared he would be able to see the pounding in her chest as her heartbeat sped up and a moan escaped her lips. Suddenly a loud knock from somewhere in the distance made her spin on her heels and as she turned, she became entangled in her soft, fluffy duvet whose fresh linen scent awoke her from her dream. ‘Florence dear, breakfast is ready,’ her nanna called out, alerting her that she had missed her alarm rather uncharacteristically.

  It took Florence a moment to collect herself. She didn’t quite feel ready to depart from her fantasy land, having been enjoying the rather vivid encounters she had been having recently. Not being around Jo seemed to be making her dreams more intense, like a longing to see him manifested at night when there were no distractions from the world around her. Based on his abrupt departure after she caused him pain and only the short note he left, she wasn’t sure if allowing her brain to enjoy these dreams was wise or she needed to nip them in the bud somehow. Through her sheer cream curtains, the bright orange sun was already high in the sky, beckoning for her to get a move on. It was to be another glorious summer day and she had plenty to do that meant she couldn’t dilly-dally and lie in bed thinking about Jo all day, though that idea was surprisingly very tempting.