The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘We all make mistakes, Jo,’ Florence started, but before she could finish, Sal interrupted with questions.

  ‘What does Kirsty make of all this? Do I still have to answer to her?’

  Jo gave Florence a longing look before turning his attention back to the group. ‘Ah, well Kirsty and I had words after my findings. It scuppered their plans, but she was somewhat grateful that I had brought it to her attention before those bulldozers were called to action or she could have been facing legal action or hefty fees. I told her we would give her the money from the sale back immediately if she would so kindly give my grandad his land back,’ Jo told them.

  ‘And she agreed?’ Florence asked, surprised that it could have been that straightforward.

  Jo scrunched up his nose and pouted. ‘Yes,’ he said, lingering a little too long on the “s”.

  ‘But?’ George urged, his brow raised, a flash of worry zipping through his eyes.

  ‘She wants a pirate ship hut for her kids by Christmas.’ Jo shrugged and Florence couldn’t help herself, a giggle erupted from within her. Poor Jo, he certainly had made an awful lot of work for himself, yet she was relieved by the fact that he was still smiling.

  ‘I think this calls for fish and chips for everyone, celebratory lunch,’ Sal announced, standing up. ‘Jo, do you mind giving me a hand in the kitchen?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jo replied, catching Florence’s eye before he followed Sal.

  Florence then sat down opposite her nanna. Margot smiled at her with a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Your first visit back to Camp Calla Lily in quite some time has certainly been eventful,’ Florence said with a casual shrug.

  ‘I like him,’ Margot replied, her blue eyes gazing at Florence intently.

  ‘Did you hear that, George? She likes you,’ Florence said with a cheeky smile, turning to George who sat next to Margot. They were holding hands Florence noticed. George’s shoulders moved up and down as an easy laughter barrelled out of him. How nice it was to see him so cheerful, the bags under his eyes slowly brightening.

  ‘Oh, I don’t believe she was talking about me, my dear,’ George said baring a grin. Florence knew she wasn’t either, but it was worth a shot trying to distract them both. And it worked, for their laughter brought with it memories from before Florence was born and so she got up to leave them to their reminiscing.

  Florence wandered through to the living room and seated herself in the nook of the window ledge. She stared out through the glass at the brilliant rolling meadows that looked ever brighter now that they were safe and found herself reminiscing.

  When she had listened to her heart, it had allowed her to take part in performances of Annie and shoot-outs with Jo. When she had stopped fighting it, she had relaxed by his side lying in the grass and splashing about in the lake. When her mind had interrupted that play, she had acted not out of instinct but with fear and she had misjudged him. She had hoped and prayed that Jo had not given up on her, yet she had given up on Jo before ever giving him a real chance. Seeing him again had made that clearer than ever. The way he hugged his grandad, the way he had fought for this place, the way he had introduced himself to her nanna, Jo was unapologetically Jo and she loved him.

  The smell of freshly fried chips drifted through the cottage and snapped Florence out of her gazing. Hearing the chatter and the clatter from the café, she got to her feet and made to join the party once more. The meal, as she had come to expect from Sal, was hearty and filled both her mind and her stomach with joy. The same could be said for the conversation that saw Sal and George talk of a festival they had run on the grounds that left them picking up rubbish for a whole week afterwards and George having to explain to Audrey why all her beloved trees had carvings in them. Jo had had to leave the table a few times due to phone calls but as he was organising the people to come and collect their equipment, no one thought him rude for having to do so. Florence pondered more than once whether to follow him and sort of hover until he had finished his call so she could speak to him but finding the nerve to do that grew increasingly difficult.

  The next time Jo re-entered the café after taking a call, he looked a little downtrodden and Florence felt herself grow clammy. Had something gone wrong? Had Kirsty changed her mind? He caught her looking at him and stopped for a moment, just smiling at her. Florence felt her cheeks heat.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to London, but this time I won’t be long,’ he added at the table’s groans in protest. Then he turned his attention to Florence. ‘Will you come back next weekend?’ he asked.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Florence questioned, not meaning to ignore his question but worry bubbling in her gut. Jo squatted down next to her chair.

  ‘It’s fine, everything’s fine. Trust me. I have one last thing to see to in London, OK?’ he said, his eyes growing wide, almost puppy dog like. Florence nodded. She did trust him. She trusted him with her whole heart and as he looked at her with those soulful eyes, she found that she wasn’t so scared of that feeling anymore.

  Bronte oohed and aahed as she broke tiny pieces off a cupcake and nibbled on them absentmindedly while not taking her eyes off Florence. This was the fifth time Florence had retold the story of what had happened five days ago at Camp Calla Lily to Bronte and each time Bronte had looked just as riveted. She made for a supportive audience. Florence smiled at her friend as she took a healthy bite out of a vanilla slice.

  It was gone five o’clock and Caffeine Heights was closed. Just the two women sat at a table discussing the week’s events. Florence had spent Sunday at Camp Calla Lily walking arm in arm with her nanna around the grounds, listening to her nanna tell stories of vacations gone by. It had been closure for them both. On Sunday evening she had left Jo a note with George that simply said, she hoped everything in London had gone well and that she would see him the following week and that she was looking forward to it. She had then left George all her ideas for the camp and said she would ring him during the week to see what ideas he liked and what they could put in place that was doable and profitable. Now that the land was George’s once more and after Margot had given him a stern talking-to, he knew he had to accept help if he was to avoid risking the camp again.

  Settling back into the routine at Caffeine Heights had been comforting and with her mind so focused on the weekend in anticipation of seeing Jo again, the hours had flown by. She was having fun and had even started quoting her favourite lines from books to customers just as Bronte did and had acquired some regulars and tips because of it. She really felt like she was finding her footing in the real world.

  ‘You know, you not having a phone is quite romantic. It’s rather quaint having to schedule times to call each other and wait to see each other,’ Bronte noted after Florence had told her the part where Jo had given her his contact details before he had left this time, after he had explained that he hadn’t seen her letters due to his mind being a flutter over the land, then apologising profusely. He had phoned her on Wednesday night telling her that he had got back to the camp on Monday and all had been going well. He had also mentioned that he and George loved her ideas, and she was to look forward to their first Summer Spectacle on Saturday. Florence had no clue how he was going to manage pulling an event together in a week but she had faith.

  ‘I like it too. It keeps the relationship interesting,’ Florence said, sipping on her rose tea to wash down her flaky vanilla slice. Bronte’s eyebrows shot through her hairline and her mouth twisted into a satisfied smirk. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Florence asked innocently.

  ‘You just used the word relationship when talking about Jo,’ Bronte informed her.

  Florence waited for the fear to grip her, but instead a band of merry butterflies danced around with hope in her stomach and her lips pursed trying to fight a too-big smile at the idea of being in a relationship with Jo, but had the damage already been done? She tried to push the negative thought away.

  ‘Maybe I need to go on v
acation so that Langston can miss me,’ Bronte thought out loud, making Florence giggle. Her friend hadn’t had much luck in telling Langston how she felt this week and so Florence didn’t think that such a bad idea. Bronte deserved a rest. She and Langston had been working around the clock over the last ten months getting this place off the ground; she could do with a bit of adventure and Florence knew just the place.

  ‘You should come with me tomorrow,’ Florence stated causing Bronte’s eyes to light up.

  ‘You know what, I should.’ She gasped, the excitement in her tone palpable. Bronte then shot up from her chair calling Langston’s name as she ran into the kitchen. Florence sat back in her chair sipping on her tea, thinking about how much her life had changed in the last five weeks. Her workplace was no longer dull, nor did it fill her with the anxiety that Paperchains had. She had made new friends in Bronte and Langston and received daily smiles and conversation from regular customers. Her parents now felt very much a part of her life and she thought about them every day. And daydreams of Laurie had somehow been replaced by a real-life man who she had to admit made her swoon as much if not more than her fictional favourite.

  Twenty-Six

  If Bronte had energy inside the four walls of Caffeine Heights, it was nothing compared to the energy she had with the smell of adventure in the air at nine in the morning. Florence couldn’t stop grinning though, like her, Bronte was most certainly a morning person and had met them at the train station with to-go paper cups from Caffeine Heights and a box that made everyone on the platform look their way with jealous expressions. Langston had been happy for her to accompany Florence, as he had a friend who owed him a favour who had agreed to help him out over the weekend, but Bronte had carried out her usual tasks helping him in the kitchen and setting up shop before she had had to head to the station. Which meant breakfast was exceptionally scrumptious this morning.

  The train journey had been one filled with joyous conversation as Bronte got to know Margot by asking a plethora of questions about her favourite books and plays. She only paused for breath to listen to Margot’s answers but even then, she was dancing on the edge of her seat. Margot looked at Bronte with great affection and so Florence had relaxed into her seat, very much awake and unable to drift off for the fear that she would wake up and find this all to be a dream.

  ‘Is that him?’ Bronte had asked when they had disembarked the train. Jo stood by the station’s bookshop leaning against the frame with one ankle crossed over the other. In his hand was a book, just as battered and well-loved as his other books, and he was reading fervently. Jo looked every part the odd man out while to Florence he was every bit the perfect fit.

  ‘That would be him, yes,’ Florence answered. When Jo spotted them walking towards him, he immediately shoved the book in his back pocket and rushed towards them to help with their bags. Bronte’s initial look of approval flickered, and Florence saw her eye him threateningly, as if she was letting him know that she was protecting Florence. Even with all the romanticising her friend did, she was still looking out for her, which comforted Florence a great deal. The evil glances didn’t last all that long though, for once Jo opened his mouth and the conversation began flowing, Bronte was back to her chatty self and kept mouthing “oh my goodness” at Florence, causing Florence to suppress her laughter. The drive to Camp Calla Lily this time went by in a safe and contented blur.

  The path was lined with pastel-coloured balloons, a large banner blew in the breeze between the two giant oak trees at the entrance way, and the parking lot was full of cars. There were more flowers of every kind and colour, some in pots, some in new flower beds that had appeared in the grass, and strings of twinkling lights hung around the porch of the main cottage. The place looked even more magical than before and it was busy, very busy. There were people milling around the grounds as far as the eye could see. Florence’s pulse quickened as Jo pulled the truck into a spot near the building and turned off the engine.

  ‘Jo!!’ Florence gasped but then paused, for she had no idea what to say. Her eyes were darting from the side windows to the windscreen so they could take everything in. Jo smiled and climbed out of the truck so he could help Margot with the small step down and out of the vehicle. Florence practically dived out after her, breathing in the air and twirling around on the spot, her pastel yellow polka dot dress fanning out at her ankles. Bronte stood gaping like a fish.

  George came rushing to greet them. ‘Hello, my dears,’ he said, giving Florence a quick hug and introducing himself to Bronte, before embracing Margot in a much longer and tighter embrace. Florence chuckled. She could feel the happiness and excitement bounce off him. ‘Can I take your nanna with me?’ he asked Florence politely.

  ‘Of course,’ Florence told him, as he collected Margot’s bag, then took her hand and guided her up the path towards the cottage. That left Florence and Jo stood in silence looking at each other and Bronte looking back and forth between the two of them with an intrigued expression on her face.

  ‘I smell books,’ Bronte then announced. ‘I will catch up with you both later. Jo, this place is magic,’ she added; then she looked at Florence with an encouraging nod and back to Jo with a more serious expression, like she was warning him to look after Florence, before skipping away.

  Florence spoke up first after a few moments had passed. ‘I missed you.’ The warm wind caressed her exposed skin and the fresh air gave her mind even more clarity over the feelings she was harbouring for Jo. If only she had listened to them before.

  ‘I missed you too.’ Jo replied, gathering up her belongings with a shy, but somewhat cheeky smile on his face. ‘Come on, let’s drop these off at your hut and then I can show you around,’ Jo added. Florence smiled, liking the sound of “her hut”.

  The chatter grew louder as they rounded the back of the main cottage and another gasp of glee escaped Florence’s lips. The decking was strung with yet more fairy lights, more pastel balloons decorated the fencing and there were long tables lined up on the grass. Pretty plant pots bearing daisies, forget-me-nots and calla lilies made up the centrepieces and a couple of yards to the left wooden chairs sat around a white stone pit that was to be the campfire later that evening.

  ‘You sure know how to throw a party,’ Florence complimented Jo as her eyes surveyed the tables full of delicious-looking and wonderfully aromatic foods. Sal had done an amazing job with the food and Florence had no doubt that he had been waiting for an event like this for some time, so he could really get stuck into the kitchen and show what he was capable of. The thought made her ridiculously happy.

  ‘I can’t take the credit. Ella has been amazing getting the village involved with such short notice. I’m just happy people seem to be enjoying it. It’s great to see this place so busy again,’ Jo noted, his eyes wandering over to the fields where children ran around playing tig, young ones and older ones, laughing and playing together. It was beautiful and all he had dreamt of for this place. ‘I’m doing a book trail at three, if you would be interested in joining in,’ he added, walking down the steps, and nodding at people as he moved along. Florence followed as they made their way along the familiar route towards the huts.

  ‘Oh of course, I’d love to.’ She gasped, merrily, breaking into a skip when her pink pastel hut came into view. Jo unlocked the door while Florence busied herself caressing the wicker chair she loved to sit in each morning, and then she traced her hand over the window ledge that now held a small tray of daisies. When the hairs on her neck prickled, she looked up to see that Jo was watching her movements. ‘What?’ she asked, her voice coming out raspy.

  ‘Nothing, I just love that you notice all the small delicate touches,’ he replied, running his eyes over the strap of her yellow polka dot dress and down her arm to where her finger gently played with the petals of the sweet plant. Florence bit her lip as the butterflies in her stomach performed a loop-de-loop. Jo hastily rubbed at the back of his neck and looked out across to the magnolia tree. Fl
orence noticed his cheeks bloom a rosy red.

  Florence could sense that Jo’s brain was working a mile a minute as he looked at her. She suddenly felt the urge to reach out and hug him, but right now there was a lot going on and she didn’t feel it was the right time to discuss her feelings when Jo had so much on his plate with today’s event. If Jo had moved on, she feared it would make the day awkward and she didn’t want to be the cause of that when Jo had worked so hard to make this event happen. So instead, she took a few giddy steps forward, ruffling Jo’s hair to keep things light between them and stepped into her hut. With her arms open wide, she spun round on the spot, breathed in the woodsy, flowery perfumed scent of the cosy quarters and relieved Jo of her bags. She then pulled out her books from her small backpack, five books in total, and placed them on her bedside table before announcing that she was ready to explore.

  Jo chuckled and Florence grinned. They stood beaming at each other as the sun streamed through the open curtains and after a minute Jo declared, ‘Race you to the lake,’ and ran outside. Florence followed suit, shouting after him.

  ‘Do you not need to be up at the main building with the guests?’ she enquired.

  ‘Sal is seeing to all the food and Grandad has that under control. Besides the lake is where our book trail begins,’ Jo explained, running at full speed towards the lake at the edge of the camp lines, the warm wind zipping through his hair. Florence loved the feel of the grass between her toes, she was wearing her open-toe sandals and could feel the shorts blades tickling her feet. All the worries and stress over wanting to talk to Jo, of her feelings, over money, school and looking after her nanna, melted away as she chased Jo towards to the lake, contentment filling her lungs.

  They reached the lake and Jo made his way over to the bench under the glorious magnolia tree. Upon the bench lay pencils and clipboards with sheets attached that asked various bookish questions that made Florence’s face crease into a broad smile.