Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘Was Seth’s bill big?’ Hattie asked. ‘Vets are expensive, aren’t they?’

  ‘Haven’t had it yet.’ Jo shoved a forkful of steak into her mouth.

  ‘But it might be?’

  Jo reached for the salt and didn’t say anything.

  ‘Can we afford it?’ Hattie asked.

  Jo took another mouthful and chewed for a moment. ‘Not your problem,’ she said finally.

  ‘It sort of feels like it is. I mean, we’re a team now, right?’

  Jo looked at her. ‘You want to pay the bill or something?’ Hattie noted the barest trace of amusement. Was this more progress? If she kept tap-tapping away at this armour, could she break through?

  ‘Well, no… I don’t think I could afford it. But we could borrow the money,’ she added brightly, the idea suddenly occurring to her. ‘My dad would help if—’

  ‘No,’ Jo interrupted, her expression stone again. ‘I don’t need charity.’

  ‘You are charity!’ Hattie exclaimed. ‘You’re saving animals! Every other animal-rescue organisation or shelter I know of raises the money they need through donations. What’s the difference between what they do and what you do? Why can’t you take charity? It’s not like the money’s for you.’

  ‘They’re proper registered places.’

  ‘So? Can’t you be registered?’

  ‘Too much paperwork.’

  Hattie was silent for a moment. Sometimes Jo could be so exasperating. As far as Hattie could see, the solutions to all her problems were staring her in the face and she wouldn’t even entertain them. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

  ‘Do you mind if Melinda and the kids visit again?’ she asked, deciding to let the argument drop for now. She sensed an atmosphere building and it didn’t seem wise to push it.

  ‘As long as they don’t get in the way. And I won’t be responsible for accidents. We’re a working farm, not an adventure playground.’

  ‘Melinda keeps a close eye on them and they’re sensible kids.’

  Jo gave a brisk nod. That she’d agreed – however reticently – felt like another point scored in the battle to save her soul. If Melinda and Hattie could get Jo to love Melinda’s kids then maybe the question of getting paid visitors up to Sweet Briar would be one she’d be more open to consider.

  The more Hattie had thought about it, the more she was convinced that, along with fundraising like she’d just mentioned, paying customers would be the answer to all Jo’s money worries. It might even enable her to save many more animals. The only thing standing in the way was Jo’s refusal to engage with almost everyone, but Hattie thought she might have a solution to that too. She could be the public face of Sweet Briar Sanctuary, the person who welcomed visitors, who gave press interviews and who fronted appeals. Jo could quietly continue her work in the background and she’d never have to deal with any of that while she had Hattie. Hattie had been cooking these plans up for a while now, and she was slowly but surely trying to work Jo, to get her to a place where she might agree. She didn’t think they were there yet but she hoped they might be soon. In the meantime, she wondered whether she ought to put the feelers out, gauge interest in visiting the farm, and she’d asked Lance and Mark to put the question to people who came into their café – particularly if they were tourists. So far, the response had been favourable, but Hattie would have to make more concrete plans soon because hypothetical visitors only brought in hypothetical money.

  Jo scraped up the last of her pie and chewed slowly, her gaze on the window.

  ‘You get the hens cooped up,’ she said, eyeing the darkening sky. ‘Make sure they’re safe – I’ve seen a fox. I’ll get the donkeys down for the night.’

  Before Hattie could reply, Jo pushed her chair away from the table and got up to dump her plate in the sink before heading out, still chewing on the last of her dinner.

  One of these days, Hattie would get to have a full, meaningful conversation with her boss that didn’t end prematurely with her marching wordlessly out of the room.

  Three days had passed since the steak and kidney pie. Since then, Hattie had been treated to cod mornay (the first time Jo had ever cooked fish but still excellent), chicken and leek bake (chicken from the farm shop and not from the new hens, and Jo showed no guilt at all that she was likely eating one of their distant cousins), and another rich beef stew. They tended to grab sandwiches or other quick snacks on the run during the day, a hearty breakfast being enough to see them through till dinner without the need for much else. It was all excellent but, although Hattie was a huge fan of Jo’s cooking, she had been thinking that as she hadn’t seen much of her parents that week, and her dad had called tempting her with offers of Moroccan-style jewelled couscous with slow-cooked lamb (which did sound very good), she might skip her evening meal with Jo that night and take him up on the offer.

  It had rained heavily that day and Jo had decided to get all the animals tucked up in their shelters early that evening anyway, so she and Hattie were free for more of the night than they’d usually be. She asked Jo, and all she got in reply was a warning that Hattie would be forced to eat her portion of hotpot the following day as Jo was not about to throw good food in the bin. Hattie had absolutely no opposition to that plan – she was sure Jo’s hotpot would be just as good a day older as it was fresh. So she pulled on her wellies and raincoat and took a slow walk down the winding path that would take her away from the isolation of Sweet Briar and into the relative metropolis of Gillypuddle.

  An hour later she was in the warm and dry of her parents’ house, rain drumming on the conservatory roof as her mother handed her a milky coffee, chastising her for getting soaked through and trying to persuade her husband that he ought to be checking Hattie out for early signs of pneumonia.

  ‘I’m absolutely fine, Mum,’ she said. ‘In fact, just lately I feel really healthy.’

  ‘She does look well enough,’ Nigel agreed, casting a critical eye in her direction as he laid the table. ‘The air up at Sweet Briar must agree with her if nothing else.’

  ‘She looks flushed,’ Rhonda insisted, placing the back of her hand against Hattie’s cheek.

  ‘I think it’s called a healthy glow, Mum,’ Hattie said, pushing it away. ‘Jo really looks after me – I’ve never eaten so well and she makes sure the house is warm when we’re in; you don’t need to worry.’

  ‘I expect you’re developing a healthy immunity to lots of farmyard diseases too,’ Nigel said dryly.

  ‘I try not to think about those, Dad,’ Hattie said. ‘Sometimes having a doctor in the family is no fun – you’re not allowed to cheerfully ignore any medical risk.’

  ‘There has to be some perks,’ Nigel said, rubbing a streaked knife on a napkin.

  Hattie grinned. It felt nice that they could share banter about this, even though she knew all the same that it was hard for her parents to accept a situation that put her at any sort of risk at all – especially given what had happened to Charlotte – and how much it pained them to let her do what she was doing up at Sweet Briar.

  ‘I met Seth Bryson the other day,’ she said, trying to steer the subject towards something that might feel more neutral for them all. ‘He seems nice.’

  ‘Is that the new vet at Castle House?’ Rhonda asked.

  Hattie nodded.

  ‘Isn’t he a partner, Nigel?’ Rhonda looked at her husband.

  Nigel placed the last fork down. ‘Set to take over, I shouldn’t wonder, with Josiah on the way out.’

  ‘He’s retiring?’ Hattie asked. Seth’s arrival in Gillypuddle made more sense now. He’d told Hattie that the job had looked good and she’d wondered how a post in a small village like this had been so tempting, but she could see now that the idea of being able to take over the practice would have been a big lure.

  ‘Almost retired now, so I hear. He lets Seth do most of the work. Some of the older clients don’t quite trust the new guy yet and they won’t let Josiah go without a fight, but that�
��s only to be expected – they’ve had the same man for years and change doesn’t come easy to some.’

  ‘You mean like Rupert always coming to see you about his knee instead of going to the new GP?’ Hattie asked with a grin.

  ‘Yes. We’re a funny bunch in Gillypuddle, aren’t we? We don’t like change very much.’

  ‘People do tend to cling on to what they know,’ Hattie agreed.

  ‘He’s rather good-looking,’ Rhonda said with a dreamy expression. ‘If you like that sort of thing, of course,’ she added quickly after a sharp look from Nigel.

  ‘Seth?’ Hattie asked. ‘He is. Shame he’s taken.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Rhonda asked. ‘As far as I know he’s not.’

  ‘Melinda said so. She said her name’s Eugenie or something – some clever clogs living in Oxford.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all water under the bridge,’ Rhonda said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Agatha Crook told me his girlfriend had taken a research post in Washington and he’d told her not to bother coming back. She told him she didn’t much care for England anyway – too many skinheads – and away she went.’

  ‘How on earth does Agatha know all that?’

  ‘She heard it from Philip Stow.’

  ‘How does Philip know?’

  ‘Doesn’t he play bowls with Josiah? I can’t be certain, but I’m quite sure it’s true.’

  ‘He told her not to come back just because she wanted to do some research somewhere for a while?’ Hattie asked doubtfully. ‘Seems a bit harsh to me.’

  ‘She was going to be away for more than a little while,’ Rhonda said. ‘Five years, so I heard. That is a long time to put a wedding off for.’

  ‘They were getting married?’

  ‘So I heard.’

  Hattie sipped her coffee. It looked as if her mother had inadvertently explained another of Seth’s cryptic clues. When Hattie had asked him why he’d come to Oxford, he’d told her a friend had taken him there and he used the word friend, rather than girlfriend, fiancée, partner… Was this Eugenie woman the friend? It seemed like a safe bet. And if he was referring to her as a friend rather than something more significant, it looked as if she was out of the picture after all.

  ‘The gossip in this village is ridiculous,’ Nigel said, shaking his head as he went out to the kitchen. Hattie exchanged a grin with her mum.

  ‘He’s one to complain about gossip,’ Rhonda said. ‘Nobody’s worse than him when he goes to the bridge meet.’

  ‘We’ll pretend we haven’t noticed,’ Hattie said.

  ‘So,’ Rhonda said with a mischievous look, ‘if you were interested in the new vet, it looks as if the path is clear. Although, you will have to join the queue…’

  ‘Oh yeah, behind Phyllis and Scary Mary who cleans the vicarage?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure his net’s cast a little wider than just Gillypuddle,’ Rhonda said mildly. ‘For some of us, the world doesn’t start and end in this village.’

  ‘It doesn’t for me either,’ Hattie said, a slight note of offence creeping into her voice. ‘I have been further afield, you know.’

  ‘The world starts and ends at Sweet Briar Farm these days for you,’ Nigel said, returning from the kitchen with a bowl of fresh leafy salad. ‘We hardly see you. And all talk of education has gone out of the window since you moved up there.’

  ‘I never promised that anything else was going to happen.’ Hattie narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you agree so readily to the move because you thought I’d never stick it out? Did you think I’d be back in a week with my tail between my legs begging to take up your plans?’

  Rhonda shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. We know better than that by now. Nobody can give any advice that you’d want to take.’

  ‘Why do I need to take other people’s advice? Why can’t you let me get on with things? I like Sweet Briar and I know it may shock you but I like Jo too. She might be a moody cow, but she cares about those animals and she’ll do anything for them. For instance, she spends every last penny she has on them.’

  ‘How do you know all this when you say she never tells you anything?’

  ‘I just do. I don’t think she can even manage the vet’s bills.’

  ‘I’m sure Seth Bryson’s pleased about that,’ Nigel said caustically.

  ‘Well, maybe he cares more about animals than money too,’ Hattie fired back.

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ Nigel continued, his tone irritatingly level, ‘but a business has to turn a profit or it ceases to be a business. In the case of a vet, he can be as fond of animals as you like, but he’s got to make money or he won’t be able to help any animals, no matter how much he wants to.’

  ‘Does she owe him a lot of money?’ Rhonda asked, and Hattie turned to her now, surprised by the tone of genuine concern in her voice, rather than the preaching note of her dad’s. It instantly calmed Hattie’s building temper.

  ‘I don’t honestly know,’ she said. ‘As Dad just said, Jo doesn’t tell me a lot so it’s all guesswork and conjecture, but I would imagine it’s enough.’

  Rhonda shook her head. ‘You’ve got to admire her – I don’t know how she keeps that place running.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Hattie said. ‘I don’t know how either.’

  Rhonda studied her for a moment. ‘It really does worry you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘She’s a good person,’ Hattie said, ‘and she’s doing a good thing. I don’t know why she’s so closed off to everyone – even me really – but the sanctuary matters to her for some reason – more than anything.’

  ‘I think you’re doing a good thing too.’ Rhonda smiled. ‘Doing your bit to help. I’m proud of you.’

  Hattie’s face lit up in a bemused smile. ‘You are?’

  ‘That’s not to say that what you’re doing now is what we would have chosen for you,’ Nigel reminded her.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘If it means so much to you perhaps I could pay Seth a visit,’ Nigel said, ‘find out what’s going on. He might not tell me, but if I can talk to him, professional to professional, perhaps he will.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Dad, but I don’t know what good it will do. Unless…’ Hattie paused. ‘Dad… say no if you want to but how would you feel about loaning me the money so I could pay Jo’s bill?’

  ‘I’d say it depends on how much it is. But how exactly are you proposing to pay me back in your current situation? You’re hardly rolling in money yourself.’

  ‘I know, but I’m working on plans to get the sanctuary earning. In fact, I already know what I’m going to do – I just need to get Jo to agree to it. If you didn’t mind waiting a little while, we could pay you then.’

  ‘I doubt she’d agree to anyone paying her bills for her,’ Rhonda put in. ‘Shouldn’t you at least run this plan by her?’

  ‘She probably wouldn’t agree.’

  ‘Then you probably shouldn’t be doing it.’

  ‘I’m trying to help her. She’ll see that.’

  Rhonda looked unconvinced but Nigel nodded.

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll go to see Seth tomorrow morning.’

  Hattie gave him a grateful smile, even though, at the back of her mind, there was a little voice telling her that Jo might not be quite as grateful for this intervention as she might hope. She decided that voice sounded better with a sock stuffed firmly into its mouth to muffle the noise. Jo would see in time that Hattie had the best interests of her and Sweet Briar at heart.

  She was also tempted to go with her dad to see Seth in the morning for a bit of harmless flirting in light of the new information from her mum. But Jo would need her on the farm and, besides, to ask for the morning off at such short notice would require some sort of explanation, and Hattie was pretty sure she couldn’t tell Jo about this yet. Her mother would have said that was because Hattie knew she shouldn’t even be doing it, but if Jo wasn’t willing to accept the help she so clearly
needed then Hattie was going to have to find another way of giving it. In a way, she reasoned, it was just like when they hid the donkeys’ medication in their sugar beet. They didn’t want the medication but they needed it, so if a bit of subterfuge was necessary, where was the harm in that as long as the outcome was a good one?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hattie smiled as Melinda’s children fired questions at Jo, while Melinda just looked bemused:

  How old is that one?

  How many eggs do you get?

  How fast can they run?

  Why can’t they fly?

  Do they lie down when they go to sleep?

  Are these the same chickens you get in nuggets?

  Why do they scratch the floor?

  Are those two fighting?

  Which one’s the cock-a-doodle-do?

  Jo answered each question patiently and solemnly, as if each one mattered more than anything else in the world. As each child used their handful of feed, she gave them another, showing them how to scatter it evenly. Sunshine’s attempts weren’t too bad, Ocean arranged his on the floor in a sort of psychometric test pattern, while Rain only managed to dump hers straight on Peppa’s head, leading to some very bad-tempered clucking.

  Earlier there had been a chicken-naming ceremony. Hattie had overseen it at first, but it had drawn Jo in. She’d been determined to have nothing to do with the visit but, Hattie reasoned, who could ignore a family of adorable children trying to name a bunch of hens? Even Jo couldn’t walk away from that. So now they had Peppa, Sam, Pat, Miffy, Paddington, Minnie, Daisy, Olga, Belle, Ariel, Elsa and Anna. It didn’t seem to matter that they weren’t all exclusively female names, and Hattie could definitely see a distinct trend.