Appleby Farm (4 page)

‘… we can all go out for the day: me, you and Ollie?’

‘I’d love that!’ I jumped to my feet and performed a five-second tap dance.

The car, which I could see now was actually a tatty red van, came to a halt in front of me with a ratchety yank on the handbrake.

‘My lift’s here, Charlie. I’ve got to go.’

I blew him a kiss down the phone, said goodnight and slipped the phone back in my pocket, grinning like a loon. I felt so much better after talking to him. Shame he wasn’t here with me now; I’d have loved to show him off to my family. Maybe next time.

The driver’s door of the van opened with a creak and out stepped Eddy Hopkins, my uncle’s right-hand man – quite literally at the moment, given his injuries – and the man who taught me to milk a cow when I was eight.

‘Eddy! Gosh, what a lovely surprise!’

I sprang over to him, threw my arms around his neck and kissed his surprisingly smooth cheek.

‘You’re here, then.’ He stepped back, holding me at arm’s length, and squinted at me. I’d forgotten he wasn’t one for physical contact. He had a piece of rolled-up tissue protruding from one nostril and his aftershave was eye-wateringly strong.

‘Looking well, Eddy.’ I beamed at him and waited for some sort of reciprocal compliment.

‘You’ve filled out a bit,’ he said, a shadow of a smile lifting one side of his face.

‘Cheers.’ I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help grinning. Ever the charmer, our Eddy.

He strode to the rear of the van and opened one of the doors.

‘Thanks for fetching me,’ I said, swallowing a chuckle at the worn-out elbows of his tweed jacket and the elastic bands around the soles of his boots, presumably to stop them flapping. Eddy was in his late fifties, he’d never been married, had a minimalist approach to anything vaguely domestic and was what you might call frugal when it came to clothing.

‘I swear you were wearing those boots last time I came,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Nowt wrong with these.’ He inspected his footwear and shrugged. ‘And I’ve put new elastic bands on ’em specially for you.’

He hefted my heavy rucksack onto his shoulder effortlessly and slid the bag inside.

‘Get yourself in’t van. Your aunt and uncle will be waiting up for you,’ he said, nodding towards the passenger side. He pulled the tissue out of his nostril, inspected it with a grunt and shoved it in his pocket.

I yanked the handle several times before the door swung open. ‘What happened to your nose?’

‘Cut myself shaving, trying to rush so I wouldn’t be late picking you up.’

I pressed my lips together to smother a giggle. I remembered now. He was always stubbly by noon because he shaved before going to bed instead of in the morning to save himself time when he got up.

‘Well, I appreciate it. Thank you.’

The passenger seat was missing most of its upholstery and was currently occupied by a small, wiry black terrier, who turned excitedly on the spot several times with its tongue hanging out.

‘Out the road, Buddy,’ growled Eddy, hooking his finger through the dog’s collar and pulling him out of my way.

I sat down, shut the door and did up my seatbelt. Buddy sat down too, on my lap, his face inches from mine. Eddy started up the engine – foregoing his seatbelt, I noticed – and seconds later we were on our way.

We trundled along dark country lanes towards Lovedale village and Appleby Farm for several minutes before Eddy spoke.

‘Glad you’re here.’

I turned to face him and tried not to inhale Buddy’s hot meaty breath. There were no street lamps on this stretch of the road and only a faint glow from the dashboard to light Eddy’s features, but I could see his furrowed brow.

‘Uncle Arthur’s OK, isn’t he? I mean, apart from a few cuts and bruises, and the broken wrist?’

Eddy sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head. ‘I’m probably speaking out of turn but I dunno.’ He shrugged. ‘Hitting a ditch and overturning the tractor? It’s not like Arthur. He knows them fields like I know me own face.’

The face you sliced into earlier with a razor?
I snorted softly to myself.

‘Better, probably,’ he said, shooting me a flinty look.

‘Do you think there’s more to this accident than meets the eye, Eddy?’

The van rounded a sharp bend, Buddy dug his claws into my jeans to keep his balance and I gasped in pain. Eddy, seemingly oblivious to his passenger’s anguish, sighed. ‘I hope not, lass. For his sake, and your auntie’s. Farming’s a tough business. Arthur’s got me to help him, but even so, there’s a lot to do.’

I nodded. My memories of holidays spent at the farm when I was growing up were happy ones. In fact, I’d spent the happiest days of my life there, but my aunt and uncle were on the go all day long. The farm spanned 150 acres of land, mostly given over to sloping grassland where the cows grazed, with some crops grown on the flatter bits to keep the cattle going during winter when the grass didn’t grow. Eddy was their only employee and for the first time since leaving Kingsfield it dawned on me that I was going to have to roll up my sleeves and muck in.

The farming calendar was pretty full on, day in, day out, seven days a week. Time off was scarce, money was in short supply and every day brought new challenges, from bad weather to sick animals. And yet Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur were the most content people I knew and devoted to each other, even after goodness knows how many years of marriage.

‘How can I help?’ I asked, as much to myself as to Eddy. It had been years since I’d milked a cow and even then I had only been playing at it. I could probably drive a tractor at a push, but I didn’t fancy doing anything complicated like spraying crops. My heart sank as reality hit home: I wasn’t much use to them at all, really.

Eddy chuckled. ‘Oh, Sue will keep you busy. She’s got a dodgy knee now, so she’ll probably get you to look after the hens.’

‘Right. I can do that.’ One of my jobs growing up had been to collect the eggs. That would be a piece of cake.

‘Veg patch probably needs looking at, too.’

‘OK.’ At least my experience on Charlie’s allotment would come in handy.

‘And the office is a bit of a state.’

I shuddered. ‘Not my forte, offices, but I’ll do my best.’

The next section of road was lined with street lamps as we entered the tiny village of Lovedale. Eddy indicated right just after the White Lion pub and thankfully slowed down as we turned on to a bumpy track.

The farm gate was pushed back as far as it would go against the hedge and I could just make out the Appleby Farm sign attached to the top bar.

Ahead, at the top of the track behind the cowsheds, stood the stables, and to the side of the barns sat the farmhouse. It was a moonless sky and the building itself was barely visible amongst the shadows of the night, but lights twinkled in every one of the nine windows in its front façade. I don’t think I’d ever seen a building look so inviting and welcoming in my entire life.

‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is,’ I gasped, clutching a surprised Buddy to my chest as tears pricked at my eyes.

Eddy stopped the van in the yard. I jumped out and dragged my rucksack out of the back before he even had a chance to get out.

The noise of the van had woken up the cows. One or two began to moo and I could hear the swishing of straw and snorting and sniffing coming from the cowsheds as the animals protested at having their evening disturbed.

Eddy opened his window instead and I reached in and hugged him tight before he could lean away.

‘Thanks for the lift, Eddy. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, I expect.’

‘Damn,’ he grumbled, ferreting in his pocket until he found another piece of tissue, or possibly the same piece as before. ‘You’ve set the bleeding off again.’

I waved him off and opened the wrought-iron gate in front of the farmhouse, my fingers fumbling with the latch in my haste. A wide shaft of light suddenly illuminated the path and Auntie Sue emerged, her face beaming as she wiped her hands on her apron.

‘Welcome home, lass.’

She opened her arms and I raced into them.

Auntie Sue’s hug sent me straight back to my childhood. She pressed me to her bosom and I breathed her in – fresh bread and Nivea face cream – exactly as I remembered. I sighed contentedly.

‘I’ve missed you so much, Auntie Sue,’ I said, feeling ridiculously emotional all of a sudden.

She leaned back against my arms and peered at me. Two fat tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. ‘Well. This
is
a blessing in disguise. I think you’ve grown even more beautiful in the three years since you were last here.’

‘Three?’ I gasped. ‘It can’t be, surely.’

My aunt nodded sagely. She was in her seventies, had a cloud of fine white hair, the figure of a woman who enjoyed both baking and eating, and the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

A pang of guilt stabbed at me as I did a mental calculation. The last time I was here must have been the summer before my parents moved to Paris. I’d come back for a few days before starting a new job. I racked my brains to remember which job it had been … the pub in Cornwall, that was it. The following Christmas I’d spent two days at my parents’ elegant Parisian apartment and ever since then, I’d worked over the Christmas period – which gave me an excuse not to join them again. And my summer holidays were usually spent somewhere hot, with friends.

I’d neglected the two members of my family whom I loved the most and the fact that it had taken Uncle Arthur to be mangled underneath a tractor to get me to visit them made me feel awful.

‘I’m a terrible niece,’ I muttered.

‘Pshh. Rubbish,’ she replied briskly, dabbing at her face with the hem of her apron. Auntie Sue had shrunk, I realized. We used to be the same height, but now she had to look up at me.

‘You’re here now and I can’t tell you how grateful we are. It’ll do your uncle the world of good seeing you about the place. He’s so stressed with his accident and everything. I hope we haven’t put you out?’

I shook my head. ‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be and as luck would have it I’ve got the whole of the Easter weekend off anyway.’

‘Is that young Freya?’ Uncle Arthur’s gruff voice travelled through the open door and we both laughed.

‘Sure is!’ I replied, breaking our hug. I planted a kiss on my aunt’s soft cheek and carried my rucksack inside.

The front door led straight into the farmhouse kitchen. The room was warm and cosy, and smelled of wood smoke and baking. On one side of the room, a gleaming black Aga was tucked into an inglenook fireplace next to which two cats were curled up in a basket, soaking up the range’s warmth. A huge scrubbed-pine table with benches running along its sides and a chair at each end dominated the centre of the room, and at the far side an assortment of comfy armchairs were arranged around a blazing log fire.

Wisps of dark grey hair were just visible over the back of the middle chair. Uncle Arthur was in prime position in front of the fire, his feet propped up on a footrest and Madge, the black and tan mongrel dog who had to be at least fifteen by now, was stretched out under his legs. I dropped a kiss on his cheek and squeezed my bottom on to his footrest so that I could see him properly. Madge nudged my leg with her nose and I scratched the top of her head.

‘Blimey, look at you! Looks like you’ve done ten rounds in a boxing ring,’ I exclaimed.

His hair had been jet black when he was younger, but it was still thick and he had bushy eyebrows to match, although one was now covered with a bandage. His left arm was in plaster and his chin was cut and bruised, but his dark eyes were still twinkly behind his glasses.

‘Looks worse than it is.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple of days.’

‘Are you in much pain?’

‘Nooo,’ he said, rather too quickly for my liking. ‘I’m drugged up to the eyeballs for starters. Don’t tell her indoors, though,’ he chuckled and then winced, laying his plastered arm across his ribs, ‘I quite like being waited on hand and foot.’

Auntie Sue tutted affectionately, bustled over to the Aga and slid the kettle on to the hotplate.

‘Tea, love?’ she called.

‘Um …’ I was ready for a drink, but I was shattered, too. And I knew that the pair of them would usually be in bed by now. Uncle Arthur was already in his dressing gown and pyjamas.

‘Or hot milk?’ she asked, selecting two mugs from an overloaded pine dresser.

‘Oh, yes, please.’ My eyes roamed the shelves of the dresser, stacked with crockery: pretty milk jugs hung from a row of hooks, Auntie Sue’s ‘everyday’ mugs filled one shelf, cups and saucers another, and the top was lined with her collection of teapots of every shape, colour and size, from novelty cats to vintage china. I’d spent hours playing with them when I was a little girl.

‘Sweet dreams special?’

‘Oh, Auntie Sue, that would be perfect,’ I sighed.

I looked across to see her smiling to herself. My favourite bedtime supper ever, which she used to say would guarantee me a good night’s sleep, consisted of real butter on toasted homemade bread and hot milk with a sprinkling of nutmeg and a bit of sugar.

The cats stirred from their slumber and wrapped themselves around my aunt’s legs as she retrieved a jug of milk from the fridge.

‘All right, Benny and Björn, just a drop.’

I shook my head and chuckled, catching Uncle Arthur’s eye; Auntie Sue had always had a soft spot for ABBA. ‘Which is which?’

‘Björn has two white socks,’ said Auntie Sue. ‘And Benny has three.’

‘And plays piano,’ Uncle Arthur hissed. We both laughed and Auntie Sue tutted.

He squeezed my hand gently and I held it up to my cheek. I caught the faint scent of cows on his skin – not as unpleasant as you might think – sweet and grassy and precisely as he had always smelled.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not that we can’t manage, but she needs a bit of female company. You’ll cheer her up no end.’

‘I hope so,’ I said, biting my lip.

It looked as if they were both keen to have me for the other person’s sake. I couldn’t escape the feeling that there was more going on here than just a few cuts and bruises. OK, so Uncle Arthur wouldn’t be driving a tractor any time soon, but surely Eddy could handle that side of things, or they could hire in some extra labour for a few weeks?