Chapter 3
Bumping her Fiat into the driveway of Little Mead Farm, Nicola pulled the handbrake up and turned off the ignition.
She’d already visited the Watsons: Sheila and Thomas Watson had been only too happy to agree to lend Meadowfield the use of their two tractors and trailers and they’d even offered to help decorate the trailers if they had a spare few minutes.
She checked her watch. Trixie would be demanding her dinner right about now.
Nicola always wondered how a cat could read a clock, but if any evidence was needed to prove they could, it would be Trixie’s impeccable timekeeping skills.
She began to meow and fuss for breakfast, dinner and her evening treat at exactly six thirty each day, down to the second.
Still, Farmer Williams had always been the kindest of the local farmers, the one who had always turned a blind eye to their scrumping and playing amongst the hay bales during harvest. He’d even taught her and Jill how to ride his pony one summer.
So she was sure there would be no problem with him lending them the tractors and trailers, meaning poor starving Trixie wouldn’t have to suffer for much longer.
Nicola smiled. It would be nice to catch up with him.
Whilst working under Nathan, she’d not had the time to keep in touch with many people.
Yes, they’d lived in their cottage on the outskirts of Meadowfield, but she’d spent most of her time at work, shackled to her desk in a bid to try to prove to everyone else at the firm that she wasn’t just there because she was in a relationship with the boss, that she could in fact do her job and do it well, at that.
Giving a hollow laugh, she shook her head. She’d spent more time at the office than he had himself. No wonder, as he’d had to split his time between her and Kerry for the last two years. Now that must have been a task in itself, sharing his time and keeping track of the lies he was spinning to her.
Sighing, she swung the car door open and took a deep breath, the warm evening air laced with the smell of hay and fertiliser bringing memories of long, evening bike rides with Jill and her other friends to the forefront of her mind.
Nathan was in her past now and she was rebuilding her life.
She needed to remember to focus on the future.
Yes, she had a lot to look forward to. She loved working with Laura at Pennycress Inn and the hours, although long, weren’t as crazy as when she worked for Nathan, so she had more time to spend with her mum and with her social circle. Life was good.
After walking up to the old gate to the farmyard, Nicola leaned her elbows on the top rung and called out, ‘Farmer Williams! Are you about?’ Looking across to the huge barn to her left, she tilted her head and listened. She was sure she’d heard something. Maybe he was in there?
Pulling up the latch of the gate, she creaked it open, careful to shut it behind her quickly as a flock of hens hurried towards her, busying themselves around her ankles, pecking at the slabs beneath their feet in the hopes of finding some forgotten corn.
‘Farmer Williams?’ She felt daft calling out the name she’d always called him as a child, but even now, she wasn’t sure of his first name. ‘Farmer Williams, are you here?’
Another thud sounded from inside the barn. This time, it was followed by a loud scraping noise. He must be in there.
Heading to the large barn, she paused outside the door and shouted for him again.
She didn’t want him to think she was still like her thirteen-year-old self, who he’d caught scrumping apples from his orchard.
In that moment, all thoughts of him ringing the police and having her, Jill and the other people they were with hauled into the back of a police car had terrified her.
As it turned out, he’d been more than happy to let them while away the summer holidays in the orchard and take apples home.
His only stipulation had been that her mum made him an apple crumble every so often, which she’d been more than happy to oblige with.
Just as she was about to open the door, Nicola was thrown back as it swung towards her, almost knocking her off her feet. Regaining her balance, she watched as a sheep raced across the yard; the hens scurrying in all directions to avoid the fluffy animal.
‘That’s it, you scram, and good riddance,’ a voice growled from inside.
Nicola watched as the sheep, suitably startled, shoved her head through the metal bars of the gate, obviously trying to escape. Stepping forward, gingerly this time, she peered inside the dimly lit barn. ‘Farmer Williams?’
‘What?’ The gruff voice belonged to a tall, muscular man wearing jeans and a white vest covered in more hay than was strewn on the barn floor.
‘Oh, er, I was looking for Farmer Williams. Sorry, I didn’t mean to let your sheep escape. I’ll go and fetch her.’ She indicated behind her.
‘Don’t bother. It’s not mine. The damn thing keeps eating my hay.’ He placed his hands on his hips and scowled in the direction the sheep had run. ‘If I get my hands on the thing, I can assure you it’d make a good addition to my Sunday roast.’
‘Oh.’ Nicola looked around the huge barn, which was crammed to the roof with hay bales. Surely one little sheep wouldn’t make a dent in the amount here. ‘Why don’t you just catch it and put it back with your other sheep?’
‘Because this is a damn agricultural farm, not a sheep farm.’ He shook his head at her, as though the fact was obvious.
‘Right, of course.’ She should have known. The orchard, the fields around the farmhouse. Apart from the hens in the yard, there were no other animals visible.
‘So?’ Shifting his feet, he crossed his arms as he glared at her.
‘So, what?’ She frowned. What did he want her to do? Run after the sheep? It must be Claudette, the stray sheep which had been running amok in the village and causing all sorts of strife for the past few months.
‘Why are you here?’ He did little to hide his annoyance at her presence.
‘I’m looking for Farmer Williams,’ she repeated, glancing around as though she half-expected him to pop up from behind a bale of hay and save her from this hostile worker of his.
‘That’s me. What do you want?’
‘You? Umm, no. I mean Farmer Williams .’ She emphasised the name as if he’d misheard her.
‘Yes, I am Farmer Williams .’ He too emphasised the name with none of the warmth or good humour of the Farmer Williams Nicola knew.
‘No, you’re not. He’s older than you.’ She blurted out the words before she’d had a chance to think them through.
But who was this man and why was he playing games with her?
She didn’t have all evening to stand around being at the receiving end of some prank.
She had Trixie to feed and a good book to curl up with back home.
Not to mention the mac ’n’ cheese ready meal for one waiting for her in the fridge.
Shaking his head, he held up his hands, his palms forward, and began backing away. ‘Fine. If you’ve just come here to waste my time, then please leave. I’ve got enough to do without some salesperson trying to sign me up for the latest copy of Farmer’s Weekly or some rubbish.’
‘What? No, wait.’ Stepping forward, she stopped short as he glared at her.
Maybe he was getting confused. She had said Farmer Williams and not just someone who worked for him, hadn’t she?
‘Sorry, I mean, you’re not who I’m looking for.
I wanted to speak to Farmer Williams. The actual Farmer Williams. Blue flat cap, a piece of hay dangling from his mouth… The man who owns this farm.’
‘That Farmer Williams is dead. He passed away five months ago.’ A look of sadness passed across his face for a split second before his expression reverted back again.
Nicola blinked. He’d uttered the words so nonchalantly, she couldn’t be sure she’d heard them correctly. Farmer Williams had passed away? Surely she’d have heard if he had? Her mum would have mentioned it, she would have attended the funeral. ‘No, he can’t be.’
Sighing loudly, the man in front of her rolled his eyes. ‘I can assure you he is, and now I own this place, so you can either spit out the reason you’re here or get off my land and let me get on with what needs doing.’
‘I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ And she suddenly realised why: Nathan.
He’d been the reason she hadn’t known. Five months ago, she’d been in the process of chucking his stuff out on the front lawn after discovering him and his mistress sharing a romantic meal at her kitchen table.
No wonder her mum hadn’t mentioned it. She wouldn’t have wanted to add to what Nicola was going through.
Guilt rose from the pit of her stomach. She had fond memories of Farmer Williams and she’d have liked to have had the opportunity to pay her respects.
Not that she didn’t understand why her mum hadn’t told her.
She did. Looking at him, she could see a little resemblance, the way his lips curled at the edges, although with Farmer Williams – the proper Farmer Williams – his lips had always been curled up in a permanent half-smile, whereas it seemed with the man in front of her his were permanently curled downwards in some sort of half-scowl.
She crossed her arms. Had Miss Cooke knowingly missed visiting Little Mead Farm?
Had she known what sort of reception would be lying in wait?
Quite possibly. ‘I didn’t know he had a son. ’
‘He didn’t. I’m a nephew.’
‘Right.’ That made more sense. She’d struggled to understand how someone so closely related to the jolly Farmer Williams of her childhood could appear so angry towards her now.
‘Sorry to disappoint you. See yourself out.’ Turning, he began walking towards the back of the barn.
‘No! Please wait.’ Hurrying behind him, she skirted around a large stack of hay bales, her cardigan catching on the hay as she passed. She watched as he paused and turned back to her.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry, I…’ She pulled a stalk of hay from the pale blue wool of her cardigan. ‘I’m here to ask you something. It’s the village carnival in four weeks and Farmer Williams… your uncle, he always lent us a couple of tractors and trailers to be used as a float.’
‘No.’
‘Umm…’ Nicola stumbled at his bluntness and wound the stalk of hay around her finger, giving herself a moment to think. ‘I’ve not asked you anything yet.’
‘But you’re going to. You’re going to ask me to continue his legacy and lend you the tractors and trailers again.’ He crossed his arms again. ‘And the answer remains a no.’
Was he really not going to let her speak?
Let her explain? Did he not care what his uncle would have wanted?
Surely the least he could do was listen to what she had to say instead of standing there and talking over her as he was?
‘But… it was his legacy. He was involved in the carnival right from when it began. In fact, I’m pretty sure he was one of the first villagers who began the tradition.
He used to say that lending tractors and trailers and helping out was his way of giving back to the community. ’
‘I have no reason to give anything back. I don’t sell to the villagers; I sell the hay to the other farms and the vegetables to the grocery stores. And this isn’t my community.’ Widening his stance as though to prove he wasn’t about to back down on his decision, his tone grew deeper.
‘Of course it is!’ Why on earth wouldn’t he want to help?
Why wouldn’t he want to continue the good work of his uncle?
She didn’t understand. Nicola wracked her mind, trying to think of a way to convince him.
She couldn’t let Jill down. They needed his tractors and trailers or they’d be two floats down – and two floats in a total of twelve was a lot.
There had to be a way to persuade him. ‘Please, we just need to borrow them. The trailers for a couple of weeks…’
Lifting his eyes heavenwards, he grunted.
‘Okay, not a couple of weeks. No, one week at most. We can make everything and assemble it in a day or two even. And the tractors just for a few hours.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. He had to have an ounce of his uncle’s compassion. He had to.
‘You’re asking me to lend you four pieces of equipment that are integral to harvest my crops, during one of the busiest times of the year for a farmer.
And what? That’s it? You can drive a tractor, can you?
’ Looking at her, he scoffed. ‘Or are you also asking me to lend you two farmhands to drive the things too?’
‘Well, yes, but not for long and we’ll return them just as we find them.’ Please say yes.
‘My workers too?’ A quick flash of humour was soon replaced with annoyance. ‘The answer is no. Find yourself some other mug.’
‘But please, it’ll be free advertising for you…’ She let her voice trail off as he tutted, holding his hand up as if dismissing her before vanishing behind a stack of hay bales.
Closing her eyes, she sighed. She’d had one job. One job! And she’d failed.