Chapter 8 #2
She shouldn’t have said anything. He must have had his reasons why he’d decided to put Little Mead on the market. It couldn’t be something he’d considered lightly. ‘Okay. Well, thanks again.’
‘No worries.’ Picking up his jacket from the arm of the sofa, she watched as the edge of it caught her handbag, which she’d put there when she’d hobbled inside, knocking it to the edge of the sofa, its contents spilling across the rug.
Bending down, he began shovelling the contents back inside, pausing as he picked up the photographs of Little Mead and his uncle that Jill had dropped by Pennycress on the school run. ‘What are these?’
‘They’re photos from past carnivals. From years ago.
’ She hobbled across to him as he stood up and pointed to the one he held in his left hand.
‘See, that one shows the carnival as it makes its way up through the High Street, and the other one is a picture of your uncle helping with the village youth club as they decorated their float.’
‘Huh.’ Holding them up, Charlie scrutinised each one in turn, an expression she couldn’t read flickering across his face.
‘You can keep hold of them, if you like?’
‘Is this some ruse to try to get me to agree to help you? Agree to lend the village the use of my much-needed tractors and trailers?’ He placed them face down on the coffee table, his shoulders visibly tightening as he did so.
‘Well, I?—’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ He rubbed the palm of his hand over his face. ‘I really don’t have time for any favours and I certainly don’t need to build any relationships with the locals. I’m not even staying in Meadowfield. In fact, the sooner I can sell and get back to my normal life, the better.’
‘Right.’ Nicola stuffed the remaining items which had spilt back in her bag and stood up just as Trixie strolled in.
Picking her up, she buried her face in her fur before looking back at Charlie.
There must be something she could say. ‘I know you’re selling, but why don’t you do it for him, for Farmer Williams?
In his honour? After all, like I told you, he was one of the founders of the Meadowfield carnival. ’
‘No.’ Charlie shook his head, his face clouding with an expression Nicola couldn’t quite read. Was it grief, guilt or just plain not giving a damn?
‘Just no?’ Placing Trixie back on the floor, she watched as she immediately bee-lined towards Charlie, something she never usually did, apart from with herself and her mum, the masters of all things treatwise.
Trixie was normally a timid little thing, wary of strangers, particularly men in big muddy boots.
‘Just no. I have no links with the village. Why would I want to spare my precious time, which at the moment is ultimately my money, to work on a daft carnival?’ He flared his nostrils, his earlier kindness quickly being replaced with full-on grump.
Putting her hands on her hips, Nicola frowned. If he wouldn’t stick up for his own uncle’s legacy, then she would. ‘It’s not daft. It brings the community together, and that’s what is special about Meadowfield – the community. Its tradition. A tradition your uncle started.’
Shaking his head, his jaw flexed. ‘You don’t need to tell me how to honour my own uncle.’
‘Really? Because from where I’m standing, you could certainly do with a few lessons.’ She clamped her mouth shut. She shouldn’t have said that. Farmer Williams was his family, not hers, and she’d just accused Charlie of not caring about his wishes. ‘Sorry, I?—’
‘I need to go.’ Bending down, he quickly fussed over Trixie, who stood on her back legs demanding attention. Straightening his back, he grabbed his keys from the coffee table, pausing a moment as he stared at the photos.
‘Take them. You might as well.’ For all the good they’d done in changing his mind, or not, as the case was. Still, his parents, siblings – someone – might have a bit more sentimentality towards his uncle’s life and achievements than he did.
Picking them up, he shoved them in his pocket before turning on his heels, Trixie darting behind him.
‘Trixie, stay here.’ Jumping forward, having completely forgotten about the pain in her leg during the argument, Nicola winced as she picked her up, waiting until she’d heard the click of the front door behind Charlie before lowering Trixie to the rug.
Flopping onto the sofa, she let herself be consumed by the cushions, thankful for the warmth and comfort.
What a night! Why had Charlie completely turned at the mere mention of the farm?
Before she’d brought it up, he’d been rather lovely, helping her, cleaning her wound, even being nice to Trixie, and yet as soon as she’d uttered a word about the carnival he’d clammed right up.
Was it because she’d hit a nerve? She’d said, not too bluntly that he was more interested in selling the farm and pocketing the money than honouring his uncle’s wishes.
She’d gone too far. Why had she? Why had she let her mouth run away from her brain? Why hadn’t she stopped herself? She fiddled with her bracelet, dragging the small horseshoe across the dainty silver chain.
Winding herself around Nicola’s legs, Trixie meowed, giving her best shot of acting like an undernourished and much neglected cat.
‘Oh, Trix, is it really that bad?’ Nicola glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
‘If it wasn’t for the fact that I know Nanny has been round feeding you treats, then I’d agree with you, but knowing you had your belly stuffed full only a few hours ago, I don’t think you’ve got even a partially empty stomach. ’
Resting her paws on Nicola’s trainers, Trixie rubbed her cheek against her jeans.
‘Okay, okay. Dinner time it is then.’ Pulling herself to standing, Nicola hobbled through to the kitchen, noticing the bowl Charlie had used washed and on the draining board.
She frowned. A man solely consumed with how much money he could get from his uncle’s farm wouldn’t have helped her.
No, there was more to Charlie Williams than met the eye. She was certain of it.