Chapter 15
15
Rosemary opened the farmhouse door, looking very different from the night before in denim dungarees patched with random swatches of fabric, a Breton T-shirt and frayed bandana keeping her bob out of the way.
‘Oh, Pip’s friend.’ She gave a broad smile. ‘We weren’t sure how long you’d be staying. Not many self-employed folk can shut up shop and take a little jaunt without very good reason. Unless you have someone managing the restaurant while you’re gone?’
‘It’s a kiosk, not a restaurant, so I work by myself these days.’
‘Right, well, how very lovely to be able to come and go as you please, without anyone else moaning about it.’ She gave me a nudge with a knowing chuckle. ‘The last holiday Gabe and I had was our honeymoon, and he spent the whole four days fretting about the animals. I think he missed them more than the children when they were away at school. Still, such is a farmer’s lot. Wed to the land, wife a mere mistress.’
‘Maybe you can take a break now Pip is home?’
‘I wouldn’t hold my breath. Violet and Iris have been godsends, but Iris will be helping Hugh’s parents with their horses once she’s married, and Violet was always more of a sailor than a farmer. Gabe would be the last to admit it, but he’s slower than he used to be. Even with Pip, there’s a lot of catching up to do. To be honest with you, Emmie, I’m not sure how much longer we’d have been able to carry on without him. It’s hard enough scraping a living these days. Not having our son to help shoulder the burden doesn’t bear thinking about. Anyways.’ She rested a hand on my arm. ‘Here’s me waffling on. Were you here to pick up the bike?’
‘Yes. Although I was hoping to say hello to Gabe, if that’s okay?’
Rosemary squinted one eye. ‘Oh?’
‘I’m looking for a new egg supplier and he offered to give me some advice.’
It was the best lie I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
‘Right. Well. Violet’s sorting the eggs today. Gabe is picking strawberries. Across the yard, past the cowshed on the right and you’ll see him.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll leave the bike by the far gate for when you’re done. And don’t let Gabe drone on too long about those chickens. He forgets that not many people are obsessed with farming like him and Pip. Not when there’s the bonniest island in the British Isles to explore. Take the bike, have some fun. You should make the most of your time here.’
‘Thank you. Pip promised to show me a nice picnic spot, so I’ll pick the bike up after that.’
‘Did he now? How lovely. I suppose the north fence will wait until another day.’
She said goodbye and I left, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt about stealing Pip away from his responsibilities so soon after he’d arrived.
I took the short walk to the farmyard, grateful for Lily’s insistence that I brought wellington boots as I skirted the worst of the mud while passing the pungent cowsheds – empty in the summertime – out the other side to where a short path led across a scrubby stretch of grass to what must be the strawberry patch.
‘Ah, hello.’ Gabe straightened up from where he was picking fruit in one of the middle rows, alerted by the dogs bounding up to greet me. He took off his cap, wiped the sweat off his forehead, replacing it with a streak of dirt, and picked up the container he’d been using to collect the strawberries.
‘Not the best crop we’ve had, but they’re more for pleasure than business. Don’t tell Rosemary that, mind. She’s very proud of her award-winning jam. Lily used to charge twenty pence extra for it in her cream teas, back when she was running the café. Here.’ He plucked one of the larger fruits and offered it to me, giving a nod of satisfaction when I took a bite, releasing a burst of juicy sweetness that made my taste buds tingle with pleasure.
‘No substitute for freshly picked.’ Gabe held out the carton, and I couldn’t resist accepting one more.
‘It seems a waste to turn them into jam.’
‘Oh, plenty enough are used fresh. We supply two of the cafés and the greengrocer’s stall. Lily will be serving them with pancakes once she’s open. Those too small, mishappen or whatnot will be jams, pies, sauce. Nothing wasted. Nor frozen, if we can help it, apart from ice cream. Here. Take these back to the barn with you.’ He pulled a carrier bag out of his jeans pocket and filled it with a generous handful, which I tucked inside my bag. ‘But before you go, the letters.’
We walked back to the farmhouse, Gabe pointing out what the different buildings were used for as we went. He pointed to one a short distance away from the farmyard, surrounded by relatively clean paving slabs, rather than muddy gravel.
‘That’s the Old Barn, the first Eber Hawkins built, back in 1746, after the great famine. Before then, Hawkinses were subsidence farmers, growing, fishing and hunting just enough to survive. But Eber had a dream, to leave something more for his children. All fourteen of them. He was the first to think beyond the next winter. Planted potatoes, beans and wheat. Gambled his fishing boat on a game of dice and won two horses, and three cows. By the time his son, Conan, took over, they had a herd of twenty suckler cows and the most sought-after bull on the island.’
‘And now you have all this,’ I said, loving the stories of the Hawkins history.
‘Aye. But now it can too often feel like we’re heading back to pre-Eber days. Scraping through one harvest to the next. It’s the only reason Pip talked me into this fancy master’s thing. I remembered how my father, Aster’s husband, drove me to distraction with his refusal to move with the times.’
‘Change isn’t easy.’
‘No, but I decided it has to be easier than watching my stubborn pride destroy what Eber started, and everything the Hawkinses have built since.’ He waved a hello to his wife, hanging out wet washing in the garden, all trace of the previous night’s revelry vanished from the lawn and patio.
‘I told her I wanted your advice about free-range-egg suppliers,’ I said as he opened the kitchen door and we slipped off our boots, the Labradors waiting patiently while he wiped their paws with a threadbare towel.
‘Very good. As long as they’ve got the Lion Code, RSPCA and all that, you’ll be grand.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘If Rosemary asks you about it, tell her I rambled on so long, you stopped listening.’ He led me through the kitchen into an office space, where piles of papers covered a desk made from an old door. Unlocking a filing cabinet, he flicked through various folders until pulling out one labelled, Relocating sewage tank .
‘It was the most off-putting title I could think of.’
Opening it up, Gabe pulled out a stash of papers, in the middle of which was a plain brown envelope, which he held out to me.
‘I presume you want them back?’ The way he gripped onto the envelope for a brief second before allowing me to take it was enough of a clue.
‘Yes. If you don’t mind. And if you have any questions, well… I’m always more than happy to discuss chickens, eggs, cows and crops with those who’re interested.’
‘Thank you.’
‘There you are.’ Rosemary appeared in the doorway. ‘Have you finished picking the strawberries already? Because there’s a plate of party leftovers waiting for lunch.’
‘No, my love. I’ll head back over after this delicious lunch you’ve prepared.’ Gabe gave her a tender smile, waving at the filing cabinet. ‘I wanted to find the name of that new breed of layers Pip was talking about. It’s not too far from Emmie. They grow some plant that makes the yolks darker, if I recall correctly.’
He carried on mumbling as we walked back to the kitchen and Gabe took a seat at the table beside Aster, who had opened up a sandwich and was scowling at the contents.
‘It’s you.’ She gave me a dismissive glance. ‘Back already?’
‘I came to ask Gabe’s advice about chickens.’
She gave the food a sniff before folding the bread down again. ‘Must be keen.’
That was enough to make me want to crawl beneath my chair and hide, but Aster wasn’t finished. ‘Just mind out, Philip is an island farmer. He’ll not be happy anywhere else. Forget chickens, try asking Gabriel’s advice on that.’
She looked up, eyes cool as they assessed me. Finally, after a small, satisfied nod, she focused back on her sandwich.
I didn’t want to think too hard about what that nod meant. Gabe merely smiled wryly as he shook his head. ‘Emmie’s not here to steal Pip away, Ma. And even if she was, he’s got no intention of abandoning the farm. Don’t fret.’
Aster took a large bite of her sandwich. She wasn’t the one fretting here.
I was declining their offer of a meal for the third time when the front door banged open and a moment later, Pip appeared, the dogs dancing around his legs as though this were his grand homecoming, rather than two days earlier.
‘Just in time for lunch,’ Rosemary said. ‘I’ve got your favourite cider chutney.’
‘Ah, sorry, Ma.’ Pip eyed the plate of meat, bread and salad on the kitchen worktop and put an arm around his mother. ‘I’ve picked up a hamper from Dahlia’s.’
‘Ooh, hark at you. Two years at an English university and now you’re shopping like a tourist. Those hampers cost a lot more than my leftovers. Caroline told me they decant cheap, imported factory produce into fancy packaging and stick on a sprig of garnish to make it seem posh.’
While his mum was talking, Pip spotted me lurking in the doorway to the office. His sudden enormous grin was impossible not to reciprocate, despite how it caused Rosemary to abruptly stop talking as Gabe carried on eating, seemingly oblivious.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s only quarter to.’
‘I was asking your dad about egg suppliers. I’m thinking of getting a new one.’
‘Oh.’ Pip looked slightly taken aback. ‘You could have asked me. I know a lot of Nottinghamshire farmers.’
‘Of course you do – I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. It was more some general advice really, rather than specifics. I mentioned it last night, so Gabe offered to have a chat next time I was here.’
‘Right. Well. If you give me a couple of minutes, I need to change.’
Pip disappeared, and after a minute of hovering while Gabe and Aster ate and Rosemary topped up Aster’s drink and offered her husband more chicken, another pickled onion, a slice of fruit cake, I mumbled an excuse and went to wait outside in the sunshine, donning my trainers instead of the boots.
‘Sorry if that was awkward.’ Pip reappeared a short while later, his muddy cargo trousers and grimy shirt replaced with a pair of grey shorts and pristine, pale-blue T-shirt. ‘As far as island mothers are concerned, there’s no greater insult than spurning their home-cooked meal for something shop-bought.’
He held up a small picnic basket.
‘I suppose she wants to spoil you after being apart for so long.’ We began walking in the opposite direction to the day before, back towards the strawberry patch, only this time weaving around the side of the yard rather than straight through it. ‘I would have been happy with leftovers. The food last night was fantastic.’
‘High praise indeed from the owner of Parsley’s.’ Pip smiled. ‘I’ll be sure to pass your compliments to the chefs.’
He paused as we reached a stile, allowing me to go first. Anticipating some rugged terrain, I’d worn shorts rather than a dress, and it was the right choice. As we wound towards the edge of the cliff, frequent gusts whipped my hair out of its ponytail and flapped my new top. However, after about ten minutes of this, our conversation limited by the whistle of the wind and me having to concentrate on the narrow stony path, we turned a corner, curving around a slight hillock, and within seconds, I was looking at paradise.
Pip spread a blanket out at the base of the slope that was sheltered from the wind but not the sunshine, and we settled down to soak it in.
The grass around us was thick with flowers – I recognised willowherb, buttercups and the daisies and forget-me-nots from Mum’s wedding bouquet – butterflies and bees dancing amongst the blossoms. Rather than a cliff-top, here the land sloped more gently down towards a wide strip of pale sand, beyond which lay the shimmering sea.
‘Watch.’
Pip pointed to the sea on one side, taking hold of my shoulders and turning me slightly when I couldn’t find what he was showing me, moving the arm that was pointing to only an inch from my jaw.
‘Oh!’
I saw it then, a flash and a splash, then several more.
‘Dolphins?’
‘Porpoises. See the nose is blunter than a dolphin? If you want to spot a dolphin, we can walk to the northern coves another time. If you want to see a whale, we need to use the boat.’
I felt a warm glow at Pip’s suggestion that we’d have more days like this. Combined with his hand, still resting gently on my shoulder, the proximity of his chest to my back, it did a good job of rattling my resolve to avoid a short-term something with him.
We watched the porpoises frolic through the waves until they disappeared into the distance. When Pip moved away, it felt as though the sun had gone behind a cloud.
‘We’d better eat. I don’t want Da thinking I’ve picked up slacker habits from you mainlanders.’
The hamper was full of food that definitely didn’t taste mass-produced. Separate pots of tomato, potato and prawn salads, crusty rolls still faintly warm, which we smothered with salted butter and a crumbly cheese. A thick wedge of crab quiche and then tiny, tart raspberries served with a mini tub of clotted cream, washed down with cloudy lemonade. We were talking and laughing the whole time and, putting the location and the company together, it was, without a doubt, one of the best meals of my life.
Usually, I shied away from people asking me personal questions – it wasn’t as if I had anything much to share beyond making pasties. The older I got, the more acutely I realised that most people viewed hearing about my odd upbringing with morbid fascination rather than genuine interest.
Given the insular nature of his own life, the solidarity with which Pip listened to my descriptions of Mum’s uncompromising ways, sharing his own island stories, and the impact they had on his time at boarding school in return, made talking to him not only comfortable, but uplifting and at times even joyous.
Who knew how much a, ‘Me too!’ or a ‘You think that’s bad…’ could mean?
I even found myself telling him what little I knew about my birth mother, which he responded to with such sincerity, I wept.
We spotted an osprey swooping, emerging from the sea with a fish glistening in its beak, and watched a family of rabbits. An older couple walking with a pair of red setters were the only people, except for yellow-clad figures on fishing boats and ferry passengers waving on their way to Ireland.
Sticky Formica tables, strip lights and LED screens felt like relics from a distant time.
‘Ah, I have to go,’ Pip said eventually, checking his watch. ‘I can leave the blanket if you wanted to tarry a wee bit longer?’
‘No, I’ll come now.’ I had a stash of letters in my bag, and needed to match them up with the others before I started reading.
We were quiet for most of the walk back. I couldn’t guess Pip’s thoughts, but hoped they might in some ways echo mine.
It seemed they did, when he paused by the farmhouse door.
‘I have to get changed, then meet Da in the fields, if you’re grand making your own way back from here?’
‘Of course. Your mum said she’d leave the bike by the far gate. Is that the one near the pond?’
‘Aye. That’s it. Well. Enjoy the rest of your day, Emmie.’ He looked away, hand gripping the back of his neck, which I was learning meant he felt nervous. ‘I had a bonny time.’
‘Me, too.’ If bonny meant the best two hours of my life so far . ‘Thanks so much for taking me.’
‘So… would you maybe…? Sunday afternoons, we usually head to the beach. I mean, Lily’s probably already mentioned it. I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to spend your whole time here with the Hawkinses… but, well. We swim, chuck a ball around. Light a bonfire when it cools down. You’d be very welcome, if you don’t have any other plans.’
‘That sounds amazing. I’d love to, thank you.’
He grinned, a twinge of pink blooming beneath the farmer’s tan.
‘Lily’s bound to invite you too, so you don’t have to bother about coming as Pip’s girl.’
There was a part of me starting to feel more bothered that I wouldn’t be her.