Chapter 20
20
I gave up my pitiful attempts to sleep once the first rays of dawn illuminated the crack between the curtains. Still feeling squeamish about the refreshments in my bedroom, I showered and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and quietly tiptoed downstairs to the empty kitchen.
After several sniffs and swills of the milk carton in the fridge, I made a mug of tea and slipped outside to sip it on the patio. It was impossible not to feel at least slightly better, soaking up the soft magic of an early-morning summer garden. I distinguished at least four different bird songs, accompanying the distant neigh of horses. The air was fresh like Eden, and dewdrops still quivered on the foliage. I luxuriated in the stillness, doing a better job each morning of shaking off the urge to get on, get going, get busy, replacing it with a sense of peace that, right now, my only task was to enjoy the moment for as long as I wanted to.
A plane buzzed overhead – the early-morning flight to Sherwood Airport. I could picture the rows of business travellers, maybe older children who’d been home for the weekend heading back to school, the stragglers from last week’s wedding returning to the bustle of mainland life.
Did I miss waiting for them, pasties warm, coffee brewing? Knowing how almost every moment of my day would unfold, enveloped by safe and familiar?
I took another sip of tea. Considered the stinky bike, the poopy milk. Weighed this up against picnics with Pip, sea shanties and sun-soaked beaches, and decided that no, I didn’t. Not one second of it.
It did, however, prompt me to check my phone and email.
More messages from Blessing, that I replied to with a phone call that I politely ended once she started grilling me on why I hadn’t snogged the hot farmer yet. Another email from Gregory, unable to hide his irritation behind the professional business-terminology.
I typed a brief reply to say that I hadn’t forgotten about the lease, and would sign by the deadline at the end of the week. I also informed him that the kiosk would remain closed for ten days, as permitted in the current contract (even as I wondered why on earth Mum had bothered with a clause allowing her ten days off, when the most she’d ever taken was two). I deleted it, then took another look at the wide, open sky before retyping it and pressing send.
By the time I’d done this, the children were up and asking if I wanted to help them let the chickens out, and Lily had loaded smoked salmon and cream cheese onto toasted muffins, joining me back on the patio with a notepad and pen to discuss the plans for Thursday’s marital feast.
I was doing my best to concentrate on answering her questions, while at the same time building up the courage to ask her about the milk, knowing how mortified she’d be, when her phone rang.
‘Morning, Da.’
Her cheery expression froze.
‘What?’ She stood up and started pacing down the garden, making it impossible to hear what she was saying, even as the brisk tone made it clear that it was serious.
After less than a minute, she hung up and came to stand on the opposite side of the table to me.
‘The Clover Field cows got out during the night.’ The welcoming B&B smile had been replaced with a hard mask.
‘Oh no, that’s awful. Are they back safe now?’
Lily gave a terse nod. ‘Thanks to Sean Munden catching sight of them on the way to his fishing boat. Too late to stop Jackie ripping her shoulder open, though. Da will have to make the call once Hugh’s looked her over.’
‘Make the call?’
‘Whether it’s worth saving her or not.’
‘What?’
‘This is a farm, Emmie. Our livelihood. They aren’t pets.’
I sat back, having no idea what to say.
‘The gate was left open,’ she added, with a brief glance at me as she folded her arms.
My stomach nosedived.
‘You cycled home alone last night. Pip warned you to check the dodgy gate.’
‘I did. He did,’ I stammered. ‘But I checked the gate. It was shut. I rattled it to make sure… Lily, I’m so sorry… I honestly thought it was shut. It was shut.’
I’d been so paranoid about leaving it open. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I’d left it closed.
‘Someone else must have gone through after me,’ I said, sounding pathetic even to my own ears.
Lily closed her eyes for a brief second, then opened them again as she sat down, still refusing to meet my frantic gaze.
‘Look, it’s not entirely your fault. Pip shouldn’t have left you to it. I mean, you couldn’t have known the seriousness of not securing it properly.’
‘No. That’s not true.’ I leant forwards, desperate to convince her. ‘I might be a mainlander, but I live in the countryside. I know how important it is not to leave a gate open. Even if Pip hadn’t warned me, I’ve have made sure it was closed. But he did, so I checked it even more thoroughly. Lily, I know you don’t know me that well, and have no reason to believe me, but I promise you that I shut the gate.’
‘Maybe you checked the other gates, but forgot the Clover Field one,’ she said, a tear sliding down her face.
‘The field nearest to here. With the big tree in the corner. The other side of it has far gate, leading to the farmhouse garden. I definitely checked that one. I double-checked every one of them.’
Lily tried to shrug it off. ‘However it happened, it’s done now.’
She began collecting the breakfast things, calling to the children to check their school bags were packed.
‘There was something wrong with the milk in my bedroom,’ I blurted.
Lily looked at me, her face creased in disappointment. ‘Well, so. Shall we call it even?’
I stayed seated at the outside table while Lily and the children finished getting ready and left for school, wishing I could vanish altogether but too distraught to move. A minute or so after they’d gone, Malcolm came to find me.
‘Don’t fret yourself,’ he said, placing two large, frothy coffees on the table. ‘These things happen. And Hugh messaged to say the damage is minimal. Jackie will be fine in a few days.’
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ I said, doing my best to look him in the eye. ‘I know I shut the gate.’
‘Emmie, no one doubts that you believe you shut the gate…’
‘No.’ I shook my head, firmly. ‘I checked it. The latch was down. Someone else must have used it after me.’
‘Someone ignorant enough about farms to leave it open?’
I winced at the implication I was that ignorant.
‘A tourist could have ended up on the path, walking back to the caravan park from Port Cathan.’
‘If they’d taken a few wrong turns in the dark, then I suppose it’s not impossible.’ Malcolm sighed. ‘But like I said, these things do happen. It might be better to apologise and move on rather than keep protesting your innocence.’
‘Lily is really upset with me.’ I slumped back, despondent.
‘She was a lot more upset with me when we lived by the café and I didn’t shut the coop properly. We lost three hens to a polecat.’ He took a slow sip of his own drink. ‘She’s stressed about the opening in two weeks, the wedding, kids. Money. And while I’d sooner swim with the basking sharks than risk saying it to her face, she’s always resembled something of a polecat herself when chock-full of pregnancy hormones. One of the upsides of living on this “lump of rock”, as Flora calls it, is that we know all too well each other’s mistakes. You learn it’s not worth holding a grudge when there’s no escaping each other. She’ll be fine by lunchtime.’
‘I really hate you all writing me off as a hopeless mainlander.’
Malcolm raised one eyebrow. ‘Those who’ll think that already thought it. There’s nothing to be done about them.’
‘Do they still have that opinion about you?’ I asked, Mum’s letter still on my mind.
‘Why do you think I’m opening a B&B and not sorting eggs or planting cabbages?’
‘Does “they” include Gabe?’
Malcolm smiled. ‘Gabe won’t let me near his animals because I’m an accountant. He’s happy enough to let me look over his books, mind, and sort the endless paperwork that lords it over modern farming. He gave me his blessing to marry his eldest daughter. Aster and Richard haven’t spent any real time off the island, so are more, shall we say, traditional in their views. Mind you, we can both be grateful Gabe’s old da is no longer with us. Forget traditional, he was downright xenophobic.’
Malcolm had reassured me to the extent that I almost told him about the milk jug. It seemed entirely possible that if it had been deliberate, the saboteur might have left the gate open too. Even better, he could have a perfectly logical explanation for the milk, in which case, I could stop freaking out about it.
However, I was also aware that a couple of days ago, I was potentially Pip’s unhinged stalker. I felt nervous about arousing any more suspicion. And if someone genuinely had it in for me – most likely, their goal was to drive me back to the mainland, although it seemed an extreme reaction considering I was only here on holiday – then perhaps it was better if they didn’t know I was onto them.
For the next hour, I instead argued back and forth with myself about whether to buy a ticket for the next plane out of there.
I was still staring at the airline’s online shopping basket when Lily and Iris blew through the front door, all smiles and excited chatter about the wedding.
‘Are you sure it’s still okay for me to stay and do the food?’ I asked, because remaining in this strange place and taking on something as important as catering a wedding would be difficult enough as it was. If I spent it riddled with nerves, it would surely end up a disaster.
‘Did Lily make you feel bad about the gate?’ Iris threw her sister a stern look. ‘Did she happen to mention the time she flooded the barn, ruining half the oat crop? Or when she stole Granda’s old tractor in a fit of temper and crashed it into a stone wall?’
‘Well, what about when you snuck out for a romantic night in the hayloft with Hugh and set the place on fire?’ Lily retorted.
‘That’s precisely my point,’ Iris replied. ‘We’ve all made stupid mistakes, Emmie. While you might not be an expert on farming, you’re a genius pasty maker. Let’s get planning.’
By the time we’d finished discussing pasties and drinks and opted for cake and definitely not Barnie’s doughnuts for dessert, I crossed Lily and Iris off the list of people who might want to drive me away. Maybe I was being na?ve, but I’d once again experienced the thrill of collaborating with people who were both genuinely enthusiastic and respected my skills, and I loved them for it.
I went into Port Cathan with Lily to buy the available ingredients and order the rest, after which she declared it lunchtime and insisted we stop for fishfinger sandwiches at the harbour, served from the deck of a revamped fishing tug.
‘Right, working lunch,’ Lily said, as we sat on a bench close enough to the Island Arms to use their Wi-Fi. ‘Now the food is under control, we can cover some of the other details. What’s your experience with flower arranging?’
‘Um, none.’ I didn’t mention that the only flowers I’d bought – or received – had been a modest bouquet for my mum’s funeral.
‘Okay. No problem. How about centrepieces?’
As Lily rattled through the rest of her list, it became clear that I was not a woman of many talents.
‘I can follow instructions,’ I added, hoping to redeem myself. ‘And I’m used to working long hours. I might not be very creative, but I don’t mind being treated as a dogsbody.’
We finished our sandwiches and Lily sent me some links on her phone.
‘I was thinking something like this, for flowers. Though I don’t know where we’d get enough, at such short notice. The island preservation committee will fine us if we pick anything wild.’
I had a look at the images of intricate bouquets and garlands.
‘Iris doesn’t strike me as a very extravagant person.’
Lily snorted. ‘She’s planning a wedding in four days. That says it all.’
‘So why not keep it simple? How about an iris on the end of each pew?’
‘The church has chairs, not pews.’ Lily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘But that makes it easier – we can tie them on with a ribbon. We’d need quite a few, though. I can’t imagine the flower stall has time to order enough in.’
‘Okay, so how about every other row, you do a lily, or a posy of violets? I don’t know what asters look like, but you could include those, too.’
‘They’re really pretty.’ Lily, her excitement growing, showed me a picture. ‘And apart from lilies, we can get all of them in purple. We’d need to include some rosemary sprigs, too. Daisies, for our other grandma, and Jasmine for Hugh’s ma. But, Emmie, this is brilliant. Iris will love it.’
Now we’d settled on what to me was an obvious theme, the creativity flowed, and by the time Lily needed to pick up the children, we had enough doable ideas for the reception décor, too.
‘I know this is all fairly simple, but are you going to manage it by yourself?’ I asked, aware that Lily couldn’t stop yawning as she drove us all back to Sunflower Barn. ‘Could Violet help with anything?’
‘Violet will be prepping the Old Barn with Pip and Da. Once the junk is cleared out, it needs a sweep, scrub and all the broken boards sorting. Then they need to collect and set up a load of borrowed tables and chairs. Uncle Richard’s helping Lester Drum make a bar, so he’ll have no time either. But Celine’s a bridesmaid, she’ll help, and we can ask Ma and Jasmine. Aster’s fingers are too stiff to tie ribbons, and I wouldn’t trust her up a ladder, but she can still bake better than anyone on the island, so I’ll ask her to do the cake.’
‘And to think people spend years planning a wedding.’
Lily smiled. ‘Me and Malcolm had a barbecue in the back meadow, bring your own chair and a bottle. People thought we were showing off because we ferried in an ice-cream van and some of Malcolm’s family were very unimpressed with the Portaloo.’ She sighed, dreamily. ‘It was a fantastic day.’
‘I’m having pot sausage at my wedding,’ Jack announced from the back seat. ‘With a hundred million sausages. And chocolate cake.’
‘Sounds great.’ I turned around to face him. ‘Who are you going to marry?’
Jack frowned. ‘I don’t know yet. Not any of the girls in my school. They’re all way too annoying.’
‘What about me?’ Beanie asked.
‘You can’t marry your own sister,’ Flora said, patting her sister’s pudgy knee.
‘Then what about… Emmie?’ Beanie said, face lighting up at the very thought.
‘Nah,’ Jack said. ‘Even if she wasn’t so old, she loves Uncle Pip. Everyone knows that.’
‘Emmie, do you want to marry Uncle Pip?’ Beanie squeaked in excitement.
‘Um…’
And there it was. Sitting in this car, with Pip’s gorgeous, funny family, my pleasantly sun-kissed face enjoying the salty breeze through an open window…
Even if I was still haunted by a tampered refreshments tray – how could I look a three-year-old girl in the eye and say no?
I spent most of the afternoon setting peas to mush in Lily’s largest pans, and filling up the slow cookers she’d borrowed from various neighbours with the extra venison we’d not used the day before, adding the other ingredients we’d bought that morning. I’d then do another batch after the rest of the meat arrived in a couple of days. Once everything was simmering nicely, I left Lily and Malcolm painting another bedroom while Flora kept half an eye on her brother and sister in the garden, and went for a walk.
After initially setting off towards the farm, I then deliberately turned in the opposite direction to Clover Field and headed inland. This led me through the orchard’s symmetrical rows of pear trees, then alongside a meadow with warning signs informing me that on the other side of the stout fence was Basil, the bull. I walked for nearly an hour. Frequently slowing to an amble to take in the scenery, admire a patch of wildflowers or the sun dancing through the leaf-canopy.
It was on the other side of a small copse of deciduous trees that I discovered it. Breaking cover from the shadows, I found myself at the edge of a large field. Blinking a few times in the sudden glare, I suddenly realised.
A vast field of ripe winter barley. Golden ears rippling in the late-afternoon sunlight like gentle waves. Above it, from one horizon to the other, clear blue sky, the only blemish a distant bird of prey hovering on an air current. And, as on every inch of this island, the ever-present susurration of the sea.
It was the place I’d been dreaming about. A location so irresistible, I overslept for the second time ever.
As I continued along the footpath between the crops and the hedge, I laughed out loud at the butterflies dancing alongside me. Turquoise, like my dream, as well as a rainbow of reds, oranges, vibrant yellow and palest green.
Little over a week ago, this had been a fantasy inside my worn-out head. And while I marvelled at how I had ended up here, the truth was it had been simple. A ￡127 ticket for an hour-long flight.
The hard part would be going back.
Fearing I might end up wandering around in circles, when I’d completed a circuit of the field, I headed back along the way I’d arrived. It was almost five, and the children had asked if I’d help them make pizza for dinner. Reaching the orchard, I spied a figure under one of the trees, head tipped back, looking at the branches. As I moved closer, I realised it was Richard, leaning on one crutch, wearing the same brown corduroy trousers as every other time I’d seen him, paired with a scruffy checked shirt.
‘Been scoping out the land?’ he asked, still squinting up at the tree, lined face mottled with flickering shadows.
I paused a couple of metres away. Richard gave the impression of being the kind of man who didn’t pass the time of day with strangers, and his odd question added a hint of menace to the orchard’s hushed gloom.
‘Just a walk to the barley field.’
In a silly way, I was hoping my knowledge of crops would prove I was a country-girl, not a clueless mainland urbanite.
‘Shut the gate?’
‘There wasn’t a gate…’ I stammered, before noticing the curve at the corner of his mouth.
‘Hmmm.’ He rubbed a hand over his bedraggled beard.
‘Although, I did make sure the Clover Field gate was secure last night.’
‘If you say so. Your mother would argue black is blue, to save looking a fool.’
He turned towards me, that beady stare like a gun pointing at my chest.
I couldn’t speak. Every muscle had frozen.
‘Don’t seem so surprised, girl. I got eyes. Best thing she did was swallow her pride and run back home. Even if it nearly cost us everything when my brother went with her.’ He turned back to the tree. ‘No good can come of you poking that old bees’ nest.’
He bent forwards, prodding the trunk with his crutch, clearly signalling that the conversation was over. I waited another moment while my body remembered how to move, then scurried past, thoughts freewheeling faster than the gulls above my head.