Chapter 23
23
A combination of farmers, café owners and a pregnant bridesmaid meant the festivities concluded by eleven. Lily and I were dropped off by Taylor’s taxi, which had squeezed enough women into a seven-seater car to surely invalidate any insurance. While Lily paid the teenage babysitter and secured her a lift in the taxi, I made a drink of mint tea in the kitchen and padded up to bed.
By the time I’d checked every inch of the room, then checked again, I dared to hope that everything was as I’d left it. Given that Celine and Richard were both accounted for that evening, if anything had been amiss, that would have implicated Aster as the only other person who seemed to dislike me.
I decided instead that the most sensible conclusion was the obvious one – the incidents were unfortunate coincidences, which I’d try not to let taint my remaining time here.
I was about to treat myself to another letter while I could still keep my eyelids open, when my phone pinged with three messages in quick succession. They were from an unknown number.
How long before Pip gets fed up with pasties?
Because anything else he’ll want from a wife, island women can do better
Keep your hands off him and spare both of you the embarrassment
I was shaking so hard, it took three attempts to get a screenshot. I sat propped against my headboard, attempting to sip my tepid tea until the panic galloping through my bloodstream started to slow down and my brain unscrambled itself into a few distinct thoughts:
I now knew that the bike, the milk, probably the gate, were not coincidences.
I also knew why – someone wanted to scare me away from Pip.
Despite nothing romantic happening with him, outside my own fervent imagination, someone was feeling mistakenly jealous and threatened enough to take some seriously bizarre action.
Did this mean they were dangerous? Unstable? Or just especially determined to marry him?
I might have wondered whether this person, who knew Pip far better than I, had seen, heard or been told something that implied Pip might be more interested in a serious relationship than the ease with which he’d accepted our need to stay friends had implied.
But then again, given that this person had made disturbingly little effort to hide her identity as being Celine, I readily dismissed this. The Hawkins sisters had been clear that when it came to Pip, she was irrational.
At least now I had actual evidence, and so could do something about it other than conduct endless inspections of the yellow bedroom and avoid being alone on the farm. I would show Lily in the morning – if nothing else, she could corroborate the sender as Celine, or else fill me in on any other women harbouring a secret obsession with her brother.
After a long time going round and round how things would play out over the next few days, I reached for the escape of another letter. The first one was more of a note so I ended up reading the next one written by my mum, too. It heartened me to remember that I was a Brown. Competent, capable and utterly unflappable. Or at least I knew how to pretend to be.
As with the previous few, there was no address on the first envelope, simply, ‘Nellie’.
4.00 p.m.
Nellie,
I’ve called the restaurant three times and got no answer. I’ll try again from the station, but if I wait for you to come home, I’ll miss the last train. There’s been an accident with the new combine. Richard is seriously hurt. They’re airlifting him to hospital in Wales but he might not last the night, so I’m going straight there.
I love you,
G
10 August 1988
Gabriel,
I have given up waiting for you to call (or get a phone installed in the farmhouse!). I know this harvest must be even more gruelling than usual, with Richard still in hospital, and your mother with him, but could you perhaps spare me a two-minute phone call to reassure me that you have not also been crushed beneath the combine? You know I cannot rely on your father to inform me should anything happen to you, his loathing of me having only intensified since I ‘stole you away’.
How is your brother? Did they manage to save his leg? You must all be questioning what to do about the farm. I cannot help wondering about your thoughts on the matter. I suspect that letting go of the land after seven generations may feel almost as bad as losing a leg.
You once said that your home was with me now. But despite your efforts to hide it, I know a part of your heart remains on the island.
What I mean to say is – I appreciate that there is far more at stake than a barley harvest. If you need to stay longer while your family decide what to do, I understand.
Although that does not make missing you any easier.
The flat is as forlorn as the eastern coves in February without you.
Nellie.
When I came downstairs for breakfast, the children were all eating soft-boiled eggs with buttered toast. Malcolm was packing up lunchboxes while Lily – well, Lily appeared to be self-combusting in front of a pile of boxes.
‘Emmie!’ Beanie called. ‘Do you want an egg from Pecky, Hopper or Pooper?’
‘I don’t know. Which would you recommend?’
‘Not Pooper,’ she replied with absolute solemnity.
‘At risk of failing the guest trial, would you mind making it yourself?’ Lily asked, wringing her hands. ‘The rest of the ingredients are here, and I need to figure out where to put them. I knew it would be a lot, but having them here is giving me Braxton Hicks contractions. Plus, the florist called to say that a third of the irises have been crushed in transit, are we okay with carnations instead. Celine has decided the bridesmaids need to perform some choreographed dance down the aisle. The rehearsal for which consists of watching a YouTube thing and a half-hour video call. I’m not booty-popping in church, even without a baby bump. And if this wedding wasn’t enough drama, some fiend has left a three-star review on TripAdvisor, describing Sunflower Barn as “meh”. If you’re going to write a fake negative review for a non-existent trip, why wouldn’t you go all out with a one star?’
I was about to reply that three-star reviews tended to come across as worse, as people were more likely to dismiss truly horrendous reviews as being written by picky whiners, but she hadn’t finished, yelping, ‘And it would be really, very helpful if for one blessed minute, you stopped kicking my bladder!’
‘It’s not baby’s fault,’ Jack said, frowning as he scooped out the last bit of his egg.
‘Sorry, baby. Sorry.’ Lily waved one hand at everyone, the other rubbing her bump. ‘It’s all catching up with me, you know? Once tomorrow is over with and we can focus back on this place I’ll feel a whole lot better, but I honestly think that up until then, one more issue could send me tumbling right over the edge.’
‘The edge of what?’ Jack asked. ‘ Into what?’
His mum shuddered ‘Let’s just pray we never find out.’
I looked at Lily, checking a packet of venison before squashing it into the fridge, her face pale, hair in a bedraggled bun, a smear of something unidentifiable across her backside.
I left my phone in my pocket.
After boiling myself an egg and waving the kids off to school and nursery with Malcolm, I helped Lily organise all the ingredients, and then we got to work.
It was going to be a long day of mixing flour and fat, rolling it gently, layering the pastry into perfect flakiness, then adding the fillings and transporting one hundred pasties to the farmhouse where they would be stored overnight in the chest freezers usually reserved for cuts of beef before being freshly baked early afternoon, ready to be served from four o’clock.
It was a blissful distraction from everything else, including not only Celine but the most recent email from Gregory requesting I call him immediately to discuss amendments to the new contract, for example reducing the time allowed for closure from ten to three days.
The very thought of hunkering behind that kiosk all day made my insides wither.
Lily spent most of the day multitasking like a pro, dealing with issues on speakerphone while scooping out ladles of mushy peas, negotiating an even fiercer discount with the florist when they dropped off the decidedly droopy bouquets as the dance video Celine had sent through played in the background.
The last pasty was sealed and glazed at five on the dot.
Malcolm took one look at the piles of dirty pots and trays and sent his wife for a nap in the hammock. When I picked up a tea towel to help with the washing up, he was equally insistent in ordering me out of the house.
‘It’s another gorgeous day. Tomorrow, you’ll be sweltering in the farmhouse kitchen. If that’s going to be your last day on this strange little paradise, make the most of this one while you can.’
‘Okay…’ I stood awkwardly by the sink. ‘Have you got any suggestions about what to do? Or where to go?’
‘Here.’ He pulled out his phone and pointed out a road that ran straight across to the east coast to the island’s second village. ‘You can’t go without visiting the bustling metropolis that is Lithin.’
‘How far is it?’
‘About an hour’s walk. Or you could cycle.’
‘Yeah. It’s been a pretty full-on day…’
‘Of course!’ Malcolm shook his head. ‘Walking three miles along a path you don’t know, to a place you’ve not been before, is not a restful evening. Hang on.’
He opened another app.
‘The bus will be passing the end of the road in twenty minutes.’
‘Presuming there aren’t any escaped animals, or Connell gets distracted chatting?’
Malcolm grinned. ‘This is our primitive equivalent of live journey app. He posted a photo of himself by the harbour two minutes ago. Looks like it’s one of those rare occasions when he’s almost on time.’
I took fifteen minutes to hastily shower off the scent of braised meat, swap my shorts for a sundress, brush my hair and pack a bag.
Flora met me in the hallway. ‘Aren’t you going with Da to the farmhouse?’
‘He’s insisted I enjoy a few hours off,’ I replied, moving out of the way as Malcolm hurried past carrying a box.
‘Uncle Pip will be there, getting the Old Barn ready. Celine is helping, too.’
‘Yep. I heard her talking about it with your mum.’ Of course it had crossed my mind, but the thought of popping up at the same place as Celine made my lungs seize up with anxiety.
Flora folded her arms before catching me off guard with a conversational curveball. ‘Have you decided to stay here forever yet?’
I took a moment before answering, deciding to pretend her question had nothing to do with the previous mention of Pip. ‘I can’t, even if the island is my new second favourite place in the world. I have a home, and a business back in England. I can’t just abandon it all.’
‘Hmph.’ She wasn’t convinced. ‘A good job Helen of Troy didn’t think that way. Or Arwen.’
‘That’s not quite the same. They gave up everything for love. I’m only here on holiday.’
As I said goodbye and made my way outside to wait for Connell’s bus, I heard her mutter, ‘You’re only here on holiday? If you believe that then maybe what they say about mainlanders is true after all.’
The minibus trundled up a few minutes after I’d walked to the end of the gravel drive and found a place to wait by the side of the larger road. Malcolm had assured me there were no formal stops; Connell would pick up and drop off at any point along the route. I held out one arm, just in case, and he came to an abrupt halt directly in front of me.
‘Well, you must be Emmie,’ Connell said, with a grin that almost split his round face in half.
‘Hello,’ I said, avoiding looking at the patches of rust, numerous dents and hole the size of a football as I climbed up the steps.
‘Pip’s pasty girl, everyone,’ he announced to the other passengers occupying about half the seats.
‘Oh, no.’ I turned to face them, my hands contradicting the greetings, ‘oohs!’ and knowing nods with a vigorous ‘no!’ gesture. ‘I’m making pasties for Iris and Hugh’s wedding, but I’m not Pip’s girl.’
‘Yet,’ someone called.
‘Ever,’ I said with a rictus smile, but I was pretty sure no one heard me over the sniggers. I scanned the eight or so passengers to confirm that Celine wasn’t one of them and pulled out my purse. ‘A ticket to Lithin, please.’
‘Return?’ Connell asked.
‘What time’s the last bus from Lithin?’
Connell scratched his head. ‘I’ll probably stop at the caravan park for a quick drink and a natter then be heading back through Lithin ’bout six-thirty. Pass here maybe seven, depending on how busy we are, then on home, for Betty to serve up supper.’
The journey was about three miles, according to Malcolm’s map. That was a lot of stops.
It was five-thirty now.
‘Single, then, please.’
‘That’ll be six pounds fifty. Cash only.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ The shuttle bus to Sherwood Airport covered fifteen miles and was two pounds. Even cheaper, with a frequent traveller pass.
Connell wrinkled up his forehead when I held out a twenty-pound note.
‘Sorry, chicken. I don’t do change. Ends up causing delays.’
‘I don’t have six pounds fifty.’ I rooted through the handful of coins in my purse, knowing it was nowhere near enough.
‘I don’t mind taking the twenty if you don’t.’
Of course I minded. I was about to back up and find an alternative plan for the evening when a voice called out from the back, ‘You can’t charge Pip’s girl tourist rates, Connell. He’ll go mad when he finds out.’
There was a murmur of assent as Connell scratched his head again.
‘How about a fresh pasty?’ a woman in the front seat suggested.
‘Um… I don’t carry them around with me.’
‘Well, you could always drop one off tomorrow.’
‘No chance,’ another passenger said. ‘She’s got the wedding tomorrow. There won’t be time to wait around for the bus.’
‘What about Friday, then?’
‘I’m sorry, but I really won’t have the chance to do any more baking,’ I said apologetically.
‘Slip him a leftover from the wedding, then; no one’ll notice,’ yet another passenger chipped in.
‘Stealing from the bride and groom to pay her bus fare? Is that the type of thing people do on the mainland?’ The woman at the front huffed.
‘Nah, Pip’s a decent fella. He wouldn’t be with a lass who’d be stealing from his own family, now, would he?’
I held out the note again, thinking it a small price to pay to end this nonsense.
Connell puffed out some air, sucked in his cheeks and narrowed one eye. I could see how the bus ended up behind schedule.
‘Okay. I owe Pip a favour. You can tell him that’s it paid.’ He raised his voice so the whole minibus could hear. ‘One single to Lithin, free of charge, for Pip’s pasty girl!’
‘About time, too,’ a man near the back said as I hurried to the nearest available seat, presuming he was referring to the delay.
‘Pip’s not getting any younger, after all. His ma and da will be that pleased he’s finally chosen a wife.’
I slid down the back of the seat and pretended not to hear the rest of the bus discussing my wifely qualities as we started heading down the lane.
There was no point hoping Pip wouldn’t find out I’d not only taken his favour from Connell, but also allowed a minibus to think I was his bride-to-be for the sake of a free ticket. The whole island would probably have heard about it before Connell clocked off for the evening.
Including Celine.
I slid a little further down in my seat and prayed that she loved Iris enough not to sabotage her wedding feast.