Chapter 36
36
On Thursday, I arrived at the pub a few minutes late, thanks to a delayed delivery from my butcher and roadworks on the A38.
‘Flippin’ heck,’ Penny shrieked as I approached the corner table they’d squeezed around. ‘You were right, Mum.’
She jumped up, flung her arms around me and held on until I was in danger of asphyxiation. Thankfully, at the point I’d have to rudely entangle myself or risk passing out, she let go, holding me at arm’s length, eyes shining, face in a huge grin.
‘I thought Mum was kidding herself, to be honest. What are the chances of spotting someone that looks a bit familiar on the news, and her turning out to be Kennedy’s Emmie? But there’s no mistaking it. Look!’
She pointed to her rainbow-striped trainers, laughing. Mine were identical, apart from being a couple of sizes smaller. They were one of the first things I’d bought since ditching the Parsley’s Pasties uniform. Penny definitely had Nell’s Viking-esque stature. Her hair, worn in a high ponytail, was more auburn than fair, with dark-brown eyes and a broader mouth than mine or her mother’s, but everything else, including the way she tipped her head to one side while she spoke, was all Swan.
She introduced me to her baby, Riley, and his big brother, Milo, currently under the table refereeing a fight between a shark and a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Dawn gave me a nervous hug, and we all squashed in around the table, which was laden with plates.
‘The boys were famished, so we ordered already,’ Penny said. ‘We’re all mad for cheesy chip butties, so thought you’d probably like them, too, seeing as it’s a family tradition. Bags of brown sauce and a squirt of salad cream.’
I’d never tried a chip butty. Mum didn’t allow factory-made sauces in the house, let alone brown sauce or salad cream. But seeing as it was a family tradition, I overlooked the twinge of resistance to another person ordering for me, knowing that this was meant as a welcoming gesture, not a mother dictating her daughter’s taste, and dug in.
Okay, so I didn’t need to share everything in common with the Swans. The Brown in me still held some sway.
‘You hate it, don’t you?’ Penny laughed, handing me a menu after watching me hesitate over a second bite.
The temptation to lie was strong, but the desire to be able to be myself with these people, and not be judged for it, was stronger.
I ordered a noodle bowl.
I’d been so nervous about the lunch, whittling about my rubbish social skills leading to awkward silences, or whether we’d even like each other, despite trying to remind myself that if we didn’t get on, at least we’d tried. In the end, we all had so many questions that there was barely time to take a breath, let alone leave a lull in the conversation.
I asked, as tactfully as I could thanks to hours of overthinking it, why I’d not been allowed to have any contact with them.
‘It was the right decision at the time,’ Dawn said, with a dejected sigh. ‘Our mums were branded our estate’s female version of the Kray twins, back in the day. I mean,’ she rushed on, noticing my look of alarm, ‘nothing so bad as them two, but they were women who, shall we say, were flexible with the law when it suited them. You can’t earn a living through low-key drug-dealing, ripping off businesses, or lying, cheating and scamming without backing it up with a bit of violence now and then. We were brought up with no boundaries, in constant fear of what might kick off next. Nell learned to control what small things she could, terrified of ending up like her parents. She was forever making more rules and routines for herself.’
‘She said most of the family had been in prison.’
‘The Swan twins served time together, and on their own. They were never honest about how long or how often, but I eventually figured out that the Great-Aunt Doris they kept going abroad to look after for months at a time was about as real as their insurance claims.’ Dawn shook her head in despair. ‘Kennedy followed in their footsteps, only she helped herself to too many of the drugs she was selling. Your grandad – no, hang on…’ Dawn shook her head ‘…Nellie’s dad – Clive Brown, I don’t know if you want to call him your grandad or great-uncle, but anyway, he served six years in Nottingham Prison. My dad, Tommy, he spent most of his life too drunk to be of any use to the family business.’
‘What about you, then, Mum?’ Penny asked, before I could pluck up the courage.
Dawn sighed. ‘As a youngster, I didn’t have much choice when Mum told me to deliver a package here, lie to the policeman who was, of course, always trying to frame them. But I saw what it was doing to my sister, so I found myself a fella and got the heck out of there. The problem was, he turned out to be worse than any of them. Only time he kept his fists to himself was when I was pregnant. So, I had Gareth, Owen and then the twins, before Mum found out and sent him packing.’
‘Is that why you couldn’t take me in?’ I asked.
‘Because I had four kids under four, one of them with a life-limiting disability, another neurodiverse in ways that no one could begin to fathom in those days? Or because my husband was violent and controlling? Both, darling. Not to mention that any child would be better off far, far away from the lot of us. That’s why I told Kennedy not to fight social services. I was that relieved when she agreed to give you up. Although it hurt her so much, she took off straight after.’ She wiped her eyes with a paper napkin. ‘I’d been waiting forever for the call to say she’d died, but losing my baby sister still broke me.’
‘You turned it around in the end, though, didn’t you, Mum?’ Penny said. ‘Once you got rid of Louis, it was all good.’
‘It was,’ Dawn said, nodding firmly. ‘We’d lost Mum a while before, and Auntie Polly was living in a home, retired from all that nonsense. So, after waster number three, I decided I was done with men, and retrained as a Victim Support worker, in the hope I could make some amends on behalf of the Swan family and associates. I’ve got three upstanding kids, five fabulous grandkids. And a niece I’m so proud of, I could burst.’
‘I’m sorry Mum never fought to give you another chance,’ I said.
‘I am, too. And I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to let her know I deserved one. But we had no idea where she was. Last we heard, she’d got married and moved to some island.’
That started a whole new conversation, which lasted until my brain was so full, if I stayed any longer, I’d be too drained to drive home.
I left with an invitation to Milo’s third birthday party, in a couple of weeks’ time, where I could meet the rest of the family. This felt like a sensible length of time away, and there were always phones and Facebook in the meantime. I had no hesitation in accepting an invitation to go to a party on my own and meet a load of strangers who were also relatives. The last couple of hours had been a lot. But I had the same trainers as my cousin. Dawn was obsessed with cooking, baking desserts for anyone who’d eat them. They told me Layla read travel books and had a whole scrapbook full of dream destinations for when her children were older.
These were my people, and I left with the absolute certainty that the only thing I had to fear was missing out on the chance to be a part of them.
Before we knew it, autumn was well under way. The forest was adorned with a crisp rainbow of reds, burnished orange and gold. Some mornings were so chilly, our breath blew smoke signals into the cobalt sky as we loaded up the van. On others, we scuttled back and forth dodging puddles, praying the rain stopped so that we’d sell at least something that day.
The summer season had rounded off with Nottingham Goose Fair at the end of September, a travelling funfair spread over a large city recreation site where half a million visitors swarmed between every kind of ride, game and food stall imaginable. It was a horribly hectic ten days of constant noise, flashing lights and endless hungry customers, but the gruelling shifts meant we were entering the quieter months with a healthy bank balance and a sense of growing optimism that we had created something special.
Following that, Blessing and I took a much-needed week off to recuperate and reassess how the business was going.
Our conclusion? It was going brilliantly.
For the rest of the autumn, our plan was to rely on our weekends at the Sherwood Forest Visitor Centre along with two days a week in bustling markets, plus the now regular supply to Scarlett’s restaurant and a couple of local cafés. We had four weddings spread over the next three months, and would be at different locations for five days straight over the week of Bonfire Night at the beginning of November, after which the Christmas markets and fairs started.
During our week off, I invited my family over for a damp barbecue, because there was no way they’d all fit in the house. This did require pausing more than once to brush off a twinge of guilt at what Mum would say to her garden being invaded by Swans, but I refused to let that taint the afternoon. It was my home now, and increasingly, I found it easier to accept that there was nothing wrong with wanting to do things my own way.
Hosting family was tiring and slightly stressful, yet heart-warming and exhilarating at the same time. We still had so much to learn about each other, and despite the many poignant similarities between us, the differences at times seemed stark. I didn’t expect any of them to become a new best friend, but I found a family who were interested in me, who were keen to offer help and support – even when their opinions did tip into overbearing – and who rapidly decided they loved me with the same fiery fervency they adored each other.
It took some adjustments, having a whole load of people who cared. I wasn’t used to daily group WhatsApp conversations about poorly children or a special offer on beef at the supermarket. Someone asking how my day had been, or what my plans were for tomorrow.
It was wonderful and irritating, comforting and disconcerting all at the same time.
Chatting it through with Blessing on one of the rambles through the forest that we’d instigated to combat all the extra calories from taste-testing, I decided the only way I’d coped with all this change was due to my altered pace of life, which included time to process, talk and decompress on our precious days off.
‘That’s the only reason I’m not bullying you into saying yes to Beagle Boy,’ Blessing said one Sunday afternoon, as we crunched through piles of fallen leaves, acorns and chestnuts, the autumn sunshine dappling the path between the trees.
‘Saying yes to what?’ I retorted, feeling a flush of colour that had nothing to do with the fresh air. ‘He’s not asked me anything.’
Beagle Boy was most definitely a man, not a boy. Probably somewhere in his thirties, he walked two beagles through Sherwood Forest every Saturday, stopping for something to eat before heading home. Over the past few weeks, he’d progressed from a quick hello and the odd comment about the weather to longer conversations spanning our recipes, local news and whatever mischief the dogs had got into that week.
‘Only because you won’t put him out of his misery and take the hint. “Any plans for the rest of the weekend, Emmie?” “What kind of food do you like to eat, when someone else is cooking?” And you shut him down every time. Which is fine,’ she added, quickly, as I began to protest. ‘Like I said, you’ve had more than enough going on lately. But one day, he’s going to bite the bullet and ask you out. Might be worth thinking about your answer, because if he catches you off guard, who knows what you’ll end up saying?’
‘I’m not interested in Beagle Boy,’ I said, with a reasonable amount of certainty.
‘Not interested in him yet, or at all?’ Blessing asked. ‘Or should I say, not interested in him, or in anyone who isn’t a hot farmer living in the middle of the Irish Sea?’
My spluttered attempt at a reply only provided more impetus to keep going.
‘Because, last I heard, you told that farmer to leave you alone.’
‘Which he has, so I don’t know why you’re dragging him up again.’
‘Emmie, if you don’t like some random dog walker, that’s your prerogative. Even if he does have a cute smile and the rare ability to partake in a two-way conversation rather than waffling on about himself all the time. But if you’re holding back on even considering whether you might like someone because you can’t let go of Pip, then you need to do something about that.’
We slowed down to dodge around a giant puddle of mud.
‘Of course I’m not over Pip. I don’t know how to switch off my feelings for him. I can’t just not like him any more for no reason.’
‘No, but you can move on. People get over exes all the time. It’s not easy, and it might take a while, but the first thing you do is stop obsessing over every Instagram account that might provide the tiniest titbit of tenuous information about them. You block them, or anything to do with them. Especially when you’ve got no one else in common, so the only possible excuse you have for cyberstalking them is to fuel those feelings.’ She gave me a sardonic look. ‘Don’t think you’re being subtle, Miss Devotee of Siskin News.’
‘Do you think I’m a total loser?’ I asked.
‘No.’ Blessing caught my sheepish expression. ‘No! I think you had a two-year crush on a really good guy who clearly liked you too. He’s now intrinsically tied up in a massively significant moment in your life. You’ll inevitably have trouble letting him go. What I’m asking is, are you still sure that you want to?’
‘I’m not sure I ever did want to.’ I gave a dejected shrug. ‘I’m no expert, but I’ve been on a steep learning curve about love in the past couple of months. I genuinely love Pip, Blessing. I wasn’t simply swept up in holiday romance when I told you I was in love with him.’
Blessing stopped.
‘Then you’ve got two options. Either do whatever it takes to get over him, or whatever it takes to, I don’t know… get him.’
‘Get him?’
She flapped her hand at me. ‘You know what I mean. Figure out what you want most. If it’s worth it, you’ll find a way to make it work.’
‘I’m really not sure I will.’
‘Pah. Have you forgotten the challenges Team Sherwood Street Food can overcome if we put our minds to it?’ We’d reached the stile leading to a clearing in the forest with a café where we always stopped for coffee and a cake. ‘Think about it, and let me know which option you choose.’
After that conversation, it was hard to think about anything else. I’d dismissed any possibility of a life including Pip after the horrendous end to my stay on the island. I still had the letters painfully demonstrating how love was not always enough. I wouldn’t contemplate starting anything that would result in Pip eventually having to leave the farm.
I wouldn’t settle for a long-term relationship conducted from separate landmasses. Again, I had the evidence for how incompatible that was with farm life.
So, while the thought of option one felt like ripping through my guts with a potato peeler, option two required uprooting this fledgling shoot of a fabulous life to a place where I’d be judged and unfairly labelled.
Around and around I went as I rubbed flour and fat between my fingertips, sizzled different meats in our giant skillets and ploughed through a dozen other tasks as we prepped for the bonfire events. It didn’t feel cowardly to shy away from reinserting myself into the fallout from a family’s festering wounds. It felt wise, and healthy and like the best kind of advice Mum would have offered.
I loved Pip. But there were plenty of other good, kind, fascinating people out there.
I messaged Blessing one morning while standing in the queue at the wholesalers.
I’m going with option one
Send help as necessary
She replied, a few seconds later.
Beagle Boy?