Chapter 3
‘Will you be here later then, love?’ Dad called out to me on Tuesday, coming up to lean on the fence as I scattered feed for the chickens.
I glanced behind me at his nervous face.
I tried not to grimace but it was impossible.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I whistled for Maple as I saw our naughtiest chicken, Hetty, heading towards the hole in the fence.
That was next on my list of jobs to fix.
Maple darted over to sit in front of it, forcing Hetty to let out a frustrated cluck and wander back towards the other chickens for more food.
‘I have to fix that fence then I’m meeting Sabrina in town for a coffee.
I haven’t seen her in two weeks,’ I added.
I had spent every hour since my conversation with Dad on Sunday trying to think of ideas for the farm but I knew I hadn’t hit on anything that would work yet and I was getting increasingly annoyed with myself.
Dad frowned. ‘I think you should be here to meet with Henderson Homes, Willow. You need to hear them out along with me. See what their plans are, what the offer is, and I thought you were worried about the trees?’ he asked, gesturing to the birch trees in his eyeline.
I sighed. Meeting one of the Henderson brothers to hear how they would destroy our farm was probably the thing I wanted to do the least in the world but I hated to keep disappointing my father.
And I was worried about the trees. ‘I suppose I could come back for the meeting,’ I said, begrudgingly.
I was shocked at how fast it had all been set up.
Dad had phoned them yesterday and learned that one of the brothers would be in the area and could meet us early this afternoon.
Dad said there was no point putting it off, we needed to have all the facts before we could make a decision, so he had agreed to it, and that ticking clock suddenly had gone into overdrive.
‘You said you’d let me come up with an idea to help the farm, though,’ I reminded him again as I went over to the damaged fence to inspect it. We needed a whole new one but couldn’t afford it so I’d have to patch it up like I had done countless times by now.
‘Have you? Come up with an idea?’ he asked, coming over to look at the fence with me.
I shook my head sadly.
He turned his attention to the fence and not my lack of bright ideas, which I appreciated. ‘It was that storm last week that did it; I don’t think it’ll last much longer.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ I said stubbornly. ‘I’ll go get some wood and my tools, then I’ll head into town. You need anything?’
Dad looked at me like he wanted to say something but shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I’m going to go inside and get changed, and tidy up the kitchen ready for the meeting. Mr Henderson will be here at one thirty so make sure you’re back from seeing Sabrina for then, okay? And give her my love.’
As I started to walk off, Dad called my name.
I looked back at him. ‘Yes, I’ll be here,’ I said, through gritted teeth.
I just knew this Henderson man would be what I hated most in the world: suited and booted, arrogant and rich, no idea what being a farmer or running a farm was about, and wouldn’t see how special this place was.
He would have no heart, I was sure, so I really didn’t want to meet him but I also didn’t want my dad to agree to anything without me being there.
I was also hoping that I could put Dad off the idea of dealing with Henderson Homes in the meeting, throw as many spanners in the works as possible to give me more time to come up with an idea that would solve our problems and let us avoid having to sell.
Okay, so it wasn’t a great plan, but right now, it was the only plan I had.
* * *
Once I had completed all my chores, I walked into town to meet Sabrina late morning.
I changed out of my work clothes into my better ones, which, to be honest, weren’t much different but they were clean and without holes.
Birchbrook was a half-hour walk from the farm and I had done the walk so many times throughout my life, I could probably do it in my sleep.
It was slightly downhill as our farm stood at the top so the journey into town was always more enjoyable than the way back.
Summer had definitely faded away now with autumn drifting in. The leaves were all starting to change, a few conkers were falling in my path, and the air was crisp as I strolled towards our quaint hometown.
Birchbrook was small, with most of the locals knowing each other, but it was popular with tourists as it was so pretty and had a lot of independent businesses, which was becoming rarer with each passing year.
I always felt a warm flood of pride whenever I walked through it.
Today, the pride was mixed with sadness that this might not be where I lived for much longer.
I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, though.
When the town came into sight, I turned off the main road and into the High Street, my boots making noise on the cobbles.
Birch trees ran in a line on each side of the road and, like our ones at the farm, were starting to turn.
At Christmas, fairy lights were hung in them, and in summer, they were lush and green, but soon they would be a burst of autumn colour, something people loved to come and take photos of.
Each shop had something outside to mark the seasons – once September moved into October, the businesses put pumpkins or autumn flowers outside their doors, and I smiled to see them already starting to appear.
Halfway down the High Street was the Birchbrook Café, which had been here for my whole life, run by a husband and wife, both called Pat (yes, it was confusing), along with their son now.
It was a cosy haven and declared by all to make the best coffee and cakes for miles around.
They had already decorated for autumn, I was happy to see.
I slowed down to walk inside and passed a hay bale by the door that had a pile of orange and white pumpkins on top with two pots of dark-orange chrysanthemums in front of it.
On the door the open/closed sign had changed to one that was pumpkin-shaped, and when I walked through, a delicious cinnamon smell hit me.
Inside the café, there was more autumnal-themed décor.
The small, round tables now had beige and cream gingham tablecloths on them with three Munchkin pumpkins in the centre of each.
I went up to the long counter, which displayed the cakes, and my eyes widened to see the delicious offerings.
Behind the counter worked the three family members, and hanging across the back wall was a burlap banner with a square for each letter spelling out Hello Autumn .
‘It’s very, um, festive in here,’ a deep voice rang out.
I looked at the man ahead of me in the queue and instantly pegged him to be an outsider. He wore a suit and ordered an espresso, ignoring all the autumnal-themed drinks and treats on the menu.
‘We like to celebrate the seasons around here,’ Pat, short for Patricia, said in her usual kindly way.
‘Overkill.’ Her son, Paul, glowered as he made the man’s espresso using the fancy coffee machine behind the counter. ‘It’s the same every year – like we don’t know what month it is unless we decorate the café within an inch of its life.’
Pat, short for Patrick, his father, met my eyes and rolled his.
I bit back a smile. The two Pats were always friendly, smiley and happy, but their son was the complete opposite.
He acted like he hated every minute of working with his parents but if anyone dared to suggest he did something else, he’d bite your head off so we assumed secretly, he enjoyed it but liked to wind us all up with his ‘I hate this town’ attitude.
It meant that you not only got a tasty drink and cake in the café but entertaining conversation too.
‘Haven’t seen you here before,’ female Pat continued as she took the man’s money.
I eyed the new drinks and treats in for the autumn season and wished I could afford to try them all but I knew I had to be as careful as possible right now.
‘I’m in town for a meeting,’ he replied in a posh accent. ‘Actually, do you know where this place is? I need to be there in a couple of hours – it’s called…’ He pulled out his phone to study it. ‘Birch Tree Farm.’