Chapter 7
‘As I said, I would have been on time, but I was sent in the wrong direction,’ Mr Suit Man said, arching an eyebrow. His large, bright-blue eyes were staring right at me.
I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. ‘Yeah, that was my fault,’ I admitted. Maple leaned against my legs for support. I reached down to pat her. Mr Suit Man glanced down at my hand then back up to my face. ‘I suppose I wanted to put this meeting off for as long as possible.’
‘Well, you sent me on an hour’s detour. I managed to get correct directions from a dog walker,’ he said with a shake of his head, clearly irritated. ‘I don’t understand why you wanted to waste my time.’ He turned to my dad. ‘You said on this phone you wanted this meeting.’
‘I’ll be frank, Mr Henderson,’ my dad said. ‘Neither of us want to sell our farm, but we might have to. Willow is sorry she sent you the wrong way. We’re a bit out of sorts as you can imagine.’
I could tell Mr Suit Man was confused and I knew I had been slightly childish so I tried to explain. ‘This farm has been in our family for generations; I’ve lived and worked here my whole life…’ I began.
‘But you said in your phone call, things have become too hard to manage,’ the man said to my dad, ignoring me. ‘That’s why I’m here. This should be an exciting meeting for you.’
‘Um…’ Dad said, glancing at me, knowing I felt the same way – this was the farthest thing from exciting. ‘You’re here now anyway. So, have a seat, Mr Henderson, I’ll make us tea, yes?’
‘You should call me Dylan,’ he said, sitting down at the kitchen table at the opposite end to me, thankfully. ‘Mr Henderson sounds like my father,’ he added, looking uncomfortable at the prospect.
‘How old are you?’ I blurted out.
‘Twenty-seven,’ he replied, but then carried on addressing Dad.
I had been right that he was close to my age but the way he spoke and acted seemed older to me.
‘I spotted your farm a couple of weeks ago while I was scouting for locations for a new development in this area. My brother has been looking for somewhere around here for a while as this area is so sought after, what with the good schools and the fact it’s so popular with tourists.
Birchbrook seems very… quaint,’ Dylan continued briskly, saying the word ‘quaint’ with a definite snobby inflection.
‘We love our town,’ I told him pointedly as Dad made three cups of tea. ‘It’s sought after because it’s a great place to live.’
‘I think a development would do really well here,’ Dylan said with a nod, seeming to miss my point. He glanced out of the window at the farm. ‘Those trees would be really appealing to buyers too.’
Dad looked over his shoulder at me then turned to Dylan. ‘You would keep the trees then? Willow has been very worried about them; she’s loved them since she was a little girl.’
‘Buyers love nature as long as it doesn’t infringe on light coming into the houses so I think we’d keep them. We could name the development after the birch trees to match the town,’ Dylan said. ‘We think we could fit around ten properties on the farm and?—’
‘Ten houses?’ I looked out at my farm and tried to picture it transformed into a development of ten new-build homes. My heart dropped down to my stomach. All that land gone.
Dylan pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘Now, I spoke to some estate agents in the area. We would of course need several surveys done on the land but at the moment, my brother, who runs our company, has instructed me that we could offer?—’
‘Here we are.’ Dad brought over the teas and sat down in between me and Dylan. He glanced at him. ‘It’s a family business then? We like that, don’t we, love?’ he added, looking at me.
‘Well, maybe it means you can understand why we don’t want to sell our farm,’ I said in a frosty tone as I could tell Mr Suit Man was just focused on his phone, and not us. ‘So, Dylan, do you run the business with your brother then?’ I asked him, forcing him to look up from the device.
‘My brother, who is a few years older than me, owns the company; I just joined at the start of this year,’ he replied.
I sighed. He didn’t really know about running a family business then. I looked away from him. ‘Dad, this is pointless; we don’t want to sell and what about the pumpkin-patch idea? We’re wasting time having this meeting.’
‘But I thought you were interested in selling?’ Dylan frowned. ‘Mr Connor?—’
‘Adam, please,’ my dad said as he took a sip of his tea. I hadn’t bothered to have any of mine; I was too keyed up to drink. ‘We are struggling with the farm, and that’s why?—’
‘But I have an idea to turn things around,’ I interrupted. ‘And neither of us want to sell, do we, Dad?’
‘This would be a great opportunity for you both,’ Dylan said quickly.
I eyed him. ‘And for you. As you said, this would be really popular for people; Birchbrook is sought after and hardly any new houses come onto the market. Our farm is really the only big patch of land around here that you could develop into your… homes,’ I said, wrinkling my nose at the word ‘homes’ because the ones they had built, which Dad had shown me online, looked so uninspiring, I knew I wouldn’t personally be able to enjoy living in one.
I loved our old, chaotic, run-down house.
‘This would make you a lot of profit, wouldn’t it? ’
‘We would be able to ease all your money worries,’ Dylan replied smoothly, like he’d practised this speech a hundred times.
‘It would be a good opportunity for all of us. Why don’t I put together a proposal so you can see exactly how much we could offer you for this land, and I think you’ll be keen then?—’
‘Dad?’ I broke in. ‘Let me create this pumpkin patch. We could give it a go; give me a few weeks and I’ll make it work. There isn’t a deadline on your offer, right?’ I demanded of Dylan. ‘You want this place; you’d wait for us to decide whether to accept or not, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, uh, if we weren’t going to get this land, I’d have to find somewhere else for my brother…’ Dylan shifted in his seat. Was it my imagination or did he seem a bit nervous suddenly?
‘How long would you need for your pumpkin patch?’ Dad asked me, leaning back in his chair to study me.
‘It would need to open in October, and would be open for the whole month so we’d know by the end if it’s going to be something that could generate enough income for us to be okay until the spring/summer season,’ I said eagerly.
‘Wait, you haven’t even heard our offer…’ Dylan hastily punched at his phone. ‘I think my brother would offer something in this region, once we had all the surveys done, etc…’ He showed his phone screen to my dad. ‘Surely, that would be something that would interest you, Mr Connor?’
‘Adam,’ Dad reminded him as he looked at the number Dylan had written down.
I craned my neck but Dylan turned the phone so I couldn’t see it, as if I wasn’t allowed to know the details. I shook my head.
‘It would clear all our debts and allow us to start somewhere new,’ Dad told me as Dylan took the phone away.
‘But, Dylan, my daughter is right – we really don’t want to leave.
Willow, would six weeks from now be long enough to know if the pumpkin patch could get us through the winter months?
To make the money we need to get out of the hole we’re currently in? ’
‘Maybe I should leave the room,’ Dylan said.
‘This is most unorthodox,’ he added under his breath.
He seemed alarmed by how this meeting was going.
I wondered if he’d ever dealt with homeowners like us before.
Judging by his wide eyes, the way he was pulling at his shirt collar and shifting in his seat, he hadn’t.
He probably thought we would bite his hand off to accept, and was now befuddled.
‘Six weeks?’ I checked with Dad, who nodded. ‘If I can create and make enough of a success of the patch in six weeks, and prove that we could turn the farm’s fortunes around, you won’t sell?’
‘But if not, then I’ll accept this young man’s offer,’ Dad agreed with a nod.
‘Hang on…’ Dylan began.
I smiled. ‘Six weeks. It’s a deal.’