Chapter 20
Back down in the inn, we secured one of the booths close to the log fire as the evening had turned chilly.
Dylan got me a glass of wine and a beer for himself then we both ordered the steak pie with mash and vegetables.
It felt like the most comforting item on the menu – a perfect autumnal meal after a long day, in my opinion.
I looked at my phone and the picture Dad had just sent of him and Maple walking through Birchbrook, and it made me smile that they both seemed to be doing okay without me.
‘You and your dad seem so close,’ Dylan said after I had shown him the picture. I sent Dad back the one I took of all the pumpkins and squashes in the farm shop I had visited.
‘We are. Always have been but when my mum became ill, we really leaned on one another. It was such a tough time. And now it’s just us running the farm so we only have each other, you know? It must be the same for you with your brother and dad?’
Dylan took a sip of his beer then shook his head. ‘Honestly, not really. I think losing my mum had the opposite effect. Dad threw himself into his work and my brother set up Henderson Homes. I just kind of drifted, which they didn’t like. I feel like maybe we don’t really understand each other.’
‘But you enjoy working with your brother?’ I asked, thinking it was a shame he wasn’t close with them like I was with my dad.
‘It’s taking some getting used to. He’s always acted like a second father and he’s very bossy, has incredibly big expectations, is a workaholic and really wants this business to succeed.
I totally get that but I suppose, if I’m honest, it’s hard to be as committed to it as it’s his business; I’m just not as…
’ He trailed off as if struggling with how to describe how he felt.
‘Not as passionate about it?’ I supplied the word without thinking it through. There it was again. The word ‘passion’. I hoped Dylan would blame the log fire for the tint to my cheeks.
‘Like you are,’ Dylan said with a nod. ‘About the farm, I mean,’ he corrected quickly, his own cheeks looking decidedly pinker all of a sudden.
‘Yeah, I’m not loving the job as much as I hoped I would.
Or where I’m living. The flat has such an impersonal feeling.
I don’t know. It’s like you said earlier: sometimes, I wish I could ask my mum’s advice about life. ’
‘That would be nice.’ I tasted my wine. It felt good after such a long day.
‘But as you said, both our mums would probably remind us that we know how we feel deep down. Sometimes, you just want someone to agree with you. If you don’t like working for your brother then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it. ’ I shrugged.
‘You like working on the farm? Or was it something that was expected of you?’
‘Hmm.’ I tilted my head to consider that.
‘My parents inherited the farm and I think they were unsure about it at first but they quickly fell in love with it and when I was born, the farm was thriving. It was an idyllic childhood. I was outside all the time, with fresh food to eat, and there were always people around. It was fun, although I learned quickly as I grew up, it was hard work too. But my parents’ love for the place was infectious.
I wanted to help as soon as they let me.
I wanted to take on more responsibility as I got older.
I never really considered doing anything else.
I didn’t especially enjoy university as it took me away from the farm, and studying isn’t what I’m drawn to.
I’m drawn to nature. I thrive outside and doing hard work; it’s so rewarding growing something from seed and then seeing people take it home to make recipes with, or eating it yourself for dinner.
’ I sighed. ‘I just wish I was better at the business side of it all.’
‘You’re doing pretty well with this pumpkin patch,’ Dylan said. ‘It sounded like such a crazy concept to me but you’re going to turn it into a reality, I can see that now.’
I felt a prickle of pride in myself at his praise.
He wasn’t the only one to think it was a crazy concept.
Even I had my moments wondering if this was a bigger dream than I could make come true.
Hearing him say I was going to be able to do it meant a lot.
‘But if I do make it happen then you’ll have to walk away,’ I reminded him.
Our food arrived then. I took a bite of pie and mash and moaned. ‘Ooh this is so tasty.’
‘It is,’ Dylan agreed. He looked at me across the table. ‘It’s going to be hard to walk away.’
‘You’ll have to admit to your brother you couldn’t get me to sell,’ I agreed with a small smile.
‘But maybe I’ll convince you to sell in the end. I mean, you can open up your pumpkin patch but it might not do well enough to make a profit, enough to see you guys through a hard winter, and maybe you’ll decide that you want to move on, start somewhere new.’
I shook my head. ‘One minute, you say you want to do all you can to help me; the next, you’re saying I might fail. It’s confusing.’
‘That’s the pact we made, right?’ He raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t argue with that but that pact had been impulsive, born out of anger and desperation. Now I knew Dylan better and we’d spent this week together, it didn’t seem like such a good idea as it had in that moment.
I changed the subject back to safer ground and as we finished our hearty meal and drinks, I asked him about his grandmother, the one family member he seemed to be genuinely fond of.
‘I think I said me and my brother would stay at her house every summer when we were growing up. She lives on the coast in this lovely house that steps right out onto the beach. It’s a bit like you said about growing up on the farm – it was an idyllic way to spend the summer.
And she is like my mother – calm and kind, and she loves to bake.
After my mum died, I stayed with her. She provided a sanctuary, I guess, during that difficult time. I always felt safe there.’
‘That’s how I feel about the farm,’ I said softly. When he spoke about things he liked, his blue eyes lit up and I could see there was a spark in him that seemed to diminish when he put his suit back on and got behind his laptop. I wondered if he realised that was the case.
We both ordered the apple pie for dessert. Two bowls arrived with big slices of shortcrust-pastry-topped apple pie with a generous dollop of whipped cream on the side.
‘This looks just like what my gran used to make and we’d eat it on her balcony and look out at the sea. It was pretty perfect,’ he said with a wistful smile.
I glanced behind Dylan then and saw lights outside. ‘Come on.’ I stood up and picked up my bowl and spoon, grabbing my coat and draping it around my shoulders.
‘What?’
‘Follow me,’ I said, walking behind where Dylan sat and opening up the door that led to the inn’s garden.
They had LED lanterns strung across the sheltered area.
The tables looked out to the river which glowed under the moonlight.
It was chilly but they had heaters under the tables so when we sat down, it was actually quite cosy.
‘Thought this might be the second-best thing,’ I told Dylan as he joined me, gazing out at the water.
I was pleased to see a smile on his face.
As I put my bowl on the table, I put my finger into the whipped cream. ‘Oops,’ I said as I sat down. I put my finger in my mouth to lick off the cream. ‘Vanilla flavour,’ I said when I tasted the sweetness.
Dylan cleared his throat. ‘Good?’ he asked in a gruff tone. I realised he’d stopped looking out at the river and was now watching me.
‘Delicious,’ I replied. ‘What?’ I added when he didn’t stop looking at me.
‘You missed a bit.’ Dylan leaned over the table and reached out with his fingertip, wiping cream off of the corner of my lip.
His eyes tracked the movement of his fingertips.
I found myself holding my breath as his finger touched me and when he put it in his mouth and licked off the cream, I found myself staring at him in turn.
‘You’re right – it’s good,’ he said with a smile.