Chapter 31
At the farmhouse, breakfast was getting out of hand. Daisy had woken up in a foul mood and was dispensing liberal quantities of sarcasm to everyone. Her most lethal barbs were all aimed at Beth. Clearly, the brief truce that had reigned in the immediate aftermath of the fire and her job interview was well and truly over. Beth was relieved to hear the knocker and hurried along the corridor to open the door.
‘Hi, Lucy. Come in. Watch your step. The place is booby-trapped.’ She kicked aside a pile of trainers, several school bags and a hockey stick. ‘We’re in the kitchen. Fancy a quick cuppa before I give you that tour?’
‘Always up for tea, me.’ Lucy bounced in, dressed in lime-green dungarees, her braids bound tightly back in a matching headwrap. ‘By the way, did you know there’s an old table, a chest of drawers and half a dozen broken chairs stuck in a hedge at the end of the lane?’
‘You’re kidding!’ Beth glanced down the track. ‘The phantom fly-tipper again. I’d better report it before Barbara has a coronary.’
Daisy’s eyes grew round when she spotted Lucy. ‘You checking up on me, boss?’
‘I heard you were in charge of breakfast this morning. I thought I’d come see what you’re like under pressure.’
Daisy’s face turned the colour of chalk. ‘I’m… uh… I’m—’
‘Relax.’ Lucy gave a merry laugh. ‘I’m teasing you. I’m just here to see Beth.’
Jack was busy ploughing his way through a pile of scrambled eggs, his elbows out as if he was afraid someone might take it upon themselves to help him. He snorted. ‘Ha! Dais, you got burned.’
Daisy fixed him with a death glare.
‘Lucy is here to give me business advice,’ said Beth. ‘Rose’s idea of a campsite is good, but it might cause problems for the lady down the road. I was hoping we could come up with another plan.’
Daisy scowled. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than camping. Why leave a perfectly warm, dry house to go live in a tent? It makes no sense.’
Rose leaned over Jack to grab an apple.
Jack nearly stabbed her with his fork.
‘Relax, Jack. I don’t want your food.’ Rose bit into the fruit and chewed. ‘I reckon there are loads of ways this place could start paying for itself.’
‘Like what?’ Lucy sat next to Grace, just in time to catch half a piece of toast as it slipped from Grace’s hand. She passed it back to her with a grin. Grace giggled, chin dripping gruesome quantities of strawberry jam. She offered the toast to Boo, who sat in her old highchair, a yellow napkin tied around his neck.
‘How about a B it’s just a big, grubby old space full of junk.’
‘And ’piders,’ added Grace. ‘Big, big ’piders.’
Lucy gave Grace a wink. ‘Big ’piders are the best, hon. I love big, grubby old spaces, too. You’re going to have to give me that tour, Beth.’
‘Come on then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
*
Outside, Beth was surprised to see Rick loading scrap from the shed into the trailer.
‘Morning, Rick. This is my friend, Lucy. Lucy, this is Rick.’
‘Nice to meet you, Lucy.’ Rick smiled. ‘Beth, two random teenagers turned up at mine this morning. They said they’re here to help clear up. I brought them over.’
‘Tyler and Kyle,’ said Beth. ‘They’re Barbara’s nephews.’
‘How come?’ asked Lucy.
‘You told me to accept help from her if she offered it. I followed your advice. I didn’t expect them to actually turn up, though.’
The two lads scuffed their way across the drive from behind the stable, carrying a length of blackened timber between them. They dumped their load in the trailer and then shuffled to stand in front of Beth. Each nudged the other several times until, finally, Tyler muttered, ‘We’re sorry we were smoking.’
‘Please don’t do it again,’ said Beth. ‘And thank you for coming up to help out today.’
‘S’alright.’ Tyler gave a jaw-cracking yawn. ‘Aunty B made us get up mega early.’
‘Yeah,’ grumbled Kyle, ‘9am on a Saturday.’
‘Outrageous,’ said Lucy.
‘Exactly,’ said Tyler. ‘Is Jack around?’
Beth jerked her head towards the farmhouse. ‘He’s just finished breakfast. Go and find him. He can help, too.’
Tyler shoulder-barged Kyle hard enough to make him stagger. ‘Race you.’
As they ran off, Rick turned to Beth. ‘Is Barbara this Aunty B they keep going on about? It makes her sound like the boss of the New Forest criminal underworld.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Half the kids in the forest call her Aunty B. She’s connected to pretty much everyone, in one way or another. And The Godfather has got nothing on Barbara Trenchard.’
‘She’s way scarier than the mafia,’ agreed Beth. ‘Thanks for helping, Rick. I thought I’d take the first load to the skip later.’
‘How?’ He gestured towards the rear of her car. ‘You haven’t got a towing hitch.’
Beth groaned. ‘I’m so stupid. I never thought.’
‘We could use my car. You’ll have to show me the way, though. I don’t trust Tyler or Kyle’s sense of anything, let alone direction. When you’re ready, give me a shout.’ He adjusted his work gloves, nodded and headed back to the ruins of the shed.
Lucy whispered, ‘I see what you mean. He’s gorgeous.’
‘Lucy! Hush.’
‘I only said he was good-looking. And I know you told me he was complicated, but I didn’t realise he was quite that complicated.’ She paused and examined Beth’s face intently. ‘You do know who he is, don’t you?’
Beth reached up to unbolt the stable door. ‘Yes.’
‘Your sexy new friend comes with a whole truckload of baggage.’
‘He’s not my sexy anything. We’re just neighbours.’
‘Ha! You totally think he’s sexy.’
‘Give it a rest, Lucy. He has a young son.’
‘They didn’t say that in the papers.’
Lucy sounded so affronted that Beth had to laugh. ‘And we all know how accurate the papers are. Anyway, my point is that I’ve no idea if he is attached to someone or not, but if he’s got a kid, he might be.’ She pushed one of the stable doors wide enough to allow them both to slip inside.
‘You could ask him.’
‘No, I couldn’t. It would be too obvious. Now, come on. Focus. You wanted to see a big old space full of spiders. Here it is.’
Lucy’s demeanour instantly became very serious. Beth watched her friend spin slowly on the spot, absorbing the interior proportions of the stables.
Built of brick to about waist-height, with upper walls consisting of thick overlapping wooden slats inset with high windows, all supported by thick oak beams, she had to admit she’d forgotten what an impressive structure it was – or would be, if it weren’t for the alarming towers of boxes, bundles and general garbage stacked all around. Ancient spiderwebs formed fairy hammocks so substantial that whole armies of angry arachnids, wearing black bovver boots and biker jackets, could appear any moment to demand what the disturbance was.
‘This is incredible.’
Beth snorted. ‘Are we looking at the same thing? All I see is junk. There’s no way I can rent this out as accommodation and I can’t move the kids in here either. It’s not remotely habitable.’
‘No, but…’ Lucy’s keen gaze darted around the space. ‘You’re right, this isn’t a traditional rental property, and even from a non-traditional viewpoint, it needs a lot of work.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Yet, it’s still a rentable space. It’s well constructed and it appears watertight.’
‘That’s true.’
‘It’s very useable. Open and airy. Perfect for summer. Come winter, you might need to think about some sort of heating. Perhaps a log burner. They kick out a hefty radius of warmth, plus they’re really atmospheric. With a good clear-out, some cleaning and lots of white paint and…’ Lucy paused before finishing her sentence in a rush. ‘Can I have first dibs on renting it?’
A horrible thought struck Beth. ‘I won’t accept charity.’
‘It’s not charity. I’m serious. Get this place up to scratch and I’ll rent it from you. It won’t be a huge sum, but it’ll be a regular injection of cash and not at all seasonal like a campsite.’
Beth looked from Lucy to the cluttered space. ‘What am I not seeing?’
Lucy stepped around a pile of boxes and wiggled through a narrow space between a stack of old chairs and what looked like battered tabletops, working her way deeper in to scan the far wall. ‘I want to run proper craft classes. Somewhere we can do painting demos. I’ve always wanted to offer creative well-being courses, too. I genuinely think it will help people cope with the pressures of modern life. Everyone should make time to do something creative. Trouble is, most people don’t know what the creative thing that works for them is, which is why you need some sort of well-being therapy centre to give them little tasters of what is possible. I reckon we could get arts council funding.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, there’s even the possibility of getting therapists on board, too.’
‘You should talk to my counsellor, Jane. She’d love you.’
‘Please give me her number.’
‘What about the shop?’
‘The shop is too small for what I have in mind. I’ll still keep it in the village. The location is perfect for passing trade. But here, I can already see it. Therapy sessions alongside creativity sessions, where you can mix and match between different activities. Look at that big old barn door on its side over there. It’s completely flat. Take the handle off it and lay it across a couple of trestles in this central section and you’ve got a massive worktable. And those four open stalls at the side? They’d be good for individual crafting groups or maybe a little crèche area. Parents could bring their little people along for soft play while they do some craft. Or… No, I’m sorry, I’m getting carried away.’ Lucy turned to Beth, her eyes wide.
‘So, you don’t want to rent it?’
‘I do. I really do. But as your friend, I ought to give you other options, not just the one I want. I mean, you could break the space down and rent individual stalls as artisan workshops. There are loads of local skilled arts and crafts workers wanting studio space. The light in here is perfect, with the high windows. Especially in summer. If you stand the main doors open, the whole place will be flooded with natural sunlight. There’s room to store both equipment and finished products, too. You could even have exhibitions. Get connected with the Hampshire Art Week events. Beth, handle this right and you have a potential gold mine here! A mini gold mine, admittedly, because artists all have tight budgets, but still.’
‘I don’t know anything about art.’
‘It’s not that hard. And, anyway, the artists do the art, not you.’
‘Why don’t we run your well-being centre together?’ asked Beth.
Lucy bit her lip. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. I’ve got the space and you have the knowledge and contacts.’
Lucy thought for a moment. ‘I need to work out the numbers and we’ll have to set up an official partnership, but, in principal, I’m interested.’
‘Then let’s do it. I’ll look into planning permission.’
Lucy waved an arm towards the end of the room. ‘What’s back there? I can’t get to it, but I can see two doors?’
‘I’ve never been back there. I’ve had enough to do staying on top of the house. I think the one on the right is a loo.’
‘Useful.’
‘I don’t know what state it’s in.’
‘It doesn’t matter. As long as it exists, we won’t have the hassle and expense of getting builders in to dig drains and the like.’
‘The other one leads to another storage space, I think. You can access it from the back garden as well. There’s a second set of double doors, but they’re bolted. I’ve no idea where the keys are. I’ve been meaning to get a locksmith out, but there’s always something else I need to spend the money on.’
Lucy squeezed sideways through the jumble of boxes. ‘Nearly there… Aha! Oh, bottom. It’s locked and there’s no way I can get to the other one. I wonder what’s in there.’
Beth shrugged. ‘No idea. I suspect more junk.’
‘Want me to try to force it?’
‘Oh no, please don’t,’ said Beth. ‘We’ll only have to repair it.’
Lucy gave in with reluctance. ‘Fine. We can get to it later, once we’ve sorted this section out.’
‘Let’s go and work out what else we need to do to make this happen.’ Beth turned for the door, a curious mix of nerves and excitement churning in her chest.