17. Darcy
Darcy
The cameraman glanced at his watch. “The farmer is expecting you in fifteen minutes for the hay baling, so we’d better head over now. You can bring the dogs, apparently.”
I stiffened.
“Farmwork wasn’t on the schedule.” I could hear the grumpy tone in my voice. “It only said farm tour.”
Emma appeared in the kitchen dressed in a gingham outfit and white sneakers that did not say farmwork.
The cameraman frowned. “Don’t blame me, mate. Scheduling is above my pay grade. All I know is I’m following you over there. And we need to leave now.”
“Oh no, I’ve had my nails done,” Emma said. “And my eyelashes. And my—um… No, it doesn’t affect that. Okay, I’m in,” Emma added. She was always game; I’d give her that.
“I need to change,” I said and trudged upstairs, followed by the others.
I was kicking myself for losing my cool while cooking and knowing it was caught on camera.
I dreaded checking my phone for their socials.
How quickly was that stuff uploaded? I opened the door to my bedroom.
Standing still, a sick feeling in my gut, I gathered all my courage to check.
My finger hovered over the button. How did it take so much fortitude to make one click?
I thumped down on my bed and pressed my index finger to the screen.
My face flashed up—but from last night. I looked positively rabid, when I’d only been annoyed.
How did the camera intensify your emotions like that, so you looked bonkers?
Hurriedly, I clicked out. So nothing—not yet.
But I was under no illusion they weren’t going to hurry those scenes on to their socials. Ugh.
A text flashed up.
Shay
How’s it going?
Total rubbish was how it was going. Now they had footage of me being an arse about the cooking. But it didn’t sound like my blunder had made it broader online yet.
Me
All under control, don’t worry! Farmwork next! Can’t wait!
Clearly, I was on a campaign to use up my exclamation mark allotment for the year. No matter what happened this afternoon, I needed to be the most helpful and kind person out there on that farm. Lizzy had a tendency to distract me, and I couldn’t let that happen.
Shay
Keep it that way. Donors are still uneasy, and it’s taking fancy footwork to keep them hooked. You can’t make any more mistakes.
Shit. And they hadn’t seen the kitchen scene yet.
Grumpily, I changed into athletic shorts and sneakers, slathered sunscreen on my face, and met everyone downstairs.
We filed out across the fields, the cameraman in the back behind me, carrying his camera. The cameraman whose name I didn’t know. Okay, this wasn’t me.
“Hey.” I held out a hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Darcy.”
He gave me a wary nod. “I know who you are.”
“What’s your name?”
“Harry.”
“Harry, nice to meet you. Backing the best, I see?” I indicated his Arsenal gear.
He shrugged, still wary, probably because he thought I was insincerely engaging with him. “I’d back them however they played. This kind of love is for a lifetime.”
Something inside me folded, humbled by the simplicity and sincerity of his words. “Look, I’m sorry I sniped at you about the farmwork. I’m sorry I didn’t know your name. Nothing about how I’ve acted is your fault.”
He seemed to look at me with a new…respect? “Appreciate you saying that, mate.”
“I can’t get a grip on things this weekend.
Look, I know you have a specific job to do, and I suspect part of that is being an impartial observer, but I need a bit of a win.
” It wasn’t fair to tell him that donors were threatening to pull their donations because of my rudeness.
Still, I was putting him on the spot, but I was desperate at this stage.
“How should I approach this farmwork so I can repair my image a bit?”
He looked out over the green meadows beating with butterflies.
“You’re looking at this all wrong, mate.
It’s not a competition. Enjoy yourself—you’re on holiday.
The sun is shining, and you’re in beautiful countryside with your dog and nice people.
One person, in particular, seems special. ” He gave me a sly smirk.
Was I that obvious? I stared back at him with a fake, puzzled look, like I didn’t know who he was talking about.
“Take a break from being in charge,” he said. “From trying to control everything. Let it go.”
Let it go. That annoying earworm song that I’d heard at the clubhouse invaded my brain. He smirked again, obviously knowing he’d zapped that bloody tune into my consciousness.
“Thank you, Harry. You’re wise and a good picker of soccer clubs. And a good teacher about the power of love.”
He groaned, clearly at how I’d insinuated an earworm song back at him. He hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. “Could you walk ahead of me? I need to start filming.”
He hummed that earworm song, as though knowing it would torture me, and I gave him a dirty look as I strode ahead.
Warmed by the hot sun overhead, I felt something in me loosen and ease, and for the first time this weekend, I felt unguarded.
Maybe it was Max bouncing around with Oodles too, maybe seeing Lizzy ahead striding out in her shorts, laughing with Emma, whose gingham all-in-one arrangement was so impractical to be engaging. I felt hope. For what, I wasn’t sure.
We reached a mown field, hay bales scattered in circles. In the middle, a bearded man in overalls holding a pitchfork stood beside a huge truck, two dogs at his feet.
“Hello, my name is Jimbo. I’m the farmer,” he said, petting our two dogs, and we each introduced ourselves.
“Thanks for coming over. This is not a made-up activity for the cameras. I actually do need you. My automated hay baler is on the blink, and those TV producers were here all last week bothering me about odd jobs I could torture you with. Their words.” He grinned, and the cameraman sucked in a breath.
Jimbo went on. “Clearly, this is a match made in heaven. And I’m sure you’re thrilled to help me out. ”
I threw back my head and laughed. The others stared at me, surprised. Hell, was I that much of a drag?
“Two of you are in the field throwing up the bales of hay, the other two are on the back of the truck, stacking. You decide.”
I stepped forward, my mind ticking over, ready to make the decisions and allocate jobs. Beside me, Harry cleared his throat. Instead, I shrugged. “You guys decide.”
I couldn’t help but feel a bit of a boost from Harry’s proud little nod and smile. Now I needed to keep my mouth shut and do the work and bloody well enjoy it.
The women decided it would be more fun to be up on the truck, but both jobs turned out to be brutal.
Within minutes, we were all grunting, groaning, and sweating bullets with the back-breaking work.
Straw scratched my hands and legs as I grabbed a hay bale and tossed it up to Lizzy and Emma.
How was I going to keep this up? After a couple of turns around the paddock, swinging, tugging, and shoving, the four of us were finally working together in a rhythm, and it felt great.
I might have even had the time to catch the odd glimpse of Lizzy in action.
Those shapely legs of hers lunging for the next hay bale, that—
Argh. I was suddenly flat on my arse, the dull pain throbbing slightly.
Someone had tripped me from behind.
I looked up. Harry smiled down at me. The power of love, he mouthed. I smiled—he’d done me a favor. Millions at home watching did not get to see me blatantly ogling Lizzy. Or maybe it was to seem more vulnerable and approachable? A win?