Chapter 2 #2
As she climbed out of the shower, she wondered whether the luxurious life she thought she’d had with Henry in his little London townhouse would be completely surpassed by the feeling of freedom out here, the space, the silence.
Ten minutes later, feeling marginally more human with clean hair and fresh clothes, she bounded down the little curving staircase, careful not to smash her head as she did so.
Even at five foot eight she felt the need to crouch a little for the final part of the descent.
She turned the corner into the kitchen and felt tears well in her eyes.
There on the table was the bouquet of fresh flowers, a homemade Victoria sponge, and all her bags sitting neatly in the hallway.
‘Oh, Aggie! You always were my favourite sister in the world. Thank you. I can’t believe you did all this for me. What would I do without you?’
‘Well, I am fucking incredible,’ said Agatha.
‘Please don’t swear, darling,’ said her mother.
‘. . . and your only sister,’ continued Agatha, ‘but don’t get too ahead of yourself there. The flowers are from Mum obviously, and yes, I dragged half your earthly belongings in for you, but the cake was just dropped round by Marjorie who lives down the lane.’
On the hunt for the perfect vase, Eliza shot her sister a sardonic raised eyebrow, ‘Are you making that up?’
‘What?’
‘That someone called Marjorie brought me a cake.’
Agatha shook her head, ‘Nope, not made up at all. Her name was definitely Marj; she was sorry not to meet you and said she’d pop back later.
She also wants to talk to you about the local church fête.
Tell you what, little sis, this rural experience of yours is going to be Wild!
She only needed one walking stick to get back up the drive. ’
‘Oh, Agatha, you’re so ridiculous,’ said her mother. ‘Marjorie was a delight and seems very keen for you to get involved in the local community! Who knows, maybe you could learn to play bridge.’
‘Yes, I’m not sure she’s a great wingman for getting over a break-up and trying to pull a new husband, though, Mum. How’s Marjorie going to be helpful in that scenario?’
Arranging the lilacs and daisies just so, Eliza smiled. ‘Well, you just never know, do you? Maybe her son is the hottest gardener you’ve ever seen and we’re going to have wild sex in front of the fire all winter long.’
‘Dream on,’ quipped Agatha, leaning back on one of the kitchen chairs.
‘Although you always did have a penchant for the ripped outdoorsy type, though you’ve never really dated any.
Dated plenty of prissy Henry types though .
. . Anyway, let’s go and find a coffee before your next welcoming committee arrives. ’
‘Yes, come on, girls, let’s go,’ said her mother, ‘then we can all have a proper catch-up and hear all about the great London departure!’
Just as they were about to shut the door, they heard someone calling ‘helloooo’ down the drive.
Turning, Eliza saw a fit-looking elderly man walking towards them, wearing a sarong with a casual white T-shirt tucked into it.
She did a double take – it was a sight you might expect to see in California, but in the English countryside it did look a bit odd – coupled with the fact he couldn’t have been a day younger than seventy-five.
‘So glad I caught you,’ he carried on. ‘Looks like you might be dashing out. I’m Daniel, but please call me Dan.
I live next door – just thought I’d drop round and introduce myself and bring a cottage pie.
Not one I’ve cooked mind you, just one from the freezer – the gaggle of widowers around here seem to think I don’t eat enough!
’ he chirped, flashing a million-dollar smile, while Eliza fought down a giggle.
‘Lovely to meet you, Dan. I’m Eliza. This is my sister Agatha and my mother Margaret. They’ve both just popped round this morning to help me move in.’ He flashed each of them another grin and had them both beaming back at him.
‘Lovely to meet you all. And apologies, I haven’t had time to change.
I get up every morning for a freshwater swim, quick meditation and then a bit of Pilates – keeps the old body ticking over,’ he said, flexing a muscle or two.
Christ, he probably has an insane six-pack too – if only he was thirty years younger!
‘Anyway, do let me know if you need anything. I’ve lived here for years, nothing I don’t know about the workings of Farmington, and the people within it!’
‘Well, you could tell us where to get a decent coffee, Dan, or is that a bit too hopeful? If we could avoid a garden centre it would be a start,’ pleaded Agatha, fluttering her deep green eyes.
‘I really only like my own coffee – one day I’ll invite you girls round to sample my machine,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.
‘But about five minutes from here is the local farm, Stanley’s, which has opened a little coffee barn.
Just go past the blue tractor on the left. I think you girls might quite like it.’
‘Oh, Dan, you are a dream, thank you. We’ll head there now, straight after I put this delicious-looking cottage pie in the fridge,’ squealed Eliza, dashing into the kitchen to drop off her dinner. ‘And thank you again for the food – I’m sure it won’t go to waste!’
‘Yes, that was so kind of you, Dan,’ said Margaret. ‘As you’ll soon discover, Eliza is a hopeless cook, so all food will be well received by her!’
‘No problem,’ called Dan as he sauntered back up the drive. ‘Hope to see you all again soon.’
‘One more thing, Dan,’ shouted Eliza, ‘I heard you mention Pilates. I would love to get involved – is there a studio nearby?’
‘Not so much a studio, but there’s a class in the village hall a few times a week if that appeals. It’s not Notting Hill, but it does the job! I’ll drop the details round later. In the meantime, enjoy your coffee.’
As Eliza piled into Agatha’s four-by-four with her mother, the girls both collapsed into hysterical giggles.
‘Oh my God! That is so funny. And slightly hot. Which is so weird!’ said Agatha.
‘I know!’ laughed Eliza. ‘Check me out with my hot OAP neighbours. The sarong, though, what’s all that about? I wonder if he has a lady? I might make Dan my new best friend, and I’m definitely going to join him for some Pilates. I can’t miss out on that spectacle!’
‘Oh, girls, for heaven’s sake!’ chided their mother, although she was obviously delighted by Dan as well, muttering, ‘I wonder whether he really is single!’
Agatha shot her mum a look as she turned out of the drive and back down to the main road. ‘Yup, OK, you enjoy that thought, Mum – in the meantime, where’s this blue tractor I hear so much about?’
‘Up here on the left, Aggie – did you not listen to a word the man said?’
‘I was distracted . . . Do you think he had anything on under that sarong?’
And that set them all off into fits of giggles.
A few minutes later they drove into what could only be described as a working farm. It was knee deep in mud, with random bits of rusty equipment all over the place, and an inordinate number of primary-coloured tractors. There was, however, not a fairy light in sight.
‘Do you think your new best friend Dan was taking the piss?’ muttered Agatha, as she expertly navigated a pothole while being judged by a disgruntled sheep.
‘Darling, he meditates. People who meditate don’t lie,’ said their mother in all seriousness. ‘Just drive around that bend; you probably just haven’t gone far enough.’
Agatha and Eliza looked at each other in disbelief, wondering if their mother had been kidnapped by a cult.
But, sure enough, as they rounded the corner they saw an overflowing car park, and an open stable yard with some scattered tables and a sweetly lit little barn next to it, serving coffee and cake.
There also appeared to be far too many middle-aged men in Lycra rearranging their balls.
‘See, I told you, girls, sometimes you just have to trust people.’
‘Well, would you look at that. My very own rural retreat complete with flat whites just down the road. I can’t quite believe it,’ squealed Eliza. ‘Do you think they serve poached eggs and avocado, too? And maybe even oat milk?’
‘You sound like a high-maintenance London bitch right now, Eliza. This in itself is the kind of pot of gold every rural-living human hopes to find – so if you can get yourself a flat white, be grateful, go home, and thank the coffee gods.’ Agatha manoeuvred into a spot and slammed the car into park. ‘Right, shall we?’
‘At least your four-by-four is right at home here,’ quipped Eliza, gesturing to the row of Range Rovers Agatha had just slotted herself into, before jumping out.
Agatha had chosen a far more appropriate outfit for a muddy farmyard than Eliza or their mother.
Leaping over every puddle she saw, Eliza was pinballing across the yard in the hopes of avoiding any kind of mud, while her mother was making slow progress on her tiptoes trying to stick to the rare patch of grass.
Watching their progress archly in her muddy wellingtons, Agatha called out, ‘At some point both of you are going to have to embrace the mud. It’s everywhere; you can’t spend the rest of your life jumping over it. Trust me. Just make it your friend.’
‘I will, I will – give me a chance, I’ve only just arrived,’ muttered Eliza.
‘Well, I’ve done just fine avoiding mud my entire life and I have no intention of changing that now,’ responded her mother primly.