13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
I took a deep breath before opening the door. Bertie and I had spent the afternoon quietly in our room, playing cards, reading books and trying to tune the TV hanging from the wall. I’d expected Bertie to be desperate to explore, but he was subdued and listless, as though the enormity of our situation was just beginning to sink in.
‘Mum? I don’t want to go downstairs. Can’t we eat our dinner in our room?’
‘No, Bertie. It’s one of the rules here. All the guests eat together.’
‘Please.’
‘I’m sorry, Bertie. Come on.’ I held out my hand, and Bertie allowed me to lead him away from our room. His small body was shaking, and I fought the overwhelming desire to give in to my son, and my desire to run back to our room and lock the door. What were we doing here? How would staying with a group of strangers help us figure out anything? It was only delaying the inevitable.
‘Ah, good, you’re here.’ The door to the dining room flung open and Harry smiled at us. The only concession to her usual attire was a shirt instead of a tank top. ‘You’ve come on the right night, Bertie. It’s Patrick’s turn to cook, and he’s made pizza.’
Feeling returned to my fingers as Bertie’s tight grip loosened. ‘Pizza?’
‘Yes, and if you get in quick, you can choose your own topping.’
Bertie looked at me and I nodded to show him it was OK. ‘Who’s Patrick?’ I asked, as I followed Harry into the room.
‘The loveliest man you’ll ever meet,’ said Harry.
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ A pink-cheeked man with a shock of white hair and a wide smile filled the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. The floral apron he wore made him look simultaneously ridiculous and non-threatening. ‘Pat,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’
‘Liv,’ I said, taking his offered hand. ‘And this is Bertie.’
Pat crouched down, his knees clicking as he did. He held out a hand to Bertie. ‘Pleased to meet you, young man.’
Bertie grinned. ‘I’m not a young man. I’m a boy.’
‘Really? But I thought you must be at least twelve years old.’
‘I’m eight. Eight and a half.’
‘Oh dear, I’m losing my touch with ages. It’s been too many years since I was in a classroom. Now, Mr Eight-and-a-half, would you like to help me make some pizzas?’
Bertie nodded, and the unlikely pair disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Pat was headmaster at the local school for years,’ Harry explained. ‘His former pupils come up here to visit him all the time. Some of them are now grandparents, if you can believe it.’
‘Grandparents? How old is Pat?’
‘Eighty-five.’
‘Eighty-five? I thought he was around sixty.’
‘He’s a member of the local ramblers, the bowls club, tennis club, and goes ballroom dancing every Thursday. It’s all that exercise that keeps him young.’
‘How long has he lived here?’
‘Ever since his wife died six years ago. He started fading away, and the community rallied around and persuaded him to move in here. He’s been a godsend, and not just for his cooking skills. After selling his house in the village, he used the proceeds to fund our development of cabins by the lake.’
‘Wow.’
‘Exactly.’
Two middle-aged ladies dressed in fleeces, Gore-Tex trousers and hiking boots walked in and sat down at the table.
‘Liv, this is Christine and Elaine. They’re staying with us for a month, give or take.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Liv. It was Elaine who dragged me here. I lost my husband several months ago, and she forced me here to walk through my grief. You won’t see much of us. Elaine forces me out onto the moor most mornings at the crack of dawn, and by the evening it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.’
‘It’s working though, isn’t it?’ asked Elaine, squeezing her friend’s hand.
‘Yes,’ said Christine. ‘Slowly but surely, those blisters take my mind off my other problems.’ The two women giggled, reminding me of little girls.
‘How long have you been friends?’
‘Forty years, give or take. Christine saw me through when I lost my Roger, so it’s only right I do the same for her.’
‘What brings you here, Liv?’
‘It’s a long story.’
I was saved from expanding my explanation by the arrival of a couple in their forties who walked in bickering over a TV programme.
‘Harry, settle this argument for us. Stephan is claiming Ray Mears is the best survival expert on TV, but I disagree. It’s got to be Bear Grylls. Poor old Ray might have the survival skills, but he can’t compete with Bear in the looks department.’
‘And what use is a pretty face when you’re out in the jungle?’ asked Stephan. ‘Besides, Ray has a manly charm that Bear lacks. All that posh-voiced pretence at being one of the lads . No, I’d rather have Ray on my team any day.’
‘Stephan, Maggie, this is Liv. She’s come to stay with us for a couple of weeks, along with her son Bertie, who’s currently in the kitchen making pizzas with Pat.’
‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Stephan.
‘Yes, welcome to the farm. It’s good to see you again. It’s always a pleasure to see fresh faces around the table, no offence, Christine and Elaine.’
‘None taken.’
Bertie walked into the dining room and cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner will be served in five minutes. Please take your seats at the table.’
‘Who is that boy and what has he done with my son?’ I asked Harry once Bertie had disappeared back into the kitchen.
‘That’s Pat for you. He’ll have him reading Shakespeare by tomorrow evening, mark my words.’
‘Is this everyone?’ I asked when we were all sitting down.
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘We’re still waiting for Seb, although he always feeds the chickens before feeding himself, so we let him off if he’s a few minutes late.’
Bertie and Pat came in bringing a selection of different home-made pizzas cut into slices and laid out on trays with parsley and basil for decoration.
‘Wow, these look amazing.’
‘I helped make them all,’ said Bertie.
‘Good for you,’ said Stephan. ‘We could do with another good cook around the place. The food here tends to be a bit variable… mentioning no names.’ Stephan coughed and said ‘Harry,’ under his breath.
‘Hey, at least I try.’ Harry turned to me. ‘We run a rota for cooking. The same with the cleaning, although if residents have jobs outside of the farm, we adjust their workload here accordingly.’
‘I’m happy to contribute any way I can.’
Before I had the chance to ask any more questions about the inner workings of Lowen Farm, the door opened and a tall, lanky man walked in. His hair hung messily down his back, and his beard was so long it tickled his chest. He kicked off his mud-covered shoes at the door and showed no embarrassment that his feet were covered by more holes than socks.
‘Ah, Seb. How were the animals?’
‘Hungry.’
Seb pushed his hair off his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. The pizza in my hand dropped onto my plate and heat rushed to my face. I recognised that gesture. As I looked up, Seb’s hazel eyes caught mine, and he held my gaze for a second too long. Did he recognise me? I prayed he didn’t. The humiliation would be too much to bear.
‘Who’s this then?’ Seb asked.
‘This is Liv and her son, Bertie. They’ll be staying with us for a couple of weeks.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Seb. ‘I’d shake your hand, but I’ve been cleaning out the chickens and although I’ve given my hands a good wash, you never know.’
He threw a warm smile my way. It was an easy, friendly smile that suggested he had no recollection of our shared history. But then, why didn’t he want to touch me? Was it really because his hands were dirty, or was it an excuse? He seemed quite happy to grab a piece of pizza with those very same fingers.
Given he’d pulled out a chair opposite me, it was hard not to look at Seb. But each time I glanced at him, his eyes were focussed elsewhere. I tried to keep up with Harry’s enthusiastic monologue about how she wanted to welcome groups of disadvantaged children to the farm, but I couldn’t focus. I was sitting around a table in deepest darkest Cornwall, but in my mind, I was under canvas, music blaring from the main stage as Seb, or Baz as I’d known him then, caressed me in ways I’d never experienced before.
‘What do you think, Liv?’
‘Pardon?’ Heat rushed to my face, and I took a sip of water to cool myself down.
‘What do you think about bringing groups of kids to the farm? Working with the animals would be brilliant for them. We could even run residentials, use the lake for some team-building activities, or water sports. Sounds good, yes?’
‘I guess so,’ I said, trying to pretend as though I’d been listening to anything Harry had said. ‘It’s hard to give an opinion when I’ve not explored the farm yet, I suppose.’
‘Very true. We should put that right first thing tomorrow. I was thinking of giving Bertie a tour of the animals. That all right with you, Bertie?’
Bertie, unable to speak due to the amount of pizza in his mouth, gave an enthusiastic nod of the head.
‘Great.’ Harry lifted a hand for Bertie to high-five. ‘Seb? You can give Liv a tour of the grounds, can’t you? Me and Bertie will feed the animals, so that will free up a bit of your time.’
‘Sure, no problem. I’ll call for you at nine.’
Oh, God. Even his voice left me feeling like an invertebrate. ‘Great,’ I choked out.
This time away was supposed to be clearing my head, not muddling it. I’d try ringing around Rob’s friends again, although I didn’t hold out much hope. But I needed to do something, anything, to get my life back on track. I needed to be an adult, and swooning over a teenage crush did not come anywhere near my to-do list.