22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sat cross-legged, leaning against a wide-trunked oak. ‘What time did Maggie say she’d get here?’
Seb checked his watch. ‘She should be here any minute.’
He dropped to the ground and sat beside me, not quite touching, but close enough for me to feel his warmth. My body tingled. He tugged on his beard, twisting it this way and that around his fingers. I laughed.
‘What?’
‘It’s just that thing you do with your beard. It reminds me of when I used to style my sister’s hair.’
‘Oh, really? It’s a habit I’ve fallen into. I fiddle with my beard when I’m thinking.’
‘Well, I think you’d look very fetching with a braided beard.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ asked Seb, his eyes twinkling. ‘Go on then, give it a try.’
I shuffled forward onto my knees in front of him. ‘Are you sure?’ Seb nodded, and I divided his beard into three sections. We were so close I could feel his breath on my hands. My heart pounded as my fingers began knotting the wiry hair. I wasn’t attracted to facial hair, but the sixteen-year-old in me was enjoying an excuse to touch him, even if it was more wire brush than smooth skin.
‘Does that hurt?’
‘No,’ he muttered. I couldn’t risk getting caught by his magnetic eyes, so focused on his lips, chapped from spending so long outside in the cold.
‘When did you grow a beard?’
Seb took a while to answer. ‘I’ve had it a while.’
‘Right.’
‘You don’t like it?’
‘It’s not that. It still surprises me. When I picture you, it’s as a clean-shaven sixteen-year-old, so each time I see you it’s a shock. And it seems a bit of a shame to hide your entire face under hair.’
Seb grinned. ‘I’m pleased you like my face, even if you don’t like my beard.’
I risked letting my gaze travel up to his face and found he was staring at me. ‘I think you’re done,’ I said, resuming my position at his side so he wouldn’t notice my blush.
Seb pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned the camera on himself. He barked out a laugh. ‘I look completely ridiculous.’
‘Yes, you do.’
The sound of an engine reached us. ‘Crap, I need to undo this before Maggie gets here or she’ll never let me live it down.’ Seb yanked at the braid. His beard tangled, resulting in something resembling one giant dreadlock.
I tried and failed not to laugh.
‘It’s not funny. I’ve got a meeting with the council later. Help me, Liv.’
I tried to untangle the bird’s nest hanging from his chin, but my attempts only knotted it further. ‘I’m sorry, I think you may need to cut it off.’
‘Is this all a ruse to make me get rid of my beard?’
‘No, not at all,’ I said, arranging my face to look as innocent as I could.
The noise of the car grew louder and soon Harry’s Land Rover came into view, Maggie behind the wheel. Of all the residents at Lowen Farm, Maggie was the one I’d spent the least time with, but I’d immediately warmed to her and was looking forward to getting to know her better.
She jumped down from the Land Rover, her sturdy legs clad in pillar-box red Wellington boots. ‘What in God’s name have you done to yourself?’ she asked, bending down and peering at Seb.
‘Don’t ask.’
‘You’re going to have to get that sorted before the meeting later.’
‘I know.’ Seb groaned and threw his head in his hands.
‘It’s about time you got rid of that thing. It’s like a mangy flea-ridden fox hanging from your chin.’
‘Wow, Maggie, you have such a way with words.’
‘Don’t worry, I can sort it.’ Maggie turned to me. ‘In a former life I was a hairdresser. I’ve been wanting to get my mitts on Seb’s mop for years.’
‘Hey, you’re going nowhere near my hair. My beard could do with a trim, but don’t touch the locks.’
Maggie sighed and put her hands on her ample hips. ‘So, let’s get started, shall we?’ She pulled a can of spray chalk from her bag. ‘I thought we could mark out all the areas where treehouses would go. That way, when the chap from the planning department comes round, he’ll see what we’re talking about.’
‘As long as he understands the structures will be in the trees.’
‘Of course, as they’re called treehouses on the planning application, I think that’s a clue. They might be tricky customers over at the council, but they’re not stupid. Not all of them, anyway.’
I longed to ask how a former hairdresser had come to be an admin assistant slash general dogsbody on a co-living farm, but Maggie was already shaking her can of chalk and it didn’t seem the time to pry into her past.
‘Have you thought about facilities?’ asked Maggie.
‘Yeah, I was thinking we could build a shed to store the kayaks near the jetty.’
Maggie shook her head and tutted. ‘Men. I’m talking about facilities , Seb. You know, washing, toileting, et cetera.’
‘Oh, right. Yes, we thought we could build a block of composting toilets and have cold-water sinks for washing. If people are too soft for that, they could use my outdoor shower, but I wouldn’t be encouraging it. Roughing it would be part of the experience.’
‘Good, I’m pleased you’ve thought it through, as these are the questions the planning officer is likely to ask.’
‘It’s all in here,’ I said, pulling a folder from my bag. ‘We typed everything up as a business plan last night, and there’s a FAQ section at the back.’
‘A woman after my own heart,’ said Maggie, taking the folder and flicking through. ‘I can see you two are going to make a good team.’
After marking out the areas where the treehouses would go, we stopped for a coffee break, carrying our mugs down to the jetty. An idea had been forming in my mind ever since I first heard about the lake project, but it was only after Maggie’s enthusiastic response to my business plan that I had the confidence to speak up.
I waited until we were settled on the jetty, legs swinging above the water, before raising the topic. ‘I’ve been wondering about a fundraiser.’
‘A fundraiser?’
‘Yes. I know we’ll be running this as a business, but there’s a strong community element. We’ll be using part of the profits to fund work with disadvantaged groups, so there’s a charitable angle I think people would be keen to support. We could invite the local press along, and the publicity may catch the eye of potential investors.’
‘It’s not a bad idea,’ said Seb. ‘What kind of fundraiser are you thinking?’
‘I wondered about an event here by the lake. We could have village fete-style stalls, a barbecue, and give people the chance to try out some of the water sports you’re hoping to offer.’
‘Not just a pretty face,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m sure the entire village would be keen to get involved, and Mel down at the school would bring her brass band along whether or not you want her to.’
‘I’ll speak to her about it when I take Bertie to school next week. How about we coincide with the end of term? That should give enough time for planning permission to be approved.’
‘ If planning permission is approved,’ said Seb, twisting his tangled beard between his fingers.
‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ I said, giving him a nudge. ‘It’s a brilliant project with very honourable aims. It will also bring job opportunities to the village and open up the lake as a resource for locals. What’s not to like?’
‘Those planning officers can be tricky customers.’
‘Then it’s just as well we’ve got Liv here to charm them, isn’t it?’ said Maggie. She heaved herself to standing and looked down at Seb. ‘Now, let’s make a detour to your cabin and you can find me a pair of sharp scissors. I can’t stand looking at that flea-ridden carcass on your chin for a moment longer.’