Chapter 5
‘You sure you don’t want to come down for a drink after work? It’s a long way to Friday, after all.’
Ed, who had returned with the van to collect the planting gang, looked at Gabe and waggled his sandy eyebrows.
‘Honestly, I’m whacked. I don’t have the stamina you lads have. I’m an old man, remember.’
Ed gave a laugh and shook his head, continuing to wheedle in his sing-song accent. ‘Old man my eye! You’re fitter than half the other forestry lads out there.’
‘Wait until you see me tomorrow morning and tell me that. A day up there planting and I feel like I need a hot bath and an early night.’
‘Friday, then. Is that a deal?’ Ed cocked his head in query.
‘It’s a deal.’ Gabe shook Ed’s outstretched hand and headed back to the Land Rover, stopping to pick up a piece of plastic wrapper which was caught on the branch of a gnarled hawthorn bush. Litter really did get everywhere, even up here on the moor three miles from town.
He stood apart from the others and watched as the hills emptied of people, the heaps of empty bags collected up and packed in the back of the trucks. Tired, aching workers were laughing and groaning as they rubbed their backs before heading down to the village where they’d decamp – after a few drinks in the village pub – to their assorted lodgings for the night before it all started again the next day.
The rows of tiny trees sheltered with their little casings dotted the landscape which stretched down the valley towards the peaty water of the river. It was strange to think that twenty years from now the place would be thickly wooded, creatures sheltering beneath the branches and the ecosystem restored. Thank goodness for the owners of the land who’d invested their money in making a difference. He shook his head, smiling to himself, as he cast a final glance around and climbed into the cab of the truck to head back down to the village below.
Twenty years into the future this place would be thick with trees. Twenty years before, the landscape had probably looked much the same. His landscape, though, had looked completely different. On a Monday evening at 4.30pm the Gabe of twenty years before might have been two hours into a board meeting about financial projections for the next quarter, or flying to New York for a conference. He’d have been dressed in an expensive suit and ordering something in for dinner, not brushing mud and pine needles off a pair of work trousers before stopping at the farm shop to grab something from the freezer to sling in the oven.
The wheels of the truck rattled over the cattle grid as he left the moorland track and joined the road that curved down to Applemore, and he took a left and headed up towards the farm shop, crossing his fingers he’d catch it before it closed.
A woman with dark hair tied back in a ponytail was doing something with the sign as he approached the gateway that led to the Applemore Farm Shop and he slowed for a moment, opening his window to try and get a better view. Was she changing the sign to ‘closed’?
‘Am I too late?’ he called out, crossing his fingers in hope.
‘No, the shop’s still open. Go on up,’ she said, turning and giving him a welcoming smile. ‘I’m just putting the new sign up. Or trying to, anyway. Darling, have you got those nails Mummy asked you to hold?’
A cute little girl of about six with a matching ponytail appeared from behind a hedge, proudly brandishing a handful of long metal nails in one hand and a slightly sticky-looking rainbow lollipop festooned with pieces of grass and distinctly muddy in the other. ‘I fell over, but I didn’t drop them,’ she said, proudly.
‘Well done, Kitty,’ said her mother, rolling her eyes in amusement as they exchanged glances. ‘We might need to give that lolly a bit of a clean before you –’
At that moment little Kitty’s tongue darted out and she took an experimental lick of her lollipop. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, looking pleased with herself.
‘Too late.’ He burst out laughing. ‘I’m sure the grass and mud coating give it a whole new flavour.’
‘What’s that old saying about children eating dirt to keep themselves healthy? I suspect this one’s going to be as strong as an ox if that’s the case.’
‘Good luck with the sign,’ Gabe said, giving a wave as he headed up the road towards the farm shop. The verges were neatly trimmed, and he noticed as he drove further into Applemore Estate that the work someone had mentioned when he was in the pub at the weekend was well underway. The massed rhododendron bushes which had lined the drive had been cut and cleared, leaving bare earth and only the stumps which would be ground out and removed. Funny how something that looked so pretty could be such a problem. Now he’d learned about the plant’s invasive nature, he seemed to spot it everywhere – another example of how his outlook had changed since he’d arrived in Applemore. In the old days, he wouldn’t have known an ash tree from an oak.
‘Hi,’ said the tall blonde behind the counter as he walked in. ‘You didn’t happen to see someone down at the gate, did you?’
Gabe took one of the wicker baskets that stood by the door and grabbed a couple of the crusty bread rolls that were left on the display, putting them into a paper bag as he replied. ‘Yes, she’s down there with a little girl – says she’s trying to put the new sign up?’
The blonde woman grinned and gave an affirmative nod. ‘Aha. Yeah, that’s my sister-in-law, Rilla. I told her to wait until I was finished and I’d come and give her a hand, but she insisted. Stubborn as a blooming mule, she is.’
‘I won’t be long. Just need to grab something to eat.’
‘Take as long as you need.’
Passing the shelves full of handicrafts which were strung with tiny fairy lights, he headed up to the back of the shop, his stomach growling again at the prospect of something decent to eat besides the substandard lunch he’d thrown together that morning.
‘You’ve timed that well,’ she called out cheerfully. ‘I’ve just restocked the freezer.’
The shop was a treasure trove of local produce, but right now all Gabe wanted was to grab hold of something he could shove in the oven for half an hour to reheat. He knew exactly what would happen – it would cook while he unknotted his muscles under a scalding hot shower and then collapsed in front of something mindless on Netflix, and he’d fall asleep with Stan curled up on the sofa beside him, half an hour into the programme.
The freezer was stacked to the brim with handmade freezer meals, which were ridiculously expensive but delicious. He snagged a multi-pack of Coke and headed for the till.
‘Good luck with the sign,’ he said as he left.
‘Oh, she’ll have it sorted by the time I get there,’ the woman said, shaking her head in amusement. ‘I’d put money on it.’
Sure enough, when he got back down to the junction there was no sign of the dark-haired woman or the little girl, and the white paint of a brand-new sign was glowing brightly in the gathering dusk.
Half an hour later, a lasagne heating in the oven, he stood under a furnace-hot shower, letting the jets of water pummel all the aches out of his shoulders and back. Village life had taken some getting used to. Six months ago, when he’d arrived, he’d been discomfited to find that the person behind the checkout in the little village store asked where he’d come from or what he was doing, or that a passer-by on a walk might strike up a conversation out of the blue. Now, though, he’d become adjusted to it – so the impromptu chats he’d had up at the farm shop seemed perfectly normal.
He rinsed the citrus scented suds from his eyes, and reached out for the towel that was hanging on the heated rail by the door. It might have been bright and sunshiny earlier, but spring could be deceptive and there was a distinct nip in the air when he’d got back. He towelled himself dry, glad he’d lit the wood-burner which would be warming the sitting room.
The cottage kitchen was a tiny galley, big enough for two people – or one and a dog. Gabe smiled to himself a few moments later as he nudged a hopeful Stan out of the way and pulled open the oven to check on dinner. Only half an hour later did he remember the text from Jacob that had woken him this morning, picking up his phone and scrolling through WhatsApp. Something about the wording of the message had rattled him. He and Jacob had a warm enough relationship – he’d been fourteen when Gabe met his mother, long past the age where he might have been looking for a replacement father figure. The situation at home had made things more difficult. Gabe didn’t blame Jacob one bit for choosing to travel to New Zealand as soon as he finished high school, attending university over there where his father had lived and worked for many years. It seemed a perfectly logical explanation to the outside world, and so no questions were asked or eyebrows raised. When his dad had died suddenly a couple of years later, Jacob had insisted that he was happy and settled where he was. Since then, they’d kept in touch, with Gabe acting as a go-between until the marriage had broken down irretrievably. Now he felt a sense of responsibility for a young man who lived almost as far away as possible, in a time zone which made picking up the phone for a chat a lot more complicated than it might seem.