Chapter 10
MARCH
In the bleak midwinter,
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone
— CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
February slipped into March, and as if to prove a point that winter was still firmly with them, Gemma woke to the sound of a fierce downpour hurling itself against her window. She groaned and pulled the duvet higher, burrowing her head into her pillow.
Her alarm had already gone off twice and the last time she had silenced it with a vicious stab.
So she knew what time it was. Just as she knew that everyone else had been up for a good while already, getting on with their chores while she was still only able to do the bare minimum – hobbling around, unable to stand for any length of time – and so, consequently, not even able to help Willow, or make a start on the garden.
Guilt and apathy, however, were not good bedfellows and she groaned again, throwing back the covers.
By the time she had dressed, the rain had eased slightly, but the air hung thick with it, bleak and cold. And the view nowhere to be seen. She tutted and turned for the door.
The kitchen was empty when Gemma entered, and she gathered mugs from the table, a stray plate and the coffee pot and took them over to the sink to wash.
Then she returned to the table and, using the cupped palm of one hand, swept the crumbs from it into the other and shook them into the sink.
She adjusted her weight from one foot to the other and turned on the tap, just as she had done countless times over the last few days.
Hearing the door close behind her, she turned, expecting to see Willow’s sunny smile. Instead, it was Rowan, shrugging off a dripping jacket and shaking his head like a dog.
‘That’s the third time I’ve been soaked this morning,’ he said. ‘My timing is spectacular. The moment I get to the furthest point away from shelter…’ He motioned a downpour with his hands before taking off his glasses and wiping them on the bottom of his jumper. ‘Can’t bloody see either.’
‘Would you like a coffee?’ asked Gemma. ‘I was about to wash the pot but I can easily make another.’
‘That would be very welcome, thank you. It’s hard work without Leo helping, so I thought I might wait until he’s back.’ He grinned. ‘It’s as good an excuse as any.’
‘Will he be away for long?’ she asked lightly. She hadn’t seen him since their ‘discussion’.
‘Tomorrow, I think,’ replied Rowan. ‘He’s on-site with another customer for a few days, preparing a quote.’
‘So his business is doing well then?’
Rowan sat down at the table. ‘At long last, it seems to be. I thought we were pretty visionary, but the difference between us is that we only have ideas. Leo is the one who makes them happen.’
Gemma turned away, busying herself with the kettle and a mug. It seemed odd to hear people talk about Leo in this way. Odd, and distinctly unsettling. Being in a supportive role had never been his strong point in the past.
Some minutes later, when Rowan had drained the last of his coffee and Gemma had pretended to tidy up some more, he stretched as if his limbs had been curled into a tight ball for days.
‘Ah, that’s better. Right…’ He paused, and Gemma could feel the weight of an unspoken question. She held out her hand for his mug, but he pulled it back from her at the last moment. ‘Would you like to make some bread? You deserve to be doing something more exciting than clearing away our mess.’
‘Yes, if it helps.’
‘Or if you’d like to make it,’ countered Rowan.
She smiled, by now used to having her comments ‘adjusted’ by Rowan’s good-natured teasing.
‘I know, I just don’t feel like I’m being much use at the moment,’ she replied.
‘And yet we all appreciate the fact that the dishes are always clean and that we don’t have to clear a pile of debris from the table whenever we want to use it.’
Gemma dipped her head in acknowledgement.
‘So how’s your research into the farm going?’
‘Slowly,’ she replied. ‘Although Ashley has offered to help, so I’m hoping that will speed things up considerably.’
‘She’s the one you met at Vicky’s tearoom?’
‘That’s right. It was her grandma who put me on to the county archive to help with the search. She runs a local history club at the library. But let’s just say, I prefer dealing with Ashley.’
In fact, having the promised coffee with her a couple of days ago was the first time Gemma seemed to have laughed in days. And she was due to meet her again later.
Rowan’s eyes crinkled. ‘I’ve heard Merryn can be a bit of a tyrant.
She’s the village matriarch and takes her position very seriously.
It would be nice if you found something, though.
I like a bit of heritage, and a nod to it would help with the naysayers who don’t approve of what we’re doing here. ’
Gemma was puzzled. ‘How can they not approve?’
‘I like to think it’s because they don’t know us well enough yet to appreciate what our intentions are for this place.
I can understand them being naturally wary of incomers who buy places to use as holiday homes, people who don’t contribute to the local community, but that’s not us.
This is our home, and we plan on being here a long time.
I guess it’s just going to take time to prove ourselves.
’ He smiled. ‘A bit like a good loaf. A good prove makes all the difference.’
Gemma caught the twinkle in his eye. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.’
Rowan groaned. ‘That’s terrible…’
Gemma regarded him for a moment. ‘Not everyone seems to think that way. Vicky was very complimentary about you.’
‘Maybe that’s because she’s a little younger and not so concerned with tradition. Plus, she’s an incomer too, and an all-round good egg to boot.’ He rubbed his eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we’d better get on before the baking puns get out of hand.’
Gemma grinned. ‘I can’t remember the last time I made bread, but it was probably over twenty years ago. I think I might be a tad rusty.’
Rowan nodded. ‘You’ll get the hang of it again, no problem.
I was really nervous when I first started making it.
I think I’d been led to believe that there was some arcane mystery to it all, when really it’s just like most things and practice is what counts.
’ He crossed to one of the cupboards and took down a bag of flour.
‘I think that’s what put me off,’ replied Gemma. ‘That and the amount of time it took. I really like fresh bread, but, dare I say it, making it always seems like the most enormous faff.’
She took in Rowan’s expression. ‘What?’ She laughed. ‘It’s true!’ She thought back to all the things she used to do with Leo. Every Saturday, Sunday mornings… ‘I was married, working full-time. There wasn’t enough time in the week, and weekends were sacrosanct…’
‘It’s okay, I’m only teasing,’ said Rowan.
‘It was just the same for us. When Willow and I were teaching, making bread got relegated to high days and holidays, along with everything else. Evenings, we were too tired. Weekends, we were catching up on marking. I know how it is. We had all these things we wanted to do and no real time to do them. It’s one of the reasons why we decided to buy this place. To stop dreaming and start doing.’
Gemma smiled. ‘I admit I’ve never dreamed about making bread. You must be wired differently from me.’
Rowan looked at the bag of flour in his hand.
‘Can I let you into a secret?’ he asked.
‘For the first few months after we moved here, it was exactly the same. There was so much to be done – there still is, but back then it was utterly overwhelming – and we began to resent all the “jobs” we had to do, all the things which were keeping us from living the “good life”, the kind of life we’d dreamed about before we arrived.
And we soon realised that it was looking scarily as if all we’d done was swap one prison for another. ’
‘So what changed? It doesn’t seem that way now.’
Rowan tapped his head. ‘We realised that we needed to think about things differently. To tweak the mindset we’d always had – one which saw chores and fun stuff as two separate things.
’ He pursed his lips in amusement. ‘Bear with me – this is where it gets a bit preachy… Because until we realised that those jobs, along with everything else we do here, were part of the new life we wanted, nothing was going to change. It’s a big adjustment, and it takes a bit of practice, but if we resist dividing our tasks into either work or leisure then everything becomes part and parcel of our daily life.
We don’t have to rush through anything, because every day is filled with things we want to do. ’
Gemma gave him a sideways look. ‘Okay… But I still think you’re kidding yourself a little. You might not work in an office, but you have jobs just the same. You don’t read during the day and Willow doesn’t knit either. You leave those things to the evening, until after you’re done working.’
‘But only because those are things we naturally do when our energy is low, or when the light has gone. I’ve come inside to make bread this morning because I’ve had enough of standing in the rain.
But I don’t feel guilty about it. I don’t especially relish cleaning the henhouse out either, but the reward for looking after our ladies is fresh eggs, so it’s something I willingly do. Willow can’t make cakes without them.’
‘So everything is fun then, is it?’ As far as Gemma was concerned, standing in the chicken run in the pouring rain, covered in poo, would never be fun.