by Emma Davies
Freya screwed up her face. ‘Well that’s no bloody good,’ she wheedled. ‘Can’t you make something up, to make me feel better? Or even not to make me feel better, but to make me see sense instead?’
‘Possibly. But I don’t know you all that well.’
‘You know me well enough. Anyway you have that wise man thing about you, like you’ve got everyone sussed. So, tell me why you think I’m doing this.’
‘Are you sure you really want me to tell you?’
‘Yes, for God’s sake,’ she groaned. ‘Put me out of my misery.’
Amos regarded her for a moment, her dark brown eyes fixed on his, her soft chestnut curls framing an open, heart-shaped face, and then he looked around the room with its warm colours and comfortable furnishings, where so much was home-made and of enormous charm.
‘I think it’s because there’s so much of you in this house Freya, that you’re scared you won’t exist outside it,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ve lived here your whole life and when your mum left it was just you and your dad against the world, and this place, well, it became your fortress if you like. Now that he’s gone, it’s the only thing that ties you to him, and now that the house is threatened as well it’s like you’re threatened too, like you don’t know who you are, or more importantly who you want to be. It’s time to find out Freya that’s all. There’s no madness involved. I think if I’d had this life, this house, I’d do everything I could to keep it too, but if it really has to go then see it as your opportunity to find out what’s important to you; and when you do find out, don’t let go of it. You never know, things might surprise you.’
‘What if I don’t know what I want,’ she whispered, her eyes still locked on his.
‘You will, Freya, you will. Now make the call.’
The agent was prompt, more’s the pity. Stephen Henderson came in first, his arrogant manner slightly subdued by the colourful black eye he was wearing, but that didn’t stop him from gazing around the kitchen with a very annoying grin on his face. Freya shook his hand, desperate to ask about the eye, but promising herself that at least one of them should show some manners.
The agent was the same one who had come to value the property and draw up the details. She’d gone to school with him, which was a little embarrassing but then that happened a lot around here. He took Freya to one side almost as soon as he entered the room.
‘I know you’ll be expecting to show them around Freya, but can I make a suggestion? Actually it wasn’t mine it was Sam’s, but on this occasion I happen to agree. Usually I’m very happy for the vendor to chat to prospective buyers; it can lend a more relaxed air to proceedings and is often helpful when questions are asked. But since both brothers know the property well, it would seem a bit superfluous and I wondered whether you might find it difficult, well, awkward, you know. Sam thought this way might be easier for you.’ He gave a nervous smile, half expecting to be shot down in flames.
Freya hadn’t considered this, but it was a kind thought. She looked at Amos for guidance, who gave a small nod. He wasn’t really listening though to tell the truth; his attention was consumed by the young man who had just walked into the room. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, another piece of his jigsaw falling into place. He’d only ever seen Sam from a distance, but now that he was up close he could see the family resemblance. He had Stephen’s features but more refined, so instead of looking squashed and pudgy he was a very attractive man. He had none of his brother’s stature, but his clothes suited him; he was relaxed in them whereas his brother looked like he was dressing up. The smile he gave Freya in greeting was genuine.
She was blushing and she knew it, sitting down at the table quickly to hide her colour. For some reason an old and deeply inappropriate memory had just popped into her head, of her and Sam, from a time when they had been very good friends. But why today of all days when she hadn’t thought about him that way in years? It was a good thing that she and Amos were to remain sitting at the table because right now, Freya really didn’t think she’d have anything coherent to say. The moment soon passed, however, as Stephen’s voice floated up from the passageway. Ignorant moron, of course it looked like an old fashioned pantry; that’s exactly what it was.
Amos kept up a low babble of conversation the whole time, and she knew it was to prevent her from hearing further snippets of conversation. She was thinking about what he had said though, and how accurate his assessment of her had been. She shouldn’t really be surprised. The more she got to know Amos, the more fascinating she found him, but she hadn’t realised she had been wearing her heart on her sleeve quite as obviously as she had. Their discussion had focused her mind, and as much as she hadn’t wanted to make the decisions that were facing her, they were long overdue, and all the months she had spent deliberating her various options hadn’t brought her any further forward. For some reason that had changed today and she knew that she could no longer hide from what was surely the inevitable. It would take a miracle to save Appleyard but if she had to go she had to go, and now she must fight for a future beyond this house.
Something cut across her thoughts and she suddenly became aware of what Amos was saying.
‘You never mentioned that before.’ Freya laughed. ‘That’s priceless.’
‘Well I can imagine Stephen Henderson gets himself into all sorts of scrapes from what I’ve been hearing, and I don’t suppose it’s the first time he’s had a black eye. I might have expected him to get belted by some chap who bore him a grudge, but I never thought it would be his brother.’
‘Oh I wish I’d been there, I would have paid good money to see that. Good for Sam. I wonder what they were arguing about though.’
‘I was too far away to hear what was actually being said, but whatever it was Sam didn’t like it. I could see they were arguing and then Sam turned as if to leave but instead swung round with an almighty punch. He had Stephen on the floor.’
‘No wonder he looked a little sheepish when he first came in. Oh Amos you’ve made my day.’
‘Ssh, they’re coming back; straight faces back on, no laughing,’ said Amos sternly.
Freya tried to stifle her giggles. She thought of Stephen poking his nose into all her things, and that did the trick, but then reminded herself that it was a necessary evil. She knew she was biased but Appleyard was a handsome house; not huge, but a good size nonetheless, of warm red brick and with a pleasing symmetry. It was hard to think about it objectively, but its welcoming rooms were just what people wanted, according to the estate agent.
By the time they’d all arrived back in the kitchen Freya even managed a welcoming smile. She got up to show them out as they all did the thank-you-for-showing-us-round, we’ll-be-in-touch, routine. Freya didn’t doubt that they would; in a way it hardly mattered what the house was like, Stephen Henderson had been trying to get his hands on their farm for years.
Later that night as Freya lay next to Gareth listening to his rhythmic snoring she found herself thinking about Sam for some unaccountable reason. Four doors down at the other end of the house, Amos lay on the floor, as was his custom, gazing at the stars through the window. He was also thinking about Sam, but for an entirely different reason.
26 Days to go…
The call from the estate agent didn’t come until Friday afternoon, much as Freya had expected. It was all part of the game, and it certainly wouldn’t do for the Hendersons to appear too keen; although Freya imagined that Stephen had found the two-day interval rather trying. Despite his disparaging remarks about her house, she knew it had been on his hit list for years. He’d even had the gall to ask her not long after her dad’s funeral when she was putting it on the market. The fact that it had only taken eight months before she’d been forced to, stuck in her craw, but she reminded herself that it was a means to an end.
She actually laughed out loud when she heard what they were prepared to offer. She had expected it to be low, but fifty thousand pounds below the asking price was
plain ridiculous. Having reminded the estate agent that they had deliberately priced the property competitively to take into account the time of year, she left him in no doubt that his client either needed to be sensible or quite frankly piss off.
‘Do you think they’ll come up?’ asked Amos as she returned to the table.
Freya picked up another length of ribbon and proceeded to twist it expertly into a bow. ‘I think so, although you can never really tell with Stephen. He’s that arrogant he seems to think his money is worth more than anyone else’s.’ She swapped hands, winding wire around the bow to secure it and adding a tail which would fasten it to the wreath. ‘Much might also depend of course on how much influence Sam has. You see the thing with Stephen is that he convinces himself he wants something really badly, but then when he gets it he can’t be bothered. He doesn’t put the effort into their own farm; it’s all down to Sam. Stephen just likes the title of landowner and the ability it gives him to swank about. He’s always been the same, ever since he was little.’
‘So what’s the story with the two brothers then?’
Freya paused for a moment, raising her eyebrows in query. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well I might be mistaken,’ ventured Amos, ‘but you seem to be rather fonder of one than the other. I wondered if there was any reason for that.’
‘Oh there are lots of reasons for that, but none that I’m prepared to go into just now.’
‘Fair enough,’ shrugged Amos with a smile, ‘It was worth a try.’
Freya smiled too. ‘Another time perhaps. Now how many of these blessed things have I got left to do?’
Amos counted up. ‘Thirty seven,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Would another cup of tea help? I’m not sure what else I can do.’
‘Tea would be lovely and you could always peel the veg for tea if you wanted a job. I’m just going to make a chuck-it-all-in vegetable soup, which requires very little effort on my part, but fortunately tastes like I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day.’
‘So what’s the grand plan now?’
‘There’s nothing terribly grand about it,’ started Freya, scratching her nose. ‘I do need to sell, and pretty quickly too, but after that I have a few options. I had another chat with Merry on the phone this morning, and there are a few things I’m exploring with her.’ She looked down at the table. ‘I love doing all this – making things, the decorations, everything really. I think there’s a market for this type of thing, but I need a base to do it from, and once the house has gone, that’s what I don’t have.’
‘Is there no-one else interested in this place?’
‘Nope. Dead as a dodo. I shouldn’t have left it as late as I did putting it on the market, but there you go, one to chalk up to experience.’
‘Understandable, in the circumstances.’
Freya tilted her head to one side. ‘Perhaps. Not everyone sees it that way.’ She laid another wired ribbon on the table. ‘Right I’d better get these finished. It doesn’t take long to fix them to the wreaths, but I’d rather get them all finished today. That way I can get them over to Tom and Merry first thing in the morning.’
‘Well this is cosy.’
Freya looked up at the sound of the voice by the door and tutted audibly. ‘Don’t be such a prat Gareth. I’m sitting here finishing Tom’s decorations off for tomorrow and Amos is reading. We’re not having wild abandoned sex on the rug in front of the fire.’ She looked pointedly at the wall on the clock. ‘Nice of you to let me know you were going to be late.’
‘It’s Friday, I always go down the pub after work on a Friday.’ He pouted.
‘Yes, and you usually let me know. I made soup for tea, which is now stone cold, but there’s still some in the pan if you want to heat it up.’
Gareth had the grace to look a little ashamed at this. ‘Oh. Er, well I ate at the pub, sorry.’
‘My point exactly, so please don’t come in here throwing wild accusations around.’ She glared at Gareth.
Amos could feel Gareth’s eyes on him, and was making ready to excuse himself. He didn’t like confrontations.
‘Anyway I’ve got some news if you’re interested,’ added Gareth, still a little sulky, but with the beginnings of a triumphant gleam in his eyes. ‘I didn’t exactly waste my time while I was down the pub.’
‘I’ll pour some tea,’ said Freya, lifting the teapot from the middle of the table. ‘Sit down.’
Gareth dumped his work bag on a chair and rummaged around in its depths.
‘Well, for starters I got these at lunchtime. Two of them have just been reduced and are real bargains.’ He placed a sheaf of papers on the table and pushed them towards Freya who eyed them warily. When she made no move to pick them up Gareth rifled through them impatiently. ‘This one in particular is a real gem. Very clean and well cared for, but it’s been on the market for a while and the owners have already found a place so are desperate to sell.’
Eventually Freya picked up the property details and scanned through them, returning to the one that Gareth had pointed out and studying it more carefully.
‘But these are all on estates.’
‘I know, they’re brilliant. Full of people the same age as us, with schools and shops nearby, and this one is just around the corner from work. It’s on that new estate just up past the business park.’
‘The gardens look very small.’
‘But you wouldn’t want a big garden would you? Not after this place. And just think, we could move in the New Year; fresh start and all that.’
Freya sighed. ‘But that’s all supposing I can sell this place. That might take a little time.’
Gareth sat back in his chair with a triumphant grin. ‘Ah, but you see that’s the best bit. I got talking to Stephen Henderson in the pub tonight. I did a cracking deal with him. Who needs bloody estate agents, eh?’
‘Go on,’ said Freya in a low tone, her spine stiffening.
‘We got chatting, and he mentioned he’d put in an offer on the place –’
‘Yeah, I bet he did.’
‘Look are you going to let me tell you or what! I felt a bit of a tit to be honest seeing as I didn’t even know he’d been to see the place, or put in an offer.’
Freya remained silent.
‘Anyway, never mind that now. He’s really keen to get this deal under wraps so we had a bit of a chat. I know you turned his offer down flat, and he doesn’t blame you for that, but all he needed was a bit of buttering up. Honestly, Freya, I would have thought you’d realise that. I bought him a few drinks and we chatted a bit more and … what do you think of this … he’s agreed to come up another ten grand on the asking price, and …’ he paused here for effect, leaning in towards Freya with a grin, ‘provided we can get the sale though quick, he’ll give us twenty-five thousand in cash on the side.’
‘No,’ said Freya flatly.
Gareth’s mouth hung open for a moment. ‘What do you mean, no?’ It’s a bloody good deal, only fifteen grand lower than the asking price. We’ll have a wodge of cash in the bank to spend as we like, and can buy a house outright with no mortgage. Think of how much money we’ll have every month not having to fork out on the enormous bills we have here.’
‘I said no, Gareth.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he hissed. ‘Will you get over yourself with that bloody man? I’ve got us a brilliant deal, and you’re being stubborn as shit because you don’t like him. His money’s as good as anyone else’s, Freya, and you’re not going to get another deal.’
Freya’s nostrils flared. ‘Firstly, you don’t know I’m not going to get another deal, and secondly what I do about this place is very much my decision, seeing as this is my house.’
‘Oh well thanks a bunch, that’s bloody gratitude for you. I’m trying to do the best for us and you throw it straight back in my face. At least I’m trying to do something constructive not wallowing in self-pity about this stupid house, which, I might add is a noose around our necks.�
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Amos risked a glance at Freya wondering if there was any opportunity for him to escape before she blew.
‘It’s a noose around my neck Gareth, not yours. And while we’re on the subject let’s just look at everything you’re doing for us. Let’s look at the hours you’ve put into this place, helping me to keep it going. Let’s look at the help you’ve given me with the harvest, or selling my fruit, or even just getting the mistletoe ready for the sales. A big fat zero Gareth, that’s what. I might not be able to stay in this house, but all I was asking for was a bit of support and understanding about how I feel, instead of trying to ship me out to some soulless brick box. This perfect vision you have for our future Gareth is all about you; it’s your dream and you’ve never considered for one moment how I feel, or what I want.’
‘But I’m doing this for you, you stupid cow. I’m trying to save you from yourself if you’d only stop and listen. You’re so bloody blinkered about this place you won’t think beyond the end of your nose. I haven’t put the hours in on this place as you so charmingly put it because I can see it would be flogging a dead horse and only encourage you. I want a future for us Freya, but you’re frittering away everything we have, and if you carry on we’ll lose the best opportunity we’ve ever had too.’
Freya’s hands were clenching and unclenching in her lap. ‘The best opportunity you’ve ever had you mean. You’ve never contributed financially to this place but you’d be very happy for me to sell up and feather your nest with a nice little mortgage-free house. Well played Gareth, well played.’
Gareth snatched back the estate agent’s brochures from the table. ‘So is that what it all comes down to in the end Freya, your money? In my book that’s not what a true partnership is all about.’ He lurched up from the table, his face beetroot. ‘Keep your bloody money. I hope you’ll be very happy.’
‘I will, because it’s not as if you’ve earned any of it. How soon was it after Dad died that you moved in here, eh? It used to be a partnership Gareth but it hasn’t been one for a long time; just up until you thought your grand prize was within reach, in fact. I cook, clean, clear up after you, wash your clothes and generally run around after you each and every day as well as everything else I have to do here, while you go out to work. Not that I see any of the fruits of your labour. What exactly do you contribute to this so-called partnership?’