Hannah tried to ignore the hurt that flattened her joy. He was busy. Focused on making the festival a success. Or keeping his distance because he knew she was leaving. Thought she was leaving for good.
‘Grey? Can we chat? I have news.’
Grey waved at Sylvia who was in the farm shop setting out the freshly made scones for those who’d want a cream tea. ‘Can we chat later? After the festival? When there’s more time to talk?’
Her shoulders inched down as relief washed through her. He wasn’t distancing himself from her; he was in work mode. They’d chat later and everything would be okay. He’d be thrilled. Her family would have an extra pair of hands on the farm. Life would be as it always should’ve been.
Giddiness tap-danced in her stomach at the thought. She glanced up at the cloudless, blue sky. It seemed brighter than usual. Just as the sparrows chirping seemed even more cheerful. And she was sure the oxeye daisies that lined the farm’s drive were nodding their approval in the slight breeze, proud that the girl who’d raced past them so long ago had chosen to return. For good.
A ladder was leaned up against a tree, ready for the banner she’d painted to be strung up on it and then tied to the tree opposite. Her stomach sunk a little. She’d thought she’d been up early enough get a head start. To do right by her family by being as helpful as possible. Obviously not.
She mustered a smile, and tried not to take the ladder as a silent slight. ‘After the festival is fine. I’ll head to the fields and put away the last of the row covers.’
‘No need.’ Grey shook his head. ‘Peter texted me before I saw you. He’s sorted it.’
‘He has?’ Hannah pressed her lips together. ‘That’s great. One less job for me to do, I guess.’
‘Absolutely.’ He nodded, too busy staring out over the paddocks to notice the hurt that flashed through her eyes. ‘I’ll grab the sign from the shed, find your dad and we’ll string it up. Then I’ll get started on setting up tables and buckets for the pick-your-own.’
‘And I’ll start checking the barbeques are working before the Lions [HN49]Club get here.’
‘Your mum’s apparently all over that.’ Grey scratched his stubble-shadowed jaw in thought. ‘Actually, if you could pop back into the shop and ask your gran for the scales for the pick-your-own, that’d be great.’
Before she could agree, or decline, or ask Grey who died and made him boss, he was gone. Determined strides sending him the way of the shed.
‘So much for needing me to help with the festival,’ she muttered to herself as she turned tail and made her way towards the shop. ‘Did someone say “spare wheel”?’
She pushed open the back door and was greeted by furnace-hot heat and the comforting, sweet scent of freshly baked scones. An aroma that would usually soothe her, but today only heightened the inadequacy that was tightening her nerves with every passing minute.
‘Gran? Grey sent me to get the scales.’ Hannah poked her head around the door into the shop and watched as Sylvia piled more scones onto another tray and placed them into the counter, which was nearing full.
Poor Gran, she must’ve been baking for hours.
The thought thickened the disquiet that had settled upon Hannah. Why hadn’t her grandmother asked her for help? Got her up out of bed? She could’ve helped. The lack of sleep wouldn’t have bothered her.
‘Morning, sweet pea. Sleep well?’ Sylvia set the tongs she was holding down, left the counter and bustled towards Hannah. ‘We didn’t want to wake you up, what with last night being a late one and you heading off today. Travelling when tired is never a good idea.’
Hannah waited for their customary morning hug and kiss on the cheek, but what came was nothing but a quick breeze as her grandmother rushed by her into the kitchen, opened the oven door and pulled out another batch of scones.
Why hadn’t she asked Hannah to get them out of the oven for her? She was right here. Completely capable of pulling food out of an oven. Not entirely useless.
‘The scales are in the cupboard, dear. Just to the right. Take both. The workers on the tables will need them. She’s going to be a busy one today, I can feel it.’
Hannah bent down, pulled out the scales, then straightened up. ‘Can I help with anything, Gran?’
Sylvia’s back was turned to her as she began measuring ingredients for yet another batch.
‘No, dear. I’m fine. Get the scales to Grey. There’s a good girl.’
‘Okay then.’ Hannah set her jaw, and tried to ignore the nagging feeling that she wasn’t needed, not anymore, and made her way back outside.
The sun that had seemed too bright minutes ago now appeared dull. The daisies were no longer nodding happily along with her; if anything it felt like they were nodding at her in an ‘I told you so’ fashion. And if a sparrow’s chirp could mock, she was pretty sure those in the trees nearest were having a field day.
Get a grip, Hannah, she cautioned herself. She was being ridiculous, thinking that sparrows could mock and daisies could warn. Her family were just doing what they always did. They were getting on with things. They’d have something that was more than fetching scales for her to do. They wouldn’t ignore her worth completely. Not after last night. Not after all the time she’d spent working on the farm these past few weeks.
She glanced up to see her father moving in her direction. His face unreadable, his pace purposeful.
‘Hannah, great, you’re here. Get the scales to Grey would you? He and I are going to put the banner up, then we’ll be directing the food trucks to their places in between setting up water stations around the farm.’
Hannah saw a chance to help and leaped at it. ‘I can set up the stations. Just point me in the vague direction of where you want them and consider it done.’
Duncan dismissed her offer away with a brusque wave of his hand. ‘No, you’re fine. We’ve got it under control.’
Before she could object to his dismissal he was gone.
Hannah let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping as the last vestiges of positivity disappeared altogether.
She was no longer needed. No longer wanted. She was officially, it seemed, out of a job. Well, not quite. She huddled the scales closer to her and traipsed off towards Grey, who was efficiently opening out trestle tables and flipping them the right way up.
‘Scales, as promised.’
Her voice was overly bright and brittle, so much so even Grey in busy mode noticed.
‘You right there, Han?’ A small frown appeared on his face as he took the scales from her, set them on the ground, then shook out a plastic tablecloth and spread it out over the table. ‘If you need a break you could always pop inside and have a cup of tea?’
‘I’m fine. Just…’ Just beginning to feel like there’s no place for me here, after all. That I’m not needed. That I’d just be getting in the way if I came back. ‘Just nothing.’ There was no point voicing her concerns, especially not so early in the day. There’d be something for her to do soon enough, and if no one asked her to help she’d just find something to help with. ‘Give me a yell if you need me, okay?’
‘Roger that.’ Grey raised two fingers in a military-style salute, then swivelled on his heel and went back to setting up the weighing and paying tables.
Hannah wandered into the house. She could hear the faint sound of music and followed it into the kitchen, where her mother was seated at the table, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea, the other flicking over the trackpad of her laptop, her head all but buried in its screen.
‘Want me to get your reading glasses, Mum?’ Hannah grinned as her mother’s face screwed up.
‘No thanks. Horrid things that they are. I’d rather almost kiss the screen.’
Hannah pulled out the chair opposite her mother and sank into it. ‘You know how ridiculous you look doing it, right?’
‘I do and I don’t care.’ Jill shut the laptop, cupped her chin in her hand and smiled at her daughter. ‘It’s a hive of activity
today, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently so.’ Hannah shrugged. ‘It seems everything is well under control.’
‘Indeed it is, thanks to you saving the day yesterday with that brilliant idea of yours. If you’d not done that we’d all be sitting here twiddling our thumbs.’
‘It was kind of like old times, wasn’t it? Us all working together?’ Hannah asked the question cautiously. Testing the waters to see if she would be welcome back. If there was a place not just in Grey’s heart but in her home.
‘Kind of. I wasn’t pulling my full weight but I’m feeling so much better now that it can be all hands on deck once again.’ Jill sprung out of her chair as if to prove her point. ‘Which reminds me, I need to make coffee for the menfolk. They must be getting thirsty out there.’
‘I can make the coffee.’ Hannah stood, but didn’t beat Jill to the bench.
‘No, no. You relax. You’ve earned it. Besides, I’m sure you’ll have much to do when you head home so there’s no point in you wearing yourself out here.’
Once again she was flapped away. Left to her own devices. And under no illusions that her family needed her on the farm. Not anymore. If anything she had the feeling they were excited for her to go back to London, for life to return to normal.
Hannah left the room and trudged up the staircase. If she wasn’t needed she may as well pack her bags and get things ready for the departure they were so keen for her to make.
She heaved her suitcase onto her bed, opened it and stared at its hard turquoise interior. Her hands hung at her sides like they didn’t want to pack. Didn’t want her to take the first step to leaving. But she had to. She had responsibilities. She had loose ends in London that needed to be tied up.
It was the place she was needed. Where she was wanted.
Unlike here.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t squeeze the hopelessness from her heart.
One short hour ago she’d been so sure of her place, of what she wanted, what she needed – she wanted to be here, wanted to work with her family. With Grey. Now? She suspected if they could teleport her back to her old life they would. Now that the festival was organised and her mother was up and about, they no longer had any use for her.
She tipped her head back in a stretch, rolled it to the left, to the right, then to the centre and opened her eyes. Fresh determination rose from a reservoir she’d cultivated over the years, making it possible for her to work long hours, to run on little sleep, to keep going in the face of rejection.
Today wasn’t over. There was still time for her to prove once and for all to her family, to herself, that she belonged on Strawberry Farm.
Once they’d seen that, she could head back to London and fix things at her end, then return to her family with open arms. On both sides.
She slung her clothing into the case, closed it and took it down to the front door, ready to be thrown in the car once the festivities were over. With a deep breath and a mental ‘you’ve got this’ Hannah opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine once more and blinked. Blinked again. Once more for good measure, and to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
In the half hour she’d been inside the farm had transformed into the festival she’d spent the past three weeks organising.
Her dream made reality.
A sign, she decided. Proof from the universe that there was a place for her. This was no dinky event with a few homemade goods to buy; this was a proper event. All because of her.
The open area next to the house, adjacent to the fields was lined with food trucks. The mix of sweet and savoury aromas in the air causing her stomach to grumble, reminding her she’d not eaten that morning. She followed her nose to a barbeque manned by members of the Lions Club. Sizzling on the hot plate was a line of crispy bacon, destined to be made into butties.
‘They taste even better than they smell.’ An older gent, about her grandfather’s age, wearing a neon-green vest emblazoned with their emblem smiled at her. ‘Would you like one?’
Her stomach gurgled its answer. ‘Er, yes please.’ She fished out some money from her pocket and handed it over.
‘There we go.’ The man handed over the butty, dripping with butter and brown sauce. ‘That’ll satisfy that talking tummy of yours.’
Hannah nodded her thanks as she took a bite, not caring that the bacon was hot enough to burn the roof of her mouth. It was too delicious and she was too hungry.
She turned around and surveyed the area, tried to find a spot where she could lend a hand. The tables were now all set up. The band were in the middle of a sound check – nothing she could help with. In the distance the sign she’d painted fluttered with each small puff of wind, ready to greet the droves – some of who were already gathering, small crowds of people waiting for the go-ahead to enter.
Maybe that was where she could step in? Greet them, be a friendly face, organise them into a line…
She finished her butty and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth and chin, wiping away any juice that may have dribbled down and began to walk towards them. Finally, she could be of help. Give her family a hand. Be part of the event. She didn’t need to find a smile for the farm’s visitors; one was already on her face thanks to having a role to play.
The skip in her step faltered as her grandfather appeared out of nowhere and started welcoming people – shaking hands and clapping them on the back. Seconds later they fell into the line she’d intended on creating.
Were her family trying to drive her away? Did they have eyes on her and every time she looked ready to jump in was it their plan to intercept and interrupt?
She saw Grey heading towards her grandfather to help. Maybe he could offer some insight? He wouldn’t lie to her if there was some family conspiracy to keep her helping hands at bay. At least she didn’t think he would. She knew he harboured a deep loyalty and love towards her family, but surely it wouldn’t trump the feelings that had reignited between them?
‘Grey.’ She ran towards him and snaked her arm through his before he had a chance to make an excuse and escape. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Going on?’ He shook her off and made to keep moving. ‘I’ve got to go help Peter.’
She reached out once more and clasped his wrist. ‘Something’s going on. No one will let me help. Not even you. Do I have a “do not disturb” sign on my forehead? Or is “useless” stamped on there in capital letters? Because that’s how I’m feeling right now. Like I’m too useless to be bothered with.’
Grey reached over and gently disengaged her hand from his wrist. ‘You’re imagining it, Hannah. Now, go enjoy the festival. I’ll catch up with you when I’ve finished. We can have that chat you talked about.’
Before she could protest Grey was weaving his way in and out of huddles of people, leaving her alone with her fears, her worries, her past.
‘You’re imagining it, Hannah.’
Sorrow clutched at her heart as she made her way towards the strawberry fields. Nothing had changed in the three weeks she’d been home. Grey still didn’t want to listen to her. Her input on the farm wasn’t wanted. A few healing conversations hadn’t made one iota of difference.
Even if she wanted to come home, to live the life she was born to with her family, with Grey, there would be no point.
She was surplus to requirements.
Which was entirely different from not being loved. Her family loved her. She knew that – felt it – deep down in her gut. Her mother and grandmother fearlessly, fully. Her grandfather and father quietly, deeply. Grey? Grey she was too afraid to speak on, to think about, for fear the answer would add another fissure to her heart. Little lines that were trailing out, splitting off, more and more with every passing second. With every little rejection.
‘Mummy? Muuuuuummy!’
A plaintive, hinting on panicked, voice pulled Hannah out of her spiralling circle of thoughts and feelings. She glanced over and saw a young boy, who looked to be around two ye
ars old, all red, damp cheeks and wide, scared eyes searching for her mother.
‘Maaamaaaaaa.’
Hannah hopped over two rows of strawberries and went into a crouch in front of the little boy. ‘Hey? Are you okay?’ She wrapped her hand around a chubby fist that was holding a small kids’-sized bucket of strawberries. ‘Are you looking for your mum? Shall we find her together?’
The tears stopped streaming and were replaced with distrustful fear.
‘I’m not a stranger. Not really. This is my farm. Promise.’ Hannah shook the little boy’s hand and ignored how good it felt deep in her heart to say ‘my farm’. This moment wasn’t about her. There was a little boy in need and she was going to help him. Going to be of some use to somebody.
‘Thomas. There you are, you little rascal. What did I say about sticking close by?’
Hannah glanced up to see a harried-looking woman with a tiny baby strapped to her chest, a small toddler of around two in one hand, and a large bag brimming with water bottles and changes of clothes and nappies in the other.
‘I was so worried. Don’t you leave my sight again.’
The little boy’s bottom lip wobbled and Hannah gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, while her heart went out to the woman who’d obviously had quite the scare when she’d realised her son wasn’t with her.
‘Look at that, Thomas, your mum’s found you. Safe and sound, you are.’ She released his hand and watched as he ran up to her, wrapped his arms around her thighs and buried his head against her hip. ‘Can I give you a hand?’ Hannah waggled her two free hands back and forth. ‘I’ve got a spare pair going free?’
The woman offered Hannah a tight smile. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
Without another word she turned away and carted her family down the row back towards the line-up of people.
Hannah placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. Great. Another rejection.
She really wasn’t needed here, and it seemed the universe was doing everything in its power to prove it to her.
Sunrise at Strawberry Farm: As delightfully delicious as strawberries and cream, this is the perfect summer romance to read in 2020. Page 18