Escape to the Country

by Sherlock, Alison

Tom was well aware that he had become the focus of Rackelle’s clamber up the fame list. And he wanted nothing to do with it. So he was polite but kept her at arm’s length.

  Thankfully, she was beginning to drive everyone mad and was rumoured, by Mick, to be leaving shortly.

  However, even Rose’s easy temperament was being tested.

  ‘Do you have gluten-free bread?’ Tom heard Rackelle ask one morning.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Rose, in a firm tone. ‘This is Willow Tree Hall, dear. Not Soho.’

  So once Annie had shown him the private space that she had set up in the woods, Tom found that he was looking forward to spending each evening alone. Or, preferably, with Eleanor.

  The setting sun could be seen through the leafy branches of the trees all around, birdsong filling the air. Butterflies fluttered along the riverbanks. A kingfisher looking for minnows darted across the water. A soft breeze tried to cool the temperature.

  Once Dylan had completed his search of the river for sticks, he would collapse to sleep at the bottom of his favourite tree nearby. And Eleanor would be scribbling down notes about a new ingredient or bringing out some ribbons that she used to decorate her soaps to try out various bows. Tom was touched that she was using the ones from his gran’s sewing box.

  Tom would spend the evening writing his songs, scribbling lyrics on a notepad. The words were coming thick and fast now. He could barely keep up with them.

  And when they weren’t working, they were talking. In the relaxed privacy of their special place, Eleanor finally began to open up about her dad. How he had left her mum for some twenty-one-year-old actress. And then a model.

  ‘He’s had a revolving door of relationships ever since,’ she told him one evening. ‘You know how fickle celebrities can be.’

  As the silence stretched out, she glanced up at Tom who was smiling at her.

  ‘Not you, I didn’t mean you,’ she blustered.

  His smile grew wider.

  ‘I was just talking about my dad,’ she said, beginning to look frantic.

  ‘You’re okay,’ he told her. ‘I was just having you on.’

  She lobbed a ribbon at him before she relaxed and giggled.

  In turn, he told her about growing up in foster homes. About sleeping rough and about his gran. He thought how much she would have liked Eleanor. Hopefully approved of her.

  As the evening dusk came and the owls hooted in the trees, it became even more magical in their private idyll.

  One night, Eleanor had brought a couple of cold bottles of lager with her for them to enjoy.

  After watching her struggle to undo the screw top, Tom took the bottle from her and easily opened it.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, as he handed it back to her. ‘You’re my hero.’

  He shook his head. ‘I think we have to be our own heroes in this life.’ He stared into her soft green eyes. ‘But it helps to have friends too.’

  ‘Is that what we are?’ she asked, her voice suddenly soft. ‘Just friends?’

  He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward. ‘Good friends,’ he told her.

  And then he reached out to stroke her cheek. Her skin was so smooth and her lips were so tempting that he couldn’t stop himself. So he leaned all the way in and kissed her. It was as good as it had been the first time.

  When they finally drew apart, she smiled and told him, ‘I don’t normally kiss my friends like that.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve never had a friend like me before,’ he replied, leaning in once more.

  But the sound of someone approaching made them both draw apart. Arthur and Mick appeared along the path.

  ‘I was just showing Mick here our favourite fishing spot,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Great,’ said Tom, taking a step away from her.

  ‘Super,’ said Eleanor, trying to look as casual as possible.

  Mick flashed them a wicked grin as if he had correctly guessed what had just been interrupted.

  As Arthur and Mick walked to the water’s edge, with Dylan suddenly waking up to show them the way, Tom grabbed Eleanor’s hand.

  He pulled her close to whisper in her ear, ‘One of these days, there won’t be an audience or any interruption when I kiss you.’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘And then what?’ she asked, with a soft smile.

  He didn’t need to reply but merely squeezed her hand before joining the others by the river.

  Chapter 49

  With her mum spending nearly every evening with Ben as a cosy twosome, and with no more animals to look after at The Forge, Eleanor ended up having dinner most evenings with the family at Willow Tree Hall.

  Now that Rackelle had left, Tom found that he could relax once more.

  And the conversation was always interesting, he found.

  Especially when Tom told Sam in front of everyone that he wanted to give up touring for a few years. ‘I’m tired,’ he said, when asked for a reason. ‘I got swept up in it all at the beginning but now I just want to write.’ He glanced across at Eleanor. ‘And to have a bit of peace.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sam, slowly. ‘So what will you do instead?’

  ‘I thought I might try out country living for a while,’ said Tom, locking eyes with Eleanor from the other end of the table.

  It had recently occurred to him that he didn’t need to leave. Didn’t want to leave. That he had enough money to buy somewhere local and perhaps make Cranley his home. It was good for Dylan, good for his song writing. But most of all, it meant that he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Eleanor.

  She finally looked away, blushing but seeming pleased at what he had said.

  Mick leant back in his chair. ‘I hear you,’ he said, nodding in agreement. ‘Do you know what’s the worst part of being me?’

  ‘I should imagine it’s your liver,’ drawled Alex who had also invited himself to stay on for a few more weeks.

  ‘Very funny, mate,’ said Mick. ‘Nah, it’s the weight of expectation. You know, the same old records. We created the band because we wanted girls to like us. Then we wrote our music to get laid to.’

  ‘Well, that worked,’ drawled Alex.

  Howard nodded. ‘There are many children that are only in this world because of us.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Tom.

  ‘We grew up,’ said Mick.

  ‘Grew old, more like,’ added Howard.

  Mick shrugged his shoulders. ‘So I don’t want to miss a decent night’s sleep these days. What’s wrong with that at my age? I’m no longer so stressed and bothered by stuff but it would be nice to have one last great album to look back on and think, yeah, that was good.’

  ‘So are you getting a good feeling about the next one?’ asked Sam.

  Mick shook his head as he reached for another beer. ‘What do you think?’

  Sam had the good manners not to reply.

  Mick shook his head. ‘I dunno. It’s the same old thing, year in, year out. Cut a record, which, to be honest, are the same old rock songs. Then we hit Christmas with that stupid tune.’

  ‘You mean the same stupid tune that helps pay the mortgage on your large house and lets you keep a Bentley,’ said Sam.

  Mick shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s nothing new. Everything’s the same, over and over.’

  Sam looked at him. ‘You’re really upset, aren’t you?’

  ‘I dunno.’ He broke into a grin. ‘Maybe I just need a shag.’

  Everyone around the table knew that he was only half-joking.

  To break up the gloom of the band, someone had the idea to bring out Arthur’s beloved record player. It turned out to be a good idea and they all began reminiscing about the first records they had ever bought.

  ‘What’s next?’ asked Mick who had carried out a pile of the vinyl LPs outside.

  So far they had listened, sometimes briefly, to both jazz and classical music. Tom had thought that the band would throw the music out as soon as they heard it, but they t
urned out to have quite eclectic tastes and all seemed to be actually enjoying the different tunes.

  Sam lined up the next album and placed the needle onto the vinyl. After the initial crackle, the horns blasted out the first bars of a song. Then ‘You Make Me Feel So Young’ came on.

  ‘Ah,’ came the collective sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Class act, Frank Sinatra,’ said Ron, the guitarist.

  They all hummed along. Tom found it slightly surreal that this long-haired band of old rockers would enjoy the Songs for Swinging Lovers album. But they let Sam play it all the way through, happy to relax and listen to Frank’s smooth voice.

  There was a long silence when the first side had finished playing, the final bars of ‘Our Love Is Here To Stay’ fading out to be replaced with the late evening birdsong of a blackbird.

  ‘Now that’s proper music,’ said Mick eventually, as the sun set and the last remaining light began to dwindle.

  ‘Been years since I listened to that album,’ said Howard, lighting a cigarette on the citronella candle that Annie had placed on the table. ‘The arrangements were so sweet. Absolutely spot on.’

  For a while they all sat in quiet contemplation until Sam spoke. ‘Anyone up for a trip to the studio? We can see what today’s songs sound like.’

  ‘I can tell you what they sound like, if you really want to know,’ said Ron, with a grimace. ‘But we’ve got company, so I’ll keep it polite.’

  ‘Come on,’ urged Sam. ‘Maybe you’ll feel better after a break.’

  Eleanor said goodnight at that point to head home so Tom went along with the band. However, he could feel their brief good mood disappearing as they sauntered along to the studio. Nobody’s heart was really in it.

  ‘I don’t want to listen to our stuff,’ said Mick, opening the main door. ‘It’ll break my good vibe.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Howard, putting out his cigarette before heading indoors.

  Whilst Sam ignored them and set up the day’s recording on the computer system, Mick wandered into the main studio.

  Jeff the keyboard player was still humming one of the Frank Sinatra songs to himself. He sat down at the piano in the studio and plucked out the song on the keys.

  Mick began to softly sing along. Away from the shouting bawl of his usual songs, his voice was quite lyrical.

  Howard wandered in, sat down and began to tap out the beat on the drums.

  Ron followed him, picked up his guitar which had been abandoned earlier on and started to strum.

  They carried on the tune in their amateur fashion until the very end when they came to an abrupt halt and, as one, stared at Sam.

  Tom looked at them through the glass, their grins wider than he had seen in a long time.

  Then he turned to face Sam. ‘Let’s have a mess around, shall we?’ said their manager.

  A few hours later, Tom was seriously impressed.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tom, shooting a grin at the band. ‘You lot can actually sing.’

  ‘Age and experience, mate,’ said Mick, raising a bottle of beer to him.

  ‘So what are your plans?’ asked Tom. ‘A Christmas album?’

  ‘Nah, Michael Bublé’s been there, done that.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Sam. ‘You guys have got to make it your own. But it’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘What about your own tunes, mate?’ asked Mick.

  Tom nodded. His own album was slowly coming together. He had given it the tentative title of By The River At Dusk. The title track had been penned over the previous few evenings. ‘By the river where we fell in love, under the darkening skies,’ it began.

  He knew in his heart that he was writing a love letter to Eleanor.

  He just hoped she would want to listen to it.

  Chapter 50

  The day before the fete, Eleanor was busy in her workshop when her friends arrived.

  ‘You okay?’ asked Annie. ‘You look a little flushed. Mind you, it’s so warm in here.’

  ‘That’s nothing to do with the heatwave,’ Megan told her. ‘And everything to do with our singer.’

  Eleanor broke into a sunny smile. ‘You mean Mick? I hardly think so.’

  ‘You seem very smiley today,’ said Megan.

  ‘I’m just happy that we’re all together again,’ declared Eleanor, grinning.

  She couldn’t stop smiling, she found. Tom and his kisses had knocked her world off its axis and she had never felt better.

  Megan shot her a look. ‘Did you open the gin already?’ But her warm smile belied her bitchy tone.

  ‘If there’s any alcohol to be had, I’ll be at the front of the queue,’ said Annie. ‘My to-do list is up to twelve pages long and the fete is tomorrow. You’re ready though, aren’t you?’

  Eleanor looked around the workshop and nodded. ‘I think so.’

  The whole place was bursting at the seams, full with so many products that she was also using the next stable along to store them.

  One of her favourite things was her soaps, which she had thought of naming after the people of Willow Tree Hall.

  So Rose’s soap had been decorated with edible gold dust for shimmer. Just like Rose. Annie’s soap had daisies dotted across the top. Megan’s was topped with a sprig of lavender. Arthur’s soap was for men and made with sandalwood oil that she had bought. There was even a soap named Bert, which was carrot-flavoured.

  The only person she hadn’t been able to think of a soap flavour for was for Tom. To her, he was the river, the fields and the woods combined. Too many ingredients for to mix together.

  So she had told herself that he would want to keep his privacy and probably wouldn’t want to have a soap named for him anyway.

  ‘So you’re all ready. Great,’ said Annie, ticking off something on her list. ‘You can help me with setting up some shade for all the families to sit under.’

  ‘Assuming the weather holds,’ whispered Megan.

  Annie looked frantic. ‘Oh god! Do you think it will rain?’

  Megan sighed. ‘I was joking. Take a chill pill, yeah? It’ll be fine.’

  ‘But we’ll need some chairs for some of the older visitors,’ carried on Annie, looking down her list.

  ‘Why don’t we put the word out for everyone to bring their own picnic rugs and chairs, if needed,’ said Megan. ‘Leave it to me.’

  ‘So umbrellas and rugs,’ said Annie, still reading from her list. ‘Portaloos and wet wipes. Do you see where I’m going?’

  ‘You mean, apart from insane?’ said Megan, rolling her eyes. ‘Quick, find her some lavender to sniff.’

  Eleanor was still smiling as she grabbed her phone to read the text she’d just been sent. It was a photo of her mum standing in the changing room of a clothes shop, showing her a pair of shorts she wanted to buy.

  They’re great, she replied. Definitely buy them!

  It was lovely to watch her mum getting her confidence back after so many years. But better still, after a few weeks of him asking, June had agreed to go away for a week’s holiday with Ben, hence the last-minute clothes shop. They had both been beaming as they had told her all about their trip to Italy. They were so comfortable with each other after so many years of close friendship that their relationship was able to move along quite quickly now that there was romance involved.

  Eleanor had already bought up all the cushions, tablecloths and pretty napkins that her mum had made out of material that she had found in the charity shops or been donated by friends.

  If anything, it was Eleanor that was feeling the nerves about the fete. If the stall did well then her whole future could change. It could be a brand new start. A new business and career for her to try.

  If anyone bought anything, that was. She still wasn’t sure.

  But she hid her nerves in front of Annie who was still stressing out on the morning of the fete.

  ‘Brown grass wasn’t quite the look I was going for,’ said Annie, with a grimace as she stared out of her bedroom window
.

  ‘Personally, I think it’s better that the ground is hard and dry,’ said Eleanor, who was standing next to her. ‘No mud.’

  Annie nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Of course she is,’ said Megan. ‘Don’t fret.’

  Annie turned away to glance at her scrawled notes. ‘So do you think we’re pretty much ready for everything?’

  She gestured at the marquees and gazebos that had been erected to keep out any rain. Luckily the forecasters had pushed back the bad weather for another twenty-four hours or so and were predicting a warm and sunny day.

  ‘If I forget to say later, thank you for all your help with today,’ said Annie, drawing her friends into a group hug. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you both.’

  ‘You jump, we jump,’ said Megan.

  ‘Exactly. Let’s get this show on the road,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Rose, appearing at the doorway. ‘I have a little something to show you.’

  As Rose led them into her bedroom, Annie glanced at her watch. ‘I really need to get going soon.’

  Rose smiled at her. ‘This won’t take long. But it’s very important. It’s about your future.’ She walked over to the window seat and lifted the lid under the long cushion.

  ‘I didn’t know that was there,’ said Annie, walking across the room.

  ‘Another one of Alex’s secret cubbyholes,’ said Rose. ‘It’s just big enough if I need to hide a secret lover or two in there.’

  They all giggled.

  ‘But, for now, it’s been keeping something else safe for me.’ Rose drew out a long, deep box whose pattern had faded over many years. ‘This is for you.’

  As Annie took the box from her hands, she looked at Rose. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something borrowed,’ said Rose, with an enigmatic smile.

  Annie placed the box on the bed and lifted the lid. Beneath sheets of tissue paper, she finally drew out a long white delicate dress. It was dotted with pearls and subtle sequins that shone in the morning sun streaming through the window.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Annie, looking at the dress in wonder. ‘It’s light but so beautiful.’

  ‘It was my mother’s wedding dress,’ said Rose, as Annie tried it on. ‘From the 1920s, would you believe? Beatrice borrowed it when she married Arthur. And I wondered if perhaps it was just different enough for you to wear at yours.’