Appleby Farm

by Cathy Bramley

  This felt so right, I realized, as if it was always meant to be, as if even though we had parted as friends ten years ago I had carried him in my heart. Maybe I’d needed to go away to understand how much I wanted to be here. My heart wasn’t just bursting with love for Lovedale and Appleby Farm, but for Harry too.

  I was going to do it.

  My lips finally reached his and for the tiniest moment we were kissing.

  But as suddenly as it had started the kiss ended. Harry pulled away and loosened his grip on my waist, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

  ‘Freya, this is not … I can’t do this.’ He gazed down at me and the torment in his eyes made my stomach churn with fear.

  ‘What? Harry, what’s wrong?’ I lowered my hands from his neck and laid them on his chest. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His expression had changed, as though a door had slammed in his brain. He cupped my chin in his hand and stroked his thumb against my cheek. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Harry, why is kissing me so terrible?’ Tears of humiliation began to threaten and I blinked them away.

  ‘You mean too much to me. There’s too much to lose.’ He took a step backwards and his arms fell loosely to his side. ‘Lovedale, the farm, me … it’ll never be enough for you.’

  ‘That’s so not true, I’m not going anywhere,’ I gasped, trying to get a handle on what was happening. My head was churning with emotions and my body felt hollow, as if my heart had been scooped away.

  He looked away into the distance and then back at me, shaking his head sadly. ‘There’s nothing to keep you here if the farm is sold. You said so yourself. And I can’t be just … a bit of fun.’

  My face turned scarlet. ‘Harry, you are far more important to me than that.’

  ‘And you are to me,’ he said.

  He reached a hand out to stroke my cheek and we stared at each other, my heart pounding with disappointment.

  ‘You’d better get back; it’s getting dark.’ His voice was low and soft.

  I nodded, staring into his eyes, looking for an explanation for his sudden mood swing. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t understand what had just happened.

  I mounted Skye and he untied the reins from the gatepost and handed them to me.

  ‘You’re probably the best friend I ever had, you know,’ he said with a smile.

  So that was it. I was destined never to be more than Harry’s friend. I swallowed the lump in my throat and pasted on a bright smile. ‘Me too.’

  Chapter 35

  Auntie Sue was giving me a hand in the tea rooms the next morning. There were only two tables of customers, which was just as well: I hadn’t had much sleep because I had been mulling over my business plans and of course my humiliation at Willow Farm and I kept getting people’s orders wrong. Somehow someone had ended up with a bowl of ketchup with their scone instead of strawberry jam and I’d filled a teapot with hot milk by accident.

  Auntie Sue tutted at me. ‘You need a break. I heard you in the office last night until God knows what time. Were you working on your business plan for your dad?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, exhaling morosely. ‘Sorry if I disturbed you.’

  She pinched my cheek just as she used to do when I was small. ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Freya, you’re an angel.’

  She tucked my arm through hers and led me to the far table nearest the doors. ‘Sit yourself down, lass, and I’ll bring you a cuppa.’

  I sipped at my tea, leaving my aunt to chat to our guests, and surveyed my little venture with a critical eye. Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms was looking even more vintage-y these days. We’d received a few ‘thank you’ notes from customers who’d made the effort to send retro cards. I’d tucked them into a lovely old padded noticeboard criss-crossed in satin ribbon that I’d found in a junk shop. And behind the cash desk, I’d hung some old black-and-white photos of the farm from the 1940s, all in different types of frames to give the display an eclectic look.

  I was just wondering if Auntie Sue would let me have the old pine dresser to fill a bare corner when Lizzie came in, poured a cup of tea and helped herself to a meringue – our new line. They were huge, crunchy and chewy, and had delicious chunks of pistachios in them. Free tea and cake was Lizzie’s perk for being my unpaid waitress.

  She sat opposite me and bit straight into her meringue, closing her eyes as it melted on her tongue. ‘If your auntie stops making these when she retires I’ll camp outside her door and sob.’

  ‘So will I,’ I said, helping myself to a piece off her plate. Finding another cake baker was on my to-do list. I could still knock up a batch of decent scones, but I didn’t have the time or skill for much else.

  Lizzie stared at me. ‘I feel as grumpy as you look.’

  Great. If my poor customer service didn’t put the punters off, my miserable face would. I attempted a smile.

  ‘Better?’

  Lizzie raised a shoulder half-heartedly. ‘Bill’s daughter Natalie has rearranged all the fruit juices in the fridge. I can’t find a thing now. She says it looks prettier by colour instead of by brand. I think she’s trying to psych me out so I’ll leave. Took me ages to find the Appletiser this morning.’ She paused to slurp her tea. ‘So did you get any tiramisu last night?’

  I glanced over to Auntie Sue; she was giving directions to the steam railway to a customer.

  ‘I got the tiniest taste,’ I hissed, flashing Lizzie a keep-your-voice-down stare.

  Her mouth formed a perfect O as she abandoned her meringue and clapped her fingertips together silently. ‘As in actual kissing action?’

  I nodded, a smile hovering at my lips momentarily. Despite how badly it ended, I couldn’t help recalling what a magical moment it had been.

  Lizzie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘I knew it! This is going to be ace. Me and Ross, you and—’ She stopped, noticing my fed-up face. ‘What?’

  ‘He pushed me away. Said he couldn’t do it and that I didn’t understand.’

  Lizzie’s face fell. ‘Eh?’

  ‘One kiss, which barely even got going, and then he sent me home. Please don’t be nice, Lizzie, or I might cry.’

  She nodded, wide-eyed, and drank her tea without saying a word.

  I shrugged helplessly. ‘Maybe some things are better left in the past. Perhaps Harry thinks that those golden days of childhood when we raced to the little shop with a pound and came back weighed down with sweets were too good to mess with. Perhaps he’s right.’

  ‘Rubbish. You two are spot on for each other. It doesn’t make any sense at all.’ Lizzie tapped her cheek with her finger pensively. ‘And I can’t believe you were buying sweets at eighteen. What about the last holiday you spent here? What did you do then?’

  Funny she should have asked that. I’d been going over that myself in bed last night. Things had changed between us that summer. Harry had been getting ready to leave Lovedale for university and I was planning my gap year. He’d asked me when I’d be back and I’d said not until I’d seen the world, which seemed to put him in a dark mood that I hadn’t been able to shake him out of. Last night he’d mentioned something about feeling trapped at the farm and he seemed convinced that I would be leaving again at the first opportunity. He didn’t seem to appreciate that leaving Appleby Farm would break my heart.

  ‘You’re right,’ I smiled, ‘we were regulars at the White Lion by then and I’d swapped the sweets for cider. Anyway, I’ve got to move on and put last night’s rejection down to experience. There’s a good chance we could be working together in the future, so maybe it’s best if we stay just friends or things could get messy.’

  Lizzie gazed at me, lips pursed, and I could almost hear her brain clunking away.

  I put on what I hoped was my brave face and passed her the menu to change the subject.

  ‘Now, what do you think we could add to this?’

  ‘Oh, now,’ she wriggled in her seat, ‘I’m so glad you asked. Fresh crêpes. You
could get one of those crêpe pans. Perfect to serve with the ice cream. And a children’s menu. I know you do cakes but,’ she raised her eyebrows and pulled a cute face, ‘imagine tiny little fairy cakes and biscuits and sandwiches.’

  I nodded. ‘Two good ideas.’

  ‘Really?’ She sat up tall. ‘Do I get the job?’

  ‘Yes.’ I laughed. ‘If there is a job, it’s yours.’ But my words were muffled because she’d dived across the table and was squeezing the living daylights out of me.

  ‘You’re looking better,’ Auntie Sue beamed, collecting our empty plates and cups. ‘Are things coming together a bit for you now, Freya?’

  ‘Fingers crossed, Auntie Sue,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘I just have one phone call to make.’

  Five minutes later I settled myself down at my desk and dialled the number that I knew off by heart.

  He answered almost immediately.

  ‘Willow Farm?’

  ‘Harry, it’s Freya.’ My voice trembled with anticipation and I ran my tongue over my teeth.

  There was a slight pause on the line and then we both said at once, ‘About last night …’

  ‘Please,’ I said hurriedly, ‘let me go first.’

  ‘OK,’ he chuckled.

  I pressed the phone to my ear and I could hear him breathing. And waiting.

  ‘Harry, I just want to say that I’m deeply embarrassed about my behaviour last night and I promise sincerely that it will never happen again.’

  ‘Freya, there’s no need—’

  ‘Yes, Harry, there is. Because I want our farms to work together.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘On your biofuels project. And for that to happen there needs to be no awkward feelings between us, OK?’

  He let out a long breath. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good,’ I said with a shaky laugh. ‘Right, now that that’s cleared up, I think I may have a solution to your land shortage.’

  ‘Really? You have a solution?’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ I laughed. ‘Are you free at seven thirty tomorrow evening?’

  I held my breath.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Excellent.’ I exhaled loudly. ‘Can you come to Appleby Farm then and I’ll explain everything? And while you’re on the line, do you think The Almanacs would play at Tilly and Aidan’s wedding on December the twentieth?’

  He laughed. ‘You are full of surprises, Freya. I’ll check with the others, but I don’t see why not. It’s about time Steve’s paternity leave came to an end.’

  ‘Yay! See you tomorrow.’

  I put the phone down and pressed a hand to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

  Two birds. One stone. Go, me.

  I’m normally such a carefree sort of person; I breeze through life with a smile, a shrug and barely a backwards glance. But now I looked down at my hands – shaking like leaves.

  It’s because you care, said a little voice.

  I swallowed and looked at the expectant faces gathered round the farmhouse table. I did care. More than I’d ever cared about anything in my life. I’d come a long way since recklessly declaring that I’d save the farm back in the spring. But I’d meant it then and I was still determined to do it now. I just hoped my family liked my ideas …

  It was seven o’clock, the remains of a chicken pie had been cleared and replaced with a tray of coffee and a box of after-dinner chocolate mints. I had set up my laptop at the head of the table, pages of hastily scribbled notes at my side. Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur sat on one side, Mum and Dad on the other.

  ‘Thank you, everyone, for coming,’ I said nervously. Which was a bit ridiculous seeing as fifty per cent of my audience lived here. Blimey, it was a good job this wasn’t Dragons’ Den. My palms were sweaty, my face had already gone pink and I hadn’t even started yet.

  Mum beamed at me encouragingly. She looked different this evening. Her hair was in loose waves, she was wearing a pink soft-cotton shirt and jeans, and she looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen her. Dad didn’t look quite so sergeant-major-ish either. They sat squished up together, holding hands like teenagers. Must be something in the air.

  Uncle Arthur popped a chocolate into his mouth and put his hand up. Auntie Sue slid the box over towards my dad out of her husband’s reach.

  I pointed at him. ‘Yes, Uncle Arthur?’

  He chuckled. ‘Thanks for everything you’ve done this year, love. But I don’t want you to feel responsible for what happens to us and the farm.’

  He paused to reach out for the chocolate box again, but withdrew his hand under Auntie Sue’s reproachful, beady-eyed glare.

  ‘I blame myself,’ he continued. ‘Filling your head with fanciful notions of the farm being a gift, and what not. But I’m an old man now. I have to accept that things are done differently these days.’

  ‘Modern farming doesn’t have to be so different,’ I said. ‘Progress needn’t mean losing our link to the past.’ I thought of Harry last night and how he felt he was a guardian of the land, a twenty-first-century Noah. I felt my chest tighten with sadness and then remembered that he would be here in a few minutes and I really should get a move on.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Now, hear me out and please keep questions until the end.’

  I’d laboured over this presentation, deliberated over each word and injected, I hoped, the right balance of business strategy for Dad and my deep love of the farm for my aunt and uncle. I’d hesitated over announcing my plans en masse, but at the end of the day, the farm and my future plans for it were a family affair and I wanted everyone to approve.

  ‘Appleby Farm,’ I began, making sure I made eye contact with each one of them in turn, ‘is the most old-fashioned place I know. It probably looks the same now as it did two hundred years ago. Most of the equipment belongs in a museum, there are tiles missing off every roof and the shepherd’s huts out in those fields have more holes in them than Swiss cheese.’

  My family members were silent; I think it was a mixture of indignation, intrigue and interest.

  ‘So how best to bring it into the twenty-first century? Well, I’ll tell you.’

  I stopped talking, tapped on the keyboard of my laptop and the screen filled with the name of my new business: Appleby Farm Vintage Company.

  ‘We leave it exactly how it is,’ I announced.

  ‘Oh, darling!’ sighed Mum, her hand fluttering to her pearls. ‘I love it already.’

  Dad patted her knee. ‘Calm down, Margo,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t see how doing nothing is going to achieve much.’

  I ignored him.

  ‘I’ve known nothing but love here at Appleby Farm and that’s thanks to you two.’

  Auntie Sue beamed at me and pushed the chocolates back to Uncle Arthur.

  ‘And at the risk of sounding a little bit cheesy, my plan involves sharing that love with others.’

  Dad tugged his moustache sceptically.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ I said, ‘the Appleby Farm Vintage Company has three objectives at its heart: keep the farm in the Moorcroft family; help Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur retire in comfort; and diversify to keep the farm profitable, embrace progress and respect its heritage. So how do I do that …?’

  I explained how my new company would have four divisions: hospitality (which at the moment was just the tea rooms), holidays, food and drink and, finally, my pièce de résistance: weddings.

  ‘What sort of food and drink?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Dad,’ I tutted, ‘questions at the end.’

  ‘Sorry,’ replied Dad, looking suitably chastised.

  I told them about my idea to develop the ice-cream brand and find stockists throughout the Lake District, and my (admittedly slightly whacky) plan to make cider. I reckoned we could make at least twenty gallons this year alone. I told them about Rigg Farm and their woodland yurts and how successful they were at attracting corporate bookings.

  ‘We are going to renovate the shepherd’s huts and turn
them into holiday accommodation, and not just with our two huts. Harry has got two we can have and eventually I’m going to buy a few more and fill a whole field with them. Imagine “Back to Basics” farm holidays. Dad’s banking contacts would love it!’

  I explained how I’d convert the old dairy into retail space, expand the vegetable garden to grow produce to sell, and change the honesty box into a proper farm shop.

  ‘Weddings?’ grunted Uncle Arthur. ‘And that wasn’t a proper question so don’t tell me off.’

  I nodded excitedly. This was my favourite bit; I really wanted them to like this idea. ‘According to a recent survey – of Lizzie’s newly engaged mates, no need to go into detail – nearly seventy per cent of brides-to-be are considering a vintage farm wedding for next year. It’s a booming industry.’

  ‘Really?’ said Dad, hoiking a still dubious eyebrow. ‘Always good to join a new market early on.’

  ‘And we’re holding our first wedding here in December for Tilly and Aidan, so we’ll have lots of photos for the brochure and website. And I also want to get my hands on a carriage and my own horse, so we can offer vintage transport to the church. Ooh, they could use Bobby too, I hadn’t thought of that!’

  I jotted myself a note before I forgot.

  ‘But the point is,’ I said, jabbing my finger on the table, ‘it will all look the same, it will still have its quirky charm, it will still be Appleby Farm. If future generations of Moorcrofts want to be dairy or beef or sheep farmers, they can. It will all still be here.’

  Mum, who had been nodding throughout my entire presentation, gave a polite cough. ‘Darling, it all sounds wonderful, but what about you? It sounds like a huge business empire to me. There won’t be any future Moorcrofts if you’re not careful.’

  Chance would be a fine thing.

  ‘Mum, when I’m ready to settle down, you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘Will I?’ she beamed. ‘Oh.’

  We shared a secret smile. She and I had come a long way this year. Auntie Sue caught my eye, too, and gave me an approving wink.

  Eddy had his own section in my presentation: I proposed that we offered him the job as farm manager to oversee the maintenance of the land and buildings, work on the shepherd’s huts and hopefully set us up with a cider press.