by Sharon Booth
'Oh, I don't know about that.' Eliot shook his head, wondering if she'd ever believe him if he told her that all of her Mummy's homemade buns and cakes had come from the supermarket on the outskirts of Kirkby Skimmer. 'The important thing is how they taste. Have you tried one?'
They all shook their heads. Honey was looking a bit pensive, leaning against the sink as she waited for the kettle to boil. George had cake mixture in his hair. Evidently, even he had got in on the act.
'You have to have the first one, Dad,' Ophelia informed him.
He'd had an awful feeling she was going to say that. He smiled. 'Just wash me hands, then.'
He headed over to the sink and began to scrub his hands and arms with soap and hot water.
Honey murmured, 'They spent ages doing these. Even George stirred the mixture. They really enjoyed themselves.'
He looked at her in surprise. Was that a tone of affection he heard in her voice? Surely not.
He dried his hands and reached for a bun. He bit into it and chewed tentatively.
'Well?' Libby stood there, hands on hips, demanding a verdict.
'They're really good.' Astonishingly, they did taste delicious. 'I'm not kidding. Where did you find the recipe?'
'The internet,' said Ophelia.
Eliot glanced at Honey. 'You found the laptop?'
'Libby brought it to me from your office upstairs. She said she was allowed to use it. I hope you don't mind. There was no password on it, so I thought ...'
He shrugged. 'I don't mind. Sometimes you can get a good connection, sometimes you can't. Point is, I promised your dad I wouldn't let on I had a computer. What with that and the phone, I'm not doing a very good job of guarding you, am I?'
She grinned, and he found he was smiling back.
'Why isn't Honey allowed to use the internet?' asked Libby.
It was a good question. Eliot's smile dropped. What had she done so wrong that someone as badly behaved as Cain Carmichael felt she needed watching twenty-four seven? Evidently, there was more to the story than he knew.
He squeezed Libby's cheek. 'She gets carried away, buying too many things,' he said.
'Oh. It's sausages and chips for tea,' she said.
'Ooh, chips again, eh? Lovely.'
If he hadn't known better, he would swear Honey looked apologetic. 'I was thinking of going into Kirkby Skimmer in a day or two. There's a supermarket there, isn't there? I thought I'd look up some recipes online and start trying out something different.'
'Really?' He raised an eyebrow. 'I wouldn't have thought cooking was your thing. And, by the way, I see you've washed the nets. They look miles better. Don't know how you managed to get them so white, but thanks.'
She looked embarrassed for a moment but shrugged. 'Well, I had to do something to keep myself occupied. It's hardly the best place to be marooned, is it? I mean, there's simply nothing to do. A girl could go mad unless she found something to pass the time.'
'Oh, aye. Terrible place. Surprised you can stand it. Oh, I forgot. You've no choice, have you? Cain rung yet to check up on you?'
Even to his own ears his voice sounded churlish. She brought out the worst in him, no doubt about it. Just when he thought she might have a softer side, she had to go and spoil it.
'Not yet.' She turned away from him and busied herself with the chip pan. 'You know, if you must have fried chips, you should really get a deep fat fryer. Chip pans are dangerous.'
'They were good enough for my mam and gran. A big chip pan, a third full of lard, and —'
'Lard?' She spun round, looking horrified. 'That's disgusting.'
He tutted. 'Seems everything about this place is disgusting.'
'Not everything.'
He looked at her, surprised.
She grinned at him. 'The nets look absolutely lovely.'
In spite of himself, his mouth twitched. 'I'm going to get a shower while you do tea, if that's okay?'
'Fine. It should be ready when you are.'
He pushed away from the counter. 'Could you feed Fagin and Dodger, Libby? And put Jake and Lug in the barn for the night, please. I'm off to scrub this muck off me. Reckon I'll be bathing you straight after tea, an' all,' he said, nodding at George with a smile. 'Happen you've got half the cake mixture in your hair, young lad.'
'I'll bath him, if you like.' Honey looked as surprised at herself for the offer as Eliot was. 'I mean, it will give you time to sit with the girls for a bit. They haven't seen you all day.'
'Thanks. If you're sure?'
'Oh, yes. It's fine.'
She turned back to the cooker, and he frowned, wondering what to make of her. She seemed like a decent human being one minute, then she'd open her mouth and reveal herself to be a total bitch in the next. He couldn't fathom it, but right then he was too tired to think about it. All he wanted was to stand under a hot shower, wash away the dirt and mud, and soothe his aching bones. Everything else could wait.
****
The sausages and chips were a success. Eden had added practically a full tin of beans to Eliot's plate and three slices of bread and butter to try to bulk it up, but, as she watched the hungry farmer clearing his plate, she was more determined than ever to brave the drive back to Kirkby Skimmer and find the supermarket. She wouldn't need to buy meat, at any rate. The chest freezer in the boot room was packed full of chicken, lamb and pork. There didn't appear to be any fruit or vegetables, though, which surprised her. Probably, when Jemima was alive, things were more organised.
She wondered, yet again, how he'd managed since his wife had died. He was so busy during the day, she couldn't imagine how he'd found the time to care for the children and see to the house — although, she suspected the neat and tidy appearance of the place was down to help from Daisy, rather than Eliot. She'd discovered that, as remote as Fleetsthorpe was, the Harland family were nowhere near as isolated as she'd imagined.
She had taken the children to the nearest village, Beckthwaite, that morning, a place that had thoroughly enchanted her, despite its tiny size. Beckthwaite perched on the edge of the River Skimmer and was reached by driving over a quaint stone bridge that crossed the water, which was fairly narrow at that particular point and looked little more than a stream. As Eden drove over the bridge, she saw that the road forked a few yards ahead. Turning left would take her out of the village, past an old chapel, which she later discovered had become a holiday cottage, and on through the dale, climbing the hills towards the upland village of Felltoft. Turning right, she drove slowly down what appeared to be the only street in the entire village. Consisting of little more than a dozen or so cottages, the ancient and thoroughly charming pub, The King's Head, some crumbling stone barns, a tiny shop and a red phone box, Beckthwaite nevertheless was busy with tourists. Several people in kagoules and sturdy boots sat at tables outside The King's Head, while more of them stood outside the shop, clutching bottles of water and studying a map.
She'd only just parked up and got the children out of the car when she was swooped on by a resident of the village, eager to find out how she was coping at Fleetsthorpe, how Eliot was doing, and to pass on their condolences for the loss of her second cousin. Eden had been astonished the woman even knew who she was, but she hadn't been the only local who knew that she was staying at the farm. Several people approached her as she walked towards the shop, and as none of them mentioned Cain, she suspected they hadn't the faintest idea who Honey was, other than that she was Jemima's relation, come to help out at Fleetsthorpe.
Pushing open the door of the little shop, she'd been pleasantly surprised to find an extremely attractive interior, with goods laid out in wicker baskets and on carved pine shelves. There was a fairly basic supply of essentials that the villagers would need, but a lot of space was given over to things that would appeal to tourists, which seemed a bit of a shame. Obviously, Beckthwaite was firmly on the map as far as ramblers, hikers and even, as she later discovered, mountain bikers were concerned.
As she'd s
earched the shelves for flour and icing sugar, she'd been approached by an elderly lady, who studied her carefully for some moments with gimlet eyes before finally announcing, 'Tha's Honey Carmichael, no doubt.' When Eden had gulped and nodded, she'd folded her arms in satisfaction. 'Aye, I knew it. Shame tha couldn't come earlier.' She sniffed. 'Reckon Eliot could have used thee most a couple of years ago.'
'Yes, I suppose ...'
The woman scowled at her. 'A bad time, it were. Never seen a man so in bits. And trying to do his job and cope with the kiddies, like, all while dealing with a broken heart. Lucky he's got a lot of friends round here, and we look after our own.'
'Well, that's good to hear,' said Eden, trying to move off. She had all she needed, and the girls were looking bored. Worse still, she was acutely aware of a rather unpleasant odour wafting towards her from the woman's direction.
'He couldn't have managed without Daisy,' added the old lady. She gave Eden a pointed stare. 'Good girl, that. Been there for him and these bairns since it happened. Mind you, it cuts both ways.'
'Does it?'
'Oh, aye. Eliot's helped her dad out many a time. It's like that round here, tha knows. Folks look out for each other. Happen tha thinks living out on't Fleetsthorpe no one knows what's going on up there. Tha'd be wrong.'
'Right.'
'We probably know more about each other's lives than any folks in the city.'
'Okay.'
'We make it our business to know. Got to work together up here, see? Who else is gunna do it for us, if not our own?'
'Hmm.'
The woman nodded at the children. 'Does tha like having this lady to look after thee, eh?'
Libby and Ophelia stopped examining the jars of toffees on the shelves and nodded. 'Yes, Granny Allen. We're going to do some baking this afternoon.'
'Oh, aye? That's nice, I'm sure.' The woman turned back to Eden. 'He's a good man, Eliot. Been through a lot.'
'I know,' said Eden, thinking, so this was Granny Allen. She wasn't surprised the woman lived in a hovel having met her. 'It's a tragedy. I feel for them all.'
The woman stared at her for a moment, as if trying to read her thoughts. Then she bent down and gently stroked George's hair. He was fast asleep in his buggy and looked cherubic. Seeing the old woman's dirt-encrusted fingernails, Eden winced.
'Bless him,' said Granny Allen. 'I don't know. Sometimes the best things come out of the worst times, don't they?'
Eden had no idea what she was talking about. She merely smiled and nodded. Granny Allen seemed satisfied that she'd managed to get her point across and left them to it. She wasn't the only one who seemed intent on informing her that the situation at the farm was being monitored, that Eliot was a good man, and he'd been through enough. She guessed they were all warning her that she'd better behave herself and not let him down, because there were plenty of people who wouldn't be very happy with her if she did.
As she'd bundled the children and the shopping back into the car, and left Beckthwaite behind, she'd mused on his popularity, and watching him that evening, as he finished his tea and pretended it was the finest meal he'd ever had, laughed at the girls as they regaled him with tales of their cupcake making, and coaxed George into eating a little bit more, she could understand it. When he eventually stood and began to collect the plates, Eden couldn't help herself.
'Let me,' she said. 'You've had a long day. I'll wash up.'
He looked astonished but sat down again. She collected all the dishes and announced she'd make them all a lovely cup of tea and they could all have buns to go with it. The suggestion was greeted with much delight, and she filled the kettle, feeling strangely contented.
Libby jumped up when a knock on the door interrupted their happy moment. 'I'll go.'
'If it's not raining tomorrow,' said Ophelia, 'can we go goosegog picking?'
'Firstly, if it's not raining tomorrow, it will be a miracle,' said Eden, as Eliot said he didn't see why not, 'and secondly, what on earth are goosegogs?'
'Gooseberries,' he said. 'I take it you've eaten those in your time?'
Eden couldn't say that she had. She knew what they were, obviously, but didn't think one had ever passed her lips.
'Really?' Eliot and Ophelia exchanged incredulous glances. 'Nothing better than a goosegog crumble,' he informed her.
'Did Jemima have a recipe? Maybe I could try to make one.'
She saw it clearly in that moment. The light in his eyes switched off instantly. It was palpable, and she felt a weird clutching at her heart. His grief was still raw, that much was apparent. How much he must have loved his wife. It gave her a strange fullness in her throat, thinking about it, and she turned away from him, unable to deal with his pain.
'It's Daisy!' Libby skipped into the kitchen, and Eden gave an inward groan.
That was all she needed. She wondered, suddenly, why she felt such a rush of resentment towards the poor woman, who had done nothing but help Eliot in his time of need. They'd been having a lovely evening, but she'd already spoilt it by mentioning Jemima. Besides, if anyone was the intruder here, it was Eden herself, not Daisy, who had been a good neighbour and friend to the family.
Guilt forced her into being pleasant to their guest. 'Cup of tea, Daisy?'
Daisy looked as dumbfounded by the offer as Eliot did, and Eden realised she had become far too Eden-like lately. She'd been so contented at the farmhouse, being with the children and in the company of this hardworking man, that she'd slipped back to her old ways, forgetting to be Honey. The farm was such a contrast to the Carmichael home, where everything had been loud and dramatic.
Despite there being three young children in the house, they didn't tire her out like watching over Honey did, and she was never bored here. She remembered the long hours, sitting in the shop, staring at the walls while she waited for a customer. There was no waiting for something to happen at Fleetsthorpe. The house was a hive of activity, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. It was hard to think she had to hide how much she was loving life in Skimmerdale, but she knew she had to.
'Er, thanks.' Daisy reached into her bag and pulled out a cake tin. 'I made you all this, for after your tea. Chocolate cake, girls — your favourite.'
She beamed at them as she placed it on the table.
Eden took a deep breath and turned away, reaching for another mug. 'Oh, you needn't have bothered. We made cupcakes this afternoon, didn't we, children? We had a super time. Even George helped. Perhaps you can take the cake home and have it yourself?'
'Don't be daft.' Eliot rose from the table and collected the milk from the fridge. Handing it to her, he shot Eden a look that was a clear warning. 'Sit yersen down, Daisy. You came all the way up here in this weather to bring us this? Chocolate cake, and a cupcake each! Not had a feast like this in a while, have we, kids?'
The children all agreed they hadn't. Eden bit her lip, pouring milk into mugs and wondering what to do next. She hated getting on the wrong side of Eliot, or disappointing the children, but Honey would have no such qualms. She had to remember why she was here, and who she was supposed to be.
She handed out the drinks then placed the plate of buns on the table. Beside Daisy's rather lovely chocolate cake, they looked very amateurish. 'Do help yourself, Daisy. Or are you on a diet?'
Daisy, who was built a little more solidly than Eden, paused a moment as she unbuttoned her coat, her face colouring. 'No, I'm not.'
'That's so brave of you. I do admire a woman who knows her own mind and refuses to conform to society's expectations. Good for you.'
It was basically code for you're fat, and Daisy knew it. She glared at Eden, who felt wretched already. Daisy was annoying, in as much as she hung around the Harland family and made it obvious she had a huge crush on Eliot, but she hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. And certainly nothing to offend Eden or warrant such a personal attack.
She rather admired Daisy when she threw off her coat, reached over, and picked up a bun, biting into
it determinedly.
'Do you like it, Daisy?' asked Ophelia.
'Lovely. Really tasty. Did you make it?'
'We all did. Honey told us what to do, and even George stirred the mixture.'
'Did he? Oh, bless him. What a clever boy.'
'Of course, they're not as good as Mummy's cupcakes, are they?' Libby was watching Daisy, her eyes suddenly anxious. Eden noticed Daisy and Eliot glance at each other in a very strange way.
'They're better,' said Daisy eventually.
Libby shook her head. 'No, no, they're not better. Mummy made the best cupcakes in the world. She couldn't even enter the Skimmerdale Show because she would have won everything, in spite of Mrs Edwards, and it would have upset the other ladies.'
Crikey, thought Eden, Jemima was nothing if not modest.
Daisy smiled. 'Yes, well, maybe not quite as good as your mummy's, but not far off.'
Libby seemed to find the answer acceptable, and happily munched on some chocolate cake, which she pronounced to be "not bad", much to everyone's amusement.
'I was thinking, tomorrow I'll make one of my stews and bring it round,' said Daisy.
Eden raised an eyebrow. The offer bordered on pushy. 'No need.'
'Really? It's no trouble, and I think it would make a nice change from chips.' Daisy looked meaningfully at the draining board, where the pile of dirty plates sat, complete with leftovers.
'There's no need because I intend to start cooking some meals. Proper meals.'
'You do?' Daisy didn't bother to hide a smile. 'Done much cooking, have you?'
Eden was tempted to tell her how much cooking she really had done but had to restrain herself. 'Not really. I've found some recipes, and I'm going to do some shopping for ingredients. How hard can it be? You manage it.'
'I've had years of practice. I've had to take care of my father.'
'Is he still alive?'
She looked startled by the question. 'Yes, of course.'
'Then I presume you're still taking care of him?'
Daisy glanced at Eliot, her face nervous. 'Yes.'