by Rosie Howard
‘This is the four-month-old litter?’ said Ben. ‘I thought Giles had managed to sell them on to a gentleman farmer in Somerset to rear on.’
‘He did! Giles drove them over a fortnight ago. I had to go and collect them again last week. They were so badly behaved he wanted us to take them back.’
Ben laughed. ‘Can he do that?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so, but clearly he can,’ said Serena ruefully. ‘There’s only one naughty one, of course. He’s really clever, that’s the problem. He works out some Houdini escape route and his little brothers and sisters just trot off behind him. The sooner we convert the lot to bacon sandwiches the better.’
‘You cried the last time they went off,’ interjected Flora, who had spotted her friend and come back to the bar.
‘You are mistaken,’ said Serena stiffly, but with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I think you must be thinking of when the boys went back to school.’
‘Ah yes, you definitely cried then.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Serena begged, flapping her hand in front of her face and blinking rapidly. ‘I don’t have my waterproof mascara on. Anyhow, hello Flora, by the way …’
‘This is Giles’s wife, Serena, who I was telling you about,’ Flora said. ‘I was just telling Maddy she should come and have a look at what we’re doing. She’s a marketing whizz; I know she’ll have lots of good ideas.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Serena, draining her glass in double-quick time. ‘I’ve got to go back because the feed merchant’s turning up pretty much now and I have to have an argument with him about his price rises. I can give you both a lift. You too, Ben?’
‘Lectures to prepare for next week unfortunately.’
‘Work? Even at the weekend?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘Just us girls, then,’ she said, gathering up her keys.
‘Oh, I’d love to,’ said Maddy, ‘but you need to go now and the bar doesn’t close for another half an hour …’
‘Not a problem, surely? There’s that little weasel over there – about time he did some proper work.’ Serena glared at Kevin.
‘I suppose I could …’ She thought guiltily of the client proposal Simon was waiting for. ‘I’ll have to take my own car, though. I’ve got to get over to see Patrick this afternoon too.’
‘That’s agreed, then,’ said Serena briskly. ‘You can follow me. Take Flora with you in case you get lost.’
In the end Flora didn’t have to give directions despite Serena driving at a nearly unmatchable pace. Swinging off the main road into a barely noticeable side road, they barrelled down a narrow, rutted lane for nearly a mile before turning sharply into a cobbled farmyard. The space was flanked with low brick and flint buildings on three of the four sides. On two of the sides, the buildings were intact, with newly painted sky-blue window frames and stable doors, most of them with their upper half open to the afternoon sun. The remaining side of the yard was in a state of picturesque disrepair, with visible holes in the clay-tiled roofs and only a couple of panes of window glass still in situ. Maddy glimpsed inside a barn with no doors, making out cobblestone floors, gnarled roof timbers festooned with cobwebs, and the ghostly hulk of forgotten farm machinery, barely visible in the gloom.
‘Hullooo,’ hollered Flora, in the seemingly deserted farmyard.
‘Flora! Hi! You’re back, then … !’ came the ragged reply, from various of the open doors. And then, out of the shadows, Maddy saw figures appearing, like the prisoners rising out into the light in Fidelio. All hailed Flora and Serena with warmth, and Maddy with benign interest.
‘Got to go and berate the feed merchant, my darlings,’ said Serena, excusing herself. ‘Come and have a cup of tea when you’re done. I’m out of Earl Grey, but the mugs will be a lot cleaner than anything you get offered out here,’ she added, walking towards the house that Maddy had just noticed beyond the yard they were standing in.
‘Here is my lovely Jez,’ said Flora, dragging Maddy towards a dreadlocked and skinny young man with an enchanting smile and a gold earring.
Dead sheep guy, thought Maddy. Out loud she said, ‘The man making the amazing sheepskin clothes!’
Soon Maddy found her enthusiasm was genuine: ‘These are just gorgeous!’ she exclaimed, examining the hats, slippers and gilets that filled the little stable Jez was working in. An industrial sewing machine dominated one corner, another was piled high with fleeces waiting to be transformed.
‘They’re all from local breeds,’ he explained, following Maddy’s gaze. ‘There’s no waste. I cut the shapes for the gilets from the fleece itself and then the offcuts are used for the ear flaps on the hats. I only need little pieces for that – see? And then the newest thing is these little baby boots,’ he said, presenting her with the most adorable pair of slippers in miniature, with contrast overstitching in wool. ‘Blue for a boy, red for a girl, but people can have whatever they want, really … I get the wool from Ursula next door; it’s all natural vegetable dye she uses and her wool is locally reared on the Downs too …’ He trailed away, looking earnestly at Maddy for her reaction. ‘You should see her stuff. She does weaving mainly, blankets and throws from local wool and natural dyes.’
‘I love them; I love it all,’ said Maddy. ‘The local thing, the simplicity, the quality. Everything really … it’s great!’
Jez beamed. ‘Show her the rest,’ he implored Flora. ‘I’ve got to get on …’
And Flora did.
More than an hour later, Maddy had been shown a dizzying range of products and skills, been encouraged to admire handwoven blankets and throws from thick – slightly scratchy – local wool dyed in a gorgeous range of colours. She had seen a ceramicist, Jim, hand-decorating a range of pots and tableware before sliding them into an enormous kiln; watched, mesmerised, as a glass-blower called Frank twisted and swung a hollow pole with a blob of white-hot molten glass on the end of it. He was a true showman, giving Maddy a running commentary, silenced only when he blew down the tube to shape the glass, miraculously transforming it into a wine glass of extraordinary beauty with a green stem. He then went on to attach jewel-like studs of cobalt molten glass to the bowl before setting it aside to temper, otherwise – as Frank explained – the entire piece would likely shatter as it cooled.
‘There’s incredible stuff going on here!’ she exclaimed to Serena when she had made tea in a huge brown pot, piled home-made cookies onto a plate and related every detail of her dignified triumph over the evil feed merchant.
‘Aren’t they all just so clever,’ agreed Serena fondly, as if she were speaking of some very brilliant achievement of a child of hers. ‘And they complement each other so well …’
‘True. I love that aspect most of all. How Jez uses Ursula’s wool, and how Jonathan and the muralist – what’s-his-name – did that joint commission with Jonathan’s tiles in one part of the room and the mural on the other side in the same design …’
‘Nick’s the muralist,’ said Flora. ‘He can graffiti my walls any time he likes,’ she added, smiling beatifically.
‘You’re right, though,’ said Serena. ‘There they all are, pointed at the same market, basically, but not at all in competition with one another … Using local materials on the whole and doing bespoke commissions as well as their off-the-shelf stuff. They all deserve to do really well,’ she said. ‘But they don’t …’
Maddy noticed Serena’s attention was broken, her eyes often straying to the window as she spoke.
‘Why not, though?’ she asked, although she instinctively knew the reply.
‘It’s getting to their market,’ said Serena. ‘They’re a bit out in the sticks, let’s face it. With a presence on the high street they’d all do better, but not well enough to pay the rent and rates they would end up paying. Last summer a few of them clubbed together and shared a stand at the big crafts and interiors fair in Brighton …’
‘How did it work out?’
‘Not bad, but the stands are sol
d by the square metre at an incredible cost so they had a really tiny space and couldn’t get a lot of stock there. The fair gets the big London buyers and the interior designers attending and I know they got some good leads, but they’re lucky to attract the attention of the big buyers for more than a few seconds and it’s not long to really do business … They should probably have followed up their leads a bit better afterwards but …’ She smiled fondly. ‘You’ve seen what they’re all like. A bit dozy. Not exactly God’s gift to commerce.’
‘You are, though,’ said Maddy.
‘Ah,’ said Serena, and didn’t contradict her. ‘In years gone by, perhaps …’
‘What did you used to do?’
‘Nothing really,’ sighed Serena. ‘Actually, not “nothing”; I was sort of a buyer for a department store …’
‘It was Heal’s, wasn’t it?’ said Flora, dreamily nibbling on a cookie.
Maddy gasped. ‘Good grief! That’s amazing; you must have been brilliant.’
‘Wouldn’t say that exactly,’ Serena demurred. ‘I loved it, though. Meant to carry on after I hooked up with Giles but – you know how it is – life and its demands, the move to the country, the boys … So, what do you think, though?’
‘About what?’ asked Maddy.
‘We’ll help these little ones get their act together, no? Together, Flora too, we could really help.’
‘You mean like – sort of – a bespoke consortium?’
‘Brilliant!’ said Serena. ‘That’s what we’ll call it.’
‘Fab!’ agreed Flora around a mouthful of cookie. ‘Let’s do it!’
‘I don’t know …’
‘I’ll start,’ said Serena. ‘We’ll need a business plan. I’ll do the outline; you can fill in the marketing and PR bits. Give me your email,’ she said, grabbing a pen and paper from a stack by the Aga.
‘Okay,’ said Maddy slowly, but she caught Flora’s eye and grinned.
‘Sorted,’ said Serena with finality. As she spoke her eyes drifted to the window again and then they all heard a car slowing and turning into the courtyard.
‘Here they are at last!’
Maddy and Flora were forgotten as Serena bolted out of the kitchen and appeared outside, barely waiting for the old Volvo to stop and for its cargo to disembark.
Two boys in blazers got out and headed for the boot of the car. Clearly their intention was to grab their belongings, but their mother had a different idea. Letting out something between a shout and a growl of delight she grabbed them both and gathered them to her. They submitted with resignation as she squeezed them tight and then grabbed their heads in turn, pressing kisses onto their faces, which each wiped away discreetly when her attention was turned to the other.
‘Hullo, Mummy,’ said the smallest one, ‘I mean “Mum”,’ he corrected hastily.
He was perhaps eight or nine with the slight halo of fluffiness that was most definitely absent in his older brother. Otherwise they looked amazingly alike.
‘Hullo, old thing,’ said a balding, middle-aged man, getting out of the car with a hint of weariness. ‘Here they are, both mancubs as ordered, safe, sound and all yours for the rest of the weekend – what’s left of it.’ He planted a kiss on Serena’s face and hung his arm protectively around her shoulders as they strolled towards the house. In his fifties, with the slightly red face of a man who enjoys his wine, he had a kindly demeanour and a comfortably large stomach.
The boys ran ahead and then froze, rucksacks in hand, as they encountered the two young women in the kitchen.
‘Hullo,’ they both said in unison, holding out their hands awkwardly for Maddy to shake.
Flora, clearly, they knew, as she inflicted kisses on them, which were nearly as wayward as their mother’s.
‘My boys,’ said Serena triumphantly to Maddy as she followed them into the kitchen. ‘And here’s my funny old husband, Giles.’
Giles didn’t seem to mind a bit being described that way as he held out a friendly hand to Maddy. His hand was warm, large and all-encompassing. She could well imagine he gave very good hugs.
‘So,’ said Serena, ‘what’s the plan?’
‘Pizza!’ shouted the boys in happy unison.
Clearly there had been prior discussion.
Serena gave Giles a quizzical look. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned appeasingly.
‘Thought I’d save you the trouble of cooking supper, old thing.’
Serena shuddered. ‘Not takeaway. God knows what’s in them. I’ll do a quick pizza dough. The boys can choose their own toppings. I’ve got all sorts … Erm, what are you doing until then, by the way?’
‘Shootout!’ shouted the boys again.
Serena raised an eyebrow at the hapless Giles.
‘X-Box?’
He nodded.
‘Eighteen classification?’
‘Might be,’ he admitted. ‘Mind you, it’s not one of those ghastly misogynist ones about rape and prostitution or anything … it’s just a bit of mindless violence … so nothing they haven’t already seen,’ he explained, wincing as the two boys ran out of the room whooping at the tops of their voices. ‘Or done,’ he added, pulling a face at Maddy.
‘My three boys,’ complained Serena as Giles followed them out of the room. ‘I’m the only grown-up in the house, as you can see.’
Maddy noticed Serena’s expression as she gazed after them. It was raw hunger – a ferocious and primitive love.
‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed, noticing the kitchen clock. ‘I’ll never get to the hospital and back before I have to open the bar again.’
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you. How is poor Patrick?’ said Serena.
‘Not brilliant. I wanted to talk to the doctors about when they’ll operate. I didn’t see him yesterday either. I give messages to whoever answers the phone when you call the ward but I wonder if they bother to pass them on …’
‘Make sure to have a nice long visit tomorrow morning,’ her new friend suggested. ‘Take him some sweet peas! I know he loves them and the last of mine need picking.’
CHAPTER FIVE
When Maddy got to the ward early the following morning, holding the already-wilting but gloriously honey-scented flowers, she was only mildly concerned when the bed by the window was empty. She saw the bossy nurse who had spoken to her last time whisking past.
‘My friend Patrick, do you know where he’s been moved to?’
‘He went down to theatre about an hour ago.’
‘The theatre? You mean the operating theatre?’
‘Well I didn’t mean the Moulin Rouge. They were planning to operate. You knew that from the last time you came and spoke to Doctor.’
‘Yes, but I thought they were waiting for him to get a bit better,’ gabbled Maddy. ‘I wasn’t ready. He … I didn’t speak to him first …’
The nurse patted her on the shoulder a little too hard.
‘There, there, dear. Why not go down to the waiting room in the operating suite? Wait there for him.’
It was a command.
Maddy went.
The broad back and floppy hair curling on the collar was unmistakable. Maddy, conscious her nose was running and her mascara was all over her face, was just about to turn and slip back through the swing doors before they closed again but the squeak of their opening had already caused Ben to turn.
‘Maddy!’ He smiled as he walked towards her. Then he registered her red eyes.
‘Worried? Don’t be. He’ll be fine.’ He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed reassuringly.
He was so tall her head only reached his shoulder where it rested comfortably. She allowed herself a brief moment in his arms, but then got worried her nose might be running onto his shirt and also that, quite possibly, her knees might embarrass her by giving way for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
‘I’m fine,’ she snuffled, withdrawing with her head down so he couldn’t see her face. ‘Just didn’t realise … I didn’t manage to speak
to him yesterday. Have you heard anything?’
‘Not yet. They’re expecting him back out again in the next hour or so, though. I was just going to go and get something to eat. Can I buy you a coffee? Breakfast? Let me take these before you squash them,’ he added, gently prising the flowers out of her hand.
You had to admire a man who could march down a hospital corridor with a bunch of sweet peas in his fist without feeling he is compromising his masculinity, she mused. He dropped the little posy into Patrick’s ward, charmingly persuading a ward cleaner to appropriate a vase for them, and then – firmly steering Maddy by the elbow – he planted her in the corner of the cafe. He returned swiftly with two steaming cups of coffee and an assortment of croissants, toast and muffins.
‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like,’ he said, waving at the food.
‘Any or all of them,’ she said truthfully. ‘But it’s a bit early for me. I don’t really eat breakfast.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’ve got to eat in the morning.’ He opened the fiddly little packets of butter and jam, spread the toast thickly with both and plonked it in front of her. ‘There you go.’
She didn’t dare refuse. ‘I suppose an army marches on its stomach, doesn’t it?’ she commented, feeling she ought to make polite conversation.
‘I always found it did when I was in the field. As a substitute for sleep, remedy for anxiety and boost to morale it has its uses too.’
She washed down a mouthful of toast and jam with a gulp of coffee and felt the stomach-churning anxiety retreat like the ebbing tide. It left her weary beyond belief. She yawned hugely in Ben’s face.
‘Oops, sorry,’ she said, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘Better not use food as a total substitute for sleep. I’ll be the size of a house.’
‘Any reason you’re not sleeping?’
‘I’ve just got a lot on, that’s all. The London business, running the pub, Patrick being ill. It’s fine.’
‘Anything in particular?’
‘No.’