The Poppy Field

by Deborah Carr

  Gemma didn’t care that her relief showed on her face. “That’s very kind. Thank you,” she said, grabbing his right hand and shaking it.

  Marcel cleared his throat and pointed to the ancient till.

  “Sorry,” Gemma said letting Tom’s hand go to retrieve her purse from her bag and pay for her shopping. She spotted a mop and bucket to the side of the till. “If you’re giving me a lift, then I may as well buy these while I’m here.”

  They carried everything out to his blue pick-up. Tom loaded everything while Gemma quickly popped into a shop for a couple of essentials. Minutes later they arrived at the farmhouse.

  “Ahh,” he said, stopping halfway along the pathway to the front door. He looked up and stared at the missing tiles. “I recognise this place,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone living here though, not for the past ten years or so, anyway.”

  “Twelve, more like,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to be put off by seeing how neglected the place was.

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Not good,” he murmured. Spotting Gemma staring at him in horror, he added. “But don’t worry. Right, let’s get this lot inside.” He followed her into the house, carrying most of her shopping into the kitchen

  They put the bags on the kitchen table. “Not much going on in here, I’m afraid,” she said surveying the basic kitchen with its chipped butler sink, larder cupboard, fridge and electric cooker.

  “I doubt this room has been updated since the fifties,” Tom said.

  “It’s quaint, in a strange, grimy way,” she joked, unused to being so relaxed with someone she barely knew.

  Tom strode over to the window and looked outside. “There’s a decent yard out there. You know, I think you could do a lot with this place.”

  Bolstered by his reassurances, Gemma asked. “Shall we take a look upstairs?”

  “May as well,” he said, smiling and waiting for her to lead the way. “What’s it like up there?”

  “I haven’t dared look yet,” she admitted. “I hope it won’t seem so bad if I’m not alone.”

  She walked up the stairs carefully. She wasn’t sure how rotten the wood was in this place and didn’t want to take any chances.

  Reaching the landing, she pushed the door on her left open, wincing when an acrid smell of mould hit her nostrils. “Ooh, that doesn’t bode well.”

  “Be brave,” he said. “We may as well go in. At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with then.”

  She liked the thought that she wasn’t alone with this project any more. “Come on then.” She stepped into the room, covering her nose with the top of her hoodie. “There’s damp everywhere,” Gemma cringed.

  Tom was right behind her. “They,” he said, pointing at the huge group of mushrooms growing in one corner of the room. “Must be directly under those missing roof tiles. Right, I’ve seen enough here. Next room.”

  Gemma moved on to the next room, as Tom closed the bedroom door behind them. She was grateful she wouldn’t be needing the spare room any time soon. “I hope this is better than the first one,” she said. “I don’t fancy living in a house that’s a health hazard.”

  “This bathroom isn’t so bad,” she said unable to hide her relief. “I’ll soon clean this up with some scouring and bleach.” Reaching the final door on the landing, she took a breath and opened the door. Sighing with relief, she stepped aside to let Tom join her.

  “This isn’t too bad at all,” he said, pressing the weight of his foot on various floorboards. Some creaked in defiance, others seemed much stronger to Gemma. “All this needs is a good clean and some decoration.”

  “A new bed mattress, too,” she said looking at the stripped ticking mattress that had been rolled up and tied with twine. They turned to leave the room at the same time, bumping into each other. Gemma gasped.

  “Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked, grabbing her arms and looking her up and down.

  Gemma was too embarrassed to admit that it was the unexpected physical contact with him that had caused her reaction. “No, I’m fine,” she said, hurriedly scanning the room for something to use as an excuse. Noticing a tiny fireplace, she pointed. “I just spotted that. It’s going to be useful without any heating up here.”

  “It certainly is, but I can’t help thinking —” He hesitated.

  “Is something wrong?” Had her erratic behaviour frightened him off? She hoped not; the last thing she needed was for him to change his mind about doing the work.

  “Are you sure you want to live here while this work is being done?”

  She didn’t like to admit that right now she would prefer to be staying in her sparsely furnished, but warm modern flat in Brighton. “I’m doing this project for my dad,” she said. It wasn’t the entire truth, but she didn’t know Tom well enough to confide in him just yet. “I’m happy being here by myself.”

  She didn’t add that she needed time living alone to work through the grief brought about by her ex’s unexpected death and the discovery of his deceit. “I think we’ve finished up here now. Do you want to take a proper look outside, while I test out that retro kettle?”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said as they went back downstairs. “I could do with warming up a bit. Coffee, little milk, no sugar.”

  She watched him go and then unpacked her shopping. Tom seemed pleasant enough, but then again, she had thought that about her ex. Filling the kettle to the three-quarter mark, she plugged it into the old-fashioned socket.

  By the time Tom returned to the farmhouse, Gemma had managed to get the fire going as well as having two steaming mugs of coffee waiting for them both. “There you go,” she said pointing to the freshly wiped table in the living room. She indicated for him to sit on the cleaner of the two chairs.

  “Tell me what you think.”

  He rubbed his unshaven chin. “The most important thing is that temporary repairs are done to the roof as soon as possible,” he said. “The forecast is dire for the next few days. I’ll come back later, if I have time. If not, I’ll make the temporary repairs first thing tomorrow.”

  “That’s very kind,” she said grateful to him for this thoughtfulness. “And the rest?”

  Tom looked concerned. “Couldn’t you stay at the B&B in the village for a few weeks? At least until the main bedroom is cleaned thoroughly and the bathroom sorted out?”

  “No, I’ll be fine here,” she insisted, wishing he’d drop the matter. She had spent her life deciding what was best for herself. Even as a child with her absent mother focusing on her legal career while her father excelled in finance, Gemma had been left to her own devices. Bored nannies and housekeepers were happy to let the timid child in their care lock herself away with her books and daydreams. “I’ll clean the bedroom and bathroom today and I can always get a takeaway if the cooker doesn’t work.”

  He looked as if he was trying not to argue with her. “It’s February, though, and freezing.”

  “Seriously, I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile and took a sip of her coffee. The heat of the liquid warmed her throat. “I’m tougher than I look,” she insisted. “And certainly, more capable. Anyway, if I’m not staying here then I can’t get on with the renovations as well as I could if I was on site.”

  He smiled. “Fair point.” He put his cup down on the table and pulling out a small notepad from his jacket pocket made a few extra notes. “This place has been empty for a long time,” he said. “It’s isn’t surprising that it has a damp issue. You’ll need to keep the fire going as much as you can to dry it out slightly.”

  They stared at the fire in silence for a moment.

  “How come you’ve taken over this place then?”

  Gemma studied the musty room. “It belonged to my dad’s elderly cousin,” she explained. “He was ninety-eight when he had to go to a care home. Dad said he’d lived here his entire life, so it must have been heart breaking for him to go.”

  Tom frowned thoughtfully. “Poor guy. I’ll have
to ask my mum if she remembers him. She doesn’t live too far from here. Do you know his name?”

  Gemma tried to recall if her father had ever mentioned it. “Sorry, I can’t remember. I’ll ask Dad the next time I speak to him.”

  Tom drank the rest of his coffee. “Right. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Thanks for stepping in like this,” she said, relieved to feel like she was getting somewhere. “I’m very grateful.”

  Gemma watched him leave, and the place seemed very empty without someone else in the room. To keep from feeling sorry for herself, she decided the best thing to do would be to get on with the cleaning.

  She was half aware of the wind picking up. Stopping half way through wiping down the furniture in the main bedroom, Gemma listened at a loud creaking. She walked over to the window to try and find out what was causing the noise and saw a large branch swing back and forth in the gale. It looked as if it was about to come away from the trunk. Telling herself she was worrying unnecessarily, she continued cleaning a large chest of drawers.

  A few moments later, a larger gust of wind howled through the house followed by a loud crack. Gemma rushed over to the window in time to see the branch coming towards her. Crouching instinctively, she covered her head with her hands waiting for the smash of the window pane. The house shuddered on impact and she squeezed her eyes closed. Tiles shattered under the weight of the branch as it fell from the tree, smashing on the ground outside, as the glass from the window pane exploded inwards.

  Holding her breath, Gemma waited for everything to become still. Her breath came in short bursts as she opened her eyes. Several sharp-edged twigs were suspended inches from her face. Even in her shock, she could tell she’d been extremely lucky not to have been caught by any debris. She needed to get out of the room though. Gathering her composure, she grabbed hold of one of the larger twigs attached to the branch and climbed carefully over it, pushing her way through the pine needles to the other side.

  “Damn,” she groaned, breathing in the scent of pine and sap filling the room. She had thought the room was in a bad way before, but it really needed some work now. The gale didn’t appear to be quietening, so she decided that the safest place to be was downstairs. She reached the bottom step, just as Tom shouted from the front door, banging loudly to be let in.

  Shocked to hear him, but relieved that he was at the farm, she ran over to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was on my way here to check if you were okay,” he said, pushing the door closed behind him. “I’ve seen the damage to the side of the house.” He squinted and pulled several pine needles from her hair. “Have you been upstairs inspecting the damage?” he asked. “Because if you have,” he added without waiting for a reply. “It was a bloody dangerous thing to do.”

  “I was already up there, if you must know,” she snapped, irritated by his outburst. Who did he think he was talking to?

  Tom’s mouth dropped open for a second. “Hell, are you alright?” He narrowed his eyes and leant forward to check her face.

  Gemma stepped back frowning. She wasn’t used to such close inspection from anyone.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning away from her. “You stay here, I’ll go and check upstairs.”

  Relieved to have some time alone, Gemma walked over to the fireplace and added a couple of logs. She was used to being the one to check people for damage, not the other way around. It had taken her by surprise, that’s all, she reasoned, still disconcerted by what had happened. She could hear his footsteps upstairs and some banging. What is he doing up there, she wondered, relieved to have time to untangle her emotions. Maybe if she’d had siblings or demonstrative parents growing up, she might have learnt to be tactile and would not have reacted so embarrassingly.

  She could hear him coming down the stairs again and pretended to be adding another log to the fire.

  “I think you’ve probably already got too many on there,” he said entering the room.

  They stood in awkward silence.

  “Look,” Tom said. “I’m sorry. I’m used to being hands on.”

  “It’s fine, forget it. Thanks for coming to see if I was alright. Is the damage going to put the renovation work back much?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. It’s only the end of the branch. The window frame is fine, and the panes of glass can soon be replaced.”

  “I really do appreciate your help,” she said, wishing to make amends for acting so oddly.

  He smiled, his beautiful navy-blue eyes crinkling sexily, causing her stomach to contract. “It’s no problem. I’ve got to help a fellow Brit, haven’t I?”

  She smiled, enjoying his casual friendliness. She could get used to having him around in no time. “I’m not from the mainland,” she explained. “I’m from Jersey, in the Channel Islands.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “I went there once. In the summer holidays with my mum. Nice place.” A large gust of wind rattled the window upstairs and they both looked up at the ceiling. “I remember being amazed when I spotted the coast of France from the guest house where we were staying,” he said.

  Gemma suspected he was trying to distract her from the gale going on outside. “I can see the lights in France from my old bedroom at my parents’ place,” she said, recalling how comforted she had been to be back there for the past few months, even if her mother had tired of her presence quicker than she would have liked.

  “Do you still live in Jersey, then?”

  “No, I left five years ago,” she explained thinking back to how excited she had been to leave the small island for a fresh start on the English mainland. “I live in Brighton now, or at least I did.”

  “Is this your first renovation project, or something you do for a living?”

  Gemma laughed. “I’m a nurse,” she said, amused at the thought of how different the next few months were going to be compared to what she was used to. “I work in a trauma centre, near Brighton.”

  All amusement vanished from his face. “Oh, I see,” he said.

  Confused by his reaction, Gemma thought it best to change the subject. “How come you speak fluent French?” she asked, intrigued.

  His shoulders relaxed a little. “My mum’s French,” he explained. “She’s from Amiens, about twenty miles from here.”

  Gemma recognised the name from reading books about the First World War at school. “I suppose we’re near the Somme battlefields here, then.”

  “We are,” he said. “There’s a lot of history around this place for you to discover.”

  “Have you been here long?” she asked nervous not to say the wrong thing again.

  “A couple of years full time. I spent most of my summer holidays growing up coming here to stay with my grandparents. My parents ran a small restaurant in Devon before they divorced. It was useful for them to send me here when they were at their busiest.”

  They chatted for a while longer. Gemma rarely had company at her flat and usually preferred being alone, but it was a relief to have Tom here. She didn’t mind being in this strange house, but the gale and damage to her room had unsettled her.

  It seems to be dying down now,” he said standing up. “I’d better get going, or my mum will be wondering where I am. I don’t want her worrying. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to cover the exposed area on the roof and sort out that window.”

  “Thanks for stepping in to help me, Tom,” Gemma said, extending her hand. He smiled and shook it. “I really appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  She showed him to the door and wished she had the same relaxed way about her as Tom did. There was something haunted about him though, she mused. He hid it well, but she couldn’t help wondering what was behind the sadness he tried to keep hidden.

  Chapter 2

  Gemma

  February 2018

  “That’s the window done,” Tom announced the following morning, as he descended the ladder and joined her on
the front path. “The tarpaulin should keep the roof watertight, at least until I can replace the missing tiles.”

  He withdrew a piece of paper from his jeans back pocket and handed it to her. “I jotted down a list of what needs doing and how much it’ll cost. I’ll get it typed up for you. I thought you might like to have a heads-up before you receive my quote.”

  Gemma unfolded the paper and read his list and the total. “Yes, this amount looks similar to the one my dad was sent from the other chap,” she said, noticing it was marginally cheaper. “How soon can you start work?”

  He lowered the ladder and carried it to his pick-up. “I’ve postponed another job for a few weeks,” he said as Gemma followed him. She watched him attach it to the roof. “They weren’t in any rush.”

  “Are you sure your other client won’t mind?” she asked, wishing she didn’t feel the need to ask.

  “It’s fine. It’s their second home,” he said, turning to her. “They won’t be back in the area until April, at the earliest.”

  Gemma couldn’t believe her luck. It occurred to her that he might be putting himself out to help her. She wasn’t used to getting favours from anyone and didn’t know how to accept one now. “You’re not doing yourself out of any work, are you? Not on my account, anyway. I’m sure I can wait a few weeks,” she fibbed.

  He laughed. “We both know that’s not true. You need the most urgent work doing straight away, especially if you’re determined to stay here. Anyway, I’m happy to do it. I’ll start tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Tom. I’m really grateful,” she said.

  A week later, Gemma couldn’t help being excited that Tom had already replaced the roof tiles smashed during the storm, as well as the broken window. He had also replaced a cracked pane of glass in the small living room window near the front door. She had removed ivy from the front of the house that had covered the original window and the difference it made to the light in the room was staggering.