Spring on the Little Cornish Isles: Flower Farm

by Phillipa Ashley

  Chapter 14

  Gaby’s heart missed a beat but she didn’t turn around.

  ‘Is there any curry left or have you greedy lot eaten it all up?’ said Will, appearing at the side of her table. It was funny to see him in the middle of his rugby/rowing mates. He was six feet tall, but next to the rest of the gang, some of whom were huge and had very little neck to speak of, Will was one of the slightest. He was in clean black jeans and his wellies had been replaced by chunky Timberland boots. His hair had been tamed a little and he was sporting designer stubble … and was that a chunky new sweater under the waxed jacket? His rugged ‘going out’ look was so sexy that Gaby’s mouth went dry. He held her eyes a split second longer than necessary and then grinned. ‘Happy Birthday, Gaby.’

  ‘Nice to see you made it,’ said Gaby, trying to sound bored while still amazed to see him there.

  ‘It’s a coincidence. I didn’t know I was invited.’

  Jess gasped. ‘Yes, you did. I mentioned it to you yesterday and you can’t fail to have heard everyone else on the farm talking about it.’

  ‘I suppose now you come to mention it, I might recall someone saying there was a curry night at the Driftwood.’ There was a glint in his eye as if he’d planned to come along but Gaby was momentarily speechless. Why had he bothered to come if it was only to wind her up?

  ‘Liar,’ Jess said for him. She shook her head. ‘He did know,’ she told Gaby.

  ‘How did you get here? Did you use one of the other jet boats?’ Gaby asked him, knowing the Godrevys’ boat had been tied up at the quay when they left.

  ‘I got a lift with Javid after our rowing session. I was hoping to grab a lift home with you all.’

  ‘No chance. We’re almost full and you’d probably capsize us after you’ve wolfed down all the curry,’ said Jess.

  ‘Nice. Guess I’ll have to swim then.’

  Gaby smirked. ‘I’d like to see that.’

  ‘I bet you would,’ Will murmured, that was directed at her alone. Jess didn’t seem to have heard as Maisie had come over and was speaking with her. Will and Gaby met each other’s eyes again for a moment before Will laughed and said to Maisie, ‘So, is there any of that curry left? I could eat a horse after being out on the water.’

  Maisie rolled her eyes. ‘Ask my mum. She might possibly have saved you some in the kitchen.’

  The moment had gone, but Gaby was unlikely to forget it. In those seconds, every other soul in the pub might have vanished. Will and Gaby were the only two people in the world, that look was so intense. He seemed to want to tell her something, or ask her something.

  ‘Second helping?’ Hazel Samson was by the table, with a shiny balti pot.

  Gaby held up her hands in surrender. ‘Erm. No, it was delicious but I think I’m stuffed.’

  ‘I’ll have it,’ said Will.

  ‘Pig.’ Jess’s attention was back on her brother.

  ‘Only because I’ve been working so hard,’ he said indignantly.

  Patrick and Javid, who owned the Gull Island campsite, joined Will and soon Gaby was forgotten again as their talk turned to rowing and which teams would be their biggest rivals in the forthcoming championships.

  Gaby did her best to finish the rest of the curry, even though her appetite had strangely deserted her since her ‘moment’ with Will across the crowded pub. Had the glance they’d shared meant anything at all? She’d probably read way too much into it.

  ‘Attention, everyone! I know you’re enjoying yourselves, but settle down. I’ve got an announcement to make.’ Maisie’s plea for quiet gradually hushed the hubbub. Gaby craned her neck, trying to see what was happening over the heads of people obscuring the bar. ‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ rang out and then people stood aside and a space opened up.

  Maisie’s mother, Hazel, walked out of the pub kitchen carrying a triple-layer chocolate cake topped with buttercream rosettes, chocolate stars, candles and sparklers.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Gaby!’ Maisie called and someone started singing ‘Happy Birthday to you …’

  Gaby’s jaw was on the floor. She hadn’t expected this. Everyone sang and then there was a deafening round of applause. She was laughing but also felt like crying. It was her first birthday away from home since Stevie had died. Birthdays were a big deal at home and whoever’s turn it was – Gaby, Carly or Stevie – was expected to come home for a big family dinner. Although she’d seen her family only recently, it still felt strange to be without them.

  Her new friends from the farm and around the islands were funny and kind, but she suddenly realised they were all from a life post-Stevie. He would never meet them, get to know Will or tease her about him …

  His words in the garden book came back to her.

  ‘Don’t dream your life, live your dreams.’

  Making a new life was necessary and healthy, but why did it have to be so painful sometimes? Why did sorrow come back to bite you in the midst of happy moments?

  Gaby hid the pain with a cheesy grin while Maisie put the cake in front of her. ‘Who? Moi?’ she said.

  Jess nudged her. ‘Blow out the candles then!’

  ‘Yeah! Come on, Gaby! All in one go!’ the calls came from her mates.

  ‘If you can manage it.’ That was Will. The teasing smile was back on his face but his eyes were also intent on her. He was as infuriating as he was sexy. Gaby scrunched her toes up with lust and annoyance, determined to meet his challenge if it killed her.

  There wasn’t room for twenty-eight candles on the cake, but it felt like there were dozens stuck in the oozing chocolate icing. The heat almost scorched her face: that cake was a mini volcano. She took a deep breath in and blew out with all her might. Cheers echoed round the bar and there was a round of applause.

  Damn it. One candle stubbornly refused to be extinguished.

  ‘Oh, what a shame!’ Will called in a delighted voice.

  Gaby blew on it sharply and, finally, the flame faltered and died. More cheers and clapping rang out. Patrick approached her table with a tray of flutes filled with bubbly.

  ‘Happy Birthday,’ he declared.

  ‘Are these for me?’ Gaby asked in surprise. Everyone was doing their best to make her birthday special.

  ‘There’s a glass for everyone in your party. It’s local fizz from the St Saviour’s vineyard,’ said Patrick in his Aussie accent. ‘And though I hate to admit it, it’s really not bad for a Pommie wine.’ He laughed.

  ‘This is very generous of you,’ said Gaby, before realising she might have made a huge assumption. ‘Oh, I mean, not that you ought to give it away. I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘No need for that. The cake was arranged by your mates from the farm. The fizz is a gift from a friend.’

  Gaby lowered her voice. ‘Who? Jess?’

  Patrick winked. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘You tease.’

  ‘Enjoy.’ Patrick handed a glass to Gaby and went back to the bar where Maisie had poured out another tray of bubbly. Gaby could guess who’d bought the bubbly: despite the laid-back surf dude appearance, Patrick was a wealthy man known for helping out the islanders financially. It was typical of him to make the gesture.

  As Maisie took away the cake to be cut, Gaby was congratulated by her friends and they asked her about her plans for Easter. Thinking of her family at Easter without Stevie made her suddenly sad. During a lull in the conversation she found herself staring into her wine glass.

  Jess leaned in towards her ear. ‘Missing home?’

  Gaby’s stomach flipped. She appreciated Jess’s guess that today might be bittersweet.

  She toyed with the stem of the glass. ‘A little bit. I spoke to Mum and Dad earlier today.’ She took a large sip of bubbly.

  ‘How are they doing?’ Jess asked.

  ‘Pretty well considering … or at least, they say they’re OK and as for my sister … Carly’s always “absolutely fine and incredibly busy”. She has a job as an accountant with a City tax fir
m.’

  Jess blew out a breath. ‘Sounds high-powered.’

  ‘It is.’ Gaby smiled. ‘Carly thinks I’ve never had a proper job. She thinks a PhD in poetry is “as much use as a chocolate teapot” and I’m afraid she doesn’t consider working at a flower farm to be work either. I think she imagines me floating around sniffing blooms and writing odes to nature.’

  ‘She should come and try it, eh? Anyway, you’ve had plenty of work experience before you came here. I’ve seen your CV, remember? And I took up your references and that’s how I knew you’d be a hard worker.’

  ‘Yes, but working in a garden centre and a flower farm isn’t a “career” to Carly. She was more impressed that I got a few hours supervising the undergraduates in my vacation, but that wasn’t enough to support me during my PhD.’ Gaby sipped the wine again. It really was delicious and hard to believe it had been produced half a mile from the flower farm.

  ‘It’s a wonder you got your degree at all, with all those extra jobs.’

  ‘I wonder that too, sometimes.’ Gaby laughed. ‘One night when I’d been shifting growbags all morning in the garden centre, researching in the library in the afternoon and doing a late shift on reception, I drifted off on my bicycle riding home in the small hours.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Jess sympathised.

  ‘Luckily it was only on the cycle bridge over the rail line so I didn’t end up under a car, but I’ve still got the scars.’ She pushed back the flared sleeve of her top and showed Jess the white slash across her elbow. ‘But at least I’m in one piece.’

  Jess picked up the bottle and topped up Gaby’s glass. ‘You’ve earned this. Sorry if I made you think about hard times on a happy day.’

  ‘No. It’s fine. Not many people know about it and I don’t mind being reminded of Stevie. Unlike my sister, he’d love the idea of me working in all weathers in the back of beyond. Sorry, not that the flower farm is the back of beyond. It’s beautiful.’

  Jess shook her head. ‘No. You’re right, it is the back of beyond, but maybe that’s why you came here?’

  Gaby ran a nail along the tabletop. ‘I guess it was. My brother was a big believer in following your dreams, even if that meant taking off with his mates at the drop of a hat.’ Gaby decided not to share that the motorbike was one of the ideas that her parents hadn’t wanted him to pursue. If only she hadn’t become involved in that family row, Stevie might be here now …

  Jess was talking again, for which Gaby was grateful. Her thoughts were turning toxic and she didn’t want to spoil the mood.

  ‘The trouble is, a lot of people rock up here thinking they can escape from the world, and you can to some degree but troubles don’t go away on a small island, they can be intensified,’ said Jess, fiddling with the stem of her glass.

  ‘And you find yourself under the microscope?’ said Gaby.

  ‘Exactly. There’s no real escape. You can’t disappear into the crowd and when things go wrong, in business or families, the fallout can affect everyone like ripples in a pool.’

  Was Jess referring to Adam – or Will? Or even to her mother? Quite soon after arriving at the flower farm, Gaby had been told all the history of the Godrevys and how ‘Roger ran off with a younger woman.’ Was Jess warning her off Will, or merely reflecting on her own situation with Adam? Gaby wasn’t sure.

  There was a collective murmur of excitement and Gaby looked towards the door into the pub kitchen. ‘Oh look. Here comes the cake.’

  Maisie carried out a large platter piled high with slices of the cake. Despite having filled up on curry, most of the farm workers fell on it like gannets. Gaby licked vanilla buttercream from her fingers, enjoying the guilt-free indulgence after all her hard work outdoors. Her glass was topped up another couple of times by Jess before she excused herself to pop to the loo. The toilets at the Driftwood were situated in a lean-to that had to be accessed from the outside of the inn. Gaby was on her way to the ladies’ when a red-faced guy she vaguely recognised barred her path.

  ‘So, it’s the lovely Miss Carter. Or should I say Ms?’

  Gaby groaned inwardly. Jack Yarrow occasionally worked on some of the inter-island boats, when he wasn’t hanging around the island pubs, and while she didn’t have much to do with him, he had a reputation for being a pain in the bottom. Although he was only around Will’s age, he had the jowly features and spreading belly of someone much older: not to mention a brain the size of a gnat. Probably other bits to match, thought Gaby, though he swaggered around if he was Ryan Gosling’s hotter younger brother.

  ‘Hi Jack,’ said Gaby.

  ‘Or, being accurate, maybe I should call you Doctor Gabriella.’ He leered at her and she rolled her eyes. He was clearly drunk.

  ‘Gaby will do and if you don’t mind, it’s actually pretty chilly out here and I’d like to go back inside.’

  Ignoring her reply, he let out a whistle. ‘Doctor Gabriella Carter. I’m impressed. Not just a pretty face, then. Make that a beautiful face. Cute nose too. Actually.’

  She smiled politely, resisting the urge to tell him she hadn’t spent eight years at uni to impress Neanderthals like him with her nose. He leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her face. God, she could pass out from the lager fumes.

  ‘What’s a hot babe like you doing in a place like this?’ he said in a voice he clearly thought was gravelly and sexy but actually sounded like Russell Crowe with tonsillitis.

  She took a step back and smiled sweetly while keeping her nostrils closed. ‘Avoiding dinosaurs like you.’

  ‘Ooh, touchy. Come on, don’t play the ice maiden with me.’ He laid his hand on her bare arm.

  Growing annoyed now, she picked his pudgy fingers off her arm. ‘Ice maiden? What is this? A prehistoric sitcom? And while you’re living your 1970s fantasy, some Listerine wouldn’t go amiss.’

  She could have sworn his eyes crossed in puzzlement, but she’d already turned around and was on her way past him into the loo before he could think of a riposte.

  When she came out, he was still hanging around the rear of the pub holding forth to a couple of regulars about his rowing prowess and how he could ‘take anyone in Cornwall with one hand tied behind his back’.

  Gaby wanted to walk right past him, but she didn’t want any more hassle so instead she decided to return to the inn via the front door and the Driftwood’s terrace.

  She paused on the terrace before going back inside and took a deep gulp of the fresh air. The sun had now slipped behind Petroc Island on the western side of the channel opposite Gull Island. At almost eight p.m., some deep blue twilight was still visible on the far west horizon, but the sky to the east was velvet dark. Light spilled out onto the terrace from the lanterns of the pub. Twenty yards away on the beach, cigarette ends and a mobile glowed from a huddle of drinkers who’d taken their pints onto the sand. Gaby rubbed the goosebumps that had popped up on her forearms, wishing she’d brought her jacket out with her. Frosts were rare but the March evening was still pretty cool under the clear skies.

  The beautiful scene had an ‘edge of the world’ feel, and made her feel very small and insignificant. She shivered again and thought of her parents in their Cambridge village where night would have fallen by now. They must miss her even though they’d told her to cut loose and ‘enjoy her freedom’ after the family had taken the agonising decision to turn off Stevie’s life support. He’d slipped away without ever regaining consciousness, or even knowing what had happened to him. He’d left them with a sigh as quickly and silently as the twilight dissolving into darkness in front of her.

  After weeks spent under the artificial lights of a hospital ITU, she’d been desperate to find sunlight and a place where she could immerse herself into new life, where things blossomed all year round and she was literally surrounded by nature. Like her poetry made real. She’d found comfort and a purpose here but she still couldn’t escape the emptiness Stevie’s absence brought.

  ‘Gather ye rosebuds wh
ile ye may …’

  The poet Robert Herrick’s words slipped into her mind. Stevie wouldn’t have had a clue Herrick had written them, or who the hell he was, but he’d have agreed with the sentiment: that you should make the most of every moment while you were able or there would come a time when your youth had gone and worse … The wind rose, chilling her face. She should go inside to the light and warmth and the extra bottle of bubbly waiting on her table. It was her birthday, after all.

  ‘Gaby?’

  Will’s voice startled her from behind.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Gaby sniffed and hastily wiped her nose before she faced him, hoping her hand wasn’t snotty. That would be typical, wouldn’t it, for Will to find her snivelling on the beach. That was all she needed. ‘Course. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  It was dark but she could see his face, the shadows heightening his craggy good looks and the stubble on his jaw. She ached to reach up and kiss him. That brought a smile to her lips. Imagine his face! Imagine the shame. She smirked at the idea. That would mean she’d be on the first plane out of there. Even if Will recovered from the embarrassment, Gaby definitely wouldn’t.

  ‘Jack Yarrow been bothering you? I saw him giving you a hard time a few minutes ago.’

  ‘No. I was fine and he wouldn’t dare …’ She wondered exactly how long Will had been watching her. Had he seen her gazing mournfully out to sea and thought she’d been shaken up by Yarrow? ‘Don’t worry. I can handle him,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you could handle anyone. I only meant that if he was bothering you or making a nuisance of himself, and you needed any help in getting rid of him, well, you know where I am.’ He hesitated. ‘If you need me … you know what I mean … As your employer, I don’t like to see my workers hassled,’ he said, almost tripping over his words.

  ‘Your workers?’ she repeated, dying to remind him of the fact that locking lips in the middle of the barn wasn’t in either of their job descriptions.