‘Help with what?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Our golden wedding anniversary … that daft wife of mine still believes she’s Ginger Rogers and I’m Fred Astaire.’
Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, I’ve been watching those tube videos.’
Grace gave a small laugh, ‘YouTube.’
‘Dorothy has always loved to dance, and I wanted to surprise her. I’d visions of twirling her around the stage on Village Day, foxtrotting around in front of the whole of Brook Bridge. It would make her anniversary special, you see. And I like my Dorothy to be happy … makes my life easier if she’s happy.’ He tipped us a wink.
‘Aww!’ exclaimed Grace, ‘how romantic. If you weren’t taken, Bert, I’d snap you up for myself. You are a definite keeper,’ she marvelled.
Bert chuckled, ‘This is true, I’ve been telling her that for years,’ he said, taking the weight off his legs and leaning against the edge of the table.
‘But I’m no Anton du Beke,’ he quirked a bushy eyebrow. ‘The old pins don’t move like they used to and for the record, I’ll wear a tuxedo but there’s no way I’m pouring this body into any type of colourful Lycra for the whole of the WI to witness – or Brook Bridge village, for that matter. I have my limits.’
‘We hear you, Bert,’ I grinned.
‘But …’ his shoulders sagged, ‘I’m struggling.’ He attempted a half-hearted smile. ‘These feet haven’t danced for over a decade and can I remember the steps?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘No … that’s why I was going to ask Ted to give me a few pointers. I don’t want to let my good lady down.’ He blew out a breath.
Anyone could see the love in Bert’s eyes for his beautiful Dorothy. He really wanted to give her a golden wedding anniversary to remember.
Grace caught my eye and grinned. ‘I’m sure Alice can help you. You can be her first student!’
Witnessing the glint of hope in Bert’s eye, I asked, ‘The foxtrot you say, Bert?’
‘Dorothy’s favourite dance.’
‘One of my favourites too. I’d love to help.’
Bert’s gaze locked with mine. ‘Really? You’d do that for me … for us?’
‘Yes, really! I can’t have you letting down Dorothy after all this time. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night! Let’s give her an anniversary to remember.’
His eyes lit up as he sprang upright, closely followed by Grace. Unable to take the huge grin off his face, he said, ‘But promise me I don’t have to wear Lycra.’
‘No Lycra,’ I agreed, with a grin.
Bert darted towards me, his hand stretched out. ‘Thank you, young Alice, but let’s keep this to ourselves, we mustn’t tell Dorothy.’
‘Your secret is safe with us!’
‘When do we get to work?’
‘How about tomorrow morning?’ I suggested, feeling my heart give a little leap at his excitement and the challenge ahead.
Bert saluted. ‘Bright and early, which means I’d best keep off the cider tonight. Will we be seeing you later?’
‘Later?’ I asked.
‘The barn dance at The Malt Shovel,’ he answered.
‘I forgot all about it. It’s usually a good night.’ Grace looked at me.
I shrugged, ‘We can nip along.’
‘Good, good, now I’d best be off, and thank you, young Alice, you’ve made an old man very happy.’ He shook my hand heartily before turning and whistling his way through the door. Both Grace and I stood and watched him leave with huge grins on our faces.
‘See, your first customer,’ Grace whispered in my ear. ‘New beginnings.’
I blew out a long, calming breath.
‘Team Bert and Dorothy, let’s give Dorothy a golden wedding anniversary to remember. I just hope I’m up to the …’
‘Stop right there, Alice! You’ll be fantastic,’ she reassured me, with a twinkle in her eye.
‘I hope so,’ I replied, not wanting to let anyone down.
Chapter 17
‘When I agreed to go to the barn dance at the pub there was no mention of dressing up in ridiculous clothing,’ I argued, adjusting the spotty red bandana around my neck while gazing down at the borrowed, ripped-denim dungarees that Grace was forcing me to wear.
‘It’ll be great fun, you’ll enjoy it,’ said Grace, tugging a brush through my hair.
‘Ouch,’ I exclaimed, ‘you are the world’s worst hairdresser.’
‘Sticks and stones and all that, just hold still, will you, I’m nearly done,’ she ordered in a firm tone. I didn’t dare move.
A couple of seconds later, she handed me a mirror. I stared at my two long plaits and the huge ribbons tied around the bobble. ‘I look like I belong on a farm.’
‘Job done then, I’ve got the look perfect.’ She swiped her hands together in a pleasing manner. ‘You do belong on a farm – or you will soon.’ She gave my shoulders a quick squeeze. ‘There’s just one more thing you need.’
‘Which is?’
Grace disappeared towards the cupboard at the bottom of the hallway. ‘I know they’re in here somewhere,’ she called, rummaging around. ‘Here they are … found them.’
She poked her head back around the kitchen door holding up the most battered pair of cowboy boots I’d ever seen.
‘They are certainly well used,’ I mused, taking them from her.
‘Correction, well loved!’ she smiled. ‘They were given to me by the prop department when I was starring in Calamity Jane, but they were so comfy, I kind of forgot to give them back.’
‘Perks of the job!’
‘They’ll finish off your outfit perfectly.’
‘Thank you … I think,’ I laughed, pulling them on to my feet.
‘I’m glad Bert reminded us about tonight, it’s an event not to be missed. Apple cider made from the local orchards, live music, hog roast and all the village folk,’ she said with a grin.
‘All the village folk?’ I asked, casting a thought towards Sam. After we’d arrived back from the dance school Sam was still on my mind. I’d messaged him on Facebook, general chitchat, just keeping it light until I could talk to him face to face, but as yet there had been no reply.
‘There’s usually a good turn-out every year. Are we ready to go?’
‘Ye-haw-cowgirl, let’s get to this hoe down,’ I slapped my leg, getting into the spirit of things.
We set off and walked over the bridge, past the little parade of shops, and emerged through the cut-through at the end of the High Street. We followed the sound of music and the gang of people in front of us dressed in denim cut-offs, gypsy tops and cowboy hats.
As soon as the pub was in sight it looked spectacular. Every tree, every bush and every stall was draped with sparkling fairy lights and bunting. Before I could say anything else, a tall balding man, dressed up as a cowboy with dark-rimmed glasses, jangled a bucket of loose change in front of us as we neared the entrance.
Throwing a handful of coins into the bucket, we stepped into the grounds of the pub. There was an oversized marquee up ahead, and we were welcomed by an impressive number of bales of hay, giving it an authentic feel. Some were neatly stacked against the sides of the tents while others were set out in squares, covered with people sat eating, drinking and chatting.
Everyone we passed gave us a welcoming smile as we were swept along in the joyful atmosphere.
Inside the marquee, there’d been a burst of shabby chic, floral bunting criss-crossed the ceiling and tables were draped with beautiful polka-dot tablecloths. At the far end a folk band were playing and already a handful of people were dancing on the makeshift dance floor.
Opposite the entrance to the marquee the smell of a hog roast turning on the spit was mouth-watering. It was accompanied by huge aluminium pots of homemade beef stew on the table inside an open-fronted food tent. A group of men were huddled around the makeshift bar, clinking their glasses and laughing heartily. I’d been a little apprehensive when Grace first m
entioned it but being here amongst the friendly faces and jovial chatter, I soon felt at ease.
‘Drink?’ asked Grace.
‘Oh, go on, if I must!’
‘Inside to the main bar or outside?’
Before I could answer a voice hollered, ‘Grace! Alice!’
We spun round to see a beaming Connie and Jim manning the cider tent. Grandie was sitting next to them in a wheelchair with a blanket thrown over his lap.
‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ I beamed at him.
‘Going stir crazy after hospital. Thought the fresh air would do me good and this apple cider is going down a treat.’
‘What’s with the chair?’
‘Between you and me,’ Grandie leant forward in his chair, ‘Connie thinks it’s a safety precaution, there’s a method to her madness …’
I smirked.
‘She thinks if I have too many of these,’ he held up the near-empty bottle of cider, ‘and I’m sitting in this contraption, then I’ll be safe from falling over and hitting my head again.’ He rolled his eyes in jest.
‘I am here, you know,’ she swiped his arm, ‘and can hear every word.’
‘I’m in no doubt,’ Grandie replied with a playful tone.
‘The hospital wouldn’t have provided it if they didn’t think it was necessary, and we won’t be staying long. Just enough to show our faces and say a quick hello to everyone.’
By the looks on Jim and Grandie’s faces, they had different ideas and in one smooth move Jim flicked the lid off another bottle of cider and swapped it for Grandie’s now-empty bottle.
‘I saw that!’ Connie didn’t miss a trick. ‘Drink, girls?’
‘If these pair haven’t already drunk the bar dry,’ grinned Grace, ferreting around inside her pocket for some loose change.
Jim handed over a couple of bottles. ‘Strong stuff, don’t have too many without lining your stomach first,’ he warned, with a warm smile on his face, ‘and put that away, these ones are on me,’ he insisted, throwing some money into the bucket which was acting as the till.
‘Thanks Jim, much appreciated,’ said Grace before turning and pressing a swift kiss to Connie’s cheek. ‘We’re off for a quick wander. Catch you all later.’
We began to walk through the stereotypical country revellers. In front of us there were straw-hatted, booted cowboys leaping around to music from a shrieking fiddle while supping from their bottles of cider.
‘Fancy a quick jig?’
I must have looked stricken.
‘Only joking, I think I need a few more of these first,’ Grace chuckled, linking her arm through mine.
‘There are people everywhere,’ I said, glancing over to a group of men who were competing in a tug-of-war event.
‘Apart from Village Day, there isn’t much to do around here and this type of event brings everyone together, a real community gathering. It gives the local people the opportunity to sample each other’s produce too,’ she nodded towards a rosy-faced Dorothy serving up slices of cake from a trestle table up ahead.
Bert cast his eyes over the crowd and spotted us. He tapped his nose and winked in our direction, reminding us to keep his secret.
There was commotion everywhere I looked, even excited toddlers were joining in on the act, stomping their wellies to the beat of the music while clutching hot dogs oozing with ketchup.
The aroma of the scrumptious food guided us back towards the huge pig turning on the spit. We queued behind the lingering crowd. ‘Jim was right, this is strong stuff,’ I said, ‘very … cidery!’ taking another gulp.
Grace giggled, ‘You daft bugger, that’s made with some of the apples from Honeysuckle Farm.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘Who’d have thought, homemade cider on my very doorstep? Refreshing and going down a treat.’
Finally, we reached the front of the queue. The guy standing behind the trestle table, dressed in a blue checked shirt, tipped his cowboy hat.
‘What can I get for you ladies?’ he asked, in an exaggerated countryside accent, chewing on a piece of straw and shooting us both a cheeky grin.
‘Two of those please,’ Grace nodded towards the pile of hot sliced pork buns. Grabbing a serviette, we thanked the cowboy and parked ourselves on a hay bale overlooking the dance floor.
We placed our drinks on the ground and tucked into our food. I lost count of the number of nods of the head and waves of the hand Grace received – everyone seemed to know everyone here. Living in New York, you barely knew your neighbours, they were just people you occasionally nodded to on the stairwell, or politely said hello to when taking in a parcel.
After we’d devoured our oversized buns overloaded with hog and I’d wiped the apple sauce from my chin, I headed inside to use the bathroom while Grace walked back over to the cider stall to chat with Connie and the others.
The pub was heaving, the thirsty revellers five deep at the bar. Instead of fighting my way back through the crowd, it was easier to slip out the side door back on to the High Street, where I noticed Sam’s car parked opposite the post office – and there he was, standing in the queue for the cash machine, dressed in his usual pair of Levis, complemented with a tight white T-shirt that clung to his perfectly toned torso. With my heart thumping wildly against my ribcage, I hovered by his car, hoping for a chance to speak to him alone. He crossed the road towards me, stuffing notes into his wallet.
‘Sam.’
He looked up and met my gaze. Immediately, I could feel the crackling in the air, the instant spark between us.
‘Hey,’ I said softly.
‘Hey back,’ he said, his eyes skimming over my outfit. ‘You pull the country look off very well.’ His hazel eyes sparkled playfully.
‘Mmm, I’m not convinced, especially when Grace dug out these old things,’ I waggled the cowboy boots. ‘She pinched them from her Calamity Jane performance.’
‘They finish off the outfit perfectly.’
I was relieved there seemed to be no tension between us, and Sam was chatting to me without any awkwardness on his part.
‘Are you coming in for a drink? My treat,’ I asked hopefully.
As soon as I asked the question, Sam shifted uneasily from foot to foot while looking over his shoulder. His mood seemed to change within a matter of seconds. ‘Not tonight, it looks busy in there.’
‘Heaving,’ I said, unable to hide the disappointment from my voice.
‘I’ll catch you soon. Have a great time.’ And with that he turned away and unlocked his car.
‘How soon?’ I pushed, wanting him to commit to a time. He stopped and turned back round. Now something uneasy descended over us and I didn’t like it.
‘Sam, is everything okay?’ My voice was earnest. ‘You seem … a little different towards me.’ There, the words were out in the open. ‘Can we talk, I need to tell you something.’ I wasn’t giving up and gestured towards the bench at the front of the pub.
He nodded, locked his car and followed me over to the bench. He gave a fleeting glance towards the group of people huddled at the entrance of the pub before he sat beside me. His hand brushed against mine, sending a hundred fireflies hurtling around my stomach.
‘If I can feel that, surely you can too?’ I said softly, barely able to breathe.
He exhaled gently, ‘I can.’ And for a split second, his fingers entwined around mine, the feel of his touch sending shivers down my spine and making my skin prickle with goosebumps.
‘I think I know what you want to tell me,’ he said.
‘You know, don’t you?’ My voice was calm even though my heart was hammering in anticipation of the answer.
Sam looked towards me. He bit down on his bottom lip, and with his unblinking eyes stared at me, then nodded.
‘I realised the second Bert pulled up in his van and told you your grandfather was home. Alice, talking to me will give you no end of trouble. You don’t need to be dragged into my fami
ly problems.’
My heart felt like it had snapped in two.
‘Isn’t that my choice?’
‘Most people around here have a low opinion of me and …’ he held my gaze with his own, his round hazel eyes irresistible, ‘and …’
‘I don’t care what anyone else’s opinion of you is,’ I interrupted.
He looked towards the pub and shrugged. ‘You will, Alice.’ He let out a long breath and stood up slowly.
I swallowed, ‘I won’t. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. The past is the past and that’s where it should stay.’
He took a breath in before speaking, as though weighing up what to say next. ‘You get back to your friends and family, they will be wondering where you are.’
I felt a tear slip down my cheek and he extended his arm and gently brushed it away. ‘Don’t cry.’
I stared up at him through my watery eyes. ‘Come here,’ he said softly, pulling me in for a hug. I nestled against his chest and inhaled the gorgeous aroma of his aftershave. I could feel the heat radiating and hear the gentle thud of his heartbeat. Then he slowly released me before tilting my face to his. We stared at each other for a long moment, our faces centimetres apart.
‘I need to go,’ he whispered before he kissed me lightly on the cheek and turned to walk away.
‘Don’t go,’ I pleaded, my heart breaking in two.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from nowhere, interrupting our moment together. ‘Alice, is he bothering you?’
Startled, I spun round to see a thunderous-looking Ben standing at the entrance of the pub with Henry by his side.
‘No, not at all,’ I answered, meeting Ben’s gaze head on.
‘It doesn’t look that way from here,’ he continued.
‘Ben, I’m absolutely fine,’ I said, this time a little more firmly.
Bystanders now seemed to be staring in our direction.
Sam had stopped walking and turned back towards me. ‘And this is exactly the reason why I need to go,’ he whispered softly.
I watched as Sam started up the engine of his car and drove away up the road. Once he was out of sight I swung round angrily towards Ben. ‘What was that all about?’ I demanded, perturbed that my time with Sam had been cut short.
A Home at Honeysuckle Farm Page 16