by Heidi Swain
The months had slipped steadily by and passed peacefully from the bumper apple harvest to the depths of winter and by the time the 17th of January rolled around I was beginning to wonder if my due date was not far nearer than first thought. I was literally the size of the cottage, to my mind at least, and had to be escorted down to the orchard to take part in the wassailing in case I slipped on the hard, frosty ground.
Before the New Year I hadn’t even heard of wassailing but I was now fully clued up as to the importance of the annual ritual of blessing the trees and asking for a bountiful harvest. I was looking forward to seeing the apple tree man, the oldest and strongest tree in the orchard, having mulled cider poured around his roots and cider soaked toast hung in his branches.
Annie and I had been on our feet all day, rushing around getting everything ready for the evening’s festivities and we all set off together down to the orchards under a starry sky and theatrically bright Wolf Moon.
I was amazed by the sheer number of people who had turned out on such a raw winter’s night and knew that many of them would go on foot to neighbouring orchards to continue the important ritual as the evening wore on. I was more than grateful that Skylark Farm was first on the list because my back was aching and I was ready to put my feet up in front of the fire.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Harriet.
‘Just a bit tired,’ I told her.
‘You probably shouldn’t be out here at all,’ said Jessica, fussily trying to button my coat and rearranging my scarf over my ample girth.
‘That’s what I’ve been telling her,’ said Jake, taking over where the girls left off.
‘Oh, I couldn’t miss this,’ I told them all. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it for days!’
Harriet linked arms with Rachel, and Jessica took a sip of mulled cider from Henry’s ancient battered tankard. I was surprised to see that lots of people had brought their own mugs and cups but apparently that was all part of the tradition.
‘Are you cold?’ said Jake, trying to wrap his arms around me. ‘’Cause I’m freezing.’
‘What, with all this extra padding?’ I laughed. ‘No, I’m fine. Apart from my toes, of course.’
‘I’ll give you a foot massage when we get back to the house,’ he whispered.
‘Oh,’ I laughed, ‘you really do know the way to my heart, don’t you?’
I hadn’t been able to see my feet, let alone reach them, for weeks.
‘Well, I hope so by now!’ he said, giving me a quick squeeze.
We stood together looking at the ruddy faces of our neighbours and friends as they warmed themselves around the braziers and gratefully wrapped their hands around their mugs. The children ran through and between the trees gorging themselves on the sticky sweet toffee apples Annie and I had spent the day preparing.
The orchards had looked so pretty for Jess and Henry’s wedding in the summer, but seeing them lit by fire and torch light and filled with the sound of laughter, while the darkness slunk around just out of reach, held a magic all of its own and I think I liked it even more.
Great things were in the offing for Skylark Farm and, despite Annie’s protestations, some of my profit from the sale of the flat had made a marked difference in reducing the size of the overdraft. The baby’s imminent arrival was now the biggest excitement, of course, but we were also expecting the pigs in a few weeks along with more chicks, and after last year’s success we would be playing host to the May Fair again (where I would definitely not be taking a turn around the Maypole). Bookings for the cottage had been coming in thick and fast, and the demand for Jake’s cider was also picking up.
The future at Skylark Farm was looking very bright indeed and as I spotted Annie passing around the jug of cider, the rest of my friends laughing in the glow from the flames, I couldn’t help but feel delighted that I had swapped city living for my new life in the country.
THE END
Acknowledgements
As always there are so many people to thank for their love and encouragement in supporting my writing life and this time around the list has increased tenfold!
Firstly I would like to say thank you to my family, who are now playing their increasingly familiar parts with ever more confidence, competence and not so much as a hint of impatience. Paul is still supplying the time, love and understanding, and Oliver and Amelia are enduring my incessant ramblings about character traits, plot twists and word counts with heroic stamina.
The fabulous Books and the City team continue to be an absolute dream to work with. My endless questions have been answered, advice has been freely given, emails and telephone calls responded to in a heartbeat, glorious covers designed, exquisite editing undertaken and the result . . . not one, but now two novels to be proud of!
Next I would like to wrap my arms around my fellow authors, the RNA and Book Bloggers the world over. I cannot emphasise strongly enough the gratitude I feel for the support I have received from you all. You have enthusiastically championed my work through social media and beyond and every tweet and recommendation is hugely appreciated!
I would also like to thank my wonderful friends and colleagues from St Mary’s Junior School in Long Stratton. Your interest in my time at the keyboard and scribbling away in my car at lunchtimes is always welcome. Mr Dingle you will indeed find yourself in the plot one day so watch out and thank you Posh, (aka Mrs Daniels), for providing names for two of the Skylark Farm hens.
And finally, thank you dear readers. I have been simply overwhelmed by the love you have shown for The Cherry Tree Café and I hope you can find a space in your heart for Summer at Skylark Farm. May your bookshelves, be they virtual or real, always be filled with fabulous fiction.
H x
If you loved Summer at Skylark Farm, turn the page to read the first chapter of Heidi’s debut novel
The Cherry Tree Café
Chapter 1
When I was growing up I used to hate my birthday. What use was a birthday two weeks after Christmas? But now, bowling headlong towards my early thirties with Mr Right to snuggle up to, it didn’t seem so bad. No, now it wasn’t too bad at all. I sighed and stretched out in the luxuriously large bed, then rolled over to snuggle up to his perfectly toned torso for a few more minutes, only to discover that he wasn’t there.
No matter, I smiled to myself, as I imagined him sauntering back into the bedroom with a laden breakfast tray and wearing little more than his most seductive smile. Just what, I couldn’t help wondering, had he got planned for my birthday, which coincidentally was the same day as our anniversary? Two blissful years since fate had blown him through the doors of the Mermaid pub and into my waiting arms.
Bored with life in Wynbridge, the small East Anglian town where I’d grown up, I was looking for a distraction, anything to stave off the monotony of pulling pints and justifying still living at home, when in breezed Giles Worthington. He introduced himself as a jilted groom, a broken soul in need of a little ‘r and r’, which I was only too willing to offer. I had him back on his feet in no time and in return he swept me off mine and carried me away to his castle, well, penthouse flat actually.
It wasn’t until a few weeks down the line that I discovered that he had actually been the one largely responsible for the jilting, but his fiancée was long gone by then, already seeing someone else (so he said) and I was living the life of a princess, not that any of that really mattered to me. All I cared about was love, head over heels, heart slamming against the ribcage love. I was a firm believer in destiny, fate and all that malarkey and I just knew that Giles Worthington and I were meant to be together, forever.
‘Giles,’ I purred lustfully, ‘hurry up, the bed’s getting cold.’
No response. I sat up, shook my red curls away from my face, wrapped the sheet tightly around me and tiptoed to the door to call again. Still nothing, I shuffled back to bed and spotted an envelope propped up against the phone.
My day ran exactly as Giles planned it to. No
snuggling up on the sofa guzzling Prosecco and watching old movies for me this year. Instead I was polished and preened at a lavish country house spa and trying my best to enjoy it, despite feeling out of place amongst the glossy, groomed goddesses who, unlike me, were clearly accustomed to such indulgent treatment.
Giles, always so generous, loved to shower me with surprises: lavish bouquets covering my desk at work, exquisite jewellery hidden in boxes of chocolates and last-minute mini-breaks, but what I loved best was the time we spent together, just the two of us, snuggled under the duvet with our phones turned off and eyes only for each other. The whole birthday spa experience, although indulgent, just wasn’t me. Mindful of appearing ungrateful, however, I plastered on my best smile and thanked my lucky stars that at least I had a man who actually remembered my birthday.
I spent the entire day wrapped in a soft fluffy robe, my every whim catered for before heading to the salon to have my locks straightened whilst a taxi waited on standby to drive me to my favourite rooftop restaurant for dinner with my dream man.
In the run up to the big day I’d become increasingly convinced that Giles was poised to propose, and my hours of intense pampering only served to satisfy the fantasy that endless clandestine conversations with my best mate, Jemma, had fed. I was so close to securing my happy-ever-after I could almost taste it.
‘Good evening, Miss Dixon.’ The restaurant manager bowed when I arrived.
‘Good evening, James,’ I blushed.
I still wasn’t used to the way people treated me now I was Giles’s girlfriend. Wherever we went, everyone knew my name. I knew my mother would have been in seventh heaven to have people falling over themselves for her, but to me it felt weird. I guess deep down I still felt a bit of a fraud living the city high life.
Before Giles whisked me away I was just a barmaid from a small town with no idea of ‘how the other half lived’ but now I was treated like the Queen of Sheba simply because I happened to grace the arm of Giles Worthington. Talking of whom, where was he?
‘Mr Worthington will be arriving shortly,’ James the manager said, as I glanced around apprehensively. ‘Would you care to follow me to your table?’
I had barely sat down when I saw Giles arrive. I smiled to myself as I watched every woman in the restaurant discreetly shifting in their seats to ensure they secured the best view of the thick dark hair, mahogany eyes and impeccably cut suit that was heading towards my table.
‘Lizzie,’ he said, bending down and brushing my cheek with the briefest kiss. ‘You look gorgeous. How was your day?’
He took the seat opposite mine and dutifully acknowledged the female diners who were still panting for a word from him. I breathed in the lingering scent of his aftershave and tried to draw my mind away from thoughts of getting him back to the flat, loosening his tie and recklessly tearing open the buttons on his designer shirt.
‘My day has been utterly sublime,’ I breathed, ‘but I think tonight is going to surpass it.’
Ordinarily when I made a comment like that Giles would wink or caress my leg under the table and I would know there was no way he was going to wait until we got back to the flat before he would ravish me, but he simply threw me a fleeting smile and picked up his menu.
‘Is everything all right?’ I ventured.
It wasn’t like him not to play along.
‘Yes, sorry. It’s just been one of those days, you know?’
‘Actually I can’t say I do,’ I tried again, ‘because thanks to you I’ve had the best possible day ever.’
I knew I was pushing the truth a bit too far and that Jemma would shake her head at such gratuitous lying, but I wanted Giles to know how much I appreciated the day he had arranged for me. However, he just nodded vaguely and clicked his fingers to catch the attention of the maître d’.
Two courses later and I was struggling to steady my nerves and keep my frustration in check.
‘Can’t you just leave it this time,’ I begged.
It was the third time Giles’s mobile phone had disturbed our meal and it seemed less and less likely with every passing mouthful that he was going to propose and even if he did, I wasn’t sure I’d have the good grace to accept, given the filthy mood I’d fallen into as a result of the constant interruptions.
‘Surely whatever it is can wait until we’ve finished our afters.’ I whispered.
‘It isn’t “afters”,’ Giles snapped, standing up and noisily dropping his spoon, ‘this is sweet or pudding or dessert, but not “afters” and no, I can’t just leave it.’
Sudden tears stung my eyes as I watched him march across the restaurant. I furiously tried to blink them away and ignore the pang of embarrassment I felt as a result of his harsh words. He’d never corrected anything I’d said before. The Brothers Grimm, as Jemma had named them, Giles’s brothers Edward and Charlie, might have done, but not Giles. In the two years I’d known him he’d never been cruel.
I thought back to all the times he’d sat around my parents’ dining table enjoying his ‘afters’. What the hell was wrong with him? I couldn’t believe that he would have gone to all the trouble of arranging the spa and sumptuous meal for my birthday, our anniversary, only to have it all sabotaged with phone calls from work.
‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly when he finally came back to the table, his expression grave.
‘What is it?’ I asked, reaching for his hand and feeling determined to make everything better. ‘I know there’s something wrong, Giles. We’ve never argued like this before and today of all days.’
I willed myself to forgive his waspish comment and smooth over the cracks in what was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life but there was something in his expression that suggested that today was just another day to him, nothing special at all. Surely he hadn’t really forgotten?
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie,’ he stammered, ‘I’m just not feeling myself. It’s been a very long day.’
‘It’s OK,’ I soothed.
He looked at me for a second then withdrew his hand and took a deep breath.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s something I have to tell you.’
I sat back in my chair, ran a pristinely manicured hand over my sleek, straightened curls and tried to return his gaze. This was it. This was the moment he was finally going to ask me. He was just nervous and annoyed that we’d been interrupted.
‘So, what is it?’ I smiled. ‘I’m sure whatever it is can’t be that bad.’
Just for a second I was panicked by his unfathomable expression and looked down at the table, then I realised he was fumbling in his pocket for what I presumed was a ring box. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and looked back up. He was pushing something across the table towards me. Tentatively I stretched out my hand to take it, but it wasn’t a ring box or a ring. It was a key. It was Giles’s flat door key. I dropped it clumsily back onto the table as if its touch had seared my skin.
‘Lizzie, I’m so sorry.’ He frowned, his words barely audible. ‘But I have to tell you, I’ve decided I’m going to marry Natasha after all.’
I don’t really remember the finer details of what happened after that. I sat and stared, dumbstruck, as Giles’s mouth opened and closed and snatches of some of what he said reached me from what felt like light years away.
‘I’ve never really stopped loving her,’ I heard him say, ‘I know now that when I met you I was just scared of the commitment she and I were about to make.’
‘But what about me, Giles?’ I stammered, bile rising as I refused to acknowledge the voice in my head warning me that the universe was gearing itself up to play an exceptionally cruel hand. ‘When we first got together you told me that you and Natasha weren’t meant to be. You said that you felt lucky that you got out when you did and that what you felt for me was nothing like what you felt for her. You said you were in love with me!’
‘No,’ he shrugged, ‘I thought I was, but I wasn’t. Looking back, I think I just got scared
of the thought of being with one person for the rest of my life and I panicked. I should never have split up with Natasha, let alone asked you to move in with me. I just got carried away, and if we’re being honest, Lizzie, even you’ll admit our relationship has never really worked, has it? I mean, you’ve never really settled into life here, have you?’
I sat open-mouthed, too stunned to move and too shocked to respond. I had left my job, my family and all my friends in Wynbridge to move to London so I could be with this man. I was crazy about him, would walk through fire for him and I had thought he felt the same about me. Countless times he told me that he loved me, that I was a breath of fresh air, that he’d never met anyone else like me . . .
‘Excuse me,’ I murmured, pushing back my chair and praying that I’d make it to the ladies before off-loading the contents of my stomach.
I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall but didn’t recognise the person looking back at me. Where had Lizzie Dixon gone? I teased a few of the tortured and tamed curls free and felt heavy tears gathering. I swallowed hard, took a deep breath and splashed my face with cold water to try and temper some of the heat in my flushed cheeks.
‘I know this must be one hell of a shock,’ Giles whispered, as I rejoined him after a wobbly walk back to our table, ‘but I couldn’t let it drag on any longer. When I spotted you looking at rings before Christmas, I said to Natasha . . . What?’
‘Exactly how long have you been back with her?’ I gasped, horrified.
Giles shook his head. ‘I don’t know, a few months maybe.’
I couldn’t bear to hear another word. Jemma’s voice was screaming at me to tip his drink over his head and dump his ‘afters’ in his lap, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I suddenly realised that this whole meal was a charade and that Giles had pinned all his hopes on me going quietly and not making a fuss and apparently I was going to, but only because I was too shocked to do anything else.