The hills rose to my left and right and I could just make out the blobs of white, some big, some small, as the sheep nibbled their way round the fields before snuggling up with their lambs for the night. Birdie materialized from nowhere and bumped her head against my shins until I scratched behind her ears.
‘So my daughter bakes the best pies in Cumbria and gets invited to London to meet Harrison Finch, whom I know she adores, and doesn’t tell me about it. My maternal radar is going wild, here, Hetty.’
‘Sorry. Busy time on the farm, you know, with sheep sales, and haymaking …’ My voice petered out. It was a poor excuse and we both knew it. ‘Anyway, who told you?’
‘Poppy, of course! She Skyped me as soon as you got the news. She was almost bursting with excitement; I could hardly make out what she was saying!’
My heart swelled. ‘If nothing else comes out of this, I’ll be forever happy that I’ve made her proud.’
‘It must be nice,’ Mum said evenly, ‘for your daughter to be proud of your accomplishments.’
‘I’m proud of you!’
‘Humpf.’
‘I probably don’t tell you enough, that’s all,’ I admitted. ‘After Dad died I thought you’d come back to the UK. I thought you might not be brave enough to live in America by yourself. But you’ve moved house, made new friends, taken up hobbies, you’ve created a life that suits you. I’m proud of you for that, Mum. I’m even …’ I hesitated. ‘I’m even proud that you’ve found love again with Al.’
‘Really? That is good to hear.’ Mum sounded so grateful, my heart pinged with love for her. ‘He’ll never replace your father, but he treats me well.’
We were both silent for a moment. I was thinking about Dad. About how much I missed him. He’d been the first man to buy me flowers on Valentine’s Day and I’d made a pact with myself right then to find a man who would treat me the same way. Last Valentine’s Day, Dan had traipsed right to the other side of the moors to pick me a posy of wild heather which he’d tied with baler twine; I’d been over the moon with it.
‘You weren’t quite so proud when we moved to America, were you?’ she continued.
It was a rhetorical question; I’d been verbal about my disapproval, at the time and since. In front of me Birdie lifted her leg elegantly behind her ear, like some sort of advanced yoga pose, and began to give herself a wash.
‘I was sixteen and selfish. I couldn’t see it as your adventure. I processed every event according to the way it affected me. And I missed you both terribly.’
‘And we missed you. It was a huge wrench leaving you, you know that. We nearly gave up and came home several times.’
‘Yeah, I know, but you did the right thing. It was important that Dad enjoyed the life he had left.’
‘And he did enjoy it.’ Mum sighed softly. ‘Owning his own boat, fishing in the ocean and sitting for hours on the veranda watching the water, or the sunset, or even the lightning storms; his last few years were his most content. I have no regrets. Our only sacrifice was you.’
I stifled a yawn; the day’s labours were beginning to catch up with me. Above me Poppy’s bedroom light went out, just as ours was switched on. Dan had gone up to bed; I wouldn’t be far behind him, hopefully. ‘It worked out in the end. It’s getting late, Mum—’
‘I notice you’ve managed to move the subject away from pies?’
‘Not deliberately but it’s complicated …’
But I resigned myself to telling her anyway. About my pipe dream to run my own business from home and about the costs involved that we just couldn’t justify and how leaving Dan to run the farm while I swanned off to London wasn’t fair. And about how Joe Appleton had resurfaced after all these years as the head of Cumbria’s Finest.
‘Oh goodness me,’ she said irritably, ‘Dan’s a big boy; he’ll cope without you for a day or two. You can’t always please everyone, Hetty. No one knows that more than me.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I mean, leaving you behind when we came to the States. I was caught between you and your father. But he persuaded me that you might relish the freedom; being a teenager and being able to set your own rules. We thought giving you your independence would help you when you went away to university.’ She sniffed. ‘Anyway, you gave up a lot for Dan; it’s time you did something for yourself.’
I smiled softly into the dusky night. This was one of Mum’s soapboxes: how I gave up my place at university for life on a farm.
‘I have no regrets, Mum,’ I said, echoing her words.
‘Fibber. That’s why you haven’t told me about winning the competition. Because you knew I’d tell you to go for it. I can lend you the money to get the kitchen done, so that needn’t be an issue.’
‘Thank you, but no,’ I said swiftly. ‘I don’t want to borrow money. You brought me up to be independent, remember?’
Mum tutted. ‘Clever clogs. Okay, I’ll give you the money. I ought to, anyway, because at the rate I’m burning through it, you won’t be getting an inheritance.’
We both laughed and my eyes filled with tears of love; it was at times like these I missed her most.
‘Thanks, but no thanks, Mum, I’d rather you carry on spending it yourself. Besides, it was just a pipe dream, some things aren’t meant to be.’
‘You could call it Pie in the Sky,’ she said, ignoring my last comment.
‘No, I’ve already got a name: Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery.’
‘I thought you’re not going ahead with it?’
‘Um … I’m not.’ I paused. ‘I don’t think.’
‘Darling, don’t be afraid to do something for yourself. And if not for yourself, for Poppy.’
‘That is a good reason,’ I admitted.
‘And as far as my daughter representing Cumbria in a national competition is concerned, that would give me something to crow about at the tennis club next week,’ she added innocently.
‘And that’s another good reason. I’m glad you phoned. Thank you for your advice.’
‘Darling, that’s what I’m here for, to make you see sense. Anyway, you must go to London, how else will you find out why Joe lost contact?’
Three incontrovertibly good reasons. I wondered if Dan would agree …
Chapter 14
The next morning, the clear skies of yesterday were a distant memory and the clouds were heavy and grey.
‘I’ll be in the tup field with Cameron this morning, tarting them up,’ said Dan, swallowing the last mouthful of a bacon sandwich. ‘There’s a few with horns that need cutting down and we’re going to make a decision on which tups to show and sell.’
The Carsdale Show was a big date in the farming calendar. Every year, we took some of our best Swaledale tups to compete. A winning ram could fetch a colossal sum; Dan’s friend Ian from Woodside Farm got ten thousand pounds for one of his last year. Dan could barely speak to him for a week he was that envious.
‘Hang on, I’ll fetch you some tweezers,’ I said, handing him a big box of sandwiches and two flasks to keep them going.
A part of tarting up the tups was removing the stray white hairs from their black faces. They also had the tips of their horns filed down if they were growing too close to their cheeks, peat rubbed into their wool to give the fleece a lovely grey colour and nearer to the auction, they’d have their white legs washed too. Sometimes I thought the male members of our flock had a better beauty regime than me.
As if reading my mind, Dan smiled his thanks and then did a double take. ‘You look nice today.’
‘Do I? I’m only in my jeans,’ I said. ‘I’ve brushed my hair, that’s all.’
‘And you’ve got make-up on.’ He narrowed his eyes teasingly. ‘Have I forgotten something? A birthday? Anniversary?’
‘The only thing you’ve forgotten is how nice your wife always looks.’
He shook his head confidently. ‘I’d never forget that.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
I turned to the door so he didn’t see my blushing face. Joe Appleton was due to call today and I was feeling on edge about it. Yes, I knew it was only a phone call, but somehow making an effort with my appearance gave me an extra bit of confidence, whether Joe could see it or not.
I quickly found the tweezers, handed them over and as soon as I’d run through the list of jobs I’d got planned for the morning, Dan left.
The first few chores took longer than planned because I kept coming back into the kitchen to check the phone for messages. But at eleven o’clock I stopped for a cup of tea. Despite staring at the phone and willing it to ring, I still jumped when it did. Speaking to Mum last night had helped me sift through my conflicting thoughts; if this was Joe, I knew what I was going to say.
I caught sight of my reflection in the kitchen mirror as I reached for the phone. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed; I looked like what I was: a woman about to go behind her husband’s back …
‘Sunnybank Farm, Hetty speaking.’
‘Hetty, it’s Joe.’
‘Hi.’ My heart hammered and I took a seat at the kitchen table. ‘I can’t believe it’s really you.’
‘Look, first of all I owe you an apology. I should have come clean and said who I was straight away last time we spoke.’ His words came out all in a rush as if he’d been rehearsing them.
‘Yes, you should,’ I said. I paused, waiting for him to explain himself, but no reply came so I decided to launch straight into a speech of my own. ‘The Britain’s Best Bites competition would be a great opportunity to—’
‘It is!’ he urged, interrupting me. ‘I’m so glad you agree!’
‘To see you again,’ I finished. ‘To fill in the missing years. Joe, what happened to make you cut off all ties so completely?’
‘Oh gosh, that was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘I don’t really think about those days now. We just finished sixth-form and went our separate ways. I’m sure there are other people from the college days you don’t keep in touch with.’
‘True.’ My brow furrowed. He was right: Anna, Dan and I had lost contact with most of the other students who’d moved away. But Joe wasn’t ‘other people’, he’d been part of our gang, Dan’s best friend. Even after all these years it was still bugging me.
‘Now, Hetty, I really want to persuade you to come to the Britain’s Best Bites awards. Do you have time to meet up?’
‘When?’
‘Today, preferably.’
I looked around the kitchen; there was nothing that a quick spruce-up wouldn’t sort out. ‘Of course, and I’m sure Dan would like to see you.’
‘No, no,’ Joe said swiftly. ‘Somewhere neutral; I mean, halfway. I’m at the office in Kendal.’
‘Okay.’ I glanced up at the map on the wall and then at the clock. Appleby Farm in Lovedale was roughly halfway, plus Freya had asked to try a fruit pie: I could kill two birds with one stone. ‘Appleby Farm in an hour?’
We ended the call and I ran upstairs to get changed. The rest of the chores could wait.
I turned off Lovedale Lane through an open gate that stood between a rustic honesty box selling eggs, pots of herbs and bunches of fat radishes on one side, and a wooden sign for Appleby Farm Tea Rooms on the other. I drove up the bumpy track and parked in a small field marked ‘Visitor Parking’. There were several cars already there and I wondered if Joe’s was one of them.
I was nervous. I hadn’t attended many formal meetings in my life. Most business dealings in farming were conducted at great decibels in the auction ring or, depending on the time of day, companionably and quietly over a pint or a cuppa. And to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what I was even doing here.
But this was just Joe, I reminded myself, smoothing down the skirt of my one decent tea dress and lifting a caramel apple pie from the back seat. Just sweet-faced Joe, adored by all the girls for his quiet and thoughtful gentlemanly ways, even at eighteen.
‘Hetty!’ Freya descended on me, arms outstretched. She wore a baggy denim pinafore dress over a polka-dot T-shirt and had a matching scarf tied in her mass of curls. ‘Congratulations again!’
‘Thank you! It’s still sinking in.’ I gave her a one-armed hug and then handed over the pie. ‘Serve warm with thick cream. I still haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to bulk bake legally, but …’ I ended with a shrug.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Ach, all that health and hygiene stuff is easy enough to navigate once you get the hang of it.’
I thought about the expression on the council inspector’s face when Dan had come in to wash his hands in the kitchen sink after a close encounter with a ewe’s undercarriage and said nothing.
She hung her nose over the pie. ‘This smells amazing. Is it the recipe you’ll be taking to London?’
‘Well, I …’ I started to tell her that nothing was official yet, but she set off across the farmyard and carried on talking.
‘Actually, I think I’ve already put you down for that lamb one.’ She pulled a face. ‘I wish I was going with you, but Tilly is still too small to leave overnight. But I expect you to bring me all the gossip. Especially about Joe. He’s a lovely boss, but talk about closed book; I normally wheedle stuff out of everyone, but so far nothing from him.’
‘I know lots about him when he was a teenager. He was my husband’s best friend through school.’
Freya stopped in mid-flow. ‘Never!’
Her eyes widened when I told her we hadn’t seen each other for fifteen years.
‘Really?’
‘He wasn’t one of the judges, was he?’ I said, suddenly realizing I might have shot myself in the foot. ‘Because I don’t want to be accused of cheating.’
She shook her head. ‘They were a panel of experts from outside of the county, to avoid favouritism. None of the team was involved with the voting. Wow, though, childhood friends.’
She was still staring at me with interest.
‘Talking of children, where are yours?’ I said to cover up my awkwardness.
‘My mum’s taken them up to Clover Field where the shepherd’s huts are. We’ve got guests checking in later. Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before Joe arrives.’
Fifteen minutes later, we’d done a whistle-stop tour of Appleby Farm, which had ended at the tea room. Freya told me how she’d converted it a few years ago from a disused barn, furnished it on a shoestring and decorated it with bunting, adding her mum’s collection of vintage tea sets to complete the look. It was light and bright and very pretty, and I was completely bowled over by her talents. She introduced me to her right-hand woman, Lizzie, and installed me at a table to wait for Joe. No sooner had I scanned through the menu and drooled over the delicious-sounding cakes when soft footsteps approached my table. My spine prickled with anticipation. I looked up.
‘Hello.’
And there was Joe, instantly recognizable even after all these years. No longer a big gangly teenager, slightly unsure of himself, but a tall, cuddly bear of a man, with a neatly shaped beard, a broad chest, a slight curve to his tummy and signs of a hectic life ingrained into the lines on his forehead. But the warm dark eyes, gentle smile and tufty sandy hair were unmistakeable.
In a flash I was out of my chair and flinging my arms around him. ‘Joe!’
‘Whoa,’ he said, taken aback, placing a leather document wallet on the table. ‘It’s good to see you too.’
‘You look great,’ I cried, taking in his linen jacket and the smart polo shirt and jeans. ‘I love the beard, makes you look rugged.’
He grinned boyishly. ‘You too, Hetty Wigglesworth. You look great, I mean, not rugged.’
I laughed. ‘I haven’t been called Wigglesworth for a while; Dan and I have been married for seven years now.’
‘And no sign of the seven-year itch?’ He cocked an eyebrow and took the seat opposite mine.
‘No!’ I said, pretending to be aghast at the suggestion. ‘We’re as happy as ever.’
Joe held his hands up. ‘Sorry
. Bad joke.’
‘Hey, no worries.’ I handed him a menu. ‘Shall we order? I’m dying for a drink.’
‘And how is Dan?’ He opened the menu and for a moment I lost sight of him behind it. ‘I bet he was surprised to hear you’re meeting me today.’
I opened my mouth, wondering whether to admit that Dan didn’t know anything about it but luckily Freya arrived to take our order and the moment passed.
She returned to our table almost immediately, delivering tea for two, a plate of her home-made scones, a jar of her Auntie Sue’s bramble jelly and a bowl of thick cream courtesy of Kim, their Jersey cow.
‘I’ll leave you two old chums to catch up,’ Freya said, beaming from Joe to me, ‘and I’ll join you for the businessy-bit in a while.’
‘This is … well, this is lovely,’ said Joe simply, when she’d gone. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. ‘Strange after all these years, but lovely.’
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. So many memories kept popping to the front of my mind, like when he used to call in to my house after his shift at the bakery, bringing Anna and me left-over sausage rolls and sponge cakes. Coming with me to the dentist when I was nervous and Dan was too busy on the farm to come. Roaming the streets with us for hours, helping us look for next-door’s missing cat after I’d volunteered to feed it while they were away. Joe had always been there for us with a helping hand, a thoughtful deed and a friendly smile.
‘It is, very lovely. I can’t quite believe it.’
I reached for his hand across the table. He left it there for a second and then withdrew it, saying, ‘Shall I be mother?’
‘Talking of which, I am now a mother too …’
And while he poured the tea and plonked enormous scones on plates I showed him photos of Poppy and Dan and even a picture of Rusty, which brought a tear to my eye, and in a few sentences I managed to sum up the last fifteen years of my life.
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