Sending you all the luck in the world, not that you need it because you are invincible.
Love
Mum xxx
I pressed the card to my chest and brushed tears from my face. Mum’s choice of words couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d tried. I didn’t agree with them. Not one bit. It was Poppy who was invincible, not me. I gave up far too easily; I’d been taking the easy way out all my life.
‘But thank you for believing in me. I love you too, Mum,’ I whispered and fumbled in the side pocket of my bag for a tissue.
Instead of a tissue my fingers closed around a slip of paper. I pulled it out and my heart skipped a beat: it was a page torn from the tiny notebook Dan kept in the sheep pens to record any medication given.
My tears were now so bad I was beginning to make ugly gulping noises. I’d have to get a grip before too long or my eyes would swell. I took a deep breath and unfolded the note.
If my heart was a pie chart, the biggest slice would belong to you.
Love always, Dan xx
And then I laughed, and cried some more, and poured myself a glass of champagne because my family loved me and because I was in London being a winner.
‘You know what, Dan?’ I said, raising my glass to my absent husband. ‘With you on my side, I think I just might be invincible after all.’
At ten past seven I was standing to attention, crammed against strangers in slinky dresses and smart suits, in a tiny but opulent private bar in the hotel. Outside this room was the main cocktail bar, equally packed with the regional food groups from the rest of the country. And at the far end of that was the ballroom where tonight’s dinner would be held.
Opulent it might be, but the air conditioning was nothing to write home about and the ceiling fans were no match for the London heat, which must have been a good ten degrees higher than Carsdale’s cool green hills. I flapped at the front of my rose-pink satin dress to let some air in, not wanting to be a sweaty Hetty. Poppy and Anna had helped me choose the dress. I loved it but it would be a devil for showing underarm perspiration and if I was being honest, it was a bit of a snug fit; pie-tasting had definitely taken its toll on my tummy recently. I glanced down at my legs quickly, hoping my super-fast fake tan didn’t look too streaky, but decided it was fine from a distance.
I flapped at my face with a napkin and tried to catch a waitress’s eye while pushing through the crowd, chin lifted as if I was looking for someone.
The two glasses of swiftly consumed champagne in my room hadn’t been such a good idea, although I’d followed them up with a power nap and then a quick shower to mitigate the effects of the alcohol. And then, because I faffed about tanning my legs, I’d been short of time, so I’d made the fatal mistake of tipping my head upside down to dry my hair quickly and now whenever I caught sight of my reflection in the many, many polished surfaces in this hotel, I would get a glimpse of someone who resembled John Travolta in Hairspray. I had possibly never looked so much like a country bumpkin in my life.
Bouffant hair and red face aside, I was buzzing. Just being here, so far from the farm, in a glitzy dress surrounded by chandeliers and champagne, had put a massive smile on my face.
‘Drink, Madam?’ A waiter smiled and offered me a choice of sparkling wine, juice or water. I opted for water this time and gulped half of it straight down.
I’d been hoping to bump into Joe but by the time I’d got here the room was so packed that it was impossible to do much mingling. Despite that, so far I’d had a good chat with a lady who’d persuaded me to try adding fig jam to my apple and Wensleydale pie and I’d had an offer of a joint promotion from a couple who’d launched a range of organic gravies. It was only when I’d agreed to send a selection of pies to a farm shop in Ambleside that I remembered that after tomorrow there would be no more Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery.
The thought made my stomach quiver but I pushed it aside for now. Tonight was about being part of Cumbria’s Finest, tonight I was the region’s top pie maker and I was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.
I could see Joe now, he was at the far end of the room on a small stage and someone was handing him a microphone. He looked like he was about to make a speech.
I elbowed through the crowd to get a bit closer. A rush of warmth filled me just looking at my old friend, so authoritative and confident as he thanked a member of staff and took a sip from his glass. He looked ultra-handsome this evening in a caramel-coloured jacket and cream shirt, which complemented his fair colouring and thick sandy hair perfectly.
Lovely Joe. Once again I felt a pang of sadness that he’d been so unlucky in love. He deserved someone wonderful. I made a pact with myself to dig a little deeper into his personal life while I was here, to see if I could find out more about the man he had grown into, and more importantly, who he’d been running from when he left Carsdale.
He tapped the microphone to check it and a muffled sound reverberated around the room. The throng fell silent and turned towards him.
‘Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ Joe began.
Just then a well-known bluesy piano riff rang out. Everyone laughed.
‘And welcome to the Hyde Gate Hotel.’
It rang out again. The timing was perfect. I giggled into my glass.
‘I feel like I should break into song,’ he said as the plinky-plonk music rang out a third time.
This time people looked round to see where the noise was coming from. A lot of them seemed to be looking my way.
‘I guess now’s a good time to ask you to switch your mobiles to silent,’ Joe added good-naturedly.
The fourth time the ivories tinkled, someone prodded my arm.
‘I think it’s your phone?’ murmured a lady with wiry grey hair, plump arms and rosy cheeks.
‘Oh crumbs! Sorry!’ I muttered.
I fumbled to mute it, not easy with a glass in my hand. It was a text alert from one of my VIP contacts. I’d had to set the volume to maximum so that I didn’t sleep through my alarm earlier. I glanced at it surreptitiously. It was from Viv. Oh Lordy, please let everything be all right. The lady was now giving me stern looks so I had no choice but to put my phone back in my bag without opening the message. I eyed up the door, wondering whether to escape now before Joe began his speech properly.
‘Hetty!’ Joe’s eyes flashed with humour as he addressed me from the platform. ‘I knew you’d be trouble.’
‘Me?’ I stuttered, my eyes wide.
‘Ladies and Gentleman, a good moment to introduce Hetty Greengrass from Sunnybank Farm in Carsdale. I think she has the honour of being our newest food brand. Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery has only been in existence for a matter of weeks, and already she can call herself an award-winning pie company. Well done, Hetty. You’re a star.’
I didn’t know about being a star but my face now felt like the red planet. Was that Mars? Which reminded me of the Mars bar pie I’d dreamed up earlier. I should write that down before I forgot: Mars bars and pecan nuts and possibly a dash of Bourbon too … I reached into my bag again but the lady next to me started tutting and shaking her head crossly. I mouthed my apology and slid my hand away.
Joe lifted his glass to toast me. The rest of the room clapped and muttered their congratulations. I nodded my thanks, my cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Joe cleared his throat.
‘I was brought up in Cumbria. Some of you may remember Appleton’s Bakery in Holmthwaite, my family’s business? I even worked there myself. I was the weedy teenager who was desperate for a broad chest and stubbly chin like my best friend Dan.’
I smiled, remembering them together. The two of them were always messing about, arm wrestling or challenging each other to eating contests. How sad that their friendship had been cut short.
‘My career took me away from the area but the place, the food and, of course, the people have always retained a special place in my heart.’
I felt my cheeks redden as his gaze held mine. If he wouldn’t mind get
ting back to his original speech soon, and away from the subject of our shared history, that would be great. A waitress stopped in front of me with a tray of drinks and raised an eyebrow.
‘No thank you,’ I whispered, showing her my glass of water.
‘Hetty wasn’t much of a cook when she was a teenager …’
I groaned inwardly. As if I wasn’t already the centre of attention.
‘In fact, I distinctly remember her serving me frozen pizza one evening.’ He shook his head, laughing. ‘And when I say frozen, I mean frozen. The pineapple chunks nearly broke our teeth.’
‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind,’ I said to the waitress, tapping her arm as titters rang around the room. I took a glass of champagne and knocked half of it back. If this was going to be a trip down Hetty’s memory lane, I was going to need more lubrication.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t help smiling at the memory his story had conjured up of Anna, him and me sprawled out on the sofas at my house watching horror movies after the pub. Dan had already gone back to Carsdale and we’d taken great delight in scaring ourselves half to death in the name of entertainment and had all ended up under one blanket, terrified. We had had great times together.
Still, I thought, sending him an admonishing look across the room, I’d rather we kept our teenage years to ourselves.
‘Anyway, we’ve both changed since then: Hetty is now an award-winning baker and I eventually managed to grow a beard.’
The audience laughed as he scratched the end of his chin.
‘Now.’ His face took on a more serious expression. ‘This year represents a mammoth step forward for Cumbria’s Finest. We’ve secured significant investment via tourism channels, we have relaunched our own awards and for the first time in years, we are here in London. Not only to compete but to show the rest of the country, in fact the world, just what makes food from the Lakes unique.’
‘Hear, hear,’ a deep booming voice called.
‘I am privileged to be in a room full of so much talent and creativity.’ Joe’s eyes roamed his audience all the time, but just then they rested on me. He smiled and I felt a warm fluttering sensation in my stomach. ‘It is my task to curate the best our region has to offer, and I believe I’ve done that here tonight.’
He paused to let everyone clap. Appleton for Prime Minister, I thought, swallowing a lump in my throat. He was brilliant. I wished Dan was here to see him, he’d be so proud of his old friend.
‘Cumbria not only has the best produce in the country, but also the greatest flavour innovators, recipe developers, chefs, bakers, butchers, retailers … You name it, if it’s edible, we can make it. And I thank you. From the bottom of my heart.’ Joe pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Thank you for making me so proud of Cumbria. London, we’re coming to get you.’
He raised his glass one last time and then, handing the microphone back to a member of the hotel staff, he stepped down from the platform.
The applause and the cheering this time was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself think. For a second or two I just stood there soaking it in. Being here in this room with all these winners, I felt part of something special. I’d always loved being part of the Greengrass family, passing on the hill-farming tradition from generation to generation. But this felt different, bigger somehow. I’d done this all by myself. And it felt great.
The smile on my face was huge as I looked around, trying to catch someone’s eye to strike up conversation. But everyone seemed to know everyone else and it felt rude to simply muscle in on someone else’s little group. I wasn’t a shy person but I was out of my comfort zone here. Posh dinners and London exhibitions were probably every day occurrences for all these professional food companies. Whereas to me it was a massive deal: bigger even than the Carsdale Sheep Fair, the village maypole festival and the pub Christmas party all rolled into one.
I decided to push my way through the crowd in Joe’s direction to find him. I skirted a group of men in matching navy polo shirts and smiled my way past the lady I’d spoken to earlier about fig jam when I felt a sudden wet sensation on my back.
I turned to see a young man with straw-coloured hair blushing profusely, a champagne flute in his hand.
‘Oops, sorry.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. ‘Luckily it’s only champagne, not my usual tipple.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’ I thanked him for the handkerchief and tried mopping my own back without much success.
‘Rhubarb juice.’ He smiled proudly. ‘I’ve won an award for it too, actually. Here, allow me.’
I gave the hanky back and turned around so he could dab the wet patch.
‘I think I may have tasted it. Did you supply bottles of it for the Sunnybank Farm Shop open day?’ I said over my shoulder.
‘Yes I did!’ he exclaimed. ‘I couldn’t go myself because I was at Scout camp. I’m a leader. Not an actual Scout,’ he added swiftly. ‘There, that’s as good as I can get it, I’m afraid.’
I turned back around and sipped my drink to hide my smile. ‘Hence the hanky.’
He looked at me blankly, still blushing.
‘Be prepared?’ I said.
‘Ah yes!’ He chuckled. ‘What did you think of the juice?’
I smiled, remembering the puckered face of Wilf the sheep shearer after several shots of it. ‘It’s … invigorating.’
‘You’re Hetty, aren’t you?’ His face lit up a bit more. ‘I’m Rupert. I saw you on TV talking about your pies. I recorded it in case my brand was mentioned. You were very funny.’
‘Not intentionally,’ I said archly.
‘There’s no soggy bottoms on my watch, ha ha ha.’
He followed his joke up by reaching round to pat my bum. I was shocked but dealing with great hulking sheep for fifteen years had given me fantastic reflexes. Before my brain had even registered what he was doing, I stamped on his toe.
‘Oof.’ He doubled up, tipping the rest of his champagne over me. Down my arm this time.
‘Weren’t prepared then, were you?’ I said, pulling the damp handkerchief back out of his breast pocket and drying myself. ‘No bottoms at all on my watch.’
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,’ he spluttered. ‘Please accept my apologies, I’m a little overawed this evening.’
To be fair he did look shocked.
‘Apology accepted,’ I said, handing him back his wet handkerchief.
‘Hetty!’ Joe dived between us. He grabbed hold of my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. ‘So sorry to have left you on your own all this time.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t alone I was talking to …’ I looked round to see where Rupert had gone, but he’d melted into the crowd. ‘Rhubarb boy.’
Outside in the corridor a gong sounded.
‘That’s our cue.’ Joe tossed back the rest of his drink. ‘I’ve put you next to me at dinner, is that okay?’
I was about to say that I’d like nothing more when I suddenly remembered Viv’s text.
‘Oh no!’ I said with a gasp.
Joe looked crestfallen. ‘Well, I could—’
‘Sorry, no, no, it’s fine.’ I thrust my glass at Joe and wriggled my phone out of my bag. ‘But that piano music earlier was a message from home, I’d forgotten all about it. Hold on.’
The phone had a second message alert on the screen too, this time from Poppy. I groaned as I unlocked the screen.
‘Problem?’ Joe asked.
‘Don’t know yet.’
I opened Viv’s message first.
All well here. Girls are eating pizza and Dan’s building them a bonfire for later to toast marshmallows. So nothing to worry about. Relax and enjoy yourself xxx
‘Phew!’ My shoulders sagged with relief. Poppy’s message was equally lovely: no words, just a picture of her with her friends having fun.
‘Everything okay?’ Joe’s dark eyes were full of concern.
‘Yes.’ I felt my heart lift. I had champagne, a five-st
ar hotel and Joe to myself for the evening. ‘Everything is perfect.’
He offered me his arm. ‘Then shall we go through?’
The huge crowd in the main cocktail bar was funnelling slowly through the double doors into the ballroom at the end. Joe and I chatted easily as we ambled along, stopping to collect fresh glasses of champagne from a long table covered in a white cloth. He described the new house he was thinking of buying in Kendal and I told him about Poppy’s birthday and the tractor we had given her.
‘And Anna, do you hear much from her?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely. She’s the school nurse at Poppy’s school and we’re still the best of friends; she makes me laugh, keeps me sane, gets me drunk … So you could say she hasn’t changed a bit.’
‘Really?’ He glanced sideways at me. But he wasn’t really focusing on me; he had a faraway look in his eye.
‘Of course!’ I laughed. ‘You know what it’s like where we live, friends for life …’ My voice petered out. With the exception of him that was.
‘And is she …’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘Single?’
‘Yes. And I worry about that, before long her son, Bart, will want a life of his own and she’s going to be lost without him.’
‘Right. I’d heard she didn’t train to be a doctor in the end because she had a baby.’
‘Bart isn’t a baby any more,’ I laughed. ‘He’s as tall as Dan! He works for us at weekends. Lovely lad.’
‘And he’s into farming?’ Joe said, intrigued. ‘Not medicine, like Anna. How old is he?’
‘Fourteen. Between you and me,’ I confided, ‘I think Bart is more interested in my daughter than the farm, but don’t tell Dan, you’ll hurt his feelings and Anna freaks out at the thought of her son going on a date.’
Joe had stopped walking and was hanging on my every word. It was the perfect opportunity to suggest he came over to the farm one day to see Dan but before I could form the words, Joe launched ahead again, steering me diagonally across the room.
‘Let’s check the seating plan,’ he said.
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