Hetty's Farmhouse Bakery

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Okay,’ he held his hand out to calm me, ‘it would have been nice to have more kids but—’

  ‘Well, now you have.’ I folded my arms and looked down the hill towards Holmthwaite. ‘Because you cheated on me. I know finding out about Bart was a shock to you, but let’s not forget that Bart came along because you cheated on me. And you lied about Joe. All these years you pretended not to know why he cut himself off from us. And you knew!’

  In the distance I saw a car making its way towards us and it crossed my mind to jump into its path and beg for a lift. I just wanted to get away, put an end to this hideous conversation. But I had to get through this. We had to get through this. One way or another.

  ‘I know, I know and I’m so sorry.’ Dan pulled me towards him awkwardly with his good arm but I sidestepped him. ‘I’d made a mistake and lost you once through my own stupidity and I just couldn’t risk losing you again.’

  ‘Two nights. You were only away from me for two nights. And you jumped into bed with my best friend. How could you, Dan?’ There was a tight band across my chest and my breath was coming in sharp bursts. ‘You and Joe. Both in love with her.’

  ‘Joe was in love with Anna?’ He frowned.

  ‘Yes!’ I yelled. ‘Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you? Second best, that’s what.’

  ‘Never say that.’ He smoothed a hair back from my cheek. ‘Never say second best. And I wasn’t in love, I was just …’ He bowed his head. ‘I don’t want to say it; it makes me seem such a shit.’

  ‘Say it.’ I slipped my wedding ring off and rolled it around in my palms. He blew out a breath and raised his eyes up to the sky.

  ‘Okay. I was young, I’d had a few beers. It started off as a cuddle and then …’ His voice faded. ‘I’m not going into details. I was never in love with her, never. Nor her with me. She was a mate. Your mate. I know, I know that makes it worse. We were sickened by our behaviour the next day. The stupid thing was that when she came back to Carsdale with a baby, I was relieved. I thought, great, she’s obviously moved on and put it behind her. I never thought for a moment he was my son.’

  I scanned his face. I didn’t know what I hoped to find: guilt, regret, shame … I saw all those things but coming off him in waves was a bone-deep fatigue. I picked up the fuel can, poured in the petrol and then opened the passenger door. ‘Get in before you collapse on me.’

  He tucked himself into the front of the car and exhaled with tiredness. I got in too, turned to him and took a deep calming breath.

  ‘This is going to take a while to sink in for me. So here’s what I suggest. We park you and me and Anna for now and focus on the kids,’ I said firmly. ‘Whatever we’re feeling doesn’t matter. Bart and Poppy are going to be confused, possibly angry, and almost certainly needing a lot of support from their parents. We can’t do that if we’re at each other’s throats.’

  Dan looked at me with admiration in his eyes. ‘God, I love you, Hetty.’

  I clamped my lips together and started the engine, glad to be able to focus on the familiar actions of driving the car. I loved him too. But it would be a while before the words would be able to fight their way out of my bruised and angry heart.

  Chapter 28

  Viv’s feet clumped down the narrow staircase in her little cottage and into the kitchen where I was sitting at the table. ‘Right, love, I’m off to the farm.’

  It was ten days since the accident, the shearing contractors were in situ and I had moved in with Viv for a while.

  ‘Have fun.’ I quickly lowered the lid of my laptop to hide what I’d been looking at. If she knew I’d been researching long-haul flights, she might tell Dan and I didn’t want him to suspect a thing.

  ‘Humpf, hardly.’ She checked her hair in her compact mirror and puckered up to put on some lipstick. My mother-in-law had apparently been flirting outrageously with a Kiwi called George.

  ‘You look very nice,’ I said slyly, ‘for sheep clipping.’

  ‘In this old thing?’ she said, waving a hand at her pretty pink and blue T-shirt tucked into jeans. Unfortunately, she didn’t manage to hide the flush to her cheeks and we both laughed.

  When I’d first moved to the farm, she’d always been kitted out in big baggy T-shirts, freebies from the feed suppliers or veterinary companies. Things that now accounted for at least twenty-five per cent of my own wardrobe. They’d be going in the bin as soon as I went home. Operation Be True To Me was well underway and ugly promo T-shirts did not form part of it.

  My phone screen lit up with an incoming text from Gil and I quickly turned it over so she couldn’t see who the sender was. I didn’t want to have to explain that either. I’d got in touch with him that evening after Joe had passed on his number. I owed him an explanation; the last time I’d seen him in London, Poppy had announced that Bart might not pull through and I’d been beside myself with fear. I’d sent him a message to let him know that both Dan and Bart were through the worst and to congratulate him on his gold medal.

  He’d replied straight away, thanking me for letting him know and saying how relieved he was to hear my news. He also added that his behaviour on the fire escape had been inappropriate and he apologized, hoping that it wouldn’t stop us from being friends. Privately, I thought that us being friends wasn’t a great idea, but I’d messaged him back and said of course not.

  Since then things had moved on a pace in my life and I’d actually sent him several more messages asking for advice. Gil was turning out to be a very useful contact indeed.

  ‘Viv?’ I got up from the kitchen table and gave her a hug. She was stiff at first but I increased my grip, laughing until she relaxed.

  ‘What’s this in aid of?’ She patted the back of my head awkwardly before wriggling free.

  ‘To say thank you, for helping Dan and me out, for letting me stay here for a few days and for not judging me for it.’

  While I stayed with Viv to give Dan and me some breathing space, Poppy was staying with Matilda. Dan and I had had a long explanation worked out ready to give her about the fact that I needed peace and quiet to get my business plans together for the bank while Dan had the shearing contractors staying in caravans in the yard. And that with his injured shoulder, it would be difficult to look after her. But as soon as we’d got to the ‘you’re going to Matilda’s for a week’ part, she’d yelled, ‘cool!’ and leapt onto her phone to Snapchat Matilda about it, so we kept the details to ourselves.

  ‘Glad to help.’ She tutted softly and shook her head. ‘Such a messy business.’

  I held my breath, hoping she wasn’t going to take this opportunity for a full-blown discussion about her new grandson.

  ‘It’ll settle down in time,’ I said, picking up her handbag and holding it out to her.

  Her wise eyes searched mine. ‘I couldn’t wish for a better daughter-in-law, you know. I’m so glad it worked out for you and Dan that summer.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said huskily.

  ‘Oh, good.’ Her face brightened and she scooped her bag over her shoulder. ‘Now, I really should be off.’ She picked up the cake tin from the side. ‘Mustn’t forget my courgette cake. George didn’t believe you could make a cake from green vegetables. So I’m proving him wrong. Want anything bringing back from the farmhouse?’

  I thought for a moment. None of the things I was missing could be brought back with her. I missed stepping on to the silvery grass heavy with morning dew and watching the baby rabbits disappear into their burrows when I came too close, I missed the song of the curlews as they soared across the valley, I missed the smell of the fields and the feel of lanolin on my hands. I missed the sight of Poppy coming up the lane after school, bursting with stories about her day. But most of all I missed the presence of Dan beside me, his hand in mine at night, his cheery smile, his kind, thoughtful ways … It felt like a piece of my puzzle was missing and I couldn’t rest until I’d fitted us back together. But that was something that would take time. I’d suggested this bre
ak from each other and he’d accepted it.

  ‘No thank you,’ I said eventually.

  ‘Any message for him?’ She waited, hand on the door knob.

  ‘Tell him …’ But before I could answer there was a knock on the other side of the door. Viv opened it and Oscar, my nephew, was there towering over her with a shoebox tucked under his arm, dressed in baggy khaki shorts, a long-sleeved blue-striped T-shirt and worn-out plimsolls, one of which had a big toe poking through.

  ‘Hello, love,’ Viv beamed, always pleased to see her family. ‘I’m on my way out, I’m afraid.’

  He flicked his fringe out of his eyes.

  ‘Hi, Gran, I know; I’ve come to see Auntie Hetty. Uncle Dan says hurry up if you’re coming because they’ve given out rain for later. The chippies have just arrived.’

  ‘Clipping contractors, I think you mean,’ I put in, giving him a wave.

  He blushed. ‘Oh, yeah. Them. So hurry up, Gran.’

  ‘All right, slave driver.’ She rolled her eyes with mock irritation. ‘Better get my skates on.’

  She set off and Oscar came in and put the shoebox on the table.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing, I’m working for Uncle Dan.’ He leaned up against the kitchen worktop, fiddling with the sleeves of his T-shirt. ‘He has employed me to drive for him while his shoulder’s knackered. He sent me to give you that box.’

  ‘Oh.’ I was intrigued and fingered the lid, not knowing whether I could wait until Oscar had gone before ripping into it. Now I looked closely at it, I recognized the label on the side; it was the box Poppy’s last pair of trainers had come in.

  ‘Is there any cake?’ he asked, scanning the surfaces hopefully.

  ‘At Gran’s?’ I grinned. ‘Need you ask?’

  I pointed him in the direction of the cupboard and filled Viv’s posh coffee machine up with water.

  ‘So how’s things, enjoying your long uni holiday?’

  I rarely saw Oscar on his own, he usually came as a pair with his brother, but Otis was currently abroad, having managed to secure an internship at Gucci in Milan. Oscar was a lovely boy, quieter and more thoughtful than his flamboyant twin, and usually managed to bamboozle me with science whenever I asked about his studies.

  He didn’t look up but carried on pulling the currants out of his grandmother’s fruit loaf and lining them up around the rim of his plate.

  ‘Actually, I’ve dropped out of uni.’ He shrugged. ‘So not great.’

  My heart went out to him. ‘Had enough of the properties of soil, eh? Go on, dish the dirt.’

  He rewarded my feeble pun with a chuckle. ‘They were all such nerds. And I just realized that I was doing a degree in something that in the end would lead me to a job that I didn’t want to do. So I quit. Mum and Dad have been brilliant.’

  ‘Of course they have,’ I said, setting a latte in front of him. ‘Because they just want you to be happy.’

  He nodded and stared at his plate. ‘I’m working for a while to save money for travelling next spring.’

  ‘Good plan.’ My eyes fixed on the shoebox and I pulled it towards me.

  ‘So, I was thinking, you’re going to need a delivery driver for your pies. I could do that. I love driving.’

  I smiled apologetically. ‘I won’t be able to afford to pay anyone, I’m afraid. Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery is going to be run on an absolute shoestring to begin with. I’m planning on making deliveries myself.’

  My business was back on track. I was keeping it simple to begin with: six flavours, minimum order of fifty pounds, delivery within a fifteen-mile radius. I was going to bake in the afternoon and evening and deliver early morning, then get back to the farm to help with the flock. Hopefully the business would grow, maybe in time I’d need to look at professional kitchens, but for now Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery would be just that: delicious pies baked in my own home.

  ‘I’ve estimated the numbers,’ he said, undeterred.

  I suppressed a smile; he was Naomi’s son all right. He pulled a piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket and showed me what he’d written. It had lines of formula and figures on it.

  ‘I only want minimum wage, which is that.’ He circled a number. ‘I’ve estimated the profit on one pie.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Mum helped there. And I’ve planned out a proposed route too, based around the Country Comestible stores.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘That’s very enterprising of you.’

  Gareth Brookbanks had been amazing. I’d phoned him back after he’d left a third message about his initial pie order. I told him that I wouldn’t be able to supply him for the foreseeable future and that Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery had had unforeseen catastrophic setbacks and that I might never be able to get my business off the ground after all. He’d asked if there was anything he could help with and before I knew it I’d poured the whole story out: about how Dan hadn’t really wanted me to set up a business, about winning silver at Britain’s Best Bites (although it turned out he already knew that), even about finding out that my godson also happened to be my stepson. Although he’d been expecting to do a deal about pies, he’d turned out to be a brilliant listener who, he’d reminded me, had had his own share of personal problems, and after I’d come to a tearful halt he’d given me a piece of advice: What happens next is up to you.

  Such simple words but they had been my guide ever since. And from that moment on, everything had clicked into place. So much of what had happened recently had been out of my control. But my future was up to me. Enter Operation Be True To Me …

  Oscar was now pointing out my break-even point by pie flavour and demonstrating through a complicated flowchart how my skills would be better spent making more pies (apple and dark chocolate being the most profitable) while his skills of efficient route-planning and safe driving would be best employed by delivering them.

  ‘And Uncle Dan has said I can fill up my car with diesel from the pump at the farm,’ he finished triumphantly. ‘So the cost will come out of the farm business rather than your bakery.’

  ‘So you’ve talked it through with Dan?’

  ‘He’s all for it.’ Oscar chewed his lip. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  I scanned the numbers before answering. Oscar had worked everything out for me; something I’d not yet found the time to do. And it was such a relief to hear that Dan really had had a change of heart about Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery and he hadn’t just been paying lip-service to it when I’d told him of my plans before leaving the farm.

  ‘Not at all. Oscar, this is impressive,’ I marvelled. ‘You’ve really got a head for figures.’

  He scratched his head. ‘Yeah, I’m thinking maybe accountancy for next year; don’t tell Otis, he’ll take the piss.’

  I stuck my hand out. ‘Welcome to the family firm.’

  He punched the air before remembering to shake my hand. ‘Yes! Thanks a lot, Auntie Hetty.

  ‘Oh. I almost forgot what I came for; Uncle Dan needs an answer.’ He shoved the shoebox to me and then excused himself to go to the bathroom.

  I lifted the lid. Inside was a note from Dan:

  I thought you might be missing home so here’s a few reminders.

  Dan x

  I was missing home, I thought.

  Under the note was a posy of sweet peas tied with baler twine. I smiled at the twine, which had a million and one uses on a farm, although not normally for securing such delicate stems. I lifted them to my nose and inhaled their powdery scent. These would be the ones I’d grown amongst my runner beans; I bet the vegetable patch looked gorgeous. Next I lifted out a small framed photograph of Rusty. I’d taken this picture last summer at the top of the valley when he’d still had the energy for long walks. My throat tightened at the memory of him and I set the frame on the table. At the bottom of the box was a champagne-coloured silk nightdress edged with ivory lace. As I picked it up a second note fell from it and I smoothed it out to read it.

 
; I found this in your underwear drawer. I think you bought it for a weekend away which never happened for some reason. I thought it was a shame that you never got to wear it, so, if it’s all right with you, I’ve taken the liberty of booking us in to Prescott Hall on Friday night. I’ve made a dinner reservation for eight o’clock. Will you meet me there? Please send Oscar back with your reply.

  A date night. With my husband. Love bloomed in my chest and tears sprang to my eyes as the downstairs loo flushed and Oscar loped back into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes,’ I beamed at him. ‘Please tell Dan the answer is yes.’

  Chapter 29

  Prescott Hall was only a twenty-minute drive away from Sunnybank Farm but it might have been on a different planet. It was an eighteenth-century manor house built as a stately home for a family who’d made their money in tea plantations in Ceylon. But now it was a genteel hotel with a fine-dining restaurant catering to the deep pockets of Cumbria’s elite and, for one night only, a farmer and his wife from Carsdale.

  As I crunched across the gravel drive, my little trolley case bumping behind me, I paused and looked up at the graceful façade.

  A date night with my husband. A shiver of nerves shimmered down my spine and I took a calming breath before going in.

  I made it through the revolving doors, despite being slightly nervous that I’d get my case stuck. I didn’t need a whole case, not for one night, but the alternative had been to shove my toothbrush, clean knickers and silky nightie in a Sainsbury’s carrier bag and I decided turning up with that looped over my wrist might get me some funny looks.

  I stepped into the foyer and paused to get my bearings. The place oozed effortless luxury. Tucked in next to the sweeping staircase, an elegant woman in an evening gown was entertaining the hotel guests on a grand piano with a refined version of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’. Centuries-old wood panelling lined the walls and a huge crystal chandelier above the foyer beamed rainbows of refracted evening sunlight on to every surface. Smiling staff, carrying silver trays at shoulder height, glided along as if they were on wheels and even the other guests seemed confident and relaxed.