Finding Hope at Hillside Farm

by Rachael Lucas

  She turned away, laughing, taking the hand of Gerard Lewis, head of the secondary-school science department, normally seen in a white lab coat looking thoughtful or reading the paper over a coffee in the bakery on a weekend. This was a departure for him. Ella laughed aloud, finding herself shoulder to shoulder with a row of ghouls who clearly knew every step of the dance from the song. She didn’t have a clue what she was doing, she was surrounded by noise and chaos, and she was having fun – for the first time in bloody ages, she was letting her hair down. She’d even managed to – almost – forget the slight matter of a bill she had no idea how to pay.

  Extracting herself from the grip of an over-excited Mrs Evans who, clearly brightened by several sherries, was determined to drag everyone into a conga, Ella headed for the loos, buffeted and bumped by countless half-recognizable fiends along the way. At times like this, living here in Llanidaeron felt like being part of a huge, unruly family. She pulled open the door to the green-tiled bathroom and leaned back against the wall, waiting for a loo to become free.

  ‘All right, Ella? Haven’t seen you for ages, love.’ Hannah, another horse owner from the village, looked up, catching her eye in the mirror.

  ‘Work,’ said Ella, by explanation. ‘You know what it’s like.’

  ‘God, tell me about it. Nice to get out though, hey?’

  Hannah rubbed her hands dry on her zombie suit – after goodness knows how many years, the hand dryer still wasn’t working properly unless you –

  Ella gave it a sharp wallop on the side with the flat of her hand and, startled, it whooshed into life. Hannah laughed.

  She pulled the door open so the sound spilled into the bright white light of the toilets. Turning back, she touched Ella on the shoulder as she left.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger, all right? You know you can always pop round for a coffee any time, lovey.’

  Ella smiled back. It was easy, as winter came in, to go into hibernation mode. If it wasn’t for Lissa dragging her to the pub, she could have stayed up on the hill for weeks on end. When Bron went, she’d be up there by herself. Even thinking about it felt a bit lonely. She gave an involuntary shiver.

  ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Promise.’

  Hannah blew her a kiss and was swallowed by the crowd as the door slowly shut, leaving Ella standing looking in the mirror alone.

  She hadn’t seen Nick yet. There was no way he would be missing tonight, though, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they found each other. It had started as a flirtation at work – he’d turned up in town, having taken over one of the old units in the converted barns, where he’d set up his farriery business. Old Tom – who had been known by that name for as long as Ella could remember – had finally given up the ghost and retired, almost bent double after a lifetime of shoeing the horses that lived and worked in the valley. He’d been more than happy to hand over his business to the charming, young and – Ella had acknowledged to herself when he’d arrived in his red van, swinging himself out with an easy manner that could tame the most recalcitrant and awkward of horses – pretty bloody good-looking man.

  ‘All right, my lovely,’ he’d said to Bella. Bella had, Ella swore, telling Bron later that afternoon, actually melted slightly, batting her long eyelashes and gently nuzzling his back as he trimmed her hooves. Ella hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from the strip of skin that Bella’s inquisitive muzzle had revealed. He was tanned and muscular under a battered grey marl T-shirt, with the strong arms that came with his profession. But where Old Tom’s arms were grizzled and scarred with countless injuries, grey-haired and twisted, Nick’s were – well, Ella had to look away. She’d spent years not even thinking about men, or sex, or anything, so it was a complete surprise – and one she hadn’t shared with Bron, who up until then had been party to Ella’s deepest secrets – that she’d found herself accepting his offer of a drink that night.

  They’d headed to the tiny little tapas bar that had recently opened by the canal bank – the most exotic thing that Llanidaeron had to offer – and spent the night drinking red wine and flirting until Ella took matters into her own hands and invited herself back to his cottage, where she stayed the night. The next morning, still amazed at the fact that she’d been basically overtaken by nothing more than overwhelming lust, she’d marched the long, hungover walk back through the village and up the hill to feed the horses, arriving back in the kitchen to put the kettle on and jump in a shower before Bron had even risen for the day.

  She hadn’t – she insisted to Nick, who seemed as matter-of-fact about this as he did about pretty much everything else – wanted a relationship.

  ‘That’s fine,’ he’d grinned. ‘How about we leave it as – well, you can’t deny we’re pretty compatible . . .’

  Ella had felt herself going pink, remembering their night together. She didn’t want a relationship with anyone – life was too complicated for that, and despite Lissa’s protestations that life was short and she ought to grab it with both bloody hands (and Nick, for that matter, whom Lissa had pronounced ‘a damn fine specimen’) she didn’t want complications. So they kept it very loose – if she was at the pub, they’d hook up. If he was shoeing the horses, she’d catch a lift down to the village in his van and they’d go for something to eat and inevitably end up staying the night.

  But she’d kept a cautious distance. And so over the next few years she and Nick had danced back and forth, not committing to anything, sleeping together once in a while, sharing a laugh. They were both happy with that.

  Until now, that was. Ella looked at herself in the mirror and ran a finger under her lower lashes, smoothing the deep black liner that Lissa had used. It emphasized the darkness of her eyes, making them sparkle against her pale skin, which was flushed from the heat of the party. She pulled a comb from her bag and ran it through her hair, pulling it back and shaking it out against her shoulders. She pulled up the sweetheart neckline of Lissa’s velvet dress, took a deep breath and headed back into the party.

  A few drinks later, having danced until her feet were killing her, she collapsed on a bar stool. Lissa – who seemed to have the stamina of a marathon runner – waved from the middle of Mrs Evans’ conga line, which was now snaking the full way round the tiny dance floor of the hotel, out the fire exit, and apparently all the way round the old Victorian building and back in the front door. At least half the partygoers were involved, the others grabbing a spot at the bar to order a drink while people were occupied, or hiding in corners and taking advantage of their disguises to misbehave. Ella averted her eyes as one of the ghouls she’d seen earlier ran a hand up the back of a racy-looking, blood-splattered French maid and guided her into the darkness of the space underneath the fire escape. There was a giggle, and then silence fell.

  Ella watched the line of people skipping through the front door, realizing that Nick might well be part of it. There was Lissa, holding on for dear life to the bear-like, bearded form of one of the fathers who helped with the PTA, and behind her, arms clamped tightly round her waist, looking particularly pleased with himself, was George, deputy head at the school, who had a well-documented crush on her and was clearly delighted to have this opportunity to make contact. Ella shook her head, laughing.

  She stood up, realizing the noise and stuffy atmosphere of a hundred sweating bodies was making her head start to swim. Not to mention, of course, the mixture of goodness knows what that had been in the purple drinks they’d been knocking back all evening.

  ‘There you are!’ Lissa escaped the conga line and tucked her arm into Ella’s. The dancing had worn everyone out slightly and the place seemed calmer and less frantic. Gary, the DJ (and school caretaker by day) had changed the tempo of the music, filling the rooms with a low, thrumming beat. She peered across the bar, trying to work out where Nick was. Normally by this time of night they’d have found each other, magnetically attracted with the help of a few glasses of something and the knowledge they’d be falling in the door of
his little cottage on the outskirts of the village . . .

  ‘Have you seen Nick?’

  Ella turned to her friend. Lissa was busily re-tying the laced bodice of her costume, which had come undone with all the racing around. Her eyeliner had smudged down one rosy cheek and her black curls were wild, spiralling out, the clips that had held them back long gone. Ella reached out a finger and smoothed away the mark on her friend’s cheek. Lissa’s eyes, she noticed, were darting slightly from side to side as if she too was looking for something.

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘Nick – you know, tall, handsome, bit too charming for his own good?’ Ella raised an eyebrow. ‘Nice arms?’

  Lissa took a step backwards, putting a hand on the bar to steady herself. The heat of the room was turning her pinker by the moment. She shook her head, repeating herself.

  ‘Nick? No, haven’t seen him all night, actually. Maybe he’s working or something.’ She pulled her purse out and fiddled with the remaining notes inside. ‘Shall we get a drink? Let’s get a drink.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Ella, watching as Lissa’s mouth twitched sideways and she peered over her shoulder, moving sideways slightly. She rubbed her nose. ‘Nope, he’s definitely not here. In fact, let’s go to the loo.’

  ‘I don’t need the –’ Ella protested, as Lissa pulled her by the arm towards the toilets. Inside she made a huge show of dabbing moistened loo roll on her cheek to rub off the now-invisible smudged make-up, running wet hands through her hair to try and tame the curls which were springing out, clipping it back from her face with her never-ending supply of hair grips.

  Ella reapplied her lipstick and closed the lid with a decisive snap.

  ‘I bet he’s here somewhere. Probably hiding in a corner playing some awful rugby drinking game with the boys.’

  She rolled her eyes at the thought. There was a fairly strong seam of the rowdy, tray-banging, rugby-song-singing lad in Nick, and it drove her mad. Usually when she found him in that state she’d wave to him from one end of the pub but give him and the lads a wide berth – but God, nobody was perfect, were they? She’d need to learn to live with it – and him.

  ‘Hold on, can’t find my bloody phone.’ Lissa rummaged in her bag. They’d been in the loos for what felt like ages.

  ‘Come on, I’m on a mission.’ Ella shook out her hair and looked at her reflection. Alan was right – she did scrub up all right. It was time to stop spending her whole life in jodhpurs, hair tied back and a polo shirt with ‘E. J. Equine’ embroidered on the front. There was more to life than work.

  ‘Thing is, Ell,’ Lissa began, as they headed out of the loos, ‘I think you need to –’

  She put a hand on Ella’s arm just a fraction of a second too late. Ella stood, transfixed, eyes wide open in shock. Leaning with one casual arm against the wooden beam of the hotel bar, the other lazily caressing the waist of the tall blonde woman he was kissing, was Nick.

  ‘I was trying to say –’ Lissa started again, stepping in front of Ella. She wasn’t tall enough to block her eyeline. Ella remained fixed to the spot until Lissa pushed her backwards, into the bright, exposing light of the toilets.

  ‘Nick’s here,’ Ella said flatly.

  ‘Yeah. I was trying to say he’s here, and I – God, Ell, I just wanted to shield you from him.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not fine. He’s a bloody dickhead.’ Lissa shook her head in fury, hair flying everywhere again.

  There was a creak as the door of the loos opened and – of course, Ella thought, who else – the blonde girl Nick had been kissing walked in, smiling at them politely.

  ‘I’m going to have a word,’ said Ella, pushing past Lissa, leaving her with her mouth half open in protest.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ella. Nick stood in the shadow of the fire escape by the back door. His cheekbones were sharp, accentuated by the brightness of the light that shone up on his face from his phone. She nodded towards it.

  ‘Just updating everyone with your latest news, are you?’ said Ella, her heart racing dangerously fast. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of it whooshing in her ears as she stood in front of him, her hands balled into fists. How bloody dare he.

  ‘Ells, I—’

  ‘You what? You wanted to let me know you were seeing someone? You forgot to give me a shout and tell me?’ She motioned to the phone in his hand. ‘Don’t tell me, you were just firing off a quick text to let me know whilst she was in the loo.’

  Nick shook his head, a confused half-smile on his face. He reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. It was such a brotherly, matey thing to do that Ella recoiled, turning to look at his hand as if it was one of the Hallowe’en spider decorations come to life.

  ‘Look, Ella.’ Nick removed his hand. ‘You’re a lovely girl. But I thought we had an arrangement.’

  It was never anything official, but she’d thought – well, she’d assumed – that he’d certainly have had the good manners to at least let her know there was someone else.

  ‘What kind of –’

  ‘You, me, a few beers – it’s been a laugh and that, but –’ Nick shrugged again. She was beginning to think if he did it one more time, she’d clobber him with the carved wooden lion that stood on the bar opposite.

  ‘Right.’ She took a deep breath. Bloody hell. She wasn’t going to be humiliated in public with half the village doing the Macarena in the background.

  ‘Ells.’ Lissa was behind her, a voice in her ear.

  ‘The thing is, Ella, I really like Nell.’ Nice. ‘Like – properly.’

  ‘It’s fine, Nick. It’s not like we were going out or anything. You’re right, it was just casual.’

  She drew herself up to her full height, pushing her shoulders back. As she did, she noticed Nick’s brand new blonde girlfriend slipping though the door of the loos, smiling shyly at him as she did so. He lifted his hand in a coy little wave, and Ella rolled her eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ella said, watching the future she thought she’d planned vaporizing before her eyes. It wasn’t until later that she admitted to herself that she’d only been planning it for a matter of hours.

  ‘Have a good night,’ she said, giving a bright smile to Nick’s new love.

  She turned to Lissa.

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ Lissa’s face was a twist of concern.

  Ella shook her head. ‘No matter. I’ve got enough going on without dealing with washing some bloke’s rugby shirt on a Sunday when I could be sitting by the fire reading the papers and eating toast.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Lissa, pulling her towards the bar.

  Several dodgy cocktails later, Ella marched up the hill to the cottage. She’d insisted to Lissa as they’d said goodbye at the bottom of the road that no, she didn’t want to stay and yes, she’d be fine. But the walk home was a lot bloody longer half-pissed and in heels. She pulled them off, walking barefoot on the frozen single-track road that led out of the village to the farm. It was sharp and clear and freezing cold, the full moon lighting her way. The lights of the cottage – left on by Bron to guide her home, as they always were if she went out for the evening – glowed softly through the trees. Soon Bron would be gone, and she’d be all on her own. Well, bollocks to it. She didn’t need a man to sort out her life. She’d proved that already.

  *

  She stands leaning on the kitchen counter, aware of Mac’s physical presence directly behind her, the heat of his body radiating through his shirt. She longs to take a step backwards, knowing if she does she’ll meet the warmth of his arms wrapping around her as they’ve done so many times before. Instead they stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island whilst her aunt Bron, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting the work surface, gives them a lesson in how to make shortcrust pastry for her famous mince pies. Ella, who normally craves them above all else, is shifting from one foot to the other with impatience. Bron has left the animals in the care of an agricultural student and c
ome to stay with Ella and her dad for the Christmas holidays, bringing boxes of her home-made fruit cake and filling the house with the smell of baking scones and a sense of motherly order that is missing from the military precision of their home. Her dad keeps life organized because it’s the best way, he says, to make sure nothing is forgotten. As a single parent he’s done the best he can, but Bron’s influence brings colour and warmth and a delightful chaos, which Ella treasures. Having her mum’s sister there for Christmas gives the little house a feeling of home which is often missing. This time is even more special, because Ella has brought Mac home with her. She is determined that her family will fall in love with him just as she’s beginning to realize she has . . .

  Ella sat up in bed. The only thing she didn’t have control over was her dreams. They were stubborn and consistent, taking her back to a past she’d rather forget. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the memories had been stirred up. They danced in her head until she fell asleep again, exhausted.

  When they’d arrived, they’d pulled down the battered old cardboard boxes of decorations from the attic, telling her dad they’d organize everything. They’d festooned the tops of the kitchen counters and all around the windows with fairy lights and the place was glowing. Mac had thrown his things in a rucksack and rather than returning home – where he’d spent years being handed like a parcel from one parent to the other following their bitter divorce – he’d opted to spend the first part of the Christmas break with Ella. His parents were, for once, united in their outrage. But Mac loathed Christmas and longed for the grey chill of January. Ella, who loved the jolly, relaxed Christmases she’d had every year, had insisted he come and join in.

  Ella and Mac were inseparable from the moment they met, introduced by mutual friends one night at a bar in town. Their university was so huge and impersonal that their paths hadn’t crossed once until their third term, and they were determined to spend every moment they could together. After months spending each night together tangled in the sheets, eating toast in bed and falling asleep amongst the crumbs, it was hard to be back home in the strange halfway world. Not quite a child, not quite an adult. Her father had made up one of the spare rooms for Mac, and Ella, feeling shy, hadn’t known how to say to him that they’d be happy with just one.