Finding Hope at Hillside Farm

by Rachael Lucas

  Even after all this time, Ella still delighted in the lilting sing-song of the Welsh accent. She’d tried over the years to soak it up, but she still sounded resolutely English, no matter what she did.

  They sat down at the table by the window.

  ‘You could always try online dating,’ said Lissa, in a less than subtle whisper.

  ‘Er, no thanks.’

  ‘Well, Nick was the only eligible half-decent man in the village, and he’s off the menu.’ Lissa waved the actual menu in the air for emphasis, as if Nick was on there under Quick Bites or Afternoon Snacks.

  Ella shook her head. ‘I’m not going on bloody Tinder. Can you imagine it here?’

  ‘Oh go on, we could download it and see which of the village husbands are signed up on the sly. You know there’s supposed to be a swinging circle, according to staffroom gossip?’

  ‘No way. Everyone would know.’

  ‘Ah, you’d think.’ Lissa, who heard everything that went on through the staffroom grapevine, shrugged. She ran a finger down the menu with her eyes closed, stopping and looking to see what she’d chosen. ‘Baked potato with low-fat cottage cheese, my arse. I’ll have an all-day breakfast, please.’ She looked at Ella, expectantly.

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘OK.’ The scarlet-haired teenager wrote it down carefully on the notepad. She darted another nervous look at Connie before sidling over to pass the order through the hatch into the kitchen.

  ‘Coming right up,’ called Connie, her voice carrying across the noise of the sizzling bacon and hissing steam of the coffee maker.

  The cafe was quiet before the lunchtime rush. In summer Llanidaeron was busy with tourists who came to stay in the holiday cottages that dotted the hills around the valley, and over the last few years quite a few of the workers’ cottages in the town itself had been bought up, done up and rented out online. But at this time of year the town was dead on a weekday morning, with only a handful of virtuous churchgoers out for the early service. Later on, if the weather stayed nice, it might pick up a bit.

  ‘What’s the story with this newspaper interview?’

  ‘I’ve done it already.’ Ella raised her eyebrows, leaning back for a moment to allow Connie to place their coffees on the table.

  ‘You in the news, Ella?’ Connie, who prided herself on being up on all the gossip, put a hand on her hip and waited to hear more.

  ‘Not me.’ Ella pulled a face. ‘The business. A girl from the Argus came and did an interview, part of that local business feature they’re doing.’

  ‘I’ll have to keep an eye out.’ Connie bustled off.

  ‘When’s it coming out?’ Lissa asked.

  ‘This week, I think. Unless something major happens in the meantime.’

  ‘Not much chance of that round here. You get any photos done?’ Lissa ripped open a bag of sugar and tipped it into her mug. ‘You should have got her to take a couple of nice ones, put ’em up on Tinder.’

  Ella shook her head in horror. ‘No, thank you. I was in the background, hiding behind the horses. I doubt I’ll even be in them – you know what I’m like in photos.’

  It was a standing joke that in every photograph Lissa and Ella took, Lissa would look bright-eyed and beautiful. Her open, smiley face was reliably photogenic. Ella, on the other hand, would inevitably have one or both eyes closed, or her mouth hanging half open catching flies.

  ‘Um, yeah.’ Lissa lifted her coffee to her lips and looked at her friend thoughtfully over the top of the mug. ‘And did she bring up anything about . . . you know, anything?’

  Ella had known Lissa for over a year before she’d told the whole story to her new friend. Lissa, who had watched her own parents’ marriage disintegrate in a vicious divorce when she was fifteen, had listened, not judging. She’d told Ella that she shouldn’t beat herself up, and helped her to start to believe she should forgive herself for walking away from everything. Ella, lonely and in need of a friend, had collapsed in long-held-in tears and together they’d cried their way through two bottles of red wine, falling asleep on the sofa and waking the next morning to carry on the conversation over breakfast here in the cafe. Lissa was a good friend, and it was a relief to have someone know everything there was to know about her and still stick around. Despite lots of counselling, and the work she did with her own clients, there was still a sneaking, tiny part of Ella which felt secretly that she didn’t deserve anyone. That she’d had her chance at happiness, and thrown it away so violently that being alone was all she deserved. Lissa’s conviction that she deserved more was a tiny spark of hope which she allowed herself to look at once in a while.

  The truth she was beginning to recognize was – she was lonely. And although she’d been shocked to discover that Nick had no desire to settle for her (even if that had been what she wanted), it was a horrible feeling to realize that with Bron gone, there was nobody else to welcome her home at night after a long day at work. Apart from the dogs, she supposed. She’d just have to become an eccentric animal lady. Except – God, maybe that’s exactly what she was already. She thought of the glowing woman on the billboard in the airport, and resolved to have a bath with a face mask later.

  Connie reappeared, two plates overflowing with food on her arm. Her teenage assistant hovered in the background, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She twisted a lock of brightly coloured hair and chewed on the side of her mouth.

  Ella pushed her chair back, giving Connie room to set the plates down on the table. She looked outside. The high street was still quiet, only a dog walker dressed warmly against the cold passing by. She pulled her scarf up to cover her nose, catching Ella’s eye through the glass and smiling. It was good to be inside on a day like this, and to be in Lissa’s easy company.

  ‘Toast?’ Lissa waved a slice under her nose, disturbing her thoughts. ‘Penny for them?’

  Ella shook her head. Lissa lived her whole life on a sort of bouncy fast-forward. Ella had contemplated asking if she’d like to come up to the cottage and stay for a while when Bron went, keeping her company. But she knew Lissa was happy with her little place in town, walking up the hill to school every morning with an armful of books, trailing back in the evening with her Ikea shopping trolley full of marking. She was only going to be down the road – and the cottage had Merryn’s farm just over the footpath and the cottages, and the little row of modern bungalows just below, so it wasn’t like she’d be living in the middle of nowhere. The truth was, though – Ella shuddered at the thought – she hated the dark. The dreams that woke her could be scared away with a few moments of breathing, or a potter downstairs for a cup of tea. But knowing that her aunt lay sleeping in her flannel pyjamas a couple of doors down the hall was a comfort.

  ‘I was just thinking about Bron. She’s not even gone for that long; but it feels like bloody ages.’

  ‘Any luck getting someone to help?’

  ‘I asked the girl from the Argus if she’d mention in her article that we’re looking for someone.’

  ‘Think she will?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Ella pushed a piece of bacon around the edge of her plate, not looking up. ‘She knew something about the crash. It was weird, though, she didn’t push it.’

  ‘Probably just as well.’ Lissa looked at her with a shrewd expression. ‘You don’t really want all that stuff dragged up again.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does Bron ever talk about it?’

  Ella shook her head no, her mouth full of toast.

  Lissa looked up, her dark eyes regarding Ella, head to one side. She knew better than to push it too.

  Ella had thought long and hard as they’d sweated along the river path, too breathless to talk. The leaves had swirled through the air in front of them. The storm the other day had ushered autumn in with a vengeance. Running was surprisingly relaxing, in an exhausting, sweaty, painful sort of way. It gave her time to think in a way that working didn’t. Up at the yard, she was always thinking one step ahead, juggling work a
nd the horses, keeping half an eye on the clock, waiting for clients.

  ‘Maybe I’ll do the 10k race with you.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do me any harm. What’s the date of it again?’

  ‘Valentine’s Day.’ Lissa’s expression was mischievous. ‘You’ve got about three months to get your arse in gear.’

  ‘Three months is enough.’

  ‘Right. I’m holding you to that.’ Lissa waved a sausage, speared on the end of her fork, for emphasis. ‘Reckon you can get some of your clients to sponsor you?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s exactly ethical.’

  ‘Oh come on, it’s for the PTA. They’re wanting to get a load of equipment for a sensory room. The more we get, the quicker we can help the kids who need it. Plus, it won’t do you any harm to get in with the head. I reckon she could have some sway in getting a bit of work sent your way.’

  ‘I don’t do children,’ said Ella automatically.

  Lissa pursed her lips. ‘You’ve got an eff-off massive rates bill you can’t afford to pay, and bugger all in the bank. You can’t afford to be choosy. And you’re good with kids; I’ve seen you.’

  She’d been roped in often enough to help out with Lissa’s various fundraising events. And she’d been trained in working with children – but until now she’d made it a policy that she focused on adults.

  ‘It’s just the responsibility, and the potential for disaster, and –’

  ‘Shall we try focusing on the positive?’ Lissa made a face. ‘You’re skint. You need business. And if you’re getting someone to help out with the behind-the-scenes stuff, you’ll have more time to actually do the work that brings in the money.’ Lissa waggled her fork again for emphasis. ‘I’ll put a word in when we have our next staff meeting. I bet Chris, the head, could help you put in a bid to the LEA. They’ve got that Pupil Referral Unit in town. It’s for secondary-age kids, so you won’t have tinies like my little ones under your feet.’

  ‘I thought there was no money.’

  ‘There’s never any money. That’s education for you. But we manage, somehow. There’s probably grants or something. If you don’t try, you won’t get anywhere.’

  ‘Thanks. That would really help.’

  Lissa gave a little nod. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ella

  Hi Ella, just to let you know there’s no space for the feature this week, so we’re pulling it. Will let you know when it’s in. Photos look great though! M

  The rest of Ella’s email was junk, and people trying to sell her stuff she couldn’t afford. She closed the lid of the laptop and pushed it back on the table, picking up the car keys. It was half three on one of those gloomy November days when it never quite manages to get light.

  ‘Can I stick this in the window, Alan?’

  The little post office and bakery was still open – just. The bell jingled a warning as she slipped in through the door. Even late in the afternoon the place still smelled deliciously of freshly baked bread and warm pastry, and Ella’s stomach was rumbling. She’d been so busy rushing around the yard sorting out the horses single-handed that she’d forgotten to eat. It wasn’t even a client day. She was supposed to be catching up on paperwork, but by the time she’d done everything that needed to be done she was completely worn out.

  ‘And a Cornish pasty, too.’ Ella grimaced. Hashtag clean eating, she thought. If she didn’t get someone to help out soon, she was going to end up keeling over from one too many emergency junk food meals.

  ‘Give us a look.’ Alan took the index card out of Ella’s hands and lifted the reading glasses he wore on a string round his neck. Given that her plan for a free job ad in the form of the article wasn’t going to be happening, Ella had decided to write an advert for display on the shop noticeboard. All that time avoiding press, and now that she actually wanted it the paper wasn’t forthcoming. It was sod’s law. Meanwhile, she still hadn’t found a way to raise the money, and with every day that passed the debt worried her more and more.

  ‘Stable help wanted,’ Alan read aloud. ‘I think I’ve got just the person for you, save you a job looking.’

  He looked thoughtful as he lifted a pasty from the warmer, placing it in a paper bag.

  ‘Sarah Lewis’s daughter Charlotte. She finished school last year and then turned around at the last minute, telling them she didn’t want to go to university.’

  ‘Why not?’ Most teenagers were desperate to get out of Llani as soon as possible.

  ‘I dunno. Maybe she didn’t fancy it.’ Alan shrugged. ‘You could ask her yourself. I reckon she’d be up for it.’

  ‘And what’s she doing now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Charlotte said cheerfully. ‘Not a thing. You ever tried looking for a job in Llani?’

  ‘Fair point.’ Ella smiled at the girl standing in front of her. She had blue hair and an alarming-looking piercing through the middle of her nose. The T-shirt she was wearing proclaimed her to be a member of the Death Cult, and her skin-tight black jeans were really just holes held together with fabric.

  ‘And you’ve got experience with horses?’

  Ella felt she ought to ask. But it was obvious, standing in the yard, that Charlotte had been around them all her life. She’d approached the bad-tempered Sweetbriar with a confident stance, reaching underneath her mane and scratching her in the favourite spot she loved. The mare had given a tiny snort of satisfaction and whiffled gently at Charlotte’s shoulder with her muzzle. She was leaning over her shoulder now as Charlotte spoke, eyes half closed in pleasure as Charlotte rubbed soothing circles on the whorl of white hair in the middle of her forehead.

  ‘Oh yeah, I had a pony when I was little. Kept him at Rimmer’s yard over there.’ She waved an arm in the direction of the hill that curved over the other side of the valley. ‘And when I outgrew him – he was only tiny, 12.2, like – I helped out at the stables with the lessons, and Jim let me ride out on treks.’

  Jim Rimmer’s trekking stable was a hugely successful business. Tourists over the years had found themselves drawn to the idea of setting out across the miles of tracks that led up into the hills, knowing they’d see wildlife and scenery they could only imagine from the back of a car. He was one of Nick’s biggest clients, with a farrier’s bill that kept Nick in expensive cars and luxury furnishings for his beautifully decorated cottage. Ella gritted her teeth, reminding herself that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking backwards, but forward.

  ‘And how about dealing with the phones, keeping the office tidy, that sort of thing?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Charlotte, airily. ‘I mean, my room at home’s a tip, like, but I’m quite good at tidying up stuff that doesn’t belong to me. Y’know what I mean?’

  Ella laughed. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  ‘I suppose I could get Jim to give me a reference, if you need one? I only managed an afternoon try-out at Connie’s cafe . . .’

  Ah, that was why she looked familiar. She’d had scarlet hair the other day when they’d been in having breakfast after their run. She’d probably got on the wrong side of Connie by pressing the wrong button on the coffee machine – or just by going anywhere near it.

  Charlotte shifted from one foot to the other. She was clearly good with horses, and she seemed nice enough underneath the myriad of sparkling piercings that festooned her nose and both ears.

  ‘No need for a reference.’ Ella’s tone was decisive. If Charlotte turned out to be a disaster, she’d address that issue when it happened. ‘I can see you’ve got a knack with horses – if you can charm Sweetbriar, you can pretty much do anything – and you’ll definitely brighten the place up a bit.’

  A hand went up to the blue hair and Charlotte frowned. ‘Oh, I wasn’t planning on staying this colour.’

  Phew, thought Ella, imagining the expressions on the faces of some of her more conservative clients. It would be a relief if she was going back to something le
ss – startling.

  ‘I’m bleaching it back at the weekend.’ Charlotte’s nose crinkled as she beamed cheekily. ‘I’m going pink for Christmas.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harry

  You’re not going to sort your life out if you’re never there.

  My life doesn’t need sorting out, bossy.

  Right . . .

  There was a pause. Harry watched the dots on the screen moving back and forth as his friend Holly composed a message.

  Why don’t you bin off work and surprise her?

  Harry tapped into his phone.

  I can’t do that . . .

  . . . because – he looked at the motorway service area, where he’d stopped to grab a coffee before heading towards another meeting where he’d sit in a stuffy room full of executives looking at a screen full of financial forecasts. There’d be a stack of sweaty-looking chocolate muffins and deflated pastries for elevenses, and he could predict the lunch menu with alarming accuracy.

  Far be it from me – in my current skint state – to point out the obv, but you’re about to inherit a SHITload of money. You’re the only person I know who doesn’t actually have to work.

  Harry grimaced. His parents hadn’t been much cop on the love and affection front – spending most of their time using him as the ball in a never-ending game of ping-pong – but they’d been well off, and with his father’s house up for sale now, the reality was that he didn’t have to carry on doing a job he’d fallen into by mistake.

  All right, fine. One condition.

  Excellent. What?

  He could imagine Holly sitting at the desk of her little studio, bashing away on the ancient iPhone she’d had for years and refused to update. It still works, doesn’t it?

  Come and see us soon? Jenny and Lou would love to see you and you can have my room. I’ll sleep on the sofa.

  There was a moment’s pause.

  Deal x

  Hi Kamal – can you cover for me for the rest of today? I’m feeling a bit grim.

  It was surprisingly easy to chuck a sickie, considering he’d never done it before. A cheery reply shot straight back, and in the time it took to drink half his Americano he’d gone from dreading another day on the treadmill to ducking out to do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted to do – no matter how complicated that was, with the whole delicate situation of trying to negotiate Jenny’s feelings – was spend some time with Hope.