The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  Florence took a bite of the peace offering and immediately realised her mistake when her phone rang. With a mouthful of the crumbly crunchy delight, she picked up the receiver and choked out a hello, and in a very unladylike manner, sprayed a few crumbs over her desk as she did so. She was saved from spluttering over any more crumbs when whoever was on the other end of the line hung up.

  Licking her sticky fingers and reaching for a tissue a sudden booming voice made Florence jump.

  ‘Florence, can you come to my office please?’ Charlie, their boss, announced from the other end of the room, causing a few heads to turn with curiosity. Olivia hastily shoved the custard cream packet into her drawer. They both knew eating wasn’t allowed on the office floor, but for Florence the creamy biscuit had been too tempting to say no to. That and she had been touched that Olivia would risk breaking the rules just so she could make clear how sorry she had been about Friday and how much she cared. She could be a good friend, though now it seemed that Florence was going to be the one reprimanded.

  ‘What does Charlie want with me?’ Florence mouthed to Olivia as she stood up and brushed crumbs from her dusty pink dress with a pearl trim waist. Olivia sat up and made the gesture of clapping her hands but quietly to avoid making a scene. ‘Maybe a promotion, or maybe he likes you,’ Olivia whispered, making Florence sigh and her stomach gurgle with nerves. The apology had been going so well, but it seemed her friend could not help herself. If Florence had not been nervous a few seconds ago at the thought of stepping into Charlie’s office, she was now. A promotion didn’t bear thinking about because Olivia would be the deserving one of that accolade and therefore Florence would never be able to accept it. As for Olivia’s latter theory, Florence would hear none of it: Charlie was her boss and she didn’t think of him like that.

  Charlie was handsome. Florence could admit that much. He was tall, rugged and broad and on the brief occasions that Florence had met him – work meetings and Christmas parties – he had been kind and generous, but she had never once thought about her boss in the way Olivia had now just put into her mind. She did not concern herself with men liking her. Gone were the days where she allowed her brain to carry that sort of hope. Love had only ever left her in pain. Standing at the door she calmed her unease with a steady breath.

  Inside the office, which was a deep red colour, with a big mahogany desk, Charlie rose and walked behind her to close the door. Gesturing for her to take a seat, he stood close enough that Florence could smell his aftershave. Calvin Klein, Florence registered having no idea how she knew that. She took a seat and as Charlie strode around her to get to his desk, he trailed his hand across the armrest of her chair and let his fingers graze her hand that lay upon it. An excited shiver ran down Florence’s spine. She never thought Charlie had noticed her or would be interested in her in this way. She was beneath him, professionally speaking, and didn’t care much for corporate ladders and his sophisticated world. Yet as he sat down, he looked at her, his eyes filled with unmistakable lust as he brushed a knuckle over his wet lips. Florence couldn’t stop the urge that took over her and in a flash they both mounted the table and were…

  ‘Are you coming in?’ Charlie’s voice sounded from inside his office. Florence’s eyes bulged out of her head. Her mouth formed an “O” shape, clearly shocked by her own dirty thoughts. What was going on? She tugged at the bow on her dress, feeling hot and uncomfortable, then cleared her throat.

  ‘Yes. I’m here, sir, I mean Charlie, I mean Mr Madden. I’m sorry, what do we call you?’ she asked, incredibly annoyed with herself for sounding so flustered and feeling completely thrown off with where her thoughts had drifted. Florence didn’t do frazzled, shy yes, but flushed and in a tizzy over a man? No.

  ‘Charlie’s fine, please do take a seat,’ Charlie said, as he took her in with an amused look in his brown eyes. Florence sat hesitantly, then channelling Jo March, she straightened out her back, looked Charlie in the eye and focused.

  ‘Florence, I’m sorry to inform you that I’ve got to let you go. I really hate to do this.’ Which he did say with such sincerity that Florence believed him. ‘I’m afraid numbers are down, and you’ve not been logging in as many calls as the others and as this is your third warning, I have to let you go. I hate to do it, Florence, I am sorry,’ he added. The way he focused on her and didn’t look away when he spoke made his words sound genuine, but Florence broke his gaze, looking to her hands as they shook in her lap. She wished computer programming and understanding never-ending changes to technology came naturally to her, but it simply didn’t.

  ‘Please, Charlie, I really need this job. I do try and I’m learning every day,’ Florence voiced. She wanted to be brave and not weak but all she could think about was looking after her nanna. The lines between Charlie’s brows deepened. He looked devastated with her plea.

  ‘I’m sorry, Florence. I stuck up for you in the last two meetings, but I’m out of options,’ he told her, his forearms now on the table. A few seconds passed in which Florence fought to compose herself.

  She hated to challenge Charlie’s sincerity, but her mind began concocting a speech. ‘You’re not out of options, Charlie, you could keep me on if you really wanted to. You could go to bat for me one more time, knowing how much I need this job. Am I really so bad that I’ve stopped you wearing fancy suits or caused the Christmas party to hold off on the champagne each year?’ The speech never made it out of her mouth; instead, she rounded out her shoulders and forced a smile onto her face.

  What she didn’t know was that while her brain had begun to think the worst of Charlie, his was deliberating over reaching out his hand to comfort her. It wasn’t something he could, would or should do, but in that moment, he wanted to. To him, Florence had always been an interesting character. He liked her sweet disposition, the wave in her hair and those eyes, though he could never quite understand her and how she often appeared dazed.

  Empathy was visible in Charlie’s face when she looked up. She admonished herself for her awful thoughts, but still his empathy was not going to help her pay the bills. Not knowing what more she could say, she simply stood to leave with a nod of her head and managed a quiet, ‘Thank you, Charlie,’ but as she twisted the door handle, she paused and looked back. ‘Charlie, I may not be great at this job but one thing I do know is how incredibly hard Olivia works. She doesn’t ask for much, but I’d say it was high time she was considered for a promotion,’ she said, with a small nod before taking her leave. It might not have been her place to comment and so she didn’t wait for Charlie’s response. A seed was all she could plant in hopes that he would take note and water it.

  Florence left the office after lunch and spent the afternoon in a state of bewilderment, wandering around Manchester, peeking at shop windows wondering if she would see any signs advertising jobs but it appeared people didn’t do that anymore and it was all online advertisements. She felt too bruised to go inside and start making job enquiries just yet, wanting to avoid conversation with people. She was simply biding her time before getting the tram home and having to confess to her nanna that she was now jobless.

  Only, when she got home, the house smelt like roast dinner and a suitcase sat at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Florence, is that you?’ her nanna shouted from the kitchen.

  ‘Nanna, what’s going on?’ Florence asked, rushing to the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, dear. I have made dinner. Sit please,’ the cheerful lady practically sang. Florence narrowed her eyes suspiciously, her lashes pressing against her glasses.

  ‘You are supposed to be resting, Nanna, you know this. You sit down; I can do the plates,’ Florence offered; her voice came out like a whine. She could feel frustration bubbling. She needed her nanna to listen. She needed to take care of her. She could not fail her. She did not want to let her down. How was she supposed to tell her that she had lost her job?

  ‘Florence, please do as you are told and sit down,’ her nanna
said again, while still gentle and cheery it packed a bit of oomph this time, the same oomph that told Florence she was about to say something Florence was not going to like and wasn’t going to be able to escape. Florence sat. Her stomach deceived her and rumbled as her nanna placed a plate of roast potatoes, mashed carrots, thin slices of beef and broccoli in front of her. No one made a roast like her nanna nor did she think most people made a roast on a Monday evening, but here she was being spoilt, though it seemed because of an ulterior motive.

  ‘My darling, will you indulge me for a moment?’ Margot asked, taking her seat and gesturing for Florence to eat her dinner. Florence picked up her knife and fork slowly, not taking her eyes off her “up to no good” elder. However, the roast potatoes were exceptionally golden and crunchy and she couldn’t resist them for too long and so began cutting into one crispy shell.

  ‘I would like you to do this for me. You might think of me as selfish, but I fear I should have done this sooner. There are parts I know you remember and parts I know you have buried deep down, but for you, it is time, my dear. I have booked you a holiday.’ Florence watched the pain on her nanna’s face as she spoke. It was a pain Florence knew all too well. When Margot looked off to the side, Florence knew she was sifting through the memories in her mind. Painful memories that Florence had tried everything in her power as a child to expel, only ever wanting to see her nanna’s eyes clear and happy. Florence would jump around performing monologues from her dearest nanna’s favourite books, beg and beg to be read to at all times of the day and always had her coat ready to go to the theatre at a moment’s notice. There were not many times that her nanna let her see her pain. She too upheld a smile, could recite paragraphs from Florence’s favourite books at the drop of a hat and the theatre had been a lifeline in getting her granddaughter to see the beauty and magic the world still had to offer. But every now and again, smiles could crack.

  As quick as the pain had come to her nanna’s eyes, it was gone and replaced with a radiant beam that filled Florence with hope and excitement, with a tiny undercurrent of dread.

  ‘Nanna, please, I told you I can’t go on holiday and I would never think of you as selfish. You’ve been there for me, put me first my entire life,’ Florence reminded her after swallowing a buttery mouthful of carrots. Her nanna simply waved off her words, steadying her hand to let Florence know that she did not want to hear such praise for taking care of her granddaughter. Growing up, if Florence had ever mentioned this, it would elicit the same reaction. Those moments when Florence had succumbed to being a stroppy teenager, performing the occasional tantrum that unleashed such dialogue as: “I’m sorry I ruined your life,” “You should have travelled the world and I ruined everything,” were only met with her nanna’s comforting hugs, a cup of tea and a story.

  ‘Do you remember Camp Calla Lily?’ Margot asked. There was no mistaking the touch of trepidation in her voice. Florence could see her hand shaking slightly as it held her fork.

  A crunchy piece of roast potato caught in Florence’s throat. Of course she remembered, but surely her nanna was not about to tell her that Camp Calla Lily was to be her holiday destination. Florence’s palms began to heat. Returning to Camp Calla Lily was a conversation that Florence thought was deceased. The last time Margot had brought it up had been some five years ago now. It was a conversation that caused much friction between the two of them. However, this time there was something in her nanna’s face that rendered Florence momentarily speechless.

  ‘You know I used to frequent the camp in the summers with your grandad and your mum. Your mum then loved taking you there when you were little. It looks rather splendid at this time of year and they have these delightful huts that I feel you must see. Oh, when your grandad and I used to go, it was nothing more than a campsite and a cottage but yet it was still magical. Now, I will not say any more or ramble. It is one week, my Florence, you can please me for one week,’ her nanna said, a tiny wobble in her voice. There was a look in Margot’s eyes that belied their confident exterior. Something flickered behind them that spoke of their nerves, but her jaw remained set, stern this time, for Florence’s sake.

  Over the years, of course she had had her doubts about how she had raised her granddaughter. Had she always done the right thing? But she believed that only natural and something all parents contended with; she had done it with her own daughter after all. Keeping Florence away from Camp Calla Lily because of her own fears, though, was a worry that wouldn’t rest. Margot had enabled her granddaughter long enough, almost encouraging Florence’s fear of the place so she didn’t have to face her own. No matter how hypocritical of her it might be, she knew that this time she had to stand her ground and push Florence out of her comfort zone. She did not want her granddaughter to miss out because of her. What would her own daughter think of that? It was time now; Margot could feel it. She was not getting any younger. It was time for Florence to make peace with her past. As though all had been confirmed and consented to, Margot picked up her own knife and fork and tucked into the gorgeous feast.

  Florence’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what her nanna had just asked of her, nor the way in which she causally began eating as if it was the end of the discussion and she had no say in the matter. Anger and fear bubbled in her gut, but it was mixed with a peculiar feeling of excitement that Florence was not used to. Had her nanna mentioned huts? Even Margot had sounded excited at the thought of the huts and her nanna had incredible taste for the whimsical, wonderful things in life. Florence’s interest piqued as she looked away from her nanna and studied a roast potato.

  The pain that had flashed across her nanna’s eyes before had long since vanished and had been replaced by a glint of hope and a sparkle of joy. As Florence observed the gold crispy edges of her roast, she decided she couldn’t bear to extinguish either. For a moment, Florence didn’t speak, instead she got lost in thought. When she was a child, she noticed that her nanna didn’t like to dwell on her losses, and she had taught Florence the same. Margot had elucidated that each night when one can dream and with each daybreak when one can think that nothing is lost. She went on to explain that a mind is not to be wasted when there were so many worlds to create and so many people to meet and talk to on any given day. Whenever Florence expressed her loneliness, Margot would simply tell her that those we love never leave our thoughts or disappear from our hearts; that they were always there.

  However, that did not always quell the ache in Florence’s soul. As a teen Florence had given up on these meets and greets, these meetings of the minds and trips down memory lane in her dreams. She had banished ideas and lost loved ones to the recesses of her brain and therefore any mention of Camp Calla Lily made her heart race at an uncomfortable speed. She was never prepared for the topic; it was too far gone in her memory bank. The only time she saw her parents now was when she looked at the photo frames that were dotted around the house. As her thoughts began to get carried away Florence could feel her brain spinning and suddenly her golden potatoes didn’t seem so appetising.

  ‘What about work?’ she said, desperately, the spark and joy in her nanna’s eyes being forgotten as fear took over. How could her nanna be so relaxed about work?

  ‘Florence, people who work do take holidays, you know, and Olivia rang the house earlier to check on you. I would say what happened today at your office was perfect timing, would you not?’ her nanna said, with a triumphant smile, though her left eye twitched. ‘Your train leaves in an hour,’ she added, causing Florence to nearly choke on a piece of broccoli she had tried to swallow.

  ‘Nanna!’ Florence cried, dabbing at her lips with her napkin.

  ‘Yes, my dear,’ her nanna replied nonchalantly, scooping carrots on to her fork. It would appear she had forgotten how to look people in the eye when talking. This only made Florence more irritated.

  ‘Can you not come with me?’ Florence tried, anxiety threatening to engulf her.

  Her nanna raised her head fo
r a second. ‘I’m afraid I cannot. I have physio and appointments this week that cannot be changed. Besides, this is something I feel you must experience on your own, my treasure,’ she answered, with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Florence recognised the false bravery, which only cemented the difficulty in arguing with her nanna this time.

  Florence sat back in her chair. Her nanna had never steered her wrong; she trusted her with every bone in her body. Deciding against another bite of broccoli, she pursed her lips and pushed her glasses up from the bridge of her nose. Florence’s memories from under the age of five were but a few, therefore she couldn’t remember much about Camp Calla Lily. She had in fact spent many of her early years trying to burn it from her mind, until it was just a mere smoky smudge. Occasionally, the ones that pierced through the smog were vague. Like now, a blurry vision of a lake came to her mind and colourful flowers blanketing acres of land. They spoke to her of happy times and great adventures but as quickly as they would appear, she would hastily shove them back to the depths of her brain. The colourful flowers lingered a little longer tonight, curiosity grabbing Florence and proving harder to dispel. After getting fired and with anxiety over getting a new job weighing heavy on her shoulders, she guessed she was all out of fight. If her nanna said that the time was now, clearly losing her job was some sort of sign, then Florence was struggling to come up with an excuse to doubt Margot. All out of arguments, she finished her dinner and sipped her tea.

  ‘Do we have time for a chapter before I go?’ Florence asked, looking over at her nanna, not wanting to miss their usual evening tradition and in need of a dose of comfort before embarking on an adventure she never thought she would take.