Teepee for Two

by Daisy Tate

  She could be also be single, childless, and living in a garret somewhere, convincing herself that her ‘masterpieces’ weren’t bad, just misunderstood.

  ‘Freya?’ Charlotte touched her arm. Are you all right?

  No. She was having a meltdown.

  Freya forced herself to focus on what was in front of her. A painting by a famous artist stuffed in her parents’ attic that could change their futures.

  ‘Dad? Why is the painting up here?’

  Her father scratched his head. ‘Oh, she didn’t take to it in the end, your mother. Said it wasn’t the sort of portrait she’d been after, but thought it’d be rude not to keep it after all the effort the young man had put in. You’re more than welcome to it if you’d like it.’ He glanced out towards the barn. ‘Rocco didn’t express an interest when we were up here a while back looking for something for your mother, and from what I’ve seen in the shopfronts up in St Andrews, the lad’s doing a fair trade now. Perhaps you can get a few bob for it.’

  Uhh … Jack Vettriano’s career was insanely fabulous. He was an OBE, had his own publishing company, not to mention regularly selling more prints than every other British painter, even if he was sneered at by the Establishment.

  He’d stayed true to his vision and ultimately been rewarded for it.

  Oh, bums. All of this was striking a bit too close to the bone.

  Her father abruptly pushed himself up and out of his chair and ruffled Freya’s hair as he had when she was a child. ‘It’s nothing to worry about now. Your mother chose me and we never once looked back.’ He popped on a happy, contented smile. ‘Now, then. When are you girls coming down out of this attic for some hot chocolate? Izzy here looks as though she’s on the brink of a cold.’

  ‘Soon, Dad.’ Freya watched him go, feeling aftershocks of the discovery rippling through her. The world looked the same, but it felt completely different.

  When he’d gone, Izzy joined her in staring at the painting. ‘Should we hang it out in the shop?’

  Freya and Charlotte turned to her as one and said, ‘No.’

  ‘Would you like to try the gin infused with salted caramel or the pink peppercorn vodka?’

  Emily stared at Tansy, the sylphlike micro-distiller, and nodded heavily.

  ‘Yes.’

  Tansy – because beautiful micro-distillers of distinctive spirits wouldn’t be called Ethel or Madge – smiled at Emily. Emily hoped she was smiling back. Chances were high that if she ever got off her stool, she wouldn’t be able to walk in a straight line. Rocco, on the other hand, was completely sober. Fair enough, as he was driving, and Scotland was very, very strict about obeying rules and sticking to the Letter of the Law.

  Why were all her thoughts happening in slow motion?

  ‘How about you try the pink peppercorn?’ Rocco suggested. ‘It might go with that chocolate cake Charlotte was making.’

  No it wouldn’t. That sounded revolting. Even so. She gave his cheek a pat. He was sweet. Rocco. Constantly asking her if she thought Charlotte would approve.

  Her hand dropped from his cheek to his shoulder. Blimey. What was the man made of? Boulder?

  ‘You’re a walking-talking farm stud aren’t you, Rocco? Like a bull.’

  She poked his chest. Her finger crumpled against his musculature. Solid. As. A. Rock-o.

  No wonder Charlotte was all twittery around him. Flushing when he walked into a room. Eyes locked on his forearms when he pushed up his sleeves to stoke the fire. He was one of those men who would probably pick up a woman and put her on the counter so she’d be at the right level for … whatever. Charlotte could probably do with a bit of whatever. So, come to think of it, could Emily.

  Tansy poured her a taster and an alcohol-free botanical shot for Rocco, then turned towards a rather jolly group at the far end of the counter.

  ‘You should come to the farm and have some malted milk!’

  Emily looked over her shoulder. No one there. Whoops. Rocco laughed. Her parents would’ve been horrified. She had no social skills.

  Blah.

  She should never have left the hospital. Never come up here. She should’ve stayed in her scrubs on the surgical ward where she belonged, like a good little tiger baby. Rowr.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  Tansy again.

  She was insanely beautiful. A sheet of luminescent red hair rippled down to her bum. It was a shade of … auburn, probably. A shade Emily had never seen on a mere mortal. Dark brown eyes. They actually looked like chocolate. From Ecuador. Or … Zanzibar. Tansy had freckles. Happy freckles. A button nose. Dusty rose lips. She was also wearing a headband with a halo floating above it. A micro-distilled angel.

  Rocco waved his hand above their empty glasses. ‘I think that’ll do us. Anything take your fancy, Emily?’

  ‘Hells to the yeah!’

  She’d learned that from an American colleague. Hells to the yeah! It had sounded very street when they were scrubbing up for a knee replacement.

  ‘You sell malted milk?’ Tansy perched a hand on her hip and grinned.

  ‘Why, yes we do!’ Emily enthused, ignoring Rocco’s bemused look. ‘We sell boozy malted milk. It’s milk … with malt. Whisky, vodka, rum, all sorts. There will be cake. There will be …’ She swung her eyes to Rocco for help. She’d run out of things to dazzle Tansy with.

  Rocco quickly explained what they were doing; that there’d be a party at the farm on Hogmanay with milk-based cocktails, cake, sausages, burgers and all sorts. Donations gratefully accepted to make up for a missed milk collection. Tansy, he added, was most welcome.

  Tansy’s brown eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t you take a couple of bottles on the house? We’ve got an Amaretto vodka and a coffee gin that’d be absolutely brilliant. If they do well it’s good for us too, yeah?’

  ‘Us?’ slurred Emily.

  ‘Me and my partner.’

  Partner?

  She slumped at the irritating word. It was so … vague. Business, romantic, dance … which was it?

  Tansy waved down the hippest hipster of them all. Above the requisite ensemble of charcoal skinny trousers, black turtleneck jumper and a leather strapped apron, he was wearing a pair of Fair Isle knitted antlers. Bah! Freya could make much cooler antlers. She’d call her immediately. Say the party simply couldn’t go on without kick-ass hipster antlers.

  ‘Brodie! C’mere, listen to this.’

  Emily fuzzed her lips. Was no one in the trendy booze world called Bob? Derek?

  ‘Ooops! Easy there, girlie.’ Rocco caught Emily as she slid off the stool towards the stone floor. ‘Looks as if we’d better make our way back to the dairy and get some tea into you. See you on Hogmanay?’ That part was for Tansy and Brodie. The partner.

  ‘Absolutely. It’s sounds a cracking good time. What’s the name of the farm?’

  ‘Burns’ Folly.’

  ‘Ha! Is not.’ Emily waved her hand between them. ‘He’s fibbing. It’s called …’ She couldn’t remember what it was called.

  Rocco held up his hands. ‘Originally it was Riverside Farm but Dad changed it to Burns’ Folly. His idea of a joke.’

  Emily flinched. ‘Why is announcing to the world that you lack common sense a good thing?’

  Rocco shrugged. ‘He comes from a long line of maths teachers and had to build the farm from scratch. Everyone told him he’d fail. He vowed to do otherwise.’

  Well, that took cojones. No wonder Freya was like a dog with a bone when it came to her shop. Genetics. ‘Brilliant. Aren’t they brilliant, Tansy?’ Emily stubbed her finger on Rocco’s chest and hiccoughed. ‘Everybody loves a dreamer!’

  Rocco gave her a soft smile, tucked her arm in his, and winked a goodbye to Tansy. ‘Indeed they do, lassie. Indeed they do.’

  When Rocco got her back into the car and buckled her up, Emily swivelled her head round to him. It took some effort.

  ‘Did I disgrace myself?’

  ‘Nah,’ Rocco grinned that sweet grin
of his that actually made her believe him. ‘While you were in the loo, she double-checked the address with me. I think you’re in with a chance.’

  Emily instantly felt very, very sober.

  ‘Only a few more to go.’ Freya carried the last of the supper dishes to the sink and gave Charlotte an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think there’d be quite so much washing up.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Charlotte went to give Freya a quick rub on the back but stopped when she saw her hands were covered in bubbles. ‘You’ve got a lot on your mind.’

  Freya made a vague noise.

  Yes. She did.

  After a couple of minutes of silent plate-drying she asked, ‘Do you think Izzy really has the sniffles or was she pulling an Izzy by ducking out early?’ It wasn’t a fair comment. Izzy had never been the queen of clean, but she always did her bit.

  ‘She did look a bit peaky,’ Charlotte said as she hung the dishcloth on the side of the enamel sink. ‘I have to admit to being a bit more worried watching Emily in mother-hen mode.’

  Freya agreed. ‘It’s a bit … frantic.’

  Charlotte took a tea towel from the Rayburn handle as they both laughed at the memory of Emily hurling extra blankets at Izzy, then taking her through every single side effect of the cold medicines she’d bought for her. A bit OTT for a head cold, but Emily had always been a bit of a fusspot when it came to Izzy.

  In fairness, Izzy had gone to bed before pudding – which was rare. Particularly as tonight had featured a fabulous taste test of Charlotte’s experimental cakes coupled with ice cream Rocco had picked up on the way back from what sounded like a very adventurous outing with Emily. Emily had shot daggers at him whenever he mentioned the gin distillery. Free booze! What wasn’t to love? And what did Emily have to worry about anyway? A free home courtesy of her parents. A high-paying if demanding job. Her life was made. Freya backtracked. It was probably pretty lonely being Emily. She’d never had a relationship as far as any of them knew. She and Monty might have their problems, but at least they had them together. Well. Mostly together.

  She noisily began to pile up the plates and put them away with a clatter.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’ Charlotte asked.

  Where to start? Freya leant against the counter and began ticking things off her fingers. ‘Let’s see. There’s the painting, potentially worth tens of thousands of pounds, mouldering away in my father’s attic. The debts we’re drowning in. The fact that my husband’s stropped off to his brother’s for the first time since I told him I was pregnant with the twins.’ It was inaccurate and they both knew it. This time he was actually at his brother’s. The last time he’d said he was at his brother’s, but had actually taken himself off on a Ray Mears woodworking course to learn how to carve a canoe. A skill that had never come in particularly handy.

  Freya stared into the fire, watching as the hot red logs disintegrated into ash.

  All those years ago when Monty had jumped on his motorcycle and zoomed off, Freya had thought: this is it. Monty’s family will tell him he’s too young to start a family. They’d advise Freya to end the pregnancy and they’d most likely split up. She’d worked herself up into such a state about it that she’d looked up train fares to Scotland after googling every fact she could find about pregnancy and working in a dairy.

  Charlotte dried a serving dish and handed it to Freya to put away.

  ‘I think – ummm …’ Ooof. Freya was actually feeling pretty emotional. ‘I think for the first time ever, I’m properly scared.’

  Charlotte nodded. She understood the complexities of marriage more than most.

  ‘What scares you the most?’

  ‘Today? Being tempted to sell a painting of my newly pregnant mother.’

  ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘It would solve a lot of problems.’ Not all of the problems. But the ‘tedious logistics’ of their lives would definitely be less painful. Not to mention ease the guilt over Rocco working so hard on his own. He’d never say it, but some extra cash would definitely help.

  On the flipside, clearing their debts wouldn’t change Monty. Already, Freya could feel a growing rage that his idiocy was forcing her to consider selling a family treasure to avoid declaring bankruptcy. That’s how broke they were. She didn’t even know how she was going to get the children back down the road and yet … selling the painting would be like selling her mother’s ashes.

  Impossible.

  The truth hit hard and fast. They were going to have to find a way to do this on their own. It was time for both of them to grow up. Face facts. They were in debt, limiting their children’s futures, and needed to make some fundamental decisions about how they wanted to proceed because, at the end of the day …? No amount of money was going to change the fact that their marriage was failing and neither one of them was doing anything to fix it.

  She and Charlotte walked upstairs together, each lost in their thoughts, barely remembering to say goodnight when they reached their bedroom doors.

  When Freya crawled into bed with her hot-water bottle, she picked up her phone and pressed the icon for favourites.

  ‘Hi,’ Freya whispered. Which was stupid, seeing as she was alone in bed with thick stone walls between her and everyone else in the house.

  ‘Hi,’ Monty whispered back.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Hello, you.’

  Freya’s heart did an unexpected flip. Monty hadn’t said plain old ‘hello, you’ in just about for ever.

  ‘I miss you.’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘I miss you, too.’

  Chapter 6

  Izzy’s sneezes had officially turned into primal screams.

  Despite her best efforts to suppress it, her cold had blossomed into an all-body aches-and-pain fest. Her entire body felt lumpy. So far today she’d managed to move from one end of the kitchen sofa to the other.

  Whenever the girls checked up on her, she’d try to sit up and quip things like, ‘By does iz blocked. But dot for loooong!’ Then she’d hold up a wad of tissues for one and all to see before blowing her nose like a cartoon character. ‘See?’

  She was on her second box.

  After shouting at her for being such an idiot for letting herself get this ill, Emily had gone out and bought her the tissues with menthol in them to see if they would help. They didn’t. Emily was being weird. Shouty one minute. Strangely attentive the next.

  Habby Dew Yeeeeeeeear.

  ‘Anyone seen the snowflake bunting?’ Freya was careening about the kitchen as if she’d just misplaced her own internal organs. ‘It was here on the sideboard. WHO’S MOVED THE BLOODY BUNTING?’

  Someone needed to take a chill pill. As much as she complained about Monty, they all knew how much she relied on him. He had a way of taking the edge off when she got a bit too … Freya-ish.

  ‘Mum?’ Felix wandered into the kitchen in his usual dreamy, ‘gangly nerd bound to blossom’ kind of way.

  ‘Yes, darlin’?’ Freya was yanking open drawers.

  ‘Do you know where Dad put my kilt pins?’

  Freya whirled on him so violently you’d have thought he’d just told her he was a Trump supporter.

  ‘How would I know?’

  Felix rolled his eyes, scooped up a book and loped up the back stairs.

  Poor Freya. It didn’t take a shrink to see she was tactically ignoring her Real Life Problems by pouring all of her energies into making tonight a success.

  Izzy understood. She was awesome at ignoring things she knew needed dealing with but wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

  Luna ran in, all bright cheeked and smiley faced with Bonzer in tow. The dog was wearing a pair of knitted reindeer antlers. Everyone had done a double take when Emily suggested she have a go at making them after Freya announced she needed something to take her mind off things after dinner last night. When Izzy needed distracting, she … uhhhh, what did she do? Surfing was out.

  Sniff.

  T
elling her friends she was scared shitless to go to the doctor’s was out.

  ‘Booboo.’ Izzy put on her best plaintive voice. The one she hoped conveyed the depth of a mother’s love. ‘Come and hug your ailing mother.’

  Luna gave her a pat on the head, clearly a little repulsed by the cloud of funk that hung round her.

  Charlotte floated in from the ‘food hygiened’ dining room with a tray of freshly frosted cupcakes. ‘Voilà! These are the pineapple and rum butter cakes.’

  Charlotte held them out for everyone to see. They looked amazing. Beautifully golden whorls of frosting accented with a tiny triangle of caramelized pineapple. Yum. They’d be brilliant if she could taste anything.

  Izzy snapped forward with the force of an unexpected sneeze.

  ‘Izz.’ Charlotte handed the tray to Poppy and asked her to bring it out to the shop. ‘Lovely? With all the food we’re preparing, perhaps it would be best if we tucked you into another room? Maybe a nap wouldn’t go amiss?’

  Izzy nodded miserably. ‘Bo-kay.’

  Hack, sneeze, snuffle.

  This wasn’t fair. Izzy was the party girl. The one who got everybody dancing. And now they were sending her off, like a tragic Miss Havisham with nothing to do but dream of setting the place alight. She didn’t want to go on her own.

  ‘Bonzer! Come to Mama, furry bear.’ Bonzer didn’t budge. Ungrateful hound.

  Sniff.

  ‘Well, goodbye all!’

  She received a few distracted waves and a ream of instructions from Emily about when and how to take all of her bedside medicines.

  This was a nightmare. Being sick. It was as if her body was in cahoots with Emily, forcing her to find out if there was something wrong beyond the sniffles.