Appleby Farm (37 page)

‘I was so wrong about you and your dedication to the farm, Arthur. Yes, I’ve got money in the bank, but you’ve got this.’ He nodded at the outside world. ‘This is your legacy. While I’ve been absorbed in the pointless pursuit of profit, up to my eyeballs in stress, you’ve spent your life enjoying the simple pleasures, looking after the land, preserving our heritage for future generations.’

‘Stop!’ Uncle Arthur pressed his hands to his face. ‘You’re making me sick with all your airy-fairy good-life rubbish. You think you’ve cornered the market in stress? Well, you know what they say, don’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.’

‘Calm down, Arthur,’ Auntie Sue pleaded. ‘Think of your blood pressure.’

Uncle Arthur growled, pushed his chair back from the table and stood up to face Dad.

‘I’ve served my time as a farmer, Rusty. And yes, I’ve loved every minute of it, but Sue and I haven’t seen the world like you.’

‘Maybe not, Arthur, but when you’ve got scenery like this on your doorstep,’ Dad sighed contentedly, ‘who needs the rest of the world?’

‘I’m seventy-five and I can’t remember the last time we went on holiday,’ snapped Uncle Arthur. ‘And if I hadn’t had two heart attacks, I probably wouldn’t have had a day off this year. And although we’ve got some savings tied up, we’ve had the cash flow from hell this season. If it hadn’t been for our Freya and you bridging the gap till we sell this spring’s stock, we’d have got into even deeper debt. If you don’t think that’s stressful, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.’

‘Now hold on a minute,’ Dad chided gently, ‘I think we’re talking at cross-purposes here.’

Uncle Arthur jabbed a finger at my dad. ‘And if
my
only chance at a golden handshake is to sell out to a big dairy outfit, then for once in my life I think I’m going to put us first and not the land. Pursue my own bit of profit, buy my wife
her
ideal home.’

‘Sell?’ gasped Mum.

There was a startled silence broken only by the sound of Uncle Arthur’s panting. This was the moment I should have spoken up, declared my beleaguered intention to prevent Appleby Farm from falling into the hands of the intensive farming company, but before I could do so Uncle Arthur straightened up and took a deep breath.

‘Yes, Margo, sell. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

With that he rammed his cap on his head and stormed out of the house. Auntie Sue made a mewling sound and clapped a hand over her mouth, and Mum and Dad exchanged bewildered looks.

This was awful. I had never seen my uncle so upset. Auntie Sue wasn’t much better, I thought, watching as Mum tried to comfort her. I had to do something.

I joined my dad at the window. He was stroking his moustache pensively.

‘Uncle Arthur’s not really mad with you, Dad. He’s angry at the situation he’s in. He wants to secure the farm’s future as well as his own and it’s not proving easy.’

He nodded. ‘Poor chap. He’s not had an easy year. And there’s me blundering in with my “lucky old you” attitude.’

He turned back to Auntie Sue and Mum. ‘I’m sorry, Sue. Shall I go and find him?’

Auntie Sue looked up and shook her head. ‘He’ll be having a minute with the cows; he’ll be all right. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over.’

‘In that case, Dad, can I show you the tea rooms?’

His eyes met mine and he broke into a smile, the tension easing for a moment. ‘I thought you’d never ask. Lead on.’

We walked across the yard slowly. I unlocked the big glass doors to the tea rooms – tricky with sweaty palms – and stood back to let him go in first.

I’d spent years pretending to myself that I wasn’t bothered what my dad thought about the way I lived my life. I realized now that it was a form of self-defence. Dad’s approval of the Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms meant the world to me and my heart was absolutely pounding.

I held my breath as he walked around the interior in silence, shaking his head in what I hoped was wonder rather than disappointment, stopping to peer up at the window on to the spinning gallery and shooting me looks of surprise every few seconds. He was certainly thorough: he examined the bunting, the framed wallpaper, the ice-cream counter, the chalkboard menu and even went behind the serving hatch to inspect the cups and saucers that Mum had sent me.

Come on, Dad, I’m dying here.

‘Well?’ I blurted out finally.

‘I love it,’ he stated simply and then laughed. ‘Your mother said you’d done a good job. Frankly I’m stunned.’ He shook his head again. ‘And to think I used to play in this barn when I was a boy.’

‘Phew!’ I beamed. ‘Thanks, Dad. You don’t think it’s too rustic?’
Like Victoria Moon did
, I recalled bitterly.

‘No!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s charming.’

‘Look at this.’ I darted over to fetch the visitors’ book. ‘People have left some lovely comments. It was supposed to be for suggestions, but most customers have just left compliments.’

I was fully aware that I was showing off but I’d never really had my father’s full attention before and I was revelling in it now that I had it.

‘Sit down and I’ll make you one of our special teas.’

Dad held up a hand as he took a seat at one of the tables. ‘I’m swimming in tea. Have you got anything stronger?’

There were some beers tucked into the back of the fridge left over from our opening party in August and I flipped the lids off two bottles.

‘Ah!’ Dad smacked his lips appreciatively and cast an eye over the tea rooms. ‘Do you know, you might be able to reproduce this venue elsewhere? Have you thought of opening more?’

I hadn’t. It was a damn good idea, though. ‘Do you really think so?’

He swigged his beer and nodded. ‘You could propose it to other farms.’

I shuddered. ‘It’s this farm I’m bothered about, Dad.’ Dad frowned. ‘Mmm. I couldn’t help noticing that we seemed to have walked in on a bit of an atmosphere.’

‘Understatement.’ I quirked one eyebrow.

I filled him in on what had been happening at the farm, about Julian’s relentless quest to push Uncle Arthur into selling Appleby Farm and the proposals for an intensive dairy farm.

‘Good God.’ Dad blinked at me. ‘Is Julian putting pressure on the old boy?’

I puffed out my cheeks. ‘Massively so. I think Uncle Arthur feels like if he turns down Julian’s offer, he might never get another and Auntie Sue is desperate for him to ease up and retire.’

Dad got up, walked to the glass doors and stared out at the view, just as he had in the kitchen. ‘I can’t imagine all these lovely old buildings being replaced by industrial units for the sake of profit. That would be a travesty.’

‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.

I could hardly believe it: just as the blinkers were falling from my father’s eyes about the beauty of Appleby Farm, Uncle Arthur was preparing to throw in the towel. I cleared away the empty bottles, walked over to Dad and together we left the tea rooms.

‘I know that farming has to move on. It’s an industry like any other and you can’t hold back progress, blah, blah, blah, but …’ I shrugged. ‘Surely there’s a halfway house? A way of farming that’s still true to the traditional way of doing things?’

Dad’s shoulder brushed against mine as we headed by unspoken agreement towards the orchard. It was the closest father and daughter moment we’d ever shared and my knees had gone a bit wobbly.

‘Appleby Farm means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’ said Dad.

I swallowed and nodded.

‘What would you like to happen to the farm?’ He watched me closely, waiting for an answer. He was genuinely interested in my opinion, I realized, and I felt my face heat up with pride.

‘I’ve got some ideas,’ I said, crossing my fingers behind my back and hoping he didn’t ask to hear them this instant.

We’d reached the orchard and Dad picked us an apple each from the nearest tree. I bit into mine; it was sweet and juicy and I remembered my idea of making cider. I made a mental note to look into it.

‘This retirement thing has taken me by surprise somewhat and I must confess I’m dreading it. I wonder …’ He tapped his chin. ‘How about this? If you can come up a viable plan to run the farm profitably, I’ll finance it.’

Go into business together? I hadn’t seen that one coming.
Say something, Freya.

‘Coolio.’ I groaned inwardly.
Coolio?
Just what every businessman wants to hear.

‘Your mum and I are staying at the Gilpin Hotel this week, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk. Does that sound like a plan?’

I closed the gap between us with one step and hugged him tightly.

‘Thanks, Dad.’

I was on a massive high when I waved off Mum and Dad. After leaving me in the orchard, Dad had gone off to find his brother and the two of them had disappeared to the White Lion to clear the air. They had returned several pints later, arms round shoulders, with a renewed respect for each other, which was so heartwarming to see.

It was going to be wonderful having them in Cumbria for the week and Mum had already promised to come and help in the tea rooms as much as she could. But what had warmed my soul more than anything was that Dad had listened to me – really listened. For the first time in my life I felt as though he saw my potential and valued my opinion, just like Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur had always done. We might never see eye to eye completely but I definitely felt closer to him already. And it felt amazing.

So amazing, in fact, that I had too much energy for my body. My brain was whirring and I was beside myself with enthusiasm to finally pin down a proper, grown-up business plan that Dad could buy in to.

I decided to saddle up Skye and take her out for a ride to clear my head. On my way to the stables I spotted a familiar figure in the orchard, halfway up a tree, trying to reach a big red apple.

‘Lizzie!’ I bowled up to her, waving my arms in the air.

‘What’s up with you, matey?’ She laughed and jumped down empty-handed. ‘Got gnats in your knickers? What’s new?’

I hugged her, noticing her jodhpurs and fleece. ‘Loads! How long have you got?’

‘Five minutes. I’m just picking an apple for me and Skye and then we’re going for a hack through the woods before it gets dark.’

‘Oh no! I was going to take her out. Please let me, Lizzie. I need to get off the farm for a bit, I’m desperate.’

She rolled her eyes playfully. ‘Go on, then. But I’m so bored. Bill has given me the night off because his daughter’s back from her gap year and she wants to work behind the bar tonight. I think she wants a permanent job, you know. So if you were still thinking about a manager for the tea rooms …?’ She eyed me hopefully before tweaking a smaller apple from a lower branch and biting into it.

I’d love Lizzie to work for me. She was a grafter, great with people and she already
did
work for me for free, but I couldn’t offer her a job. Not yet. But before I had chance to tell her about my conversation with Dad, she leaped up in the air, startling me.

‘Oh, Freya! I cannot
believe
I nearly forgot this nugget of news. Guess what.’

‘Spray that again,’ I said, wiping apple juice from my face.

‘Oops, soz!’ She giggled. ‘Victoria has got the sack from Radio Lakeland. She’s managed to get her old job back at Liver FM. God knows how. And she’s going back to Liverpool! She, of course, is claiming that her job on Radio Lakeland was only a six-month secondment and that she couldn’t wait to leave, but I heard that she got the boot after she put her foot in it good and proper with Miss Cumbria, live on air.’

I grabbed hold of Lizzie’s hands and we did a little celebratory jig. ‘That’s fantastic! I know she’s your sister, Lizzie, but …’

She shrugged. ‘No worries. Glad to see the back of her. Apparently she announced that after the next piece of music, the beautiful Miss Cumbria would be joining her in the studio. Then she played the track but forgot to turn off her microphone and broadcast herself declaring that Miss Cumbria had hands and feet the size of a shire horse and she wouldn’t be surprised if underneath all that make-up she was actually a man.’

‘I suppose she had to leave.’ I grinned. ‘She must have run out of people to insult!’

‘Mmm,’ Lizzie huffed. ‘I just hope people don’t think that I’m like my sister.’

I hugged her. ‘Don’t be daft. Everyone loves you.’

Seriously, what was it with siblings? Lizzie was warm, kind, fun and full of empathy, whereas Victoria was … not. And Julian and I? We might share DNA but that was where it began and ended. Thank goodness.

‘I know I shouldn’t be happy about other people’s misfortunes,’ I said, ‘but I can’t say I’ll miss her.’ A thought struck me suddenly. ‘What about Harry?’

Lizzie paused from munching her apple and smiled. ‘I saw him last night in the village. He said he hadn’t wanted to say too much, because he likes me, obvs.’ She batted her eyelashes. ‘But apparently she was getting to be a bit of a stalker, turning up at his house and crying all over him, saying that he was the only one who understood her and she had no one else to talk to.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘According to Victoria, they’ve been out to dinner and I’ve seen them together with my own eyes getting very cosy on the doorstep of Willow Farm.’

Lizzie lifted a shoulder. ‘Perhaps that was just one of the times she turned up at his house?’

My heart skipped unexpectedly. Perhaps that was true. Maybe I’d been seeing more than there was to see?

‘Do you know what? If you really don’t mind me borrowing Skye, I might ride over there. Just say hi.’

‘Just say hi?’ Lizzie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’

‘No.’ Did my voice just jump an octave? I coughed discreetly and tried again. ‘He’s just … I don’t know. I need someone to bounce farmy-type ideas off and he’s a good listener. And very comforting.’

Put like that I almost believed it myself.

Lizzie stared at me, a smile tweaking her lips upwards. ‘Yeah, right.
Apple pie
is comforting,’ she pointed out. ‘If we’re talking desserts, Harry Graythwaite is more like tiramisu: dreamy and delicious, deep and dangerously potent, buff and—’