The Impulse Purchase, page 33
Cherry blinked in surprise.
‘How?’
Maggie’s eyes flashed with determination. ‘I might not be able to buy it outright. But if we could come to some arrangement . . . maybe if you kept a share . . . I’ve got the money from selling Tine. And I could sell the house in Avonminster. There’s no mortgage on it. It’s gone up in value a lot since we bought it.’
‘But it’s your home. And Rose’s home. And Frank’s . . .’
‘I’d have to talk to Rose, of course. But it’s just four walls. I can’t cling on to it for ever. If I use it to build a new life for us, then that’s good, isn’t it? We can take Frank’s spirit with us.’
Cherry didn’t speak for a moment. She looked down at the table, thinking it all over, crunching the numbers, analysing the implications and practicalities, all the time trying to push down her panic. She could not lose Mike. She could not lose the man she had spent nearly all of her life with. But she couldn’t snatch away her daughter’s future for the sake of her own. Or, indeed, Rose’s. Rose and Gertie had woven themselves into the fabric of Rushbrook.
Could Maggie’s suggestion be the solution? Cherry could remain a sleeping partner. Keep a share. Still be involved, but not responsible or tied to the day-to-day running. She could free herself up so she could live the life she and Mike had imagined for themselves: enjoying a sense of adventure and new beginnings.
‘Mum,’ Maggie said. ‘I feel as if this is the right place for me. I’ve loved putting a team together and making it work. Winnie and Chloe and the others. I’m not letting all that go. And I love being back in Rushbrook. It’s like home for us. I can build my future here. It makes me feel . . . happy. Content. I never thought I’d feel that again.’
Maggie didn’t mention what had just happened outside with Russell. That was the icing on the cake – the promise of romance and fun and fizz with someone new. Her tummy flipped at the thought.
Cherry was smiling through the remnants of her tears. ‘If that’s what you want, we’ll find a way to make it work. For all of us.’
‘I’ll speak to Rose. Her security, and Gertie’s, is the most important. But she seems much happier here too.’
Cherry nodded. Her panic and anguish had subsided a little. She could see a clearer picture. But there was still something worrying at her. Something she needed to deal with sooner rather than later. She couldn’t take a risk with the thing that mattered the most.
‘Do you think,’ she said, ‘you could manage here for a couple of days without me?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yes. As long as you’re back by the weekend? I think we could hold the fort.’
Cherry smiled. ‘I can be back by Friday evening. All hands to the pump. Literally.’
52
Organising a new life, Rose was starting to realise, was all a bit chicken and egg. What did you start with first? She had made a list. Everything on it was part of the puzzle and the key to her future, but one thing depended on another, logistically, and it made her head spin.
Maggie had spoken to her the night before, about the possibility of selling the house in Mountville. Until recently, the prospect of such an upheaval, such a drastic change, would have sent her into a spin. But somehow, it felt as if the time was right to let go, for both of them. They held each other, mother and daughter, and shed a few tears at the thought of passing on the place they had called home for so many years, the place that had been home to the man they both loved. But they couldn’t carry on living there out of sentimentality.
‘It’ll be tough,’ said Maggie. ‘Clearing everything out, and saying goodbye. We were all so happy there.’
‘But we’ll be happy here,’ said Rose. ‘I know we will. And Dad would think it’s a good idea.’
‘He would,’ agreed Maggie.
And now Rose had a ream of practicalities to tackle. Her first call was to the local education authority.
‘My daughter’s registered to start school in Avonminster, but I moved to Rushbrook over the summer,’ said Rose, her stomach fluttering with nerves because this really mattered. ‘I wondered if there was a place free for Gertie at the primary school in September.’
She had to answer several questions from a woman whose tone didn’t give her any hint as to whether it was likely. Eventually, after leaving her on hold for several minutes, the woman came back on the line.
‘You,’ she said, ‘are very lucky indeed. There is one space left.’
Rose felt jubilant. She knew that you didn’t always get into your local school; that places were sought after. Fought after. People moved house to be in the right catchment and even then it wasn’t a dead cert.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, and arrangements were made for her to be sent the registration forms, and a uniform list. She’d seen the children in their jolly red jumpers and couldn’t wait for Gertie to join the throng. She had already made several friends at Dandelions who would be going to Rushbrook Primary. The school was completely different from the one in Mountville she had put her down for, but she’d had long enough to think about whether this was the right place for her daughter, and she decided it was. It would mean a slower pace of life, but Rose shut her eyes and imagined walking Gertie along the road, the two of them kicking at conkers, and it felt right.
Then she went back online and searched for the college in Honisham. She read through the details of the course again. Horticulture, Gardening and Landscape Design. Every time she read it, she became more convinced that this was what she wanted to do. Propagation, pruning, pesticides . . . she longed to learn more. She imagined the garden at The Three Swans a year from now, totally transformed, an abundant vegetable patch, a potager brimming with herbs and edible flowers, fruit cages bursting with raspberries and blackcurrants for Winnie to plunder. And perhaps a local client list: Amanda Bannister was definitely interested in her helping at Wisteria House, and Lorraine had told her there were lots of newcomers in the area who had no idea about where to start in the garden and were always putting ads up for help.
Rose envisaged a kind of mentoring scheme for newbie gardeners, where she would empower people to take control, turning to her for advice and guidance when they needed it. Developing that side of the business would go hand in hand with her horticultural therapy. She thought her career would probably evolve, that the answers would come as she gained knowledge and experience.
It felt like what she was meant to do: growing, nurturing, caring . . . sowing seeds.
She typed her details into the application form and pressed send.
Then she picked up her phone to look at the card she had photographed on the board outside the village shop. The one next to their own advert.
BARN CONVERSION TO RENT
AT DRAGONFLY FARM
We have a small two-bedroomed barn conversion up for rent on our cider farm.
It’s light and bright and well equipped with clever storage space.
We would like to rent it to someone local, to fit in with our ethos.
For more information, call Tabitha Melchior
There was a photo of a tiny red-brick barn with floor-to-ceiling windows at the front. Rose could imagine sitting there with a cup of tea in the morning, breathing in the scent of apple blossom while Gertie munched on toast and shouted out her spellings.
She made an appointment to view it at four o’clock that afternoon, praying that she counted as a local. After all, she had been christened in Rushbrook Church, more for Catherine’s sake than anyone’s, for Frank and Maggie weren’t great believers. She wasn’t Rushbrook born and bred, but her heart and soul were here. And the fact her family was running the pub must count for something.
‘Oh my God, of course you count,’ Tabitha told her that afternoon as she led her into the yard. ‘I just didn’t want to let it to someone from London who was going to use it as a weekend bolthole. I want a real person who has a life here. Now, the rent’s low because we’re still doing a lot of building so it’s a bit of a mess. This is the cider barn’ – she pointed at a new building, long and low and sleek – ‘and we’re gradually converting the old barns and stables into a mix of workshops and residential. We’ve just finished this one and I have to admit it’s my favourite because it’s tucked away in the corner. You’ll have Lola and Gabriel and Plum and Inigo next door – Gabriel’s my cousin and they moved here from London a few years ago. And there’s no garden, but you’re welcome to ramble about in the orchards any time you like.’
‘Mummy,’ said Gertie. She had gone absolutely rigid, her eyes round, pointing a finger.
‘What is it, darling?’ Rose bent down and followed Gertie’s finger, to see what she was pointing out. And she began to smile.
‘A donkey,’ whispered Gertie, overwhelmed. ‘The donkey, look.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Tabitha, catching Rose’s eye and winking. ‘Whoever lives here has a very important job. They have to feed the donkey for us. It’s part of the contract.’
The barn itself was very compact. A living space with a small kitchen area with hand-made units, a fridge and a washing machine. Two bedrooms and a sleek shower room. There were white walls and oak floors and several cubby holes for storing things.
Rose could barely swallow or speak. She wanted it so much, it hurt. It was going to take her a while to get her business up and running, especially if she was at college, but she had some money her grandmother had left her. She’d had it earmarked for a car, but she thought that for the time being, she wouldn’t need one. She had her bike, which she could bring down from Avonminster. Gertie’s school was walking distance; there was a bus to the college.
She had enough for six months’ rent. Enough to tide her over for the time being. She wanted it so badly, a space she could call her own, a space she could begin to be herself.
‘What do I have to do?’ she asked Tabitha. ‘Are there other people interested? Do I need references? Or a credit check?’
Tabitha gave her a strange look. ‘You’re Catherine Nicholson’s great-granddaughter,’ she said. ‘You don’t need any of that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours if you want it. Only don’t forget the donkey clause, or you’ll be out on your ear.’
Rose and Gertie walked back down the long drive to the road back to Rushbrook. The dragonflies that gave the farm its name zigzagged in the air around them, as if escorting them. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, staring at the screen for a moment. She felt elated by everything she had achieved. A school place for Gertie, a college place for her, a new home . . . Phase one of New Rose was firmly in place, and to her surprise she wasn’t feeling any of the anxiety she had feared. Somehow with each mission ticked off the list, she became stronger and more confident. Was it Rushbrook that had helped her fears subside? The Three Swans? Or was it simply time?
Or was it the thought of Aaron waiting for her? Had that been an incentive? Suddenly she longed to tell him what she had achieved in such a short space of time. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to touch him.
‘Phase One is complete!’ she texted him. She paused for a moment before typing out the rest of the message. ‘Lunch at the pub on Sunday?’
It was agony waiting for his reply. They reached the little stone bridge that crossed the river on the way back into the village, staring down at the water as it burbled along. She felt the twin buzz of a text in her pocket. Beep beep. She pulled out her phone, her mouth dry. He might have changed his mind about waiting. What if he had? Suddenly she realised how important he was to her. He was the last piece of the puzzle.
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, followed by a line of emojis: hearts and roses, and a knife and fork at the end.
Rose smiled as a pair of swallows swooped in front of them in the bright summer sky, joyful and carefree.
The puzzle was complete.
53
Amanda stood outside 5 Kerslake Crescent and felt the years fall away. If she narrowed her eyes a little, she could replace the uPVC windows with the old Crittal ones that had once been there, and visualise the red wooden door with the peeling paint and the crazy paving on the path and the overgrown grass. She could remember her feet squeezed into metal roller skates, and clomping to the road at the front to whizz up and down for hours, awkward and inelegant. She could remember music blasting from the upstairs window: ‘Hey Jude’ and ‘Sunshine of Your Love’ and ‘Lily the Pink’, which made them all roll around laughing. It had been a tough house to live in: ringworm and cold custard with skin on top and ice on the inside of the windows and hand-me-down clothing. There were rarely any hugs, but it wasn’t that there was no love. It was just that once her mother had gone, they weren’t sure what to do with it. They were competing to survive, hide their grief, and get their dad’s attention, of which he didn’t have much.
Wisteria House had been a haven, and Catherine Nicholson had undoubtedly been her saviour. Amanda was eternally grateful for the help and encouragement she had been given, and knew just how blessed she was to have had such a rewarding career – both creatively and financially – and now to realise her dream, with a man she trusted and loved.
And now, it was time to pay it forward a little. On the night of the quiz, she had recognised something broken in Nicole. She had seen the weariness in her, and the wariness, but also the flash of joy when she had won the tie-breaker, as if for a fleeting moment she actually meant something.
She knocked at the door, wondering if Nicole had seen her and if she might pretend not to be in. But to her surprise, she answered. She looked older than she had the night of the quiz, draped in a baggy black sweater and jeans and her hair scraped back. She looked weary and wary.
‘Hello . . .’ she said, in the tone of voice of one expecting trouble.
‘I hope you don’t mind me calling in,’ said Amanda. ‘But after we met at the quiz, I had an idea. I’ve got a proposition.’
Nicole looked surprised, but there was something so buoyant and upfront and open about Amanda. She didn’t invite suspicion, just curiosity. She was a person who made things happen, and that was very beguiling. So she let her in.
‘Please excuse the mess.’
Actually, by the usual standards, the front room wasn’t that messy today. Nicole had managed to clear the surface detritus when she got up, thank goodness – the plates and the abandoned homework and Otis’s Pokemon cards, and at least the curtains were open. The sun was shining in and showed the dust on the telly and the streaks on the windows, but the cushions on the big sofa were plumped up and the throws neatly arranged and it looked if not pristine then at least homely.
‘God, this is nothing compared to when we Fryers lived here,’ Amanda said cheerfully. ‘We used to peel all the wallpaper off and scribble everywhere. There was no carpet. And for some reason there was always Smash everywhere. Little clumps of mashed potato squashed into everything. I’m still a bit of a slattern, to be honest. This is immaculate by my standards.’
Nicole found herself laughing. ‘Sit down. Coffee?’
‘I’ve had my coffee quota. But thanks.’ Amanda flopped onto the sofa. ‘I wondered if you might be able to help me. Don’t look so worried – I think you might find it fun.’
‘OK,’ said Nicole, sitting in the rocking chair adjacent to the sofa. ‘Tell me.’
‘I’m supposed to be taking a back seat so me and Theo can spend more time here. I don’t want to be a hands-on producer any more. It’s an eighty-hour week. So I’m going into development and I need to look for projects. But the one thing I’m short of is time. I get sent rafts of books from scouts and publishers hoping for a television deal. I couldn’t read them all if I stayed at home for the rest of my life, and you never know which one is going to be The One.’ She leant forward, her eyes smiling. ‘What I need is someone to read them all for me, and do a synopsis. And maybe a paragraph or two on whether they would be suitable for adaptation.’ She smiled brightly. ‘And I thought of you, and your love of books, and your teaching background, and I thought it might be up your street?’
‘You are joking?’ Nicole looked shocked.
‘Oh God. I hope I haven’t offended you?’ Amanda looked worried. ‘I do have a habit of jumping in with both feet if I have a brainwave. I just thought—’
‘I would absolutely love it!’ Nicole said quickly. ‘I can’t think of anything I would love to do more. Spend my days reading? It’s a dream come true.’
‘I’d pay per book. Not a massive amount, but enough to make it worth your while. And the more you read, the more you’d make.’
‘I’m a fast reader. So be warned,’ Nicole laughed. Suddenly the years rolled off her. There was joy in her face, and light in her eyes.
Bingo, thought Amanda. She had learned to trust her gut, and knew on instinct that Nicole was bright, and would pick up on what she needed quickly.
‘We need a meeting,’ she said. ‘So I can talk you through the kind of projects I’m looking for, and the qualities I need in a book. A strong hook, a unique concept. Compelling characters. The potential for a sequel.’
‘I get it,’ nodded Nicole.
‘So do we have a deal?’
‘But how do you know?’ said Nicole, still rather overwhelmed. ‘Whether I’d be any good?’
‘It’s my job,’ said Amanda. ‘To suss people out. To know what they’re good at. To spot talent. I’m never wrong.’
Nicole stared at Amanda in awe. She was so sure of herself. So full of certainty. If she could have an ounce of Amanda’s self-assuredness, she could better herself. She was being given a golden opportunity. She should grab it with both hands, learn as much as she could from this amazing woman, try and steer herself up and out of the mire she was wallowing in. Maybe this was the turning point she needed?
She held out her hand. ‘It’s a deal,’ she said.
When Amanda had gone, Nicole sat down and tried to take in what had just happened.
She couldn’t mess this up. She recognised Amanda as a person who rewarded endeavour and talent. After all, Amanda had overcome adversity and got herself out of this very house under her own steam, ending up with a glittering career and Wisteria House. If she could do it, then Nicole could. Not just for her, but for Otis and Pearl and Chloe.
