Becky and I spent the weekend getting things ready. Did I feel guilty, duping my business partner and new best friend into helping me scrub the worst of the dirt off the walls, climb a ladder to swap the cobwebs in the rafters for strings of fairy lights and set up picnic tables, lanterns, a couple of patio heaters and other various bits and bobs we needed, all under false pretences?
Not as bad as I did when she donated two dozen jars of honey and a pallet of apples that Ziva had scrumped from the orchard the previous autumn. There wasn’t anywhere near enough to make cider, even if I had had the couple of weeks needed to brew some, but Hope and I spent most of Saturday whipping up cakes, pies and tiny individual pastries for sampling, supplemented by plums from a Nottingham wholesaler. I wangled a discount from a local non-profit organisation producing traditional cider from wild orchards and then spent the rest of my budget on a crate of damson wine, along with tiny, compostable plastic cups for tasting, and a load of cheap cheese and crackers to go with the chutney samples.
Every time the anxiety started revving up again, I reminded myself of Charlie, and what she would have thought about it. I was certain that had she been here, she’d have been standing right beside me at the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up and face glowing.
The event was scheduled for 7 p.m. until 9. At 6.55, I added the last platter of cinnamon apple turnovers to the trestle tables lining one side of the barn. The lights were on, the heaters were blasting, and Becky and I were dressed in claret-coloured dresses to match the fruit themed décor (sprigs of dried flowers stuffed in milk bottles tied with red twine, red and green striped table runners, and strings of paper apples and plums draped from the rafters. Becky had even created a Damson Farm logo, thin, dark red text winding around a damson tree, which she’d blown up onto a massive poster and stuck on the back wall).
At one minute past seven, Ziva arrived, arm in arm with Becky’s dad, closely followed by four of their friends. At two minutes past, Alice texted to say that she was on her way. At three minutes past, I was hiding behind the barn, bent over with my hands on my knees while trying not to throw up.
What the hell had I done?
Then I heard feet scrunching in the gravel behind me and a strong, warm hand gripped my elbow.
‘Come on,’ Daniel said, his breath warm against my neck. ‘Becky’s wondering where you are.’
‘I just need a minute,’ I said, breathing slowly to avoid retching in front of him.
‘No, you need to get back to your event. Any second now someone from the New Side is going to turn up and you need to be there to provide the voice of reason.’
‘Can’t you do that?’
‘This is your night, Eleanor. I’m not about to steal your glory.’ He twizzled me around to face him, taking one look at my stricken expression before pulling me into the warmth of his soft jacket, my face buried against his shoulder, his arms gently wrapped around me. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ve got your back. If it comes to it, Becky, Ziva, Alice, Luke… your back’s not that big.’ He gave it a friendly pat, as if to prove it. ‘We can cover it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this was a terrible idea, and ban me from using your barn?’ I mumbled into his shoulder, wishing I could simply stay there.
‘Because it’s not.’ I could feel him smiling against my hair. How could one moment be so full of horror and so deliciously lovely all at the same time?
‘If it was a good idea, someone else would have tried it. No one else is stupid enough to invite the whole village to a joint event, as if all that’s needed is a teensy cup of cider and a piece of plum cake and everyone will live happily ever after.’
‘Maybe that’s because no one else is brave enough.’ He paused. ‘My sister invited the whole class to her birthday party, every year without fail.’
‘Did they all come? From both sides?’ I felt another painful wave of longing for my friend.
‘No. To my parents’ relief. But she kept on trying, anyway.’
The headlights of another car lit up the darkness beyond the edge of the barn.
‘Come on, you’re freezing. And as much as I believe in you, I’ve left my daughter in what might be about to turn into a bloodbath.’
I made a groan of protest.
‘Eleanor, you started this. Imagine if it actually works. Imagine if at least some of the people who come, decide to stay and mend some bridges. Wouldn’t that make it all worth it?’
The thing with Daniel was, when he spoke, something in me couldn’t resist believing him.
He pulled away, and I allowed him to steer me by the shoulders, back around the corner and over to where a gaggle of people waited near the barn doors. A rush of adrenaline zipped around my nervous system. Fear-based, mainly. But also, mixed in there was a tiny bit of excitement. The faces were beaming as they were greeted by Becky, who handed each person three cardboard tokens, each of which could be swapped for a sample of cider or damson wine.
‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked, teeth gritted behind her smile. ‘People are waiting for samples.’
‘Sorry, I needed to sort something.’
‘All sorted?’ she asked, not fooled for a second.
I nodded, giving her arm a squeeze of reassurance as I nipped past her into the barn. Around twenty people were milling about in coats and scarves, either chatting with each other or looking hungrily at the tables. I hurried over to stand behind the drinks table, hoping Alice would arrive soon so she could start offering the food around. Seeing me taking up position, a queue quickly formed, tokens gripped in anticipation.
‘Hello, everyone!’ I took a deep breath, switched into hospitality mode, and got to work.
It took fifteen minutes before someone spoke the words I’d been dreading. The room had filled to around fifty people. Alice had arrived, bedecked in a red strapless cocktail dress and matching ankle boots, and was soon swishing around the barn brandishing trays. Daniel, wearing Hope in a sling, was playing Lord of the Manor, mingling his way through the clusters of villagers, nodding and smiling and stopping to make smalltalk. Once, he glanced over and caught my eye, giving an encouraging flick of an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘See, it’s going awesomely!’ and my heart dissolved into mush.
‘Um, excuse me?’ An older woman interrupted, her face scrunched up in bewilderment and disgust. For a second I thought it must have been the cider. Then she pointed a gnarly finger at the middle-aged couple wandering towards us. ‘They’re from Bannock Lane.’
‘Are they?’ I asked, voice taut due to every muscle in my body having constricted at once.
‘Yes.’ She nodded vigorously, finger still extended like she was about to inflict a witch’s curse on the approaching offenders.
‘Would you like another sample, or I’d really recommend the tea loaf, if you want a little break between tastings.’
‘Did you not hear me, child?’ she replied, raising her voice, as she turned to face the intruders full on. ‘That’s Sue and Geoff Johnson! They’re New Siders!’
Okay. Here we go.
Every single person in the room, bar Alice, froze. Daniel, bless him, tried to enquire after someone’s sister, but he might as well have directed his question at the slice of pie they were holding.
The couple, suddenly realising they were in enemy territory, faltered about three metres from the table.
‘Please,’ I called out. ‘Come and try the Sherwood Perry. It’s got a hint of spice that is perfect on a chilly night.’
‘Did you not hear what Angela said?’ another woman scoffed, before turning to the couple. ‘Have you no shame? Trying to sneak into an Old Side event! Ugh – one sniff of free booze and those New Siders are out on the scrounge.’
The crowd broke out into murmurs and scuffles. To my alarm, about half of them seemed to take a step forward, forming a wide circle enclosing the Johnsons.
‘How dare you!’ Geoff Johnson retorted, gripping his wife’s arm. ‘There were posters up and down New Main Street. And on the chapel noticeboard. This is a New Side event. You lot are the ones gatecrashing. Isn’t that right, Paulie?’
A younger man, holding a cracker in one trembling hand, a piece of cake in another, turned pale, mouth gaping like a fish.
‘What, are you one of them, too?’ Yet another man shook his head, face twisted in contempt. ‘Greedy pack of freeloaders, the lot of them.’
Becky, standing on the opposite side of the room to me, carrying a tray of empty sample cups, gave me a wide-eyed stare, slowly shaking her head in disbelief, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture that said, ‘You started this, now do something!’
‘Um, excuse me, everyone!’ I ducked out from behind the table and scurried over to where I’d cobbled together a makeshift stage out of old pallets. Daniel handed me the portable microphone he’d borrowed from a mate who ran a mobile disco, and I tried to stop shaking enough to keep it from repeatedly bashing against my face.
‘Hello. Hi.’ This was about as far beyond my comfort zone as it is possible to get. I’d spent years hiding from people who might take exception to me. Now I was staring into a packed barn of murderous glares, while raised twelve inches off the ground, just to make sure the people at the back could glower with an unobstructed view.
‘So. I’m Eleanor, I’ve been living at Damson Farm for a few weeks now, and, well… I think Ferrington is fantastic.’
‘Which side?’ someone snarled.
‘Both.’ I paused to swallow, hoping it might bring my voice back down an octave or two. ‘Both. I’m an Out-Sider, as you all know. I’ve no reason not to enjoy a lemonade in the Boatman any more or less than a double pepperoni from Pepper’s Pizza. When the mini-market was out of bananas, I went to the Co-op instead.’
‘Why not go to the Co-op in the first place, then?’ Geoff Johnson interrupted. ‘They always have excellent stock management.’
‘Because it takes over half an hour to drive there!’ I said, swiftly covering my nervous exasperation with a rictus grin. ‘Surely, there are loads of you Old Siders who love a tasty portion of fish and chips now and again? Or New Siders who fancy enjoying a Sunday Roast in the Old Boat House.’
‘Over my dead body!’ The crowd began to chunter. A bead of sweat slid down my back.
‘More like over hers!’ a girl who looked about twenty sneered, ‘She’s the one invited both sides!’
‘Is there a point to this?’ someone else hollered, and to my shock I realised it was Alice. She grimaced at me from the back of the crowd, making frantic ‘hurry up!’ gestures.
Right. Yes. In a moment of utter recklessness, I forgot my Old Ferrington speech, took a deep breath, adjusted my slippery grip on the microphone, and got to the point.
‘Forty-seven per cent of you on the New Side have to wait over two weeks for a doctor’s appointment. The Old Side have a new GP which means as of two months ago, they’re undersubscribed. Primary school children on the Old Side have to travel forty minutes on the school bus each way, because there’s no bridge any more, instead of enjoying the health benefits of a short walk. The cost of the bus could pay for a whole extra teaching assistant. That means both sides miss out.’
I ploughed on for another few minutes, ignoring the heckles as I carefully stated the facts and figures, clearly highlighting all the ways that Ferrington lost out – financially, socially, convenience-wise, due to the bridge. ‘Magda Riley has an advert up in the Co-op wanting a dog walker.’
‘That’s right, I do!’ a woman in her forties called, waving her hand proudly. ‘Since I started my new job I don’t have time to give my Doughnut a decent run in the morning.’
‘Well, you might be interested to know that Poppy Pilkington has a poster in the mini-market volunteering to walk dogs for free because her mum’s allergic so she can’t have one!’
‘It’s not my fault!’ a woman I presumed to be Poppy’s mum said. ‘I break out in hives all over!’
‘My point being, this feud is helping no one!’
‘It’s all right for you to say!’ one man called out. ‘You weren’t there!’
‘With all due respect,’ I replied, ‘neither were you.’
There was a collective hiss of breath, followed by a stunned silence. I hoiked up my tights, and stepped into the breach.
‘These awful, painful, tragic events happened before a quarter of the village were even born. And for the rest of you, the sad truth is that those younger residents are moving away from here in busloads. Who’d want to stay in a village ripped apart by past conflict?’ I wanted to call it for what it was: bigotry, prejudice. But I thought about those one or two that might actually be listening to what I had to say, so I bit the words back.
‘What if that generation, and those who come after them, know Ferrington as the place that for over a thousand years was the top crossing place on the Maddon? That before the bridge, the ferrymen ensured vital goods were able to reach the towns and villages across the region? James Black once transported twenty-seven sheep in his boat in one crossing. Roundheads used it to escape the advancing Royalists in the civil war. Some even argue that Ferrington Bridge is the real location for Robin Hood’s infamous battle with Little John. What if your children grow up to be proud of this village, and all that it’s achieved? Rather than believing it’s a washed-up ghost village, only surviving on the bitter remains of anger?
‘No one, this town included, deserves to be known for its lowest, ugliest moment. Why don’t we remember Ferrington for its finest? I propose that we build a new bridge. A peace bridge. Signifying reconciliation, and forgiveness. A brighter future, that honours and remembers the past, but won’t be defined by one chunk of it. You don’t have to be an ex-mining town, known for what you’re not. Let’s decide who we are, and who we want to be, and let that be what counts.’
I paused to take another breath, my heart pounding. Daniel, Becky and Alice started clapping.
No one else joined them.
‘I think we’ve all decided what you are!’ Sue Johnson, the New Sider who’d started all this, had the audacity to shout.
‘Yeah, and it’s not one of us!’
‘How dare you call us washed-up!’ someone else cried. ‘A ghost town? Living in the past? Those New Siders are just as much a load of treacherous bottom-feeders as they ever were!’
‘Yeah! Bottom-feeders who belong on the bottom of the Maddon!’ The older woman with the pointy finger then tossed her drink in my direction (it landed several metres short, splattering her own coat), and hobbled out, deliberately shoving into Geoff as she passed him. Within a matter of moments, a stream of villagers, Old and New, trooped after her.
In the end, only Ziva and her husband, Becky and Alice, Daniel and five other people remained. Three of them looked to be in their twenties, the other two were Geoff and Sue.
‘For what it’s worth, we appreciate what you were trying to do,’ Sue said, her arm tucked into Geoff’s. ‘But you had no place, tricking us all into coming here and not being up front and honest about it. Even if you were right, with all that stuff about money and pooling resources, and yeah, maybe it is time to lay the past to rest, give the next generation a chance. But this was not the way to go about it.’
And with that, the Johnsons turned and left too.
I retrieved a crumpled tissue from my pocket and wiped my forehead.
‘Um,’ one of the remaining guests cleared their throat. ‘We didn’t get our last two samples.’
‘Here,’ Daniel handed each of them a bottle of cider. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Er, I don’t think so!’ Alice said, snatching a bottle back from one of them. ‘She was the one said they should throw Eleanor in the river!’ She waved the bottle threateningly. ‘Now get out of here!’
‘Well, that could have gone a lot worse.’ Daniel stepped up and bumped my side with his elbow.
‘You think?’
‘The barn’s still standing, no one got hurt. They dispersed in an orderly fashion without the police needing to be called. I’d say that’s a major win.’
‘Might want to check your tyres aren’t slashed, though…’ Alice said.
‘I don’t know,’ Becky mused. ‘I’m really surprised by how well they all listened. I genuinely thought when you climbed onto those pallets that you might be leaving in an ambulance.’
‘Well, I tried, anyway. And at least people seemed to like the food.’
‘You got seventy-three people from both sides of the river together, in one place, enjoying themselves,’ Ziva added.
‘Yeah, for a whole fifteen minutes.’ I sliced off a piece of Wensleydale and went to take a bite before realising that I couldn’t stomach it.
‘Fifteen minutes more than anyone else has managed!’ Ziva took the cheese and stuck it in her mouth. ‘At the very least, you gave us all a great deal to think about. And whatever they may have said, however fiercely they marched out, they’ll have gone home thinking about it. I know this to be true, because I’ll be one of them. Some of them will have to admit, however reluctantly, that you were right. And next time a New Sider needs the doctor, or an Old Sider drags her child out of bed at some unearthly hour to catch the school bus, they’ll remember what you said. Now, we’ll be off. I suggest you use the remains of the damson wine to celebrate an evening that Ferrington will be gossiping about for years to come. Becky will stay and help you clear up.’
‘Is that doctor’s orders?’ Becky asked.
‘It is.’
I thought she may have been about to protest, but at that moment Luke Winter appeared in the barn door. ‘Am I too late? I thought it finished at nine?’ He pulled up short when he saw Becky’s parents, but to his credit he recovered admirably. ‘Dr Solomon. Mr Adams.’
‘Yes, in you go,’ John Adams said. ‘Everyone’s welcome at Damson Farm this evening, and I think you’re in time for the after-party.’
In the end, it was far too cold to stay in the barn without the mass of bodies to supplement the heaters. Instead, we packed up the remains of the food and drink and decamped to the farmhouse kitchen.
‘How’s Jase doing?’ Luke asked Alice, once we’d filled our glasses with the remains of the wine. ‘I’ve not seen him at football much this season.’
Alice, sitting opposite him, pulled a face. ‘That’s because he’d rather sit at home and play fake football on his X-Box. I wouldn’t mind so much, but it means I have to watch telly on my phone, and if I want to read I need to go in the bedroom to get away from the noise.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘That’s not true. I’d still mind. I might as well be invisible when he’s gaming. And since he lost his job he’s always gaming.’
‘No luck finding anything else?’ Becky asked.
She shook her head in disgust. ‘Luck’s got nothing to do with it. He’s not even applied for anything yet. Still considering his options. Which is fair enough, only after four months considering, he’s so far opted to remain seated on the sofa doing eff all.’
‘Sounds like you need to have a conversation about it,’ Becky said. ‘You don’t want to end up being taken for a mug.’
Alice shrugged. ‘I don’t want to end up one of those controlling, naggy girlfriends either, and there’s worse things he could be addicted to. Let’s face it, apart from that he’s way out of my league. I’ve spent a lot of time considering my options lately, and for now Jase seems my best bet.’
I wanted to ask Alice why she thought a man who ignored her most of the time was out of her league. But by the way she flicked her hair over one shoulder, plastered on a grin and pointedly asked Becky if she’d been seeing anyone lately, I knew it was more important that I respected her closing the conversation.
Becky responded by choking on her mouthful of coffee.
‘Do you know what,’ she said, once she’d stopped spluttering, ‘I really need to go. Busy day tomorrow.’
‘So that’s a “no” then?’ Alice asked, for some reason refusing to let it drop.
‘Yes, it’s a no.’ Becky yanked her long wool coat off her chair and over her shoulders, one sleeve whipping Luke, sitting next to her, in the eye.
‘Do you need a lift home, Luke?’ Alice asked.
‘You’re driving?’ Luke asked back, blotting one eye with his jumper sleeve, scanning her wine glass with the other.
‘Becky is.’
‘I don’t think this evening is the best time for Becky to be venturing into the New Side,’ Daniel frowned.
‘Luke’ll be with her!’ Alice said.
‘Right, I’m off then,’ Becky interrupted. ‘Um, Luke, if you need a lift then I’m sure it will be fine, if I maybe just keep my headlights off or something. I don’t suppose anyone knows my number plate…’
Luke looked up at her, a polite smile on his face. ‘I’ve brought my bike, but thanks for the offer.’
‘Maybe another time?’ Alice asked, face round with glee. ‘Either of you free next weekend?’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Becky squawked, her bag thwacking Alice round the head as she raced out. Luke waited until her car had left the farmyard before making a swift exit.
‘A bit too much?’ Alice asked, after arranging her taxi.
‘Yes!’ Daniel and I answered in perfect sync, causing Alice to flicker her eyes between the two of us, another smile dancing at the edge of her lips.