Friday, the day before the retreat, Becky and I were flat out cooking and prepping and adding the last-minute touches. The garden was still on the wild side, the exterior of the farmhouse needed a lick of paint, but we were embracing nature, and as long as the house was clean and in good order, we were happy that we’d done enough for now. Alice was due to join us on Saturday, as all day Friday she was on shift at the pub, but to our surprise she skidded up the farmhouse drive while we were grabbing a quick lunch on the freshly weeded patio.
Flinging open her car door, she tumbled out and hurried over to join us, face glowing, hair curled on one side, still straight on the other.
‘What’s happened?’ Becky asked as soon as she’d swallowed her mouthful of feta salad. ‘Is it Jase?’
Alice, gasping for breath, could initially only shake her head and flap her hands about, while trying to smile. Once I’d pushed out a chair for her to collapse into, she managed to gasp out her news.
‘I only might have bagged us a celebrity event reviewer for Damson Day.’
‘What?’ Becky was ecstatic. I felt a prickle of horror at the back of my neck.
‘I sent her a few messages, but I never thought for one second she’d even read them, let alone consider accepting. Not that she’s confirmed it as a definite.’
‘She doesn’t confirm unless she has to, waits to see if she gets a better offer,’ I mumbled, with a certainty that I knew who she was talking about.
‘What? Who?’ Becky asked, bouncing on her chair.
‘Nora Sharp might be coming to Damson Day!’
I gripped the arms of my chair with both hands and tried not to swear out loud.
‘What?’
‘I know!’
While Alice and Becky watched a clip of a video on Alice’s phone, drowning out the audio with their increasingly overdramatic exclamations, I held on tight and waited for the world to stop spinning.
‘You don’t look thrilled, Eleanor. Why aren’t you excited about this?’
‘Um. She’s just a person… Damson Day is about Ferrington. And I can’t see her bothering to come all this way for what to anyone outside the village is a glorified country fete.’
‘Er, hello?’ Becky was baffled by my response. ‘It’s also about raising money for the bridge, which means raising the profile of the events. If millions of people hear about us, then loads of them will come to other events. Who knows what it might lead to? Never mind the boost to Damson Farm Retreats. This could be exactly what we need to get the business off the ground!’
‘Plus, she’s posted about it in advance, so even if she doesn’t come, we’ll probably end up packed out on the day,’ Alice said, eyes round with animation.
‘Do we want to be packed out with strangers on the day?’ I asked.
‘If they’re spending money, then yes!’ Alice grabbed Becky’s sleeve. ‘Maybe we should start selling tickets. Or limit numbers somehow? Can we do that at this late stage? I should probably speak to Daniel and see what he thinks. Check out the guidelines on crowd control.’
‘Daniel hates Nora Sharp.’
They looked at me, faces full of hurt and bewilderment that I wasn’t jumping for joy.
‘Have you seen her reviews? Nora Sharp turning up is probably the worst thing that could happen. Daniel will be furious. Everyone will be fawning over her, taking all the focus off what the day is meant to be about – building something wonderful for this community. She’d hijack Damson Day and with one careless comment destroy our business before it’s even started.’
I pushed back my chair and, heart stuttering, on the brink of hysteria, I fled.
I was in my bedroom rewatching Lucy/Nora’s video for about the dozenth time. She’d been pretending to scroll through invitations, listing her ‘options for the week’. It had included new restaurants, an album launch and a bespoke cruise around the coast of Ireland. Then, right at the end, she’d added one more.
‘Now, what’s this? Damson Day. Oh my goodness, it’s like some retro country fair! I’ve half a mind to go simply because they had the guts to invite me. And come to think of it, it might be a nice change from nine-course tasting menus and small talk with impossibly rich people…’
There was a tap on the door. ‘Can I come in?’ Daniel asked.
‘Yes.’ I shuffled into a sitting position and pushed the straggles of hair off my face while Daniel took a seat on my bed, depositing a mug of tea and a raisin scone on the bedside table.
‘Becky told me what happened.’
I sighed. ‘What, that I ruined their celebratory moment by freaking out and then ran away?’
‘That you shared some understandable concerns about a horrendous D-list celebrity derailing the day.’ He shuddered. ‘The thought of her flouncing about insulting everything we’ve worked so hard on – it makes me seethe, and she’s not even here yet.’
I plastered on a watery smile. ‘She wouldn’t criticise while she was here. It’d be all fake smiles and mock politeness. But it only takes one wrong sentence from her and people will end up feeling crushed.’
‘I’m not so bothered about what she writes. People know what she’s about. I’m more annoyed that she’ll be stressing out the people who’ve been working so hard to make it a success.’
‘Well, if she was rude then it might unite the sides with a common enemy for once, help them forget how much they’re meant to hate each other.’ I sighed. ‘She isn’t going to come, anyway. I just hope Alice and Becky aren’t too disappointed.’
Daniel gently took hold of my hand, looking carefully into my eyes. ‘Why did you hide up here, instead of talking it out with them?’
My heart began to pound, and not because his eyes were so soft and kind.
‘I think I got overwhelmed by everything. This is your family farm. If the retreat doesn’t work out, then I can find another way to earn a living. But I’ve turned your home upside down. I guess the thought of Nora Sharp tainting it with her toxic opinions felt like one pressure too many.’
‘I wondered if it might have triggered some panic about the stalker. Given that you and Nora are both reviewers, your subconscious could have made a link.’ He tugged gently on my hands. ‘Not that I see you and Nora Sharp as having anything in common beyond both having been food writers.’
I shrugged, my vocal cords too clogged up with sadness and shame to speak.
He leant forwards and kissed me on the forehead. ‘You know, I might appear to be chilled and unbothered about this stalker freak, but don’t be fooled. I’m like an undercover bodyguard, alert at all times. I don’t believe they’ll show up – if I did, I’d have found us somewhere safe to stay weeks ago – but in the none in a million chance that they do, I’m here, and I’m on it, and I’ll defend you with my very life.’ He smiled, to show how preposterous the whole idea of it was.
I forced myself to smile back. ‘I know. It’s last-minute nerves.’ I nodded to the bedside table. ‘A mug of tea and a scone and I’ll be fine. Can you tell Becky I’ll be down to help in a minute?’
He kissed me again and left me to pull myself together.
I scrolled through my phone to Tuesday, 6th May: confess.
I had a sickening feeling that Nora Sharp might end up forcing a confession a day early.
The next forty-eight hours flew past in a blur. Friday evening started with a confused and concerned apology from Alice on the phone, followed by an embarrassed apology from me, and went on to become a tornado of baking, prepping and final touches. After the expected next-to-no sleep, on Saturday morning I lugged myself downstairs to start again. The four guests, all female, arrived in a spray of gravel and overblown enthusiasm, declaring everything ‘totally perfect!’ and ‘super-cute!’ before devouring lunch on the patio.
‘I can’t believe how great this is, Tammers!’ Felicia, who had made the initial booking, shrieked as Alice and I cleared their empty plates. ‘I swear that gluten-free bread is a certified miracle.’
‘I know!’ Tammers hollered. ‘And when was the last time we ate cheese?’ She broke off into snort-laughs.
‘And it’s like, I don’t even care!’ another guest, who they called Dinky but whose credit card said Bethany Brown, tittered. ‘Bring on the cheese! Extra dairy, extra cheesy, please!’
‘This place is like a cross between Narnia, heaven and my Grandma’s house,’ the fourth guest said, tossing a mane of silver hair over her perfectly tanned shoulder. ‘It’s like anything is possible. They could totally bring out some cake and I would even eat some?’
‘Yes! It’s like my grandmother’s house!’ Tammers agreed. ‘Not Granny Rose, she lived in a haunted hovel. But Grandma Camelia, oh, I loved going to her house! And it was just like this, only with a pool and tennis courts.’
‘I think we can see a theme emerging for your sessions,’ Alice said to Becky as she loaded the dishwasher.
‘Oh?’ Becky was arranging cocktail ingredients on a tray. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘No.’ I scraped the smear of leftovers into the compost bin. ‘Underneath all the supers and perfects, they’re actually pretty super themselves. I’ve spent a lot of time eating in places stuffed with posh people, and I’ve never heard so much gratitude for a two-course lunch.’
‘She’s right,’ Alice grudgingly agreed. ‘Not a hint of snark between them. They’re like you two. Genuinely, nauseatingly nice.’
‘Sounds like it’s going to be a good weekend,’ Becky stuck her tongue out at Alice as she went to see for herself.
I smiled as I carried on clearing up. I couldn’t see the resemblance to me, but almost everything about them reminded me of Charlie.
In retreat terms, it was as good as we’d hoped. Our guests continued to bounce from one activity to another, enchanted by our tiny taste of country life. In response to their gentle begging, we even diverted the sunrise hike to visit some newborn calves.
‘Is he spoken for?’ Tammers asked Becky out of the corner of her mouth, her gaze transfixed on Luke, hefting trellis tables out of his van and over to the orchard in readiness for the stallholders on Monday.
‘Um…’ Becky turned a startling shade of damson.
‘Oh, okay!’ Tammers gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Say no more, I totally get it!’ She lent a little closer, electric blue eyelashes fluttering. ‘Though I must say, you have outstanding taste!’
Seeing all the preparations going on, the foursome insisted on helping out on Sunday afternoon once the retreat was officially over, stringing up bunting and fairy lights between the trees, arranging tables and artfully stacking wood on the bonfire. They spent another hour in the kitchen cutting out apple scones and decanting jams into individual portions. Tammers would probably have stayed a week if we’d let her.
‘I’m on a total mission to find myself a yummy farmer!’ she trilled, wiping floury hands on her apron. ‘I feel like I was born to wear wellies!’
‘We’re so glad you’ve enjoyed it,’ I said, trying to politely usher them in the direction of the door. ‘If you could write a review, it’d be greatly appreciated.’
‘Oh, we already have!’ Dinky smiled. ‘We’ve been posting non-stop since we got here. See?’
She flicked through a stream of images of them smiling, posing and looking genuinely relaxed and happy. I wasn’t aware so many different emojis existed, but she’d made good use of them.
The number of likes made my head spin. I’d had a lot of followers, but this was a whole other level.
‘Are you an influencer?’ I asked, feeling awkward for not realising it earlier.
‘Totally!’ Dinky beamed. ‘Tammers is, too. Felicia and Bo are along for the ride.’
Our website crashed. Damson Farm Retreats was in business.
It was another back-achingly late night. We left the retreat clear-up for another day, moving straight on to Damson Day prep. I felt like I must be sweating apple juice by now, and my hair would probably smell of honey for days.
Daniel came to find us once it was too dark to carry on outside. We feasted on the broken scones and leftover cheese and fruit from the retreat. We chinked the one small glass of cider we allowed ourselves the night before a day that would be taught about in Ferrington schools for generations and toasted great food, even better friends – including those no longer with us, of course – and crazy ideas that somehow seemed to have turned into something fantastic.
I scurried up to bed before Becky and Alice had left, avoiding any risk of the conversation drifting over to our unlikely special guest, and my reaction to her earlier in the week.
I woke up just after seven on Monday morning to a soft beam of sunlight peeping through the crack in my curtains. It had been a muggy night, and it was only thanks to my extreme sleep deprivation over the weekend that I managed to doze as much as I did. Throwing on some denim shorts and a stripy T-shirt, I went downstairs to find an empty coffee mug on the side and smears of toast crumbs on Hope’s highchair. Following the clues, I slipped on my flip-flops and found them in the orchard, surrounded by a hive of activity (not one of Ziva’s hives, which were safely cordoned off for the day). Stallholders were already unpacking their goods – cakes and cookies, pickles and preserves, arts and crafts including all things knitted, carved and framed. Traditional games were being set up – hoopla, hook-a-duck and a coconut shy – alongside more modern touches like an electronic penalty shoot-out and a rodeo sheep.
The cider press was set up in one corner, although we had only a few crates of apples, none of which had been grown in the orchard, but it was a start. In the meadow, a couple of people were setting out markers for a rounders game. Six teams had entered the tournament, the only rule being that at least two people from each side had to be on every team.
The staff from Pepper’s Pizza and Ferrington Fish and Chippy had set up a giant barbeque with accompanying side-dishes, next to which was the gazebo where Becky and I would serve cream teas and other light refreshments.
The atmosphere was electric, and we still had over two hours to go. I shoved thoughts of Nora Sharp to one side, vague fears about the crazy stalker to another, and got stuck in.
By the time the gates opened at eleven, there was a line of people snaking halfway down the lane. Shortly before that, I’d found Daniel down by the newly discovered footbridge, which would be officially opened when we held the duck race that afternoon. He was sitting on the riverbank, arms resting on his knees, so lost in thought that he didn’t hear me coming.
‘Hey.’ I sat down, gently bumping his arm.
‘Hi.’ He nodded in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes on the far shore of the river. The air was ripe with the scent of newly cut grass, where a path had been mowed through the meadow, and enough undergrowth cut back to allow a clear route into the New Side of the village. Someone had added a safety rope either side of the concrete bridge, and this was now covered in brightly coloured ribbons which fluttered gently in the breeze.
‘It’s a big day.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thinking about your great-grandad?’
His mouth flickered up in a brief smile. ‘Great-grandad, Grandad. Dad…’ He paused, his voice breaking.
‘Charlie,’ I said, softly.
He nodded, closing his eyes for a long moment.
‘They’d be so pleased.’ I tucked my arm through his, leaning up closely against him. ‘Not to mention proud. It’s incredible what you’re doing. For the farm, and for Ferrington.’
He didn’t reply, but found my fingers, tucked up against his chest, and clutched them tightly. A brown mallard drifted past, a brood of black and yellow striped ducklings following closely behind.
‘I got you something.’ I unwound my arm from his and opened the bag that I’d brought with me. Daniel waited while I drew out a glass bottle and handed it to him.
‘Damson Farm Cider.’ He read the label, face creasing into a grin. ‘A commemorative bottle, marking the very first Damson Day.’ He inspected it closer. ‘Empty?’
I laughed. ‘It’s a prototype only. A promise, of great things to come.’
‘Thank you.’ Daniel’s gaze was soft. ‘I love it.’ He stopped then, his eyes flickering down before meeting mine again. He took a deep breath in, and carefully took hold of my hand. ‘Speaking of which.’ He swallowed. My heart started thumping in response. ‘Of… love…’
‘Oy!’ Alice’s bellow caused us both to jerk back in surprise. We turned to see her standing where the orchard gate opened onto the meadow, frantically waving her arms. ‘Have you seen the time? They’re going to break those lovely new gates down if you aren’t here to open them in the next thirty seconds!’
Daniel checked his watch. ‘Whoops. We’d better go.’ He jumped to his feet, pulling me with him. We both started jogging up the meadow towards the orchard, when he suddenly stopped, still holding onto my hand, and pulled me up against his chest. ‘Stuff it. They can wait another ten seconds. I’m not sure this can.’ He tipped his head towards mine. ‘What I was going to say, before being so rudely interrupted, was that… I love you, Eleanor. I have fallen completely, utterly, head-over-heels for you. I love everything about you, and the things I don’t know yet, I can’t wait to find out because I’m so certain I’ll love them, too. I can’t imagine life without you. And I’ve been waiting for weeks to say that.’
I stood there, speechless, every inch of me aglow.
‘It would help my blood pressure if you said something…’ He squinted, smile faltering.
Should I say it? Could I? Would it be wrong to tell him how I feel, when I was still holding back so much?
‘Daniel!’ Alice again.
‘I love you, too,’ I whispered, stretching up to kiss him soundly on the lips before dragging us both into the orchard and through the trees. My heart was floating along about three metres above us, but my conscience was dragging through the dirt.