Page 20 of Falling in Love at Pennycress Inn

‘Well, I know that. And if I’m surely not mistaken, you’re a little over fourteen too, but what has that got to do with it? Now come on. We’ve no time to waste.’ Ushering her through into the front garden, Miss Cooke tutted.

‘I don’t understand.’ Nicola quickly pulled the gate closed behind her before looking towards the minibus parked on the road beyond her front garden. It seemed Miss Cooke hadn’t been joking when she’d said she’d brought a whole netball team with her. ‘What does this have to do with me?’

‘No time for dilly-dallying.’ Miss Cooke, ignoring her question, marched to the minibus and pulled open the passenger door, waiting for Nicola.

‘I don’t think—’ What was the point? The older woman wasn’t even listening to her. She guessed she’d find out sooner rather than later what Miss Cooke wanted her for. Besides, she’d learnt long ago there wasn’t much point in arguing with her.

‘In you hop. Mind your head.’ Miss Cooke waved her inside.

As soon as Nicola had sat down, confused, in the front passenger seat, the door was slammed, and moments later, Miss Cooke joined her behind the wheel.

‘Belts on, girls. We’re off!’

‘Um, where are we going?’ Nicola glanced back towards her cottage, half hoping to see a swarm of police cars following them after her literal kidnap, but unsurprisingly the street was empty. ‘You’ve not recruited me to be a coach or a referee or something, have you? Because I literally wouldn’t know where to start.’ What would have given Miss Cooke the slightest hint that she had any interest in netball?

Covering her mouth as she turned out of Nicola’s road, Miss Cooke snorted. ‘Oh, I know you don’t. You came for a try-out when you were a teenager, remember? So, I can speak from a place of absolute certainty.’

‘Oh, right.’ Nicola pursed her lips, unsure whether to be relieved or offended. Turning in her seat, she glanced behind her, row upon row of gangly teens grinning back at her. Huh, even though she recognised them as Meadowfield’s netball team and they were travelling in a minibus emblazoned with the team colours, they weren’t wearing their kit. Instead, besides a few who had seemingly dressed up for this occasion – whatever the occasion might be – the majority of them wore what looked to be old, worn jeans and t-shirts. Where were they going? ‘So, what is this all about, then? Why am I here and where are we going?’

‘Why, we’re off to Little Mead Farm, of course!’

‘Little Mead? No, we can’t.’ Nicola shook her head violently as a feeling of horror washed over her. ‘We really, really can’t just turn up at the farm. You know he said we could only have access to the trailers for a couple of days before the carnival. Jill told you, didn’t she?’

‘She did, but we’re going to take the measurements of a trailer!’ The tone in Miss Cooke’s voice suggested it was an obvious answer.

‘But… we can’t! Not today.’ Nicola looked in the wing mirror, trying to gauge how long it would take her to walk home if she got Miss Cooke to pull over now and let her out.

Miss Cooke waved her hand, dismissing the very idea that she and Nicola turning up with fifteen or so netball-mad teenagers would be any sort of problem for a working farmer.

Nicola looked out of the window, watching as the cottages gave way to field upon field. They’d be there soon. Unannounced. And she had the distinct feeling this wasn’t going to turn out well.

* * *

The minibus bumped across the uneven track before Miss Cooke pulled it to a stop millimetres away from the metal fence encompassing the farmyard.

‘Look lively, girls! We’ve arrived.’ Jumping out from the minibus, Miss Cooke rapped her knuckles against Nicola’s door before sliding the back one open.

Gulping, Nicola slowly unclipped her seatbelt, a feeling of dread pooling at the bottom of her stomach. This would be her fault. Charlie would definitely blame her.

Slinking from the seat, Nicola closed her door quietly behind her and stood at the back of the excited crowd, hoping to hide from him.

Clapping her hands, Miss Cooke shushed everyone. ‘Now, remember to be respectful and alert. This is a working farm, and we don’t want to get in the way, now do we?’

Two girls in front of Nicola sniggered.

With her hands shoved in her pockets, she watched the barn door swing open. Striding towards them, Charlie wore an expression akin to shock. As he slowed to a stop in front of them, Nicola could see the muscle in his jaw twitching.

‘Ah, Farmer Williams.’ Turning to him, Miss Cooke held out her hand. ‘The young Farmer Williams, I should say. Please accept my sincere condolences over the passing of your dear uncle.’

Knitting his eyebrows together, Charlie ignored Miss Cooke’s hand and instead pulled a stalk of hay from his sleeve. ‘Why are you here?’

Looking from her hand to Charlie, Miss Cooke shook her head slightly before lowering it to her side and answering him with all the enthusiasm of a Girl Guides leader. ‘We’ve come to measure up one of your trailers for our carnival float, haven’t we, girls?’

A not so raucous agreement sounded from the group of teenagers swarmed behind her.

‘Oh no, that was not our agreement.’ Charlie wagged his index finger. ‘I reluctantly agreed to lend my trailers in the few days running up to the carnival and, if I’m not mistaken, you still have weeks until the big day.’

‘We do indeed, but we need to take vital measurements before our group of creatives can work their magic.’ She waved her hands to encompass everyone huddled into the farmyard, including Nicola who ducked behind the group of teens.

---