Page 13 of Daydreams at the Farm on Muddypuddle Lane
‘Yes, as it happens.’
‘You might ask Verity if she would like to accompany you.’
‘Not today. Maybe another time.’
Maybe never. Not only did he think that Verity wouldn’t be keen on marching to the top of a mountain, he wanted to take a look at the derelict building on his own. He had spotted the listing online yesterday as he had been checking properties for sale. And because he knew where it was and knew he could look around it without involving the estate agent, he thought he would take a gander later this afternoon.
On paper, it seemed to be exactly what he was looking for, and despite telling himself not to get his hopes up, a quiet excitement bubbled in his chest.
Mild irritation had transformed into downright annoyance by the time Adam drove away from his parents’ house, and he hoped a brisk walk in the spring sunshine would blow it away.
How much longer would they keep this up? As his mother constantly told him, she couldn’t understand why he lived in a (her word)hovel, when he could live in luxury at home. Failing that, his parents had offered to buy him a ‘nice’ house, instead of the ‘horrid’ flat he currently lived in.
Obviously, Dad would be able to offset it against tax, but that didn’t negate the generosity of the offer.
Unfortunately, the offer came with strings, ones which Adam wasn’t prepared tohave attached to him. He was managing just fine without their help – more than managing, he was doing well. And it was all down to his own hard work and effort. The situation might have been different if he enjoyed number crunching, as he probably would have gone into his father’s business. But he hated it. He had only done an accountancy degree because he had felt pressured into it.
At eighteen, he hadn’t felt able to escape his father’s expectations.
At twenty-one, he had.
His father had railed and ranted for a while, but Mum had convinced Dad that Adam was just going through a rebellious phase, and that he would soon grow out of it.
Seven years later, they were still waiting and their patience was wearing thin. But they failed to see that the more they pressured him, the more determined he was to make a go of his business.
Adam parked the van at the top of Muddypuddle Lane, just above the entrance to the farmyard where the rough tarmacked road turned into an even rougher dirt track.
He got out and stretched, taking a deep breath of clean fresh air as he scanned his surroundings. Properties didn’t often come up for sale in Picklewick, and commercial or agricultural ones even less so, which was why he was considering the old farmhouse. It wasn’t ideal: from what he could recall, it was more ruin than house and would probably need to be pulled down, despite the best effortsof the estate agent to make the online photos look rustic and charming.
As he strode up the track, which was a public right of way onto the mountain, Adam realised that the surface would have to be re-laid if he wanted to be able to drive his van up it. A tractor could manage it, or an SUV, but not his poor old van. The abandoned farmhouse was also further up the mountain than he remembered, and he was breathing heavily by the time he had tramped up the steep hill and the incline finally levelled off.
Pausing for a moment, he turned around to take in the view.
Waking up to this every morning might be worth the expense of making the old farmhouse habitable. If he was Dulcie, there was no way he would want to sellit. But then again, she already had a similar view.
As he resumed his walk, his thoughts remained on the farm. But it wasn’t Dulcie he was thinking of now – it was her sister. Her pretty, vivacious, captivating sister.
Was that Adam’s van?Maisie pulled the bedroom curtain aside and craned her neck.
It looked like it, but without a logo or any writing all white vans looked the same. And if itwasAdam’s, surely he would have parked it in the yard and not at the top of the lane?
It probably belonged to a hiker she decided, and her gaze drifted up thehillside, following the path. A solitary man was plodding up the hill and her heart gave a leap. It looked like Adam. Possibly. It was difficult to tell from the back, and he was quite far away too.
But when the figure stopped and turned around, she was sure. Itwashim. She was certain of it. And he appeared to be looking directly at her.
Maisie shrank back, hiding behind the curtain. What was he doing up there? It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the pasteurisation shed, could it?
She decided to find out.
After taking the stairs two at a time, she raced through the dining room, into the kitchen, and shot into the utility room. Stuffing her feet into her sturdy boots, shetied the laces, grabbed her jacket off the hook by the door and dashed outside.
And soon realised her mistake.
At the rate she was walking up the track, she would never catch up with Adam. She might, however, meet him as he was coming back down, but if she didn’t want to look silly, she would have to carry on going up the hill. Therefore, she reasoned, it would be better to wait for him to return to his van. If she loitered around the barn, she hopefully wouldn’t miss him.
So loiter she did; although it was a good hour and a half before she spotted him coming down the track.
Maisie had her story prepared, and just as he reached his van she sauntered out of the yard and into the lane. Feigningsurprise, she did a double-take. ‘Hello! Have you come to see Dulcie?’
