Page 7 of You Had Me At Pumpkin Patch
‘Bloody nice try,’ came Agnes’s surprised voice, having turned back to face her. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you. Maybe you and your backside have passed the first hurdle after all.’
As Agnes began to chuckle to herself, Rosie felt one of thoselaugh or crymoments bubbling up inside her. She’d woken up that morning thinking she was going to have a quiet day at her desk with a laptop and a calorific cupcake. She’d ended up getting fired, eating all four of them and walking in on her boyfriend getting naked with a sexy android. Now she was on her sore behind in a field, with no idea what the heck was going on.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Rosie felt a ripple of laughter forcing its way through her. The sensation shook upwards from her belly and burst into her throat, taking her whole body by storm. Great tears of absurdity began rolling down her face and she was absolutely letting them. It was quite possibly the most cathartic, desperately needed laugh Rosie had ever experienced.
Agnes strode over, yanked her up by the arms and swiped the stray grass from her coat. ‘I knew you were a frog,’ she said, looking Rosie up and down as if she’d only just noticed how out of place she looked in her office clothes. ‘Welcome to the country. You’re not what I expected, and I’ll have to have words with Farmer Wilbur about his unlikely recommendations. But nature doesn’t judge.’ She shrugged. ‘And Agnes loves a trier.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rosie, even though she wasn’t quite sure what for.
Then as she took a deep breath and straightened up, her eyes were drawn to something. It was impossible to miss it.The lake.
Parts of it were hidden by the autumnal wisps of bulrushes, but as she stepped forward to take a look, she could have sworn the sun came out in celebration, even though she hadn’t seen a blush of it since first thing that morning. Much like the balm of the pumpkins in the far-off fields, the sight of the lake took her breath away. Its water rippled and shimmered, deep olive with hints of gold where the light kissed its tiny peaks. It seemed to hold a majestic stillness, even though under its quiet surface she guessed there must be life.
And suddenly, Rosie was imagining herself walking wildly along the wooden jetty under the warmth of a setting sun. Inviting depths, cool water fresh against her skin. Somehow there was laughter too, and the whistle of birdsong, and glowing pumpkin lanterns...
Rosie shook her head, because that was verging on ridiculous. Her cantankerous writer’s head was having a field day. She could barely swim, and she’d never liked her fleshy thighs in a swimsuit. And who on earth were these people she could laugh and swim with? Perpetually shaking off acquaintances who asked too many questions and preferring the sanctity of books, she didn’t have many close friends these days – or certainly none around here. Maybe she should break free from Autumn Meadows before any more strange ideas intoxicated her. Next thing, she’d be imagining Zain the walnut-eyed pumpkin carrier diving in, looking broad-shouldered and burly in a pair of swim shorts.No.Neither men, nor her choice in them, could be trusted one tiny bit. Her life had no room for any of that.
‘Well now, the sun hasn’t come out in days. Something around here likes you.’
As Agnes said it, Rosie heard movement on one side of the lake. Beyond the bulrushes, she caught the outline of the dark-haired, huffy man who she definitely hadn’t just been imagining in Speedos. This time he was standing outside a log cabin, stripping off a lumberjack-style coat and kicking off his work boots in a way that made Rosie stare for just a little too long. What was wrong with her? There was nothing exciting about a man in a jumper. She shook her head. To her great relief, he disappeared inside the cabin without noticing that her eyeballs were inexplicably out on stalks. When she managed to peel her gaze away from the door he’d just closed behind himself, she noticed there was an almost identical hut on the opposite side of the lake.
‘There’s Zain again,’ said Agnes. ‘Zain Kay. He used to be a farmhand, back when my late husband farmed crops here. Zain’s the only one who stuck around when the money ran out. That’s life, I suppose.’ She shrugged. ‘He built the cabins himself, and I let him live in one of them. He grows the pumpkins. Speciality ones too, though he’s very precious about them. He got some fancy seeds from America. Think he had family there, but he’s very hush-hush about his past. And good luck getting your hands on his knobbly ones.’
Rosie’s eyes widened. ‘I certainly wasn’t planning to...’
‘Anyway, he doesn’t like people and he’s as moody as an ox without a turnip – but he’s good with nature, so he probably won’t kill ya.’
‘Right,’ said Rosie, unsure how to answer any of this, or why she wasn’t running for the hills as fast as her dodgy boots would carry her.
Yet despite Agnes’s odd revelations, she found herself following the woman around the lake, like this whole place had a pull she couldn’t quite resist. Serenity. That was what she sensed here, and she couldn’t say when she’d felt that last. An extraordinary awareness of peace that hugged Rosie like a coat and began to ease into her skin. She knew it was probably some kind of post-shock reaction after her traumatic morning. Her brain had surely released funny chemicals to help relieve the stress of having the bottom fall out of her world. And of course, she would explain to Agnes that she wasn’t here for any interview, or whatever.
She definitely, absolutely would.
But what was the harm in soaking up some much-needed tranquillity before she was forced to get back to her actual life? The one where she had no job, no home, and a long list of outrageous ex-boyfriends. And that was before she considered the contents of that dreadful orange letter, which for all she knew could have been scripted by a cunning chatbot too. Yes, her writer self was enjoying this distraction. Perhaps she needed it.
‘The job comes with accommodation, of course. It’s basic, but it does the trick. And it’s the sort of thing some folk would pay a fortune to holiday in, even if it’s just a glorified pile of old logs.’ Agnes pointed towards the wooden hut they were approaching. It was the one at the opposite side of the lake to thatmoody ox, Zain, with his woody walnut eyes.
‘Accommodation?’ Rosie repeated.
Agnes turned and looked at her strangely. ‘Well, you brought your stuff, didn’t you?’ Agnes waved the holdall that she was still holding hostage, even if she probably didn’t mean to. ‘If you take the job, you can move right in. No point in wasting more time.’ She checked her watch again. ‘Didn’t Wilbur tell you nothin’?’
They were just a few footsteps away from the log cabin now, and Rosie had always wanted to see inside one of those things. She had no idea who Wilbur was, or even what this job was all about. But somehow, the frog eyes on Agnes’s wellies were staring up at her. If frogs didn’t jump backwards, surely it wouldn’t hurt to bounce in and take a look?
6
The log cabin, which was apparently accommodation for whoever took the mystery job at Autumn Meadows Farm, fitted in so perfectly next to the lake it looked as though it was part of nature.
The hut’s simple wooden construction had been stained a deep shade of russet, which blended with the oaky browns and burgundy reds of the bushes it nestled into. There were slatted steps up to its front door, and solar lights strung outside. Rosie could almost imagine them twinkling in the twilight, their reflections bouncing off the lake like fireflies. Not that she’d be there to see that, of course. As she looked up, she noticed the hut had one of those grassy roofs like she’d seen on pretty postcards. Maybe flowers would grow there, with a little encouragement. If it just had an awning, and maybe a little outdoor table and chairs for sunny breakfasts, and...
Agnes poked her head out from inside the hut. ‘You coming in, or what?’
Rosie blinked, glad of the disturbance from her incorrigible thoughts.
‘Erm, I suppose.’ What if Agnes had been in there unpacking her bag? She would need to intervene and end the charade, in case she accidentally ended up with this job, whatever it was. But she’d come this far on what was already an extremely odd goose chase. It would be rude not to have a quick look.
Inside the hut, there was barely room to swing a butternut squash compared to what she was used to – especially with Agnes taking up a good chunk of the floor. Though the space was surprisingly warm and inviting. It was just...lovely. She felt a wave of emotion rushing upwards and filling her throat, though she quickly swallowed it back. What was wrong with her today? She was not going to cry over a fancy log shed.
Yet the more Rosie moved, the more loveliness she saw. The interior had been painted a rich creamy colour and smelt gloriously like fresh wood. There were sheepskin rugs on the wooden floor, cosy blankets on the high cabin bed – which had been built into the wall like a grotto – and even a wicker basket of logs next to a wood burner. She imagined herself lighting a fire there and burning the stupid orange letter that was still in her pocket. Not that she’d be staying.
