Page 11 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Look, Sam, I’m sorry, but to be blunt I want to sell Appleyard, you want to buy it, so let’s just discuss the price and then we can hand everything over to the agent and solicitors.’
‘Erm, yes, good idea,’ said Sam, nodding his head vigorously. ‘Right, well, I’ve had a chat to Stephen, and as expected his memory of the offer he made to Gareth is a little sketchy, but the essence of it was that you would end up with an amount about fifteen thousand pounds lower than the asking price. I’m not sure how you feel about this whole cash business, but it doesn’t sit right with me, so I’ve persuaded Stephen to bin that idea if that’s okay?’
Freya nodded rapidly.
‘Now the bit you’re not going to like is that Stephen has, as usual, been shouting his mouth off to all his cronies and he’s found a chap who wants to rent this place. After all, we won’t need to live in it, but this mate is going through a messy divorce and needs to move in pretty sharpish. On that basis, Stephen’s agreed it would be only reasonable to offer you the full asking price provided that the sale can complete on the 10th of January. That’s possible apparently as neither of us has any other properties involved. We don’t need a survey, and there shouldn’t be any issue over boundaries, etc. You might remember our parents had them checked a few years ago when my dad bought the strip along your bottom field.’
‘Still, that seems awfully fast. I’m not quite sure I understand Stephen’s massive rush, especially at this time of year.’
Sam sighed. ‘I imagine it has something to do with getting a mate out of a fix. You know how Stephen likes people owing him favours because he very often has to call them in. If I’m honest, there will probably be some sort of cash inducement involved as well, but I wouldn’t worry about that. If it suits you, Freya, it’s still a very good offer.’
Freya bit her lip, knowing the truth in his words. It would give her exactly what she wanted…and exactly what she didn’t want. She’d give anything to be able to stay at Appleyard, but as it was clear she couldn’t do that, then she must accept that fate was sending her somewhere else. The plans she’d made seemed good ones, and she’d be foolish to miss the only opportunity she currently had.
She nodded her head slowly. ‘I know Sam, and thank you. Submit your offer through the agent, and I’ll speak to my solicitor later today.’ She offered her hand in the traditional manner.
Sam gazed at it sadly before taking it in his own, the warmth of it sending her somewhere she really didn’t want to go. He rose to leave.
‘Before you go, Sam,’ said Freya, also standing up. ‘Just answer me a question, will you…? This all seems a bit Stephen this and Stephen that; what’s in it for you, besides a load more work?’
It was a grimace really, more than a smile. ‘I keep a roof over my head, Freya. And I get to stay doing what I love. Simple as that.’
She nodded and walked him to the door, frowning gently at his answer that wasn’t really an answer. ‘Will I see you at the sales?’
‘Yes. We’ll be there next week. I’ll see you then.’ He walked a few steps down the path before turning back. ‘I’ll miss you, Freya.’
Freya managed a tight smile before closing the door. She walked back into the kitchen, took down a letter she had tucked into the plate rack, and read it one more time, tears pouring down her face.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ she whispered.
6
Freya fished about in her handbag for some painkillers. Unusually for her, she had the beginnings of a headache, and today the noise was really beginning to get to her. It was the second week in December, and the last sale was always the busiest as the selling season reached its peak, and she could hardly move for people. On the one hand, this was great for business, but she was so tired, she wished she could enjoy it more; the atmosphere was brilliant today. It would also be her last ever sale, and she wanted to savour every little drop, remember every tiny detail to store up for the future. The last thing she needed was to feel unwell.
She found a couple of tablets, and stuffed them in her mouth, swigging them down with the dregs of a cold cup of tea. She watched as a trio of Santa Clauses made its way across the yard and smiled in spite of herself. Even at the ripe old age of 35, she still felt that special kind of excitement that only came at Christmas. She sought out Amos in the crowd, trying to weave his way back to her, carrying his precious breakfast cargo.
She didn’t know what she would have done without him these last couple of weeks. If she thought she’d been busy before, that was nothing compared to now, having added packing into the mix as well. Appleyard wasn’t a huge house, but it was big enough, and with just her and her dad living there, they had filled every corner of available space. Freya had never had any need to declutter before, and now she was having to sort through over thirty years of memories and the stuff of life. For the moment, everything would have to go into storage, and so the less there was, the better. Given her current state of mind, however, it wasn’t a task that she was finding at all easy, and were it not for Amos, she would have given up long before now. He knew when to buoy her up, when to give her space and when to just plain nag. He had been a real lifesaver.
A loud shout in her ear brought her back to the present. The sale would be starting any minute now, the hubbub reaching a crescendo as people shouted their last-minute questions and instructions. Her wreaths were all laid out in the traditional pens, but she’d been hoping to get a look at what the other sellers had to offer too. She beckoned Amos over to give her a hand up onto one of the wide metal railings that bisected a pair of pens. The auctioneers usually stood on these, so that they could see who was bidding, but Freya would only be a minute; she could be up and back down again before the sale started. She walked its length, trying to gauge the other lots and what the likely prices would be. Bidding was expected to be lively today, and she hoped that her offerings would be sufficiently distinctive to command a slightly higher price again. She could see the auctioneer coming to the end of the railings where she was standing and turned to walk back the way she had come.
As soon as she put her foot down, she knew it wouldn’t end well. Her scarf had slipped off her shoulder, and she’d trapped the end of it under her boot, throwing her balance off to one side. Instinctively, she tried to throw her body backwards to compensate, but she couldn’t move, her upper body pinned by the scarf around her neck. She heard Amos’s warning shout but, by then, she had too much forward momentum to right herself. In the instant before the sickening crack, it flashed through her mind that putting out her hands to save her fall was a really bad idea; but by then, she had already landed, her body concertinaed on top of the arm that had crumpled beneath her.
It didn’t hurt at first as she became aware of the general commotion around her, but as she tried to sit up, a searing pain ricocheted through her arm, followed swiftly by a violent wave of nausea, and her half-digested breakfast splattered onto the pair of boots in front of her. She was aware of a soft voice talking to her, but everything else was swimming around most alarmingly and for a moment all she could do was concentrate on breathing in and out.
After a few minutes, the pain had receded to an angry buzz, and she raised her head. She was met by a pair of green eyes, which immediately elicited another groan. Of all the people at the fair today, why in God’s name did it have to be Sam Henderson’s boots that she’d thrown up all over? He was talking to her, and she tried to focus on what he was saying.
‘Where does it hurt, Freya, just your arm?’
She’d always liked his voice. With a supreme effort, she thought about the question. Her knee was stinging, but apart from that all the pain was concentrated in her arm.
She managed a nod. ‘I think so,’ she whispered. ‘Can I sit up?’ She was aware of another person by her side and instinctively knew it was Amos.
Gradually, she realised that a space was opening up around her, and she felt a blanket settle over her. It was bright red with white reindeer on it.
‘I’ve called an ambulance, Freya, just lie still,’ said Sam.
‘What? I can’t go to the hospital, what about the sale…? Help me to stand up, I’ll be all right in a minute.’
‘I bloody well will not, Freya Sherbourne, you’re going to do as you’re told.’
