Page 13 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘One thing at a time,’ soothed Amos. ‘One thing at a time. Let’s get you home first.’
‘Yes, come on Sherbert, eat up. If we leave it any longer, Stephen will be that drunk, I’ll be sorely tempted to leave him behind.’
Sherbert. Now that was a name Freya hadn’t heard in a long time.
It’s funny how food you don’t have to make yourself always tastes better. It was late afternoon by the time they got home, and as the light faded, Amos put the chickens to bed and lit the fire for the evening, closing the curtains and locking out the night. Now she was propped up on the sofa with a mug of tea and two thick slices of cheese on toast. Her head was spinning. There were so many thoughts crowded in there, and try as she might, she couldn’t get the carousel to stop. She lay back on the cushions for a moment and closed her eyes. She opened them again when she became aware that Amos was looking at her.
‘Things catching up with you?’
She gave a wan smile. ‘A bit, yes.’
‘Then can I make a suggestion…? Finish your supper and then get yourself off to bed or make one up on the sofa here in front of the fire. Take some painkillers and try to get some sleep. Everything else can wait.’
She opened her mouth to argue and then closed it again, the thought of climbing into bed was heavenly. ‘You must be tired too?’ she said.
‘Well, it’s not often my days see that much excitement, it’s true, but I’ll be right as rain in the morning. You, however, might feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.’
Freya’s eyes widened. ‘Yeah, thanks for that.’
‘So what’s it going to be, the bed or the sofa?’
‘I’ll just have a bit of a sleep here I think, but you don’t have to make yourself scarce, Amos. Put the TV on or something, I won’t mind.’
When she woke several hours later, the TV was quiet, and the room in darkness save for the low flickering of the fire. She shifted slightly, trying to get some relief from the pain in her arm, which was now throbbing nicely, and let her eyes become accustomed to the gloom. She could just make out the shape of Amos lying fast asleep on the rug in front of the fire. He’d pulled a throw from the armchair and balled it up to use as a pillow. She watched his rhythmic breathing for a while and let it lull her gently back to sleep.
7
It was the smell of bacon wafting through the house that woke her the next morning, throwing her into confusion for a minute until she worked out where she was. She was still in her clothes, and what’s worse had no idea how to get out of them. She moved her legs to the edge of the sofa and inched them over the side, using her right arm to pull herself forward into a sitting position. So far so good; a few tweaks but nothing like the pain she’d experienced yesterday. She sat for a moment wondering if it was safe to stand up.
Her legs felt like wibbly jelly for some reason, but she made it to the kitchen, largely by clinging to the line of the wall down the corridor. The radio was playing softly in the background, and from the pantry, she could hear Amos murdering her favourite seasonal song, ‘Fairy Tale of New York’. A pan was sizzling gently on the cooker. She sat down at the table with an audible sigh and lay her head on her right arm with her eyes shut.
‘I know I’m being selfish and whiny, but could you please turn down the chirpiness this morning?’ she asked.
Amos walked back past her saying nothing, but the singing stopped. There were sounds of an egg being cracked into a pan and then a soft expletive as the oil spat. A few moments later, a deliciously smelling plate of food was placed in front of her, together with a mug of tea. Her stomach gave a lurch of appreciation.
‘Are you trying to fatten me up even more?’ She smiled, lifting her head.
‘At the risk of perjuring myself, I shall refrain from answering that question.’
‘Sam! What are you doing here?’ exclaimed Freya, looking around the kitchen. ‘Where’s Amos?’
Sam chuckled and sat down. ‘Out with Bailey. He seems to have struck up rather a friendship with my horse, and anyone who offers to save me from my early morning mucking out duties gets their arm bitten off. So I’m on the breakfast-making rota.’
Freya nodded, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. Egg oozed over her fingers. With only one hand to hold the door stop, her control of it was woefully inadequate.
‘This is going to be messy, sorry,’ she apologised. Sam merely pushed her plate closer to her.
‘Are you not going to have anything?’ she asked after a few moments’ more contented chewing.
‘I’ve already eaten. I was up a bit earlier than you.’
‘Hmm. What is the time?’
‘Just after eight.’ Sam smiled, amused at her horrified expression. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got a while to go yet before we have to panic.’
‘Have you any idea how much I have to do today?’
‘Yes,’ said Sam, leaning forward. ‘Which is why I’m here. Have you any idea how long it takes to get up in the morning when your arm is in plaster?’
