Page 21 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
Now, with the bags stashed safely in the boot, Sam pulled out his phone to look at the messages again and tried to concentrate. The texts were all from his brother, more shouty messages, getting more ridiculously threatening by the minute. Sam had no intention of answering them. This was not his battle to fight he had decided; not this time. He had assumed that the missed call was also from Stephen, but although there was no message left, he recognised the number, and checking Amos was okay to wait, he returned the call.
‘That was good news I take it?’ said Amos, looking at the Cheshire cat grin on Sam’s face.
‘The very best,’ he replied. ‘Do you mind if we make a quick detour on the way home? There’s one last shop I need to visit. Got my Christmas present to pick up.’
Amos glanced at the sky. ‘No problem, we’ve still got time.’
The High Street was packed with people, but by some miracle, Sam managed to find a parking spot in a side street and nipped out to finish his shopping.
‘I won’t be long, I promise.’
It was gone three o’clock by the time they navigated their way out of the car-choked streets and began to head for home. They were only a couple of miles into their journey when Sam took his sunglasses off. The late sun, hanging low in the sky made visibility particularly difficult at this time of year, and he never went anywhere without them. Now, though, he realised he was having trouble seeing, not because of the glare, but because of the sudden reduction in light. He dipped his head to look below the sun visor, shaking his head as he did so. The sky was split in two; one half still the brightest winter blue, and the other banked with dark clouds sporting an ominous pink tinge.
‘I don’t bloody believe it,’ he remarked, driving on.
As he drove, the line of cloud sank lower and lower to the ground, and by the time they turned into the driveway at Appleyard, the first flakes of snow were falling.
‘So what is it with you then, Amos? Got a direct line to the big man upstairs or what?’
Amos gave him an innocent look.
‘Don’t give me that, you know what I’m talking about, the whole “snow is coming” thing.’
‘My bones have been around longer than yours, that’s all.’ He grinned. ‘They sense these things.’
‘Bullshit!’ said Sam succinctly, and jumped out of the car to haul the first of the shopping inside.
Freya was chopping vegetables by the sink, or at least she was trying to. She had pinned a carrot to a board with her cast and was slowly making progress with her good hand. She looked up as they came in.
‘I got bored sifting through the papers upstairs, so I thought I’d make a start on tea. It’s taken me rather longer than I thought, though.’
‘Interesting technique,’ said Sam.
‘But strangely effective, so don’t mock.’
He dumped the first of the bags on the table and went to inspect the pans on top of the stove.
‘That’s not what I can smell, though,’ he said, lifting one of the saucepan lids, and inhaling deeply.
‘No, I made some mulled wine for later too. I thought we’d have a casserole, and as it took me so long to get the wine open, I thought I might as well use it all up.’
‘I like your thinking,’ said Sam, ‘although I wish I’d been here. I’d have paid good money to see you trying to get into a bottle of wine.’
Freya gave him an amused look. ‘Yes, well, if you were clamped between my knees for that long, you’d surrender too.’
Sam turned away so that she wouldn’t see the smile on his face. My, that was a vivid image.
‘Right, well, I’ll help Amos bring the rest of the shopping in, and then I’ll give you a hand. We bought enough to feed an army.’
‘Good, just what you need at Christmas: faith, hope and gluttony.’
* * *
‘I’m not sure I should be drinking this,’ said Freya, with a total lack of concern. ‘Are you allowed to drink alcohol with painkillers?’
‘Bit late I think,’ offered Amos. ‘How many glasses is that now?’
‘I haven’t been counting, but more than one.’ She squinted up at him. ‘Oh hell, never mind. I don’t have to go anywhere.’
