Page 22 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘No, but Sam does, I’m not sure it was such a good idea.’
‘It’s only two miles away, and at this time of night no one will be on the road. He’ll be fine.’
Amos frowned at her.
‘I wouldn’t normally say it was okay to drink and drive,’ she said, ‘before you give me a lecture, but if the roads are a bit snowy, he’ll have to go at a snail’s pace anyway.’
She hoped she didn’t sound too much like she wanted to get rid of him. She’d rather enjoyed standing side by side with him cooking their tea, the way they’d giggled at silly reminders of their childhood. She’d also enjoyed the way he leaned into her to get her to move along the work surface a bit, and the way his green eyes lit up when he laughed. She’d enjoyed the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for her wine glass and the affectionate way he teased her during dinner. Then she had enjoyed sneaking little glances at him as he relaxed in the chair, drowsy with wine and food, and the thought of what it might be like if he were there every night; and that was why she very much wanted him to go, because actually she didn’t want him to go at all.
She sneaked a peek at Amos now, wondering just how much of herself she might be giving away, when Sam came back into the room.
‘Um…you might want to come and have a look at this,’ he said, the wool of his coat glistening with snowflakes in the room’s soft light.
Freya pulled herself up out of the chair, giving him a quizzical glance and then following him through into the kitchen, where he went to stand by the back door. She could see the wet imprint of his footprints across the tiled floor.
‘We’ve had the curtains closed all evening, and it’s, well, um, snowed a bit.’ He pulled the door open.
The light was on just outside the back door, throwing a small bright circle out into the night. Against the patch of lit sky, a torrent of snow was falling, thick and steady. Of the grass, path and driveway there was no sign. Even the car was just a muffled outline.
Freya peered out into the whiteness and then back at Sam. ‘How the hell did that happen?’ she exclaimed, turning to look at Amos.
‘Why are you looking at me?’ He grinned.
Freya and Sam exchanged glances. ‘No reason, no reason at all.’ Sam sighed. ‘I could walk, I suppose?’
‘You could, if you were stark raving mad,’ she replied, firmly closing the door, and turning the key in the lock. ‘If I show you where the linen is for the spare bed, could you help me make it up?’Keep it businesslike, she thought to herself,it’s the only way.
Sam trailed after her.
‘It’ll be cold in here I expect, the room hasn’t been used for a while, but if we put on the radiator and turn down the covers once the bed is made that should give it time to air before you turn in.’
‘Listen, don’t worry, I’ll have another glass of wine, and then I won’t feel the cold anyway.’
‘I’ve got plenty of blankets if you need extra,’ said Freya, hating herself for sounding like a Blackpool boarding house landlady. ‘They’re all in this drawer here, and the sheets and duvet cover. Bit pink I’m afraid.’
Sam crossed the room and looked out through the window for a moment before closing the curtains. ‘No problem. I tend to sleep with my eyes closed and the light off, so I won’t notice what colour they are.’
Freya snorted before she could stop herself. Oh my God, was she drunk? It wasn’t even that funny. She struggled to pull the drawer open.
‘Here, let me do that,’ said Sam, his hand brushing against hers, again.
‘Thank you…I should just go and get you the spare duvet, it’s in the airing cupboard, and if you want any more pillows, they’re in the wardrobe there.’
She walked back down the landing, blowing out her cheeks in an effort to relax her face which currently felt like she’d had ten Botox injections, stiff and wooden yet strangely liquid all at the same time. She reminded herself that Sam had been in her house now for the best part of a month on and off with no problem whatsoever. That was it, she must be drunk, or hormonal, or both.
Trying to contain the duvet under one arm, she kicked open the bedroom door once more. ‘Do you need anything—’ she started, and then she stopped because standing in the middle of the room was Sam, holding a wedding dress. Her wedding dress.
She hadn’t a clue what to say, so she just stood there looking at Sam, looking at her dress, looking at her.
After what seemed like an age, Sam started to apologise. ‘I went to get a pillow…I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was in there.’
Freya rubbed her forehead distractedly. ‘No…I’d forgotten it was. It’s my fault.’ She could feel her eyes filling with tears, and she couldn’t breathe. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, turning to run.
And then Sam was there, holding her, pulling her to him, stroking her hair. ‘You don’t have to run, Freya,’ he murmured. ‘Not any more. Please don’t run.’
She wished with all her heart that she could believe him.
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