Page 23 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
Mistletoe Day
Sam woke the next morning to the sound of hammering on the back door. He raised a bleary eye to the clock, suddenly sitting up as he realised the time. Pulling on his jeans, he grabbed his fleece from the chair and went to investigate. He could tell from the white glow behind the curtains that the snow was still around, so there couldn’t be that many people up and about, even if it was ten o’clock.
He winced as his feet met the cold quarry tiles in the kitchen. Someone was obviously up, as the blinds had been raised, and through the windows, he could see the snow still blowing into huge drifts. He hadn’t expected there to be quite so much; even as he pulled the door open, a small pile slumped inward and onto the floor. And he certainly hadn’t expected to see the person who was standing there either.
His brother looked dreadful. He was obviously cold, his face looked pinched and mottled in places, his nose bright red; but his eyes were wild, bloodshot and staring. He practically fell into the kitchen.
‘Why the hell aren’t you answering your bloody phone?’ he snarled. ‘I’ve been ringing you all morning.’
Sam’s gaze fell to the table where his phone lay exactly where he had left it last night.
‘I’ve only just got up,’ he said flatly, not in the mood for one of his brother’s arguments. ‘How did you get here anyway?’
‘I followed the sodding snow-plough, it’s taken me nearly an hour.’ Stephen looked around the kitchen which still smelled faintly of last night’s mulled wine. ‘Can I at least have a cup of coffee?’
Sam filled the kettle, feeling a little uneasy about doing so in Freya’s absence, but reasoning that it might be the quickest way to get rid of Stephen. He slid it back onto the Aga’s hotplate, and turned to face his brother.
‘So where’s the fire?’ he said evenly.
‘Don’t bloody joke about. Is she here?’
Sam could feel his anger rising and did his best to stay calm. ‘If you mean Freya, I haven’t seen her yet this morning.’
‘Oh, like I believe that. From where I’m standing, it looks as though your slippers are well and truly under the bed.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s what you would see when you’re standing in the gutter, Stephen. For your information, I stayed last night because I’d had a drink or two, and the snow came down too heavy. It wasn’t safe to go anywhere. Besides which, the company here was rather more pleasant than that at home.’
Stephen glared at him. ‘Stop being such a snide little fucker, Sam, I’m not in the mood for pissing about.’
Sam glared back at him, tempted to simply throw him out, but as he stared at his brother, he was astonished to see something else in his eyes which he couldn’t ever recall having seen there before. Aside from the habitual arrogant defiance, there was a glimmer of fear, and it made a shiver run down Sam’s spine. He threw some coffee into a mug and stood drumming his fingers against the Aga while he waited for the kettle to boil.
‘So, do you want to sit down and tell me what this is all about, or will you carry on playing the big I am, because if it’s the latter, I’m going to throw you out now and save us all the bother.’
Sam could see that Stephen was treading a knife-edge here. His natural instinct would be to shout and bully to get his own way, but instead he was trying to choose his words carefully, and moderate his behaviour. It didn’t come naturally to him; in his view, it was tantamount to admitting he was wrong. Whatever it was must be very important, or worse, something that he needed Sam’s help with.
‘I wondered whether Freya had heard from her solicitor, that’s all. The timing’s getting critical on the sale, and they seem to be dragging their feet.’
‘Well, she hasn’t mentioned it, but then it’s not something we’ve discussed. Under the circumstances, I don’t think she feels it’s a subject she can bring up.’
‘Perhaps you could have a word with her, ask her to give him a ring and check that everything is in place. They’ll shut down for Christmas tomorrow, and we could really do with getting it moving today.’
Sam moved the kettle off the hotplate. ‘Do you really think that solicitors are going to be interested in anything today? Besides drinking sherry and eating Quality Street with their staff, that is. Stephen, everything’s pretty much shut down already.’ He watered the coffee and handed it to his brother.
‘But you don’t know that. There’s a lot riding on this, Sam. I thought you might be more interested.’
‘Not particularly.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Not any more.’ He held his brother’s look for a moment, trying to read him. ‘What exactly is riding on this, Stephen? It’s only a house sale, they happen every day; and some of them don’t happen, but it’s not worth getting hysterical over.’
‘Are you being deliberately obtuse? For Christ’s sake, Sam, I’m your brother, try to remember whose side you’re on. I just need to know if the money is the only thing holding the sale up. I need her solicitor to confirm that and I need it today.’
Sam smiled then, the penny finally dropping. ‘So you’re having trouble getting the mortgage through then, Stephen. But why is that? You shouldn’t have any problems at all I’d have thought, especially not when you’re using our place as collateral.’
Stephen’s gaze was fixed at the level of the table, but Sam could see his jaw working in anger. Slowly, he looked up, his face red and blotchy. ‘You smug little shit,’ he hissed.
Sam ignored him. ‘How much, Stephen? Eh? Just how much do you owe?’
Stephen shifted slightly in his chair. ‘It’s just a few gambling debts, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘Jesus, Stephen, when will you stop? When will you ever learn that enough is enough? How much is it? Twenty grand? Fifty grand?…A hundred grand…?’
