Page 3 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Much like yourself, Stephen,’ Freya replied. ‘A little too much sauce again last night, was it? Or is your complexion always that colour?’
Stephen glared at her, his mouth trying to form the clever comeback he so desperately sought, but Freya simply smiled and took Amos’ arm.
‘All this talk of sauce reminds me; time for a bacon butty, I reckon. Think I’ll have an egg in mine as well. Can’t beat a fried egg in the morning, can you, all oozing and dripping? Just the thing to set you up for the day. Come on, Amos, my treat.’ She smiled sweetly at Stephen who had visibly paled. ‘You should have one too, put a bit of colour in your cheeks.’
Freya glanced at her watch as they walked across the yard, heading incongruously for a ramshackle tin shed that looked like the last place you might get a bacon butty from. ‘We don’t really have time for this just yet, but anything to get away from that slimeball.’
‘Would his last name be Henderson by any chance?’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, a harsh tone in her normally soft voice. ‘I’ve never been able to figure out what his problem is except perhaps an extremely high opinion of himself. It’s not as if their farm is any different to anyone else’s, but Stephen likes to play Lord of the Manor. Everybody knows that the minute he can, he’ll sell up and cash in to fund his lavish lifestyle. He’s only interested in money.’
‘He has a brother, doesn’t he? I’ve seen him in the village a few times.’
Freya gave a small snort. ‘Yeah, Sam will be around here somewhere, hiding in Stephen’s shadow. You can bet your life that it was him that did all the hard work to get that lot ready for sale today, though.’
Amos squinted into the sun, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’
She stopped then, turning around to face him. ‘I take as I find, Amos. When my dad died, I soon found out who my real friends were, and believe me, the Hendersons were not on the list.’ She glared at him, daring to be contradicted.
Amos decided that changing the subject might be the best move. ‘Look if you’re pushed for time, I could go and get breakfast?’
Her brown eyes softened again. ‘That’s a deal then,’ she replied, tucking a ten-pound note into Amos’ hand.
* * *
By the time Amos returned to her, Freya had already laid out half the wreaths into her earmarked pens, and was just fetching another load from the van, ingeniously threaded onto a broom pole so that she could carry them. She was pleased with them this year. She’d really found her style now, and it was clear from looking at what the other traders had to offer, that hers were a little different. It had been hard work, though, painstakingly collecting all the greenery to make each wreath identical, and wiring up the fruits, acorns and walnuts that she’d added. She could only hope that she’d get a good price for them.
It was something her dad had encouraged her to do, even when she was small, and he always made it her task to decorate the house for Christmas. Over the years, she had refined her skills and had now been bringing her home-made decorations to the fair for the last five years. Standing back, she checked she had them all laid uniformly, all turned the same way, and, once satisfied, finally turned to Amos to collect her breakfast.
He waved his bap appreciatively. ‘Those are beautiful, Freya,’ he remarked.
‘Thank you.’ She blushed, jumping back as a drop of runny egg just missed her coat. She licked her roll, biting off the end of bacon which the egg had dripped from. ‘I’ll go and get the last of them in a minute.’
She had just taken another oozing bite when someone cannoned into the back of her, followed by an immediate gushing apology.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry…Oh my God…Freya?’
‘Merry!’ shrieked Freya in return, throwing her arms around the woman as best she could, hampered both by the roll in her hand and the size of the woman’s stomach. ‘I didn’t think you were coming this year, but look at you!’
The woman pulled a rueful face. ‘I know, I’m huge, and bloody due on Christmas Day, can you believe it, of all the luck.’
Freya laughed. ‘I think that’s the best kind of luck. You have the perfect excuse to let everyone else organise Christmas and sit around with your feet up.’
‘Yeah right. Like that’s really going to happen. Can you see me sitting still? Not really my style, is it. Anyway, to be fair, Tom has been brilliant. I’m only here today because I’ve hardly lifted a finger all weekend and am feeling guilty. We do desperately need some stock, though.’
‘Well, I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble finding some today, it’s looking like it’ll be a great sale. Plenty of buyers around by the look of things, although that might not necessarily be a good thing in your case.’ She paused for a moment before adding shyly, ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’
‘Well, holly and mistletoe,obviously.’ She laughed, winking at Amos. ‘But Tom would like some decorative pieces for the hotel as well, so I’ll drag him over in a minute. Although I have to say, if you get any better, you’ll price yourself out of our market. These are looking beautiful.’
‘I was wondering if they were a bit too contemporary?’ said Freya, biting her lip. ‘Not everyone wants something different.’
Merry studied Amos for a moment before turning back to answer. ‘It’s true, they don’t, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble selling these. Anyway, enough shop talk for now. This poor man has been standing here patiently while we gossip away.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Merrilees Parker, but not surprisingly everyone calls me Merry.’
Amos grasped her hand and nodded. ‘I approve, and very appropriate for the time of year.’
‘Sorry,’ butted in Freya. ‘I’m hopeless at introductions. Merry and I have known each other for a gazillion years. She’s a florist by trade, although she and her husband also run a hotel in Worcester. And Merry, this is Amos, and he…well, he’s been helping me out a bit on the farm.’
‘Still can’t get Gareth interested then, Freya? Never mind, maybe he’ll come round. It’ll hit him one day just how boring accountancy is, and then he’ll be brewing cider with the best of them.’
