Page 9 of Exiles on Earth
“Hello?” Laura’s voice is as smooth as chocolate, professional and calm. I can’t help but smile; Laura the lawyer always takes care of everything. “Ellen? Well? How did it go?”
“Oh, hi, Laura.”
Laura takes in a hissing breath. “Oh no, I can tell from your tone. Sweetheart, what happened? What did the bank say?”
I close my eyes, hand tightening around the phone. “They had no questions on the designs or the legal stuff. They said that was a good foundation,” I reassure her.
“I know that. Arabella’s designs are beautiful, and I made sure to dot every I and cross every t on the planning applications, company incorporation, and public liability insurance applications.”
I smile at my friend’s precise nature. “Yeah. So, no questions there.”
“What did they have questions about? We went over the business projections; they were realistic and erred on the worst case to present the… oh, hang on one second.” Laura lowers the phone, so her voice comes quieter. “Set it down over there. I’ll get around to you soon, don’t worry.”
“Is this a bad time, Laura?” I ask when a rustle signals she’s picked me back up.
“No, he’ll wait for me. Won’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” a deep male voice says.
I rub my wind-battered cheeks. Laura’s a solicitor and makes the perfect figure in pencil skirts and crisp white shirts. Wish I could keep a shirt that white and pristine; mine are all stained or worn through.
“You were saying?” Laura asks, loud in my ear once more.
“Right, yeah.” I take a bracing breath, the breeze lightly scented with all the rich grasses on the farm. “You know last time they said it wasn’t ambitious enough? Well, now it’s too diversified for them. They kept hounding me, asking, ‘How is that going to be sustainable?’”
“The business plan takes that into account. Labour costs and all.” Laura’s tapping her foot. I can imagine her in her high heels, twisting her long blonde hair into soft ropes. “They didn’t like the bed and breakfast barn before, they wanted to see more onsite things for guests to do, so you added your dream farm shop and cafe. The offices will more than pay for that: my practice and Nicole’s veterinary consultancy will take that in alone.” She huffs down the phone. “But that wasn’t sufficient for the bank either, and so you added the brewery, and that wasn’t enough, and now, what? They don’t like the restaurant? Is it not ambitious enough?”
I swallow the tears in the back of my throat. She’s voicing what I’m thinking. “I explained it was a ten-year plan, that the revenue over time would fund growth, and we have a cautious approach built in. ‘It’s a pretty dream,’ they said. ‘Looks beautiful on paper, and these incomes are exciting. But it’s too many plans, it’s not sustainable.’” A red flare twists my stomach thinking of the smooth cheeked executives shaking their little city heads. “Of course it’s a sustainable business; my family has put their lives into the land to always be here, part of it, stewards of the soil and the landscape. And now with you, Ara, and Nicole, we know what we’re doing, we just need capital.”
Laura’s voice echoes my annoyance. “Too many? When before, it wasn’t ambitious? I don’t get it.”
“I really don’t either.”
“I just think they don’t want to fund you and were looking for any excuse,” Laura huffs.
That’s my secret fear, the one I haven’t voiced yet. But if I can’t scrape enough money together to pay the mortgage without my plans, the bank will foreclose on it.
I need to pivot, and I know the new business will work. It has to.
“Right, here’s the plan,” Laura says, taking charge as always. “Let’s lick our wounds this Friday with a movie night and bank bashing sesh, then get started with another lender on Monday. Yes?”
Laura’s can-do attitude always makes me smile, and today’s no exception. “I feel too battered now to agree to try again, but I can’t say no to movie night.”
“Great. I’ll call Nicole. She wanted to know as soon as I knew, so I’ll save you the trouble, okay?”
Laura’s voice is so sweetly concerned my eyes fill with tears. There’s no stopping them now, the weight of all their dreams rests on mine, and now the future seems like a fantasy. “Okay,” I hiccup.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’ll come by after work tonight too.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I knuckle my eyes and cheeks, Floss whining at my heels. “I’ve got to check on the ewes. Love you.”
“Love you too. Mwah. And, Ellen? It’s all going to be okay.”
“Thanks, Laura.” Hanging up, I look again over the fields my family has farmed for generations, the farmhouse I’ve grown up in and still live in, the adjoining barn perfect to rebuild into a bed and breakfast for guests wanting to get away from it all.
My heart aches with my ideas. I want to see the land used, the fields productive again and turning over. The economic climate always hits farms hard; revenue for hosting sheep fromthe nearby farmers won’t even cover the mortgage, and certainly isn’t enough for me to save and build these dreams. I’m gonna scream in frustration, because all I want is life in the farm again. Life, and a future.
My mobile rings just as the cold wind blasts in my face. Mum. As much as I try not to, floods of panic wash over me, and my belly tightens.
