I resisted the urge to explain that honey was not quite the point.
Luke removed his gloves, pulled off his beanie hat to run a hand over his buzz-cut hair, then tugged it back on again. ‘Time I headed off.’
‘Well, thanks for all your help. Do you want me to pay now, or will you email an invoice?’
He took three strides over to where the remains of the cake sat on a crate, grabbed the lot and took a giant bite. ‘Consider it paid!’ he called, words distorted by a full mouth. Then he shot Becky a wink, jumped in his van and left her swooning in the spray from his wet tyres.
* * *
I spent that night twisting myself up in the duvet, imagining the various ways that the Ferrington mob might react to my idea. Then remembering how Becky had guffawed at the very thought of me inviting both sides to my stupid cider tasting, and spiralling into panic.
I lugged myself down for breakfast as soon as I heard Hope wake up, opting for coffee and a square of apple cake. My housemates were already enjoying their eggy soldiers.
After a fortifying gulp of coffee, I decided to go for it. I needed to be open about what I was planning. Given the risk – albeit surely a small one – of anything kicking off, Daniel had the right to know in advance, given that it was his farm.
‘So… one of the reasons I’m clearing out the barn is because I’m planning a low-key type thing.’
Daniel looked up at me from under his brow.
‘This Sunday evening.’
He waited, a blob of egg dripping off the end of his sourdough soldier.
‘Like, with, cider tasting and food samples and, um, a short presentation.’
Daniel nodded, stuffing in the soldier in one bite. ‘I was wondering when you were going to tell me about it.’
‘You know already?’
One corner of his mouth tweaked up. ‘I might not go on social media, but I do go into the village from time to time. Even if it wasn’t plastered up and down Old Main Street, this is a village. I couldn’t take three steps without someone asking if I was really giving away free alcohol in my barn.’ He took a spoon and scooped out the last piece of Hope’s egg for her. ‘I’m presuming it’s some sort of publicity thing. Not that I’m sure how many of the random Ferrings who’ll respond to the offer of free booze are the sort of clientele prepared to pay hundreds for a lifestyle reconfiguration retreat.’ He handed Hope her last piece of toast. ‘You might get some future cake orders, though.’
‘It’s not totally for publicity.’
‘Oh?’ He looked at me, the creases sharpening across his brow. ‘The short talk from a local?’ He sat back, eyes widening as he pressed a finger against his scar. ‘I’m not the local, am I?’
‘No!’ I gripped my hands together, took a deep breath. ‘I am.’
‘You?You’re giving a talk about Ferrington’s farming history?’
‘Um, sort of?’
And then, because I couldn’t bear to keep another secret from this man, who made me feel like it might be worth being myself – plus, I was genuinely starting to worry that I might be about to incite a mass brawl on his property – I told him precisely what I was planning on talking about.
‘Okay.’
‘That’s all you’re going to say? You aren’t going to tell me I’m crazy or that I’m going to be responsible for instigating the Great War of Ferrington? Or at least that it’s a total waste of time and effort.’
He smiled. ‘How can trying to do a good thing be a waste of time? And as much as people might enjoy perpetuating the feud, very few of them would resort to violence, these days. Most likely people’ll simply turn around as soon as they get there and realise both sides are invited. Some might decide to stay and heckle, start some aggro, but I’ll deal with that. And you never know, one or two might even listen to what you have to say. In which case, it’s a start. One tiny step closer to your peace bridge.’
Right then and there, I fell in love with Daniel Perry.
‘Maybe keep the cider samples small ones, though. At least until you’ve finished your talk.’
20
Becky and I spent the weekend getting things ready. Did I feel guilty, duping my business partner and new best friend into helping me scrub the worst of the dirt off the walls, climb a ladder to swap the cobwebs in the rafters for strings of fairy lights and set up picnic tables, lanterns, a couple of patio heaters and other various bits and bobs we needed, all under false pretences?
Not as bad as I did when she donated two dozen jars of honey and a pallet of apples that Ziva had scrumped from the orchard the previous autumn. There wasn’t anywhere near enough to make cider, even if I had had the couple of weeks needed to brew some, but Hope and I spent most of Saturday whipping up cakes, pies and tiny individual pastries for sampling, supplemented by plums from a Nottingham wholesaler. I wangled a discount from a local non-profit organisation producing traditional cider from wild orchards and then spent the rest of my budget on a crate of damson wine, along with tiny, compostable plastic cups for tasting, and a load of cheap cheese and crackers to go with the chutney samples.
