‘Good.’ He smiled and nodded. We both took a sip of water, and did some napkin straightening, menu inspecting and glancing about while we tried to remember how to make conversation at a dinner table. Something that had felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world until we dressed it up with a smart shirt and lipstick.
‘This trip is the first time we’ve been off the farm together since you found me in the ditch,’ I said, with a spark of realisation.
Daniel looked up at me through lowered eyelashes. ‘That’s the main reason why I came.’
Before he could say anything else, or I could remember how to breathe, the waiter arrived to take our order, and by the time he’d left I’d thankfully regained the ability to look in Daniel’s general direction and open my mouth at the same time.
‘So, what did you get up to today?’ I asked, at the exact same time he said, ‘Did you have a useful day?’
Cue awkward laugh, which only made me feel even more awkward, until thankfully Daniel plunged in and answered the question.
‘I visited an orchard.’
‘Oh?’
We paused while another waiter produced our wine with a flourish, inviting Daniel to taste it while completely ignoring me until he’d had the go ahead to pour a proper glass.
‘They have apples for cider, pears, and beehives.’
I could see where this was leading. ‘It sounds great.’
We talked about it right through our starters and main course. No more first date tension, simply me and Daniel dreaming and debating about another idea over dinner, only with a white tablecloth and classier tableware.
By the time we ordered passionfruit cheesecake and rhubarb caramel tart, we had dreamed up a fully-fledged venture, carefully integrating the orchard year into the retreat events. Another member of Daniel’s team at work was looking to reduce their hours to part-time, and having totted up the figures, he had already spoken to his manager about a potential job share.
‘I’ve been saving money, investing in a fund for Hope’s future. I don’t know, uni costs, a nice wedding, enough to be able to hand what’s left of the farm over to her in a decent state. But all these plans for the retreat business got me thinking. The farm means so much to me, meant so much to Charlie, not because it’s been our family home for generations, but because it wasourfamily home. Nearly every memory I have is of us being together. Grandad sitting me on his knee while he drove the tractor. Dad showing me how to mend a fence. Helping Mum collect the eggs. Every single type of weather you could think of, every season and time of day, I have a memory for. And while I loved roaming the fields alone, I knew that at some point I’d spot Dad or one of the farmhands in the distance, that Grandma would be in the kitchen or with Mum in the garden. Charlie would be out looking for me as soon as she got bored, which was all the time. It was always about family and then all that got lost. First when Dad died, and we sold most of the land and let go of the animals, but then after Charlie, it was like our family died with her. Especially since Mum doesn’t want to even talk about it, let alone visit.’
‘And burying your head in work meant you didn’t have to think about it.’
Daniel sighed. ‘It’s almost like a part of me wanted to pretend the rest of the farm had gone, too. It was less painful than trying to keep it going by myself. Even if it did mean feeling guilty about letting the Perry ancestors down and being the family failure. But the family hasn’t died. My family is learning to crawl and hold a spoon and wave goodbye. And what are her memories going to be? Of a dad too tired and busy and miserable to even show her how to pick the apples that are right outside her garden gate? Will her memories of the farm be of a rundown mess?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t let that happen. I’m going to cut down my work days and introduce Hope to her orchard.’
Daniel’s eyes sparkled as he shared out the last of the wine. I flashed back to the exhausted, lifeless man who I had met two months ago, and decided that if getting the Damson Farm orchard up and running would help keep this transformation, then I was with him all the way.
‘Right, I’ve done your question. Time for you to answer mine,’ he said.
I broke off a forkful of tart, trying to work out what he was talking about.
‘Did you have a productive day?’
‘Oh! Okay. Um. Well. Productive in that I’ve confirmed the secret to the Tufted Duck’s success.’ Daniel waited while I ate the chunk of tart, the sharpness biting against the caramelised sweetness in a way that made me decide to ask for the recipe. ‘Mum and Dad know what their customers want, and they stick to it. Face to face contact, minimal online anything. No frills, no fuss, no faffing about. Just plain, simple, exactly the same as every other time they’ve been here, even if that is since 1972. Cheap, and if not quite cheerful, at least it’s clean and excellent quality.’
‘Useful, then?’
‘Useful in that it’s made me realise that the most important thing about what we’re doing isn’t trying to please everyone, but in making sure we decide what we want to be, being clear about that, and then sticking to it, so the people who do find us aren’t disappointed.’
‘So who are these people, and how do you know what they want?’
I thought carefully about that, even as I felt a stab of shame at my cowardly censoring of the answer. ‘I’ve met a lot of people through work in the past few years. People like Stephe and Saskia, who have worked so hard to get where they are, whether that’s a job, or a look, a social media following. The right postcode, the right partner, all the right hashtags. Even being on holiday has to be the most fabulous experience. It’s exhausting trying to appear so chilled out and relaxed. I think maybe our target market is people who just want to not care about what other people think for once. To be a total mess, scrabbling in the dirt for potatoes, while possibly crying about how they’d love to feel this way all of the time, not just while on some quirky retreat. To imagine that if it was completely up to them, which at the end of the day it usually is, who would they be and what would they do.’
I shrugged, finishing off my dessert. ‘Those sorts of people.’
Daniel screwed up his forehead. ‘Ugh. You don’t get many of those in Ferrington.’
I gave a pointed look. ‘It could be argued thatyoufit into that category.’
His eyebrows shot up in horror. ‘What? I’m the complete opposite of that category. I don’t even go on social media.’
‘Working yourself half to death, refusing to accept any help in order to prove some sort of point. No time for friends, no energy for fun, not once asking yourself if you might actually prefer to give it all up and grow fruit or teach your daughter how to drive a tractor instead.’
