‘Are you an influencer?’ I asked, feeling awkward for not realising it earlier.
‘Totally!’ Dinky beamed. ‘Tammers is, too. Felicia and Bo are along for the ride.’
Our website crashed. Damson Farm Retreats was in business.
* * *
It was another back-achingly late night. We left the retreat clear-up for another day, moving straight on to Damson Day prep. I felt like I must be sweating apple juice by now, and my hair would probably smell of honey for days.
Daniel came to find us once it was too dark to carry on outside. We feasted on the broken scones and leftover cheese and fruit from the retreat. We chinked the one small glass of cider we allowed ourselves the night before a day that would be taught about in Ferrington schools for generations and toasted great food, even better friends – including those no longer with us, of course – and crazy ideas that somehow seemed to have turned into something fantastic.
I scurried up to bed before Becky and Alice had left, avoiding any risk of the conversation drifting over to our unlikely special guest, and my reaction to her earlier in the week.
* * *
I woke up just after seven on Monday morning to a soft beam of sunlight peeping through the crack in my curtains. It had been a muggy night, and it was only thanks to my extreme sleep deprivation over the weekend that I managed to doze as much as I did. Throwing on some denim shorts and a stripy T-shirt, I went downstairs to find an empty coffee mug on the side and smears of toast crumbs on Hope’s highchair. Following the clues, I slipped on my flip-flops and found them in the orchard, surrounded by a hive of activity (not one of Ziva’s hives, which were safely cordoned off for the day). Stallholders were already unpacking their goods – cakes and cookies, pickles and preserves, arts and crafts including all things knitted, carved and framed. Traditional games were being set up – hoopla, hook-a-duck and a coconut shy – alongside more modern touches like an electronic penalty shoot-out and a rodeo sheep.
The cider press was set up in one corner, although we had only a few crates of apples, none of which had been grown in the orchard, but it was a start. In the meadow, a couple of people were setting out markers for a rounders game. Six teams had entered the tournament, the only rule being that at least two people from each side had to be on every team.
The staff from Pepper’s Pizza and Ferrington Fish and Chippy had set up a giant barbeque with accompanying side-dishes, next to which was the gazebo where Becky and I would serve cream teas and other light refreshments.
The atmosphere was electric, and we still had over two hours to go. I shoved thoughts of Nora Sharp to one side, vague fears about the crazy stalker to another, and got stuck in.
By the time the gates opened at eleven, there was a line of people snaking halfway down the lane. Shortly before that, I’d found Daniel down by the newly discovered footbridge, which would be officially opened when we held the duck race that afternoon. He was sitting on the riverbank, arms resting on his knees, so lost in thought that he didn’t hear me coming.
‘Hey.’ I sat down, gently bumping his arm.
‘Hi.’ He nodded in acknowledgement, but kept his eyes on the far shore of the river. The air was ripe with the scent of newly cut grass, where a path had been mowed through the meadow, and enough undergrowth cut back to allow a clear route into the New Side of the village. Someone had added a safety rope either side of the concrete bridge, and this was now covered in brightly coloured ribbons which fluttered gently in the breeze.
‘It’s a big day.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thinking about your great-grandad?’
His mouth flickered up in a brief smile. ‘Great-grandad, Grandad. Dad…’ He paused, his voice breaking.
‘Charlie,’ I said, softly.
He nodded, closing his eyes for a long moment.
‘They’d be so pleased.’ I tucked my arm through his, leaning up closely against him. ‘Not to mention proud. It’s incredible what you’re doing. For the farm, and for Ferrington.’
He didn’t reply, but found my fingers, tucked up against his chest, and clutched them tightly. A brown mallard drifted past, a brood of black and yellow striped ducklings following closely behind.
‘I got you something.’ I unwound my arm from his and opened the bag that I’d brought with me. Daniel waited while I drew out a glass bottle and handed it to him.
‘Damson Farm Cider.’ He read the label, face creasing into a grin. ‘A commemorative bottle, marking the very first Damson Day.’ He inspected it closer. ‘Empty?’
I laughed. ‘It’s a prototype only. A promise, of great things to come.’
‘Thank you.’ Daniel’s gaze was soft. ‘I love it.’ He stopped then, his eyes flickering down before meeting mine again. He took a deep breath in, and carefully took hold of my hand. ‘Speaking of which.’ He swallowed. My heart started thumping in response. ‘Of… love…’
‘Oy!’ Alice’s bellow caused us both to jerk back in surprise. We turned to see her standing where the orchard gate opened onto the meadow, frantically waving her arms. ‘Have you seen the time? They’re going to break those lovely new gates down if you aren’t here to open them in the next thirty seconds!’
Daniel checked his watch. ‘Whoops. We’d better go.’ He jumped to his feet, pulling me with him. We both started jogging up the meadow towards the orchard, when he suddenly stopped, still holding onto my hand, and pulled me up against his chest. ‘Stuff it. They can wait another ten seconds. I’m not sure this can.’ He tipped his head towards mine. ‘What I was going to say, before being so rudely interrupted, was that… I love you, Eleanor. I have fallen completely, utterly, head-over-heels for you. I love everything about you, and the things I don’t know yet, I can’t wait to find out because I’m so certain I’ll love them, too. I can’t imagine life without you. And I’ve been waiting for weeks to say that.’
I stood there, speechless, every inch of me aglow.
