‘Ah, hello.’ Gabe straightened up from where he was picking fruit in one of the middle rows, alerted by the dogs bounding up to greet me. He took off his cap, wiped the sweat off his forehead, replacing it with a streak of dirt, and picked up the container he’d been using to collect the strawberries.
‘Not the best crop we’ve had, but they’re more for pleasure than business. Don’t tell Rosemary that, mind. She’s very proud of her award-winning jam. Lily used to charge twenty pence extra for it in her cream teas, back when she was running the café. Here.’ He plucked one of the larger fruits and offered it to me, giving a nod of satisfaction when I took a bite, releasing a burst of juicy sweetness that made my taste buds tingle with pleasure.
‘No substitute for freshly picked.’ Gabe held out the carton, and I couldn’t resist accepting one more.
‘It seems a waste to turn them into jam.’
‘Oh, plenty enough are used fresh. We supply two of the cafés and the greengrocer’s stall. Lily will be serving them with pancakes once she’s open. Those too small, mishappen or whatnot will be jams, pies, sauce. Nothing wasted. Nor frozen, if we can help it, apart from ice cream. Here. Take these back to the barn with you.’ He pulled a carrier bag out of his jeans pocketand filled it with a generous handful, which I tucked inside my bag. ‘But before you go, the letters.’
We walked back to the farmhouse, Gabe pointing out what the different buildings were used for as we went. He pointed to one a short distance away from the farmyard, surrounded by relatively clean paving slabs, rather than muddy gravel.
‘That’s the Old Barn, the first Eber Hawkins built, back in 1746, after the great famine. Before then, Hawkinses were subsidence farmers, growing, fishing and hunting just enough to survive. But Eber had a dream, to leave something more for his children. All fourteen of them. He was the first to think beyond the next winter. Planted potatoes, beans and wheat. Gambled his fishing boat on a game of dice and won two horses, and three cows. By the time his son, Conan, took over, they had a herd of twenty suckler cows and the most sought-after bull on the island.’
‘And now you have all this,’ I said, loving the stories of the Hawkins history.
‘Aye. But now it can too often feel like we’re heading back to pre-Eber days. Scraping through one harvest to the next. It’s the only reason Pip talked me into this fancy master’s thing. I remembered how my father, Aster’s husband, drove me to distraction with his refusal to move with the times.’
‘Change isn’t easy.’
‘No, but I decided it has to be easier than watching my stubborn pride destroy what Eber started, and everything the Hawkinses have built since.’ He waved a hello to his wife, hanging out wet washing in the garden, all trace of the previous night’s revelry vanished from the lawn and patio.
‘I told her I wanted your advice about free-range-egg suppliers,’ I said as he opened the kitchen door and we slipped off our boots, the Labradors waiting patiently while he wiped their paws with a threadbare towel.
‘Very good. As long as they’ve got the Lion Code, RSPCA and all that, you’ll be grand.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘If Rosemary asks you about it, tell her I rambled on so long, you stopped listening.’ He led me through the kitchen into an office space, where piles of papers covered a desk made from an old door. Unlocking a filing cabinet, he flicked through various folders until pulling out one labelled,Relocating sewage tank.
‘It was the most off-putting title I could think of.’
Opening it up, Gabe pulled out a stash of papers, in the middle of which was a plain brown envelope, which he held out to me.
‘I presume you want them back?’ The way he gripped onto the envelope for a brief second before allowing me to take it was enough of a clue.
‘Yes. If you don’t mind. And if you have any questions, well… I’m always more than happy to discuss chickens, eggs, cows and crops with those who’re interested.’
‘Thank you.’
‘There you are.’ Rosemary appeared in the doorway. ‘Have you finished picking the strawberries already? Because there’s a plate of party leftovers waiting for lunch.’
‘No, my love. I’ll head back over after this delicious lunch you’ve prepared.’ Gabe gave her a tender smile, waving at the filing cabinet. ‘I wanted to find the name of that new breed of layers Pip was talking about. It’s not too far from Emmie. They grow some plant that makes the yolks darker, if I recall correctly.’
He carried on mumbling as we walked back to the kitchen and Gabe took a seat at the table beside Aster, who had opened up a sandwich and was scowling at the contents.
‘It’s you.’ She gave me a dismissive glance. ‘Back already?’
‘I came to ask Gabe’s advice about chickens.’
She gave the food a sniff before folding the bread down again. ‘Must be keen.’
That was enough to make me want to crawl beneath my chair and hide, but Aster wasn’t finished. ‘Just mind out, Philip is an island farmer. He’ll not be happy anywhere else. Forget chickens, try asking Gabriel’s advice on that.’
She looked up, eyes cool as they assessed me. Finally, after a small, satisfied nod, she focused back on her sandwich.
I didn’t want to think too hard about what that nod meant. Gabe merely smiled wryly as he shook his head. ‘Emmie’s not here to steal Pip away, Ma. And even if she was, he’s got no intention of abandoning the farm. Don’t fret.’
Aster took a large bite of her sandwich. She wasn’t the one fretting here.
