As she was passing the newsagents, being careful not to jostle the cake box, she automatically glanced at the window and the notices that were pinned there.
And stopped.
Frowning, she stepped closer and peered at aHelp Wantedsign. The farm on Muddypuddle Lane was advertising for an assistant for their newly opened farm shop. Experience preferred, hours negotiable.
How negotiable?she wondered.
There was only one way to find out, but first she’d have to have a chat with her mum. There was no point in getting her hopes up if Mum didn’t feel able to help out with childcare during the school holidays or at the weekends.
Her mum was delighted to see her, but that was probably more to do with the cream cake offering than with seeingBeatrice herself. Her mum mightn’t be so delighted when she heard the favours Beatrice wanted to ask.
She decided to begin with the easiest first and said brightly, ‘Sadie is going to be a toadstool in the Christmas play.’
Deborah was examining the cakes. ‘Toadstools aren’t particularly festive, are they?’ She picked up a cream horn with her fingers. ‘I’ll leave the coffee puff for your dad.’
‘You wouldn’t leave it for Dad ifyouliked it,’ Beatrice teased. Mum couldn’t stand anything coffee flavoured, although she enjoyed a latte as much as the next person.
Deborah took a bite of her cake and said around the mouthful, ‘I suppose you want some help making it?’
‘You don’t have to,’ Beatrice assured her.
‘I think I do if you don’t want it to fall apart after five minutes.’
‘Harsh.’
‘But true,’ her mum countered with a smile. ‘I’ll see what I can find. Put the kettle on, if you’re staying.’
Beatrice couldn’t leave yet, so she filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘Mum, can I ask you something? Please say no, if you don’t think you can. I know we’ve talked about it in the past, but you’ve had a taste of freedom and—’
‘You’ve got a job?’ Deborah beamed at her.
‘Not yet. There’s one going up at the farm on Muddypuddle Lane.’
‘Doing what? You don’t know anything about sheep or cows, and think of the dirt. Plus, you’ll be out in all weathers.’ Her mother shuddered.
‘They want someone for the shop.’
Deborah’s face cleared. ‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. Phew, that’s a relief. I had visions of you in overalls and wellies. Of course I’ll look after the girls. I love having them.’
‘I don’t know the hours yet and they might want someone for the weekends,’ Beatrice warned.
Her parents had retired earlier in the year and although Beatrice had discussed the possibility of going back to work with them, she didn’t want them to feel obliged – after all, they deserved to enjoy their retirement, and although they adored their grandchildren, the kids weren’t their responsibility.
‘I’ll phone the farm later and find out,’ she said. ‘Anyway, they mightn’t want me.’
Her mum popped the last of her cake into her mouth and licked her fingers. ‘How could they not wantyou, my darling girl?’
‘You’re biased,’ Beatrice replied, but she hoped her mum was right. With Christmas approaching, she needed all the money she could get her hands on.
Picklewick was much the same as he remembered, Mark thought as he drove along the high street, heading towards the one and only pub where he would be staying for the next couple of weeks. After deciding yesterday that this was the place to be, he had wasted no time in throwing some clothes in a case this morningand setting off. After all, he didn’t have anything keeping him in Bristol.
No, Picklewick hadn’t changed – it was Mark himself who had.
Intrinsically, the village appeared the same as he remembered, but it felt new and strange, as though the past was a foreign land whose soil he now walked.
He hadn’t been back to the area since his parents had moved to a bungalow in Bath, and that had been years ago. And even when they’d still lived in Picklewick, his visits had been fleeting, never for more than a long weekend, because his wife had found the village boring. Ex-wife, now; and the irony of her marrying a hotelier who lived in the wilds of Scotland still made him chuckle. He wondered how bored she was now.
The Black Horse came into view, and he smiled as he caught sight of the familiar sign hanging above the door. It swung in the stiff breeze, and when he got out of the car he could hear it creaking. The sound brought back memories, but he pushed them aside. He would have plenty of time to think about his misspent youth in this very establishment after he’d checked in and unpacked.
