‘No, it’s fine, I won’t be stopping. I can see you’re busy. Thing is, and I know it’s a bit of a cheek but I wanted to throw my hat in for the job as project manager. I heard you were looking for someone and seeing as we know one another, hoped I could wangle an interview first.’
Carmen was taken aback. ‘Oh, I see. I’ve not actually advertised for it yet. Are you unhappy at the dairy farm? You’ve been there for such a long while.’
‘Yes, but I’ve been thinking now might be a good time to try something new, take on a challenge and as you know, I’ve worked on farms all my life so I reckon I could help with your project. And I’m local so know these fields like the back of my hand.’
Two hours later they were still at the kitchen table after she’d brought out her maps and plans and lists and explained them all to Bern. So engrossed were they in ideas for the farm shop and land that Rosina ordered everyone pizzas when it became clear that dinner wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Rosina had also dropped a huge hint about saving money on adverts so once the girls were in bed, Carmen offered the job to Bern.
It was the start of their working relationship and later, both admitted that if they were honest the spark was there while they drank a celebratory bottle of Blue Nun, hunched over the map of Appleton Farm.
It had been hard work and thanks to having Granny Sylvia living with them, Carmen was able to get her hands dirty and grow not only her crops, but later, bedding plants, adding potting sheds and greenhouses to her quickly expanding garden centre. Bern suggested they plant a forest. By adding saplings each year they’d eventually have a sustainable rejuvenating crop of Christmas trees.
Word spread throughout the county and soon it became a thriving business that over the next twenty years, grew year on year, a bit like her and Bern’s love for one another. Everyone insisted it was a foregone conclusion, Carmen falling for the man who was perfect for her in every way. The garden centre became a part of village life and offered jobs to the community just as she’d hoped and going forward, life seemed rosy.
From the ashes of a failed marriage that, unlike what she had with Bern, was wrong in every way, she had built something good and wholesome, of value and worth that gave back and would do so for many years to come.
* * *
Tutting as she checked the time, Carmen wondered where on earth Rosina had got to. Ignoring her annoyance and rumbling stomach she scanned the contented diners and then the busy gift shop beyond in search of her daughter’s face.
She couldn’t help compare it to the start, those chilly nights at Appleton when their toes still froze in two pairs of socks, and pans lined the hall and landing to collect leaks as faded wallpaper peeled and mould appeared on ceilings for fun.
Thoughts straying back to her mum who she missed like a limb and who had played a huge part in Appleton’s history, Carmen recalled once more the night the two of them sat around the old range. She’d asked her mum a question and all these years later, knew that Granny Sylvia was right. Enduring the bruises and the tears and the heartache hadn’t been for nothing. She’d given her girls a secure future and a happy family life and for this reason alone, Carmen knew without a doubt that everything she’d done had been worth it.
8
Rosina
Gawsworth Village, Cheshire
Present day
Rosina checked her watch, knowing she had to hurry. Her mum would be on her way for their coffee and cake date and she hated it when people weren’t punctual – but the sudden urge to come and speak with her gran had overwhelmed her. Without thinking it through she’d grabbed her car keys and coat and nipped out the back door, not caring if she was missed.
It was ridiculous that in her desperation she’d resorted to asking advice from the dear departed who refused to answer. For as long as she could remember, her gran, Saint Sylvia, had always been there to make things right and it was hard to get her head around the fact she wasn’t at the end of the phone, or the kitchen table.
She’d even tried praying. It had worked once before, while she’d lain on the kitchen sofa, a fifteen-year-old keeping guard over her mum who was heavily pregnant, battered and bruised. Rosina’s prayer had been simple. That it could be just them. Her mum, Vi and the baby when it came. She prayed that her dad would go away and leave them in peace. A few weeks later he was dead.
At the time, her teenage self felt not an ounce of guilt and actually believed her wishes had been granted through divine intervention. Unfortunately, her most recent request had fallen on deaf ears. Taking a seat on the bench opposite her gran’s headstone, Rosina allowed herself a few more minutes before she went back to the garden centre. She needed to prepare, rearrange the mask she’d been wearing for months and find some way to calm the maelstrom of worry that swirled inside. Deciding to give reaching out to her gran another shot, Rosina dredged her memories in the vain hope that Granny Sylvia’s voice and some words of wisdom would somehow filter through.
Appleton Farm, November 1999
Rosina sucked air in, deep breaths of November mist that lingered on the fields around their house, the pale grey clouds overhead blocking out the morning sun, making the day seem bleaker than it already was. She didn’t even attempt to quell the sobs and hiccups that had made her chest ache as she’d raced from the house, clutching the side of her face as she stumbled towards the village. She needed to let it out, all the anger and hurt and disappointment.
Entering the village, running along the main street, she kept her head down, not wanting anyone to notice her distress or the red hand mark imprinted on her stinging cheek.
Seeing the phone box was empty, relieved not to have to queue up, she flung open the door and dug out a ten-pence coin from her jeans pocket. Inserting it into the slot she dialled the number she knew by heart. It answered on the third ring and as soon as she heard her gran’s voice at the other end Rosina sobbed and stuttered into the receiver, desperate to get it all out and make her gran understand how bad things were getting.
‘Gran, you have to come and help Mum. He’s hit her again and I don’t know what to do. I found her on the kitchen floor last night and she has a big bruise under her eye. I stayed with her all night to protect her and we slept on the settee. Then this morning he went mental and called Mum a lazy bitch for not making his breakfast and when she did, he tipped it all over the floor because she’d burned his fried eggs… I hate him, Gran, I hate him so much.’ All Rosina could see as she cried into the receiver was her poor mum with her big belly, kneeling on the floor, crying silent tears as she wiped up grease and bacon.
Sylvia’s voice was the opposite to Rosina’s, calm and in control. ‘She’s not said she feels poorly? The baby is okay?’
‘I think so, but she’s just being brave for our Vi. She walked her down to the road to wait for the school bus, to get out of his way. Vi thinks Mum banged her face. Mum told me I had to go along with it, again.’
‘It’s for the best… no point in upsetting Vi if she’s not realised. It’s bad enough that you’ve seen.’
‘Well, I’m not going in today. I need to stay with Mum. He came into the kitchen when they’d gone and asked me why I wasn’t at school and lost his shit again when I said it was because he was a nasty bully and someone had to take care of Mum.’
‘And what did he say to that?’
