It was the waiting around that Eleanor wasn’t used to. Once she had mastered her soap recipe, and how to get it out of its mould, she was left with a few spare hours. She was already ahead with making her creams, so she decided that it was such a lovely day that she would take the rest of the day off.
Sitting on Arthur’s bench in the courtyard, she allowed herself a bit of downtime. When had she last just sat with a cup of tea and listened to the birdsong? Watched a plane cross the blue sky? Heard the wind rustle the leaves in the trees? When was the last time she had just stopped? She couldn’t remember.
But she could feel her shoulders beginning to drop down and unhunch. Her neck was getting longer and she was finally beginning to sleep through the night.
She glanced down at her fingers which were now completely free of eczema. Even her friends had noticed.
‘It’s thanks to the carrot soap,’ she told them.
Of course, she was going to end up with far too much now she had various pans of the stuff in her workshop. So she had handed Annie a couple of bars that lunchtime in the kitchen.
‘What’s this?’ asked Rose, taking one out of Annie’s hands and sniffing it.
‘It’s the soap Eleanor made,’ said Annie, sounding proud.
‘How marvellous!’ said Rose. ‘You’ll be the next Estée Lauder.’
‘Hardly,’ grunted Eleanor, feeling shy at the attention.
‘Nonsense,’ carried on Rose. ‘Sweetie, Estée Lauder started making her beauty creams in her kitchen. So why not you? By the way, darling, my friends keep telling me how wonderful and young I look. Everyone’s jealous of little old moi. I’ve told them it’s all thanks to your marvellous cream and now they all want some. How much shall I tell them you’re charging?’
Eleanor was a bit nonplussed. She hadn’t even considered prices for any of her products yet. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, thinking aloud. ‘What do you think? A couple of pounds?’
Rose shook her head. ‘Darling! No. That’s way too low for all your hard work. How about five pounds per pot?’
Eleanor grimaced. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit steep? It’s only a bit of lavender and cream, after all.’
Rose put her hand up. ‘Do you know how much I’ve spent over the years on ridiculously priced creams and none have had the effect that your cream has had. Trust me, I’m a walking billboard for your age-defying lotion.’ She broke into a winning smile. ‘Besides, you need to make as much as you can to save up. Have you seen the Chanel line for this fall?’
Rose left Eleanor deep in thought. A bit of money would be nice, she’d thought. Then she wondered what on earth she would spend it on? A few months ago, it would have been new designer clothes to keep up with all the rich celebrities she had been mixing with. But that all felt like a lifetime ago, and why did she need designer clothes anyway? She was mucking out the donkey and messing about all day with an apron on.
She wondered if she should feel sadder than she did about the lack of parties and champagne lifestyle. But as she headed back into her workshop, she realised that the overriding sensation was one of relief. That she was finally being true to herself.
Glancing at her soaps, though, she couldn’t help but think that although they were pretty good, they were also very plain.
A nearby sprig of lavender that had somehow escaped when she had been cutting them up caught her eye. She picked it up and pressed it into the top of the soap.
Not bad, she thought. Quite pretty, in fact.
But it still needed some kind of wrapping. A label telling the customer what the ingredients were. She tried and failed to think up any kind of cover. Then she struck on an idea.
She picked up her phone and sent a text. Hey Megan, she typed. When you’re back from your holiday, I’m going to be in dire need of your fabulous marketing skills.
In fact, during the time Megan was away, further changes were happening. Her Mum was now officially dating Ben and Eleanor couldn’t remember seeing her looking so happy.
Ben had also been a huge help with redistributing the last of the animals. He had found a donkey sanctuary in the next county and arranged for Daisy to join them. Any tears on her mum’s part had faded when she saw how happy the donkey was to be with her new friends.
Arthur had new tenants in one of the larger cottages that were next to a field as part of the estate. He had a word with them and it turned out that they wanted to become as self-sufficient as they could. So the chickens and the goat went to them.
‘Goodbye Buttercup,’ Eleanor had said as she was loaded onto a trailer.
‘She’s going to a really good home,’ said Arthur, who had come to ensure that all went smoothly. ‘And your mother can visit any time she wants.’
‘That’s very kind,’ said Eleanor.
She realised how considerate everyone was being towards her mum, including Arthur and Rose. This wasn’t about a tenant and her landlord. This wasn’t even about the troublesome animals. This was about community. Helping each other.
And as the house cleared of animals, they had begun to sort through her mum’s stuff. Most of it was destined for the recycling bin. Other boxes went to charity. But gradually the house felt lighter. Free. Happier. Just like them.
‘I might even paint in here,’ said her mum that morning, looking around the now quite spacious hallway.
Eleanor smiled at the memory. Everything felt so much better these days. So when the phone rang from her editor later that afternoon, she found herself letting it go to voicemail.
She replayed the message later on. Theresa was pressurising her about a story on Tommy King. She wished, for the umpteenth time, that she had never sent that text all those weeks ago after the charity walk. But Theresa would give up eventually. There wasn’t any story to tell. Besides, she didn’t want to be part of that world any more.
She wanted to stay in Cranley.
It was time for a new beginning. For all of them.