Tom drank his coffee on the sunny back patio whilst sitting on a rusty bench, looking across the grounds at the back of Willow Tree Hall.
He had woken up in his guest bedroom and been astonished to find it was late afternoon. The painkillers he was on had completely messed up his head and body clock. But his foot was still too painful not to be able to function without them.
So, despite feeling drowsy most of the previous day, he had then found himself wide awake until almost dawn, watching rubbish on his iPad.
It was also a bit strange sleeping in such a large place. In a way, it reminded him of growing up in the children’s homes. Aware of people sleeping all around him in different rooms. And of him being different, as usual. Standing out. A loner.
Except this was a family. Which was also new to him. And that they were kind and affectionate towards each other. And to him too.
But during dinner last night, he had found the questions and chatter almost too much to bear. And the food too.
‘How’s the mash?’ Annie had asked. ‘No lumps, are there?’
‘It’s great,’ Tom had replied. ‘I haven’t had a home-cooked meal like this since…’ Then his voice had trailed off as the only lump had then been in his throat as he remembered being at his gran’s house.
The silence had stretched out across the table. He had glanced up briefly to see Arthur looking at him. Then the Earl had suddenly said, ‘Do you know, I think we have cygnets down by the river?’
‘Do we really?’ Rose had replied. ‘How sweet. I must go and see.’
‘Not in your high heels,’ Arthur had told her, with a soft smile.
‘I do have wellington boots, you know,’ she had countered. ‘They just happen to be leopard-skin-patterned.’
The conversation had swiftly moved on and Tom had felt himself relax once more. He knew that Arthur had spoken to take away his embarrassment and he was grateful. They were generous with their hearts and spirit towards him.
It was all a stark contrast to his own family experiences.
It was hard growing up knowing that your own parents didn’t want you. But he had learnt the lesson so well that the walls he put up around himself kept out everyone else. Including people wanting to foster or adopt him. He rebelled hard against any kind offers, thinking that strangers would only let him down even more so than his own kin. His gran had suffered ill health ever since her husband had died and wasn’t able to bring up him by herself much to her dismay. So he battled and raged against everyone else until he was old enough to fend for himself.
And that’s how he’d lived his life ever since, which made this new living arrangement even more strange.
Tom was only intending to stay at Willow Tree Hall a few more days, but in the meantime, it was a welcome refuge. The press was still going crazy trying to get hold of him. Even suggesting that he was probably drying out at rehab. He just needed to hide out in the countryside and wait for the hubbub to calm down.
Sam had placed him in the only guest bedroom that had been completed. It was Annie’s old room and had thick carpets, a comfortable bed and a sweet fireplace.
‘Six months ago, you would have been sleeping in a hurricane of a draught,’ Sam had told him. ‘The house really was in a shocking state. It’s taken us this long to drag it into being weatherproof.’
‘Trust me, I’ve slept in a lot worse,’ Tom had said, thinking of the occasional nights’ sleep on the streets when he was young and life became too much.
‘I know,’ replied Sam, softly.
He was the only one that knew. The only one that perhaps understood. But Sam’s parents hadn’t abandoned him. They had died. But the hole left by a lack of parents in both of their lives had ramifications that had rippled out beyond that time and into the present.
Tom blinked away the memories and took refuge in the view of the grounds. Huge wild rhododendron bushes grew at the far boundary, smothered in pale lilac and bright pink blooms. The whole ground was green and fresh with the new growth of summer A little too much growth, he added to himself, looking at the overgrown hedges and bushes. Nature was running rampant as far as the eye could see. But the birdsong and buzz of insects was a welcome change to the hum of heavy traffic. He glanced back to the huge stately home. So, here he was. On a large country estate belonging to an ancient ancestral family. If only those that had known him when he was younger could see him now.
‘You’re nothing.’ He could hear the taunts now in the playground. ‘Nobody wanted you, did they? Your dad walked out. Not even your mum liked you.’
The smug mocking face had soon become bloodied when it came into contact with Tom’s fist. He had learnt from a young age that it was fight or flight. And he had never been one to run away.
What had happened to the spoilt, rich boy who had picked on him all those years ago? Tom didn’t care. Because Tom was now the one with money. The one with the fame and fortune.
So why did he feel so unhappy? Why did he feel like he had the whole world and yet felt empty?
‘I suppose you smashed your own face against a wall, did you?’ He could see his gran’s concern as she looked at yet another black eye. She had known. Of course she had. ‘Or did you fall off your bike again?’
‘Got any cherry cake?’ he would say, ignoring her question.
Of course she did. There was always cherry cake. His favourite.
He sighed, so soft it disappeared on the breeze as he sat there. He had tried buying a cherry cake recently, but it hadn’t tasted the same. The missing ingredient was his gran’s love.
He felt Sam stand next to him. ‘Not so bad, is it?’ he said, his voice full of pride as he looked out across the grounds.
‘Definitely not bad,’ said Tom, draining his coffee cup.
‘Are you up to a tour of the grounds?’ Sam nodded at the crutches. ‘Unless your foot is too painful.’
It was. And the codeine was making him feel woozy. But he needed to try and wake up.
‘Unless you’re thinking about jogging round,’ said Tom, as he slowly stood up.
‘Well, the estate actually stretches for about five miles, but I’ll keep it local for today,’ said Sam, breaking into a grin.
They walked slowly along the patio which spread across the length of the back of the house.
‘Watch your step,’ warned Sam. ‘You don’t want to do the other foot in.’
It was pretty uneven as many of the paving slabs were broken, with weeds growing through them.
‘We ran out of money before I could do the garden,’ Sam explained, with an apologetic smile.’ But we still have Bert.’
‘Who?’ said Tom.
‘Bert is our elderly gardener.’ Sam glanced around him and then lowered his voice. ‘He’s nearly as old as grandad. In fact, I think they even went to school together. But he still wanders up twice a week to keep an eye on the vegetable patch. The rest, well, as you can see, it needs something more drastic. But Annie will kill me if I don’t get the kitchen sorted next.’
Tom noted that Sam’s eyes were softened with love as he spoke about Annie.
Beyond the triple garage were a couple of outbuildings in the distance. ‘That’s the old dairy house,’ said Sam. ‘There’s also a large stable block and, somewhere in the far distance, is the gamekeeper’s cottage. Just by the river. All in a complete state of disrepair, of course. It’s so frustrating. I care so much about trying to preserve the heritage of the place. I want to safeguard it for generations to come.’ He sighed. ‘If only there wasn’t quite so much of it.’
Tom realised that beautiful Willow Tree Hall also came with a heavy burden of responsibility.
He tried to cheer Sam up. ‘You’ve got a river?’
‘Just the one mile that goes through our grounds,’ said Sam. ‘Thankfully that doesn’t need any investment. Grandad taught me to fish down there. I’ll have to show you one day.’
Tom looked over with interest. Fishing he could certainly handle. On the boundary of the lawn, there was an ancient wood. A faint haze of blue remained from the faded bluebells that must have carpeted the ground in the spring.
‘But it’s a bit of a trek on crutches and our interest lies the other way,’ said Sam.
They turned and slowly went back across the patchy patio.
‘If you need anything whilst you’re here, just let me or Annie know.’ Sam cleared his throat. ‘Are you two getting on all right?’
Tom smiled to himself. He knew what Sam was asking.
‘I like her,’ Tom told him.
He had found Annie warm and friendly. And she was certainly a much better fit for his friend that his previous girlfriend, the famous singer Cassandra. Although her own career had come to an abrupt halt just recently. Tom didn’t feel particularly sorry for her. She had, unknown to Sam, made a pass at Tom one evening the previous year. But Tom wasn’t about to cheat on his friend, especially for someone as high-maintenance as the famous diva.
Sam beamed. ‘Annie’s one in a million,’ he said, his voice full of love. ‘It’s like a bloody thunderbolt. You’ll know. When it happens to you.’
Tom wasn’t so convinced. To let someone love you, you had to trust them completely and open yourself up to let them in. He just couldn’t see himself ever giving that much of himself to anyone.
As they reached the east side of the patio, the paving slabs stopped and gave way to a worn stony path.
‘There’s a walled garden over there,’ said Sam, as they carried on. ‘That’s the vegetable patch, which at least is well tended. But as you can see, the rest of it is run wild.’ He sighed. ‘Oh well. We’ll get there eventually.’
Tom looked out behind him. The lawn was vast and overgrown, already up to almost knee-height. It desperately needed cutting.
The path was pretty uneven and Tom was careful not to catch one of his crutches on a tree root.
‘We’ll have to get this sorted if we’re going to be taking a lot of people down here,’ muttered Sam, mainly to himself.
‘You’re expecting visitors to the vegetable patch?’ asked Tom.
Sam grinned. ‘To the recording studio,’ he said, pointing at a large barn in the near distance. ‘This was my brainwave. We need all the money we can get, so I was hoping to rent it out to my artists instead of the expensive studios in London. Hopefully it’ll help keep me down here more often and maybe the grounds and house will provide a bit of inspiration for everyone as well.’
That was the thing about having a good manager, thought Tom. Sam was well organised and that left Tom able to focus on exactly what he wanted. The music.
He felt the jolt of guilt once more that the music, for once, wasn’t coming. That it felt more like a burden than a gift. He had been forcing songs out, but they were pretty terrible. They would probably be hits anyway thanks to his name, but he knew deep down that they were awful. The problem was that they weren’t coming from the heart. But for now his heart wasn’t telling him what it wanted. He was afraid that it might never do so again. That perhaps he had used up all inspiration and that there was nothing left.
To take his mind off his worries, he asked, ‘What was this place before you resurrected it?’ as they drew near a large barn which still had a full skip of builders’ rubbish outside.
‘The cowshed,’ said Sam with a sheepish grin. ‘But I think we’ve finally got rid of the smell.’
He pushed open the door and they went inside. The large empty space inside the barn had actually been divided into two. The first area was the control room containing the digital equipment required for recording, editing and mixing the music. Through a window Tom could see the second room, the actual studio. This had obviously been soundproofed and set up to maximise the quality of the recording. It was mainly empty, apart from a couple of chairs and extensive microphones.
‘I’m impressed,’ he said, nodding.
‘There was so much hassle in London over recording studios that it’s nice to get things simple again. As it happens, we were lucky enough to have Dan Fraser live in the next county. He’s one of the best sound engineers I’ve ever come across. We’ve got all the latest equipment.’
Tom looked down at the recording deck. To him it looked like some kind of Star Trek control desk, a vast array of switches and levers.
‘It’s mainly a project studio,’ carried on Sam. ‘I just wanted some place where you could all come out and chill. There’s so much pressure in hiring a studio. Here there’s no time limits, no constraints. Get relaxed and the music will be quality stuff.’
Tom blew out a silent sigh. His last album had been a massive, professional affair. Lots of edits and songs fiddled with. Not much quality, in his opinion. This time he wanted to strip the music down to the bare minimum. Just him, his guitar and a piano to start with. The guitar that he hadn’t even picked up in weeks.
Sam had privately agreed that his previous album had been overproduced and had agreed that back to basics was the way forward for his artist.
Tom was hoping that the new recording studio would be the start of a different direction. He just hoped he could think up some new songs to use it.