I have never, in my entire adult working life, been so delighted and relieved to make it to Saturday before. Sure, I’ve had long weeks, difficult weeks, tiring weeks – but nothing like this week.
Hurdle after hurdle has popped up at the deli and, I don’t even feel like I’m clearing them, I’m just carelessly running through them and hoping I don’t get disqualified. And then there’s the situation at school. Poor Frankie still doesn’t have any friends, and after playgroup bully mum Avril let me have it, she and her little clique have left me alone, other than the occasional dirty look. I actually believe Avril thought if she laid it all out on the line for me, that I would just bow out. Like I could, even if I wanted to because, as they keep pointing out, we’re a chain. Even if they do drive me out of town, my bosses will just replace me. For a group so intent on sabotage, I don’t feel like they’ve really thought it through. I’m not sure how much they’ve thought any of it through, to be honest. I really can’t wrap my head around their outrage. Sure, if we were opening a competing business, or a supermarket that was going to put all the little guys out of business, but we’re a deli, and Marram Bay doesn’t have a deli. A café, a local shop, things like butchers, bakers and greengrocers – the only things they have in multiple is restaurants (and even they all seem to be a vastly different to one another) and bed and breakfasts.
I understand that it is a small town with very few businesses, and that the locals want to keep it unique and beautiful, but I really don’t feel like a little deli will threaten that. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that a place as fantastic as a YumYum Deli will only add to the appeal of the place.
I had a glorious lie-in this morning. Then I got up and had breakfast with Frankie before he went to play in the garden and I made myself comfortable on the sofa. I have my notebook, ready to try and get some of my thoughts down, a large pot of tea and a box of something special my bosses sent me from one of their delis. If they think a box of treats will go even a little bit of the way to making me feel better, well, they would be right. The bright green box (that arrived all beautifully tied up with straw) is full of cannoli – a Sicilian dessert that is basically deep-fried pastry tubes filled with sweet ricotta and chocolate chips. Each end of the tube overflows with the filling, just a little, and is garnished with a piece of candied orange peel. They are absolutely delicious, and something that we frequently sell out of in all branches of the delis – so popular, in fact, that we had signs made apologising for being sold out.
I lift the lid, practically drooling with excitement as I reach to lift one out, only to be disturbed by a knock on the door. How typical that the second I relax, someone interrupts me.
I close the lid and head over to the door, adjusting the pink tracksuit I wear for lounging about the house just before I open it, because the trackies always seem to ride up a little too high when I sit around in them. I’m also wearing my glasses – something I don’t like to do outside the house because I feel like they make me look dorky. I’m aware that sometimes my eyes need a break from the contact lenses, so I do that when I know I’m not going anywhere or expecting company.
‘Hello,’ I say to the stranger.
‘Hi,’ the man replies.
He’s tall – well over six-feet tall. In fact when I opened the door, I tried to make eye contact with his chest. I’d guess he’s in his mid to late thirties because he’s got that kind of ‘young but starting to look a little older’ look that looks oh-so sexy on men. When we women notice it on ourselves, we start Googling ‘botox’, but on men we think it’s amazing, which is a bizarre double standard – what a time to be alive, eh? Our predecessors fought for our right to vote, and we can’t even make a case for growing old gracefully. His dark brown hair is long on top and, as he lowers his gaze to look down at me, it falls forward a little – something he quickly fixes by running a hand through his hair. Backlit by the sun, I can’t help but notice the curve of his bicep, something that reminds me how long it’s been since I had a man. I mentally tick myself off for checking out the random man at my door, even if he does look like Josh Hartnett, with his smouldering brown eyes and his thick eyebrows. I remember watching Pearl Harbor when it came out and being obsessed with Josh Hartnett for a while – I even had posters of him on my bedroom walls. I might not have had Daniel Craig trimming my bushes, but a dead ringer for my teenage crush knocking on my door is a great consolation prize.
‘I think I have something of yours,’ he says, his North Yorkshire accent much weaker than anyone else’s that I’ve encountered here so far.
‘Of mine?’ I ask, my mind racing. What on earth could he have of mine?!
The giant man steps to one side, to reveal my tiny son hiding behind him.
‘Frankie!’ I squeak, grabbing him and hugging him. I feel the backpack on his back and go cold.
‘I found him on my farm, up the road,’ the man explains. ‘Told me he was running away from home. I reckon he would’ve got further if he’d ever seen an alpaca before, lad was mesmerised.’
The farmer laughs, and I’m sure it was a funny sight, but my child tried to run away from home and I was too busy stuffing my face on the sofa to notice.
‘Thank you so much,’ I tell him, until I notice something behind him that changes my tone immediately. ‘Kiddo, I’m so sorry you felt like you had to do this. Go wait in your room, I’ll just thank the nice man and I’ll come see you and we’ll figure this out, OK?’
‘OK, Mum,’ he says with a sigh so deep it breaks my heart. He looks like he feels awful and I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed about trying to run away, or disappointed that someone stopped him.
‘He’s a good lad,’ the man says as Frankie shuffles off.
‘And you’re an idiot,’ I reply.
The man looks immediately taken aback.
‘Erm…’ he starts, before laughing awkwardly.
‘I know who you are,’ I inform him, pointing at his Range Rover, parked outside the cottage. On the door there’s a ‘Westwood Farm’ logo, just like the one I saw on the quad bike of my stalker. ‘You’re the man who drives a quad bike.’
‘And you’re the woman who drives around in a Brussels sprout – what’s the problem?’ he laughs.
‘You tried to run me off the road a couple of days ago, and yesterday, you were outside the deli, admiring your handiwork,’ I say accusingly. ‘The cow dung…’
‘I was in a hurry, so I might have sped past you a little fast – I apologise, but I wasn’t trying to run you off the road,’ he explains. ‘And I’m not your manure guy.’
‘You’re a farmer, aren’t you?’
‘Not really,’ he replies with a laugh.
‘So why were you there yesterday?’
‘Well, Officer,’ he mocks, ‘I was on my way home from Fruitopia, if you must know.’
‘You just desperately needed some jam?’ I ask, not buying his story.
‘No,’ he replies. ‘I make it. I make it and Fruitopia sells it.’
‘Oh,’ I blurt.
The man brushes his hair from his face again.
‘Can I come in?’ he asks. ‘I want to talk about your kid, I’m not going to burn your house down.’
I think for a moment.
‘OK, yeah,’ I reply, not sounding like I mean it. ‘I’m Lily, by the way. I just made some tea, would you like a cup?’
‘Oh, I’ve never said no to a brew,’ he replies, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m Alfie. Alfie Barton, from the farm up the road. I suppose we’re next-door neighbours.’
‘I suppose we are,’ I reply.
‘I found Frankie in one of my fields, having a staring competition with an alpaca. Soon as I heard his accent I figured he’d never seen one before.’
‘And if he hadn’t got distracted, God knows where he would’ve ended up,’ I say quietly.
‘London was his goal,’ he tells me. ‘We had a quick chat on the way back here, he said he was going to stay with someone called Viv?’
‘My mum,’ I reply. ‘His gran – long story.’
I feel the need to clarify their relationship, given that he calls his grandma by her first name.
‘I know who you are,’ Alfie confesses, not that it comes as a surprise. ‘I’d meant to come round sooner, actually.’
‘Wonderful,’ I reply sarcastically. ‘To threaten me? Kill me? Put an alpaca’s head in my bed? Would you like a cannoli?’
Alfie is taken aback by my shift in tone once again. He laughs, confused.
I open the box and offer the contents to Alfie.
‘They look nice,’ he says, taking one. ‘Thank you.’
‘They’re from the evil deli, just to warn you. I don’t know if that’s going to stop you eating it. Oh, so are the Assam teabags.’
Alfie raises his eyebrows and I realise I’m ranting.
‘Sorry,’ I say softly, taking a cannoli from the box and putting it in my mouth before I can say anything else.
Alfie finishes his in seconds, washing it down with his tea.
‘I’m not sure what I’m eating or drinking, but I’m really enjoying it.’
‘Tell your friends,’ I joke.
Alfie sits back on the sofa, making himself more comfortable.
‘I’ve been meaning to come and see you, because I’ve been you,’ he explains. ‘I grew up here, on Westwood Farm, with my dad. He was a dairy farmer, and he made it pretty clear he wanted me to follow in his footsteps, even though I made it just as clear that I didn’t want to. I left home when I went to uni and I’d been living in Manchester until five years ago, when my dad died and left me the farm.’
‘So you came back?’ I ask curiously, pulling my legs up on to the sofa.
‘I’m not saying that dairy farms are cruel places – in fact, I’d say my dad cared more about his cows than he did me. His ladies, that’s what he used to call them. When I was a kid, I was a bit like your son, just in awe of the animals, thinking they were all my pets. So when my dad died, and I inherited the farm I decided to move back, but to change the way we did business. I sold off all the dairy equipment and decided I’d make a living off our apple trees instead.’
‘That sounds like a lovely thing to do,’ I reply.
‘Ah, well, what I actually started doing was making and selling fruit infused alcohol, which the locals were not happy about at all. Sure, some of them remembered me from when I was a kid, but I hadn’t lived here for ten years and then I just came back and closed down the local dairy farm. To sell alcohol,’ he points out again.
‘Ah,’ I reply. I can see why they’d have a problem with that. ‘So, how did you change their minds? Get them all drunk on cider?’
He laughs.
‘A bit of time and a lot of hard work,’ he replies. ‘I showed them that my big idea would pay off and eventually they embraced it. These are old-fashioned folk – even the younger ones. They’re creatures of habit and they don’t just dislike change, they actively protest it.’
‘I realised this when I learned they had a literal protest outside the deli,’ I laugh. ‘So why do you have alpacas.’
‘Have you ever seen one? They’re cute,’ he says with a big smile. ‘I have alpacas, loads of ducks – I have a pygmy goat called Phillip, who is just this little, angry-looking ball of fluff.’
I smile. There’s something so attractive about a man who loves animals. Just listening to him talk about them with such passion and love, with a big, dumb grin on his face, is melting my heart.
‘The point is that no one wanted me here either, or my business and now you can buy my booze all over town. I’ve even recently started making alcoholic jams, which you’ll be able to buy in Fruitopia,’ he says with a wink.
I think about his words for a moment. If they didn’t want him here and he managed to turn things around then maybe I can too. Perhaps the locals are just stubbornly set in their ways and reluctant to change. The locals are a force I just don’t understand. Even after I learned they were against the deli, I didn’t expect them to be so open about it, and right to my face. They must care a lot about their town and, if Alfie could make them come around to him then I’ll do the same. ‘Thanks for this,’ I tell him sincerely. ‘For bringing Frankie back, for the pep talk…and for being nice to me.’
‘Thanks for the food,’ he replies. ‘You’ll bring people around to your way of thinking a lot quicker if they taste these.’
‘We’ll see,’ I laugh.
‘We will. Well, I should get back to work,’ Alfie says, pulling himself to his feet. ‘I do know what you’re going through, and I know that it’s crap, so if you need an ally, you know where I am, OK?’
‘OK,’ I say, all smiles. He might know what I’m going through, but he has no idea what his kind words mean to me.
‘You don’t seem convinced…’
‘You underestimate how horrible people are being to us,’ I tell him.
‘Why don’t you and Frankie come over tomorrow? I’ll show you around the farm, he can meet all the animals properly.’
‘That…that would be amazing, thank you.’
‘What are neighbours for,’ he says with a smile. ‘Plus, it might distract him from running away for another twenty-four hours.’
As soon as Alfie has gone I go to speak to Frankie, after a quick detour to my bedroom to grab something.
‘Hey, Dick Whittington,’ I tease as I walk into his room. Frankie is sitting on his bed, doodling in his sketchbook. For as long as I can remember, Frankie has loved doodling, and he’s pretty good now – and, no, I’m not just saying that because I’m his mum. I had plenty of rubbish, shall we say abstract, pieces of art on my fridge before we got to the ones that were objectively impressive for an 8-year-old.
‘I’m so sorry you felt like you had to run away,’ I tell him. ‘Alfie said you were heading back to Viv’s?’
‘I hate it here,’ he tells me quietly. ‘I just want to go home.’
‘I know that things kind of suck here at the minute…but you know that running away was the wrong thing to do, don’t you?’
Frankie nods.
‘I am working on trying to make things better. I know things have been difficult and a bit boring…I have a few things that might cheer you up, though. First of all, I want you to have my old iPhone.’
Frankie’s eyes widen with surprise and delight.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ I tell him. I’m not crazy, I’m not about to give an 8-year-old an expensive phone to keep in his pocket. ‘It will only work on Wi-Fi, so it lives at home, OK? But you can use it whenever you want to FaceTime your friends. I’ll have a word with their mums, I have their numbers, so you can talk to your friends and you can see them when you’re feeling lonely. How does that sound?’
‘Awesome.’ Frankie beams.
It’s just a gesture really, and a way for him to see his friends. Plus, if he feels like he has a phone, even if it doesn’t really have a connection unless I connect it, he might feel less isolated here.
‘And, Alfie, the nice farmer who just brought you home, says we can go over tomorrow and meet all of his animals. How do you feel about that?’
‘Yes!’ he replies, finally excited about something for the first time since we arrived. ‘I think I like him.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘I think I might too.’