Page 39 of Wild About You

This was my cue to leave the office. In the fortnight since Roshni, George and the boys departed, Jamie and I had managed to avoid each other entirely. And life had been better. I’d been mapping the different habitats on the estate and taking soil samples. I’d finished the first draft of the rewilding plan for Stonemore Estate. Callum had submitted it to Jamie and the following morning he approved it by email. So it was time to start speaking to contractors about the gentle thinning of fir and spruce in the woodland, and the process of introducing beavers into the estate was alreadyunderway. In my downtime, I’d watched Forestcam, read a book a week, and mastered some of the healthy recipes I’d always wanted to try (crispy mushrooms in silky tofu sauce, anyone?).

Life was calm, life was quiet, life was good. Even if my flirtation with Callum had faded to practically nothing.

A week before the fete, Fi told me Tally had had her knuckles well and truly rapped by Jamie, who had marched into our office sixty seconds after I’d left it to work at Belheddonbrae and said, ‘What the hell is that?’ in response to the two foot by six foot mood board Tally had created for her ideal party. ‘No more spending’ had been the gist, ‘and stop upsetting the volunteers. I heard you made Pat cry because she couldn’t blow up a balloon.’

You’d have thought all of this would have cowed Tally, but she’d fully recovered by the time I’d returned, completely unrepentant and sharper than ever.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

‘Working,’ I said, gesturing to my mud-smeared jeans and the nettle leaves stuck to my fleece.

‘Humph,’ she snorted. ‘Well, just to let you know, you’re going to be on the candy floss stall.’ She bowled out, leaving a cloud of Chanel perfume in her wake.

I switched on Forestcam. ‘Candy floss?’ I said to Fi. ‘How did that get through?’

‘Under the wire,’ said Fi, and typed an email, striking the keys particularly hard.

Of course, the weather went against us. At 9.15 on the day of the fete, 45 minutes before opening, the ice-cream van gave one little jingle in a minor key and the heavens released a month’s worth of rain. Which could have been predicted because the weather forecast had been telling us that, only Tally had chosen to put her hands over her ears and say ‘la-la-la’ every time it was mentioned.

But it wasn’t that bad. Fi and I decided to move most of the amusements into Stonemore’s vast Neo-Classical entrance hall, with its marble floors and honey-coloured stone interior, which included two vast fluted columns and a staircase. At least it was well lit, thanks to a vast lightwell in the middle of the room. ‘We’re setting up in here,’ I announced to the massed volunteers’ sad faces.

‘You’re not going to make me put paper chains together, are you?’ said one as she passed Fi.

‘Absolutely not,’ said Fi, with her brightest smile.

Tally had disappeared, in mourning for her grand plans, so it was Fi and I who directed the set-up in the hall, whilst doing our fair share of lugging furniture around.

‘The carousel’s a dead loss,’ said Fi, just before 10am, ‘and we can’t do any of the throwing games inside, but there are a few things, aren’t there?’

I looked around: cake stall, tombola, crafts made out of ‘found objects’, tie-dye clothing, second-hand books, guess the weight of the sweet jar, and a few other things – including, of course, my candy floss stall, which was manned by a gnomic man called Jim dressed in a pink uniform to matchhis product. ‘I do not do cash handling,’ he said flatly, on arrival.

‘That’s me!’ I said. He did not smile.

The ice-cream man had decided to open up his van outside the main door. ‘People always want ice cream,’ he said cheerfully, rain dripping off his white peaked cap.

‘I think it looks good,’ I said, and Fi nodded and went to update the socials to let the village know it was still happening. But the rain was still falling so hard that the sound echoed around the austere marble-floored hall, and everyone was looking glum, when a rattling sound made a few of us turn.

It was Jamie. He was pushing a tea trolley laden with several teapots, a coffee pot, a milk jug, and plates of biscuits and pastries. He also had Hugo with him, on a tight lead, although the little beagle was definitely eyeing up the goodies.

‘You all need to keep your strength up,’ announced Jamie. ‘Come on, tuck in before we open the doors.’

I have never heard a collective sound of joy quite like it – half sigh, half contented babble. Everyone got properly stuck in, Jamie handed out steaming mugs of tea and coffee, and within a couple of minutes the gloomy volunteers who’d prepared themselves for a day of being shouted at by Tally were smiling, laughing and chatting.

Jim went to get tea, but I stood hesitantly by the candy floss stall, noticing how Jamie knew everyone’s name, chatting to people naturally, young and old alike. And this time, he didn’t look posh, or different: his navy cashmere jumper was worn thin at the elbows and his olive canvas trouserswere workwear, as though he was about to go and do maintenance work on one of the dust-sheeted rooms. There was nothing showy about him as he smiled at a joke Pat made and handed someone else a cup of tea. Hugo wagged his tail as people spoke to him and fed him fragments of biscuit. I wasn’t used to this version of Jamie, and it threw me; I was so used to having my defences up.

Pat appeared by my side, carrying tea and the most enormous chocolate-sprinkled croissant I’d ever seen.

‘Jamie says you’re looking peaky and need this,’ she said. ‘I told him you and Fi had moved all the furniture for us.’

‘Thank you.’ I took it gratefully. She smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and went to recommence stroking Hugo.

I looked up, and my eyes met Jamie’s. ‘Thank you,’ I mouthed, and the slight smile that crossed his face made me look away.

I took a large bite of the croissant, which was all buttery flakes and dark, moist chocolate. It was good. Very good.

‘Doors are open.’ Fi returned from updating socials. Her hair was slightly damp and she had three pink wafers in her hand. ‘Tally’s hiding in the office. She says she’ll come out if more than one hundred people cross the threshold.’

I saw a volunteer click in the first two. When I looked back, Jamie, Hugo and the tea trolley had gone.

---