Page 5 of All Wrapped Up
‘They can’t do it,’ she said, ‘because they’re sadly no longer with us. The guy who originally had the idea to do something pumpkin related in town was the farmer who championed the crop most and he died unexpectedly a couple of months ago.’
‘Oh.’ I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘His name was Moses Talbot,’ Lizzie continued. ‘His family had farmed in the Fens for four generations. He was the last and it was his idea to make the most of the region’s much-loved autumn crop by championing it with a specific seasonal celebration.’
‘I see,’ I sighed. ‘Well, it was a lovely idea.’
‘A fantastic idea,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘It still is. And though completely underdeveloped, a popular prospect, too. Everyonewas keen to see it happen in some guise or other. Still are, in fact…’
‘But there’s no one else willing to take the vision on?’
‘Jake and Amber from Skylark Farm, who have taken on some of the fields that Moses farmed, had hoped to do it,’ she explained, ‘but they’ve had to pull out because they just haven’t got the time, and there’s no one else come forward to step into the breach.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I said sincerely, because the festival could have been wonderful.
‘You would have loved Moses,’ Lizzie told me, sounding wistful and a little brighter again. ‘He had a passion for autumn that could almost rival yours. Hence turning over so much of his land to growing pumpkins…’
I found my heartstrings being tugged and myself wishing that I had met Moses, but I wasn’t going to change my mind about me being the person to take the event on, on his behalf.
‘And there’s really no one else who can sort it?’
‘Afraid not,’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Everyone else who has the organisational skills is gearing up for Christmas now. I know that probably sounds rather premature given that we’re not even out of the summer yet, but there’s so much to do. You might not have heard about the proposed autumn festival, but I daresay you know that Wynbridge is very big on the festive front and a lot of people are already committed to helping organise things for that.’
‘I didn’t know that either actually,’ I corrected her and she was agog. ‘I don’t know much about the town at all, because since I’ve been living here all my time has been taken up with the cottage renovation rather than socialising.’
‘But you’ve finished it now,’ Lizzie then astutely pointed out, as she found her smile again. ‘And you’re not currently working on anything else, so, my coming here today was definitely meant to be.’
‘You’re reading too much into it, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t think I am,’ she nudged and wheedled. ‘Now you’ve finished renovating, you must have literally oodles of time, rather than none. You can finally start socialising, get to know Wynbridge and more of the people who live there and all while you’re organising the festival. We could do with some fresh blood to mix things up and I’m sure Moses would approve, given your love of autumn.’
She really had the bit between her teeth, but I wasn’t in the least bit tempted. In fact, the responsibility of what she was suggesting was making me feel quite nauseous.
‘You need to remember this festival is something a much-loved local had come up with, Lizzie,’ I therefore pointed out. ‘And as a result, I’m sure that the last thing anyone would want is a blow-in stepping in and taking over. I know how these things work,’ I added, thinking back to the petty politics surrounding local events in my childhood hometown in the north of the country. ‘You need someone who has lived here for at least three generations to take it on. Someone properly local who knew Moses and who can make his vision come to life. Someone who lives here.’
‘You live here,’ Lizzie said in exasperation.
‘You know what I mean,’ I tutted. ‘And besides, there’s no time to do it now, is there? It’s September next week.’
Lizzie took a moment to consider that.
‘Oh, I daresay you’re right,’ she eventually sighed. ‘It is getting rather tight for time. Maybe we’ll manage it next year.’
‘Next year, for sure.’ I nodded, feeling relieved that she was now finally willing to let the subject drop. ‘Now,’ I forged ahead, ‘can we please get back to what I was trying to say about my Insta account?’
When I had set up AutumnEverything, I had purposefully kept my identity a secret and I had every intention of keeping it that way. Callum and I had made ahugesuccess of sharing our whole first house renovation online. We’d had hundreds of thousands of followers, but I had shut all of the accounts down when he died because there had been so much publicity surrounding his accident, that the extra attention the accounts received, the reams of comments and messages, had been too much for me to cope with.
I didn’t doubt that practically everyone who posted and messaged did so with the kindest of intentions, but it was way too much for me to process and individually try to respond to. I had absolutely no privacy or protection when I needed it most and was inundated with personal stories of grief from so many followers. Consequently, I felt even more emotionally exposed and it was utterly overwhelming.
After that, I had never intended to go online again, but when I moved to Rowan Cottage and started the work, I found I wanted to chronicle what I was doing and therefore created a new account, just the one on Instagram, but it didn’t feature my name or photograph. I didn’t want anyone knowing it was me behind it and I certainly didn’t want Lizzie Dixon poking about and somehow stumbling upon my tragic past. My life in the Fens was all about a fresh start and I had no desire to see that scuppered.
‘I hope you’re not thinking I only asked you about thefestival because I thought the account would help promote it?’ Lizzie frowned. ‘Though it would, of course…’
‘That hadn’t even entered my head,’ I was able to tell her with total honesty, because I hadn’t had a moment to consider that. ‘But what you need to understand, Lizzie, is that the account is entirely anonymous and it’s essential to me that it stays that way.’
‘But Jemma and Joanne won’t saying anything,’ Lizzie insisted, then added, ‘Well, Joanne might, so how about I just tell Jemma?’
‘No!’ I waspishly snapped. ‘I don’t want anyone to know and if I’d realised you were an account follower when you arrived, I never would have invited you in.’
