Page 35 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
It was an innocent enough question, but Freya listened keenly for Sam’s answer. She still felt a bit sad for Stephen. Even though he deserved much that had come to him, he had looked so forlorn on the day he had rescued her from the blizzard last Christmas.
‘I think resigned is probably the word I’d use,’ Sam replied. ‘He seems to have got over that whole thing with his property developer friend. When the sale fell through, I think Stephen realised that he hadn’t actually lost anything at all; he still had a perfectly good business, and he’d better get on and run it. Now that I’m no longer under his feet arguing the toss over everything, I think he feels a little more settled.’
‘Hmm, but he’s lost his best worker of course…everyone knows that you did all the work there, Sam.’
‘Yes, well, it won’t hurt him to get his hands dirty for a change either.’
Freya brought the mugs back to the table. ‘You know, what we really need to do, is find him a woman. Not one of those bimbo nymphet types he usually goes for, but a soulmate, someone who will love Braeburn and him in equal measure.’
‘You don’t have to feel that sorry for him, you know.’
‘I know…but I did nearly marry the bloke. It was a long time ago, but I do feel partly responsible all the same. There’s nothing wrong with wanting him to be happy too, is there?’
Sam’s green eyes were soft on hers. ‘Feeling the way I do right now? No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I wish everyone could feel this way.’
14
Freya wasn’t entirely sure Merry would ever actually leave. The plan had been simply to drop Robyn off, but half an hour later, Merry was still going strong, anxiety written all over her face. Little Robyn, however, lay fast asleep in her car seat, utterly oblivious to the drama she was causing.
‘It’s her feeds I’m really worried about,’ said Merry again. ‘She’s never had a bottle before.’
‘Merry,’ replied Freya, her hands on her hips. ‘She’ll be fine. It looks like breast milk, tastes like breast milk, what’s not to like?’
‘But it’s very different from a bottle, it’s the sensation. Babies’ mouths are so sensitive, and she’ll know.’
‘I’m sure she will, but she’ll also drink it if she’s hungry, surely? Look—’
An impatient toot cut across her. Merry looked to the door, and then back again, indecision clouding her face. Freya could understand her friend’s concern, but this wasn’t helping. She put on her ‘no-nonsense’ face and decided to take charge.
‘Right, come on, you need to go. Give me that,’ she added, plucking the bag from Merry’s hands. ‘I promise I will heat her milk toexactlythe right temperature, and I promise I will apply Sudocremeliberallyto her bum when I change her. I also promise not to let her roll in the mud or eat chicken poo, and by the time I drop her off, she will have learned her three times table and all the letters of the alphabet…now go!’
She all but propelled Merry through the door. ‘And don’t forget to enjoy yourself,’ she called at her retreating back. ‘This is the start of your new adventure!’
Tom’s brake lights flashed a couple of times as he made his way down the drive, and Freya wouldn’t have been surprised to see Merry leap from the car with something else of vital importance that she’d remembered, but in the end they made it safely out of the yard and onto the road. Freya watched them until the car was out of sight.
She closed the back door and leaned up against it, feeling suddenly exhausted. Perhaps if she closed her eyes it would look better, but no, when she opened them again, her kitchen table was still littered with one hundred and one items, most of which Freya could never see herself needing. There were spare clothes, and then another change (just in case), nappies, lotions, potions, cloths, bibs, toys, milk, a spare bottle and milk (just in case), a couple of towels, a baby monitor, front carrier and, Freya was sure it was there somewhere, a partridge in a pear tree.
Until that moment, Freya had always considered herself to be quite a maternal person. She had even allowed herself a few sneaky dreams of what it might be like if she and Sam had a baby, but right now, the little person fast asleep in her kitchen might as well be an alien species. Freya had no idea it was this complicated to look after a baby, or that she would need so much stuff. Merry could run a thirty-bedroom hotel with one eye closed and a hand tied behind her back, but three months of motherhood had clearly tested even her talents. It was a scary scary thing indeed.
Freya eyed Robyn warily, but the baby was still peaceful. She could do with another cup of tea, but surely the noise from the boiling kettle would wake her? Perhaps she could move the baby into another room while it boiled, but then again, wouldn’t the movement wake her anyway? She felt trapped.
It was at times like these that Freya found herself thinking of Amos again. He had been so wise, so comforting, always knowing exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right moment. Or so it had felt. He was like Mary Poppins, or Nanny McPhee she thought to herself, smiling as she remembered a line from the film: “When you need me but do not want me, then I will stay. If you want me, but no longer need me, then I must go.” It wasn’t quite the same thing, but it pretty much summed Amos up. It also made her realise the extraordinary gifts that he had given her. She had felt so lost and alone after her father died the year before, but Amos had given her the courage to start living again, to face her future with conviction and believe in herself once more. Her chin lifted as she thought of him.
A deep breath calmed her even further as she crossed the kitchen to fill the kettle. She set it to boil with a wry smile and started to tidy up the mess on her table.
Everything was fine, for the first hour. Robyn woke about half an hour after Merry left, looked around her and then started to bounce her legs up and down in her seat so that the toys strung across the front, danced and jangled. She accompanied their noise with cheerful gurgles and much drooling, and as Freya pottered around the kitchen, she kept up a steady stream of chatter.
Freya had only left the room for a couple of minutes when she was summoned back to the kitchen by an ear-splitting wail. Gone was the happy chortling, and in its place was a furious, red-faced baby. The toy that Freya sought to calm her with was resolutely dumped over the side of the chair, and the noise intensified. Further offerings were given the same treatment, until there was nothing for it but to release Robyn from her seat.
The minute she picked her up, the reason for the baby’s distress became apparent. Freya almost gagged as the overwhelming aroma reached her. And to make it worse, something ominous had leaked through Robyn’s Babygro as well. Balancing the baby on her hip, whilst trying to keep her away from her own clothes, Freya grabbed the changing mat and hurried to the bathroom.
Explosive diarrhoea at nine o’clock in the morning was not something that Freya had much experience of dealing with. She lay Robyn down on the changing mat and gingerly began to undo her clothes.Just keep breathing through your mouth,she told herself,and you’ll be fine. Oh Dear God…
She was just beginning to congratulate herself on surviving the ordeal when Freya realised her mistake; she had left Robyn’s changing bag with all her nappies and spare clothes downstairs. She couldn’t leave the baby on the floor, even if it was unlikely that she could go anywhere, and so grabbing a towel off the rail, she wrapped it around her and went resolutely back downstairs. By the time she returned, Robyn had weed all over the towel, and laying her back down again, Freya added the towel to the sodden assortment of items on the floor beside her. She was only tiny for God’s sake, where did all this stuff come from? A few minutes later, with Robyn safely back in her car seat, Freya gathered up the stinky clothes and threw them in the washing machine. There was no way she could give them back to Merry in the state they were in. She had never had cause to think about the existence of nappy sacks before, or indeed their usefulness, but as she gingerly lifted the soiled nappy and pile of wet wipes into one, she said a prayer in gratitude to Merry for providing them. And then finally, as the clock edged past two, Freya could see the end of her challenge in sight. There had been more wee, more poo, and a sticky moment when, despite screaming with hunger, Robyn had flatly refused to drink from the bottle. In the end, reasoning that perhaps babies were like animals and could smell fear, Freya fixed her with a steely glare and said,listen sunshine, my boobs will be of absolutely no use to you, so it’s this or nothing. If I were you, I’d shut up and give it a go. Much to her surprise, it had done the trick. After that, she and Robyn had agreed a truce; the baby fell asleep in her arms, and Freya, lulled by the tiny snuffling noises, nodded off as well, her lips brushing the top of the baby’s downy head.
Tom and Merry were leaning up against a pile of boxes in the kitchen, eating Mars bars as if their lives depended on it.
‘Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve had to eat all day,’ remarked Freya, as she deposited the first of Robyn’s bags on the table. ‘Haven’t you had any lunch?’
