Page 75 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
There was silence for a moment while Peter was subjected to rigorous scrutiny by the six-year-old still holding his hand.
‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘I’ll look after daddy then…Do you think he’ll want a biscuit?’
Peter grinned. ‘I’m sure he will. I think he’ll also like a very strong cup of coffee,’ he added, with a quick look at Jude. ‘But I can make that. You go and see if there’re any jammy dodgers left.’
Amy skipped off happily to the kitchen while Peter smiled at Jude apologetically. ‘Sorry about that,’ he murmured. ‘Best I could come up with at short notice.’
Jude looked exhausted, but he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘No, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘Jammy dodgers…blimey, I haven’t had one of those in years. Are they still as good as I remember?’
Peter nodded. ‘Best get in there before they all go. I’ll put the kettle on.’ He followed Jude into the kitchen where Amy was already sitting at the table, biscuit tin in front of her.
‘You know what, Ames,’ said Jude, sitting down. ‘I’m rubbish at drawing things. Would you help me make a get-well card for Beth? I think she’d like that.’
Amy shot Peter an exasperated look. ‘Daddy, Beth won’t want a rubbish card, will she?I’llmake the card, and you can help.’
Peter turned away quickly so that she wouldn’t see his smile.
Leaving the two of them at the table surrounded by card and felt tip pens, Peter went back to the stillroom wondering whether he had the nerve to finish making the ice cream. He’d read through the instructions in the notebook several times but was still baffled.Mix together the whipped cream and gooseberry puree until it starts to sing– what on earth did that mean?
He washed his hands and pushed a tentative finger into the gooseberries that he’d left to cool. Perfect. He checked the recipe again and then took up a bowl in a meaningful manner.
So far so good. He was now staring at a bowl full of whipped cream and one of gooseberry puree, mixed with the fragrant elderflower cordial. He picked up the second bowl, stared at the wooden spoon in his hand, and started to pour.
At first, the gooseberry puree cut swirls of green through the cream, but as his spoon moved back and forth, they began to turn a pale-yellow colour. He mixed some more, energetically this time and was rewarded with a higher pitched sound than before. It wasn’t quite singing yet, but Peter could hear the difference and that was all the encouragement he needed. After a few more minutes, he stopped. The recipe was right. Some strange alchemy indeed, but if he had to choose a word to describe it, he would have said that the ice cream was happy, singing away in the bowl as he mixed. He’d already laid out a plastic container on the table, and now he moved it a bit closer, grinning with delight as he poured out his first batch of ice cream. He placed it reverently in the freezer, and sat back down at the table, a hum of excitement settling with him. He had done it.
Willow rang again just after seven. She sounded tired but relieved as she explained that they would soon be on their way home. The doctor had declared that no bones were broken, but Beth had sprained her arm, and it would still be sore for a few days. Now all she wanted to do was get home and snuggle up in bed with Matilda, her favourite bear.
Peter exchanged a look with Jude. He had stayed, not only to help look after Amy, but because he didn’t want to leave without knowing what had happened to Beth. Now it was time for the family to be together again, and he didn’t want to outstay his welcome. He dropped a kiss on Amy’s head, telling her he would see her tomorrow and let Jude walk him to the door. He’d never really thought about his life in terms of being a father before, and yet the few hours he had spent with Amy and Jude had convinced him that at some point in his life, there was nothing he would like better. He’d only ever seen Jude when he was coming or going, never for long enough to form an opinion beyond the fact that he was a bit of a flash merchant. He knew he worked hard for his family, but the clothes he wore were just that bit too nice for Peter’s taste, the car he drove, just that bit too arrogant. But tonight, he’d seen a different person in Jude. He’d seen the person who wanted nothing more than to make his daughter happy.
* * *
Jude closed the door thoughtfully. He’d never really paid any of the students who came to help Willow much attention before. They went almost as soon as they arrived, and although he was on hand if there was ever a problem, Willow seemed to manage them perfectly well without his help. Peter was different though, and he let his thoughts meander through the various scenarios he now had in his head. He wouldn’t discuss any of them with Willow however, not just yet.
With an ear cocked, listening out for Amy, he pushed open the door to the stillroom, a place about which Willow had said very little recently. He admitted that in the past he’d rarely ventured inside. It was more Willow’s domain than his, and unless she wasn’t around and he needed to find something, what reason did he ever have to go in there? Things had changed, though. There was a bustle about the place that he had only just allowed to register. Smells that, although he was used to them, seemed to be occurring more frequently. Willow didn’t keep secrets but neither had she volunteered much about what she’d been up to lately.
He hadn’t thought about what he would find as he entered the room, but he was transfixed by what he saw. A slow smile began to turn up the corners of his mouth as he stared around him. He had gone through hell last night. It had been far worse than he had ever imagined and afterwards he had sat for hours, practically motionless trying to remind himself that what he was doing was the right thing. He had crawled home to bed, and to Willow, who was all he had craved, but the cost of what he had done would be his to bear for a long time yet. This was good, though. This was a glimmer of hope for the road ahead, and Willow was in for such a surprise.
39
‘Peter, I could kiss you!’ exclaimed Willow, grinning, as he backed away in embarrassment. ‘Don’t worry,’ she added, ‘I was only joking, you’re quite safe! This is perfect, though. It tastes wonderful…’ She winked at him. ‘Almost as good as I could make myself.’
The tub of ice cream lay on the table in front of them, a spoon sticking out of its depths.
‘I was a bit mystified by the thought of it singing to me, but bizarrely, once I’d got to that point, it did seem to make sense. I might have been dreaming, though.’
‘That’s grandma Gilly’s notebook for you,’ she replied. ‘It’s full of all things magical.’
Peter didn’t doubt that it was. He eyed the silver moon on the corner of the cover. He’d had a little peek at the pages beyond the instructions for the ice cream, and some of the ‘recipes’ were certainly not for things you’d want to eat…
‘So, what’s next?’ he asked. ‘In the grand scheme of things, I mean.’
Willow made a face. ‘It’s not a very grand scheme at all. In fact, I’m making most of it up as I go along.’
She laid down the pencil she was doodling with. It was another hot day, and her long hair was loosely wound into two plaits. She blew a puff of air upwards, trying to ruffle the line of her fringe. ‘I should have a plan, shouldn’t I?’ she asked. ‘I should have all this laid out like a military campaign, so I know exactly what I’m doing.’
Peter pulled the spoon from the ice cream, a generous dollop still attached to it which he made no effort to remove. Instead, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and closed his eyes, letting the ice cream melt and trickle around his mouth. A small dribble escaped.
He opened one eye. ‘Am I now wearing this?’ He sighed, knowing that his beard had mopped up any excess.
