Page 32 of Chasing Dreams in Eversley Village

‘Lovelands?’

‘Yes, that’s right, Holly.’ Mitch continued to unwrap the picture. ‘I did say to her to bring it down. But as you can imagine she’s got other priorities.’

Ian rubbed his head. ‘The competition is closed. The deadline was five days ago. We’ve never allowed a late submission before.’

‘As I said, she’s lost all of her worldly possessions. Everything. A lifetime of artwork and this,’ Mitch said lifting the painting now free of bubble wrap, ‘is her only remaining piece of work which would have been submitted before the deadline, had she not encountered an emergency.’

Ian studied the painting, ‘Didn’t the fire occur after the deadline? Therefore, it’s not really relevant.’

Mitch stared at Ian furrowing his brow. ‘She had other domestic issues.’

‘Deadlines are deadlines. As difficult a time as I imagine she’s experiencing, we all have our problems.’

‘But we haven’t all lost our home, livelihood and business. I would have thought that the Council might wish to be seen as promoting local business people. Especially a sole trader with a business that’s etched on Eversley’s history?’

Mitch noticed Ian frown, hoping he had struck a nerve.

‘We’re always keen to promote locals. Indeed we have a meeting here in a few weeks on that very subject. We’re forming a committee with business people from Wells and the surrounding villages.’ Ian stared him in the eye.

Mitch took a deep breath, unsure whether he would be staying in Eversley long-term. And a committee was the last thing he wanted to get sucked into, with endless time-wasting meetings.

‘I assume you’re related to the Booths of Booth farm?’

‘Yes,’ Mitch said, placing the painting on the table.

‘Someone like yourself, a farmer, would be a valuable asset to the team.’

Mitch rubbed the back of his neck.‘Assuming you could help me out here, I’ll sign up.’

‘Excellent. I think I’m correct in believing that the artwork judges are meeting this evening, to go over the entries.’

‘So, you’ll accept it?’

‘Assuming you will be joining the committee, then yes.’

‘Thanks, that’s great.’ Mitch pointed to the painting. ‘And it’s unbelievable how the colours …’

Ian put one hand up in a stop sign motion. ‘I’m not a judge – no need to sell it to me any further. Wait here and I’ll get an entry form for the competition, and a registration pack for the committee.’

Mitch walkedaround the periphery of the market square. Today was not market day and the square was being used as a car park. He liked the feel of the place. He had to admit, Somerset was growing on him, even though he missed the farm back home. It was only natural for Mitch to be the one to take over the Eversley business. His sister had not stayed in the industry, having chosen a career as an accountant in the City of London; neither did she have the relationship with Sid, having spent her summers show-jumping. His Dad’s brother managed the second Essex farm and his children were much younger and unable to take on the responsibility.

Mitch passed a café and feeling his stomach rumble went in and approached the counter.

‘Can I help you, my love?’ a woman asked, she was wearing a white catering hat covering the top of her curly brown hair.

Mitch gazed at the spread of pastries and cakes. ‘Yes, thanks. A pasty and a coffee.’

‘Eat in or take out?’

Mitch scanned the room dotted with tables and chairs, it was quiet.

‘If you eat in you get refillable coffee.’

‘Eat in.’

‘I’ll take for it now and bring it over.’

After paying, Mitch walked to a table. His pasty soon arrived and he ate it slowly. He had never been that keen on pasties in Essex but they tasted so much better in the West Country. The vegetables tangy, the meat soft and the pastry flaky with a gooey bit where the gravy had soaked in. He missed other people’s cooking. Not that he was a bad cook but he tended to prepare food that served a purpose as fuel, rather than anything he would call tasty. He missed Vanessa’s cooking, she had been creative in that department and used to pick up recipes on their travels across Europe. He reached for his coffee and took a gulp. He needed to move on. Holly came to mind, although he felt a pang of guilt, acknowledging that what he felt for her was different. Different to his marriage. A feeling he had not had for a long time, not since he was a teenager.

‘Would you like another refill?’ the bakery assistant asked.

Mitch blinked then checked his phone, he was surprised to see it was nearly one o’clock. He needed to get back to the farm as he feared Trixy would be chewing up everything in sight.He left a tip in the jar on the counter on his way out. He stopped in his tracks as he entered the square, recognising the black Maserati which swung in front of pub opposite. He watched as Ethan exited the car and walked around to help Holly out. Once out of the car, Holly glanced over her shoulder. Mitch stared back then turned and strode away.I should have smiled,he thought.Why does what she does bother me? He knew the answer, but refused to acknowledge it.

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