‘I promised Elaine I would. It’s one less worry for her.’ Pippa’s pulse was still hurrying from that long look they’d shared. The unexpected and brief glance into his past, their mutual connection to this place. She settled behind the counter, recalling her induction with Elaine yesterday.
Lola flopped in her bed as Gil disappeared into his consulting room. Pippa switched on the computer and scanned the online booking system, glad of something practical to distract her. Through the open door she spotted Harriet and hopefully her daughter’s grin meant that Posy was safely in the paddock and not thundering loose down the lane.
‘Thanks for that. How do you fancy tackling the mucking out? I can help but it will have to be when I’m finished here.’
‘Sure.’ Harriet slid around the counter and crouched down to cuddle Lola, whose tail was wagging madly. ‘I just need to get rid of the shit and neaten the shavings, yeah? And fill the water bucket?’
‘Please don’t swear, Harriet.’ A forlorn hope, Pippa knew, and that was hardly the most unpleasant thing her daughter could have come out with. She’d said far worse inside her own mind since they’d arrived in Hartfell.
‘“Shit” is hardly swearing, Mum. Everyone at school…’
‘Well, we’re not at school, are we.’ Pippa was aware she sounded like a geriatric aunt; Raf was always telling her to loosen up, especially where Harriet was concerned. ‘Just, you know, keep it clean.’
‘Apart from the shit?’ Harriet was on her way out again and Pippa rolled her eyes.
‘Yes, apart from that.’
Chapter Ten
‘You can’t cancel the village show! Have you lost your bloody mind?’
The back door flew open and Pippa flinched as Gil burst into the kitchen, the plate in her hand wobbling. Harriet, sitting at the table, silently picked up her phone and slid out of the room, and Pippa was very tempted to follow. So, their temporary truce was at an end, and she wished she was clutching something more substantial than a tea towel.
Harriet had washed the dishes after dinner and Pippa had been drying them, lost in thoughts of the history of the house and Hartfell, and her own connection to this place and its people. Without her bed in its usual spot near the table, Lola didn’t seem to know quite what to do with herself and wandered up for a pat.
‘I think you’ll find that I can,’ she replied, ignoring Lola, and trying to even out the uncertain note in her voice as the Labrador’s tail continued to wag hopefully. ‘It was apparently being held on my land.’ She paused, that didn’t sound right, and it wasn’t exactly true. ‘My dad’s land, and no one thought to check with me if it’s okay to hold the show here. I haven’t got time to oversee the arrangements and I have other things to worry about right now.’
Like finding an estate agent, which she still hadn’t had time to do in the past two days in between dealing with the practice’s clients, handling calls and queries, and clearing up accidents from the floor. Harriet had been a very welcome help; she’d caught on to the management system in a flash and accepted payments, saving Pippa a job, while messaging friends and updating her social media.
After each patient, Gil accompanied the client to the desk, leading Pippa to wonder if he didn’t trust her, as he dispensed medication and arranged follow-up appointments. Elaine had kindly taken the time to send good wishes, and Pippa had thanked her, glad to hear in return that Elaine’s dad was stable as they awaited news of scan results.
After consultations had ended this morning, Pippa had been taken aback to see people tramping around the field behind the garden, setting up gazebos, a flapping marquee and marking out rings with rope. The sheep had disappeared, and she’d found out from a helpful chap in a high-vis jacket, when she’d gone over to enquire what was going on, that it was all in preparation for the village show being held on Saturday.
‘Besides, I haven’t actually cancelled it.’ She put the tea towel down and finally gave Lola a pat, wondering why bestowing attention on Gil’s dog felt akin to being nice to him too. But ignoring Lola wasn’t fair, and Pippa felt some of her tension ease as she stroked the friendly dog.
‘I simply said I was very sorry, but they’d have to find somewhere else to hold it.’ Hopefully by Saturday she’d have an estate agent round and she didn’t want them thinking the village had free rein to trample across the farm as they pleased.
‘Is that right?’ Gil’s bark of laughter was scornful. ‘So you’re quite certain, then, that the committee don’t have rolling permission from your father to hold the show on this weekend every summer? And that should either party wish to cancel, the notice period is actually twelve months, not three days. The village is alive with panic and indignation, not that you care.’
Rolling permission? Twelve months? Pippa’s hair was doing a fair job of hiding her face as she stroked Lola, and she took a moment to compose herself before her own panic took hold. She’d assumed that her dad knew nothing about the show, and she didn’t want the field all dug up before the farm went on the market. After she’d informed the chap they’d have to leave, the workers had gathered in a huddle and finally disappeared, abandoning everything they’d brought.
‘And the only reason you’ve told them to shove it, as far as I can see, is because you can’t be bothered with the minor inconvenience of a few locals enjoying themselves for a day on your dad’s land.’ Gil folded his arms. ‘I don’t even know why I’m surprised. It’s exactly what I’d have expected from a townie like you.’
‘Clearly it’s not just the one day, is it?’ Pippa hoped countering his sarcasm with politeness was a more effective weapon than resorting to a slanging match. A townie, indeed. She supposed that was true. ‘People would’ve been turning up all week and then been here half of the next one as well, clearing up.’
‘This show goes back generations, Pippa.’ He was forcing the words out slowly and she choked back a wild giggle as she wondered if he ground his teeth too. This was definitely not the right moment to laugh, though – he’d think she’d totally lost the plot. But her dread was still mounting as he carried on. ‘To the old days when people travelled to the village in search of work, and you think to cancel all that tradition and the effort it takes at a moment’s notice?’
‘Isn’t it just a few stalls and a burger van?’ This time she did laugh, and it bordered on the slightly hysterical. From the look of the activity in the field earlier, she thought it might be a bit more, but surely all village shows were just that. A few stalls in the garden of the nearest vicarage served up with tea and cake, not the rows of metal seating she’d seen lined up on a lorry in the lane. That, thankfully, had been turned away before they’d started unloading.
‘I guess you would think that.’
Gil ran a hand through his hair but Pippa wasn’t going to be drawn in by the tiredness on his face. All his own fault, working the hours he did and trying to cling on to a crazy dream of taking over the practice instead of letting go and moving on.
‘But seeing as you are apparently serious about ruining one of the best local days of the year, I’ve made a quick list of the people you need to contact.’ He slapped a piece of paper onto the flimsy table, making it wobble. ‘Why don’t you start with the school, have a chat with the headteacher? See what she makes of telling the kids all the artwork they’ve made to sell at the fete to raise funds for their new trim trail is a waste of time. Then pop into the WI and tell them not to bother arranging flowers or baking, and while you’re at it maybe you could make a donation to cover all the ones they’ll lose from the cakes they won’t sell on the day. Drop a line to the Young Farmers’ group and let them know the sponsored fell run and tug of war is off too; I’m sure they’d appreciate a few quid slung their way to make up for it. Then there’s the Morris Dancers, they were booked months ago so I don’t suppose they’d mind a Saturday off, given how much practice they do.’
The table bounced again as Gil’s hand thudded down a second time. ‘Make sure you let the car parking people know, so they can contact the students after extra cash and tell them the show’s off, seeing as the committee won’t find another suitable venue that’s large enough with two days’ notice. And the food stalls. Off the top of my head I thought of the cocktail bar in a bus, the vintage caravan serving afternoon tea and the local caterer who makes a month’s turnover in one day at the show. Then there’s the expenses already incurred, like printing the catalogues and arranging prizes for competitions.’
Anxiety had knotted so tightly in her stomach she could feel cramps clutching at it and panic was rising, along with an acid feeling in her chest as Gil stared at her.
