We’ve always been close, me and Archie – we’ve clung to each other like life rafts in the last few years. We’re a tag team – stepping in to help when one of us feels overwhelmed. I had three teenagers on my hands, which wasn’t easy – but he had a motherless newborn, which was off-the-charts demanding. It’s been tough, horrendously tough, but I like to think we’ve helped each other through some very dark times.
Now, strolling through these woods, Archie in his element as he points out various plants and signs of insect life, I let thefamiliar and gentle music of our relationship soothe my rough edges.
“You okay?” he says, gazing up at me, shielding his eyes from a patch of sunlight. “You seem a bit out of it.”
I settle on a lichen-coated tree stump, and he joins me.
“I’m worried we’ve taken too much,” I say, looking at the basket. I’m worried about all kinds of things, of course, but that seems like a good place to start.
“No, it’s fine – there’s masses of the stuff, and we’ve cut the leaves so they’ll grow back. The bulbs are all still in place.”
“Right. Good. And how is the rhubarb coming along?”
“Great. There’ll be plenty for you to use. I’ve been growing sorrel as well.”
Archie is the gardener for the whole of Starshine Cove, but he also has a huge greenhouse, and a patch of land where he grows his own produce. Since Rose became his apprentice, he’s had more time to plan his empire, as well as provide fresh food baskets for local people who can’t get out and about too easily. The man is never happier than when he’s uprooting carrots or watering his rows of lettuce.
“Brilliant. So. Everything’s okay, then,” I reply.
“If you say so, Connie.” He’s looking at me curiously. “Feeling stressed because of the Spring Feast?”
The answer to that is, of course, yes – but the stress is part of the package. I’ve been in far more high-pressure situations than my little gatherings, where I only serve for about forty people, and anyway, I enjoy it. I thrive on that feeling of balancing a million little details at once, getting the timings right, the myriad moments that go into something like this. It’s pretty much the closest I get to an adrenaline rush these days.
It’s not just that bothering me, though, and he knows it. I look up at him, and he nudges me playfully with his shoulder.His shoulder is so big he almost knocks me off the tree trunk and laughs as he grabs hold of me to settle me back in place.
“Come on,” he says. “After all these years I can tell when something’s on your mind. Is it having Marcy to stay? Is she not settling in?”
“God, yes – I think that girl could settle in on Mars, she’s so bloody enthusiastic about everything! I offered her James’s room – it’s not like he uses it anymore. I should really clear it out a bit, maybe decorate it… but anyway, she said no, and she has a camp bed in Sophie’s room. I hear them giggling and chatting all night long. It’s actually really nice, having that kind of energy in the house again. They’re like Meg and Lilly, but they talk about different things. At least I hope so, because last night there was alotof laughing about the boys they’d snogged on their last big night out in London.”
“Yikes,” he says, shivering. “I know that’s going to happen with my girls at some point, and I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Well, they’re only five and nine, Archie, so I think that’s a while off. Sophie’s had boyfriends before, as you know, so this kind of thing isn’t exactly a shock. I know what I was getting up to at her age… which now I come to think about it isn’t very reassuring! Anyway, they’re fine. Also, I’m making them work – this is technically part of their course, it’s not a holiday. I have to fill in logbooks and everything, almost as though I’m a grown-up.”
I’ve planned out tasks for them, some of which will be helpful for me but also good stuff to learn – food prep, cleaning, appliance checking, stock control, boring stuff. I’ve given them jobs in the café, which Sophie is an old hand at because I’ve been using her as child labour for years now, but also added in extra responsibilities like ordering from suppliers and going over our allergen information.
The fun bit, the bit they’re enjoying the most, is that I’ve also put them in charge of the daily specials – they come up with the idea, cost it, make it, sell it and serve it. It’s been highly entertaining watching them try to talk customers into ordering whichever dish they’re pushing, then waiting breathlessly for a response. You can learn a lot at catering college, I’m sure, but this is the magic – the moment when a meal you’ve created and lovingly cooked goes out into the wild. It’s like a little part of you, and you desperately want people to love it.
“Where are they now?” Archie asks. “Thought they’d want in on the wild garlic collecting.”
“Yes, Archie, because that is the stuff of dreams for all teenage girls, isn’t it? Actually I’ve got them back at the café after hours – I told them they need to go through a basic food hygiene inspection. I’ve set some deliberate booby traps, like putting raw chicken on the shelf above an open packet of ham.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Good Lord, man, how are you still alive?”
“Dunno. Cast-iron constitution, I suppose. Is Marcy’s dad supposed to be coming soon?”
And just like that, he whacks the nail on the head. I nod, but don’t add anything. Zack has been in touch a few times since we left London, initially in a bit of a panic because he hadn’t heard from Marcy.
I explained to him that we have extremely dodgy wifi and phone signals, and that only a few places – the inn, specifically the fire escape outside the inn, and the offices in the community centre – have decent reception due to dongles. Also, I will never, ever be able to say the word ‘dongles’ without laughing.
Zack was a bit taken aback at the slower pace of communication, which doesn’t surprise me – he seems to live with a phone glued to his hands, and he works in the media in London. That’s a very different, very quick-fire rapid-responsekind of environment. Ours is more of a ‘we’ll get back to you a week on Monday’ kind of vibe.
Annoyingly, there was a cancellation for the feast, and a matching one for the room they’d booked at the Starshine Inn. I’m not entirely sure I’d have informed him if not for the fact that Sophie took the call, so I was all out of choices. I suppose it’s better than the alternative – him staying at our house. I’d planned to make him use Dan’s room, which is not for the faint-hearted.
Despite the cancellation, which means he could just visit, enjoy the night and leave the next day, he is still insisting that he’s going to come and help out, plus stay around ‘for a while’ if the mood takes him. I’d guess that he’s not a man used to having time on his hands – he has been busy for decades and has an empire to run – and the fact that his plans to head to France to see Amy have been derailed have left him at a loose end.
I, of all people, completely understand that feeling – he doesn’t want to spend his weeks off sitting around in the home he made with Rowena, alone apart from a chubby dog and his memories. He would probably find it hard dealing with the solitude and the lack of occupation – and I get it. He needs something to keep him busy, something that makes him feel connected to his family and to a world outside work.
