ChapterFour
Fran awoke the next morning to the sound of dripping, which was never a good way to start the day. She got up, stuffed her feet in her (ridiculously optimistic) fluffy slippers, pulled on her dressing gown and went to search for the source. To her relief she discovered it was from a gutter outside her bedroom. She mentally added ‘clear gutters’ to her To Do list and went into the kitchen.
She watched the rain pour down outside as she ate her toast. Still, at least she had the internet, and plenty to get on with, really. She shivered and realised it had hardly stopped raining since she’d got here. If she could get through the day without going outside it would be a plus. She needed to find out more about the farm finances anyway. This would be a good day to do it.
However, by the time she’d found Amy’s latest account books, which, unlike the years and years’worthof earlier ones, were not neat and accurate, she decided a walk in the pouring rain without proper protective clothing would have been cheerier. At least cold and wetness was fairly temporary. As Antony had warned her, financially, things on Hill Top Farm were not in a good way.
There was a spike with paid bills on it and, in a hardbacked exercise book, similar to the many neatly filed in a ring binder, there were a few entries for milk cheques. The milk cheques didn’t nearly cover the feed bills and Fran really hoped there were many cheques not entered, or how was the feed merchant paid? It didn’t make sense. There were several scrappy bits of paper with scribbled calculations and one withBank, 2.30written on it, implying Amy had made an appointment with the bank, possibly to ask for a loan. It looked as if bloody Antony Arlingham had been right. The whole place was a financial muddle.
She couldn’t find any recent bank statement so she didn’t know if there was an overdraft or a huge loan outstanding or not. But how had Amy financed her care for six months without a loan? And sorted out Tig’s, and the relief milkers’ wages? There were too many mysteries. She made a list of things to ask Amy and resolved to ask them immediately, and not risk Amy falling asleep before she’d said anything important.
She was still going through the list when the telephone rang. It took Fran a couple of seconds torecognisethe sound. She hadn’t had a landline herself for years. She picked up the old-fashioned receiver, which seemed remarkably heavy.
Ten minutes later she put it down again. It had not been a cheerful conversation. The man from the milk co-operative had told Fran that the milk tanker would not be coming, because the rain made the track impassable. He went on to say that unless the track up to the farm was repaired very soon, the tanker wouldn’t eventryto get up it any more. And while Mrs Flowers had been a member of the co-op for years and they liked and respected her, her contribution was more trouble than it was worth.
After a bit of pleading, Fran had convinced him to give the farm a reprieve if she dealt with the track. The tanker would try and come up the moment the weather let up. Just at the end of the conversation she had asked, ‘So, what should I do with the milk? If the tanker can’t collect it?’
‘Do what the old lady did, pour it away,’ was the reply.
Horrified, Fran piled on the waterproof clothing Amy had left behind. When she was fully encased in trousers, coat, hat and her own boots (sadly, Amy’s boots were too small) Fran went out into the yard to talk to Tig.
She found him sterilising the milking equipment. She was so concerned, she didn’t waste time withsmalltalk about the appalling rain. ‘Tig! Is it true that Amy used to throw away the milk if the tanker couldn’t collect it?’
He gave a slight nod, indicating he was pleased to see her. ‘Yup.’
‘It can’t come today, by the way.’
He nodded as if she had been stating the obvious. ‘So do you want me to drain the tank? Are they coming tomorrow?’ He looked concerned but not surprised. He had a kind face, Fran decided.
‘I’m not sure when they’re coming, to be honest, it depends on the weather. But basically, they said I had to get the track fixed properly.’
‘Expensive, that’ll be.’
‘I know. And I can’t bear to keep wasting the milk. Have we got buckets?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are some of them remotely hygienic? I mean, could I sterilise some? I want to see if I can make cheese or something.’
‘There’s cheesemaking equipment in one of the outbuildings by the yard.’
Fran realised what she and Issi had thought was a cider press was actually for cheese. She nodded.
‘But hard cheese takes a while to make and then you have to let it mature,’ Tig went on. ‘My mother knows all about it if you want to find out.’
‘I think I knew it took ages to mature and I’d love to talk to your mother sometime about making ahardcheese. But for now, there are other sorts of cheese I can make in the kitchen, more quickly.’
She was fairly sure this was true. Cheffing in London, she’d once had to deal with pints and pints of sour milk when the fridge broke down, and she was sure cream cheese wasn’t the only one you could make at home. ‘So how many buckets might you be able to find me? I probably won’t be able to use all the milk so we’ll have to waste some, but this farm can’t afford to throw away milk. It’s the only thing it produces, currently.’
‘There’s more stuff in the old dairy. That’s off the farmyard too. You take a look and tell me what you want sterilizing and I’ll do it for you.’
‘That would be very kind!’
Tig shrugged off the word. ‘Farm’s in a bad way, miss. If you can do something to help keep the herd going, that would be good.’
Just for a moment Fran considered asking Tig if he knew any details about loans, or how Amy had got the money to pay her care home, but realised it wouldn’t be fair. It was her job to look after the money and it was his to look after the cows.
‘You don’t have to call me miss,’ she said instead. ‘Just call me Fran.’
