‘I’d come and eat here,’ said Issi. ‘In fact, you could offer cream teas in the summer, with your own cream, now the track’s been done.’
‘Farmers do have to diversify to survive these days,’ said Fran, ‘but I’m hoping I’ll be making cheese from my cream. Although I suppose I could keep some back. I’ll think about it.’ She yawned. ‘I am so tired, and we haven’t even had the supper club yet.’
‘You’ve done an awful lot of prep and moved an awful lot of furniture. Tomorrow will be easier.’
Issi sounded very reassuring but Fran could tell she wasn’t actually convinced.
‘Atleast it’s not snowing, or even raining,’ said Issi the next morning, handing Fran a cup of tea across the kitchen table. It was extremely early, still dark outside, but Issi was an early riser and knew Fran wouldn’t want to sleep in today.
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Think how dreadful if no one could get up the lane because of ice after all the work and expense that’s been lavished on it.’
‘It would be quite difficult for us, too,’ said Issi. ‘I’m going to take Tig some coffee. Anything you want me to ask him?’
‘I don’t think so. I won’t need him here until about six this evening. He should have time to shower and change after the afternoon’s milking, but then I want him to light the fire, but so it won’t actually give out much heat.’
‘He can do that,’ said Issi and left, carrying two cups of coffee. Fran allowed herself a sentimental sigh at her friend’s blossoming relationship before gathering ingredients to make enough puff pastry for at least twenty people and setting off for Antony’s house.
That afternoon, Fran consulted her list. She was about as far ahead as she could be. The range was burning well and the small ordinary cooker was also up to temperature. She planned to put the pies in an hour before the guests were due to arrive. That would give her time to swap them around so they were equally brown on all sides.
Theveg was all prepared, mountains of potatoes peeled to make mountains of mash. There were carrots, spring greens and peas, which she was going to serve together to look bright and fresh and not cabbagey. The peas were frozen but the carrots and greens were local and organic.
She had roasted beetroot for the starter and was going to serve it with her home-made feta to make a salad. Given the potential heaviness of the main course, she’d felt a light starter was a good idea. For pudding she had a choice of chocolate tart (served, naturally, with home-made clotted cream) or lemon mousse made (surprisingly) without cream, so it was fresh and light and almost diet food.
Then there would be cheese, with home-made crackers, shop-bought crackers and soda bread, made by Mrs Brown.
With the coffee (or a selection of teas) would be home-made tablet, just in case, Issi declared, anyone went home having eaten fewer than two thousand calories. Just to make absolutely sure, Fran was sending them all away with a little bag containing a further selection of her home-made cheeses.
To give herself a breath of air she went outside and looked at the view. She could see blossom starting to highlight the hedgerows and some early lambs in a distant field. She knew Tig’s cowswouldsoon stop being milked, to be ‘dried off’ before calving.
That would give her a reprieve from making cheese but in the future, it would mean her income could dry up as well. She needed to make hard cheese that would keep. Still, no point in worrying about that, she told herself. She might not be here next year. Making a living without milk might not be something she needed to concern herself with.
But the thought made her heart ache. Life wasn’t easy but every day brought a challenge, something to be achieved, or overcome. She loved it.
Fran and Issi, who were both in the kitchen putting finishing touches to the canapés, jumped when they heard the first car arrive.
Issi looked out and said, ‘It’s only Seb and Antony.’
Fran didn’t actually feel ‘only’ about Antony but had convinced herself it was because she hardly ever saw him. He’d become more attractive and sexy in her head because she hadn’t had the dose of reality that actually being with him would give. She knew a lot of her feelings for him were because of gratitude. If it hadn’t been for Antony she’d have probably had to give up and go back to London weeks ago.
Issi went out to meet them, but Fran stayed where she was, filling mushrooms with a combination of bacon, fried breadcrumbs, fried mushroom stemsanda little garlic. When she’d finished, she’d put cheese over the top and put them in the oven. Although her gaze never moved from the task in hand she was alert to the sound of Antony coming into the kitchen.
She didn’t have long to wait. Both men came in, talking. ‘Hey!’ said Seb, giving Fran a casual kiss on the cheek. ‘Those look amazing!’ He took a mushroom canapé. ‘Delicious,’ he declared, still chewing.
‘They’re not finished,’ said Fran.
‘Sorry,’ said Seb, wiping his mouth with his hand.
‘How can we help?’ said Antony, looking less relaxed than Seb did, and without kissing anyone.
‘You could go into the sitting room and see if it looks all right. Make sure that we haven’t forgotten anything vital,’ said Fran.
‘Come with us,’ said Antony, taking her elbow.
She allowed herself to be towed into the next room because she knew she ought to make a final check herself.
‘It’s perfect,’ said Issi.
It did look pretty good, Fran thought. The tables were beautifully set with mismatched crockery and knives and forks. It was a look that was much harder to achieve than it should have been, they discovered. While the side plates and glasses were different they had to be put next to china that was complementary. There were a few nearly complete sets, but they hadtobe kept apart from each other so there were no clumps of colour all together.
