She beamed at him, certain that love was radiating out of her, not sure if she shouldn’t be a bit morecircumspectabout revealing her feelings but unable to help it. ‘If I need you, I’ll call.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
A quiet bliss settled over Fran, overwhelming to a large extent her anxiety for Amy. It was wonderful to be in love and feel loved in return.
Eventually, she began to talk to Amy. She really wanted to tell her about Antony and how happy she was, but Amy was really the only person she couldn’t tell. She talked about the cheese instead.
‘You have got to pull through this time, Amy. I know you can’t live forever, none of us can, but I need to tell you about the cheese.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve been up to London to deliver it to an old chef friend of mine. He tasted it when he bought some at the farmers’ market and thought it was wonderful. Then I made a lot more for him so he could present it at a food festival to some very famous food writers and chefs.’
She thought she sensed a tiny squeeze from the bird-like fingers.
‘It does have such a wonderful flavour. All those wild flowers and different grasses – you can really taste them.’
There was another tiny squeeze – this time there was no doubt about it. Amy seemed to want tospeak,although her eyes were still closed. Fran tucked her hair behind her ear and leant in close.
‘Too young,’ breathed Amy, only audible because Fran’s ear was practically touching her lips.
‘No! I’m not too young. I’m loving the farm and making it all work. I’m not too young at all!’
‘Not you, the cheese,’ said Amy.
Fran laughed gently. Amy was not only able to talk, but to take in what she had been saying and make a sensible comment. ‘Oh, it’s not Cheddar, Amy. It’s soft cheese. But I will make hard cheese. I really want to. But I need to find the quarry. Maybe you could tell me where it is?’
This had to be a good time to ask Amy. They were talking about cheese and she knew Amy wanted Fran’s produce to be good. But Amy seemed to have drifted back to sleep.
When the nurse came, Fran stood up and stretched. ‘I think she’s a bit better. She spoke to me.’
The nurse checked all the various bit of equipment, and then she felt Amy’s forehead with her hand in a genuinely caring way. ‘I think you’re right. I think she’s a bit better!
The two women looked at each other, smiling delightedly.
Then Roy came back and while Fran wouldn’t have said he was definitely drunk, he had the smell of pub about him.
‘Amy’sbetter,’ said Fran. ‘Isn’t that great? She spoke to me.’
‘Great,’ said Roy, his expression not matching his words, still not moderating his volume. ‘Then I can tell her all about who you’ve been sleeping with, can’t I?’ He leant into Amy. ‘Aunt Amy? Can you hear me? It’s Roy again!’
Fran took hold of his arm and pulled him back. ‘Don’t shout at her. She’s ill.’
‘I have to shout. She’s deaf and out of it!’
How could he even think of troubling an elderly and very sick woman with gossip? And was there no depth to which he wouldn’t sink to improve his chances of inheriting the farm?
‘Don’t shout,’ Fran repeated. She was sure she saw Amy flinch away from the noise. Annoyingly she couldn’t think of what else she could do to stop him. She wasn’t strong enough to drag him away physically.
Thank goodness, obviously hearing raised voices, the nurse came back in. ‘I think my patient would be better if her visitors went home now. She needs her rest. Thank you for getting your boyfriend to bring in the water from home,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you if she likes it.’
The woman had natural authority and a uniform. Roy calmed down and they both left the room, Fran having given Amy a quick peck on her forehead.
Asthey walked out of the hospital, Fran realised she needed a lift home. She could call Antony or Issi but why should she? Roy was here.
‘Which car did you bring?’ she said as they approached the car park. ‘Yours or mine? Either way, I need a lift back to the farm.’
‘I was going back to the pub—’
‘Nope. You’re taking me home first. You owe me. You took my car without permission.’
