‘It’s not a farm now anymore, is it, really. You’ve got a few old goats and chickens; the crops are long gone. The land is wasted. I think you should sell up. Stop all this nonsense. And as we are being so…’ Thom made inverted commas in the sky, ‘“honest” with each other, that is exactly what I told Sennen I thought you should do the other night on the phone.’
‘No, no way. The farm is my home. Our home.’
‘It’s huge, Mum; you’re rattling around in it all on your own. It’s ridiculous.’
‘I’m not now. Teo has moved into the annexe and Zenya is a true confidante.’
‘What, that homeless hippy in the field Sennen told meabout.’
‘Thomas!’ Rita shouted so loudly, her son actually stopped in his tracks with a look of shock. She clenched her jaw, trying to hold it together. ‘What is this really all about?’
‘Jago Jenken would buy it, I know he would. You told me he paid over the odds for the other stuff, so why not the farm? You could still stay in Seahaven Bay and get yourself a little cottage and probably wouldn’t need to ever work again. Do nothing. You know it makes sense.’
Rita blew out a huge breath and looked to the sky to stop her tears from falling.
‘I don’t like to see you upset. Come here.’ Thom went to hug his mother, who instinctively pushed him away.
‘I know your game, Thomas Jory.’ Rita’s voice was cracking. ‘I’m forty-five, with hopefully a long life ahead of me and I don’t just want to do nothing. For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling some kind of happiness, some sense of achievement. So, don’t you dare come at me saying whatyouthink is right, because to be honest, I’m not listening anymore.’ Anger was now doing the talking and wouldn’t shut up. ‘You swan in here, after only seeing you three times since your father passed, and start throwing this around. Maybe you should’ve spent more time thinking about how I’ve been feeling and getting through that instead.’ Rita threw out her arm and pointed towards his car. ‘Get to St Austell, Thomas. Enjoy your work jolly.’ Unable to hold it together any longer, tears burst from Rita – tears of anger, grief, confusion all tangled together. She clumsily got out from the picnic bench and ran at full pelt towards the farmhouse.
Thom casually walked behind her, got in his car, and sped off the drive, causing gravel to fly up and leave a cloud of dust in his wake, and covering Teo, who was just walking towards the barn to prepare it for his sunset yoga class later.
On seeing Rita opening the front door in a state of snot and sobbing, he rushed to follow her in, coughing and brushing down his peeling NAMASTE T-shirt as he went. Henry, sleeping in his bed by the Aga, opened one eye and shut it again.
‘Oh, my beautiful Rita, not again.’ Taking her in his arms, he hugged her tightly, her head resting against his firm chest, speaking in Spanish in a soothing voice until her tears had subsided and her breath was at a normal pitch. She pulled away, leaving remnants of eyeliner and mascara on his top. Her face was contorted in anguish. She let out a huge hitch of breath.
Teo pulled her towards him again and almost comically gripped her to his chest. ‘Who is this terrible person, who has hurt you so badly? Tell me.’
For fear of suffocation by tanned and firm pectorals (but what a way to go!), Rita pulled herself away again and moved across to the sink. She shook her head slowly, a strange mix of shame and sorrow tangled in her chest, making her hesitate to respond. It was as if admitting that it had been her own son who had hurt her so badly was a failure on her part, a crack in the foundation she’d tried so hard to keep intact with and without Archie. Like it might be a betrayal, not just of him but of herself.
‘My son, Thomas,’ she blubbed. ‘He wants me to sell up.’
‘Oh. OK.’ Teo’s voice wobbled slightly. He then took a breath, held the tops of both of her shoulders and looked right at her with his soft, molten brown eyes. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Death and money does strange things to people. You’re not on your own, OK?’ He nodded. Keeping close eye contact, he repeated, ‘OK?’
He continued to nod until Rita eventually whispered a watery, ‘OK.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘Hold on, Kel. I’m taking you into the Den,’ Rita shouted into her phone speaker whilst grabbing her mobile and mug of tea from the kitchen counter. She settled into the window seat, cradling the warm drink in her hands, and gazed out over the cliffs ahead.
Kelly sounded animated, as usual. ‘Just wondered how all the fun at the farm was going.’
‘Well, Camilla’s pregnant, a fox has dug up Nigel and Teo’s just reversed into the Snack Shack.’
They both started laughing involuntarily. Rita composed herself. ‘I have a scorned divorce lawyer, a millennial vegan, a voluptuous man-eater, a wolf in mouse’s clothing and a disillusioned but hot rock star as retreat guests, but aside from that I’m fine.’
‘Stop.’ Kel laughed again. ‘Have you ever considered stand-up?’
‘“I’m Still Standing” should be my theme tune at the moment.’
‘Aw, what’s up, chicken?’
Rita took a huge breath. ‘Thom came to see me.’
‘Wow, the prodigal son returns. What did he want?’
‘You know it… he wants me to sell the farm. Thinks I’m playing at being a businessperson.’
‘And how would he gain from that, unless he is genuinely looking out for you?’ Kelly said in a measured tone.
