‘How have things been, you know, upstairs?’ I tapped my forehead.
He smiled.‘I forgot about that.’
‘What?’
‘Our weird repressed way of asking if I’ve slipped into the pits of depression recently.’
‘Well, when you say it like that,’ I said, dryly, ‘it sounds bad.’
He chuckled.‘Nah, I like it.Makes it feel less like a doctor’s appointment.And things are fine upstairs.Good actually.I haven’t had an episode in a while.Some days I can wake up and it can feel like I’m walking through treacle.But it’s not all-consuming like it has been in the past.And I’ve still got my therapist.’
‘Jan.’
‘Good ol’ Jan.’ He nods, smiling.‘I had a wobble a couple of weeks ago.But it was mainly triggered by work.’
I frowned.‘Work?I thought things were going well at Lily’s.’
Ren smiled ruefully.‘It is.Going brilliantly, actually.We can open a second site.’
Pride expanded in my chest.‘That’s great.’
‘Yeah.And I’ve picked out a second site,’ he said, kicking the grass.‘I put an offer in on Everly Heath Farm a few weeks ago.’
Shock rippled through me.
‘The derelict one we used to go to as kids?’
Ren nodded.
The farm was a popular local haunt, especially for families.I remembered running riot, goats chewing the paper bag of the feed Lily had bought us, and our ice cream melting down our arms.It smelled of earth and manure but always felt so… alive with activity, kids shouting and the animals bleating, shouting parents urging us to slow down.Ren had adored the place, even more than me and Liam.We’d go every year for his birthday.Lily had party hats and cake in the cafe.Then, after Ren’s mum was gone, Ren’s dad made sure to book it every year.But it wasn’t the same.Ren confessed as much on the first birthday without his mum.It’s not the same, he’d repeated.It’s gone.I’d hugged him, far too young and naive to understand his pain, but I tried to be there for him anyway.
Ren nodded, aiming a sad smile at the sky.As if he was confessing his secrets to the moon… and me.
‘Bert is selling it.After his wife died years ago—’
‘Mabel died?’ My voice was thick, thinking about the smiling woman who sold tickets in the little shed at the front of the farm in long floral dresses.She’d felt ancient to me in the nineties, but she had probably only been in her forties then, her dark hair always pinned up in a bun.‘I didn’t know.’
‘Bert keeps to himself.And since Mabel’s been gone, he hasn’t been able to keep up with it, so it’s in bad shape.But I want to keep it going.I want to turn it into a destination.Food, drink, boutique hotel.We could get local farmers involved and lend them some of the land to grow food or keep cattle – a farm-to-table menu.Then, as a homage to Bert and Mabel, run events for the kids in the holidays.Pumpkin patches, strawberry picking.’
‘Christmas trees.’ My heart squeezed.‘Easter-egg hunts!Oh, my God, craft making.You could do wreath making at Christmas!’
I shut my mouth, realising I’d got carried away and shown too much.But Ren didn’t notice my slip.He just shot me a wry smile.
‘I knew you’d be good at this.’
I ignored the way my chest expanded at his words.
‘That sounds amazing, Ren.I—’ I paused, not knowing how to word the following few sentences, which veered too close to friendship, back tous. ‘I think it would be brilliant.I’m proud of you.’
He smiled then – slow and a little bit crooked.The kind of smile that used to make me feel as if it was just us two in the room.And for a second I felt it again – that little flutter, low in my stomach.
‘Thanks, Lyds.’
I dropped my gaze, cheeks suddenly warm.‘No problem.’
‘Too bad it’s not going to happen.’
My head shot up.‘What?Why?Is it the cost?’
