“Why would they, when they could have two of us?”
“True. I hope it’s nothing more than friendliness. I like Rosie. Plus she said I have a lovely aura. I’ve really been clinging to that.”
I laughed, then stretched a hand out. A fat raindrop hit my palm, and then another, but it was definitely slowing. One of us said it was time to go—me, I think.
“We need to do things differently,” Charlie said quietly. “The farm shop is doing well, despite the Committee for Not Changing a Single Thing Ever—”
I snorted with laughter. Another flash of Charlie.
“—but it would be doing better still if we worked together properly.”
She was right. I’d been so focused on shutting her out that I’d refused to acknowledge it, but the best way to give myself a future here was to trust the woman beside me. You can trust someone and still keep them at a distance, right?
“How about we say that the first farm shop comanager meeting is tomorrow, in the kitchen, at seven thirty,” she said. “Nobody shall question the other person’s ‘game,’ nobody shall insinuate anybody doesn’t deserve to be here. There will be no, you know, no rain madness, no losing our heads…”
“I’m not going to kiss you in the kitchen at half past seven in the morning, Charlie,” I said, though the moment I’d said it I imagined doing it, and it didn’t actually seem ridiculous at all.
“Right, obviously. We’ll just have a sensible, adult discussion about what’s best for the shop.”
“Do you think you can trust me?” I asked her.
“I find trust a little tricky, these days,” Charlie said. “But I’ll try.”
I’m in bed now—the main room today—and we’ve lit the fire, which has warmed the whole of the stables. My skin is still tingling from the cold rain. I’ve thought a lot about everything Charlie said about the job mix-up, but I’ve thought even more about the kiss.
It’s so completely unlike me to get carried away like that. It was such a dangerous thing to do. Now I’m tense and on edge. I should be keeping my life as simple as possible right now, not kissing the woman whose life is inexplicably, inexorably tangled up with mine.
Rain madness, she called it. But if it was nothing more than a wild, unthinking moment, then why am I lying here longing for it to happen again?
Good night,
Charlie Jones
Thursday September 4th 2025
Spoke to Doc Laurry about anxiety. Grabbed him after the committee meeting (abject disaster, as per—nobody would agree to stocking Doc’s biscuits, even though they alldemolishedthe ones he brought for the meeting, because they’re too scared to cross Galoshes. But at least nobody told me I didn’t deserve to be here this time. Well, not out loud. A fair few of them were saying it with their eyes).
“So you know anxiety,” I said. “You know, anxiety disorder?”
“Do you want to call the medical center and book an appointment with me?” Doc Laurry said, not unpleasantly.
“No, no, I just want to ask…theoretically…about getting a diagnosis? Of anxiety? How do you get one of those? Do youneedone?”
Doc reminds me a bit of Santa. If you crossed him with the Dalai Lama. He has a white beard and a patient, twinkly sort of smile.
“I like you, Charlie. I think you’re livening this place up, and goodness knows it needs that. I wish we had somebody like you on the medical board—if you think the produce committee are a bunch of sticks-in-the-mud, you should meet my lot. But I don’t give medical advice except during appointments, when I have sight of my patient’s medical notes and can make an informed judgment.”
Obviously do not want to make an appointment. Said something hedgy about checking my availability. Doc removed his glasses and sighed.
“If a patient felt they had an anxiety disorder and wanted to discuss medication—”
“Not medication,” I said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just hate pills.”
“Well, all right, if that was how the patient felt, then I would direct them toward some online resources, and discuss CBT, and talking therapy…”
“That’s it?” I said. “There’s no more stuff you’d do? To make it official?”
“Official for whom?” Doc asked, with a twinkly smile.
