‘More like catch your death of cold,’ Cleo said, rolling her eyes.
Adira looked thoughtfully on, and not for the first time was amazed at how different her mum and gran were. Polar opposites. She knew full well how Edie was going to react when she travelled to Oxford next week to show her the camper van. Edie would be in raptures, touching all the knick-knacks, marvelling at the quaintness of it all. She would fully appreciate the reasoning behind Adira’s decision to trade in the glitz and glamour of London city life, plus the stress and strain, in place of roaming the countryside and making new discoveries. Freedom, it counted for a lot – well, to Adira it did anyway.
In her quieter moments, she did reflect on and agonise over if she was doing the right thing, of course she did. After all, shewasgiving up a lot. But, only for a year, she’d told herself. Enough time to spread her wanderlust wings and take stock. It wasn’t all about throwing caution to the wind. Adira had sufficient savings to live off for twelve months, plus she envisaged doing some form of work, circumstances permitting.
To onlookers, especially her colleagues, it might appear she was being frivolous; having a romantic, rose-tinted outlook of a life on the road. Being a free spirit seemed almost too clichéd for the successful pen-pushers she had sat alongside at the chambers, but Richard, surprisingly, had remained silent following her announcement of leaving. Often, she would catch him looking at her with a quizzical expression, before quickly averting his gaze when making eye contact. The only fellow worker who had wished her well had been Rory, the maverick of the office, who hardly conformed to the clean-cut image of a top-class barrister, with his unruly curls, slightly unkempt clothes and love of beer over any top vintage wine. His northern accent stood out like a sore thumb too, but he never let that hinder him.
‘Good on yer,’ he’d bellowed, thumping her back. ‘Wish I had the balls to do it me self.’
Adira had smiled with affection at him. Out of all the office, he’d be the one she would miss. No one else. As soon as they’d learned of her departure, they’d all scavenged for her work like vultures, each eager to get the most prestigious files. It pleased her that Rory had landed the Sir Reginald Demsy case.
So, all in all, when Adira had been handed her flowers and listened, whilst cringing inside, to the false farewell speech made by Richard, laced with resentment, she had bid her goodbyes and never looked back. As she’d walked towards her car, Rory had chased after her.
‘Adira!’ She’d turned to find him running across the car park, shirt untucked, tie skew-whiff, panting, out of breath. She’d suppressed the giggle threatening to escape. ‘Adira, this is for you,’ he’d smiled and handed her a small present. ‘Open it up.’
Passing him her flowers, she’d ripped the gold wrapping paper off. It was a key ring, with a miniature camper-van pendant.
‘Oh Rory, that’s so sweet of you.’ Her eyes had filled.
‘See ya, mate.’ He’d hugged her, squashing the roses in between them. ‘Have a ball,’ he’d whispered.
And that’s exactly what she intended to do, despite sensing her parents’ trepidation. Adira wasn’t a fool, she knew them only too well. Behind the brave gusto they had summonsed up, she realised it was a front. For her. They were putting on a cheery display and she loved them for it.
Chapter 5
Lilly was attempting the ironing, while Fletcher stood looking broodily out of the kitchen window. He was bored and needed something to do.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ he told her decisively.
‘It looks like rain, Fletcher,’ she warned.
‘I won’t melt.’ He reached for his wellington boots and dragged them on.
Lilly shook her head, did he ever stop? Then she realised that it was probably best he didn’t. It was his land that kept him going. Whether he was tending to his vegetable plots or surveying the estate, it gave him focus. In a way, Lilly admired his grit and determination, but occasionally she wished he’d slow down, just a little. After all, he was in his eighties.Like you, a voice inside reprimanded her and made her chuckle.
Fletcher slammed the door behind him and strode with purpose to the far fields and woodland. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the land. There was a fallen tree that needed chopping for firewood, its branches had blocked a portion of the stream trickling through the leafy woods. He noticed the five-bar gate which led to the dirt track was lopsided. Marching towards it, he saw that it had broken from its hinges. Fletcher managed to drag it back and prop it against a nearby hedge. He’d have to get Colin, his estate manager, to repair it. Another job.
His gaze then followed the clear, babbling brook that wound through the trees and he couldn’t resist a walk beneath the lush, green canopy of branches, enticing him like a guard of honour to explore. Fletcher was at his happiest amongst nature. If only it wasn’t for the pain in his joints that constantly persisted. He knew deep down that he ought to seek medical help, but always that menacing thought of pesky, young doctors sticking their noses into his business threatened him.
Gone were the days when he could nip into the surgery at a moment’s notice and be seen by Bill Baines, the old village doctor who understood him. In and out in no time, with a trusty prescription, without any interference, that had been Bill. Nowadays, they wanted your inside leg measurement before they’d agree to see you in two weeks’ time! Bloody ridiculous. Then would come the inevitable questions, ‘Do you get any help at all, Mr Hendricks?’, ‘How are you coping, Mr Hendricks?’, ‘Do you require any assistance, Mr Hendricks?’
No he damn well didn’t!What he wanted was to be left in peace. If the social services got inside The Laurels, they’d have a field day. The very thought sent him cold. He’d be packed off in some home full of old codgers. For Fletcher, despite all his aches and pains, never really considered himself ‘old’ as such. In his mind, he actually wasn’t; but his body couldn’t keep up with his alert brain, it simply refused to do as it was told. It was his stubbornness and possibly his prejudices that kept him from doing the sensible thing. Seeing a doctor would open up a can of worms, of that he was convinced.
He continued his journey until he felt the faint drops of early rain. The sky above had turned grey and still, threatening a storm. Quickly as he could, Fletcher made his way through the fields and back to The Laurels.
Lilly had finished the ironing and had just put the kettle on.
‘Just in time for brew.’ She helped him take off his coat. The doorbell chimed. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, scurrying to the hall.
The bell rang again.
‘Hang on, I’m coming,’ she muttered. Then, when opening the door, she gasped. ‘Jasper!’
Fletcher, on hearing her, practically ran through to the hallway.
‘Hello,’ smiled Jasper, ‘and how are you, Lilly?’ He hugged the tiny, frail woman carefully. Then, turning to his uncle, he beamed. ‘And how are you, Fletcher?’
‘Never better, never better,’ he lied, while thumping Jasper on the back.
