Ringing off, he caught sight of an orange bathing suit in a shop window. He instantly thought to the flaming hair of the wild swimmer from the other night. It reminded him he needed to keep waifs and strays off his land.
He called up the number for the local builders and dived straight in without preamble. ‘Nic Castle. Castle Enterprises. The gate we talked about…’
‘Hello. Hello? I can’t hear you over the sheep. Or maybe it’s this phone.’
Nic raised his voice. ‘I need to talk to Malcolm Noble.’
‘T’is me, myself and I.’
Good. He didn’t want to talk to the second-in-command again and their phones seemed interchangeable. ‘I commissioned a gate from you, and we talked about some land clearance. Just chasing you up on it—’
‘That’s a nice big ewe. Ready for moving. Son’s thinking we might need a crane,’ the builder replied cheerfully, a cacophony of noise behind him.
‘A crane? For the sheep?’ said Nic, confused at the direction of the conversation.
‘For the gate. Can I take a look at its arse? I can’t tell from the front whether it’s going to last a winter.’
‘The gate? Well, I would hope so as I asked for it to be a solid—’
‘The sheep – it’s such a lottery running a smallholding. The gate is ready to go in, Mr Castle. Finished off last week and all the other parts have arrived too,’ Malcom concluded.
These people were so parochial. Nic was surprised any business survived around here. He cut straight to the chase. ‘Can you spare any time this week to install it?’
‘Aye, we’ll take a look on our way home. Perhaps start prepping the ground tomorrow, if that suits you and my lad can get himself outta bed.’
Nic looked at his phone in disbelief. This firm had come highly recommended. Being a local obviously meant being sloppy and unreliable, he decided. And this was a club he wasn’t good enough to join, even though the bar was set so damn low? ‘I’m in town at a meeting this afternoon and quite busy tomorrow, but if you have enough know-how to crack on—’
‘Oh, we don’t need you,’ said the builder cheerfully. ‘If the sun shows its sodding face, it’ll be done in a flash of a lamb’s tail. Let’s take the ewe, shall we? She has the backside of a goddess.’
Despite himself, Nic had to laugh as the old man abruptly rang off. In some ways, the comedy was charming. But no wonder everything round here proceeded at a glacial pace. He hoped his case officer would be a little more focused when they met.
11
Having made a mess of the viewing yesterday, Aria decided to undo a different mess. But, while making a good start on the overgrown garden at the hut, she found herself continually battling her emotions along with the weeds. A month after her dad died, her loss was as red-raw as her fingers. For every plant she touched, a treasured memory unearthed itself. The wizened leaves of lavender and mint reminded her of his weather-beaten face as he walked the fells, delighting in pointing out the names of flowers and birds. A spiked fern she didn’t know the name of reminded her of a time Dad planted a line of agaves to bring drama to the garden before deciding only local species would do and digging them all back up. Bluebells springing up everywhere brought back their forest strolls. Daisies took her back to early childhood when she used to wrap them around her mother’s wrist, and make her fat rings of dandelion, cackling when Mum told her she’d wee the bed. Aria had almost forgotten what her mum looked like, but she definitely remembered her eyes. As she dug, she felt like her dad was with her. She imagined his solid body enveloping her in a hug, and itched for thereal thing. When her hand grabbed only stalks and leaves, she let out a sob and threw them on the compost heap. Right now, she felt like throwing herself on top and bawling. Hot and bothered, she pushed hair out of her eyes with soil-covered fingers, and concentrated on pulling up dock leaves that had taken root everywhere. It was gruelling work, interrupted every half hour by the noise of the steamer chugging past, yet another reminder of him. These unassuming weeds were much better at digging into a landscape than she’d been. After leaving Cumbria, she’d tried to reinvent herself, but it had been hard. She’d rented a flat, gone to work, remained anonymous and had little impact on either the outside world or office life. She could go weeks without meeting a human that wasn’t a colleague, and missed the close relationship she’d had with her dad before Felicity muscled in and Justin muscled her out. Back here, everyone knew the Wilsons, as her father and grandfather had both been so prolific in the community. Grandad had spent his life working with farmers as a union leader, and when he died her dad had taken up the baton on ensuring Inglemere was run in a fair and democratic way, with nature at the heart of it. They weren’t a big family – her mum and dad were both only children, but they’d been respected and liked. So much of her identity had been tied up with their status, perhaps unfairly as she’d never earned it. Missing her father opened a wound she thought had healed fifteen years ago when her mother was taken from them after a short illness. Aria put down the garden fork and kicked the spade. Fatigued by gardening and grief, she marched to the cabin and made a list of things she needed to create a more comfortable temporary home. Wincing as she sipped on cold coffee dregs, she decided to treat herself to a cappuccino in town.
***
Hiking up the path towards the main road, Aria sneered at the manicured grass belonging to Castle Enterprises.
‘I bet they shipped it in from Wimbledon,’ she said to Tiger, who trotted behind her, cleverly carrying his lead in his teeth. As she approached the road, she saw two men standing in the gap between her perimeter wall and her neighbour’s. They appeared to be sweating over a cement mixer.
She clucked at the intrusion. ‘Excuse me, can I ask what you’re doing?’
‘Well, he’s waffling on about how many sheep constitute a flock while I’m wondering if I should have chicken or lamb curry for tea,’ a scruffy chap in cut-off shorts replied.
‘You won’t eat another la’al lamb when the livestock arrives, believe you me,’ said an older man.
‘Imagine a life with no kebabs!’
‘I meant, what are you doing here?’ Aria snapped.
‘Prepping land for a gate.’ The young man leaned against her wall and took out a vape. She sighed, remembering the panel and all the numbers required to open the front door. It was becoming apparent the head of Castle Enterprises was a control freak who didn’t have a clue about their ways.
‘I don’t know what kind of over-the-top protection your boss believes he might need this time, but I’m sure you’llagree this is unnecessary,’ she said. ‘We live a simple life in Inglemere, especially by the lake. That gap in the wall has been there for at least fifty years and no one has ever broken into my property. The entrance to this access road is disguised – getting into the drive requires a sharp turn and a considerable amount of skill at the wheel. Most people pass by without realising we are here. So, whatever he has hired you to do, could you please stop until I talk to him about it? As this is most unwelcome, and it’s careless.’
Her confidence was slightly undermined by the younger man playing with his phone and the older one shaking his head. ‘Look I don’t want to be involved in any domestic debate, love. I spoke with Mr Castle a couple of hours ago. He wants it in today. It’s a decent gate. Made of cedar to blend into the environment. He’s certainly thought about it, your hubby has.’
She was annoyed by every part of his statement. ‘There are no cedar trees bordering the lake. I can’t believe you don’t know that. And Mr Castle is not my husband. I’ve never even met the guy, and I am a hundred per cent sure I don’t want to, as my dad loathed him. My property is situated next door. It was Dad’s fishing cabin, and he cherished it for many years before he died. It might be worth next to nothing, but I’m its new owner and I should get as much say in the security of it as this Castle bloke. I showed a viewer around his house today and had to cope with a control panel as complicated as air traffic control – the man is obsessed with keeping everyone out!’
