“Seriously, though.” The microwave pinged and Frankie brought his reheated pasta to the table. “You and the scary plant have been crashing for, like, weeks now. Have you heard from Alex? At all?”
Pippa hesitated. The truth was, no, she hadn’t. Not since he’d loaded up a hire truck mere days after their showdown and headed down south. Even the mention of his name was like someone reaching down her neck, pulling out her heart and tearing into it with ragged teeth. Pippa felt the loss of Alex down to her bones. Frankie didn’t need her to explain that, though. He knew.
“Say no more.” Her cousin twirled his fork at her. “I’m sorry, love.”
“No,I’msorry.” Pippa sat next to him and picked an olive off his plate. “I’ve crashed here for free like a massive slob and I’m totally cramping your style with Theo.”
“Hey.” Frankie patted her hand. “Nothing’s happening with Theo anyway. I’m a gormless mess whenever he’s around. Besides, I’m always going to be here for you. Remember when I broke up with Cal? You took care of me then. Literally fed me and bathed me.” When Pippa wrinkled her nose, he shuddered. “I know, we said we wouldn’t mention that again. But you saved me, like you always do. I owe you.”
“Thanks.” Then Pippa noticed an uncertainty tugging at her cousin’s face. “But…?”
Frankie chewed contemplatively. “You know I love you.”
Pippa smiled and nodded. She knew that more than anything else in the world and she always had. “Back atcha.”
Frankie took a deep breath. “Not to sound like a totally unsympathetic twat but I was hoping you might find a job. Help me out a bit. It’s just … bills and that. Plus, you’re costing me a fortune in biscuits at the moment.”
Mortified, Pippa buried her face in her hands. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
Frankie’s eyes bulged. “Like I say, I’m here for you! But it’s been a couple of months now of boxsets and couch time. Might be good for you too.”
Pippa wanted to crawl into a hole and remain there for many years. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to find work in the immediate aftermath of the split. Panicked by the notion of no home and no income, she’d applied to varying roles that she thought might do, but nothing had come of those efforts. Her role at Goodman’s Farm had been so fluid, her salary kind of all over the place, that recruiters didn’t know what to do with her. Besides, very few jobs actually appealed. It galled Pippa that she’d essentially run a million pound plus business like a pro for years but hadn’t even thought to formalise her title or create a CV. She’d placed her destiny solely in the hands of Alex and he’d abused that trust. After the sixth or seventh rejection, she’d admitted defeat and essentially adopted Frankie’s sweatpants as her own.
“I’ll try.” Her voice was small.
“I had a thought,” Frankie went on. “Why not speak to Mick Dunstan? I mean, who knows the farm formerly known as Goodman’s better than you? You could be an invaluable source of support for him.”
“I bet he’s fully staffed,” she said instantly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Frankie chastised. “But if he needs a little help with something, maybe that could ease you back into the workplace?”
“You really think I should try?”
“I do,” Frankie affirmed.
Pippa felt her pulse pick up pace. Frankie was right. It was a no-brainer to ask Mick for work. Although, subconsciously, Pippa knew why she hadn’t approached Mick, why she’d avoided Hurst Bridge completely since Alex left. The humiliation of the break-up had been too hard to bear. Everyone had known her as Alex’s girl for years and everyone also knew why she was no longer with him. She couldn’t bear the pity, the curious stares. Staying in Sheffield with Frankie had been a refuge from that. But she couldn’t avoid Hurst Bridge forever. Pippa knew for Frankie’s sake she had to do as he suggested.
Dropping a kiss on her cousin’s head, she hurried to his bedroom where he’d allotted a bit of wardrobe and drawer space for some of her clothes. The rest languished in suitcases in the corner of his room. Peeling off Frankie’s clothes, she pulled on her trusted ‘smart’ dress, a simple wool shift she’d picked up from a charity shop. It had been a steal, considering it was vintage Jaeger. The deep navy made her skin glow and her pale eyes pop. As she shoved her feet into comfortably ancient loafers she yelled out to Frankie. “Can I use the car?”
“You’re goingnow?” Frankie said, as she barrelled through the flat to look for her handbag.
“Why not?” Pippa ran fingers through her tangled waves to create some semblance of style. “No time like the present.” She knew if she didn’t ride this wave of intent now, she’d never leave the couch.
Frankie smiled indulgently. “I’ve missed this Pippa.”
“Which Pippa?”
“The go-getter,” he said, as he unhooked his car fob from his tangle of keys. “The grafter.”
“Thanks.” Somewhere deep down, a small flame of purpose flickered, warming her soul. She had to admit it was good to be doing something other than wallowing in despair. Besides, it was clear that she had to earn money and fast, if only as a mark of respect towards Frankie. She grabbed the car keys. “Wish me luck!”
“You don’t need it!” he called after her as she hurtled out of the door.
Half an hour later, Pippa pulled up outside Dunstan’s Farm and took a deep breath, casting a glance around. Driving through Hurst Bridge hadn’t been as bad as expected. Despite the still-fresh sting of humiliation of Alex’s betrayal, she was overwhelmed with longing as she drove down the familiar and lovely streets. Hiding out on Frankie’s couch, immersed in boxsets of reality TV, had only masked just how much she missed her hometown. Driving down the old little lanes had unearthed the true pain at her absence from it. The sweet, freshly mowed green was resplendent in the sunshine, the cleanly swept pavements and the picturesque Yorkshire stone houses looking idyllic as ever. Sheffield was a fun city and God knows she loved her cousin, but this town was Pippa’s home. She just needed to find a way back, to be able to hold her head high, and a job at Dunstan’s could be just the ticket.
Pippa got out of the car. From what she knew about farmers, it was 50/50 whether Mick would stop to take a proper lunch. Now he’d just acquired the extra acres from Goodman’s, it was possible he had too much work to do so. But when she rapped on the door to the enormous cottage, it was Mick himself who answered the door.
“Pippa!” His smile was broad, much like the man himself. He was solid, with beefy arms and salt-and-pepper curls receding from a florid, sun-baked face. “It is Pippa, isn’t it? Alex’s lass?”
