Blackberry Way (Tales From Appleyard Book 4) Read online

  ‘See, it’s different with the others, my friends; they’re outcasts like me, because their age makes them different, makes them less able. But they’re patient, they speak slower, and it’s not half so exhausting having a conversation with them. Besides Blanche is pretty deaf too, Stan has a dodgy hip and Millie’s memory isn’t what it once was; but none of us needs to apologise. We all know what it’s like to have bits of us that don’t work properly, and that’s okay. We’re still us.’

  She sat down heavily with a sigh.

  ‘I might not get a chance like this again. There was something… something I can’t explain about Freya, but it’s like she understood me. She wouldn’t think it weird that I tramp the fields all day and forage for stuff. She’d think it was magical; she’d want to do it too, I know she would. No-one has made me feel like that about what I do in a long time, Boris, a very long time indeed.’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘And yet I still bloody chickened out.’

  She got up again, and walked over to her larder returning with a large bowl of pale knobbly fruits.

  ‘Right,’ she said in a decisive fashion. ‘Tomorrow I’ll go. Did you hear that, Boris?’ The dog watched her with his large brown eyes, licking his lips as he did so. ‘Tomorrow I will go to the churchyard, and I will meet with Freya and find out what it is she’d like me to do. So, if I look like I’m chickening out, I give you full permission to push me out through the door with a very wet cold nose.’

  She gave a satisfied nod.

  ‘And now that’s decided, I’m going to tackle these beautiful quinces. Stick your nose in there, Boris, aren’t they some of the best things you’ve ever smelled?’

  Chapter 6

  Freya’s heart leapt as she walked through the church gate the next morning. Laura was waiting for her on the other side, her huge dog beside her, and although she looked pretty terrified, Freya acknowledged that she’d found her own legs a little wobbly at times as she walked up the lane.

  Two days ago, she had chatted away to Laura the same way she would to anyone else, but although she knew that today ought to be no different, she felt clumsy and tongue tied. Whatever you do, don’t try and compensate for her deafness by shouting at her was Sam's less than helpful advice. She had worked that out herself, but she still felt she ought to try to make things easier for Laura, she just didn’t know how. The more she thought about their encounter, the more she could see her old friend serendipity at work. The fact that Stephen had quite literally bumped into Laura as well, only served to strengthen her feelings.

  She gave Laura a tentative but she hoped friendly smile. The last thing she wanted to do was scare her off.

  To her surprise, Laura responded with a massive grin of her own.

  ‘Thank God, you’re here,’ she said. ‘It took me all of yesterday to work up the courage to come. If you hadn’t turned up I would have felt the most enormous prat. I’d probably have gone home and had the most almighty blub as well.’

  ‘Me too,’ replied Freya. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

  The two woman looked at one another for a moment, the early morning sun slanting a band of gold between them. It would be all right, thought Freya, and her nervousness faded.

  ‘Well this is Boris,’ said Laura, patting the dog’s head, which came easily to her waist. ‘He’s very big and very hairy, but other than that the least scary dog I know. In fact, he’s a real push over, but don’t tell him I said that.’

  Freya smiled at the hairy beast. ‘It suits him,’ she said. ‘Very distinguished.’

  When there was no reply, Freya lifted her head a fraction to find Laura squinting at her. She blushed.

  ‘I said his name suits him.’ She smiled. ‘He looks very distinguished.’

  There was a nod and then, ‘I’m sorry, I… ’

  ‘Distinguished?’ Freya repeated, trying not to shout.

  ‘Ah, okay,’ said Laura, ‘I’ve always thought so. There’s definitely something of the aristocrat about him.’ She flashed Freya a grateful look before looking down and fiddling with the buttons on her coat.

  ‘Perhaps I should just come out and say it…’ began Laura. ‘It might save us both a lot of embarrassment, and I can see you’ve worked out for yourself that I’m deaf. I probably should thank you first for not shouting. You won’t believe how many people do, it’s instinctive I know, but people’s faces and mouths contort when they do that and it makes lip-reading so much harder. Speaking normally is best.’

  ‘I’ll probably get it wrong a lot of the time, but I won’t mind in the slightest if you tell me.’

  ‘You might, when it’s the nineteenth time I’ve done it,’ said Laura with a wry smile.

  Her words were light but it struck Freya how utterly exhausting it must be for her to have a conversation this way, having to prompt people constantly to repeat things, having to study people’s faces to such an extent that you see every flicker of irritation written there.

  ‘How long have you been deaf?’ she asked.

  ‘Since I was about eighteen,’ replied Laura. ‘I had a brain tumour… everything’s fine now,’ she hastened to add. ‘Luckily for me it wasn’t particularly nasty, it just decided to grow in a rather unfortunate place, that’s all. Come to think of it when you have a brain tumour, pretty much everywhere is unfortunate, but when it grew large enough to operate on it had to come out. There was a substantial risk to my hearing, but a risk I had to take if I was to keep my other faculties.’

  ‘The lesser of many evils. Not a huge comfort I would imagine.’

  ‘It could have been worse,’ said Laura.

  Freya nodded sadly. ‘I suppose,’ she agreed. ‘And would you normally sign…? If you had the choice, I mean.’

  Laura smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said, her hands flashing in front of her. ‘It’s a lot easier… for me anyway.’

  ‘Maybe you could teach me,’ said Freya, wincing as the words came out of her mouth. ‘Or maybe I should just shut up and tell you about our wedding plans and what I had in mind for the flowers, and we can take it from there? I’ve brought one or two pictures I can show you too.’ She shot Laura an apologetic look and was pleased to see she looked a little relieved. One thing at a time, Freya reminded herself, one thing at a time.

  ‘We could go inside if you like,’ said Laura. ‘There’s a small room at the side of the church with a table and chairs, and you could show me what you’ve brought.’

  Freya followed Laura who led the way to a small ante room just off the main entrance. Boris loped in by her side and immediately made for the only rug in the room beneath the small oak table. She gave a little shiver which had nothing to do with the coolness of the building, but instead to a flowering of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She would be here in three short weeks, walking through the huge oak door as a bride and leaving an hour later as Sam’s wife. Between now and then there was an extraordinary number of things to attend to and, even though it wasn’t a big wedding, Freya wasn’t sure how on earth she would manage to pull it all off. If Laura would agree to help her it would be a huge weight off her mind.

  She sat down, waiting for Laura to follow suit before fishing in her bag for the photos she had brought.

  ‘These aren’t really right, but it’s the colours I like and the general look I’m aiming for.’ She straightened up, placing the pictures down on the table.

  Laura sat looking at them, an expectant look on her face. It was only when a lengthening silence began to stretch out that Freya realised her mistake. She gently touched a hand to Laura’s arm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, once Laura’s eyes were on her face. ‘I was talking at the same time as bending down. I forgot you wouldn’t hear me.’

  Laura looked back at the pictures. ‘People have a tendency to talk to the thing they’re discussing, rather than each other. Tap the table or my arm when you’re going to speak, that way I know to look at you.’ She smiled. ‘I like these though, except they’re a bit too regimented for my t
aste. Too confined. I like my arrangements to be more unstructured, messy even sometimes…’ She frowned. ‘Sorry, what was it you said?’

  ‘The same as you,’ answered Freya, feeling excited at the connection between them. ‘I like the colours of these, but they’re way too formal.’

  Laura nodded. ‘And what are we talking about here, in terms of decoration I mean. What do you need help with? The church, your own flowers?’

  Freya screwed up her face. ‘Erm… everything. The church yes, and my bouquet, but we’re having a marquee back at Appleyard for the reception as well, and I’d love to have flowers there too. In fact, not just flowers, but fruits, leaves, berries, that kind of thing.’

  At the mention of the marquee, Laura’s eyes widened. She looked shocked, and yet Freya didn’t think it was extravagant, not by modern standards.

  ‘It won’t be huge, the marquee I mean. It’s just that we’ve nowhere else to put people. The barn is full of equipment, and –’

  ‘How many people will there be?’ interrupted Laura. She blanched suddenly, shooting backwards in her chair. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Freya. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have come.’

  Laura was almost at the door by the time Freya had registered her sudden change of mood. She struggled to get up, hampered by the straps of her bag which had become tangled in the chair leg.

  ‘Laura, wait!’ she shouted, without thinking. She looked beseechingly at Boris who looked rather startled at the sudden movement. ‘Can’t you stop her?’ she asked. There was nothing for it but to chase after her. God, Laura was fast.

  She was halfway down the path before Freya caught up with her, catching at her arm as gently as she could. She turned Laura to face her and was horrified to see that tears had already stained her pale face.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Laura stared at her as if unseeing.

  ‘It’s my fault. I should never have come,’ she hiccupped. ‘All the villagers, all those people…’

  Freya was confused now. ‘What people? Who are you talking about Laura?’

  Laura’s eyes searched her face for answers. ‘In the marquee, and at the church. Everywhere. I can’t be with those people,’ she said, shuddering.

  It wasn’t so much what she said but the way she said it which struck a chord with Freya. Being shy was one thing, but this was something entirely different. She recalled Laura’s words of a couple of days ago. How she wouldn’t visit the churchyard at the weekend because there were too many people, how she wasn’t very good with folk since… a sentence that had never been finished. Freya could understand Laura feeling awkward in company. Deafness was not visible on the outside and her life must be full of misunderstandings and apologies, judgments made, often incorrectly, as people mistook Laura’s silence or lack of response for rudeness. But feeling awkward, although understandable, was not the issue here; it went much deeper than that. Laura was afraid.

  Without thinking Freya reached out and pulled Laura in towards her, wrapping her arms around the tiny figure but saying nothing. It was an instinctive gesture, and Freya, not prone as yet to maternal feelings, was surprised by it; but there was something about Laura that was so gentle, so vulnerable, and although they were of a similar age it touched something deep inside Freya. At first she thought she had made a massive error as Laura’s whole body went taut, but almost immediately she inhaled a huge shuddering breath and her arms clung to Freya’s coat as she fell against her.

  A cold wet nose pushed itself onto the back of Freya’s hand several minutes later, as Boris reminded her gently of his presence. He seemed as confused about his mistress’s behaviour as she was, but Laura’s choice of a dog known for its loyalty and generosity was no coincidence. She wondered how long it had been since Laura had felt the reassurance of a human touch.

  After a few moments more, Freya gently moved away, pulling Laura so that she could look at her. She had shed the tears she needed to, but her look when she met Freya’s gaze was still fearful.

  ‘Perhaps you should come and tell me all about it,’ said Freya. ‘If you’re ready?’

  There was a weak smile, but Laura was indeed ready. She had waited a very long time to talk to someone.

  ‘We used to live next door to one another, had done ever since I was five and he was six, and I guess we grew up together. It wasn’t until we started secondary school that I really took any notice of him; David was simply always there. It was never serious; we went out together a few times, but that all changed when I was fourteen and diagnosed with a brain tumour.’

  Freya was beginning to feel cold, and the hard wooden chair wasn’t helping, but she sat as still as she could for fear of breaking the moment. Laura had begun to talk the moment they were back inside the church again, sitting in the same room they had left only minutes earlier. She nodded encouragingly.

  ‘It’s at those times that you find out who your friends really are,’ she continued. ‘I remember clearly the day when I told my best friend, Chloe, the diagnosis. I’d been in and out of hospital for weeks having various tests, and missed a fair bit of school one way or another. Chloe was brilliant. Every day I was absent she came around to our house to fill me in with all the gossip, or help me to catch up with my homework; but the very day I was finally able to confide in her the diagnosis, she looked at me and said “So, you’re going to die then?”’

  The spot on the wall held Laura’s attention for so long that Freya was tempted to look there herself, but eventually the words started again, a quiet monotone that belied Laura’s true feelings.

  ‘She apologised straight away of course, but I’d caught her off guard, and she’d said the first thing that had come into her head – the thing she really thought. It was what she believed, and at the time so did I.’ She took another breath. ‘It certainly spelled the death sentence for our friendship. She didn’t walk away immediately, just sort of drifted further off each day, like a piece of flotsam caught on the outgoing tide, until I hardly saw her. And I let her go. I was too preoccupied to care, and where she and others left little holes in my life, David came and filled them.’

  For the first time since she started talking, Laura raised her eyes and looked at Freya. The loneliness in her eyes was stark, as was the longing for warmth and life.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ whispered Freya. ‘That must have been an awful time for you. I can’t imagine how you must have felt. School and just being fourteen are hard enough to get through, but add something like that into the mix… However did you cope?’

  There was a slight pause as Laura weighed up what Freya had just asked.

  ‘Strangely enough, it got easier after that. It was just David and me against the world. We didn’t need anyone else. That’s where I went wrong of course, but at the time I didn’t think beyond the next day and the day after that; everything else was too far in the distance, and so it went on. Even when I found out about the operation and the risk to my hearing, David simply said we would learn sign language together, and so we did. It never crossed my mind that this was wrong…’

  ‘What do you mean wrong, Laura? I’m not sure I follow you.’ Freya put out a hand in reassurance.

  It took Laura some moments before she could speak again, a sudden welling up of tears tightening her throat, and quickening her breathing. ‘Because now that he’s gone, I have nothing in my life, and no-one. I built my world around him, and when he died, my foundations went too, and everything crumbled around me.’

  Freya took in a sharp breath at the shock of Laura’s words. Here she was, on the threshold of sharing a life with the man she loved, and this young woman had already lived a lifetime of love, and grief. She was flooded with remorse. She left her chair and knelt beside Laura, taking both of her hands and folding them in her own. They were like ice.

  ‘I’m so, so, sorry,’ she said, making sure that Laura could see every word. ‘I’ve been gabbl
ing on about my own wedding without a second thought, and I never even stopped to think. I feel awful asking for your help, it was probably the most insensitive thing I could have done.’

  ‘And yet I want to help,’ whispered Laura, ‘I just don’t know how.’

  Freya cocked her head to one side, confused.

  ‘I want to live,’ Laura continued, her tearstained face pale, but more animated now. ‘I want to feel alive, to be a part of things; have friends and do things normal people do, but I’ve shut myself away for so long it feels like an impossibility.’ She clasped at Freya’s hands. ‘I’d love to help with your wedding. It’s such a wonderful celebration of life, of everything that’s important, but how do I face people again, when most of them are the reason I’ve shut myself away?’

  There was something tickling at the back of Freya’s mind. Something that she should know about, a memory that should never have been forgotten. And then, as she looked at Laura’s beautiful face, it came to her. She squeezed her hand.

  ‘Is your last name Ashcombe?’ she asked.

  There was a tiny nod as the two women leant forwards in a hug.

  Five years ago most of the farming community had turned out to attend the funeral of young David Ashcombe, a worker at the nearby Drummond Orchard, one of the largest cider producers in the area. There had been talk of dodgy working practices on the estate for years, but the general consensus was that Francis Drummond believed himself above the law and, in this case, he had seemed to get away with it. David had been killed while helping to clear damaged trees after a severe storm. The handbrake on the tractor trailer he was using had failed as he was stacking cut logs on the back. It rolled backwards crushing him to death. Laura had argued publicly that David talked frequently about badly maintained machinery, but the enquiry found it to be a simple case of operator error.