Gooseberry Fool (Tales From Appleyard Book 3) Read online

  He stared at the huge pile of waxy fruit on the table. ‘Good job I’ve got no paper cuts,’ he quipped.

  Willow was weighing out quantities of sugar. ‘Just don’t pare your fingers at the same time as the zest,’ she grimaced, ‘then you’ll know about it.’

  ‘So, what exactly is it that we’re doing here?’ asked Peter. ‘Talk me through it from beginning to end.’

  Not only was Peter super-efficient he was a fast learner and, as Willow explained how she made her cordial, she knew she would only have to tell him once.

  He nodded in understanding. ‘And how much are we making exactly?’ he asked, eyeing up the syrup from a previous batch dripping through a muslin cloth into the bowl below.

  ‘If I say until the elderflowers run out, promise me you won’t run away.’

  Peter stared at her impassively. ‘Something tells me you don’t just mean that pile of elderflowers there.’

  Willow wrinkled her nose. ‘Pretty much the whole field, and maybe the next one too…’

  ‘I see. And how many lemons would we need for that?’

  She crossed the room to the tall fridge standing in one corner, and pulled open the door. A mass of bright yellow ovals covered every shelf. She closed the door quickly.

  Peter sighed and picked up the zester, peering at the lemon in his hand.

  ‘One…’ he intoned, but when Willow risked a glance at him, he was smiling.

  The morning passed in a blur of lemon scented industry, until the last of the elderflowers had been checked over for bugs and stacked in the waiting crates, and every work surface held pan after pan of the summery concoction. They could do no more until tomorrow when the syrup was ready to be strained.

  Willow however was not finished with the day yet.

  ‘Do you want to make some ice cream?’ she grinned.

  Peter, who had a glass of water half way to his lips, nearly choked before he had even begun to drink it.

  ‘Now might not be the best time to mention that I don’t actually like ice cream,’ he said.

  Willow grinned. ‘In that case now might be the perfect time to mention that that doesn’t matter in the slightest. Besides I’ll soon change your mind.’

  She enjoyed the teasing banter she shared with Peter. He was easy to talk to, but he never let their chatter get in the way of hard work. The morning had taken her mind off the images of last night; not removed them, but pushed them firmly enough to one side so that she was able to concentrate on the task at hand. She had to stay focused now. She had to be smart if this venture was ever going to succeed, and simply making gorgeous cordials or ice creams wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t just trading in yet another food stuff; instead she was selling the hum of summer hedgerows, busy with bees, the feeling of sun on bare toes whilst walking country lanes, the soft quiet dawn turning to the pale violet close of the day. It was everything she held dear, bottled, packaged and enticing. She was selling the dream. And not only was she selling it, but she also had to convince some pretty important people that they wanted to buy it.

  She glanced back at Peter who had now finished his drink and was waiting for further instructions. He had asked nothing of her during the morning, beyond the odd check that he was doing things correctly, or what to do next, but she could sense his curiosity. It was pretty obvious, particularly to someone with Peter’s intellect that her comment about branching out her business a little was not all there was to it, but she still wasn’t sure how much she should confide in him. She trusted him, that wasn’t the issue, but how did you explain to someone that everything you were doing, every decision you made was because of a feeling, a hunch, even a bad dream. It sounded kooky even to her.

  She took some cream from the fridge. ‘The ice cream isn’t difficult to make,’ she said. ‘It’s basically gooseberry puree mixed with elderflower cordial and added to whipped cream, but I find it has a happy spot when you’re mixing. It’s hard to explain, but under or over the happy spot and it doesn’t seem quite the same somehow. I’ll try and–’

  Willow was interrupted by the sound of her mobile ringing. She glanced down at the table, her face crossed with anxiety when she noted who the caller was. She picked the phone up immediately.

  ‘Maggie, is everything okay?’

  She listened, nodding, for a few seconds, her expression growing more and more concerned. ‘I’ll come straight away. I can be with you in about ten minutes… Is Amy okay? She’ll be so upset about her sister.’

  Peter looked up sharply when he heard Amy’s name mentioned and his eyes connected with Willow’s as she lowered the phone.

  ‘That was the school,’ she murmured, her hand fluttering to her throat. ‘Beth fell awkwardly in PE, they think she might have broken her arm.’

  Peter took the phone from her hand with a glance at his watch. ‘Go and get your bag and keys. I’ll ring Jude, maybe he can pick Amy up later, otherwise I’ll go.’ He shooed her out of the room, already dialling the number. By the time she returned it was all sorted, and he pushed the phone back into Willow’s hands.

  ‘Go on, go. We’ll look after everything here until you get back. Just keep in touch, let us know how you get on, okay? And give my love to Beth.’

  Willow gave him one final look before turning on her heel. Her mind was already elsewhere.

  Peter watched her retreating back as she hurried down the hallway. It was every parent’s worst nightmare, and he hoped that Beth was okay. He’d never really had any experience with children before coming to work for Willow, but Beth was bright as a button, and funny too. She’d had him in stitches one day trying to teach him tongue twisters. She was so much better at them than he was. Amy was quieter than her twin, a little more thoughtful perhaps, but just as adorable, and she would miss her sister dreadfully this afternoon. He didn’t think he had ever seen them apart.

  He turned back to the table and looked at the two large pots of cream that Willow had put there moments earlier. The navy blue notebook lay a little distance away and he picked it up thoughtfully. He’d never made ice cream before, but maybe this would help to keep him occupied while he waited for news about Beth. After all, how hard could it be?

  The gooseberries were cooling by the time Peter heard the back door slam, and the sound of running feet. He knew that Amy would head for the kitchen first, and as he pulled open the door to the stillroom he was met with her tear-stained face racing down the hallway to find him. She barrelled into his legs just as a tired-looking Jude came through the door. He looked a little fraught.

  ‘I want to go to the hospital,’ Amy wailed into his legs. He suspected Jude had heard nothing else since he picked her up from school, but he bent down as close as he could to her level, pulling her gently away so that he could at least see her face.

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said. ‘I know if it were my sister that had hurt her arm, that’s exactly what I’d like to do too.’

  The tears halted for a moment. ‘Then why can’t I go? Daddy says I can’t go.’

  Peter took hold of her hand and started to lead her back down the hallway. He bent down to whisper in her ear.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think daddy doesn’t want you to go because then he’ll have no-one to look after him while Beth and mummy are at the hospital. Daddies get scared too you know.’

  Amy looked up at him, her blue eyes large and round. ‘But you could look after him.’

  Peter bit back a sigh, thinking quickly. ‘But I’m looking after you,’ he said.

  There was silence for a moment while Peter was subjected to rigorous scrutiny by the six year old still holding his hand.

  ‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘I’ll look after daddy then… Do you think he’ll want a biscuit?’

  Peter grinned. ‘I’m sure he will. I think he’ll also like a very strong cup of coffee,’ he added, with a quick look at Jude. ‘But I can make that. You go and see if there’re any jammy dodgers left.’

  Amy skipped off hap
pily to the kitchen while Peter smiled at Jude apologetically. ‘Sorry about that,’ he murmured. ‘Best I could come up with at short notice.’

  Jude looked exhausted, but he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘No, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘Jammy dodgers… blimey, I haven’t had one of those in years. Are they still as good as I remember?’

  Peter nodded. ‘Best get in there before they all go. I’ll put the kettle on.’ He followed Jude into the kitchen where Amy was already sitting at the table, biscuit tin in front of her.

  ‘You know what, Ames,’ said Jude, sitting down. ‘I’m rubbish at drawing things. Would you help me make a get well card for Beth? I think she’d like that.’

  Amy shot Peter an exasperated look. ‘Daddy, Beth won’t want a rubbish card will she? I’ll make the card, and you can help.’

  Peter turned away quickly so that she wouldn’t see his smile.

  Leaving the two of them at the table surrounded by card and felt tip pens, Peter went back to the stillroom wondering whether he had the nerve to finish making the ice cream. He’d read through the instructions in the notebook several times but was still baffled. Mix together the whipped cream and gooseberry puree until it starts to sing – what on earth did that mean?

  He washed his hands and pushed a tentative finger into the gooseberries that he’d left to cool. Perfect. He checked the recipe again and then took up a bowl in a meaningful manner.

  So far so good. He was now staring at a bowl full of whipped cream and one of gooseberry puree, mixed with the fragrant elderflower cordial. He picked up the second bowl, stared at the wooden spoon in his hand, and started to pour.

  At first the gooseberry puree cut swirls of green through the cream, but as his spoon moved back and forth they began to turn a pale yellow colour. He mixed some more, energetically this time and was rewarded with a higher pitched sound than before. It wasn’t quite singing yet, but Peter could hear the difference and that was all the encouragement he needed. After a few more minutes he stopped. The recipe was right. Some strange alchemy indeed, but if he had to choose a word to describe it, he would have said that the ice cream was happy, singing away in the bowl as he mixed. He’d already laid out a plastic container on the table, and now he moved it a bit closer, grinning with delight as he poured out his first batch of ice cream. He placed it reverently in the freezer, and sat back down at the table, a hum of excitement settling with him. He had done it.

  Willow rang again just after seven. She sounded tired but relieved as she explained that they would soon be on their way home. The doctor had declared that no bones were broken, but Beth had sprained her arm and it would still be sore for a few days. Now all she wanted to do was get home and snuggle up in bed with Matilda, her favourite bear.

  Peter exchanged a look with Jude. He had stayed, not only to help look after Amy, but because he didn’t want to leave without knowing what had happened to Beth. Now it was time for the family to be together again, and he didn’t want to outstay his welcome. He dropped a kiss on Amy’s head, telling her he would see her tomorrow and let Jude walk him to the door. He’d never really thought about his life in terms of being a father before, and yet the few hours he had spent with Amy and Jude had convinced him that at some point in his life, there was nothing he would like better. He’d only ever seen Jude when he was coming or going, never for long enough to form an opinion beyond the fact that he was a bit of a flash merchant. He knew he worked hard for his family, but the clothes he wore were just that bit too nice for Peter’s taste, the car he drove, just that bit too arrogant. But tonight he’d seen a different person in Jude. He’d seen the person who wanted nothing more than to make his daughter happy.

  Jude closed the door thoughtfully. He’d never really paid any of the students who came to help Willow much attention before. They went almost as soon as they arrived, and although he was on hand if there was ever a problem, Willow seemed to manage them perfectly well without his help. Peter was different though, and he let his thoughts meander through the various scenarios he now had in his head. He wouldn’t discuss any of them with Willow however, not just yet.

  With an ear cocked, listening out for Amy, he pushed open the door to the stillroom, a place about which Willow had said very little recently. He admitted that in the past he’d rarely ventured inside. It was more Willow’s domain than his, and unless she wasn’t around and he needed to find something, what reason did he ever have to go in there? Things had changed though. There was a bustle about the place that he had only just allowed to register. Smells that, although he was used to them, seemed to be occurring more frequently. Willow didn’t keep secrets but neither had she volunteered much about what she’d been up to lately.

  He hadn’t thought about what he would find as he entered the room, but he was transfixed by what he saw. A slow smile began to turn up the corners of his mouth as he stared around him. He had gone through hell last night. It had been far worse than he had ever imagined and afterwards he had sat for hours, practically motionless trying to remind himself that what he was doing was the right thing. He had crawled home to bed, and to Willow, who was all he had craved, but the cost of what he had done would be his to bear for a long time yet. This was good though. This was a glimmer of hope for the road ahead, and Willow was in for such a surprise.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Peter, I could kiss you!’ exclaimed Willow, grinning, as he backed away in embarrassment. ‘Don’t worry,’ she added, ‘I was only joking, you’re quite safe! This is perfect though. It tastes wonderful…’ She winked at him. ‘Almost as good as I could make myself.’

  The tub of ice cream lay on the table in front of them, a spoon sticking out of its depths.

  ‘I was a bit mystified by the thought of it singing to me, but bizarrely, once I’d got to that point, it did seem to make sense. I might have been dreaming though.’

  ‘That’s grandma Gilly’s notebook for you,’ she replied. ‘It’s full of all things magical.’

  Peter didn’t doubt that it was. He eyed the silver moon on the corner of the cover. He’d had a little peek at the pages beyond the instructions for the ice cream, and some of the ‘recipes’ were certainly not for things you’d want to eat…

  ‘So, what’s next?’ he asked. ‘In the grand scheme of things, I mean.’

  Willow made a face. ‘It’s not a very grand scheme at all. In fact I’m making most of it up as I go along.’

  She laid down the pencil she was doodling with. It was another hot day and her long hair was loosely wound into two plaits. She blew a puff of air upwards, trying to ruffle the line of her fringe. ‘I should have a plan shouldn’t I?’ she asked. ‘I should have all this laid out like a military campaign so I know exactly what I’m doing.’

  Peter pulled the spoon from the ice cream, a generous dollop still attached to it which he made no effort to remove. Instead he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and closed his eyes, letting the ice cream melt and trickle around his mouth. A small dribble escaped.

  He opened one eye. ‘Am I now wearing this?’ he sighed, knowing that his beard had mopped up any excess.

  Willow giggled. ‘We should really put this back into the freezer.’ She held out her hand for the spoon, which Peter offered up reluctantly.

  ‘Do I take it that you now like ice cream?’ she asked.

  Peter ignored her. ‘So tell me what it is you want to accomplish. Really accomplish that is. Not just the fooling around making a few pots of ice cream here and there that you’re pretending is the thing.’

  Willow picked up the tub of ice cream and got up from the table without saying a word. Peter thought at first he’d upset her, but when she turned back from the freezer she had a gentle smile on her face.

  ‘I am so not a business woman,’ she said. ‘I mean, look at me. Bare feet, plaits, and a smock. And yes, before you say it, I know I run a fruit farm, but that’s different. I don’t have to convince anyone to eat the strawberries, or gooseberries or whatev
er, people do it all by themselves. I don’t change the product in any way, after all, why mess with perfection? I simply grow the fruit, and people come and buy it.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s not quite as cut and dried as that,’ interrupted Peter. ‘You need to know what you’re doing for one thing,’ he added.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but really Mother Nature does most of it.’ She paused, gathering her thoughts. ‘What I want is a business that’s sustainable all year round. I want to gather everything we have here, and take it out there…’ she waved a vague hand at the window, ‘… to people who don’t have these gorgeous things on their doorstep, who don’t get up every morning and gaze out on fields sparkling with the morning dew. Who aren’t as lucky as we are. I want to share it, but in the process I want to give our family a future, here on this land, so that it never has to become a field full of houses, or offices or a car park. That’s actually the most important thing to me, but I’m not stupid enough to think that we don’t need money to survive, or to grow, and I know people won’t want to buy the things I make just because I say they’re good. I’ll need to convince them… I just don’t know how.’

  She sat down at the table with a thump. ‘I have ideas for all the things I want to make, I know how to make them. I have someone who makes packaging to put them in, and I have designs for said packaging. I just don’t have a bloody clue about what to do next. How to get it out there.’

  Peter rubbed the end of his nose. ‘And this business?’ he began, ‘how big is it going to be? Are we talking about shed loads of investment? New premises? Staff?’

  Willow snorted. ‘God no. Just enough for us, our family, no more. Small, selective, self-sufficient, an extension of our lives here. We have the space and if we need somewhere a little bigger to work from, there’re always the barns outside. I grow a lot of what we eat… and we can live pretty cheaply really. We don’t need masses of money… we never have.’

  Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter, thought Peter, watching her expression. ‘So start-up costs are relatively small. You’ve sourced your equipment. You have a worthy range of products, now what you need is marketing and exposure, would that be right?’