Snowed in at the Practice Read online

  She’d been knowingly riled by his dismissal of the job offer, of course. Little had she realised that her subconscious had taken his teasing so much to heart.

  ‘Taffy isn’t Milo,’ Reverend Taylor said, going straight to the crux of the issue. ‘Has he ever done anything, with his actions or deeds, that would make you doubt his commitment to you? He may not understand your choices right away, or indeed your priorities, but then I would say that’s a communication problem, not a support problem, wouldn’t you?’

  Holly frowned, feeling disloyal to her lovely new husband for even entertaining these doubts and yet . . .

  ‘Holly,’ said Reverend Taylor, ‘you wouldn’t be human if you walked away from Milo without a few dents in the paintwork. Acknowledge them, if you can. It really is the only way to move on.’

  ‘But why now?’ asked Holly, a plaintive yearning for answers evident in the tremor of her voice. ‘I’ve remarried. I’ve had two more children since Milo and I divorced. It hasn’t bothered me before; why’s it starting again now?’

  ‘Because you’re facing change again. Choices. Potentially life-changing choices. Your subconscious is trying to protect you because I don’t think you’ve ever properly told it that the battle is over. The siege has passed, but on some lonely level you’re still poised for a reprise.’

  ‘And now I have to do the work? To make a plan?’ Holly said.

  ‘Yup. No shortcuts, I’m afraid. If you don’t deal with this now, it’ll just pop up again later on when you least expect it.’

  ‘Baggage,’ muttered Holly, shaking her head. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she’d spent the last few months following Alice’s excellent example by decluttering and editing her possessions, when all the time it was her thoughts and preconceptions that needed the most attention.

  ‘Lots to think about, certainly,’ Reverend Taylor agreed. ‘Take it steady though, there’s no rush.’

  ‘But there is one thing that’s a little overdue,’ Holly said with a new sense of purpose. ‘This isn’t just my decision to make. It directly affects too many people. So maybe it’s time I started exploring my options properly instead of talking in the abstract.’

  ‘Just remember,’ said Reverend Taylor, as she cleaved another hefty chunk from the chocolate gateau, ‘that a plan without a goal can be just as tricky.’

  But Holly’s thoughts had already moved on, mentally filling out columns of pros and cons in her fancy new notebook, completely oblivious to the look of concern on Reverend Taylor’s face.

  Chapter 16

  Connor sipped his pint of Guinness with deliberate slowness; there was, after all, no hurry to be home, nobody waiting for him, eager to share news of their day. He’d grown tired of social media and its ability to pick him up and smash him down in the space of a few short tweets.

  Never read your own reviews, they’d said, right back when he’d started out in the music business.

  Obviously, he’d done what all his bandmates did: nod sagely, completely agree and then go home and log on to Instagram, or Twitter, or whatever the site-du-jour seemed to be.

  No matter what time of day or night, somewhere in the world, The Hive’s fans were awake and ready to talk. Sometimes it had been exactly what he needed, especially in the wake of Rachel and the baby’s deaths. But not always.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on when the tide had turned against him: was it his increasingly political stance about healthcare – air ambulance provision in particular, of course, or his move to the countryside? Could it simply be that The Hive had outstayed their welcome in the public consciousness, only to be suited and rebooted for a comeback tour at some point in the future, doubtless because one of the band (Orlando – it was always going to be Orlando) had snorted their profits up their nose and needed to make a few quick bucks for alimony?

  He sighed and glanced around the pub, eager for company but actually wishing he wasn’t. He’d somehow lost the ability to be alone with his thoughts and staying with Lizzie and Will for all those months had meant he didn’t even need to address the issue: silence was in limited supply in the Parsons household. A non-issue, with three kids, Lizzie and Will all happy to chat for hours.

  He’d regretted signing the lease on the mews house last month, almost before his cheque had cleared. But he’d begun to feel as though his constant presence in Lizzie and Will’s life was causing tension. They never said a thing, and Lizzie for one always seemed delighted to have his company, but Will was another matter. And their friendship meant too much to him to abuse their hospitality any longer. He’d persuaded himself it was time for a fresh start: who wouldn’t want a townhouse in Bath to call home?

  Well, as it turned out – him.

  The longing for his own country estate had never waned, he just couldn’t bring himself to return to Dorset – to the perfection he’d had, however briefly. Nor could he bring himself to sell up. And so the Dorset estate sat there, squat in the corner of his mind, a spectre at every feast, never far from his thoughts.

  He glanced up as the door swung open and Holly and Taffy walked in, deep in conversation and almost oblivious to the world around them. Probably not the best time to blurt out his news.

  On the other hand, he did have Holly to thank, did he not, for opening his eyes to the possibilities in Larkford and his own priorities?

  ‘Holly? Taffy? Over here!’ He waved to Teddy behind the bar. ‘A bottle of your finest bubbles, Teds, please.’ He turned and pulled Holly into a rib-crushing hug. ‘There is much to celebrate!’

  He felt a moment’s disquiet that he’d misread the situation so completely. Sensors apparently still switched to off. Holly to her credit rose to the occasion like a pro – indeed, if he hadn’t seen the momentary flicker of tension between them, he honestly wouldn’t have realised that he’d stumbled into a marital dispute.

  ‘I love good news,’ Holly reassured Connor, pulling up a bar stool, even as Taffy hovered uncomfortably beside her.

  ‘So what are we celebrating?’ managed Taffy, when it became obvious that whatever topic they had been discussing so animatedly was now firmly closed, tucked away for later.

  ‘Well, thanks to your adorable wife, you can sign me up as an official resident of Larkford!’ Connor couldn’t hide the excitement, or was it relief, in his voice. In his mind, his recovery had stalled until he could find a place to truly call home. ‘The ink is barely dry, but I’ve signed on the dotted line and the money has left my account, so I think it’s safe to raise a glass without jinxing it.’ He didn’t let on just how seriously he’d taken the concept of a jinx; it had taken all his efforts to bring Lizzie and Dan into the loop earlier.

  Superstitious didn’t come close.

  Or was that neurosis?

  ‘Seriously? Mate, that is just the best news!’ Taffy exclaimed with feeling, all awkwardness instantly forgotten.

  ‘Then this bottle should surely be on the house?’ suggested Teddy, his natural eavesdropping as their local publican simply an accepted part of life.

  ‘Nah, I think a round for the house should be on me, don’t you?’ Connor parried easily, quite accustomed to his wallet smoothing the way, where his slightly awkward social skills might not. It was something he was working on, along with a slightly less ‘dark’ sense of humour – after all, wealth and fame could only get you so far in life, as he’d discovered to his cost.

  ‘Less booze talk, more house talk!’ protested Holly. ‘Tell us everything.’

  Connor grinned widely, touched by her enthusiasm.

  It was true, only moments before, he’d been allowing himself a brief wallow that his momentous news might go unshared, but now? His mercurial moods were seemingly part of life that he would have to learn to accept.

  He held up his hands as though to encompass the whole pub. ‘As you know, I have taken your advice, Holly. Wise, wise woman that you are. You are talking to the proud new owner of Peal Hall. And . . .’ He paused to keep them guessing fo
r a second to two, amazed that Lizzie and Dan hadn’t already spilled the beans and stolen his thunder, ‘and also the new tenant farmer at Blackleigh Farm. It’s the perfect smallholding – gorgeous house in the heart of the town, and acres of rolling farmland only a short stroll away.’

  ‘Perfect for a gentleman farmer, I’m guessing?’ Taffy suggested, obviously doubting Connor’s desire to get his hands dirty, or indeed to park his immaculate Range Rover anywhere muddy like, for example, a farmyard.

  ‘Hardly a gentleman!’ scoffed Connor, making sure that his round encompassed the regulars tucked away in their booths by the fireside. Generous to a fault, he did tend to gather friends like Sellotape, even if some of those ‘friends’ might not be so keen to socialise if they were ever expected to contribute to the tab. ‘I’ve already asked Clive to give me some pointers, haven’t I, Clive?’ He raised his glass towards Clive Shawe, one of Larkford’s most outspoken organic farmers.

  True, his organic salad produce was fêted by all the posh supermarkets and he was certainly worth a bob or two, but to look at him, with his sketchy dentistry and overalls, he screamed old-school farmer, six generations in.

  ‘Aye,’ said Clive with a nod, before returning to his pint.

  ‘And did he tell you that only gentleman farmers drive round in fancy Range Rovers and you’ll need to get yourself a knackered old Subaru if you want to fit in?’ Taffy teased.

  Connor coloured. ‘He did not. But I take your point.’ He made a mental note to look into this, no longer feeling quite so proud of his shiny new toy.

  Clive harrumphed into his pint, only a hint of a smile giving away his amusement.

  ‘I’ve got so many plans for this place,’ carried on Connor, working hard to keep his enthusiasm afloat, slightly annoyed that even such a tiny setback had dented his mood. He was determined to enjoy every moment of his new project. Determined. ‘I’m going to have a herd of goats, really gorgeous Jersey ones with big brown eyes and that beautiful russet colour?’

  Clive just shook his head and carried on drinking. ‘Ugly goats make money too, you know.’

  Connor watched Holly and Taffy trade amused glances, suddenly feeling rather protective of his plans. ‘I’m going to have a dairy for making goat’s cheese. All organic, you know. And then I’ll have my own honey, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Taffy nodding. ‘To go with the goat’s cheese.’

  ‘Right,’ said Connor, unsure whether he was being teased or not. ‘Because they’re the perfect pairing. And since I already have the bees—’

  ‘Sorry, what?’ interrupted Holly. ‘You already have pet bees?’

  ‘They’re not pets, Holly,’ Connor replied seriously. ‘I have a few hives down in Dorset, but Clive assures me they’ll be okay to move, as long as we do it at night. Apparently it resets their GPS, isn’t that right, Clive?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Clive again monosyllabically.

  ‘So I’ll have my honeybees and the goats just to get me started. And did you know there’s even the remains of a stone circle up on the hillside? Seriously. So, I have the best idea to—’

  ‘So, it’s kind of a hobby farm?’ interrupted Taffy, clearly used to farming on a larger scale and with more of a focus on profits.

  Connor let out a bellow of laughter, even as Holly clearly flinched at her husband’s tactless response. ‘Of course it is, Taffs. I’m hardly in it for the cash, now am I?’ He shrugged. ‘It’ll make me happy just to potter for a while, keep me busy, plus now I have The Big House, it all dovetails rather nicely, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sort of boutique organic?’ offered Holly.

  ‘Ooh I like that,’ Connor said nodding, scribbling it down on a paper napkin. ‘Let’s face it, I have nobody to please but myself and there is something truly grounding about tinkering about, without pressure or expectation. I don’t have to worry about profit margins, so why not pour my time and energy into something I enjoy?’

  Taffy looked duly chastened. ‘Sorry, Conn. I wasn’t being judgemental. Well, okay, maybe I was just a little bit. Stone circles are a bit two a penny around here, we’re just spoiled I guess, and when you said you wanted a farm, I just imagined more, well, more sheep or something.’

  ‘Not all farmers are sheep farmers, Dr Jones,’ said Clive in a surprising burst of chattiness. ‘We’re not in Wales now.’ He guffawed away to himself happily.

  ‘So,’ said Holly, ever the peacemaker, ‘goats and bees, eh?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Connor. ‘Honey and cheese. Maybe yoghurt too? It’s a little biblical, but it appeals to me. You know, back to basics? Maybe a fig tree or two.’

  ‘Never had a farm plan based on the Bible before,’ grumbled Clive, a twinkle in his eye showing he meant nothing by it.

  ‘First for everything,’ Holly said, seemingly rather moved by Clive’s commitment to help Connor get started. God only knew, Clive could be a cantankerous old bugger when he wanted to be, but there was more to his friendship with Connor than met the eye and it was obvious to Connor that Holly had clocked it. Losing a spouse, losing a child, it was something the two men had in common – decades apart and in all likelihood the only experience they did share, but nevertheless it had brought them together and for that, Holly was grateful. ‘Although with all this biblical produce, you might need to make an offering to your pagan stones,’ she teased.

  ‘Did I hear that correctly?’ interrupted Cassie Holland, barging into their conversation, only too happy to have taken her drink on Connor’s tab, but clearly with something to get off her ample chest. ‘Are you really so thoughtless as to introduce bees to Larkford?’

  Connor shrugged, still unused to Cassie’s bulldozer approach to life. ‘Well, I don’t think I can take full credit for that; they’ve been around here for thousands of years. Life wouldn’t be the same without them.’

  He noticed both Holly and Taffy wince at his jocular, teasing tone and knew immediately that he’d misplayed it.

  Cassie drew herself up to her full height. At barely five foot four, it shouldn’t have been that imposing, yet somehow Connor felt himself quail a little under her stern scrutiny.

  ‘My son, Tarquin, is allergic to bees,’ she said, over-enunciating every syllable as though he were simple. ‘I’ll fight you on this, don’t think I won’t.’ She stormed out of the pub, puffed up with her own righteous indignation.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Connor as the door swung closed in her wake. ‘I had no idea a few bees would get people so het up.’ He looked crestfallen, all his good intentions feeling wobbly and uncertain.

  Perhaps he was kidding himself?

  Perhaps this was just another false start on the road to feeling like himself again? His stomach lurched at the very possibility. He wasn’t sure how much gumption he had left in him to formulate another plan. He’d bet everything on black with this Larkford plan.

  Not that he’d admit that to anyone.

  Holly was quick to comfort him. ‘Oh, Conn, you can’t do anything around here without ruffling a few feathers. There’s no way you can please all of the people, all of the time.’

  He nodded, a pall now firmly cast over his celebrations. He took a deep breath, knowing how fragile his bonhomie could be these days and trying not to let one outspoken militant douse his good spirits. To anyone but Holly he might have laughed it off, but somehow she invited his confidences. ‘I just wanted to do something a little special, make a name for myself outside the world of music. Do something tangible, you know? I really want to put Larkford on the organic map. With Clive’s fresh produce and my goat’s cheese and honey and I’ve other plans too, so I’ll need to get everyone onside . . .’

  ‘Well,’ said Clive, cutting him off with a chuckle, ‘at least if you put Larkford on this map of yours, then the satnav will stop sending everyone to a field on Lark Hill.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Taffy, ‘I quite like knowing we’re off the beaten track a little.’

  ‘You didn’t say that
when your cheese subscription kept being returned to sender because they couldn’t find our house,’ Holly reminded him.

  Connor breathed out slowly, allowing himself to relax into their banter and slightly relieved to see that the earlier tension between Holly and Taffy had dissipated. Maybe Lizzie had a point: how much time did they actually get to spend together these days, with all of their various commitments and offspring? He swallowed the thought that, by rights, he too should have been exhausted from running around after a toddler about now. There was no point in constantly revisiting what might have been. It didn’t stop him trying though, trying to imagine a future with Rachel and his baby still in it.

  If nothing else, he would have loved to see Rachel’s face when he told her the other plans for the land at Blackleigh Farm. The plans that would hopefully secure his entrée into the Larkford community and allow him to really make his mark on this sleepy Cotswold town. The plans that kept him sane at 3 a.m. when his mind refused to let him sleep.

  It was all part of the same mental picture he’d conjured – the Connor that lived here in Larkford would be happy, settled, popular . . . And as long as he continued to believe that, to live that, then surely one day soon it would be so.

  He paused, Cassie’s wrath still echoing in his thoughts. ‘Maybe you could give me some pointers about how to win people round? I can’t imagine I’ll be everyone’s favourite nominee to take over The Big House?’

  Holly nodded; it was no secret that ‘new money’ took quite a bashing from the locals, especially since none of them could ever afford the legacy properties they so coveted, and which Connor had bought as a cash purchase. ‘Well, to be honest, I think your bees may be your friends with this one. I mean, you’ve been a resident for less than a day and you’ve already pissed off Cassie Holland, so I’d say that’s generally a step in the right direction.’