Chapter 17

17

One of the most important changes we needed to address was the bathrooms. Daniel had agreed that he would move into Charlie’s room once we’d found the courage to sort through all her things and then redecorate. The storage space next to it could be adapted into a bedroom for Hope at some point, too. We spent a good while going over our options for the first floor, eventually agreeing to see if it was possible to convert the box room into a bathroom that could then have interconnecting doors to the two smaller bedrooms. It wasn’t ideal, but as Becky kept reminding me, this was a retreat house, not a hotel or even a B & B, and we wouldn’t be charging anything close to £2,000.

     That gave us four bedrooms, with space for up to eight guests. If we managed to make a success of it (‘What do you mean, “if”?’ Becky retorted), then there were a couple of falling down outbuildings that were begging for a renovation. One thing at a time, however, as Daniel kept reminding us. Or, to be more realistic, about 300 things at any one time.

     But we were getting them done. Damson Farm was being transformed.

     I contacted Luke Winter and asked if he could provide a quote for completing the bedroom and bathroom plans. Two weeks into our new project, he came over to take a look and see what he could do.

     Becky let him in, while I hovered in the background eagerly awaiting her life-long unrequited love.

     ‘Becky.’ He nodded, face unsmiling but what I hoped was the hint of warmth in his eyes.

     ‘Um, hi Luke!’

     Oh my goodness. Becky was close to spontaneous combustion.

     Which might have explained why she then simply stood there, clinging onto the door, not saying anything else or making space for him to come in.

     ‘Hi Luke!’ I offered, over her shoulder, hoping that would be enough to kick-start her into doing something. Nope. I eventually resorted to firmly tugging her back out of the way. ‘Come in. I’m Eleanor.’

     ‘Yes.’ He nodded. Of course he already knew that, along with everyone else wondering about what was going on up at the farm.

     ‘Shall we get straight to it?’

     Another nod.

     ‘Becky, did you want to show Luke the first floor while I put the kettle on?’

     ‘Um.’ Becky glanced back at me, face afire, eyes golf balls of panic.

     ‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked Luke.

     ‘Either.’

     ‘Great. How do you have it?’

     ‘However it comes.’

     Wow. If he was this unfussy about his girlfriends, Becky would have no problem.

     Becky was still frozen. Luke stood a couple of metres away, gripping a toolbox with both hands while examining a brown patch on the ceiling.

     I decided to leave them to figure it out.

     One way or another, they made it up the stairs. I found Becky standing on the landing, eyes transfixed on Luke as he measured a wall in the box room, his T-shirt riding high enough to reveal a strip of smooth, tanned skin.

     I handed her a mug of tea, which, when Luke turned around to take the other drink, she then slopped all over herself. I resisted the urge to comment on how she’d made the effort to wear a pair of nice jeans and a snazzy blouse, instead taking the mug off her and shooing her into the bathroom. She was still in there when Luke left, with the promise of a quote to follow.

     ‘You can come out of hiding now!’ I called, my voice bubbling with laughter. She waited another minute before strolling out of the bathroom as if she’d been in there for a mere minute, rather than nearly twenty.

     ‘I’ll make myself a fresh drink, then we can get this landing carpet up, see what’s underneath.’

     As if. I followed her downstairs and as soon as we were in the kitchen, Daniel came and joined us, poking his nose into Hope’s pram to check she was still sleeping.

     ‘So, how’d it go?’ he asked, grinning.

     ‘Luke thinks it’s totally doable. He’ll send us a quote in a couple of days, but probably won’t have time to do the work for a few weeks.’

     ‘And?’ He nodded at Becky, who had her back to us, watching the kettle as if a non-watched pot never boils, rather than the other way around.

     ‘She tipped tea all over herself and then hid in the bathroom until he left.’

     ‘Seriously, Becky? You can charm a load of obnoxious strangers into playing musical statues, and you can’t handle being in the same room as Luke Winter, the most easy-going man on earth?’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve got it bad.’

     Becky handed him a mug of tea. ‘I’ve met a thousand Stephes at a hundred different events. Their flash and swagger don’t intimidate me one bit. But a decent, kind, hardworking and honest man? Luke sees straight through all that sales-pitch BS, he’s not interested. When I told him I got all As in my GCSEs he nodded politely before turning around and asking Monica Patchett if she’d like help finding her lost kitten. He’s not impressed by any of the things I’m impressive at. All he’s interested in is a person’s personality, and I’m not sure I’ve got a real one of those left. Luke Winter would want a woman of goodly Not one who made a living conning medical professionals into buying life-saving drugs at rip-off prices.’

     ‘How about one who walked away from all that?’ I suggested. ‘One who had the strength to admit that wasn’t who she wanted to be, and who sacrificed a successful career to start over with nothing?’

     ‘I have a lot more than nothing,’ Becky groaned. ‘The problem is I feel like I’m a nothing.’

     I pulled out a chair for her to sit down on. ‘Believe me, I get it.’ Boy, did I get it. ‘But don’t insult me and Daniel by saying you’re nothing. You’re our friend, and someone we think worthy enough to partner up with in building our dream. Do you think Daniel would trust his family home to a nothing?’

     ‘Okay,’ she sniffed. ‘But there’s a long way between not-a-nothing and a woman Luke would consider crossing over to the Old Side for.’

     ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! This isn’t Romeo and Juliet! If Luke is such a good and decent person, he won’t care about an old feud.’

     ‘It makes it complicated, though. Old Siders are barred from the Boatman, Luke’s local. It takes forever to detour around to his side. Let alone the constant grief from family and neighbours and everyone else. They wouldn’t even serve him in the chippy if they thought he was sharing his fish special with me. What if we wanted to get married one day? We’d have to elope to avoid it becoming a mass showdown.’

     I looked to Daniel for some rationality but he just shrugged. ‘Old wounds run deep. It’s not just Old Side and New Side to them. Ziva’s father-in-law died during the strike. He was so malnourished and rundown that when flu turned into pneumonia, he couldn’t fight it off.’

     ‘Luke’s great-uncle had a breakdown and left his wife and kids after the Old Side burned his bakery to the ground,’ Becky added. ‘This isn’t some silly old feud to us. It’s family, and neighbours. Lives changed forever, and every single one of them for the worse.’

     ‘Yes, but isn’t forgiveness and reconciliation the only way to bring healing to those who’ve lost so much? There’s a whole new generation who had nothing to do with it. And every Ferrington miner, whatever their side, from what I’ve heard, they all just tried to do what was best for their families. Surely continuing the feud means that no one wins.’

     Becky twisted her mug round in her hands a few times as she thought about that. ‘Yeah. Maybe. Probably most of the younger residents would agree it’s time to start letting go. But easier said than done, to tell a man he has to forgive the people who watched his brother drown. To ask a woman, hey, isn’t it time you got over having to let your children go hungry?’

     ‘What if instead of focusing on what happened then, people had something new to concentrate on? Something that was good for the whole village, that would bring them together? Let each side see that the other side is simply other families, going about their business, trying to live their lives?’

     ‘I can’t imagine what.’ Becky looked at Daniel.

     He shrugged. ‘Well, if Northern Ireland could reach a peaceful agreement, it doesn’t seem crazy to think Ferrington could manage it.’

     ‘Daniel, you’re a genius!’ I said, an idea exploding in my head. ‘Didn’t they have a peace bridge somewhere?’ I whipped out my phone and did a quick search. ‘Yes! Joining the unionist and nationalist sides of the River Foyle. Ferrington needs a peace bridge, and by getting everyone involved, we can bring the two sides together so once it’s built, they’ll actually use it!’

     ‘That’s never going to work.’ Becky shook her head. ‘No one will use it.’

     ‘Maybe Luke Winter will when he comes to pick you up for your first date.’

     At the mention of Luke, Becky’s cheek flushed pink and she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her mouth.

     ‘I get this is radical thinking to most Ferrings.’

     ‘Try potentially life-threatening,’ Daniel said.

     ‘But I’m going to do some proper research, look into successful reconciliation projects, find out what worked, put together an unbeatable plan and then I’m going to build a damn bridge from your front door to Luke’s and you can both thank me in your wedding speech. Now, didn’t we have a carpet to rip up?’

In the end, before starting my End the Ferrington Feud project, we had some more recent history to confront. That Friday I had taken a day off from renovations to babysit Hope. I took her to see Ziva and the bees in the orchard, then walked to the river, where we stopped and watched the February sunlight flickering off the water and I pictured the precise spot where a bridge might go. With me looking after her on the Friday, Grandma Billie agreed to have her for the whole day on Saturday. Daniel had an important task to complete, and it was best done without a baby to witness the emotions it would inevitably conjure up. We did ask Billie if she wanted to join us, but she politely declined.

     I gave Daniel a head-start up the stairs to Charlie’s room. It wasn’t the first time he’d been up here in recent weeks – as well as using the bathroom during the retreat, he’d fetched clothes for me on the first day I’d arrived – but entering your sister’s room to fetch something and preparing to pack up her belongings for good are two very different things. I’d cried already that morning, and I hadn’t even got up the stairs yet.

     Knocking tentatively on her bedroom door, I found him sitting up against the bed, feet flat on the floor, hands resting on his knees.

     ‘Hi.’ I moved a pile of clothes from her dressing table chair and sat down. He didn’t reply.

     ‘We could do this another time, or not do it at all. Have another look at the plans and come up with something else.’

     He frowned, shaking his head. ‘No. It’s the only logical option.’

     ‘This is your family home, though. And Charlie’s. If you’re not ready…’

     ‘I’m ready.’

     ‘With all due respect, you don’t look very ready.’

     He looked up at me, then, and to my surprise he was smiling. ‘I was just waiting for you, because I’ve no idea what half of this crap is, and even less of an idea about what to do with it all or where to start.’

     My shoulders dropped several inches with relief. I opened the carrier bag in my hand and pulled out a roll of bin bags. ‘Three piles: keep, recycle or charity shop, and throw away.’

     Then I burst out crying. Because, it turned out, I was the one nowhere near ready to divide my best friend’s life into bin bags.

     We managed it, however, with a whole load more tears, some rueful smiles, deep belly-laughs and many, many stories exchanged. We had each known a different side to Charlie. Daniel knew Charlie as a little girl, before the brain demons hit. He’d known her in her peaceful place, surrounded by family, where she had no need to impress or put up any front. I knew the other Charlie – the adventurous, spontaneous, sociable Charlie. The woman who loved to get lost in a crowd, who thrived on the new and the waiting-to-be-discovered. Who wanted to cram in as much of life as she could, while she could, and bring as many people along for the ride as possible.

     We also both knew the other Charlie, of course. But we weren’t thinking about her today. Today was as good a celebration as we could manage of the real Charlie, not the one imprisoned for weeks at a time by illness, lost in a bleak fog of despair.

     Once everything had been bagged or boxed up, we spent another hour trooping up and down two flights of stairs, filling up both cars before Daniel drove to the local recycling centre, and I dropped off a load of clothes, bedding and other useful items at Ferrington church, where they had a pick-up point for a clothing bank charity.

     We then reconvened for takeaway pizza at the kitchen table. I’d suggested fish and chips, but Daniel wasn’t in the mood to take a detour to reach the New Side, which, as I pointed out, was all the more reason for building a new bridge to save everyone the bother.

     By unspoken agreement, we didn’t talk about Charlie, instead moving on to lighter topics. Daniel told me more about growing up in a village, and honestly if anyone else had told me I’m not sure I’d have believed them. ‘English country dancing’ for PE? Cross-country that literally involved running, unsupervised, through the country, including a farm where the owner frequently brandished a gun at them? A self-appointed Ferring Sheriff who patrolled the Old Side, confiscating kids’ scooters and locking ‘stray’ cats in her shed?

     Daniel was equally intrigued by growing up in a bed and breakfast. Especially the kind of weird and wonderful characters who frequented the Tufted Duck, including the Henderson-Browns, who religiously came and stayed for a fortnight every summer, complained about everything from the shape of the fried eggs to the shade of towels, accepted their annual five per cent discount as compensation and immediately rebooked for the following year.

     ‘This is the first time Hope’s stayed over at Mum’s for months,’ Daniel said, changing the subject once the pizza boxes were empty. ‘It’s a bit disconcerting, not listening out for the baby monitor.’

     ‘A wasted opportunity, then?’ I asked. ‘You could have got up to all sorts. Had a wild night out, got hammered, rolled in at irresponsible o’clock. You could have had a house party!’

     He grimaced. ‘No thank you, to all of the above. What I’m most looking forward to is an undisturbed night and no squawking wake-up call in the morning. I’m going to stay in bed and enjoy a lazy Sunday morning by myself.’

     ‘Fair enough.’ I sat back, blowing gently on my coffee to cool it down while trying very hard not to imagine a Sunday morning in bed with Daniel. ‘Would you rather I left you to your solitude, then? Made myself scarce for the night?’

     ‘No.’ Daniel looked at me, steadily, and the air in the kitchen went completely still. Either that or my lungs had simply forgotten how to work, too distracted by the depths of potential in his gaze.

     ‘Okay,’ I managed to squeak, before immediately burying my head in my drink.

     I was suddenly very aware that Daniel and I were alone in the farmhouse for the whole night. It was stupid. It wasn’t as though Hope chaperoned our behaviour the rest of the time. But without her, it felt… it felt like I was falling for this man. That if circumstances were different, I’d be hoping he’d suggest we go through to the living room, and he’d come and sit next to me on the sofa, and then, well… without any chance of an interruption…

     Thankfully, before I could follow that train of thought any further, Daniel drained the last of his coffee and stood up, stretching.

     ‘Anyway, it’s been a long day. I think I’m going to head up. Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll sort it in the morning.’ He dumped his mug in the sink, pausing halfway to the door. ‘Thanks for your help today. You being there turned what would have been an unbearable day into something… precious. Beautiful. And. Well. You seem to do a lot of that. I’m glad you were there. Are here.’

     I nodded, unable to reply. And with a quick goodnight, he left me to spend the rest of the night clutching those words to my chest.

     I was glad I was here, too.