Susan Lewis - One Minute Later

Less enjoyable at that time of year was the pruning of fruit trees and brambled hedgerows in freezing winds, and poring over accounts that never added up. However, there was always the roaring fire to come home to and gather around on stormy nights, and an endless number of games to play and movies to watch now they had a new VCR. (It had taken Jack almost a week to figure out how to connect it, and his normally mild temper had been tested many times since by the machine’s refusal to obey the handbook.)

‘Is that Giles’s new Range Rover?’ Shelley asked, as they crossed the humpback bridge at the end of the drive, and the farmhouse in all its summer glory came into view. Its many windows and doors had been carefully repaired, refitted and painted a gleaming white, while the centuries-old grey stone walls had been livened up by demossing and repointing. The old, Grade II listed roofs now lay snugly under the protection of the brand-new non-leaky red tiles that Jack and Nate had helped to lay. It was, in her opinion, a dream home that always seemed to smile when they came into view, as though wanting them to know how thrilled it was with the rose-covered porch they’d installed around the white front door, and the colourful beds Shelley was bringing on each side of it. The fact that it overlooked a scruffy, cluttered yard full of potholes, tractors and all sorts of rusted paraphernalia simply honoured its status as a farmhouse. As did the barns that faced it, and the creaking iron gates that opened into the fields.

‘Yep, that looks like it,’ Jack murmured, as they pulled up next to the Range Rover. ‘Seems like he couldn’t wait for us to ring.’ There were several other cars around too, which wasn’t a big surprise, for over the past three years Deerwood had gained a reputation for being a place where everyone was welcome. Hardly a day passed without someone dropping in, or ringing up to ask if they could come. Jack, with his irrepressible good humour and eagerness to listen and laugh at stories long and tall, was always at the centre of things, while Shelley kept the food and booze coming, or hit on someone for advice on whatever farm problem was bothering her that day.

As they came to a stop the children woke up and leapt out of the cars, ready to start unloading the squealing piglets and prize-winning Milady. Dodgy wasted no time in coming to help sort things out, and was ably assisted by Nate and Kat, while Jack and Shelley went into the house.

After the blazing sunlight outside, the flagstone entrance hall where a newly constructed oak staircase rose between the kitchen and family room seemed dark at first, but Shelley’s eyes soon adjusted to find the place empty of people, but nevertheless welcoming. It was stuffed full of the charm and quirkiness that she loved. There was a brand-new Aga now, black, powerful and all-dominant in a vast inglenook fireplace where copper pots and pans hung from a thick wooden lintel that was almost as high as the ceiling. The battered rectory table at the centre of the room was, they’d been told at a local flea market, as old as the house, and had once belonged to a duke. As if they’d ever know if that were true, and as if they’d care. It suited them perfectly, as did all the other second-hand furniture scattered about the place that some would call antiques, but they considered new old friends. A magnificent triple-fronted beechwood sideboard that Shelley had found under a pile of junk in the main barn and lovingly restored stood against one wall. Its convenient surface had become resting places for various keys, animal treats, junk mail, stray jigsaw pieces, hair combs and even a couple of baby teeth. In pride of place, in a specially constructed niche above the sideboard, were the precious bronze figurines that belonged together as surely as if they were actually attached. Shelley often recalled the night she and Jack had first placed them there, almost reverently. Then they’d danced, romantically and effortlessly, to Nat King Cole’s ‘Unforgettable’, as though they were continuing the fluidity of movement the sculptor had captured.

‘That’s my mum and dad,’ Hanna would often say if anyone asked about the figures, and neither Jack nor Shelley corrected her, for in a way it did feel like them.

Hearing voices in the back garden, Shelley followed Jack out of the kitchen stable door onto the cracked and weedy stone patio where David was sharing a beer with Giles at a large wooden table under a dilapidated gazebo. There was still plenty of work to be done out here, but it didn’t stop them enjoying the rambling garden with its ragged hedges and overgrown shrubs, or the pond at the far end (home to the ducks), and the various climbing frames, swings and slides for the kids.

‘Everything all right?’ Jack asked, grabbing a handful of sheep nuts as Steven and Petunia trotted from the shade of a weeping willow and across the lawn to greet him.

‘I don’t know,’ Giles replied gravely. ‘I’ve sent a couple of my lads to check up on it, but I’m still waiting to hear.’ He nodded towards the walkie-talkie that would connect him to his farmhands as soon as they had some news to share.

‘Is it travellers?’ Shelley asked worriedly, realizing that the extra vehicles out front must belong to Giles’s workers. ‘I heard there were some in the area.’

Giles’s eyes were steely. ‘If it is then it’s not the ones we know,’ he replied gruffly, ‘because no one’s been in touch to ask which field they can use – and they’re on your land, not mine. I went up there earlier, but no one was around. No caravans yet, but a dozen or more tents. I’ve sent a couple of the lads to check it out now, see if anyone’s turned up yet and find out what it’s all about.’

Unsettled by Giles’s concern, Shelley was recalling the stories she’d heard about clashes with the Gypsy fraternity, the kind of damage to land and property they inflicted if crossed, the violence and threats to children and animals. ‘If they don’t turn out to be your regular travellers, is there anything we can do to make them leave?’ she asked.

Giles tipped back his head and drained the bottle of beer. ‘One step at a time,’ he cautioned. ‘For all we know it could be a bunch of hippies aiming to set up some New Age cult for nudists and nutters. But if they are pikeys of some sort we definitely don’t want to start off by upsetting them.’

Shelley turned to Jack and felt another twist of unease when she saw the determined look on his face. She wanted to remind him that the top fields were a long way distant from the house – at least a mile and a half – so this unexpected settlement surely wasn’t anything to get too worked up about, but he was already addressing Giles.

‘Come on,’ he said, putting down a beer he hadn’t yet touched. ‘Let’s go take a look.’

Minutes after Jack and Giles had taken off on foot across the fields, heading for the ancient forest and beyond, the children came thundering in demanding food. Nate and Kat were close behind, a sleepy Perry in his mother’s arms. Catching Shelley’s worried expression, Nate glanced from her to his father.

‘What’s going on?’ he wanted to know.

David nodded to where Jack and Giles were clambering over a stile at the far end of the nearest field, a trail of sheep trotting along in Jack’s wake.

Clearly sensing he might be needed, Nate took off at a pace to catch up with them.

Kat’s eyebrows were raised as she looked at Shelley. ‘Later,’ Shelley murmured, aware of the children watching them.

‘Where’s Daddy gone?’ Josh demanded, unused to his father going anywhere on the farm without him.

‘I want him to hang up Milady’s rosette,’ Zoe protested.

‘You’re all so mean,’ Hanna snapped at them. ‘Grandpa’s made lemonade and you haven’t even said thank you.’