Birds Of A Feather Episode 04
Paloma felt the familiar flutter of panic when she thought about where she was going to live.
After her departure from the vicarage when her brother’s wrongdoings had come to light, she’d been staying in one of the houses in the village that had been turned into holiday lets.
“I’ll be out this weekend,” she said. “Maggie said I can have her spare room while I get sorted, but I don’t like to crowd them.”
“Unlike her mother.” Elsie couldn’t resist. “It happens I’ve heard of something that may interest you.
“Will Gregory’s got a flat above his garage, in what used to be an old granary when the place was a real farm.”
“It’s not fair to say Will’s not a real farmer,” Paloma protested. “Just because he hasn’t got a dairy herd any more.”
Elsie sniffed.
“Anyway, the flat’s going begging in exchange for a bit of childminding.”
“I thought the little boy was living with Will’s in-laws in Dorset,” Lisa said.
Will’s wife, Annabel, had died in childbirth. Since taking over Moor View Farm from his father, Will had been running it, getting up early in the morning for milking, working until late every night.
There were hardly enough hours in the day for him to sleep, least of all look after a tiny baby.
So after Annabel died, her parents offered to take the baby with them until Will got back on his feet.
Only that never really happened. By the time Will got rid of the dairy herd and found a few more hours in the day, his son was firmly entrenched in life by the sea.
He didn’t want to know Will. Or the farm.
“He was,” Elsie said. “But a few months ago Annabel’s mother had a stroke.
“She made a good recovery, but they found it a bit much, looking after a six-year-old. Will’s had him back living with him.”
“The poor boy,” Paloma murmured, thinking of the child being moved around like a parcel. “He must be totally bewildered.”
“You should see Will,” Elsie said. “By all accounts, it’s a very nice flat.”
Paloma shook her head.
“I’m no good with children. Besides . . .”
Her voice trailed away as she thought back to the last time she’d seen him. It was a few weeks after Annabel’s funeral when she’d called to see if there was anything she could do to help.
He’d looked at her as if she were something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. Totally thrown, she’d mumbled something about praying for him.
Edmund was for ever telling her she had a gift for saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. But that day she surpassed herself.
Will’s hostility then turned to white-hot anger. He told her not to bother him any more with her empty platitudes and her out-of-date, useless religion.
No, she definitely didn’t think Will would consider her a suitable person to look after his son.
Rob Jenkins levered his legs out of his van, eased his stiff back and looked around in surprise.
Since coming across the article about Folly Farm being turned into a craft centre, he’d expected to find the place changed. But not to this extent.
Last time he’d seen it, it had been run as boarding kennels and was a sorry sight with peeling paintwork and weeds pushing up through the cracks in the concrete.
Now there were no weeds, only tubs brimming with brightly coloured flowers. Fresh paintwork gleamed and there was a sign pointing to the farm shop and tea rooms in tasteful lettering.
There was still a dog, however, but this one was running loose. He bounded towards Rob, his long tail wagging like Rob was his long-lost friend.
“Alfie. Come here.” A thin woman hurried out from the farthest barn.
Rob thought she looked vaguely familiar, but was relieved to see there was no answering flicker of recognition when she reached him.
“Hi.” He smiled. “I’m Rob Jenkins, the potter.”
“The potter?” She looked flustered. “We weren’t expecting you till Monday. Maggie isn’t here right now. I’m Paloma Brookes.”
Of course. The vicar’s mad sister. He recognised her now.
“I was in the area and thought I’d check the place out, if that’s OK. Work out what’s going where. That sort of thing.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get the key to your workshop. You found the place all right?”
“No problem.”
She looked surprised.
“Really? The postman skidded on ice and knocked down the sign for the farm a while back. Most people have trouble finding it for the first time. Have you been here before?”
“No,” he said quickly.
He reminded himself to be more careful in future. Nevertheless, he allowed himself a thrill of triumph. She hadn’t recognised him.
Maybe it was going to work out after all.