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Page 13 of Once Upon a Thyme

‘It was my grandparents’ business,’ I said, sitting beside him and trailing a hand in the water.

‘They bought it when it was the local coal distribution yard and turned it into this. Grandad died before I was born and Granny carried on – it was more of a market garden back then of course. She moved into herbs later. My mum grew up here, in the cottage and only moved out to the village when she got married and had me. Then… then things happened, we moved back here to help Granny, Mum took over the business when Granny died, and I bought her out four years ago, so now it’s mine. ’

‘Nice.’ Simon was still looking at his feet, scuffing little piles of gravel into heaps with his trainered toes. ‘It’s a beautiful setting.’

He was clearly making conversation because he wasn’t even looking at the ‘beautiful setting’, unless he had some kind of visual obsession with pea shingle and the wispy feathers of chamomile which grew over the edges of its bed to smooth the periphery of the path with fragrant greenery.

‘I like it,’ I said. ‘Mind you, it’s a bit less lovely in the winter months. We have some hardy plants and we try to make sure there’s year-round interest, but it’s hard in January when there’s a couple of feet of snow on the ground.’

‘How do you keep ticking over?’

I had no idea why Simon was so interested in the business.

He was here to film, so it’s here-and-now attractiveness was more of a concern, surely?

‘We sell dried herbs and bouquets, and we have playgroups and toddler groups on educational visits and to play with the animals. We do birthday parties too.’

This had been a recent innovation and I was quite proud of it. I was even considering a Shetland pony, for diversification, although I’d had one as a child and it had bitten, kicked and been very reluctant to be ridden, so I was still thinking it over. Big Pig was enough of a challenge for now.

Simon was nodding, still seemingly lost in his own thoughts. ‘That’s good,’ he said vaguely. Then his eyes snapped up from the ground and he turned to look at me with an intensity that was startling. ‘You seem happy. Are you happy here?’

The question was one that I often asked myself, late at night when I was exhausted and should be sleeping.

Was I happy? I worked hard, I had my own business; it was creative and I could do what I wanted.

I had my cottage, Ollie as workforce and cute, cuddly animals depending on me. But truly, was I happy?

‘Mostly,’ I said, the surprise at the question forcing honesty out of me. ‘I mean, it’s hard work and it can get lonely out here. But I do love it, really.’

Simon smiled. ‘Best in summer though, eh?’

I thought of the acres under snow. Smooth and clean, with only the seed heads of the tallest plants bobbing above the field of whiteness.

Birds flocking in to peck at them, the quiet of the deserted roads and the warm, composty fug of the kitchen where I’d spend the hours potting up seedlings and going through my herb books.

‘It’s not so bad in winter either,’ I said. Then, with more strength to my words, ‘I love it here.’

Simon smiled another vague smile, as though he were somewhere else.

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘That’s good.’ He seemed to be thinking of something other than a simple acknowledgement of my general content at living at Drycott, because he shook his head, coming up for air.

‘You said your mother sold the place to you. Is she still around?’

‘Oh, yes, she lives in the village.’

‘You’ve no other family? No… brothers or sisters?’

I looked around again. Simon’s questioning, while impersonal and seemingly just out of interest, made me uncomfortable. I never talked about my family, or lack of it, that was probably why. ‘No. There’s nobody else at all, just me and Mum.’

‘That must be nice for you, to have her so close, then.’

I side-eyed him, but there was no sarcasm in his tone. But then, of course Simon had never met my mother. ‘Yes,’ I said loyally and stood up. ‘Do you want to get set up now? Zeb and I can get out of your way so you have free run of the place; we’ll sit up here in the shop in case of passing trade.’

Various men were trundling up and down the paths carrying pieces of equipment and behind them the band members sauntered about, poised and self-assured. I tried not to look at Mika.

‘Hmm.’ Simon was now focused somewhere in the distance towards the cottage, where I’d left the kitchen blind drawn after an early start. There was an expression on his face that I couldn’t understand; he looked lost in a memory.

‘Simon? We’ll leave you to it?’

Simon jerked back to himself. I didn’t know where he had been but it had made his brows crease together and his mouth had gained two brackets of tension.

‘Oh! Yes, sorry, of course. We’ll crack on while we have the light; catering will be up at eleven so we can break then.

Yes. Of course.’ He stood up and saw me evidently trying not to gaze at the band. ‘Er, Tallie…’ Now he sounded awkward.

‘What?’

Simon leaned in a little closer. In front of us a frog plopped into the water from the mossy surround of the pond, a small, domestic sort of sound which made me smile. ‘Mika,’ Simon said. ‘Just – be careful. I mean, he’s a lovely lad, but he can be a bit…’

I felt instantly embarrassed and also defensive.

I’d obviously been, well, obvious in my staring, but then I would defy any straight woman to look in Mika’s direction and not feel their temperature rise and their eyes widen.

He was a fever on legs. ‘He’s just one of the band,’ I said, lying through my teeth.

‘And I don’t think he’s even noticed me. ’

‘Oh, he’s noticed,’ Simon said darkly. ‘Be careful, that’s all.’

I had to admit to assuming a grace I hadn’t pretended to up until then, as I turned away from Simon and headed back towards the shop, passing The Goshawk Traders carrying their instruments down to the centre of the garden with a flirty little smile.

Simon thought Mika had noticed me, to the extent of trying to warn me off!

Not that I needed warning, obviously, I had no more intention of provoking a famous musician than I did of seducing Zeb or Ollie, but it gave me a warm, solid sort of feeling in my chest. I had been noticed.

It did wonders for my self-esteem and I may have pranced a little as I went into the shop to surprise Zeb sniffing a dried herb posy.

‘These are stale,’ he announced. But it would take more than his depressing levels of down-to-earth to bring me off my fluffy cloud of gorgeousness. Mika had noticed me .

‘We’ll make up some new ones,’ I practically trilled. ‘Thanks for noticing.’ Yep, I was riding that waft of joy all the way into being nice to Zeb territory. ‘We can move those over into the decoration slot. If we’re closing the shop from tomorrow we’ll have plenty of time to restock.’

Zeb gave me a curious look, not unnaturally because I’d been sharp to the point of cutting with him up until now.

Expressing gratitude when he’d told me, essentially, that I wasn’t running the place properly, was always going to arouse suspicion.

‘Okay,’ he said and replaced the posy carefully on its shelf. ‘So, what did Simon want?’

He wanted me to know that Mika has noticed me .

‘Just some questions about where to film. And to chat about the place generally.’ In unwarranted detail, now I came to think about it.

Why on earth would it matter to Simon whether I was happy or not or how the business was going?

‘I told him we’d stay over here, handy for manning the shop and out of the way while they film. ’

Zeb was still looking at me as though he suspected that I’d had some kind of enlightenment whilst Simon and I had chatted.

To be honest, it felt a little that way.

The thought that Mika was watching me, that he had seen something in me worth watching, had made me lose about a stone in weight and gain an assurance of movement that only deportment lessons and a million pounds could have given me before.

‘Don’t you want to make sure that they aren’t trampling the fennel beds?

’ Zeb asked, and the slight note of sarcasm brought me out of my tiny private dream in which Mika showed me his home and introduced me to his parents.

Of course, that was what I’d half-accused him of doing earlier, wasn’t it?

‘Sorry,’ I said, obviously surprising him again. ‘I know you wouldn’t have done that really.’

‘Wow.’ It was an under-the-breath mutter. ‘Chatting about this place has cheered you up no end.’

I wasn’t about to tell him the real reason for my cheerfulness, so instead I replied, ‘It’s not often anyone asks how I came to be here.

People just sort of – accept me running the place, nobody asks how I can afford it or whether I enjoy it or anything.

It’s like nobody is really interested in me .

’ I stopped talking suddenly, aware that the ebullience currently bobbing me around in the stratosphere was causing me to be too talkative.

Particularly considering this was Zeb, who might be an agent for my mother.

‘So how did you come to be running Drycott?’ Zeb leaned back against the counter. Outside, two of the lorry guys were arguing about something electrical, with much flourishing of wires.

‘What?’

‘You said nobody ever asks, so I’m asking.’ He swung himself up to sit on the reclaimed wood counter that I’d made out of some of the old beams from the stable. ‘Go on. We’ve got time to kill.’

I was taken aback. Did Zeb think that, now I’d been nice to him once or twice, he could dig into my background?

My perplexity must have shown on my face, because he gave me a small grin and dangled his legs.

‘After all, you know about me. Ex-chef, broken marriage, new career, blah-di-blah. Your turn.’