Page 7 of Once Upon a Thyme

Which meant it was Zeb. And, given his irritation at having to round up the animals, it seemed unlikely that he was doing this with any good intent.

Anyway, why would he? He was here to help us with marketing, not destroy the business.

A tiny, pernicious voice inside my head whispered, That’s why he said he was here.

It might not be true, you know. Perhaps Mum is paying him to discredit Ollie, but I dismissed it.

I had to accept what he said, what else could I do?

The two men muttered affirmatives, both sounding slightly annoyed.

‘Right.’ I watched Zeb decant his furry passengers into the pen and then come back out, bolting the gate in an almost pointed way. ‘Let’s get on, shall we? Ollie, we could do with some more mint varieties in the shop, if you could cut some bunches and put them on display?’

I had no idea why I phrased it as a question. I was the boss here, after all. Ollie brushed down the front of his shirt, gave me a beaming smile and set out for the shed where his herb-harvesting equipment lived.

‘What about me?’ Zeb was still holding the bucket, but relieved of its contents it swung at the end of his arm and I could see the bones in his shoulder moving under his T-shirt.

He was too thin and too edgy for a herb gardener .

Just the sight of him irritated me, and that was without the consideration of him letting out the animals.

He reminded me of my mother, that was why.

Not physically, obviously, he was tall and skinny for a start and not notably wrapped in a duvet, but his presence was her fault.

Her responsibility. And the fact that neither she nor I had mentioned him earlier made my nerves feel as though someone was running a metal comb over their exposed endings.

‘Are you still pretending that you’re here to help with the garden?’ My tone was sharp, accusatory, although I hadn’t really meant it to be, and the glance he gave me told me it might have been too pointed.

‘I can find out more about how the business is run and how best to promote it if I do a few hours here and there as part of the workforce.’ His voice was very level. ‘But I’d like a look at the turnover and your books too, some time.’

‘Not going to happen,’ I said firmly. The business was mine and my responsibility, but also not going quite as well as I’d hoped.

Large local supermarkets were selling cut herbs, and they were open 24/7 so we’d lost a lot of the culinary business, and ‘herbs as décor’ was strictly a luxury market.

The cost-of-living crisis had meant cut backs for everyone, and festooning your living room with bouquets of flowering herbs had become just a little bit less of a necessity.

Thanks to the fact that Granny had owned the house and land outright and I had no mortgage, we were just about managing, but I’d had to take a loan to buy Mother out of the business, which was a drain on resources.

Zeb’s mouth twisted. ‘Right.’ He sounded nearly as pointed as me now. ‘If you don’t need financial advice then I’ll stick to the advertising end, shall I?’

He put the guinea pig transporting bucket down very carefully in the corner of the barn and went out with his back very straight.

His whole posture screamed that he’d been insulted to the extent that it was very nearly a flounce, but I didn’t know why.

I was putting up with him as a favour and because he’d already been paid, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

‘You do that. Have you got in touch with the band people yet to ask if they’ve made a decision about using us as a location?

’ I made my voice a little more conciliatory now, although I had to call out through the big barn door so that he could hear, and volume, plus the smell of pig, may have taken some of the smoothness out of my words.

I saw his step hesitate, as though he half considered just walking away without answering. Then he turned and came back.

‘Yes. Simon said he’d try to get over again today to talk to you.’

I felt an immediate lift somewhere above my stomach. They were seriously considering it; that would be a boost to the business. A tiny fizz in the midst of that lift reminded me of Mika: dark interested eyes and a smile that sent little shivers down my spine.

‘I suppose… you should be there when I talk to him.’ I had no idea why I was offering this concession to Zeb.

I could talk to Simon, of course I could.

I knew how business was done – extract the maximum amount of money for the minimum amount of effort – and if the band were as well-known as everyone apart from me seemed to think, they’d have a budget for this sort of thing.

But the thought that Zeb might report my business dealings back to my mother still rattled around in the back of my head.

My people-pleasing was at war with my desire to tell her nothing about my business affairs; this way I could keep Zeb happy and he could tell Mother that we were diversifying and earning money into the bargain.

Zeb came up to the barn door and looked at me.

‘You really want me there?’ he asked, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, which made his elbows stick out at awkward angles.

There was something endearing about his stance, something that made him look vulnerable; at odds with the business-minded individual he was portraying himself as.

‘You might think of things I forget to ask.’ It was all I could think of to say but we both seemed to have softened a little. He’d stopped flouncing and I’d stopped sounding as though I were ordering a flunky to sweep the yard. Treating him more like an equal.

‘That could be a good idea,’ Zeb said thoughtfully to the gravel flooring. ‘Plus I might get some fabulous contacts from Simon, for the business.’

‘I don’t think folk-rock bands are going to be all that up on herbs.

’ I sounded acidic again and tried to cover my acerbity by coming out of the barn and joining Zeb in the sunshine.

Behind me the pig grunted; she’d presumably been hoping for more food.

‘Apart from the ones you can smoke, and there’s none of that here. ’

Zeb looked sideways at me from under a flopping curtain of hair. ‘I actually meant my business,’ he said dryly.

‘Oh.’ My ears heated up with embarrassment and I covered myself.

‘Okay, well, we’d better get on if we’re going to be in a meeting later.

If you could keep an eye on the shop and help Ollie with the mint arrangements, I’m going to check on the damage the animals have done to the plants and work out whether we need to replace any. ’

‘Fine.’ But he’d taken his hands out of his pockets now and dropped his shoulders.

I was good at body language; when you lived with Mother for any length of time you learned to read subliminal signals because overt signals were hard to come by, and I knew that the olive branch of including him in the meeting with Simon had worked.

As I wandered over to the most badly beaten section of the garden I pondered on why I cared so much?

Why would it matter if Zeb didn’t like me and was in a state of permanent anger towards me?

He was only here for a month, and that was on my sufferance.

I could kick him out at any time and any financial restitution would be between him and my mother and none of my business.

I didn’t want her interfering and I didn’t want him poking about in my affairs.

So why didn’t I just say so?

The rosemary, being fairly resistant to damage, had fared better than the parsley.

That poor plant was looking trampled and there were distinct nibble marks, plus the smell of crushed salad garnish wafted over the entire area.

I knelt down and began trimming off the worst of the broken stalks and battered leaves.

Luckily there was plenty to go round, so some judicious pruning soon made the bed look presentable, although the same couldn’t be said for the fennel.

Some of that looked as though it had been sat on, and there was already a big bald patch where yesterday’s damage had been removed. I sighed.

‘I hope we’ve got enough left to plant out,’ I muttered.

That was the problem with the tall herbs, they showed any slight impact so much more than the low-growing types.

One good gale could level the most attractive plants, which was why this completely walled and sheltered spot was so ideal for my business.

Granny had known what she was doing when she set it up, I mused, kicking gravel back onto the path from where it had been liberally redistributed onto the planting by pig and folk band activity.

Drycott Herbs had been her baby. Well, my mother had been her baby, but Granny had always seemed rather fonder of the herb nursery than of raising children, which was probably why Mother was an only child; that and she’d turned out to be an experiment that Granny hadn’t wanted to risk repeating.

The sun, high now above us and only slightly filtered through the tracery of the birch trees that formed a small copse in the field over the wall, soothed me.

It settled on my head like a warm hat and slid down my back into my tired limbs, soft as a kiss.

I inhaled deeply, getting a good waft from the variety of different leaves and flowers that variously needled or coiled around my legs as I stood in the middle of the bedding.

This was where I belonged. My herb farm, my business, and Mother and her machinations could just fuck off.