The Various (46 page)

‘It’s to do with Mill Farm,’ continued Christine, slightly breathless, the way she spoke sometimes. ‘And us. All of us. As things stand, the place would have to be sold – the lot. Brian can’t afford to just . . . carry on, it’s too big, too run down, too expensive . . .’

‘No!’ Midge was really upset. She knew it. Everything was going wrong. ‘You
can’t
just get rid of it . . .’

‘Hang on a minute, darling – I haven’t finished.
So
– the only way we can
keep
it is if it pays its way. It has to be turned into a business. It’s
not
viable as a farm any more, and Brian was never really a farmer anyway. But it
could
be turned into something else –
if
a lot of money was invested in it,
if
the buildings were
renovated
and
if
it was run as a proper business. It could be a bed and breakfast, for instance. Or a restaurant. There are a lot of things that
could
be done with it, provided that money was pumped into it. Do you see what I’m getting at? It just takes money, and hard, hard work. And we could
do
that. What I’m saying is that we could live here – you and me, Midge – if we wanted to. Brian would still be here of course, and George and Katie would visit, just as they do now. So, forgetting about the money side of things for a minute – what do you think? How would it be, if, for example, the house was split into two – Midge and I would have our own apartment or whatever, and Brian another – the cider barn could perhaps be turned into a restaurant, the stables into self-catering accommodation, maybe. What do you think?’

There was absolute silence at this – nobody said a word.

‘Well,’ said Christine, ‘I didn’t get a lot of clapping for
that
 . . .’

But of course it seemed like a wonderful idea – it was just that the children were taken so completely by surprise, and that there were so many questions to ask.

‘What about school?’ said Midge. ‘And, well,
everything
 . . . the flat, and . . . could we
really
just
move
? I mean I’d love to be here . . . but I don’t see how . . .’ She trailed off. Everything was happening so quickly – she couldn’t take it all in. The Various, she thought – would that mean that they could stay where they were?

‘What would happen to the land,’ she said, ‘and the
forest
– would we keep all that too? It wouldn’t have to be cut down or anything?’

‘The
forest
?’ said her mum. ‘Oh, the old woods on Howard’s Hill, you mean? Well, no, I suppose that we’d keep all that – continue to let out the land to the local farmers, or whatever. There’s not much you could do with the woods anyway – it’s all more or less protected around here, which is why Brian wasn’t able to get planning permission. No, I suppose we’d just keep it all – but what a funny question! The important thing is that it would mean a complete change of lifestyle – and that’s what you need to be thinking about. Probably it would affect you more than anyone, Midge. I’ve already decided to stop what I’m doing, whatever happens. For Katie and George, it would mean that
this
place would change – but for the better – and that whenever they came to see their dad, we’d be here too. Brian’s all for it – but it’s
you
who would be going through the biggest upheaval, Midge. Certainly you’d have to change schools – but your friends could always come and stay. Azzie could come down any time she liked. People
do
move. Why not think about it, sleep on it – all of us – and we’ll talk about it some more, tomorrow?’

‘Well, I don’t need to think about it,’ said Midge. ‘I’d just love it. I love it here. I’d really . . . love it.’ She was overwhelmed. To not have to leave, to stay here forever – to properly
live
here. It still seemed impossible.

‘But it’d cost a fortune, wouldn’t it?’ said Katie. ‘I mean, what you were saying about all that . . .
converting
 . . . and everything. Wouldn’t it be really really expensive?’

‘I’d sell up in London,’ said Christine, ‘and invest the money in this. There’d be enough, I think.’

‘What – just from our flat?’ said Midge.

‘Ah – but it wouldn’t be just
our
flat, remember,’ said her mum. ‘It would be the whole building –
all
the flats. They belong to me, as you know. The building was left to your dad, Midge – by his father. Then it came to me.’

‘I keep forgetting’ said Midge. ‘It never
feels
like we’ve got any money.’

‘Well we never
do
have any
money
, as such. But, we do have a little bit of property – though I must admit that I tend to keep fairly quiet about it. I certainly wasn’t going to advertise the fact to the other tenants. Could you imagine what Colin Bond would be like, for instance, if he knew that I was his landlady? No, Daddy and I lived there when the place was owned by his father – and we simply stayed on when the old man died. The flats were let through an agency. We never said anything to anyone in the building – didn’t want the hassle of people knocking on our door every time there was a dripping tap or something. Anyway, after Daddy died it became mine. I was happy to stay in the flat – it was big enough for you and me. So that’s how things went on. Now, if I were to sell the lot, then yes – it might just about raise enough money to do pretty much all the work that needs doing here. Just about. Although it wouldn’t be an easy couple of years. There’d be an awful lot of work involved – I can’t
pretend
that everything would be instantly perfect. And we certainly wouldn’t be rich. What do you think, though? Would it be
exciting
?’

‘It’s
fantastic
! I just can’t believe it. I mean I just can’t . . .
believe
it . . .’

‘You’re very quiet, George,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘What do
you
think?’

‘Would I be able to keep my tree house?’ said George.

They talked and talked. There was suddenly so much to think about – how the house might be divided into two, where a second kitchen might go, how another staircase might be fitted in. The neglected old farm suddenly seemed full of possibilities. It was only when Christine suggested a tour of the outbuildings that the three children glanced at one another, each thinking of the cider barn, and wondering whether their hasty clean-up job would be noticed.

But the expedition went off without incident – Uncle Brian merely sniffing as they entered the cider barn, and saying ‘Bit whiffy in here. Sort of drainy smell.’ It was the builders’ plank of course, lately dragged out of the lagoon – but as the children had hidden it behind another plank, there was no visible evidence, and the adults were soon far too preoccupied with renovation plans to bother about anything else.

Midge had decided not to sleep in the tree house that night – glad to be in a proper bed after what had
seemed
an endless day. And it was so good to have her mum with her, to tuck her in again, like at home. And now
this
would be home, she thought. This funny room, where she had been born, where she had felt that she belonged, right from the very first day.

The world seemed to have speeded up. Her life had been altered at such a rate that it had been as much as she could do to cling on from one day to the next, coping as best as she had been able. And now here was another huge and unexpected surge forward. She was flying.

‘Everything’s going to change, Mum, isn’t it? For us.’

‘Yes, it is. And it’s going to be a change for the good, darling. It feels right. This is where we should be – you were born here, by the way, did I ever tell you that?

‘I know. Uncle Brian told me the first day I was here. And it was really strange – but I felt like I was home, right from the first day. Like I
had
been here before. It seems like years ago. What
about
you and Uncle Brian, though? You’ve never had very nice things to say about him.
I
like him – but I never thought that
you
did, much.’

‘Mm. I think that maybe I was always jealous – and a bit cross. This was my home too, you know, as a child, and I loved it. When he got the farm and I got nothing, I was upset. And then when everything he tried seemed to fail, and the place just went down and down – well, that made me crosser still. No, we’ll probably have a few arguments – but we can get along all right. And we wouldn’t be living in each other’s
pockets
all the time – we’ll be like neighbours. He’s very good with people, you know, in a funny sort of way. Better than me at that side of things, I think. People like him. He’d be great as a front-of-house person, if we got this up and running. And there’s very little
wrong
with the ideas he has – most of the things he’s thought of for this place
could
have worked, with the right amount of capital, and a proper business plan. He’s just not good with money that’s all. I am, though, and that’s why it’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. I’ll tell you something else – though you mustn’t breathe a word – I reckon he and Pat will get back together again, someday. They still love each other, I’m certain. It’s just that she couldn’t stand it any longer – one scheme after another going down the pan. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if making a success of this place helped bring them back together again. All she ever wanted was a bit of stability, I think.’

‘He has girlfriends, you know. Well, I
think
he does.’

‘Hmm. Frankie Seymour, you mean? I don’t believe that
that’s
a very serious option. Frankie’s got far too much sense.’

‘Would
you
ever get married again?’

‘Oh, hullo. What’s brought all this on? Well, I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Would it bother you?’

‘Depends.’

‘Of course it does. Well . . . I
have
been seeing someone, a bit. But I don’t think you need worry about it too much. No wedding bells just around the corner, I think I can guarantee that much.’

‘I bet he’s a musician.’

‘Well, yes, as it happens – but no one from the orchestra, if that’s what you mean. Anyway, enough. I’m not going to say another word.’

‘So it’s a secret.’

‘Well, it’s not a
secret
as such. It’s just that now doesn’t feel like the right time to talk about it.’

‘It’s OK to have secrets though, isn’t it?’

‘Course it is. Why – have you got some?’

‘Might have,’ said Midge, coyly.

‘Well then, you might tell me about them, when you feel like it. Or you might not, if you’d prefer. I shan’t mind.’

‘It was a secret about the flats, wasn’t it? For a long time you kept that a secret. Years. But then you told about it in the end.’

‘Yes – because the time was right. And as I said, if you’ve got something you want to tell
me
about . . .’

‘Mum, you’ve started to call me Midge.’

‘I know. Do you mind? It seems silly not to, when everyone else does. I’ve sort of got used to it. Like you drinking tea.’

It was still light when her mum kissed her and left the room. Midge could hear the distant cawing of the rooks as they began to settle down for the night, and the evening song of a blackbird, through her open window, clear liquid sounds, joyous on the peaceful summer air. She heard Uncle Brian cross the yard, open and shut the car boot – bringing her mum’s bags in, probably – and the occasional creak of the beams
up
in the roof, the house cooling down as the long day came to a close. These would be
her
sounds, now, the sounds that she would hear for years to come. And it was all right to have secrets. Next week, next year, maybe in twenty years when she had babies of her own – someday when the time was right, she would tell. But not today. And not tomorrow. Tomorrow she would . . . she yawned and closed her eyes. Whatever she would do tomorrow, could wait until then.

Chapter Twenty-nine

SHE WAS AWAKE
long before anyone else in the morning, and anxious, now, to break her news to Pegs. It was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right. The Various were safe – as safe as they had ever been – and she had to let them know.

The dew had soaked through her trainers by the time she had reached the top of the gully, and she could feel the damp between her toes. The wicker doors were already open, ready and waiting for her.

Once more she stepped into that other world, that world within a world, stood by the little spring, the heady scent of wild garlic in her nostrils, and met with Pegs – the amazing, mysterious, magical Pegs. She reached out her hand to touch the soft silvery mane, let the tips of her fingers brush the velvety texture of the folded wings, and once more she was overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all.

‘This is like a dream,’ she said. ‘It just feels as though I’m dreaming all the time.’

Yes. Comprend. And perhaps there will come a time when
you
will believe it to have been so. And I too. But for today let us imagine that we are here. Tell me what you have to say
.