Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy (25 page)

‘And in the country, his daddy wouldn’t have to destroy his soul in some office for the next twenty years,’ I said softly.

‘Are you serious Coco?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘You really think we should have a microbrewery?’

‘I never really thought I would be a successful writer,’ I said.

 
‘Cokes. I wouldn’t know where to start. I’ve seen pictures of big stainless steel drums and labels on fancy bottles, but how do you even make beer?’

I pointed to the beer making kit. ‘Here you go,’ I said. ‘Time to find out.’

 
Adam was thrilled with the kit. He opened the box, and pulled out a giant white plastic drum with a lid, lengths of pipe, a huge thermometer, sachets of yeast, and clear bags of squishy hops. There was also a huge booklet he immediately became absorbed reading. I couldn’t get anything more out of him so I went and watched the telly
.
He was still reading at nine, so I took Rocco out and had a shower… I listened to the news on Radio 4 and then read a little. As the shipping forecast came on, I went downstairs. The stove was covered with pans, and the microwave was working too. A dish of water was spinning inside, full of clear plastic pipes.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘Sterilising everything… Then I make the beer.’

I went to the kitchen island where he had the hops in a big bowl. They were dark green and slightly moist. They smelt divine. He came and took them from me.

‘Everything has to be sterile.’

‘I had a shower,’ I said. He pulled one of my blond hairs out of the bowl.

‘I’m sure with you in it, it would be delicious but it must be sterile, just hops, grain, malt extract, water and yeast.

‘How much longer will it take?’ I asked.

‘I need to steep the grain for a couple of hours in this sacking, and then I add the hops and the yeast. Two or three hours.’

‘It’s almost one in the morning.’

‘I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I stopped now. Thank you Coco.’

He grabbed me and gave me a deep kiss, I felt a little spark again.

‘How about a little break with a yummy mummy?’ I said tracing my hand across one of his pectorals and down to his tight abs.

‘Ooh! The water has just reached optimum temperature,’ he said pulling away and fiddling with the stove.

‘So you’re going to see to that and let me cool off?’ I said half joking. He ran and pulled out various bits of equipment.

‘Coco. You are the best and I promise I’ll make it up to you.’

‘Okay,’ I said. I picked up Rocco and carried him to the bedroom. He settled down on the end of the bed and I fell asleep.
 

Adam shook me awake at quarter to four.

‘Where shall I put your knickers?’ he whispered in my ear.

‘Ooh, so I get some action after all… Just put them on the bedside table.’

‘What? No,’ said Adam. ‘I meant your knickers in the airing cupboard. I need space, for the beer.’

‘Just shove them over,’ I said disappointed.

‘But won’t they get creased?’

‘Do I look like the kind of woman who irons her knickers Adam?’ I said, turned over and fell back to sleep. I woke again when the alarm went off at six-thirty. Adam was in bed beside me, but he sat up and pulled on a t-shirt.

‘You’re the best, Cokes,’ he said, standing up and stepping into some running shorts.

‘I am?’

‘You bought me such an awesome professional beer kit – you bought me a
hydrometer
.
’

‘I did?’

‘Thanks,’ he leant over and kissed me.

‘I thought you should have one,’ I said.

‘You don’t know what a hydrometer is, do you?’

‘No,’ I grinned. He then started going on about gravity and readings before skipping off downstairs to check the beer. I turned over and went back to sleep.

I was shaken awake at ten.

‘Coco, Coco!’

‘What?’

‘Come with me!’ He pulled me out onto the landing. Outside the airing cupboard, everything had been emptied, bed sheets, underwear, duvet covers. I hadn’t realised how much the airing cupboard holds as it was now filling half the hallway.

‘I’ll clear this up later,’ he said. Rocco trotted after us and climbed on top of the pile of clothes, circled a couple of times and lay down. He snorted happily and looked at us with curious eyes. Adam opened the airing cupboard door. The huge ancient boiler was now visible at the back, painted pillar-box-red by my father. It clicked and hissed. On the biggest wooden shelf was the giant forty-litre plastic container. There was a strong smell of fermenting beer, sugar and yeast.

‘What do you think?’

‘It’s a big white container,’ I said.

‘What else do you see?’

‘Our laundry on the floor. Rocco giving our clothes his doggy smell…’ Rocco gave a wuff. ‘Which is lovely of course. Can I see inside?’

‘No. We absolutely can’t open this container. It needs to be kept at one temperature.’

Adam had a born again Christian sheen to his face. He went off to work a different person. Happy.
 

Friday 18th May

I am officially twenty-eight weeks pregnant today. So in twelve weeks I will give birth. My bump is now prominent, and it takes two hands cupped together to cradle one of my gargantuan boobs. If ever my milkshake would bring all the boys to the yard it would be now. However they would see my enormous bottom and leave the yard fairly sharpish. I’m now barrel-shaped, which is good because I’m competing for Adam’s affections with a forty-litre barrel of fermenting beer.

I stood in the shower this morning for a long time. Excited and scared. I phoned Chris yesterday, and today we are going to look at some of the land he is selling. Strangeways Farm is a two-storey house with substantial land. If we do buy it, the first thing we’ll do is change the name.

We drove down and met Chris at Cheshire Hall. It was a sunny spring day and everything was bursting into bud and flower. We’d left London very early, and as we passed through the gates of the Hall, a low mist was clinging to the green fields. We parked on the gravel outside the huge front door and rang the bell. A ruggedly handsome guy opened the door.
 

‘Mr and Mrs Rickard?’ he said.

‘We’re here to see Chris, Lord Cheshire,’ said Adam. He led us through the hall and indicated the drawing room.
 

‘Chris will be with you shortly,’ he said. My attention was so drawn to him that I narrowly missed walking into a pillar.

‘Eyes ahead baby-momma,’ said Adam, just stopping me. I blushed and hurried into the drawing room. Adam was laughing.

‘Shut up. With my bump, my balance is off.’

‘That’s what it is…’

The large living room looked a lot more like it belonged to Chris. He’d brought his television and DVD’s were piled messily around. He had some photos dotted about in frames; there was one of Chris, Sophia and Rebecca taken when they were very small. They were standing in a field with their father. Chris was sitting on his shoulders grinning with two front teeth missing. In the background Lady Edwina could be seen with the gamekeeper, loading a shotgun.
 

There was another of me, Chris and Marika on a long-ago singles holiday to Tenerife. We look so young with wild-hair and grinning lobster faces. And there was one I’d never seen before of Chris and Kenneth, together on a very windy Brighton sea front.
 

‘Oh my god. I’m sorry I’m late you two,’ said Chris bursting in. ‘I didn’t want to leave you
waiting
for me.’

We all hugged.

‘What’s with the handsome guy opening the door?’ said Adam. ‘Coco almost dented our son on a pillar!’

‘My mother took all the staff with her when she moved to the Lodge. I had to hire a new housekeeper. I thought he might as well be nice to look at. Do you want some tea?’

‘No, let’s see this land,’ I said.
 

‘I can’t believe you’re thinking of doing this,’ said Chris excitedly.

‘Neither can we!’ Adam grinned.

We piled into an ancient Landrover and Chris drove across the gravel driveway, straight onto the fields surrounding Cheshire Hall. The sun was now up and it was a beautiful day. We bumped and jolted along for a while and then came to a gate. Adam jumped out to open it, and we emerged onto a country lane. We drove along for a few minutes through a tunnel of trees until we came to another gate. On it was a fading orange sign with a phone number for bookings. Adam did the honours again, and we drove down a muddy track. It was overgrown in places and brambles squeaked against the paintwork of the car. We whooshed through a deep section of waterlogged mud, then the trees cleared and there was a house. It wasn’t huge and was quite plain brick with a pitched roof; it backed onto the woods which looked pretty impenetrable, but the front garden! It had a large expanse of manicured lawn, ending in a low wire fence. Beyond was a breathtaking view. Miles and miles of Kent countryside flowed away. At the base of the wire fence were fields of wild flowers and trees, a lake and in the distance hills were sparsely covered with farmhouses. Squares of yellow rapeseed interrupted the green of the hills, and a herd of deer moved fluidly in the distance. We got out of the car. Chris saw us with our mouths open.

‘The view goes on for
miles,’
I said.
 

‘It’s not all for sale Cokes,’ grinned Chris. ‘It’s just those six fields, the lake, two fields round the other side, the old vineyard up the hill, and a small strip of woodland behind the house. The farm has been here for years; it’s got its own borehole for water.’

‘Borehole?’ said Adam.

‘Yes,’ said Chris.
 

‘There’s well water?’

‘Yes.’

‘Drinkable?’

‘Yes,’ said Chris.

‘Awesome!’ said Adam. Chris gave me a look.

‘The house
does
have taps and running water.’

‘Let’s see the house,’ I said. Adam was already thrilled with a well. I was still unsure and needed to see more.

The house was a weathered red brick. The single-glazed windows were old. The front door had an old wooden frame with a giant sheet of frosted glass. Chris rummaged around for the key and realised he’d left it in the Landrover.
 

‘All you need is to wrap a jumper round your hand and put your fist through the glass,’ I said when he’d gone off to get it.

‘Shhh,’ said Adam.

‘Well it’s not very secure,’ I said. Chris came back and we grinned. He got the door open and pushed against a pile of free newspapers and junk mail.

‘It’s good to know the post comes,’ said Adam. ‘And look there’s a pizza delivery service.’

‘Dominoes can be convinced to come out this far, but the pizza tends to be a bit cold…’ Chris’s voice trailed off. It was chilly and a bit musty as we walked into the hallway. Dust swirled in the sunlight. To the left was a bare living room with two huge sofas and windows looking out onto the garden and view. There was a freezing cold downstairs toilet, which Chris hastily flushed. Further down was a clean kitchen with a microwave, fridge and oven. All were old and had a dog-eared instruction book attached to them with a piece of string. The bedrooms upstairs had low beds on spindly little legs and candlewick bed-spreads, Formica wardrobes and pictures of sunsets and boats. We walked round in silence. Chris could see my dismay.
 

‘It’s been rented out as a holiday home for the past fifteen years, and hasn’t had anything done to it… It really is beautiful round here… BT and Sky say they can put Internet in.’

‘That’s nice of them,’ I said. I could tell Chris was torn between making a sale and being a friend. I squeezed his hand.

‘How much land is there?’ I asked.

‘There’s the house and forty acres, including some out-buildings and the lake…’

There was a silence.

‘Can you swim in the lake?’ asked Adam. ‘We could teach the baby to swim.’

‘There’s an awful lot of shopping trolleys which would need clearing out first,’ said Chris. ‘On the upside you now have to put a token in the trolley in the local Lidl, so there shouldn’t be many more dumped...’

The kitchen had a back door, another sheet of glass just inviting burglars and rapists to ram their way in, which led directly onto a patio covered in thick moss. An orchard of apple and pear trees was dotted about amongst the overgrown lawn.
 

‘So where is the borehole?’ asked Adam.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Chris. ‘Let’s see the rest.’

We got back in the Landrover and he drove us around the forty acres. Half of the fields had been ploughed and were rented out to a local farmer for crops. A big chunk was classed as a deer park and a huge field next to the house had row after row of straggling grape vines.

We finished by pulling up to a field with a crumbling barn. Next to it was a round brick building with a pointy roof like an upside down funnel. The very top bit of the funnel was bent over to one side.
 

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. I used to think it was the place where they made witches hats,’ said Chris.

‘It’s an oast house. For drying hops…’ said Adam dreamily.

I looked at Chris.

‘Wow… An oast house,’ repeated Adam. He walked over and managed to get the big old wooden door open. We followed. Inside the round walls were red brick, and we could see straight up to the inside of the pointy spout high above. The internal floors had all collapsed leaving an enormous hole. There was a remaining bit of floor forming a ledge, on which sat a big fat crow. It twitched its head, cawed, leapt off its ledge, swooping down at us and then back up. I screamed which made it flap even more. Chris screamed and lurched towards the door. He tripped over a pile of floorboards and landed with a crunch.
 

Adam just stood staring up, his arms by his sides, the sunlight illuminating his gorgeous face.

‘There would have been three levels,’ he said dreamily. ‘The hops would be picked and laid on the floor boards, and you see there in the corner, that’s where the fire would be lit.’ He pointed to a rusting forge in the corner.