{"id":241,"date":"2017-05-24T09:35:01","date_gmt":"2017-05-24T08:35:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/heidi-rice.com\/?post_type=portfolio&#038;p=241"},"modified":"2020-01-31T10:56:25","modified_gmt":"2020-01-31T10:56:25","slug":"summer-at-willow-tree-farm","status":"publish","type":"portfolio","link":"https:\/\/heidi-rice.com\/books\/summer-at-willow-tree-farm\/","title":{"rendered":"Summer at Willow Tree Farm"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id='av_section_1'  class='avia-section av-3r87l5-42fa837d74041e40a9b47c6c37d9759c main_color avia-section-default avia-no-shadow  avia-builder-el-0  el_before_av_section  avia-builder-el-first  avia-bg-style-scroll container_wrap fullsize'  ><div class='container av-section-cont-open' ><main  role=\"main\" itemprop=\"mainContentOfPage\"  class='template-page content  av-content-full alpha units'><div class='post-entry post-entry-type-page post-entry-241'><div class='entry-content-wrapper clearfix'>\n\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-av_heading-51a4c990e6bb030a8db1eddfa39357a1\">\n#top .av-special-heading.av-av_heading-51a4c990e6bb030a8db1eddfa39357a1{\npadding-bottom:10px;\n}\nbody .av-special-heading.av-av_heading-51a4c990e6bb030a8db1eddfa39357a1 .av-special-heading-tag .heading-char{\nfont-size:25px;\n}\n.av-special-heading.av-av_heading-51a4c990e6bb030a8db1eddfa39357a1 .av-subheading{\nfont-size:15px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div  class='av-special-heading av-av_heading-51a4c990e6bb030a8db1eddfa39357a1 av-special-heading-h3  avia-builder-el-1  el_before_av_one_half  avia-builder-el-first '><h3 class='av-special-heading-tag'  itemprop=\"headline\"  >Summer at Willow Tree Farm<\/h3><div class=\"special-heading-border\"><div class=\"special-heading-inner-border\"><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-3dnrhd-2e09a209e8ce4a88997b865eec405b74\">\n.flex_column.av-3dnrhd-2e09a209e8ce4a88997b865eec405b74{\n-webkit-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n-moz-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\nborder-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\npadding:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div class='flex_column av-3dnrhd-2e09a209e8ce4a88997b865eec405b74 av_one_half  avia-builder-el-2  el_after_av_heading  el_before_av_one_fourth  first flex_column_div av-zero-column-padding '     ><section  class='av_textblock_section av-39u48h-ac0dd88ef5327ce259a47920d5517b58'  itemscope=\"itemscope\" itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/CreativeWork\" ><div class='avia_textblock'  itemprop=\"text\" ><div id=\"iframeContent\">\n<p><strong>Is home always where the heart is?<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>When Ellie spent a summer with her mum on a Wiltshire commune in the 90s it was a bigger disaster than Leo DiCaprio\u2019s trip aboard the Titanic \u2013 so fleeing to America seemed like the perfect back-up plan.<\/p>\n<p>But now, with her marriage falling apart, running back to her mum seems like the only option for her and her son Josh.<\/p>\n<p>She wasn\u2019t expecting Art, the boy she once had a crush on, to still be working at Willow Tree Farm\u2026 And for him to still be as hot and bothersome as he was when they were teenagers.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<div id=\"iframeContent\">\n<p>Ellie came to Willow Tree Farm for a fresh start. But is she ready to risk sailing her life \u2013 and her heart \u2013 into another iceberg?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<p><strong><em>Digital: 20 July 2017<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<p><strong><em>Print: 19 April 2018<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-33tczt-45e1937473f94c8f3412dac71aefeb67\">\n.flex_column.av-33tczt-45e1937473f94c8f3412dac71aefeb67{\n-webkit-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n-moz-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\nborder-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\npadding:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div class='flex_column av-33tczt-45e1937473f94c8f3412dac71aefeb67 av_one_fourth  avia-builder-el-4  el_after_av_one_half  el_before_av_one_fourth  flex_column_div av-zero-column-padding '     ><p>\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-ap22h-daa4b79c75243914637dbac60418ac36\">\n.avia-image-container.av-ap22h-daa4b79c75243914637dbac60418ac36 img.avia_image{\nbox-shadow:none;\n}\n.avia-image-container.av-ap22h-daa4b79c75243914637dbac60418ac36 .av-image-caption-overlay-center{\ncolor:#ffffff;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div  class='avia-image-container av-ap22h-daa4b79c75243914637dbac60418ac36 av-styling- avia-align-center  avia-builder-el-5  el_before_av_button  avia-builder-el-first '   itemprop=\"image\" itemscope=\"itemscope\" itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/ImageObject\" ><div class=\"avia-image-container-inner\"><div class=\"avia-image-overlay-wrap\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.harpercollins.co.uk\/9781848456907\/summer-at-willow-tree-farm\/\" class='avia_image' ><img class='wp-image-267 avia-img-lazy-loading-not-267 avia_image ' src='https:\/\/heidi-rice.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/Summer-at-WTF-with-Quotes-copy.jpg' alt='' title='Summer at WTF with Quotes copy'  height=\"600\" width=\"400\"  itemprop=\"thumbnailUrl\"  \/><\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><br \/>\n<div  class='avia-button-wrap av-2ruc0p-9e08c4fea94e587c5186b5213508826d-wrap avia-button-center  avia-builder-el-6  el_after_av_image  avia-builder-el-last '><a href='https:\/\/amzn.to\/3b0xjww'  class='avia-button av-2ruc0p-9e08c4fea94e587c5186b5213508826d avia-icon_select-yes-left-icon avia-size-medium avia-position-center avia-color-theme-color'  ><span class='avia_button_icon avia_button_icon_left' aria-hidden='true' data-av_icon='\ue924' data-av_iconfont='entypo-fontello'><\/span><span class='avia_iconbox_title' >Buy on Amazon<\/span><\/a><\/div><\/p><\/div>\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-2jdfxt-58626c62523600f647f4951683ef6e22\">\n.flex_column.av-2jdfxt-58626c62523600f647f4951683ef6e22{\n-webkit-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n-moz-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\nborder-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\npadding:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div class='flex_column av-2jdfxt-58626c62523600f647f4951683ef6e22 av_one_fourth  avia-builder-el-7  el_after_av_one_fourth  el_before_av_one_fourth  flex_column_div av-zero-column-padding '     ><\/div>\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-2jdfxt-003756ef3a89921e5a1f222bafe396e0\">\n.flex_column.av-2jdfxt-003756ef3a89921e5a1f222bafe396e0{\n-webkit-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n-moz-border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\nborder-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;\npadding:0px 0px 0px 0px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div class='flex_column av-2jdfxt-003756ef3a89921e5a1f222bafe396e0 av_one_fourth  avia-builder-el-8  el_after_av_one_fourth  avia-builder-el-last  first flex_column_div av-zero-column-padding column-top-margin'     ><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/main><!-- close content main element --><\/div><\/div><div id='av_section_2'  class='avia-section av-2c5k89-582f51fed99c7380c451514564c3aa94 alternate_color avia-section-default avia-no-shadow  avia-builder-el-9  el_after_av_section  el_before_av_layout_row  avia-bg-style-scroll container_wrap fullsize'  ><div class='container av-section-cont-open' ><div class='template-page content  av-content-full alpha units'><div class='post-entry post-entry-type-page post-entry-241'><div class='entry-content-wrapper clearfix'>\n\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-2b9k81-124ccfed8cffcca26947953eab85f296\">\n#top .av-special-heading.av-2b9k81-124ccfed8cffcca26947953eab85f296{\npadding-bottom:10px;\n}\nbody .av-special-heading.av-2b9k81-124ccfed8cffcca26947953eab85f296 .av-special-heading-tag .heading-char{\nfont-size:25px;\n}\n.av-special-heading.av-2b9k81-124ccfed8cffcca26947953eab85f296 .av-subheading{\nfont-size:15px;\n}\n<\/style>\n<div  class='av-special-heading av-2b9k81-124ccfed8cffcca26947953eab85f296 av-special-heading-h3 blockquote modern-quote modern-centered  avia-builder-el-10  el_before_av_textblock  avia-builder-el-first '><h3 class='av-special-heading-tag'  itemprop=\"headline\"  >Excerpt:<\/h3><div class=\"special-heading-border\"><div class=\"special-heading-inner-border\"><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n<section  class='av_textblock_section av-20l0ux-28d6ed857c8dc7f1e79487b8dcafdaf5'  itemscope=\"itemscope\" itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/CreativeWork\" ><div class='avia_textblock'  itemprop=\"text\" ><p>\u2018Mom, this pie has jell-o in it. It tastes weird.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Eloise Granger eased her foot off the accelerator, to see her son\u2019s face screwed up in comical disgust over the remains of his Melton Mowbray pork pie.<\/p>\n<p>The gamey taste and meat jelly was obviously too much of an acquired taste for an American twelve-year-old brought up on meat that had been processed to within an inch of its life. Even for one who had never been a fussy eater she thought, taking in the dimpled skin where Josh\u2019s tummy peeped above the waistband of his \u2018husky boy\u2019 shorts.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Have some popcorn chips instead then.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I ate all the popcorn chips already,\u2019 Josh whined, his usually sweet nature finally beaten into submission by jetlag and boredom after seven hours in a plane and a total of fifteen hours on the road since they\u2019d left Orchard Habor in Upstate New York yesterday.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Once we get to grandma\u2019s, I\u2019m sure they\u2019ll have supper ready.\u2019 Whether it would be edible though was another matter.<\/p>\n<p>If Josh was struggling with the concept of pork pies, what were the chances he would wolf down kale stew or tofu casserole or whatever other vegan weirdness the commune had on the menu tonight?<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Are we almost there?\u2019 he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Very nearly.\u2019 The rental car hugged a curve, the high-sided banks on either side of the road topped with wild grass and nettles. The stretch of road was familiar, even if it had seemed never ending too, when she was fourteen and arriving here for the first time with her mum nineteen summers ago. \u2018Twenty minutes tops.\u2019<\/p>\n<p><em>At which point I will get to time-travel back to the worst summer of my life.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>So I can top it. And possibly myself in the process. <\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Why did I ever think running away from Dan and our disaster of a marriage to a place I haven\u2019t been in nineteen years would be a good idea? <\/em><\/p>\n<p>The simple answer was, desperation had set in a week ago when Dan had levelled her with his I\u2019ve-just-been-caught-with-my-dick-in-someone-else\u2019s-cookie-jar-again look and told her his latest mistress was accidentally pregnant. And it had all gone downhill from there \u2013 because Ellie hadn\u2019t been angry, or upset, or even remotely surprised. She\u2019d just been numb. Numb enough to think that taking her mum up on the invitation she\u2019d been extending to her and Josh for the past four years, ever since Ellie had received that first tentative, white-flag-waving Christmas email from Dee, was a good way of escaping the shit storm that had wrecked her life and her business in Orchard Harbor in less that seven days. Because announcing you were divorcing the town\u2019s Golden Boy was the opposite of good publicity for a woman who made her living as a wedding and events planner. Who knew?<\/p>\n<p>Unfortunately, she hadn\u2019t stopped feeling numb until she and Josh had boarded the plane at JFK\u2026 And she\u2019d actually had a moment to contemplate the new shit storm she was flying into.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018You said that ten minutes ago.\u2019 Josh\u2019s whine drilled through Ellie\u2019s frontal lobe. But she resisted the urge to snap at her son.<\/p>\n<p>He hadn\u2019t complained when she had wrenched him away from everything and everyone he knew, without giving him a proper explanation, and dragged him across an Ocean, not to mention two hundred miles of the M3 and the A303 in a tiny Ford Fiesta because that was the only hire car they had left. And he always got cranky when he was hungry. Right now he was probably ravenous, because she\u2019d had to make do with the limited options at the tiny service station near Tisbury. Hence the Melton Mowbray debacle.<\/p>\n<p>And anyway, even a cranky Josh was a welcome distraction from the flood of memories that had kept her awake during the red-eye flight to Heathrow.<\/p>\n<p>What had she been thinking? That swapping one shit storm for another would somehow cancel them out?<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I said that less than a minute ago,\u2019 she corrected. \u2018But you\u2019re right, that means it\u2019s probably only nineteen minutes now.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Why was it that when you knew something bad was headed your way, it always took that much longer to arrive? Was it just life\u2019s equivalent of slow-motion replays on <em>America\u2019s Funniest Home Videos<\/em>? Because she could remember another sunny June day nineteen years ago, when her mum had driven her to Wiltshire, their whole lives packed into the back of the family Range Rover. She had drowned out her mum\u2019s fake cheerfulness by listening to <em>Take That\u2019s <\/em>break-up album on a loop, and it had taken forever to get there then, too.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I\u2019m bored.\u2019 Josh interrupted her maudlin thoughts.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Why don\u2019t you play on your DS?\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018It\u2019s out of charge.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Why don\u2019t you listen to your iPod then?\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I\u2019m bored with the songs on it. I\u2019ve listened to them over and over.\u2019 She knew how that felt. After that summer, Robbie and his pals had been dead to her forever.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Then have a nap. You must be tired.\u2019 <em>Because I\u2019m exhausted<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>Although she doubted she\u2019d sleep anytime soon. All the nervous energy careering round her system made her feel as if she were mainlining coke.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Naps are for babies,\u2019 Josh moaned.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018You\u2019re my baby aren\u2019t you?\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Mom!\u2019 She could almost hear Josh rolling his eyes. \u2018Don\u2019t say that in front of the new kids, okay. They\u2019ll think I\u2019m weird.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>The smile died as she heard the anxious tone, generated by a year of being the \u2018weird kid\u2019 at Charles Hamilton Middle School in Orchard Harbor.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018They won\u2019t think you\u2019re weird, honey.\u2019<\/p>\n<p><em>Because I won\u2019t let them.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>She didn\u2019t doubt that if the kids at the commune these days were anything like the ones that had been there when she\u2019d arrived at fourteen for that one fateful summer, she\u2019d have a job keeping Josh\u2019s self-esteem in tact.<\/p>\n<p>But she was ready for the challenge. This summer she had no job to go to, or marriage to pretend to care about, giving her ample time to concentrate on the two things she did care about. Her son, and creating a new grand plan to give him the settled, secure, idyllic family life he deserved.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Will they think I\u2019m fat?\u2019 Josh asked.<\/p>\n<p>Ellie\u2019s head hurt. \u2018No they won\u2019t, because you\u2019re not. Your weight is perfectly healthy.\u2019 Or healthy enough not to risk giving Josh a complex about it with weight charts and unnecessary diets. That\u2019s what the nutritionist had said at any rate, at a cost of two hundred dollars an hour. And at that price, he must have been right.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Mom, there\u2019s a sign. Is that it?\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Josh\u2019s shout jogged Ellie\u2019s hands on the steering wheel. She braked in front of the sign, which was no longer a childish drawing of a Rainbow on a piece of splintered plywood, but a swirl of hammered bronze. The sign appeared sophisticated, but it announced the entrance to a rutted track that looked like even more of an exhaust-pipe graveyard than it had nineteen years ago.<\/p>\n<p>Sunlight gleamed on the metal swirls which read: Willow Tree Organic Farm and Cooperative-Housing Project.<\/p>\n<p>Underneath was another smaller sign listing \u2014 shock of shocks \u2014 an email address.<\/p>\n<p>So they\u2019d finally managed to dynamite themselves out of the 1960s then. Was it too much to hope the hippies who ran the place even had wifi? Perhaps they\u2019d also realised that calling it The Rainbow Commune had conjured up images of stray dogs and filthy children in badly tie-died clothing? Unfortunately, the state of the track suggested the name change was nothing more than a cynical re-branding exercise.<\/p>\n<p><em>A Housing Co-Op is probably just a commune in disguise.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Josh bounced in his seat. \u2018Let\u2019s go, Mom.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>He sounded so keen, and enthusiastic. How could she tell him this was likely to be a disaster?<\/p>\n<p>Whatever reception she got, Josh was a sweet, sunny, wonderful boy, and anyone who tried to hurt him would have his big bad mother to answer to. Plus they didn\u2019t have to stay, there was still the Madagascar option which she had considered a week ago before settling on Wiltshire.<\/p>\n<p>Ellie crunched the car\u2019s gear shift into first, determined to be positive, no matter what. \u2018I\u2019m sure Granny can\u2019t wait to meet you.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>The car bounced down the track, the nerves in Ellie\u2019s stomach bouncing with it like a team of obese gymnasts wearing hobnail boots, as she clung to the one bright spot she\u2019d managed to eek out of her dark thoughts during her night flight.<\/p>\n<p>At least Art Dalton, the scourge of her existence that long ago summer, wouldn\u2019t still be here. Her mother had never mentioned him or his psychotic cow of mother Laura, or even her lover Pam in the letters they\u2019d exchanged in recent years. And Art would be pushing thirty-five. He must have buggered off and gotten himself a life by now\u2013 or at the very least, gotten himself arrested.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Arthur, they\u2019re nearly here.\u2019 Dee Preston burst round the side of the farmhouse in a swirl of gypsy skirts and jangling bangles brandishing her mobile phone as if it held the Eighth Wonder of the Universe. \u2018I got a text from Ellie that she sent from the service station outside Tisbury.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>She grasped Art\u2019s arm. His chopping arm. And the axe thunked into the stubborn trunk he\u2019d been trying to shift all day inches from his boot.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Jesus, Dee, calm down.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Her round, flushed face beamed at him and his heart shrank in his chest. He knew how much Dee had invested in this visit. If Ellie Preston was the same high-maintenance drama queen now she\u2019d been at fourteen, though, he didn\u2019t hold out much hope of Dee getting the Kodak moment she was hoping for with the daughter who hadn\u2019t bothered to come visit her once in nearly twenty years.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I almost took off my big toe,\u2019 he added.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Stop being such a killjoy.\u2019 Dee shoved the phone at him, only stopping short of inserting it into one of his nostrils by a few millimetres . \u2018Read the text and see for yourself. She sent it twenty minutes ago, she should be here any minute.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Art plucked the phone from her fingers, before he ended up with a nosebleed, and checked the text. He managed to decipher the words \u201cJosh\u201d and \u201cLove Ellie\u201d from the jumble of letters. Without his thirteen-year-old daughter Toto on hand to read it for him properly or the spare time available to decipher each individual word himself and then compile them into a comprehensible sentence, he had to wing it.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018If she sent it twenty minutes ago, I guess you\u2019re right.\u2019 He handed back the phone. \u2018She should be here soon, unless she\u2019s gotten lost.\u2019 And given his present run of shitty luck, that was highly unlikely.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018You have to come,\u2019 Dee said, grasping his arm. \u2018We should welcome them properly, like a community.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018You\u2019ve spent the last week redecorating their rooms and the whole weekend baking, isn\u2019t that enough?\u2019 But even as the grumpy words left his mouth, he was being dragged round the side of the house to the front yard, to join the other families who lived on the farm and had already been assembled.<\/p>\n<p>The twin tides of pride and panic assailed him as they always did at the endless get-togethers Dee was always organising to build a sense of community.<\/p>\n<p>Toto was corralling Rob and Annie Jackson\u2019s twin toddlers. Ducks and geese from the nearby millpond roamed over the for-once not too muddy yard, and everyone stood around in small groups. The sunshine glinted off Maddy Grady\u2019s spectacles as she flirted with her boyfriend Jacob Riley. The only two unmarried members of the Project apart from him and Dee, they\u2019d started dating a few weeks after Jacob had come to volunteer for a weekend and then never left. Art shuddered at the memory of the rhythmic thumping coming from Jacob\u2019s room the night before and keeping him awake. Even after close to a year, the shine still hadn\u2019t worn off their sex life, that was for sure.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Please smile, Arthur. I don\u2019t want you to scare Ellie when she arrives, like you did the first time.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018What do you mean?\u2019 Did Dee know? About the cruel things he\u2019d said to Ellie the night before she\u2019d left that summer? Did she know Ellie wasn\u2019t the only one who\u2019d behaved like a selfish little shit? Guilt coalesced in the pit of his stomach.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018You ignored her.\u2019 <em>Was that all?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>\u2018Did I?\u2019 Relief coursed through him. Even though that was not the way he remembered Ellie\u2019s original arrival at all. Truth was he\u2019d been fascinated by Dee\u2019s daughter that day. She\u2019d stepped out of her mother\u2019s car, flicked back her Rachel from <em>Friends<\/em> hair, the pastel silk blouse emphasising the buds of her breasts, and the superior scowl on her face making her look like a fairy queen who\u2019d just swallowed a cockroach.<\/p>\n<p>He\u2019d stared, dazzled by how pretty and pristine she was. And she\u2019d pursed her lips into a brittle smile, wrinkled her nose and looked right through him.<\/p>\n<p>Dee glanced his way, before returning her attention to the road. \u2018To a fourteen-year-old girl, when a good-looking boy doesn\u2019t notice you, that\u2019s tantamount to a knife through the heart.\u2019 Dee craned her neck, eager to see round the corner of the barn, her knotted hands a testament to her nerves as she waited for her prodigal daughter\u2019s return. \u2018Especially one as vulnerable as Ellie was.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>Vulnerable? Was Dee kidding? Beneath the petite figure and the babydoll face, Ellie Preston had been about as vulnerable as Maggie Thatcher.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018She didn\u2019t want me to notice her,\u2019 he muttered in his defence. Because she\u2019d done nothing but give him grief when he had.<\/p>\n<p>Dee\u2019s gaze flicked away from the road, the pale blue eyes beseeching. \u2018I know you two never did get along. But please, will you try and be nice, or at least not hostile towards her. It would mean so much to me.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Don\u2019t worry, I\u2019m not fifteen anymore,\u2019 he said, trying to keep his voice devoid of tension. \u2018And neither is Ellie. I\u2019m sure we can act like grown ups if we put our minds to it.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>And stayed the hell out of each other\u2019s way \u2014 which was precisely why he hadn\u2019t planned on being part of the welcoming committee.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Ellie runs a very successful event planning business in America, you know,\u2019 Dee said, her voice thick with pride. \u2018She might have some ideas that could help with our financial troubles.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018We\u2019re not in financial trouble,\u2019 he said, determined to take away the worry lines forming on her forehead.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I know it\u2019s nothing you can\u2019t fix,\u2019 she said, reassuring him instead. \u2018But maybe Ellie could help you run the place, take some of the burden off your shoulders, while she\u2019s here.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>\u2018It\u2019s no burden,\u2019 he murmured, thinking of the cramped office he\u2019d escaped from for the afternoon, furnished with a dying Hewlett Packard of indeterminate vintage and floor-to-ceiling shelves bulging with folders full of spreadsheets and order forms and invoices which he had inherited from Dee\u2019s dead partner Pam four years ago \u2014\u00a0and still hadn\u2019t got to the bottom of.<\/p>\n<p>While he\u2019d have been more than happy to hand the lot of it over to someone else and run like hell, no way could he hand the mess over to Dee\u2019s daughter. As a teenager she\u2019d hated this place with every fibre of her being.<\/p>\n<p>While he might not have the right skills to manage the farm, he wasn\u2019t going to let it be bludgeoned to death by a woman who would happily tap dance on its grave.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Don\u2019t worry, I\u2019ll figure out something useful for her to do while she\u2019s here,\u2019 he said wearily, hoping like hell Ellie wasn\u2019t planning to stay for the whole summer.<\/p>\n<p>Maybe Princess Drama could shovel the manure into biodegradable bags? Or collect eggs from Martha, their prime layer, who had a homicidal personality disorder that would rival Caligula? Or better yet, help Jacob set the rat traps in the back barn? If he remembered correctly from the summer he\u2019d spent with Ellie, she had a pathological phobia of mice. And the rats in that barn were big enough to give the farm\u2019s fifteen-pound ginger tom post traumatic stress disorder.<\/p>\n<p>The vice around Art\u2019s ribs loosened as he imagined the many passive aggressive ways he could persuade Ellie Preston to bugger off back to her very successful event planning business in America long before the summer was over.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018I know you will.\u2019 Dee placed her sun-spotted hand on Art\u2019s forearm. \u2018You always know what to do. You\u2019re such a credit to us all.\u2019 She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, the gesture full of maternal affection. The way she\u2019d begun doing nineteen years ago. The day her daughter Ellie had climbed into her father\u2019s Mercedes and driven away.<\/p>\n<p>He caught the comforting scent of vanilla essence and lavender while Dee nattered about all the exciting things she was going to do with the grandson she\u2019d never met. And his spirits sunk.<\/p>\n<p><em>Bollocks<\/em>. He wasn\u2019t going to be able to torture Ellie into leaving without upsetting Dee. The headache at his temple hammered at the base of his skull.<\/p>\n<p>Perhaps he\u2019d be able to sic Martha the psychotic hen on Ellie, but locking her in the barn with the mutant killer rats was probably a non-starter.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018That\u2019s them,\u2019 Dee\u2019s remark cut into his thoughts.<\/p>\n<p>He lifted his head as a red Ford Fiesta bounded into the yard, then stopped. A boy popped out. About Toto\u2019s height. His short caramel brown hair stuck up in a tuft at the crown. He wore high top sneakers, a grey and blue New York Mets T-shirt, a baseball cap backwards and baggy cargo shorts that slouched on his hips but did nothing to hide his pronounced belly.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Hey, I\u2019m Josh,\u2019 he said in a broad US accent. He shuffled his hand in a half-hearted wave that was both eager and shy.<\/p>\n<p>Dee rushed over to gather him close in a hug. \u2018Josh, it\u2019s so wonderful to meet you. I\u2019m your Granny Dee.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>The boy smiled, his expression both curious and uncomplicated. And Art spotted the railroad-track braces on his teeth.<\/p>\n<p>Ellie\u2019s kid couldn\u2019t have looked and sounded more like an All-American stereotype if he\u2019d tried. He reminded Art of one of the characters from <em>Recess<\/em>, the cartoon Toto had devoured like kiddie crack a few years ago.<\/p>\n<p>Ellie stepped out of the other side of the car and Art\u2019s breathing stopped as he absorbed the short, sharp shock of recognition.<\/p>\n<p>In a pair of faded Levis rolled up at the hem and a snug lacy vest top which emphasised her small frame, her wild strawberry blonde hair tied up in a haphazard knot to reveal dangly earrings, she looked summery and sexy and casual, and nothing like the pristine, polished, too perfect girl he remembered. But then Dee placed a hand on her daughter\u2019s arm, and Ellie\u2019s spine stiffened as if someone had shoved a rod up her arse.<\/p>\n<p>Dee began introducing everyone, while the younger kids swarmed round Ellie\u2019s son who seemed astonished by the attention. Toto, like him though, held back.<\/p>\n<p>Then it struck him, as he watched Toto watch the boy, that as the oldest kid here, a card-carrying tomboy and as good as a surrogate grandchild to Dee, his daughter might feel as uncomfortable about the new arrivals as he did. Maybe he should have spoken to Toto about Ellie and her son coming to visit? Was this one of <em>those<\/em> situations that required the sort of \u2018parent-child\u2019 conversation the two of them generally avoided? How was he supposed to know that?<\/p>\n<p>But then Toto stopped watching and marched up to the boy, said something to him and grabbed his hand. The boy\u2019s doughy face lit up as he nodded and allowed himself to be dragged off. Toto in the lead as always like the Pied Piper.<\/p>\n<p><em>Nope, we\u2019re good. <\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Thank Christ.<\/em> This situation was enough of a headwreck already.<\/p>\n<p>Give or take the odd drive-Dad-mad moment Toto was a brilliant kid. Smart, independent, straightforward and unafraid. And like him, she wasn\u2019t the share-and-discuss type.<\/p>\n<p>So yeah, it was all good. <em>No feelings talk required.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Ellie\u2019s body remained rigid as she chatted to her mother, while Mike Peveney and Rob Jackson \u2013 who had both bought into the Project with their young families a couple of years ago \u2013 set about unpacking her car. A few minutes later they had disgorged enough bags from the two-door compact to spend six months on safari in Kenya rather than a few weeks in Wiltshire.<\/p>\n<p>Digging his fists into the pockets of his work overalls, Art strolled towards the dwindling welcoming party, prepared to follow through on his promise to Dee.<\/p>\n<p>There was no reason why Ellie and he couldn\u2019t be civil to each other. She might not even remember him. Much.<\/p>\n<p>But then his gaze snagged on her strappy top and the way the thin cotton stretched tight across her breasts. The firm nubs of her nipples stood out against the fabric.<\/p>\n<p>He heard a cough, and lifted his gaze. A pair of grass green eyes glared at him. The flush burned the back of his neck, at the thought that he\u2019d just been caught checking her out before he\u2019d even said hello. But then the intriguing tilt at the edges of her eyes went squinty and he noticed the bluish hollows of fatigue underneath.<\/p>\n<p>She looked exhausted.<\/p>\n<p>Her lips pursed and the puddle of pity dried up. The tight smile was as unconvincing as the one nineteen years ago.<\/p>\n<p>\u2018Hello, Arthur,\u2019 she said, using the name he hated except when Dee used it. \u2018You\u2019re still here, then.\u2019<\/p>\n<p>It wasn\u2019t a question, more like a declaration of war.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><!-- close content main div --><\/div><\/div><div id='av-layout-grid-1'  class='av-layout-grid-container av-1upo29-d8d20b7be18ed67fce67720326ca6a84 entry-content-wrapper main_color av-flex-cells  avia-builder-el-12  el_after_av_section  avia-builder-el-last  grid-row-not-first  container_wrap fullsize'  >\n\n<style type=\"text\/css\" data-created_by=\"avia_inline_auto\" id=\"style-css-av-1smv5t-71a0efab51dd2f8817758f4236fec885\">\n.flex_cell.av-1smv5t-71a0efab51dd2f8817758f4236fec885{\nvertical-align:top;\nbackground-color:#425f9c;\n}\n.responsive #top #wrap_all .flex_cell.av-1smv5t-71a0efab51dd2f8817758f4236fec885{\npadding:30px 30px 30px 30px 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