exciting events to talk about: Gabe and Laura Baxter’s new TV show, and next weekend’s big wedding.
Logan Cranley, the stunning daughter of Brett and Angela Cranley, was marrying her long-term boyfriend, Tom Hargreaves, this Saturday in St Hilda’s Church. Logan’s parents had divorced in a blaze of publicity three years ago. Her father, Brett, had moved to America with Tatiana Flint-Hamilton, the former wild-child heiress of Furlings turned international business phenomenon. Tatiana also happened to be Brett’s daughter-in-law at the time, so it was something of a scandal all around. Supposedly, Cranley family relations were now cordial. But where Tatiana Flint-Hamilton was concerned, there was always the potential for drama. Logan’s wedding would be the first time that all parties had been under the same roof since the divorce. The fact that this would happen in public and in the village was too thrilling for words.
Gabe led Macy to a quietish corner near the bar and they ordered from the blackboard. Fresh local crab salad and spring pea soup for Macy and an Angus beefburger and chips for Gabe.
‘The food’s average but the beer’s great,’ said Gabe.
‘As long as you like it warm, right?’ quipped Macy.
‘Of course. This is England. We don’t do ice.’
He’s so easy-going , thought Macy. She wondered how on earth he’d wound up with a miserable nag like Laura.
As if reading her mind, Gabe said, ‘You mustn’t mind Laura. She’s not normally like this, honestly. She’s been so stressed about this show, poor darling, and the protests haven’t helped.’
He told Macy about the other children picking on Hugh at school, and the malicious gossip Laura had endured around the village. ‘It’s water off a duck’s back to me,’ he said, in between large, satisfying bites of his juicy beefburger. ‘But Laura hates conflict.’
Macy looked disbelieving.
‘Normally,’ Gabe chuckled. ‘Plus, you know, she has a ridiculously romantic, idealized view of village life. She always has done, ever since she used to come here for summers as a kid and stay at her granny’s place. She thinks Fittlescombe’s perfect and everybody ought to love everybody else and spend their time skipping around maypoles.’
‘And you don’t?’ asked Macy.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I love it here. But nowhere’s perfect. This is a real community, not a theme park. I think being a farmer gives you a more realistic view of life generally, to be honest.’
‘Is that why you wanted to do the show?’ Macy asked earnestly. ‘To educate people, from a farmer’s perspective?’
Gabe looked confused. ‘No. I’m doing the show to make money. Farming’s bloody hard work for almost no money. This month alone I’ve got to tail and castrate all the lambs, get them ear-notched and tagged, spray the potatoes, do muck-spreading across the whole farm, repair three broken walls and clean out the livestock buildings. I’m knackered just thinking about it. By getting a camera crew to follow me around, I’m already doubling my earnings. And if the show does well and Fast Eddie sells the format overseas, who knows? We might make some real money for a change.’
‘But you aren’t worried about the protests?’ Macy asked. ‘Now that a national newspaper’s involved, couldn’t they shut us down before we begin?’
‘Nah. If anything, it’ll generate some free publicity, while it lasts. But things will calm down, trust me,’ said Gabe. ‘At least, they will if he winds his neck in.’
He turned to glare at Call-me-Bill Clempson, who’d just walked in with a couple of local farmers. Both had been friends of Gabe’s before the furore about Valley Farm broke out.
‘The vicar?’
Gabe nodded bitterly.
‘But he looks so harmless. Like a little vole.’
‘He’s not harmless. He’s a self-righteous dick,’ said Gabe. ‘Zipping around the village in his little red car like bloody Noddy, making me and Laura out
Logan Cranley, the stunning daughter of Brett and Angela Cranley, was marrying her long-term boyfriend, Tom Hargreaves, this Saturday in St Hilda’s Church. Logan’s parents had divorced in a blaze of publicity three years ago. Her father, Brett, had moved to America with Tatiana Flint-Hamilton, the former wild-child heiress of Furlings turned international business phenomenon. Tatiana also happened to be Brett’s daughter-in-law at the time, so it was something of a scandal all around. Supposedly, Cranley family relations were now cordial. But where Tatiana Flint-Hamilton was concerned, there was always the potential for drama. Logan’s wedding would be the first time that all parties had been under the same roof since the divorce. The fact that this would happen in public and in the village was too thrilling for words.
Gabe led Macy to a quietish corner near the bar and they ordered from the blackboard. Fresh local crab salad and spring pea soup for Macy and an Angus beefburger and chips for Gabe.
‘The food’s average but the beer’s great,’ said Gabe.
‘As long as you like it warm, right?’ quipped Macy.
‘Of course. This is England. We don’t do ice.’
He’s so easy-going , thought Macy. She wondered how on earth he’d wound up with a miserable nag like Laura.
As if reading her mind, Gabe said, ‘You mustn’t mind Laura. She’s not normally like this, honestly. She’s been so stressed about this show, poor darling, and the protests haven’t helped.’
He told Macy about the other children picking on Hugh at school, and the malicious gossip Laura had endured around the village. ‘It’s water off a duck’s back to me,’ he said, in between large, satisfying bites of his juicy beefburger. ‘But Laura hates conflict.’
Macy looked disbelieving.
‘Normally,’ Gabe chuckled. ‘Plus, you know, she has a ridiculously romantic, idealized view of village life. She always has done, ever since she used to come here for summers as a kid and stay at her granny’s place. She thinks Fittlescombe’s perfect and everybody ought to love everybody else and spend their time skipping around maypoles.’
‘And you don’t?’ asked Macy.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I love it here. But nowhere’s perfect. This is a real community, not a theme park. I think being a farmer gives you a more realistic view of life generally, to be honest.’
‘Is that why you wanted to do the show?’ Macy asked earnestly. ‘To educate people, from a farmer’s perspective?’
Gabe looked confused. ‘No. I’m doing the show to make money. Farming’s bloody hard work for almost no money. This month alone I’ve got to tail and castrate all the lambs, get them ear-notched and tagged, spray the potatoes, do muck-spreading across the whole farm, repair three broken walls and clean out the livestock buildings. I’m knackered just thinking about it. By getting a camera crew to follow me around, I’m already doubling my earnings. And if the show does well and Fast Eddie sells the format overseas, who knows? We might make some real money for a change.’
‘But you aren’t worried about the protests?’ Macy asked. ‘Now that a national newspaper’s involved, couldn’t they shut us down before we begin?’
‘Nah. If anything, it’ll generate some free publicity, while it lasts. But things will calm down, trust me,’ said Gabe. ‘At least, they will if he winds his neck in.’
He turned to glare at Call-me-Bill Clempson, who’d just walked in with a couple of local farmers. Both had been friends of Gabe’s before the furore about Valley Farm broke out.
‘The vicar?’
Gabe nodded bitterly.
‘But he looks so harmless. Like a little vole.’
‘He’s not harmless. He’s a self-righteous dick,’ said Gabe. ‘Zipping around the village in his little red car like bloody Noddy, making me and Laura out
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