Grace’s mother always joked that she should have christened her Grace Anne Decorum, not plain Grace Anne Jones as she was back then. It was a teasing reminder that a high-spirited child like her should practise Grace And Decorum at all times… or at least whenever possible. Now she was much older, Grace often wondered if this mantra was her mother’s way of helping her cope with all the blows that life had dealt her. She hoped so; Grace needed all the help she could get.
Her mother had taught her many things as a child: how to laugh, how to sit still for hours watching the baby rabbits on the lawn, how to creep out on a bright frosty morning to see the miracle of cobwebs in the hedgerow, the same hedgerows that a few months earlier had yielded bursting blackberries for her taste buds to explore. She’d taught her how to love hot buttered crumpets by the fire, and the feel of the wind in her hair, the tang of salt from the sea on her skin and the gentle caress of the sun-warmed air. Above all, she had taught Grace how to value each and every thing in her life, because one day they might not be there. Her mother had died when Grace was only twenty-two, and so many years had gone by now, some days it was a real struggle to remember her at all.
Not today though. Today, Grace could see her mother everywhere in the garden; in the tall Michaelmas daisies whose friendly heads bent gently in the breeze, in the tumble of leaves playing joyously along the patio, and in the air itself which enfolded her with the kindest of touches. And she was glad, because today she really needed her mother’s help. She needed someone to remind her what was important in her life.
Grace was sitting in her favourite spot, just under the apple tree, on a bench that had seen better days but which was still the most comfortable place to sit. With a cup of tea and a biscuit with her for moral support, she contemplated her options, although, in truth, there was only one. A friendly robin came to join her momentarily, and she wondered if it was these little things that she would remember most about this day in time to come, or whether they would pale under the enormity of what she was about to do.
Fortunately, she didn’t have too long to wait, and the sound of tyres on gravel soon cut through her thoughts. She drained the last of her tea and, rising, brushed the crumbs from her skirt. Then she began to walk slowly back inside the house where she would greet her husband and bring an end to their thirty-two years of marriage.
Amos clutched the loaf of bread to his chest with one hand, savouring its smell. In the other hand he lightly swung a carrier bag, trying not to snag it on the roses that lined the pathway from the village shop. Their scent was heady this late in the day, and he breathed it in, feeling the same sense of peace and contentment that had drawn him to the village in the first place. Finding the little shop had been a pleasant surprise, but discovering it was open until eight o’clock in the evening had been nothing short of miraculous. But then Amos had always believed in the miraculous.
Bill, the shopkeeper, had been very helpful. Not wary like some folk were when they first met Amos, who, with his dungarees and bright-red Doc Marten boots, would be the first to admit that his appearance wasn’t all that conventional for a man of his age. Listening carefully as Amos explained that he was looking for a place to camp in return for any kind of work he could offer as payment, Bill didn’t make any promises but suggested that Amos have a look around the shop for a few moments while he made a phone call; he knew someone who might be glad of an extra pair of hands.
Only when the deal was done had Bill given him a name and address and Amos had understood perfectly. You couldn’t be too careful, not in this day and age. He’d paid for his bread, a bottle of water and some apples before taking his leave. With any luck, he would soon be in a position to properly repay Bill his kindness. In Amos’s world, that was just the way things worked.
Taking the little lane up by the church, Amos followed Bill’s directions, enjoying the rustle of the wind in the big horse chestnut trees along the way. He would have liked to see them in the autumn too, but he knew he would be long gone by then. Stopping for a moment he looked up at the cloudless blue sky and frowned slightly, knowing from just the sound that the car coming towards him was driving far too fast. He stepped safely onto the wide verge in good time as a dark-blue Lexus roared past him, sending a shower of dust and noise up into the air. Amos stared after the car for quite some time, thankful that there was no one else walking the lane, someone whose reactions were a little slower than his. It must be sad, he thought, to be in that much of a hurry on such a beautiful day. He rubbed the back of his neck absent-mindedly.
After walking steadily downhill for some time, the sharp bend he had been told to look out for appeared ahead of him in the distance, but Hope Corner sounded like the kind of place that should be savoured and Amos was in no rush, so he decided to relax and enjoy his walk. It would be a few hours yet before the sun set, and it really was the most beautiful evening. The hedges that bordered the lane were thick with wild dog roses and honeysuckle, and their scent drifted along beside him.
Rounding the bend at last, Amos drew level with a red-brick wall. It was far too high to see over, so he could only imagine the kind of house that lay behind it. He trailed a hand along the wall’s rough surface, marvelling at the variety of foliage that had sprouted there, and waited to see what else his senses would pick up.
He stopped for a moment and placed the bag of apples inside his rucksack, tucking the bottle of water into a pocket on the side. His intuition told him he was not far from his final destination and, knowing from Bill’s directions that the sweep of wall would eventually give way to the lane up to the farm, he picked up his pace, his heart beating a little faster as he drew level with a sunny-yellow sign that read ‘Hope Blooms’. And he smiled. Whether the pun was intended or not, if that wasn’t an omen of good things to come, then he didn’t know what was.
A little further along was another board, which told him he had arrived at Hope Corner Farm and, as he walked through a double five-bar gate into a wide yard, a distant bark told him he had been spotted. Bracing himself, Amos prepared to be greeted by the elderly black Labrador that lumbered up to meet him, followed by a woman wearing a sky-blue dress underneath a red apron. She had flip-flops on her feet and her mass of curly black hair was left loose to cascade over her shoulders, but it was her smile, stretching from ear to ear, that truly caught Amos’s eye.
‘Hello!’ she called.
Amos waved and waited until they were within speaking distance, smiling down at the dog and offering a hand to meet its wet, inquisitive nose.
‘It would seem you’ve passed the test,’ said the woman, still smiling. ‘Although to be fair, Brodie makes friends first and asks questions later.’ She frowned. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you that…’
Amos lifted both hands in the air. ‘Friend, I promise… although to be fair I probably would say that.’ He lowered his hands and smiled. ‘Are you Mrs Jamieson… Flora?’
‘I am. Hello. And you must be Amos?’
She smiled again, and Amos felt the subtle change in the air between them.
‘You found us all right then?’ she added. ‘Bill said he’d give you directions…’ She paused and Amos knew she was wondering how best to bring up the subject of exactly why Amos was there. Trying to be tactful. ‘And he explained that you were looking for some work in return for a place to stay for a while, is that right?’
Amos nodded.
‘So, are you… homeless then?’
Again, Amos nodded, waiting while she looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. It was a crucial moment, they both knew that, and there were a lot of things that Amos could say to make his way of life sound rather more appealing, but he often preferred to see how this particular piece of information was received before explaining anything further. Not a test exactly, but revealing nonetheless. It let Amos know where he stood.
Flora’s appraisal continued for a few more seconds, her face tilted against the evening sun. At fifty-two, Amos wore what he pleased and if his clothes or his wild black curly hair meant people judged him poorly, then so be it. But only time would tell whether Flora was prepared to see beyond a first impression or, better still, reserve judgement until she knew him better.
‘Right,’ she began. ‘Well, first, you’d have been welcome to come and camp here for free, unless you pitched tent in the middle of the flower field – then of course I would have had to shoot you. And second, I’ve just this morning been let down by a couple of university students who were going to come and give us a hand for the summer but got a better offer of a month in Greece. So, as far as you working for us in return, I’m only just stopping short of biting your arm off!’ She extended a hand towards him. ‘Welcome to Hope Corner, Amos.’
He grinned. They were going to get along like a house on fire.
‘Thank you. It’s very nice to be here.’ He let his gaze rest just over her shoulder where he could see a range of red-brick buildings and a patch of garden which was massed with summer flowers.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Hope Blooms.’
‘Yes, it does,’ she replied. ‘Or at least we like to think so. Now, would you like a drink first, before I show you around? That way you can meet everyone at the same time.’
‘Only if there’s nothing you need doing straight away. There’s still plenty of light left in the day.’
Flora narrowed her eyes. ‘I think we could let you off work this evening, as you’ve just arrived, but I do still have all the flowers to water and that takes ages.’
‘Then I will gladly help,’ replied Amos, ruffling the dog’s fur. ‘Hello Brodie,’ he added.
The dog lifted his paw which Amos shook, laughing. ‘That’s a neat trick,’ he remarked, looking back up at Flora, only to find her staring at both him and the dog.
‘I’ve never even seen him do that before!’ She laughed again. ‘Come on then. Brodie, lead the way.’
Amos realised he was still clutching his loaf of bread and he held it out. He’d been planning to have it for his supper, but that was before he’d met Flora. ‘A contribution,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
But Flora shook her head. ‘Not necessary,’ she said. ‘But I’ll take it anyway, otherwise you’ll be carrying it around everywhere and feeling foolish. We can talk when we get inside and work out how we’re going to do this, but don’t worry for now though.’
The farmhouse kitchen was a big square room, clearly the most used in the house, with a well-worn sofa against one wall and a traditional scrubbed pine table occupying its centre. Seated at either end of this were a much older couple who met Amos’s wave with polite interest, but no smiles he noticed. Not yet.
‘Amos, this is my mother-in-law, Hannah, and father-in-law, Fraser. Have a seat and I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?’
‘Just a glass of water if I may, thank you.’
He took the chair nearest to him, closer to Hannah who gave him the briefest of smiles and then nudged her glasses up her nose.
‘Are you hungry, Amos?’ she asked. ‘Only I’m afraid we’ve already eaten.’
She had a kind face and neatly cut grey hair, and was wearing a colourful floral tee shirt with jeans. Older than him, certainly, but not that old. He shook his head.
‘Thank you, but I brought a loaf from the village, so please don’t go to any trouble.’
Flora put the bread down on the table.
‘Some cake then?’ she said. ‘Fresh honey cake, made this afternoon…’
‘Well, I must admit to having a rather sweet tooth so that would be lovely.’ He nodded his thanks.
‘Coming right up. I’ll just go and fetch Ned. If he hears there’s cake and doesn’t get a piece, he’ll be very upset.’
She smiled and left the room while Amos sat a little awkwardly waiting for the inevitable. The seconds ticked by.
‘So, what brings you here then, lad?’ asked Fraser somewhat gruffly from the end of the table.
It was a question that Amos never knew quite how to answer. He usually thought that honesty was the best policy, but saying ‘a guilty conscience’ would have him shown the front door in a matter of minutes. So, instead, he settled for a vague version of the truth that usually sufficed.
‘I’d been doing some work not too far from here. It’s a beautiful place and as I was passing through I thought perhaps I might like to stay awhile. Flora said you could have need of an extra pair of hands.’
Fraser’s eyes narrowed. ‘Aye, we do that right enough. What sort of work do you do?’
‘Odd jobs mostly, but I can turn my hand to many things. Farms are busy places and I’ve worked on quite a few before now.’
There was a nod and the steady appraisal continued, but that was okay, Amos expected no less. He could hear Flora returning through the hallway and he looked up just as she arrived, a burly red-headed man close behind. He could see the family resemblance straight away; Fraser was a less hearty-looking, paler version of his son. His red hair was now faded with age to a soft sandy colour, but there was no mistaking where Flora’s husband got his looks from.
In contrast to his parents, however, Ned wore a bright grin and immediately strode across to where Amos was sitting, his hand extended in welcome.
‘I’m Ned. Flora’s been telling me all about you. It’s so nice to meet you.’
Amos got to his feet. ‘And you. I hope I can be of help. You’ve just been let down, I gather.’
Ned rolled his eyes. ‘Your arrival could not be more perfectly timed. I’m sure we can find you plenty of things to do.’
There was a slight sniff. ‘Yes, well, first things first,’ said Hannah. ‘Now, are you sure a glass of water is all you want to drink, Mr… er…?’
‘Fry,’ Amos supplied, smiling. ‘And thank you, that would be perfect.’ He couldn’t blame her for her wariness. He’d feel exactly the same way under the circumstances.
Half an hour later they were back outside again and Amos’s head was buzzing with thoughts. The conversation had become a little less trying as time passed and they’d discussed the many jobs there were to be done on the farm, but Amos couldn’t help but feel his instincts had brought him here for a different reason. Past experience had proved that his hunches weren’t usually wrong, but only time would tell. The answer would come to him in due course, it always did, he thought as he followed Flora towards a low line of buildings a little further down the courtyard.
‘So, this is where we were going to put the students,’ said Flora, her hand on the solid oak door to one of the cottages. ‘As you’ll see, it’s very much work in progress. Which is short for, we haven’t the time or the money to finish it right now. But we had envisaged the students would take their meals with us, in the main house, so it’s just a place to sleep really. And have a little privacy.’ She lifted the catch and pushed open the door. ‘It’s rather basic though, I’m sorry.’
Amos smiled at her concern. The fact that it hadn’t even occurred to her this was far better than he was used to made him like her even more. He didn’t tell her that the state of the cottage mattered little to him, and that his creature comforts were not to be found inside a house at all, because a kindness was a kindness and Amos was very fond of the phrase you reap what you sow. It had stood him in good stead over the years.
‘It's no problem. I'll be working all day so I just need a place to come inside if it's wet.’ He looked around the room that he guessed, in time, would become the kitchen but for now contained no more than an old fridge and a small table pushed up against one wall with a kettle, a toaster, a tray of cutlery and a collection of mugs and glasses on top. Another table stood in the middle of the room along with two mismatched chairs. ‘Would it help if I fixed this place up for you?’ he asked.
‘Can you even do that?’ asked Flora, astonished.
Amos smiled, deducing that now might be a good time to explain a little more about himself.
‘You asked me earlier if I was homeless,’ he said. ‘And, strictly speaking, that’s not true. I do have a home, I just choose to let someone else live there and instead I travel… I meet amazing people, who have amazing stories, and mostly I find that they need help of one sort or another, and so I fix things… buildings mostly—’ He broke off. He’d almost said ‘and people too’, but stopped himself just in time. ‘Or I do odd jobs, whatever is required. But, like I said before, I can turn my hand to most things. I’d be happy to have a chat about anything you’d like doing.’
Flora took her time looking around her as she weighed up Amos’s offer.
‘It sounds as if you’re prepared to stick around for a while then?’ she said eventually, dropping her gaze to the floor before lifting it again and meeting Amos’s look square on. ‘Only, we can’t afford to pay anyone,’ she added. ‘We’d like to, and work like this should be paid for, but the simple fact of the matter is that board and lodging is about it, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s all I ever ask for,’ replied Amos. ‘And I can stay for as long as you need me.’
‘What, like Mary Poppins?’ quipped Flora.
Amos smiled and said nothing.
She was watching him again and, as a gentle smile slowly transformed her face, she shook her head. ‘Do you believe in fate, Amos?’ she asked. ‘Only it was just this morning that our students let us down and I was wondering how on earth we were going to manage. And then you turn up out of the blue! Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’
Amos ran a finger along the grain of the wooden table. ‘Don’t ever stop wondering, Flora. Life would be very dull if we didn’t.’
He straightened up, drawing in a breath, and shrugging his rucksack from his shoulders, placed it onto a chair. ‘Right, I’ll pop my stuff here for the minute and then I think you mentioned something about some watering that needed doing.’
Flora smiled. ‘Come with me,’ she said, beckoning with her finger.
Amos followed her out of the cottage and back towards the main house, turning off onto a path that led through to the gardens. The evening air was soft and still balmy from the heat of the day, insects darting here and there as Amos and Flora walked through an area of longer grass towards a patio surrounded by flower beds and bright with huge tubs of flowers. Beyond the patio was a line of bigger bushes and trees, and it was towards a ranch fence among them that Flora was headed. Amos reached out a hand to push aside a low-hanging willow branch which bordered the edge of the garden, and felt his heartbeat began to quicken. All of a sudden it became very obvious what Flora had brought him down here to see.
In front of him, and stretching out both to the left and the right, was a field filled with more colour than Amos thought he had ever seen in his life before. Flowers, massed in rows – pinks, purples, reds, yellows, vivid oranges, soft blues and heathery purples, all laid out in riotous glory before him. He turned to Flora open-mouthed.
‘You’d better get used to eating honey, our local bees have had somewhat of a party,’ she said, grinning.
He struggled to find his words as a swell of emotion washed over him. He had never expected to find such beauty so close at hand, and he was utterly unable to speak.
‘I know,’ said Flora. ‘It fair takes your breath away, doesn’t it?’
Amos could only nod.
‘Hope Blooms,’ she added, in case any further information was necessary.
It took a few moments for Amos to gather his wits, his eyes sweeping from side to side. ‘And you planted all these?’ he asked. ‘By hand?’ He scratched his chin. ‘I’m no expert on flowers but, from what I do know, these grow mostly from seed, would that be right?’
It was Flora’s turn to nod. ‘Grown from seed, pricked out, and planted out, every single last one of them. Weeks and weeks of back-breaking work… We must be mad…’
Amos shook his head. ‘And that’s your reward,’ he said, turning to look at her. ‘No wonder you’d do it all again in a heartbeat.’
He saw a slow smile spread across her face as she acknowledged the truth in his words. And he could see just how she was feeling; her pride in what they had achieved, her awe and profound love of the flowers that had grown as if from her own fingertips.
‘And now of course, they need to be watered, and cared for, plant by plant…’ he added.
‘Yep.’ Flora breathed out in an excited rush. ‘And picked… ready for our brides, our shops, our birthday bouquets, our anniversary surprises. You wouldn’t think, would you, that at the beginning of the year Hope Corner was a dairy farm?’
Amos stared around him. ‘A dairy farm?’
‘Yep, wall-to-wall cattle…’
‘So how did you…?’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘That’s quite some transformation.’
‘It had to be. We’d reached a point in time where things needed to change; dairy farming wasn’t working for us, so we had to have a sharp rethink. And the flowers were it.’
‘And let me guess… this was your idea, Flora. Ha! Even your name fits!’
‘Yes, well… but you’re right, I am to blame – quite how much remains to be seen. But so far so good.’
It made absolute sense. Amos could see how much work was involved and his arrival would seem to have been perfectly well timed but, still, there was something missing… Something buzzed at the back of his mind and he thought back to Flora’s earlier words, suddenly coming to full alert.
‘So, the bees?’
‘Ah, yes…’ She angled her body slightly, and pointed to her left, up high, to the hill which swept up from the edge of the fields. ‘That’s where they live,’ she said. ‘Our neighbour keeps them.’
Amos laughed. ‘I would imagine they feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven with all these flowers,’ he remarked.
‘I should imagine they do,’ replied Flora. ‘Grace will know. She talks to her bees all the time. She says they know everything,’ she added, laughing.
Do they now, thought Amos. Do they indeed.
He glanced up at the sky. ‘You mentioned before about the watering…’ He trailed off, staring out across the field and wondering quite what he had let. . .
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