Читать книгу Spring on the Little Cornish Isles: The Flower Farm - Phillipa Ashley - Страница 11

Five and a half months later

Valentine’s Day

The Flower Farm, St Saviour’s

Well, it was one way to spend Valentine’s Day … Gaby took a swig of coffee from her mug as she and her fellow pickers enjoyed a quick break in the ‘staff rest area’, which was actually an old farm building with a couple of ancient sofas, a sink and kettle. It was the middle of the morning and she was more than ready for a break. Her back and arms ached already and it wasn’t eleven a.m. yet. Her dungarees were damp and despite the rubber gloves, her fingers were almost numb as she warmed them on her steaming mug.

The stems had grown thigh-high and the fields were aglow with blooms. Beyond the hedges, the Atlantic Ocean was topped by frothy whitecaps whipped up by the brisk February wind, while the other isles were green oases in the silvery-blue sea.

It had rained overnight; in fact, it had been raining for a few days now and the fields were thick with mud that threatened to ooze over the top of her wellies. However, the skies had now cleared and she’d been able to forgo the bright yellow oilskins provided by the farm. They kept her dry but also swamped her and Gaby felt like she was in a TV ad for frozen fish fingers when she was wearing them. There was still a keen wind gusting so she’d kept on the extra layer of luxury thermals she’d been given by Carly when she’d gone home for the Christmas break.

Gaby still had to pinch herself from time to time, amazed she’d survived through the winter rain and gales and into the spring. When she looked around her, she stood in her own ocean: the flowers around her were a sea of cream, gold and green. She’d been harvesting two of her favourites: Daymark, with its creamy petals and bright orange cups and Yellow Cheer, a double-headed variety with a subtle but lovely scent.

Since arriving at the end of the summer, she’d alternated between the fields and sheds. She’d learned how to pick the tightly closed buds when they showed the merest hint of colour and carefully hold huge bunches under her arm before placing them in deep white crates called Proconas. They were then whizzed off to the packing sheds by quad bike and stored in a refrigerated room until the team were ready to arrange them. Over the months, she’d also learned how to grade and arrange the different varieties into bunches of tens and pack them in tissue-lined boxes ready to be transported to the St Saviour’s quay and on to the airport.

She’d guessed she’d have to work hard when she first arrived but nothing could have prepared her for how tired she’d feel. Even after tending her own allotment at her college and working for the commercial nursery, harvesting the narcissi was knackering – especially in the run-up to Christmas and the previous week as they’d worked into the night to make sure all the Valentine’s bouquets reached their recipients in time for today.

Gaby still remembered the look on Jess’s face when she’d first landed at St Mary’s airport almost six months previously – and the dismay on Len’s craggy features when they’d been introduced: not to mention Will’s horrified expression.

He was still brusque, impatient, and his jokes weren’t anywhere near as funny as he thought they were. However, she’d soon found out that even though he was the boss, he was prepared to take as much banter as he dished out. In return, Gaby had been determined to give as good as she got and the two of them had earned a reputation for sparky exchanges.

Slowly but surely, she’d settled in at the farm almost without realising it. Many were the times when she’d been so exhausted, so stiff and cold that she’d thought of swimming home to Cornwall. But with the help of her mates at the farm and at home supporting her, and a bloody-minded determination, here she was, a fully-fledged member of the team. Besides, no amount of back-breaking work or taunts from Will could ever compare with the tough times that she’d been through at home.

She’d also fulfilled her other ambition to visit Tresco Abbey Gardens. In fact, she’d invested in an annual pass and been half a dozen times, as there was colour and beauty in the exotic plants all year round. She’d spotted the red squirrels and had become quite a fixture, making friends with some of the staff and meeting up with them when she could get away from the farm. She felt she was slowly building a life on St Saviour’s – even though it was temporary – and although she still thought of her brother several times a day, there were times when hours passed and she realised he hadn’t been on her mind and that the remembrance of him didn’t come with quite such a sharp pang of loss as months before.

Thinking of Stevie and home she decided she would call her mum and dad after her shift today. Maybe they’d like a bunch of the narcissi she was harvesting. She could make up a special bouquet of her favourites and send them to her parents. The Carter family had an emotional day coming up soon so she had the perfect excuse to see how everyone was coping. It would have been Stevie’s twenty-second birthday later in the month and Gaby was sorry to be away from home on a day that was bound to be hard for everyone including her.

Gaby started to walk back into the field and back to work cramming the remains of a Mars bar in her mouth. That was one thing: she could eat what she liked with all the physical work and though she’d put a bit of weight on, even Carly had said she looked ‘miles better’ when she’d seen her at Christmas, ‘apart from the ruddy cheeks and farmer’s tan; I’ll send you some of my sunscreen, instead of that cheap rubbish you use’. She went back to her picking. Carly would be horrified if she saw her now: knee-deep in damp flowers with a wet crotch and hair like a scarecrow. She might take a selfie and send it tomorrow. Anything that could bring a smile to her family’s faces was worth doing.