Читать книгу Spring on the Little Cornish Isles: The Flower Farm - Phillipa Ashley, Phillipa Ashley - Страница 14

Gaby was glad the four new pickers couldn’t see her churning stomach as they gathered outside the packing shed. They’d only arrived the previous day and most bore the same expression that she must have had on her first day: a rabbit in the headlights. They shuffled around, dressed in a jumble sale mix of hats, jumpers and gloves.

There was a slight look of the chain gang about them, Gaby thought, stifling a giggle. By now, they would have realised that, until tomorrow at least, there was no way off the island even if they’d wanted to leg it. Pickers were often native Scillonians but today there was only one local who was new to picking. The other two were from the mainland UK and one was Polish. Natalia was about Gaby’s age and from a small town outside Krakow. She’d worked in various market gardens in East Anglia over the past couple of years and looked slightly less terrified than the others. She also knew Cambridge a little, which had broken the ice between them when they had been briefly introduced the previous evening.

Gaby straightened herself up to her full five feet one and a half and threw them all a confident smile.

‘OK. You’ve already had your induction and health and safety with Len yesterday, so we’re going to get straight to work,’ she said. ‘We need to pick the Daymark and Yellow Cheer today. This is a Daymark. You can tell it by the bright orange cups.’ She held up the distinctive flower in one hand and a paler yellow one in the other. ‘And this is a Yellow Cheer, but of course, we don’t want to pick any that are already in bloom like this one. We look for tight buds that will be ready to open when they reach the customers. Don’t we?’

Natalia nodded but the others seemed nonplussed.

‘Come on! You can do better than that,’ she said, feeling like an aerobics instructor faced by a Monday morning class.

‘Yes, Gaby,’ a faint chorus and a few smirks. She suspected they knew she wasn’t used to being in charge and were obviously looking for signs of weakness.

She soldiered on. ‘You don’t have to worry anyway, because I’ll show you the exact varieties we’re going to be working on. You’ll soon be able to tell which is which by their scent alone. I’ll be around to help if anyone has any questions or problems.’

Although, by now, she could have picked and packed with her eyes shut, it was another thing instructing a group of newbies who were staring at her as if she was the fount of all knowledge.

She grinned. ‘Come on then. Let’s get on with it before this lot is already in bloom.’

The local pointed to the nearest field. ‘That’s the field we’re doing?’ he asked incredulously.

‘What? All of it?’ a skinny guy with a Scottish accent asked. He was called Robbie, appropriately enough, thought Gaby, resisting the urge to quote Burns. That really would freak everyone out.

‘Yes. It’s perfectly doable before the end of the day. Even for beginners,’ Gaby added with a touch of sarcasm. Len would have been proud. Will must have carefully calculated exactly what the novice team could pick in the time allotted. So, she was damn well going to get it done, no matter how much they moaned.

Without giving them any more time to revolt, she marched them to the field, setting to with gusto and hoping to lead by example. However, it was frustrating work as she had to break off every few minutes to correct someone’s technique or answer questions about whether the bloom was at the right stage. Normally, Len drove the quad bike full of crates back to the packing shed, but Gaby had to do it herself, which meant she had to leave her team for minutes at a time and wait while the crates were unloaded at the packing shed and collect empty ones.

By lunchtime, they’d only done a third of the field, but everyone, including Gaby, was desperate for a break and there was no way she would expect anyone to work through.

The moment lunchtime was over, Gaby led her crew back to the field, trying to work at double the rate. Ignoring her aching back, burning arms and sore fingers, she did her best to make up the difference. Her team were more experienced now; even though they were tired, they’d had a morning’s practice and there were less interruptions. The general manager, Lawrence did her a favour by collecting some of the full crates on the quad bike and bringing empty ones back when he could spare a few minutes from the office.

By mid-afternoon, Gaby was starting to think they would come close to finishing the job but not quite. Her heart sank. She’d wanted to get it done, and show Anna, Len and Will that she could do it – and mostly, she relished the challenge. She had a feeling that Will wouldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t. Perhaps, he never really expected it, but for her own satisfaction, Gaby wanted to do it. Bizarrely, she also had the idea that she needed to do it for Stevie. There was no rational reason for this, although the analytical part of her brain suggested it was probably another way of coping with her emotions on a difficult day. It was certainly a way to keep busy and ensure she went to bed completely knackered.

The sun started to sink lower and, with it, the spirits and rate of the novices dropped significantly. They were all shattered and frequently standing up to stretch or moan, or both. Gaby knew how they felt. She was ready to drop and she knew they’d be stiff and aching for days until they got used to the constant stooping and the sore fingers.

She checked her watch. Arghh. There was only twenty minutes to go before she had to let everyone clock off.

‘Come on. Not long. One more push!’ she shouted, but knowing that they were very unlikely to finish the field now.

Most, but not all the workers, made a final effort, but what seemed like mere moments later, Gaby’s alarm went off.

With a sigh, she stood up, her fingers numb and stiff from the extra effort she’d made.

‘OK. That’s it. You’ll be pleased to know that’s the end of your first day. Thanks for your great work and see you tomorrow.’

In seconds, the field was empty, apart from Natalia who patted Gaby on the back. ‘Thanks.’

‘What for? Cracking the whip?’ Gaby was bemused.

‘For not being a horrible boss.’

Gaby laughed. ‘Thanks, but I’m not your boss. Will and Jess are.’

‘I met Jess. She seems OK. Quiet but nice. Fair. Will is hot.’ Natalia fanned herself extravagantly, then pulled a face. ‘But he also walks around like he has a thundercloud over his head. He needs a girlfriend.’ She grinned. ‘Or boyfriend?’

Gaby had to smile too, but she was horrified that Natalia had sussed out in a moment that Gaby fancied Will, and inside a light bulb had gone on. What if Will looked stressed out because he wanted a boyfriend? What if she’d misread the moments between them – or just imagined them – and Will was gay?

‘All Will cares about is getting these flowers picked,’ she said, and that at least was partly true.

‘We did our best,’ said Natalia, pulling off her gloves. ‘The rest of us will be here tomorrow. So will Len.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve heard the others talking about him. I hope his sickness decides to stay with him for a while longer.’

Gaby stifled a laugh. She didn’t want Len to be ill and his bark was a lot worse than his bite, but his reputation for drilling the new workers like a platoon sergeant was fearsome and well-earned. ‘I doubt any bug would dare hang around Len for too long. I’m surprised that one’s dared to approach him in the first place.’

‘Hmm. I’m going for food in the common room. Then some of us should go to the pub. There is a pub here?’

‘Yes. The Gannet. It’s about ten minutes’ walk away. You go and get cleaned up. I need to drive these crates up to the sheds. Then maybe I’ll join you in the pub later if I haven’t fallen asleep in my room!’

This was more than likely, thought Gaby as she trudged back to the staff house after unloading a batch of crates. She was very tired but secretly happy, even though she hadn’t finished the whole field. She’d got the small team working well and encouraged them to keep going even when some looked like they wanted to chuck it all in. Maybe one or two would: she couldn’t help it if they decided they’d made a big mistake. All she could have done was try her best to complete the task for the day without too many disasters.

The quad bike wasn’t quite full. There were still a few empty crates. There was no point leaving them like that and it wouldn’t take long to pick a few more flowers and fill them. Gaby took a swig of cold coffee from her flask, finished off the chocolate bar in her bag and set to again.

Ouch. Even stopping for ten minutes made it hard to get going again, but she wanted at least to fill the crates. Half an hour later she drove the quad bike into the yard, laden with crates. Everyone had gone from the packing shed, so she took the crates into the fridge herself, almost toppling over with the weight of them. Then she went back to the bike.

With a sigh, she looked at the one corner of the field they’d not got round to, still with the flowers in bud at the perfect stage. They seemed to mock her, saying, ‘Pick me, pick me.’

It was five-thirty p.m. and the sun was hovering just above the horizon, the sea silvery in the early evening light. Although she’d been warm from the recent work, she’d been in and out of the fridge and now felt the evening chill. How long would it take, she thought, to finish that corner? How long before the Godrevys got back from the wedding on St Piran’s? It depended on the tides, and even though Will and Jess were perfectly capable of piloting their boat after dark, perhaps they might want to be back before then. That didn’t give her much time if she wanted to finish the job before Will’s return.

Gaby drove the quad to the top of the field and sat looking at the tiny patch in the corner that was bugging the heck out of her. It was like a compulsion: she had to finish the field for Stevie, even though he’d have laughed and told her to go down the pub.

Oh, sod it. She could virtually finish the field, have a lightning-quick shower and still show up at the Gannet. She climbed off the quad, picked up a crate and marched across the field.