Alex finally delved into his jacket pocket, fished something out. “Well, now the sale is agreed, I’m currently in conversation with estate agents down in Kent. Here.” He lobbed something across the table at her.
Hands shaking, Pippa picked it up and unfolded it. It was a brochure advertising a space that clearly used to be a small retail park, ripe for development. Pippa flicked through it. The first page showed a concrete forecourt with decrepit shopfronts and a carpark overrun with weeds. “This?” she whispered. “You want to leave the farm … leave Hurst Bridge … for … this?”
“This is aretail park!” he said with misguided reverence. “It’s a dream! Use your imagination. It’s right off the motorway, great location. Just needs jazzing up, new retailers inviting in… We can expand it to have eateries, maybe even a cinema. There are no limits!”
Right off the motorway? Pippa had no desire to live by a motorway when all she’d known was rolling green moorlands. “Why?”
“Whynot?” He gestured broadly. “I’ve never loved the farm, not the way Dad did, and he understands why I’m doing this,” Alex said quietly. “The big question is, do you?”
Pippa jolted, lifting her eyes to his. “You never loved the farm?”
He shifted. “Well, in the sense it’s where I grew up … of course I do. But I want more than this, Pip. That’s what I’ve realised. I think we can do more. Better.”
“Better,” Pippa repeated, nauseated. “I never knew this life wasn’t good enough for you.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Alex’s voice had the hastiness of a man who knew things were getting away from him.
Pippa worried the brochure in her hands, fingers brushing over the creases again and again. What an idiot she was. Running around like a daft loon in a fancy dress, thinking her man was going to propose when in actual fact he was casting around for a more exciting life. And she’d not the faintest idea.
Pippa stood, head swimming. She ran her hands over the battered kitchen worktop, her fingers finding the ancient grooves in the surface, carved from generations of Goodmans living and working here. She loved this old farm. The way the air smelled – manure and heather and earth – was as familiar as her own face. When the sun shone the milking sheds would trap the golden light in the courtyard, casting the farm in a glow unlike anywhere else in the world. And Pippa loved to spend time in the fields, watching the vast cow herd peacefully go about their business. It was always a soothing distraction from the pressures of her work.
“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Pippa muttered. Bile rose up in her. “I need … I need time. I need air.” Head swimming, she bolted from the kitchen, pulling her phone from her pocket. With Alex crying out for her to return, she ran out of the front door, hitting speed dial.
“Hey, Pip!” Frankie’s warm voice sent a rush of reassurance through her, but when she couldn’t reply for the heavy, breathless sobs, his concern was instant. “What’s happened?”
“I—” Words stuck in Pippa’s throat.
“Do you need me to come and get you?” he demanded. “Where are you?”
Shivering in the March evening, Pippa could hear Alex lumbering through the house towards her and she suddenly realised she couldn’t look at her love’s face, not right now.
“I’ll come to you,” she choked.
“I’ve got wine,” he said immediately. “Get to Strikers and order a cab. I’ll call Mae.” Pippa nodded; the local taxi firm was at the end of their road and Frankie’s home in Sheffield was just a half an hour drive away. “I can’t hear you when you nod!” Frankie added.
“I’m coming,” she croaked.
“Pip!” Alex blundered through the front door. “Please!”
She backed away, his beautiful face a blur through tears. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t follow me.” Then she turned and ran.
ChapterTwo
“Kent?!” Frankie practically yelped his disdain. Pippa had escaped to her cousin’s flat, a chic new-build just off West Street in Sheffield. Large windows overlooked the skate park, which was now quiet in the encroaching night. The lights of the many bars and restaurants glowed, highlighting the happy revellers still thronging the streets. Pippa envied their seemingly carefree lives as she nursed her enormous glass of red wine. All they had to worry about was having a good time and not the impending implosion of a life carefully built with love and attention over many, many years. Pippa drooped her head against the kitchen table and Mae stroked her hair affectionately. Her friend had abandoned her work at Hurst Bridge’s only pub, The Hand and Flower – perks of being the landlady – and raced to be with Pippa the moment she got the emergency call from Frankie.
“I don’t understand.” Mae waved her hands, bangles clanking. “You say he’s never once mentioned Kent until now?”
“Never!” Pippa declared. “Not a sausage.”
“But I thought you were getting engaged?” Frankie said.
“Well, I mean, so did I. At least I hoped.” Pippa sniffed. “It was time. We’d always said that we’d get the farm up and running first; that had to come before we could consider marriage. So, I waited. We’ve surpassed our wildest dreams and now…!” She threw her hands up, causing wine to slosh onto the kitchen table. “Kent! Fucking Kent!”
“Shh.” Frankie swooped in to wipe up the spillage. “Theo is from Kent.”
“Oh.” Despite her agony, Pippa couldn’t resist exchanging a knowing look with Mae. “Is he now?” Frankie’s astonishingly handsome flatmate was in his room, apparently engaged in an epic boss-level battle on his PlayStation.
“Don’t say it like that.” Frankie coloured. “I’m merely trying to be polite. The man has only recently moved to Yorkshire so let’s not slag off Kent too loudly now, please?”
