Page 52 of The Last Casterglass
The dogs trotted in after them and threw themselves in front of the Rayburn with an exhausted, dramatic flair that made Seph smile. Simon was beckoning her up to the back stairs that led directly from the kitchen, a set of narrow, twisting stairs that had Seph stooping so she didn’t bump her head.
“I’ve put you in the back bedroom, with views of the orchard. Oliver mentioned he’s been doing up the orchard at Casterglass? I had a look at the website, and I was most impressed by all I saw and read.”
“Oh, yes,” Seph replied after a second’s startled pause. She realised that after everything Oliver had said, she hadn’t expected Simon Belhaven to be quite so friendly. “I’m sure Oliver will be pleased to know,” she added, and Simon shot her a quick smile.
“Oliver’s never been much of one for accepting praise,” he remarked drily, which also made Seph wonder. She had a feeling that Simon Belhaven’s view of his relationship with Oliver might differ from Oliver’s. But then, hadn’t she found that with her family? Her perspective was, in the end, just that—her perspective. Althea, Olivia, Sam, her parents…they all had their views, their own experiences, just as Oliver had his. It wasn’t necessarily the entire truth of a situation, just one person’s perception of it…a realisation that had helped her make peace with her own unconventional childhood. Perhaps Oliver needed to make peace with his.
“I’ll leave you to freshen up,” Simon told her, after showing her into a pretty, cosy room with white-painted furniture and a bedcover in intricate broderie anglaise. “Then we can all sit down with a cuppa.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she replied, and Simon gave her a quick smile before he hurried downstairs.
After he’d left, Seph let out a gusty sigh. This wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d thought, she realised. Simon was friendlier than she’d expected, and already she had a sense that she was going to like Pembury Farm, its cosy shabbiness without Casterglass’s eccentricity. From the window, the view of the orchard was lovely, even in February, the trees neatly tended and pruned, the hills beyond rolling away to the horizon.
Yes, this could all be quite pleasant. It was a shame, though, if this turned out to be her only visit.
*
“It’s good tosee you, Oliver.”
Oliver turned from the kettle as Uncle Simon stood at the bottom of the stairs, having just shown Seph up them. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, and he fumbled for a couple of mugs. “It’s good to see you, as well.”
“It’s been too long.”
Oliver shrugged; he’d spent the whole summer at Pembury, mucking out the barns and trimming the grass, trying to show his uncle how he could take care of the place. Loving every inch of it. As he turned back to glance out the window, he felt that familiar ache of longing. He knew these hills and valleys, these fields and forests, like the back of his own hand, his own heart. He’d wandered them as a lonely schoolboy, had built castles-in-air dreams about the farm when he was in charge, had poured sweat and even blood into the day-to-day managing of the property—mowing the grass, dredging the pond, repairing the outbuildings. In the farmhouse itself he’d whitewashed beams and painted rooms, replaced rotten floorboards and even, with the help of trusty YouTube, fixed the dodgy electrics.
To say Pembury Farm was part of him was an understatement; it was the very fabric of his soul. It had been his family when he’d felt abandoned or ignored by everyone else. Yet he knew he could never explain that to his uncle.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with us, up to Scotland for Christmas,” Simon said, ducking his head in apology.
“It’s all right. I didn’t expect it,” Oliver replied. He turned his gaze back to the kettle as he poured boiling water into the big blue teapot he remembered from his childhood.
“I know, you wouldn’t,” Simon said on a sigh. Oliver had no response to that. There had been a few family holidays he hadn’t been invited to over the years; there had always been a good reason, of course. Jack and Simon needed alone time; Oliver was busy at university, or with work. Last-minute tickets, and there were only two. He’d got used to it, he supposed.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Simon began, but just then Seph came downstairs, looking uncertain, and Oliver leapt at the chance to forestall what he knew was going to be The Big Discussion.
“Ah, Seph. Tea? Then I thought I could give you the grand tour.”
“Sounds fab,” she said cautiously, and Oliver glanced at his uncle.
“We’ll talk later,” he replied with an easy shrug, and they all sat down to tea and chitchat, with no mention of the future of Pembury Farm at all.
*
Afterwards, Simon wentinto his study while Oliver headed outside with Seph. The sky was starting to darken to violet at the edges, the sun hitting the top of the hills, but there was still enough time to show her the main sights. Wearing wellies and with the dogs trotting at their heels, they headed for the orchard first.
“Your uncle seems nice,” Seph remarked. “And fond of you.”
“Yes, in his own way.” Oliver shrugged. “I never thought he wasn’t, not really, just that I wasn’t…” He paused, not wanting to sound self-pitying. “All that important, I suppose.”
“Perhaps you’re more important than you think,” Seph replied quietly.
Oliver glanced at her. “What makes you say that?”
“It’s something I’ve realised with my family.” She paused, her forehead furrowed as she tried to organise her thoughts. “I made some assumptions, I think, in believing that people didn’t care. And it’s true, they could have showed they cared more. My father said as much to me recently, and he apologised to me for being…well, forgetful, I suppose. But I didn’t help matters, because I never said it bothered me. I pushed people away, as you very well know.” She gave him a wry grimacing sort of smile. “But maybe you’ve pushed people away too, in an entirely different way? By being too…toonice. Too understanding. Acting like nothing ever bothered or hurt you.”
“That’s true. I did act like that,” Oliver said slowly as he considered the matter. He’d known he and Seph were alike, even though they showed that likeness in very different ways, but he hadn’t thought about how their families could be alike, too. How you could push people away by being too easy-going just as much as by being too snarky, and how that could make people decide not to try.
“You might be right,” he conceded after a moment. “Although I’m not sure how much it matters in the end. My uncle will sell Pembury and move to London regardless.”