The Poppy Field. Deborah Carr

pick-up. Tom loaded everything while Gemma quickly popped into a shop for a couple of essentials. Minutes later they arrived at the farmhouse.

      “Ahh,” he said, stopping halfway along the pathway to the front door. He looked up and stared at the missing tiles. “I recognise this place,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone living here though, not for the past ten years or so, anyway.”

      “Twelve, more like,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to be put off by seeing how neglected the place was.

      He raked a hand through his hair. “Not good,” he murmured. Spotting Gemma staring at him in horror, he added. “But don’t worry. Right, let’s get this lot inside.” He followed her into the house, carrying most of her shopping into the kitchen

      They put the bags on the kitchen table. “Not much going on in here, I’m afraid,” she said surveying the basic kitchen with its chipped butler sink, larder cupboard, fridge and electric cooker.

      “I doubt this room has been updated since the fifties,” Tom said.

      “It’s quaint, in a strange, grimy way,” she joked, unused to being so relaxed with someone she barely knew.

      Tom strode over to the window and looked outside. “There’s a decent yard out there. You know, I think you could do a lot with this place.”

      Bolstered by his reassurances, Gemma asked. “Shall we take a look upstairs?”

      “May as well,” he said, smiling and waiting for her to lead the way. “What’s it like up there?”

      “I haven’t dared look yet,” she admitted. “I hope it won’t seem so bad if I’m not alone.”

      She walked up the stairs carefully. She wasn’t sure how rotten the wood was in this place and didn’t want to take any chances.

      Reaching the landing, she pushed the door on her left open, wincing when an acrid smell of mould hit her nostrils. “Ooh, that doesn’t bode well.”

      “Be brave,” he said. “We may as well go in. At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with then.”

      She liked the thought that she wasn’t alone with this project any more. “Come on then.” She stepped into the room, covering her nose with the top of her hoodie. “There’s damp everywhere,” Gemma cringed.

      Tom was right behind her. “They,” he said, pointing at the huge group of mushrooms growing in one corner of the room. “Must be directly under those missing roof tiles. Right, I’ve seen enough here. Next room.”

      Gemma moved on to the next room, as Tom closed the bedroom door behind them. She was grateful she wouldn’t be needing the spare room any time soon. “I hope this is better than the first one,” she said. “I don’t fancy living in a house that’s a health hazard.”

      “This bathroom isn’t so bad,” she said unable to hide her relief. “I’ll soon clean this up with some scouring and bleach.” Reaching the final door on the landing, she took a breath and opened the door. Sighing with relief, she stepped aside to let Tom join her.

      “This isn’t too bad at all,” he said, pressing the weight of his foot on various floorboards. Some creaked in defiance, others seemed much stronger to Gemma. “All this needs is a good clean and some decoration.”

      “A new bed mattress, too,” she said looking at the striped ticking mattress that had been rolled up and tied with twine. They turned to leave the room at the same time, bumping into each other. Gemma gasped.

      “Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked, grabbing her arms and looking her up and down.

      Gemma was too embarrassed to admit that it was the unexpected physical contact with him that had caused her reaction. “No, I’m fine,” she said, hurriedly scanning the room for something to use as an excuse. Noticing a tiny fireplace, she pointed. “I just spotted that. It’s going to be useful without any heating up here.”

      “It certainly is, but I can’t help thinking —” He hesitated.

      “Is something wrong?” Had her erratic behaviour frightened him off? She hoped not; the last thing she needed was for him to change his mind about doing the work.

      “Are you sure you want to live here while this work is being done?”

      She didn’t like to admit that right now she would prefer to be staying in her sparsely furnished, but warm modern flat in Brighton. “I’m doing this project for my dad,” she said. It wasn’t the entire truth, but she didn’t know Tom well enough to confide in him just yet. “I’m happy being here by myself.”

      She didn’t add that she needed time living alone to work through the grief brought about by her ex’s unexpected death and the discovery of his deceit. “I think we’ve finished up here now. Do you want to take a proper look outside, while I test out that retro kettle?”

      “Sounds good to me,” he said as they went back downstairs. “I could do with warming up a bit. Coffee, little milk, no sugar.”

      She watched him go and then unpacked her shopping. Tom seemed pleasant enough, but then again, she had thought that about her ex. Filling the kettle to the three-quarter mark, she plugged it into the old-fashioned socket.

      By the time Tom returned to the farmhouse, Gemma had managed to get the fire going as well as having two steaming mugs of coffee waiting for them both. “There you go,” she said pointing to the freshly wiped table in the living room. She indicated for him to sit on the cleaner of the two chairs.

      “Tell me what you think.”

      He rubbed his unshaven chin. “The most important thing is that temporary repairs are done to the roof as soon as possible,” he said. “The forecast is dire for the next few days. I’ll come back later, if I have time. If not, I’ll make the temporary repairs first thing tomorrow.”

      “That’s very kind,” she said grateful to him for this thoughtfulness. “And the rest?”

      Tom looked concerned. “Couldn’t you stay at the B&B in the village for a few weeks? At least until the main bedroom is cleaned thoroughly and the bathroom sorted out?”

      “No, I’ll be fine here,” she insisted, wishing he’d drop the matter. She had spent her life deciding what was best for herself. Even as a child with her absent mother focusing on her legal career while her father excelled in finance, Gemma had been left to her own devices. Bored nannies and housekeepers were happy to let the timid child in their care lock herself away with her books and daydreams. “I’ll clean the bedroom and bathroom today and I can always get a takeaway if the cooker doesn’t work.”

      He looked as if he was trying not to argue with her. “It’s February, though, and freezing.”

      “Seriously, I’ll be fine.” She forced a smile and took a sip of her coffee. The heat of the liquid warmed her throat. “I’m tougher than I look,” she insisted. “And certainly, more capable. Anyway, if I’m not staying here then I can’t get on with the renovations as well as I could if I was on site.”

      He smiled. “Fair point.” He put his cup down on the table and pulling out a small notepad from his jacket pocket made a few extra notes. “This place has been empty for a long time,” he said. “It’s isn’t surprising that it has a damp issue. You’ll need to keep the fire going as much as you can to dry it out slightly.”

      They stared at the fire in silence for a moment.

      “How come you’ve taken over this place then?”

      Gemma studied the musty room. “It belonged to my dad’s elderly cousin,” she explained. “He was ninety-eight when he had to go to a care home. Dad said he’d lived here his entire life, so it must have been heart breaking for him to go.”

      Tom frowned thoughtfully. “Poor guy. I’ll have to ask my mum if she remembers him. She doesn’t