Summer At Willow Tree Farm: The Perfect Romantic Escape

He jogged off towards the forest, hoping like hell the boy hadn’t already fallen off the tree and broken his bloody neck.

It took him less than five minutes to get to the Clubhouse. A simple A-frame design he’d built two summers ago in a hundred-year-old horse chestnut near the edge of the coppice woods with Toto’s help – or rather hindrance. He hadn’t given much thought at the time to the access. Toto could climb like a monkey and would probably have been able to get up the damn tree without the aid of the boards he’d nailed into the trunk. And as the thing had been built precisely so she’d have a refuge from the younger kids when she needed it, the ladder, such as it was, had been an afterthought.

He regretted that decision big time when he spotted Ellie’s son stapled to the trunk – a good twenty-five feet off the ground.

How had he got up that high before he froze?

And how was he going to get the kid down? Although the boy wasn’t exactly light for his age – he looked about twice as wide as Toto – Art would probably still have been able to sling him over his shoulder. But no way would those boards take the weight of both of them, assuming of course the kid would let him carry him. From the death grip he had on the board, Art figured he was going to have a hell of a time even getting the boy to let go.

Which left only one solution. He would have to talk him down.

Wonderful. Because he was so good at conversation.

‘Hey!’ he shouted up and then winced, as the boy nodded, butting his forehead into the trunk with a hollow smack. ‘It’s Josh’ isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Sir?

Was that an American thing? He’d never been called ‘sir’ in his life. Not even by the bank manager.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the boy continued and Art winced again at the plaintive, terrified whimper. ‘I got stuck and now I can’t get down.’ More tremors wracked the kid’s body and Art lifted his arm, suddenly worried he might shake himself right off the tree.

‘You don’t have to be sorry, Josh. Happens to the best of us.’

He climbed the rungs, ignoring the give in each one and hoping he didn’t end up breaking his own bloody neck.

‘I won’t do it again, sir. I promise,’ the boy said, sounding more miserable than Toto when she had to do maths homework.

‘Let’s not worry about next time yet.’ He reached the boy. ‘I’m right here beneath you, Josh.’ He stared at the rungs above the boy’s feet, partially hidden by his legs and torso. One of the rungs was a little longer than the others, and if Art eased himself up carefully, he could hold on to it and effectively cradle the kid. Maybe that would help with his fear? Knowing that he’d be caught if he did let go.

‘You should get my mom,’ the boy said. ‘She’ll know what to do. And she wouldn’t want me bothering you.’

‘I’m here now, so I might as well help.’ And the last thing he wanted was Josh’s mother finding her son in this state. Forget about bothering him, she’d probably murder him. ‘I’m going to put my arms around you, Josh. And hold on to the rung under your belly, OK? So I can catch you if you fall.’

The boy nodded, headbutting the trunk again.

Art grasped the rung and hauled himself up, until his chest was resting securely against the boy’s back. The child’s whole body trembled as if he were in a high wind.

The kid was absolutely terrified.

Then Art heard the whimpers. Craning his neck, he could see the side of the boy’s face. The silent tears leaked out and dripped down to disappear into the roll of fat where he had pressed his chin into his neck.

‘Don’t cry, Josh. You’re OK, I’ve got you.’ Balancing carefully, he lifted one hand to pat the boy’s back, and felt the vibrations, and the heat of the boy’s body through the thin cotton.

‘Please don’t tell Toto,’ the boy said.

‘Don’t tell Toto what?’

‘That I cried. I don’t want her to think I’m lame as well as fat.’

The boy wasn’t exactly thin, but hearing him call himself fat in that sadly accepting voice had a shaft of anger shooting through Art.

‘She won’t think that,’ he said, because he knew his daughter. She didn’t judge people by their appearances. ‘But if we get down before she gets back, she won’t even know.’

‘How will I get down?’

Good question. There wasn’t a lot of room to manoeuvre. ‘Do you think you could move down a step, while I stay in place?’

He heard the sound of swallowing. The shaking was still pretty pronounced. ‘I’ll try.’

‘Good boy,’ Art said. He didn’t usually bother with positive reinforcement with Toto. But with this kid, he had the feeling it was required.

After what felt like ten hours, but was probably only ten seconds, they’d negotiated one rung down.

He lavished the boy with more praise, the relief loosening his tongue more than usual. The stillness of the summer air seemed eerie as Art waited to hear the boy’s mother crashing through the undergrowth ready to issue an injunction. But as they spent an eternity inching their way down the ladder, one tortuous rung at a time, until Art could finally step onto the ground – the sound never came.

Good girl, Toto. She must be escorting Ellie to the Clubhouse via Plymouth.

‘You can let go now, Josh.’ Relief surged through him as he grabbed the boy round the waist and lifted him the rest of the way down. ‘Well done.’

The boy huffed, and then to Art’s astonishment wrapped his arms tight around Art’s midriff and buried his head against his sternum.

‘Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.’ The words were muffled against Art’s overalls. ‘You saved my life.’

Containing his surprise – Toto had never been a big hugger – Art cupped the boy’s shoulders to ease him back. ‘No thanks necessary. You saved yourself.’

The boy loosened his hold to gaze up at Art. He had a dusty green smear across his cheek and red indentation marks on his forehead. Truth be told, he looked a mess, but then he smiled. His eyes were hazel, with flecks of green in them, and his round face was impossibly young and open, but, in that moment, Art could see the resemblance to his mother — which was weird, because Art was fairly sure he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d seen Ellie smile her real smile — as opposed to her tight smile, or her sarcastic smile, or her you-are-such-anarsehole smile.

But that rare real smile had been exactly like her son’s. It had made her eyes shine, as if someone had lit a furnace behind them.

‘I didn’t think I could, but I did, sir.’

‘Yes, you did.’ Art patted the boy on the shoulder, relieved when Josh let go of him. ‘But you don’t have to call me “sir”. It makes me feel a hundred years old.’

The furnace behind the boy’s eyes flared and he giggled. The childish chuckle made Art feel for a moment as if he were lit from within too.

And that’s when he heard the sound of someone charging through the forest, from the opposite direction to the farmhouse. That would be Ellie and Toto, back from Plymouth.

‘Josh, Josh, are you OK?’

Ellie catapulted from the wooded path that led down to the millpond. Her hair flew out behind her where it had escaped its knot. Even Toto, who was fast as a whippet, was struggling to keep up with mother bear come to rescue her cub.

Josh stepped back out of his arms as Ellie rushed past him to grab her son’s shoulders. ‘Thank God you’re safe.’ She stroked his cheek and then touched the abrasions on his forehead. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘It’s OK, Mom. It doesn’t hurt.’

A blush had suffused Josh’s cheeks.