The Show: Racy, pacy and very funny!

‘It wouldn’t be about our home life. It’s about the village. But it’s more than just a local drama. The centre of the show would be the farm. The valley around us, the changing seasons, the rhythm of life here. It’s about selling the rural dream – like River Cottage, but bigger and more glamorous and aspirational.’

‘I don’t know, Laura.’ Gabe took another big swig of gin and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t even spell ‘aspirational’ and wasn’t sure what it meant. It sounded like something you might need to help you breathe. He was dog-tired after a long day on the farm, and then getting the kids to bed. All he wanted was to have sex and go to sleep. ‘I thought you hated reality TV.’

‘I do. But that’s because most of it is tacky and crap and derivative. This won’t be. Plus, beggars can’t be choosers. I’m finished in scripted television. John’s seen to that.’

Gabe sat down beside her and slipped a hand under her shirt, expertly unhooking her bra from behind.

‘Screw him. He’s just jealous because he let you go. You’re mine now and it bloody kills him.’

Laura closed her eyes as Gabe started caressing her breasts and kissing her on the neck and shoulders.

‘I am yours,’ she sighed, running her hands through his hair and feeling ridiculously happy. Was it normal, after ten years of marriage, to still fancy your husband this much? Reluctantly she wriggled out from under him.

‘We have to talk about this, Gabe.’

Gabe groaned. ‘Do we?’

‘You know we do. We can barely make our mortgage payments.’

Gabe looked defensive. ‘We’re doing all right. The farm’s surviving.’

Laura squeezed his hand. ‘I know it is. And I know how hard you work and I think it’s amazing. But we want to do better than all right, don’t we? We want the boys to have a good life and a wonderful education. We want to go out to dinner sometimes. You want that Ducati, don’t you?’

Gabe laughed loudly. ‘Now you’re just bribing me! You wouldn’t let me get a motorbike if we had a billion pounds in the bank!’

‘That’s true,’ Laura admitted. ‘Because I love you and I don’t want you to get squashed by a lorry. But the point is, we don’t want to live from hand to mouth for ever, do we? Yes, the farm’s surviving. But if it’s going to be Hugh and Luca’s future, we need it to thrive.’

Her enthusiasm was infectious.

‘I still think it’s ridiculous,’ Gabe said. But he could hear himself wavering. ‘We’d be Fittlescombe’s answer to the Kardashians.’

‘We would not!’

‘Except you’d have a smaller arse.’

‘Not if you keep making me drinks like this one I wouldn’t,’ said Laura. ‘Anyway, my arse won’t be in it. I’m strictly behind the camera. I’d produce it and you can present.’

‘Me?’ Gabe’s eyes widened.

‘Why not?’ said Laura. ‘You’re gorgeous; you know all there is to know about the farm and the valley. And you’d work for free.’

‘Oh, would I now?’ said Gabe.

‘Yes,’ Laura giggled. ‘You would. We’re going to need a lot of cash to get it made, so we’ll have to work on a tight budget.’

‘I see,’ said Gabe. ‘And where would this cash be coming from? Not our savings account, I hope.’

Laura almost choked on her gin. ‘What savings account? Luca’s got more in his piggy bank than we have!’

‘We’ll raid his then,’ said Gabe.

‘We have two options,’ Laura explained. ‘Either we sell a big chunk of the show up front to an established reality player – Endemol or someone like that – or we raise the capital to do it ourselves. Now the Endemol option—’

‘Let’s raise the capital,’ Gabe interrupted her.

Laura looked up at him hopefully. ‘Really? You’ll do it?’

Gabe kissed her. ‘I know a lost battle when I see one. And if we are going to do it, it has to be our show. It has to be us in control.’

Laura gave a little squeal of excitement. ‘It’s going to be amazing, Gabe. I can see the trailers already.’

‘So can I.’ Gabe put on what he obviously thought of as a television announcer’s voice. ‘Coming soon: Wraggsbottom Farm, with Gabriel Baxter.’

Laura burst out laughing.

Gabe looked hurt. ‘What?’

‘Well, for one thing, we cannot call it Wraggsbottom Farm.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not? Because it’s an awful, awful name.’

‘It’s the name this farm has lived by for well over a hundred years,’ Gabe said pompously.

‘I’m sorry darling,’ said Laura. ‘But no. And I won’t let you present it either if you’re going to do that dreadful American newsreader voice.’

Gabe pouted. ‘That was my sexy voice.’

‘No, it wasn’t. Trust me.’

They sat in silence for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, thinking about what the future might hold. Laura didn’t know whether to feel delighted that she’d talked Gabe round, or terrified because, if they really went ahead with this, it would all be on her shoulders. If the show was a disaster, or – heaven forbid – the farm itself suffered as a result, she would never forgive herself. It was a great idea. But it was also a big risk.

‘Raising money won’t be easy, you know,’ she said, swirling the remnants of her drink contemplatively around her glass. ‘If we can’t find investors, we’d have to team up with a bigger production company or a network. There’d be no other way.’

Gabe stood up, stretched and opened the larder. Pulling out a family-sized bag of Doritos, he burst them open with a loud bang.

‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Of course we’ll find an investor. You said yourself it was a great idea.’

Laura wasn’t sure what frightened her more. Having Gabe against the idea or having him for it. In five minutes flat he’d gone from ‘it can’t possibly work’ to ‘it can’t possibly fail’. Sometimes his black-and-white nature terrified her.

‘Anyway, I’ve already thought of an investor,’ he announced blithely. ‘He’s local, he’s rich and he’s looking for a new business venture. I know that for a fact ’cause I heard it down the pub.’

Laura looked sceptical. ‘Who?’

‘Eddie Wellesley.’

Laura choked so hard that tonic bubbles flew out of her nose.