Page 35 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

‘I’m a family friend staying at Strawberry Hill Farm,’ Nico told him.

Tom’s expression dropped a little. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I gather they’ve been having a tough time in recent years.’

Nico nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Anyway, with the fields not yielding any profit, there was an idea that perhaps a campsite might be worth looking into. We’ve already sourced the tents, but I guess it’s the legal stuff that we need to be sure about.’

Tom nodded enthusiastically. ‘That’s a great idea,’ he said, before turning to his keyboard. ‘Let’s have a look and see what the local council say about it. From what I know, farm diversification, especially tourism, is normally encouraged under the right approach.’

They dug into the information provided on the local government website, and by the time Grams returned to join them, Nico had copious notes to follow up on.

‘How’s our money-spinning idea looking?’ she asked.

Tom nodded. ‘I’d say pretty optimistic,’ he replied. ‘The licensing is relatively straightforward as some small-scale camping is allowed under development rules for change of use from agricultural. I’ve given Nico the links to start filling in the paperwork. If you get started today, you may be lucky and be able to open by the end of the month, which is the Whitsun bank holiday weekend.’

‘Sounds easy enough,’ said Grams, with a shrug.

Nico laughed. ‘I wish I had your optimism,’ he told her, standing up. He shook Tom’s hand. ‘Thanks so much. You’ve been a huge help.’

‘Always happy to answer any further questions if you get stuck on the legal side of things,’ replied Tom.

Nico took one last look around the community hub before he left. It was the conversation and laughter that affected him the most. It reminded him of days long past and he realised that for too long now, he’d been really lonely. He’d missed having a family to get together. He missed having friends too. Everyone had dropped away in the past few years. His dad had upset nearly everyone in the neighbourhood so that nobody trusted the Rossis now. His grandfather’s good name was in the mud and undeservedly so. Nico didn’t care what people thought of him, but he felt very protective of his grandfather.

He never felt more alone than at that moment and was comforted by the feel of Grams threading her hand through his arm once more as they left the hub.

As they walked slowly back up the lane, Nico was perturbed to see a young man on his knees peering underneath the car.

‘Hey,’ he said, worried that the lad was putting something under there. ‘What are you up to?’

The teenager straightened up quickly and backed away. ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. ‘Just looking. Nice wheels, mister.’

‘Yes, they are,’ replied Nico.

‘Shame about the oil leak,’ said the young man.

Nico gave a start. ‘What oil leak?’ he asked.

‘There,’ said the teenager, pointing at the ground.

Nico crouched down and saw that there was indeed a tiny patch of oil underneath the engine. He straightened back up, wondering whether it had only just begun to leak.

‘It’s probably just the valves need cleaning,’ said the lad.

Nico looked at him. ‘Oh, yeah?’

‘When was the last time it was serviced?’ the lad asked.

Nico nearly laughed. His father had never maintained anything that he had owned and the Ferrari was likely to have been the same. Thinking about it, he was now immensely grateful that it had even made the journey from Italy to England.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Nico. He looked at the young man a little closer now. ‘You know a lot about cars?’

The lad looked away. ‘I like engines,’ he said. ‘How they work, how they move, how they can be fixed.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, any time you want to come by Strawberry Hill Farm, I’ve got an old motorbike you can look at,’ Nico told him.

The teenager shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno,’ he muttered.

‘No pressure,’ said Nico, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Nico, by the way.’

The lad looked at his outreached hand before turning away to climb back onto his bicycle. He put one foot on the pedal and hesitated before saying, ‘Tyson,’ and quickly cycling off.