The Secret of Orchard Cottage: The feel-good number one bestseller

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‘Um, no. No he won’t be doing that,’ April started, wondering how to explain … as so far she hadn’t had to. Everyone she had spoken to since Gray died – friends, his colleagues, utility companies, people at his squash club (Gray had loved playing squash before he was no longer able to swing a racket), the library, bank, etc. – already knew. April was suddenly conscious that this would be her first time explaining from scratch to a person who didn’t know Gray and she had no idea where to begin – in fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to share this information about her husband with someone she had just met. It might seem strange, but by keeping the motor neurone disease and Gray’s death to herself while she was here in Tindledale, April felt as though his memory, indeed his life, could be just hers, and hers alone, and therefore protected. Whole. And not diluted by having to share him. At home, she had no choice but to share him with Nancy and Freddie and, whilst April knew that he was never hers alone, today and tomorrow he could be – selfishly so, and right now, she really wanted that.

So she added, ‘It’s just me,’ and pulled her bottom lip in over her teeth and bit down hard as she worked the cream into her hands, masking the sudden tremble that had engulfed them. Molly studied April momentarily before continuing.

‘Don’t worry, love. Happens to the best of us! My Cooper, and the boys – I’ve got four of the wee bastards, God love them – but they drive me bonkers sometimes and I have to take off to a spa for a day or so just to gather my thoughts and gear up for round two hundred trillion.’ Molly puffed in sheer exasperation. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place for some R&R, fresh rural air and hearty country food, and you’ll have made up in no time … give him a few days to miss you and see how he likes lying next to a cold section of the bed—’

‘He died!’ April blurted involuntarily, despite her earlier decision to not mention Gray, and then instinctively pressed a hand to the top of her chest. ‘Sorry, I um … er, I shouldn’t have shouted it out like that.’ The hand moved to her earlobe to twiddle a silver stud as she wondered what on earth to say next. Molly was staring at her, her mouth still open in an O shape and her eyebrows furrowing underneath her fringe.

But then, quite unexpectedly, Molly had her arms around April.

‘Oh God love you,’ she said, patting April’s back before letting her go and taking a couple of steps backwards into her own personal space. ‘I am so bloody sorry. Me and my massive mouth … and don’t you dare apologise,’ Molly admonished harshly, although her eyes were soft and full of warmth.

‘It’s OK. It was a year and a half ago now … don’t know why it still gets me like this,’ April fidgeted.

‘Crikey. That’s no time at all. And who said there was a time limit on your feelings in any case? If it gets you, it gets you, and that’s the end of it!’ Molly shook her head and then looked as if she was trying to work out what to do next for the best. April waited, wondering if she should explain, indeed could explain … without breaking down. She had become so accustomed to keeping all her feelings stashed away inside her and was getting pretty good at it to be fair. But then this was big, a first, having to tell someone what had happened to Gray – her wonderful, witty, vibrant husband, best friend and lover – and would Molly really get it? Could April do Gray justice? Convey exactly how amazing he was to someone who had never known him, or even met him? And somehow it made it all seem so raw again. But April was saved from having to fathom out how she felt exactly in this precise moment in time, because Molly came right out with it and asked a very direct question. A question so direct that many other people may have avoided it for fear of upsetting the bereaved person.

‘How did he die?’

And April surprised herself by suddenly feeling relieved, relaxed even, especially when Molly bustled across the kitchen to where the kettle was on the Aga and, after lifting it up, added, ‘If you’ve got time, I’d love to hear all about him. Shall I make us a brew?’

April nodded and smiled, before glancing through the little serving hatch in the wall into the sitting room to check on Edie. Ahh, her great aunt had given up on her search for the playing cards and was having her afternoon snooze now, so was unlikely to need her for a little while. Feeling unusually calm and, dare she say it … a little uplifted at the prospect of talking about Gray, April pulled out two chairs, took a deep breath and thought what a wonderful thing the kindness of strangers could be.

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An hour or so later, as April said goodbye to Molly, she closed the front door behind her new friend and smiled to herself. She felt as though she’d known Molly her whole life, which it turned out was pretty near true, as Molly remembered cycling around Tindledale one summer as a child with the ‘girl down from London’. April couldn’t remember this exactly, it seemed so long ago, but she did have fond memories of those carefree days in the school holidays with a big group of children from the village, so it had been lovely to reminisce with Molly. A rare treat for April, as apart from Aunt Edie, there wasn’t anyone else in her life who shared those memories from years back. When she had gone to live with her grandparents, after her parents died, April had lost contact with her school friends. It was as if the rug had been pulled from under her, and she’d been left dealing with a massive thing when she should have been concentrating on exams and filling her time with reading Jackie magazine and such like. But instead the grief took over and since then she had always found it hard to connect with that period before her parents died. It was often too painful to remember the happy, good times, only for the reality of not having them in her life to then come crashing back all over again. And later, when April had finished her nurse training, she had immersed herself into working as many shifts as she could in the hospital, until she met Gray. It had been easier that way, especially after her grandparents died and she had felt so very alone.

Yes, she had friends now, but was conscious that she had retreated into her shell again after losing Gray, and even though her friends had made such a tremendous effort to re-engage her in life since his death – taking it in turns to visit on a Saturday night with a bottle of wine and ideas for fun nights out, bowling, ice skating, cinema, etc. – she just hadn’t felt up to it. Preferring instead to curl up on the sofa in her pyjamas staring at her wedding video, and then the honeymoon weekend in Venice on the flatscreen TV. No lights on, no volume, just silence and Gray waving and pulling a silly face at the camera. It had been a comfort. But April knew it wasn’t right, she couldn’t carry on like that for ever. Even Nancy, when she returned from her nights out, wouldn’t come into the lounge, probably couldn’t bear to; instead she had crept upstairs to bed and left April alone with her memories.

This had made April very self-conscious, often feeling whenever she left the house for essential trips, such as the bank, supermarket and such like, that everyone was looking at her, as if she had a big sign hanging around her neck that said, ‘My husband died and now I’m turning into a very sad and lonely recluse’. It was an utterly awful way to be. But slowly, it had subsided and her confidence was starting to return – just driving to Tindledale had already given her a boost, something she wouldn’t have even contemplated doing a while ago. Although, she reflected, some of those friends had drifted away … maybe it was too late and they had run out of patience already, moved on. After all, they had their own life ups and downs to deal with, so she couldn’t blame them for that. April chewed the inside of her cheek, and resolved to make more of an effort when she got back home. She’d neglected her aunt, and it wouldn’t do to neglect the few friends that she had left as well. Yes, a change of scenery sure had given her a different perspective on things. And maybe she’d go back to work, find a nursing job again – she’d thought about it on and off since Gray had died, but somehow hadn’t managed to actually put herself forward, get a plan in place and be proactive about it. It had felt, somehow, in that time, that going back to work meant the part of her life with Gray was properly over, and she hadn’t been sure she was ready for that …

April went back into the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to see that her aunt was laying the table for dinner. Humming to herself, Edie seemed perfectly sprightly as she nipped around the table making sure everything was just so. Knives, forks, pudding spoons, napkins and even a jug of iced water with two glasses. It was nice to see, and gave April a warm glow, a sense of having come home, belonging, just like she had felt as a child during those trips to Tindledale …

‘You’re just in time. Dinner won’t be long, dear. Sit down and I’ll dish up.’ Edie smiled, reaching for a very faded, holey tea towel with which to open the Aga to check on the pie. April hesitated, unsure whether to intervene or not as the tea towel really wasn’t up to the job of protecting an old lady’s hand from getting burnt. But April was conscious that she was in her aunt’s home and didn’t want to be seen as interfering – and, besides, her aunt seemed to be managing just fine, as she then flung the tea towel over her shoulder and pushed a masher into the saucepan of potatoes and started mashing, so April sat down. On second thoughts, maybe not! Hot water was splashing everywhere. April jumped up and gently took the masher from Edie as she winced when a droplet landed on her bare arm.

‘Oh dear. I forgot to drain the potatoes,’ Edie said, wiping her arm on her apron before clasping her hands together.

‘It’s OK. Easy mistake to make,’ April consoled, carefully lifting her aunt’s arm to check that she wasn’t hurt. Thankfully, she was fine. ‘How about you sit down and let me wait on you for a change? Think of me as your waitress for this evening. Dinner will be served in five minutes, Madame.’ April did a little bow and laughed, remembering the game they always played in the past when she had visited as a child. Aunt Edie would let her carefully bring the plates to the table, reminding her to use two hands, and April had felt so grown up. Sometimes, the game had started earlier with April pulling out a piece of paper from her letter-writing set on which to write a menu, and then Aunt Edie would pretend to choose her favourite dish – naturally it was always the meal that they were actually having. April wondered if her aunt would remember – probably not, it was such a long time ago – but to her delight Edie’s face broke into a smile of recollection.

‘Well, that would be marvellous, my dear. But aren’t you forgetting something?’ April raised an eyebrow, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘The menu? We must have a menu.’ And as if by magic, April instantly felt transported back in time. Just like the old days, before her parents died and her whole world changed, to a simpler section of her life, halcyon, where nothing bad ever happened, or so it had seemed back then. And it really was rather lovely to relive the memory … if only for a few minutes. And Aunt Edie looked calm and relaxed too, her eyes had come alive and gone all sparkly, but then there was a certain safety in the past, a comfort. April had seen it with Gray, especially towards the end when she knew he had been feeling frightened, and Aunt Edie had seemed fearful earlier too when she couldn’t remember who Harvey was. Gray had coped by cosying up with a blanket and watching all the old Monty Python shows with Nancy – something they had done together when she was a child – the pair of them nodding along to that upbeat ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ song. Gray, with a very content smile on his face, cocooned almost in a bubble of familiarity and happy memories that this simple pastime recreated.

‘Coming right up!’ Keen to see if reconnecting with the past would have a positive effect on Aunt Edie, April darted off to the sitting room to retrieve her handbag – there was a notepad inside, but she needed something to write with. She popped her head through the hatch. ‘Do you have a pen, Aunty?’

‘Look in the sideboard, dear.’

‘Thanks.’ April pulled open the door and immediately inhaled. Mothballs and lavender. Ahh, she really was ten years old all over again. She selected a pencil from an old, washed-out Del Monte peach tin, then went to close the door, but paused to run her finger over the red felt lining inside the sideboard, just as she’d loved to do as a child. Then, after closing the door, she stood up and quickly glanced again at the framed photos: her parents – Dad with his arm around Mum, her long hair blowing out in the breeze – and April in her Brownie uniform with a big gappy smile after losing two front teeth. There were also photos of various people she didn’t recognise – although on closer inspection, the one of a teenage girl standing under an apple tree looked just like Edie, only much, much younger, with lovely long dark plaits (it was hard to be sure with the picture being black and white) and a gorgeous smile that lit up her whole face. Next to this was a picture of the woman in the uniform, only this time she was wearing a lovely, floral tea dress and had a beautiful, sunny smile, and there was definitely a family resemblance. Molly was right, because if this was Winnie, she did look a bit like April with her dark curly hair and petite frame.

Having polished off Molly’s scrumptious pie, runners and mash, April went to clear the plates away, but Aunt Edie stopped her by placing a hand on April’s forearm.

‘What is it, dear?’

‘Um, what do you mean?’ April, her hand still clasped around a plate, hesitated.

‘Well, you’ve been awfully quiet, and that’s not like you.’ Edie’s voice softened. ‘What is it, Winnie?’ April blinked. And sighed inwardly, as she had already corrected her aunt three times over dinner, but to no avail. So, deciding on another approach, April tackled the issue head on.

‘Aunty, I’m not Winnie. But I’d love to know who she is. Can you tell me about her?’ April smiled and waited, eager to hear more about Winnie, the relative she had never known.

Silence followed.

Edith stared at April. She blinked a few times, frowned and then glanced away with a doubtful look on her face. Suspicious almost. And then attempted to cover up her muddle by saying, ‘Oh, now you’re just teasing me. Shall I put the kettle on?’ And she stood up and turned her back.

April’s heart sank with disappointment; she was so keen to know more about her family, but she decided to leave it for now. She didn’t want to put pressure on her aunt, make her feel alarmed by bringing attention to her failing faculties, and maybe there was a valid reason why Aunt Edie was being evasive, confused, or whatever it was that was going on for her.

‘Yes please, that would be lovely. And there’s some cherry madeira cake left if you fancy another slice?’ April offered.

‘Ooh, don’t mind if I do.’ But then Edie hesitated, and changed her mind. ‘But I really shouldn’t, don’t want to ruin my figure.’ And she patted her perfectly tiny tummy with both hands, while a disappointed look darted across her face.

‘I’m sure a second slice won’t hurt.’ April busied herself with opening the tin, and after pulling a knife from the block on the side, she cut a couple of very generous slices, figuring it a crying shame if an elderly lady couldn’t have two slices of cake in one day if she really wanted to, and served them on to plates. ‘There, I’ll finish the tea while you tuck in.’ April put the plates on the table.

‘Well, if you insist, my dear.’ Edie wasted no time in breaking off a corner of cake and popping it into her mouth.

‘I most certainly do,’ April grinned, preparing the tea in a china tea pot, with cups on saucers, just the way she knew her aunt liked it.

‘You always were a persuasive child,’ Edie chuckled, licking crumbs from the tips of her fingers, thoroughly enjoying the treat.

‘Was I, Aunty?’ April asked, seizing the moment to talk about the past.

‘Oh, yes, very much so. Spirited! That’s what we used to say … your parents and I.’ April placed the pot of tea on the table and sat down, allowing herself a moment of contemplation while she remembered her parents. Their smiles. Her mum’s perfume – one whiff of Rive Gauche and April was in her childhood bedroom being kissed goodnight. She swallowed, hard, and rearranged her thoughts, not wanting to go there right now. It was at least twenty years ago and she had only happy, albeit faded, memories of her mum and dad, but she knew from experience that train of thought inevitably led to Gray. But his death was different. Raw. And he had suffered, been forced to be brave and face up to his end of life. At least her parents had gone quickly, most likely went out with a bang – literally, if the newspaper reports at the time were anything to go by with their unnecessarily graphic details about the crash. She had read them online, several years later, out of curiosity mainly, but had regretted doing so ever since.

‘And what did they say about you when you were a child?’ April asked, pouring her aunt some tea.

‘Cheeky!’ Edie shook her head. ‘But I got away with it you know.’

‘Oh, why was that then?’

‘I was the youngest. The apple of my father’s eye. Spoilt, my brothers and sister would say …’

‘Your sister? What was her name?’

‘Winnie.’

Bingo! April leant forward and the faded memory of her dad chatting to Aunt Edie in the sitting room, years ago, flooded into her head. She had been playing with her Tiny Tears doll on the carpet and Dad had picked up the photo of the woman in the uniform. April suddenly felt overwhelmed with joy, figuring it was very lovely indeed to be piecing her family history together – precious memories returning – bringing her long-gone relatives alive and making them immortal. And one day perhaps, she’d reach a point where memories of Gray would create the same feeling within her.

‘What happened to your sister, Aunty?’

‘I don’t know,’ Edie said quite abruptly, before finishing her cake. ‘Mmm, that was delicious. We must bake some more cakes, dear, you used to love helping me cook, do you remember?’ And April’s heart sank all over again on realising that the topic of Winnie seemed well and truly closed … for now.

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The following day, having enjoyed her best night’s sleep in ages, up in the sunny rose-print-papered attic bedroom that she remembered sleeping in as a child, April was standing by the white picket fence surveying the front garden and wondering if she really would have enough time to tackle it before she went home. On closer inspection, it was a veritable jungle and there was no way April was going to make a deep enough dent in just one day. Maybe she could come back another weekend, bring Nancy and Freddie with her. Freddie might be inclined to be lazy around the house, but he was always up for doing outdoorsy stuff, and Nancy would be happy to get stuck in, April was sure of it.

Deep in thought, April had just taken a mouthful of her post-lunch mint tea when Aunt Edie appeared on the footpath wearing a floor-length, russet-red organza ballgown and a big sprig of cherry blossom in her hair. April nearly snorted tea from her nose, but managed to refrain from doing so in the nick of time. She then opened her mouth. And closed it. Utterly unsure of how she should react. Edie looked resplendent, like a shiny big Quality Street as she rustled down the path. But she was dressed quite inappropriately for another afternoon of pottering around her rural country cottage, or indeed cleaning her Aga … again, as she had mooted earlier this morning over their scrumptious breakfast of freshly laid eggs. Edie had asked April to check the hen house, and amazingly there were ten feathery, mud-splattered eggs waiting in the straw for them, which they enjoyed boiled with soldiers slathered in salted butter, made from bread from the baker in the village, whose sister lived in the cottage at the top of the lane, so ‘it’s no trouble for him to drop a loaf in when he’s passing by’, apparently. April had heard all about it from Edie over breakfast.

‘There you are, Winnie, my dear! I looked all over for you,’ Edie said in a very chirpy, singsong voice. April went to correct her, but didn’t get the chance before the old lady carried on talking, and besides, April wondered if it really mattered. Especially as she had lost count of the times now that she had reminded her great aunt that her name wasn’t Winnie. And when April had taken the opportunity again over breakfast to find out more about the elusive Winnie, her aunt had given April a baffled look, just as she had last night, before swiftly changing the subject. Not to mention the fact that Edie still hadn’t said a word about Gray; it was as if she really had forgotten he had died, and that in itself was worrying as April knew that her aunt had been very fond of him. Until his death she’d always asked after him when they spoke on the phone and she had never missed his birthday. In fact, when they last visited Edie together, it had been Gray that her aunt had seemed most keen to chat to, even taking him around the orchard and regaling him with stories of how she had enjoyed many summers playing in the fields, running in between the apple and pear trees with her brothers, paying special attention to Robert, April’s grandfather. Gray had said she was very lucid for a woman of her age – she had remembered the tiniest of details, such as the time Robert had found a baby starling with a broken wing and nursed it back to full health before setting it free.

‘That’ll be where your compassion comes from, April,’ Gray had said later in the car on the way home, and April had liked the thought of having inherited something of her grandfather. It was comforting, knowing that a genetic part of him lived on in her. It seemed important to April, with her not having any living relatives left apart from Edie. And April and Gray hadn’t been blessed with babies, despite them both wanting a family – they had tried at the start, soon after the wedding, but then when Gray became ill … it hadn’t seemed important any more. Although still young enough to have a baby, April doubted now that she’d ever be a mother, but she felt very lucky to have Nancy and Freddie in her life. Being their stepmum was a wonderful next-best thing …

‘Now, I shan’t be gone for very long – will you be all right without me for a bit?’ Edie smiled sweetly as she patted the sprig of cherry blossom.

‘Er, um …’ April managed before nodding her head, curious to know what this was all about. ‘You look amazing, Aunty. May I ask where you’re off to?’ she ventured, making a mental note to see if she could have a chat to her aunt’s GP before she went back home – just to see if she, or he, had any concerns too about Edie’s mental health. But her aunt didn’t answer. Instead, she did a blank stare before busying herself by plucking dead leaves from a nearby rhododendron bush. Perhaps she hadn’t heard – maybe Edie’s hearing was diminishing, and April could ask the GP about that too.

April had a little bit of experience of caring for elderly patients, having worked a summer, many years ago, on a geriatric ward as part of her training, but no real first-hand knowledge of dementia. Or memory loss. Perhaps that’s all this was – with the obsessive Aga-cleaning thing, and wandering out and about in her slippers, forgetting to put on her shoes, and of course continually forgetting April’s name – and Edith was in her nineties so it was to be expected … she guessed, hoped. Full-blown dementia could be a very cruel thing. Debilitating, just like Grey’s motor neurone disease was, which had progressively robbed him of the man he used to be. He had kept his independence for as long as was possible though – going to work in a wheelchair with oxygen piped directly into his nostrils, wearing an elastic strap around his head to keep the plastic tube in place. April had admired him for that as he had always hated wearing stuff on his head, ever since childhood when his mum had said she could never get him to keep a hat on even in winter. April hadn’t known this until later in their relationship when she had knitted him a lovely red wool hat as a stocking filler for their first Christmas together. And, to give him his due, Gray had worn the hat a couple of times before stuffing it into his coat pocket, later admitting that hats just drove him mad. She could still see his face now – apologetic but exasperated too, followed by silliness when he had made light of it all by suggesting several ludicrous alternative uses for the hat, culminating in April crying with laughter at the ‘cut in two leg holes to turn it into a pair of woolly pants’ option.

April smiled at the sudden memory before focusing her attentions back to her aunt who was still busy inspecting the rhododendron.

‘Aunty, is everything OK?’ April started.

‘Of course my dear, why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Well, I …’ April paused to take a breath, and changed tack. ‘You look marvellous, where are you off to this afternoon?’

‘To the tea dance of course! My escort will be here soon, and a very dashing chap he is too,’ Edie smiled, making herself look much younger as she pulled a powder compact from a sparkly evening bag that was swinging on a delicate silver chain from her elbow.

‘Oh! I see,’ April said, watching her aunt pat powder across the bridge of her nose. ‘Well, perhaps I can drive you there, where is it?’ she asked, thinking on her feet, for she didn’t want to alarm her aunt by going in gung ho and telling her that a dance on a Tuesday afternoon was very unlikely and perhaps she should go inside and take the ballgown off. What if it just added to her confusion? There had been no mention of her going to a dance over breakfast so it was obviously a spur of the moment thing. Or what if Edie got upset or cried with disappointment? It could happen – April vaguely recalled watching a documentary about Alzheimer’s where an elderly lady had sobbed like a little girl and it was heartbreaking, distressing, pitiful and poignant and there was no way she was going to put her aunt through that unnecessarily. Right now, Edie could very well be thinking she was young again, waiting for a suitor to arrive to escort her to the ball, so to burst that bubble of joy was the last thing April wanted to do. But how long should she let her aunt stand on the path waiting for the imaginary man to not show up? April had no idea, and ordinarily would have rung Gray and said, ‘Guess what …’ and they would have chatted about it and worked out the best course of action between them, but …

April pressed her fingertips into her palm and was just about to put an arm around her aunt to gently guide her back into the cottage when a woman’s voice trilled out from the turning-point piece of tarmac where April’s Beetle was parked.

‘COO-EEEEEEEEE. Only me!’ April swivelled on her heel. ‘Ooh, Edie, you do look a picture!’ a vivacious, sixty-something woman chuckled as she swept a glittery pink pashmina around her shoulders and practically skipped on up the path towards them, her super-strong perfume permeating the air. ‘The general is going to be so very pleased to see you.’

April marvelled at the transformation in her aunt. She was absolutely glowing at the mention of the general, whoever he was, but there was something more. A sort of luminance radiating from within Edie now, as if she had suddenly come alive. And clearly wasn’t imagining there to be a suitor after all! April was now even more fascinated to see how things were going to unfold.

‘And I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Edie cooed, popping the powder compact back inside her bag. ‘But where’s the bus?’ she asked, leaning forward as if to scan the lane.

‘Oh, not to worry, the general had to park it a bit further back near the main road,’ the woman said brightly, and then turned to April with a saucy look on her face and added, ‘it’s getting very bushy down this end!’ before doing an extremely filthy laugh.

‘Yes, I really should—’

‘I’m Audrey by the way,’ the woman said, letting the pashmina slip down into the crooks of her elbows, revealing a tight, low-cut bodycon dress, before April could offer to get the hedgerow sorted out too before she returned home – maybe a local gardener? April made a mental note to ask Molly later if there was someone she could pay to keep on top of her aunt’s garden and the section of the single-track lane that was her responsibility, as she was quite sure Edie didn’t have the means to pay for help around the home. And April had some funds, a third of Gray’s modest life insurance money (she hadn’t thought it fair to keep it all, so had split it with Nancy and Freddie), not very much, but certainly enough to help her aunt get the garden straight. ‘I run the weekly speed-dating tea dance …’

‘Ooh, sounds intriguing,’ April said, fascinated that such things went on in rural villages where she had assumed the elderly residents spent their time making jam and watching Countdown.

‘Oh, it’s just a bit of fun. It’s not full-on dating, or looking for …’ Audrey paused, did furtive sideways eyes and after leaning into April she clutched her arm and mouthed, ‘seeeeex.’ April had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘No, it’s more companionship for the …’ she paused again as if searching for the right words before settling on, ‘our more “young at heart” villagers.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘And just call me Deedee, everyone does,’ the woman continued. ‘My daughter, Meg, is the headteacher at the village school,’ she added proudly.

‘Lovely to meet you, Deedee,’ April replied, feeling a little foolish for doubting Edie. Seemed there was a tea dance here in Tindledale on a Tuesday afternoon after all. Weeeeell, fancy that!

‘You too. And I’ve heard all about you …’ Deedee made big eyes.

‘You have?’ April asked tentatively.

‘Yes, that’s right. You’re April. Molly mentioned that you were here visiting your aunt, our lovely Edie, and the star of the weekly tea dance in the village hall.’

‘Oh, yes, um … that’s right,’ April replied apprehensively, wondering if Molly had mentioned their conversation about Gray too. But then Deedee said, ‘Are you here on your own, or have you got a gorgeous husband hidden about the place?’ in a breezy voice, as she scanned around the garden as if searching for him. So Molly clearly hadn’t gossiped, and April was pleased that she had been discreet, remembering that news usually travelled fast in a small village like Tindledale. Whenever April had arrived to stay with her aunt in the school summer holidays, within an hour or so the local children would be down to the cottage to see if she was coming out to play in the fields after someone had spotted her parents’ green Morris Minor Traveller pulling into the village store on the way to get a box of chocolates to go with the flowers as a present for Edie. Everyone always knew everyone else’s business. Tindledale was just that kind of place.

April took a breath and felt much more prepared for the question this time.

‘No, just me – here to spend some time with my aunt …’ April said as cheerily as she could muster.

‘Lovely. Well, if you’re at a loose end this afternoon and fancy a bit of a booooogie,’ Deedee paused to do an enthusiastic shoulder shimmy, making her boobs wobble around like two jellies, and April laugh, ‘then you are more than welcome to join us. The more the merrier. Isn’t that right, my love?’ And Deedee tucked her arm through the crook of Edie’s elbow, giving the top of her hand a little pat.

‘Ooh, yes,’ Edie agreed. ‘And don’t be put off by it being called a tea dance. It’s not a load of old dears shuffling around the dance floor in pairs because all the men in the village have already popped their clogs. Certainly not. There’s the raffle to think about too. And the general does a veeeeery good quiz.’ Edie nodded her head several times as if to emphasise this fact. ‘And there will be sandwiches and cake. And champagne!’ she continued marvelling, all the while making big eyes.

‘Yes, that’s right. My Meg makes it – homemade fizzy elderflower champagne,’ Deedee confirmed. ‘Goes lovely with the buffet – a smashing spread of cold cuts and healthy salad options, courtesy of my Meg’s other half, Dan – he’s a famous chef you know, on the telly and everything … well, used to be, he’s retired now. Not that he’s old or anything, oh no, very fit and vibrant in fact. He just doesn’t need the pressure of the high life any more so he sold his Michelin restaurant in London for an absolute fortune and can afford to take it easy now.’ Deedee paused to take a quick breath and puff her hair up a little more, clearly captivated by her daughter’s partner. ‘And we always have a beautiful selection of pastries and fairy cakes from Kitty’s café. It’s called The Spotted Pig. Can’t miss it, it’s on the corner of the High Street. You must try it if you get a chance … the Battenberg is TO DIE FOR!’ Deedee shook her head and fluttered her eyes as if being transported to her very own personal nirvana, while April felt breathless on her behalf just taking it all in.

Then Edie smiled brightly and added, ‘And my niece loves a little tipple, don’t you April?’

April instantly flicked her attentions on to her aunt. Ahh, a moment of clarity! And suddenly, April felt very thrilled to have her aunt back again, even if she was making her sound like some kind of lush.

‘Weell, I’m not sure I’d put it quite like—’ April started.

‘Do you remember those snowballs, April?’ Edie interjected and April nodded, fascinated that her aunt now seemed able to remember this minutiae – they’d had those snowballs over thirty years ago! ‘I’ll have to make you one before you go home. You loved them as a teenager. We could make a night of it just like we used to – play a few hands of rummy while we are at it too – if I can find the blasted pack of cards that is.’ Edie shook her head and turned to Deedee. ‘I’ve searched high and low and they’ve disappeared. April had a look too but no luck …’

‘Ooh, I’m so sorry, I should have said – I have them in my handbag in the bus for you. I picked them up by accident after last week’s tea dance. Do you remember, Edie? I helped you into your sitting room and plonked my pashmina on the sideboard only to scoop up the pack of cards with it when I left.’

‘Ahh, well that solves that mystery – thank heavens you did, dear!’ Edie smiled kindly at Deedee. ‘For a moment there I thought I was losing my marbles.’ And both women chuckled to themselves before proceeding down the garden path to the waiting bus, leaving April wondering why she had ever worried about her aunt. Clearly her memory wasn’t that bad, and she was having the time of her life, whooping it up at the weekly tea dance with her ‘date’, the general. And in a strange moment of role reversal, April felt quite eager to meet the general, if only to assure herself that he was indeed a suitable suitor for her dear old great aunt Edie.

As she waved the two ladies off, April couldn’t resist grinning. Deedee was certainly a bon vivant, a breath of fresh air, and April admired her zest for life and the ease with which she had brought ‘Old Edie’ to life, practically transforming her into a much younger woman in the blink of an eye. It was infectious. And April felt spurred on by it, in addition to the wave of confidence she now had after reconnecting with her past last night, and so in a rare, but quite welcome moment of spontaneity, she decided to get in her Beetle and go to the High Street.

But first, she would pick a selection of pretty wild flowers from Edie’s back garden as a little thank-you gift for Molly. (April was quite sure her aunt wouldn’t mind; there were hundreds to choose from in any case so April wondered if she would even notice.) April could ask about a gardener too while she returned the pie dish, and it would be a chance to have a look around Tindledale and see if it had changed much since her last visit. She might even treat herself to a nice slice of Battenberg in The Spotted Pig café. Yes, April thought this sounded like a very nice thing to do.

And for the first time in a very long time, April didn’t feel wobbly at the prospect of going out alone, without at least having someone she knew by her side, supporting her as they had for the last eighteen months – Nancy, Freddie, her friends from the knitting club or the girls from the gym … the ones that had stuck around, that is, the ones who, despite April’s lack of desire to socialise, had still visited and taken her out for the occasional coffee. Well, now she’d have something to talk to them about, something other than how she was coping, or how she felt, or if she’d had a good day …

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On arriving in Tindledale, April parked the Beetle right outside the village store, pleased to have found a space – well, on closer inspection there were several in fact. The heart of Tindledale with its cobbled High Street lined on either side with tiny Tudor-framed shops with even tinier mullioned windows wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, April noticed as she closed the car door behind her and went to walk off. Smiling, she looked around and saw that the village hadn’t changed at all since her last visit, indeed it was almost the same as when she used to visit as a child in the school holidays. The only difference now was a jaunty polka-dotted length of bunting bobbing in the breeze linking the lampposts, and on the corner opposite the village green was an extremely exotic-looking Indian restaurant. Wow! Double-fronted with a selection of brightly painted tables outside with gold and white parasols. Gray would have loved it – he was very partial to a chicken balti with all the trimmings.

April swallowed hard and adjusted her thoughts; now was not the time. Focus, this was supposed to be fun, not maudlin! Something else caught April’s eye. A bench. She made a beeline towards it, grateful to have a focal point to concentrate on, and remembered sitting on it with her mum and dad to enjoy a bag of chips from Moby Dick’s, the mobile fish and chip van that came to Tindledale every Friday evening. April wondered if the van still came, and made a mental note to ask her aunt later. But the bench was no longer made of boring wood, no, it had been transformed into a yarnbombed extravaganza of loveliness – a myriad of colours made up of hundreds of granny patches all stitched together by hand – it was amazing. A real labour of love – she ran a finger over the knitting and wondered if she might be ready to pick up her needles some time soon, but the thought was immediately followed by a pang of panic and April knew it was too soon. Another day hopefully. April thought about sitting on the bench instead and allowing herself ten minutes just to think about Gray, but a shrill voice filled the air and the moment vanished.

‘Excuse me!’ A woman wearing a dowdy beige mac and a flowery headscarf, with an old-fashioned wicker basket looped over her arm and a determined look on her face, came beetling towards her from the door of the bookshop opposite. April stopped moving and smiled at the older woman.

‘Hello,’ April said, shifting the flowers into her free hand so she could swing her handbag over her shoulder and tuck Molly’s pie dish under her arm, wondering what the woman wanted. Maybe she was a friend of her aunt’s, on the way to the tea dance, and had heard that April was visiting too and wanted to welcome her.

‘We like to keep this space clear for the disabled villagers!’ the woman announced, emphasising the ‘we’ as if verbally holding a placard above April’s head with ‘outsider’ emblazoned on it to make her feel unwelcome. Circumventing any pleasantries, the woman then pointed a disdainful finger to the blue Beetle with its jaunty plastic sunflower in the air vent on the dashboard.

‘Oh!’ April replied, taken aback. ‘I didn’t know … I, um, didn’t see a disabled sign anywhere or even on the road,’ she added, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl all of a sudden as she did a quick scan to check a nearby lamppost too. The woman continued to glare at the Beetle. And then April twigged. This woman, aka the village parking warden, surely, was clearly waiting for April to move her car to one of the other numerous patches of free parking space. But April felt ruffled and not in the least bit inclined to move her car. She hadn’t broken any laws as far as she could fathom, but it was just as well that Mark, the policeman from yesterday, happened to cycle past at this precise moment. He gave April a pleasant wave before bringing his bike to a halt at the kerb.