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‘Lovely thanks, you?’
‘Not too bad. I spent it with my brother’s family, and they’re a riot when they get going. I’m exhausted. Can I get you a tea, or do you want a hand with all that?’
‘Tea would be lovely, thank you!’
‘On it.’
Rosa was the next to arrive, just as Abby had finished de-Christmassing the place.
‘Oh, it’s all come down,’ she said, kissing Abby on the cheek. ‘I’ll miss the tinsel.’
‘New year, new start,’ Abby said. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Not really. Just trying to hold onto that festive feeling as long as I can. This is always the gloomy bit of the year.’ Rosa’s black curls were loose, fanning out around her like a glossy halo. She looked happy and rested, despite her forlorn thought.
‘We’ll have to brighten it up then, won’t we? Meadowsweet to the rescue!’
Rosa laughed. ‘What’s got into you?’
‘I’m glad to be back, that’s all.’
‘You didn’t have fun?’
Abby wrinkled her nose. ‘It was a bit quiet. Tessa and her family got a sickness bug, and I ended up at Mum’s yesterday, just me and her, which is fine but not what I’d expected.’ She had never enlightened her friends in Meadowgreen about her family history, only told them that she was close to her sister, saw her mum occasionally and her dad barely ever. She wasn’t about to start over-sharing now. ‘Did you have a lovely time with your folks?’
‘Brilliant,’ Rosa confirmed. ‘I’m sorry about yours, though. No wonder you’re glad to be back. And aiming to get a sneaky kiss off someone, I see.’
‘Sorry?’ Abby’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’ Rosa pointed at the mistletoe still hanging from the ceiling.
Abby had missed the small piece of foliage that had been so significant that day, after they’d got back from her winter walk. She had held onto Jack’s fleeting kiss as long as she could, the memory becoming more distant as the days passed so that now the sensations were dulled, the feel of his lips on her skin something she tried to reach out for but couldn’t quite grasp, like a coin dropped to the bottom of a fountain.
‘I didn’t notice it,’ Abby said quickly, wishing she could reach up and yank it down, instead of having to go and get the ladder again.
Stephan brought their hot drinks over, and Abby resisted the urge to hug him.
‘How are we all?’ came a voice from the doorway. ‘Re-energized and ready to roll with the punches?’ It was such an un-Penelope like thing to say that they all froze, speechless, as their boss strode into the room, wearing a long, turquoise coat and carrying a red umbrella. Abby thought she looked like Mary Poppins.
‘Yes, Penelope,’ Stephan stuttered. ‘I—’
‘Excellent news. Because this year is not going to be easy on Meadowsweet, but I intend to fight with every fibre of my being, and I need you, my army, to be as galvanized as I am.’
‘Wow,’ Rosa murmured. ‘Rousing speech.’
‘I thought I’d start on a positive note,’ Penelope said. ‘And now, I’m going to go and open the post, and the day will undoubtedly go downhill from there. Stephan?’
‘Cappuccino?’
‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’
‘Amazing,’ Rosa said once Penelope was behind the closed office door. ‘Do you think her New Year’s resolution is to be a bit more human?’
‘She’s always been human,’ Abby said, laughing. ‘She loved the Christmas tree, remember? You always forget the times she’s been kind and encouraging.’
‘That’s because they’re so outnumbered by sharp looks and reprimands that they pale into insignificance. If she’s really turning over a new leaf, then I’m all for it.’ Rosa sipped her coffee and drifted towards the shop, a perplexed look on her face.
The visitors were few and far between that morning, but Abby didn’t panic. It was only the second of January, people would still be in a post-party stupor, and going for a walk round a nature reserve was unlikely to be at the top of many people’s to-do lists. That was the kind of attitude she needed to change.
‘What about hangover walks?’ she said, to nobody in particular.
‘What are you muttering about over there?’ Rosa called, giving her a cheeky grin.
‘Why don’t we run hangover walks?’ Abby repeated, warming to her brainwave. ‘Come and clear the cobwebs away with a brisk walk down to the lagoon and back, ending with a bacon sandwich and a hot drink in the café? I can tailor the information about the wildlife, pick out the fun and grizzly facts. Why are long-tailed tits called bumbarrels? Statistics about adder bites, and the impressive way sparrowhawks kill and eat their prey. If people realize we’re not all earnest, adenoidal obsessives, we could appeal to more of them.’
‘It sounds like a grand idea,’ Stephan called, her words reaching the café due to the building being so empty. ‘And the scopes are bound to interest a few people. You could work that into it, too.’
‘I’d planned on doing that separately, but …’ Abby chewed her pen, then scribbled everything in her notebook.
The quiet lasted close to an hour before Penelope emerged from her office, looking five years older than when she had gone in.
‘What is it?’ Abby asked. ‘Are you OK, Penelope?’
The older woman waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing you need to worry about. Post rarely brings good news, does it? No, this is your concern. I’m on tenterhooks wondering if it will be another complaint, or if you’ve won him round altogether.’
‘Sorry?’
Penelope slid a white envelope onto the desk, Abby’s name written in familiar, slanted handwriting.
‘Oh.’ She didn’t touch it immediately and tried to stop the smile that was threatening.
At that moment, two young women walked through the door. Their warm coats and scarves suggested they could be here for an outdoor walk, but their high-heeled boots did not. They were heavily made-up, had perfect, preened hair, and were perhaps a couple of years younger than she was. Their overall appearance was so out of place with the surroundings that Abby swallowed the urge to laugh.
She slipped the envelope beneath the counter. ‘Hello, welcome to Meadowsweet Nature Reserve – are you here for a day pass?’
‘Yeah.’ One of the women stepped forward. ‘We were wondering about those walks you do – y’know, like the one before Christmas. Are you doing any more?’
‘I’ve got several organized over the next few weeks. They’re all up on the website.’ She swivelled the computer monitor round to face them and clicked through to the relevant page.
The woman scanned the list. ‘Great, ta. And when do I know who’s coming on them?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘When do I know who else will be on the walks? Do you have a list or something?’
‘I lead most of the walks,’ Abby said, frowning. ‘Sometimes one of the wardens, Gavin or Marek, will give me a hand.’
The woman nodded. ‘So, this walk, before Christmas, yeah? I heard that … that someone …’
‘Jack Westcoat,’ Penelope finished, stepping forward, her arms folded tightly over her chest. ‘You heard that Jack Westcoat had attended one of our nature walks and are here to see if he’s likely to come on any more.’
The woman smiled, and Abby tried to hide her anger, wondering why she hadn’t worked it out sooner.
‘Yeah,’ the woman said. ‘It’s all round the Harrier estate that he was here. I’d love to glimpse him in the flesh. I’ve read all his books.’
‘Young lady.’ Penelope hardly gave her time to finish speaking. ‘This is not what Meadowsweet is for. You come to look at the wildlife, not stalk other visitors. He may have visited the reserve, but there’s no reason to suspect he will return, and even if he does, that is not information we will be sharing publicly. Do you have no concept of a fellow human’s right to privacy?’
The woman took a step back; her friend was almost at the door. ‘He’s a writer, though. Shouldn’t have written books if he didn’t want the limelight, and certainly shouldn’t have assaulted that bloke and got all over the papers. He’s fair game, as far as I’m concerned!’
‘Then I suggest you go and work out your frustrations at a hunting party, instead of coming after my— our visitors. I hear the Blasingham estate does a good grouse and pheasant shoot; you have until the end of the month before the season closes. Goodbye.’
Abby’s gaze flicked between the women, standing their ground for a moment before making a swift retreat, and Penelope, who was more riled than Abby had ever seen her. She was actually quivering.
‘Are you OK, Penelope? That was amazing.’
‘Did they honestly think they could come here to gawk at him, and that we would tell them if and when he had plans to come back? What is the world coming to? I sincerely hope that Jack isn’t leaving the cottage as they pass by, otherwise heaven knows what will happen. I’d better warn him.’ She hurried to her office and Abby was left alone, shocked by the brazenness of the young women, and wondering how close Penelope was to Jack that she could pick up the phone to him at a moment’s notice.
‘Seems the Octavia gossip tree’s made it all the way to the Harrier then,’ Rosa said, handing Abby a fresh cup of tea. ‘My neighbours haven’t said anything, but then Tim and Bob don’t seem like the kind to spread rumours.’
‘I don’t even think it’s Octavia. Remember, Jack did come on one of my walks just before Christmas. It was quite well-attended and, while nobody said anything at the time, anyone could have recognized him. He was in the visitor centre for a bit afterwards, too. He was never going to stay hidden for long, not if he’s as famous as he appears to be.’
‘He wasn’t that widely known before,’ Rosa said, resting her elbows on the counter. ‘Though he had more fame than most authors due to his first book getting so much praise, and in his twenties, too. But ever since this punching business, he’s achieved a new kind of celebrity status.’ She shook her head. ‘I wonder how much he regrets that split-second decision? Or maybe he still stands by it, who knows? From what I read, it did seem like the other guy, Eddie Markham, was behaving like a prize idiot, whatever kind of past they have together.’
Abby bit her lip. One question from her and Rosa would explain what Eddie Markham, whoever he was, had done, and then she would be able to form more of an opinion of Jack. And yet, all Rosa would know was what had been in the papers, and that couldn’t be relied upon. Abby had something much more valuable.
She waited until the coast was clear; Penelope was back in her office and Rosa and Stephan were otherwise occupied so, doing a visual check of the route from the car park to the front door and seeing no new visitors, she took the white envelope out from under the counter, and opened it.
Chapter Two (#u89356b35-4fad-5ab7-85d6-5f2fc5dad2e5)
Long-tailed tits are the most beautiful of all the tits. Small and fluffy, with pinky-purple, brown, black and cream feathers and long tails, they’re very sociable and fly about in groups, spinning and bouncing like gymnasts in the trees. They’re sometimes called bumbarrels, because their nest is shaped like a barrel, with a small hole in the front for them to fly in and out of.
— Note from Abby’s notebook.
Abby folded the paper out flat as she read.
Dear Abby,
Happy New Year! I hope this finds you well, and that you had a good Christmas. Thank you for the walk, which I know you would have been doing anyway, without me, but even so. I enjoyed it. I was thinking about turning up on another one, or finding something else to complain about, and then I remembered my invitation to you. Are you still prepared to give up some of your precious time to meet me for coffee?
I look forward to seeing you soon.
Yours, JW
Grinning, Abby put the note back into its envelope and hurried to the storeroom and her handbag. She would take it home and slide it between the thick, illustrated pages of UK Flora and Fauna that sat on the bookshelf next to her bed, along with Jack’s other note to her. Now she just had to decide when, and how, to respond.
She held out until Friday, when a particularly difficult customer turned a cold but beautiful day into an extreme test of her patience. He arrived at reception with a complaint already on his lips, about how the speed humps on the approach road had dislodged the roof rack of his car, and then moaned about the quality of his lunch when he returned from his walk.
Abby had come to Stephan’s rescue and tried to placate the man, but his refusal to back down, not to mention his final comment that Reston Marsh was much more professional, left her feeling despondent. By closing time she was in sore need of something to cheer her up and, the irony not lost on her that it was a complaint that had brought her to Jack’s door in the first place, it was him she wanted to see.
Though the hour wasn’t as late, it was as dark as it had been on her ill-fated Halloween walk home, and she kept her new torch angled towards the ground. Peacock Cottage and its lit window, visible through the swaying branches, felt like a haven. She walked up the path and knocked on the door, listening to the sound of footsteps from inside, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her.
And then the door opened and he was standing in front of her, wearing a thick, sea-blue jumper with a high collar. His hair was wild, as if he’d been tearing at it repeatedly, and he had shadows under his eyes, but he was as beautiful as ever, and Abby was struck by how much she’d missed him. As his gaze met hers he smiled, the gesture lifting his face, though not entirely banishing his obvious tiredness.
‘Abby,’ he said. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘You too,’ she replied quickly. ‘I got your note, and I was wondering about that coffee? Only if you’ve got time though. I know you must be busy.’
He stepped back. ‘Come inside, it’s freezing.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I have to get home to Raffle.’
‘Of course. Let me give you my number. We can arrange a date that way.’ He held out his hand, and Abby thought for a moment he expected her to take it, but then understanding dawned and she scrabbled in her bag for her phone, unlocked it and handed it to him. He quickly tapped in his number, then Abby heard the shrill sound of a ringtone from somewhere inside the house as he called his phone from hers.
‘Good Christmas?’ he asked, as he passed her phone back and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.
‘So-so,’ Abby said. ‘You?’
‘Pretty much the same,’ he admitted, his smile fleeting. Abby thought that perhaps there had been no glamorous parties after all, that his reality was very different to what she’d been imagining. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in? We could start the coffee trend right now.’
She was sorely tempted, but if she went inside, she would never want to come back out in the cold. And Raffle was waiting for her. ‘I can’t,’ she said, gesturing in the vague direction of her house. ‘But I’d love to meet up soon. Whenever you’re free.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll call you. It’s good to see you, Abby.’
‘You too.’ She turned and walked down the path before she could change her mind, and didn’t hear his front door close until she was almost out of sight of Peacock Cottage.
‘Hangover walks, you say?’ Octavia asked, as she whizzed around the library with her trolley, putting returned books back on the shelves. ‘You think that will take off?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Abby said. ‘But I’m trying to think a bit more cleverly. If we only appeal to people who already visit us, then our footfall will never grow dramatically. I want to attract brand new visitors.’
‘You can but try, my lovely. I’m hoping to do the same with this place, but at the moment my secret weapon is a little bit too secret.’
‘What do you mean?’ Abby asked, sitting in a faded blue armchair in the reading area.
She loved the old chapel that Octavia had almost single-handedly turned into the village library, with the convenience store in what had once been the vestry. It was a tiny chapel, and yet it seemed cavernous, with several rows of bookshelves, a colourful, bean bag filled area next to the children’s books and games, and three tables with green reading lamps that passed as the reference library, alongside a tatty set of encyclopaedias. With its high roof, stained-glass windows and that cold stone smell about it despite being carpeted, Abby always felt calmer here. On this particular Tuesday afternoon, it contained only the two of them, nobody else perusing the shelves.
‘The elusive Jack Westcoat,’ Octavia said, pushing her red hair over her shoulders and hurrying to the desk to update the online catalogue.
‘Oh.’ Abby picked at a thread on the chair.
‘Not so elusive to you, it would seem. He turned up on one of your walks, I hear. And how was he?’
Gorgeous, Abby thought. Gorgeous and mysterious and, understandably, a little bit shy. And he kissed me Octavia, just on the cheek but – oh, he kissed me! And we’re going for coffee, on Friday.
‘He was nice,’ she said, noncommittally. And then, because she had already bad-mouthed him to her own mother to throw her off the scent, added, ‘he wasn’t remotely rude. He was even slightly interested in what I was saying at one point. And he thanked me afterwards.’
‘Well, my love, that gives me hope.’
‘You’re still thinking of asking him to do a talk here?’
