The Little Cottage in the Country
Lottie Phillips
‘A sweet and charming story.’ Kaye Temanson (NetGalley reviewer)A delightfully uplifting romantic comedy to get you in the mood for summer! Escape to the country!Anna Compton thought that moving to the countryside, leaving London and her past firmly behind her was the perfect solution. Goodbye life of thirty-something, crazed single mum of two, hello country glamour queen, domestic goddess and yummy-mummy extraordinaire.But her new life at Primrose Cottage isn’t quite what she expected! Very soon she’s chasing pork pies down hills, disguising her shop-bought cakes at the school bake sale – and trying to resist oh-so-handsome Horatio Spencerville, who just so happens to be the Lord of the Manor…Could moving to the country be the biggest mistake she’s ever made?Perfect for fans of Christie Barlow, Holly Martin and Tilly Tennant.Praise for Lottie Phillips:‘A sweet and charming story.’ Kaye Temanson (NetGalley reviewer)‘An easy summer read.’ Helena Manoli (NetGalley reviewer)‘Loved it. I laughed my way through it!’ Donna Orrock (NetGalley reviewer)‘A great story. I can’t wait for the next book by this author!’ Paige Kowolewski (NetGalley reviewer)
Escape to the country!
Anna Compton thought that moving to the countryside, leaving London and her past firmly behind her was the perfect solution. Goodbye life of thirty-something, crazed single mum of two, hello country glamour queen, domestic goddess and yummy-mummy extraordinaire.
But her new life at Primrose Cottage isn’t quite what she expected! Very soon she’s chasing pork pies down hills, disguising her shop-bought cakes at the school bake sale – and trying to resist oh-so-handsome Horatio Spencerville, who just so happens to be the Lord of the Manor…
Could moving to the country be the biggest mistake she’s ever made?
A delightfully uplifting romantic comedy to get you in the mood for summer! Perfect for fans of Christie Barlow, Holly Martin and Tilly Tennant.
The Little Cottage in the Country
Lottie Phillips
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Contents
Cover (#u30f5a190-2620-5bf5-adcc-7fa8225d5479)
Blurb (#u607abb74-6541-581a-974d-915c06fa102b)
Title Page (#u8b5c7251-c1af-5b0b-9170-1a83aabab2bc)
Author Bio (#ucdb079f0-eed9-5932-92d1-9095742880ff)
Acknowledgements (#uaaf1de63-cba0-54cc-bf4f-ca956b23a4cb)
Dedication (#ub6fb6ff6-a4f5-5a18-b757-27167066d2e0)
Chapter One (#ulink_1208f6a6-15a7-5dcf-aad7-83a1a5381f62)
Chapter Two (#ulink_db144d3a-afdf-51a8-88ad-7c224605784b)
Chapter Three (#ulink_2eaa3b3b-0f41-5251-a7e7-2308fd1cac41)
Chapter Four (#ulink_697a37f2-cff3-5c82-b05d-d69b7dee398d)
Chapter Five (#ulink_8a60125a-cc12-50ab-b109-5aae7677dc2a)
Chapter Six (#ulink_96c041e3-6037-5e79-8a17-caef08df8b60)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
LOTTIE PHILLIPS
worked as a teacher before turning her hand to fiction. She was brought up in Africa and the Middle East and then - as an adult - travelled extensively before moving to London and finally settling in the Cotswolds with her partner and toddler. When she’s not writing, you will find her scouring interior design magazines and shops, striving toward the distant dream of being a domestic goddess or having a glass of wine with country music turned up loud. As a child, she always had her nose in a book and, in particular, Nancy Drew. The Little Cottage in the Country is her first romantic comedy but she also writes psychological thrillers under the pseudonym Louise Stone. Readers can find Lottie Phillips, otherwise known as Charlie Phillips, on Twitter @writercharlie (https://www.twitter.com/@writercharlie) or at www.writercharlie.com (http://www.writercharlie.com)
An enormous thank you to Charlotte Mursell, my editor, for her support and wonderful enthusiasm every step of the way.
To the entire team at HQ who are all incredible.
Em, Ros and Louise: my gorgeous school friends whose strength and uncontrollable laughter is what this book is all about.
My parents for being beautiful people and for just ‘getting’ it.
Jon and Finn: you are my world. Thank you for giving my life meaning.
Ed: this book is dedicated to you because you are the best brother a sister could ask for.
To Ed, with lots of love
Two Weeks Earlier… (#ulink_02ed0436-b384-56d1-bb30-b0070531bebf)
Anna took a deep, cleansing breath as she knocked. The name on the door read ‘Barry Smith, Editor-in-Chief’. The faint trace of Tipp-Ex, where Sheryl had crossed out Smith and written White at last year’s Christmas party, still remained.
‘Come in,’ boomed the voice.
Anna opened the door, gripping the handle tightly as she tried to control her nerves.
Barry looked up briefly from his computer, a sheen of sweat glistening across his bulbous, bald head. ‘This had better be good, Compton. I’m trying to make a meal out of the crap you lot give me, and you know what? I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, I don’t know why I put up with it. I could fire the lot of you and start again.’ He pinched the top of his nose and rubbed his eyes using his free hand, his spectacles jiggling up and down. ‘Come in, Compton. Sit, for God’s sake.’
Anna moved forward, closed the door behind her and smoothed her skirt. As she did, she caught sight of the remnants of her son’s porridge near her behind. She grew hot under the collar and then realised she must also have got caught downwind of her daughter’s milk tsunami. The smell of gone-off cheese started to permeate her nostrils and she tried to remained focused.
‘Barry,’ Anna started, taking a seat as requested, ‘I’m leaving The Post.’
She had been hoping he might show even a vague sense of regret but, instead, he grinned.
‘Leaving?’
Anna cleared her throat. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Going anywhere good?’
Anna clenched and unclenched her fists, kneading her skirt. ‘Barry, I just said I’m leaving.’
Barry let out a bark of a laugh. ‘What do you want me to do? Cry?’
‘No,’ Anna started. ‘Oh, do you know what, you can stuff your job. I was going to ask for a reference, but frankly…’ As Anna spoke, her head was buzzing with regret (she needed a reference, she had children, she was going to the great unknown). ‘I don’t need a sodding reference from you. I mean, who’ll have heard of The Post in Trumpsey Blazey?’
Barry chuckled. ‘Ah, so you’re making a break for the countryside, old gal.’ He paused. ‘I presume you’ve got a job, or have you…?’ He grinned. ‘No, Anna Compton cannot have found a new man – a millionaire?!’
Anna stood. ‘I don’t need to take this rubbish from you. I’ve found a beautiful home, the children are going to a wonderfully rated primary school and I…’ She stammered. ‘Will find another job with a reputable country paper.’
‘You mean the Hare and Hound Gazette?’ He laughed, his belly shaking unpleasantly as he did so. ‘I know Tim, the big man behind that little number, and you won’t get work with him.’
Anna stuck out her chin. ‘Why ever not?’ She bristled with anger.
‘He only employs men.’ Barry looked back at his screen, then said seriously and with no sense of irony, ‘He’s quite the chauvinist.’ Barry returned his gaze to Anna and then to his screen, then back to Anna. Anna grew immediately worried. She could almost see his brain steaming and puffing with the energy of an idea.
‘Well, I’ll be off,’ Anna said, turning on her heel before she got involved in whatever strange idea he was concocting. ‘Good luck with the paper.’
As she pulled the door open, Barry spoke again. ‘Compton, I’ve just had an idea.’
She turned slowly.
‘You know what this paper needs? It needs fresh air, it needs something different, something fun, something rural, something idyllic.’ He stood now, his podgy hands flying through the air. ‘It needs to see a woman making the most of Blighty!’
‘Barry?’ Anna almost didn’t dare ask.
‘You clearly don’t have a job, and you have children to think about, Anna.’ He smiled, as though he really was the saviour. ‘I’m offering you the chance to write a weekly column for the paper.’ He drew his hand across the air in front of him. “Anna’s Little Cottage in the Country”, that’s what we’ll call it!’ He moved inelegantly from around the desk and shuffled his excess weight towards Anna, who grimaced at the sight of her (ex) boss moving in on her, like a puffer fish. ‘What do you say, Compton? Give us the lowdown on what it’s like in the Wild West of Wiltshire?’
‘Um, that’s very, um…’ she started, her mind whirring. ‘Well, Barry, the thing is…’
‘You need money? You want to keep your foot in the door as a successful journalist?’
‘Successful journalist?’ She reeled under the weight of such a compliment; one he had never, ever come close to giving before.
‘Well, a…. you know… an OK one,’ he clarified. Then, wagging his finger in front of her face, ‘But you could become a wonder. You could personally help this paper survive with your take on rural life.’
‘Really?’ She wasn’t convinced.
He looked at her intently. ‘Yes, it’ll be brilliant. Well…’ He paused. ‘You need to make it brilliant. Join in, make friends, get a loooovverrr…’ He purred this last word in such a way, Anna had to turn away from the sudden gust of stale coffee emanating from his mouth.
‘Barry, the thing is, I want a fresh start.’ She was resolute.
‘Yes, but the thing is, Compton, you can have a fresh start, but you have to think of your children. You need money.’
She turned towards the door again, took one step out.
‘When do you leave?’
‘Two weeks,’ she said, her back to him.
‘Excellent! Give me something juicy in two and a half.’ He grinned. ‘Actually, I might talk to Diane, see if she can’t take some shots.’ His mind was whirring and his upper lip glistened as he smacked his lips together. ‘People will love to follow your story… I can see it now. City girl living the dream.’
With that, he started to close the door and she shuffled forward before he could catch her ankles with it.
‘Good luck, Compton. Over and out,’ he wheezed from the sudden exertion. ‘I’ll get Sheryl to ping you over the details.’
The door slammed behind her, totally befuddled by what had actually just happened. But then, she realised, he had a point. Anna shrugged. She supposed she did need money, and at least she wouldn’t have to see Barry every day. She imagined herself happily typing her column in the pretty cottage garden, the birds tweeting and the twins making daisy chains under the dappled light of the apple tree.
‘And so the next chapter begins,’ she thought as she made her way to her desk to pack away her notebooks, pens, laptop and snowglobe.
Arriving in Trumpsey Blazey (#ulink_c258072f-5c62-579d-a14d-72b20a2b218b)
Anna grinned as she sped towards the countryside, leaving London and her past firmly behind. She felt as if she was, in fact, stepping where no thirty-two-year-old divorcee with two young kids had ever been before (she allowed herself this slight exaggeration). She was unstoppable. She knew she was on the verge of something spectacular. She was totally in control and her heart lifted at the sign: Welcome to Wiltshire. Yes, she had made it. Goodbye Big Smoke, hello Country Glamour Queen, Domestic Goddess and Yummy Mummy Extraordinare.
She beamed as she pressed ‘Play’ on the stereo system – OK, she admitted, not quite stereo system: more like tape deck – of her 1989 Nissan Micra and started to sing (wail) along to the first track on her homemade mix tape.
‘Born to be wiiiiiiilldddd….’ She looked in the rear-view mirror and her smile quickly faded. ‘Freddie, don’t put a Smartie up Antonia’s nose.’ She glanced quickly at the road and turned in her seat, batting the air behind with her free hand in an attempt to stop her five-year-old son sticking a chocolate up his twin sister’s nostril. ‘Freddie, have you stuck the chocolate up her nose?’ She looked at him.
Her son grinned back at her, his angelic face flashing a mischievous grin, and she forced herself to focus once again on the road. Oh bum, she thought, why now? Why today? She needed to pull over and somehow lever a Smartie from her daughter’s nose without causing long-term damage. She imagined a repeat of the Blu-Tack-in-ear incident and, remembering the doctor’s words, winced.
‘Antonia will be OK, but this is not a rerun of ER, Ms Compton. It’s best if you leave it to the professionals.’
‘Mummy.’ She glanced in the mirror at Freddie’s chocolate-smeared face. ‘Look.’ He pointed.
She turned quickly in her seat. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘A horse.’
She flicked her eyes back to the road and let out a scream. ‘Oh bugger!’
Slamming on the brakes, the car came to an abrupt halt as she narrowly avoided driving the Nissan Micra up the rear end of the animal. The rider turned and scowled, backing his horse up in an over-the-top dressage-like fashion and moving alongside her now-open window.
‘You know, you could kill someone like that, yah?’ He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘That was awfully dangerous.’
Anna watched his mouth, trying to make out exactly what he was saying. It appeared he was speaking from the back of his throat and not actually using his lips. ‘Pardon?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, you need to be more careful. There’s a hunt on, yah?’
‘A hunt?’ she repeated.
‘Yah, you know, horses, dogs, a fox.’ He scowled again.
‘Oh, a hunt. Right.’ While the man in the strange black riding hat and red jacket ranted, she took the opportunity of having come to a standstill to turn and look at Freddie again. ‘Freddie, where’s the chocolate?’
He smiled and held up his hand to reveal a green palm with rapidly melting chocolate stuck to it. Anna smiled with relief. ‘Good boy. Just eat it.’
‘What the…?’ She jumped at the touch of something wet and slimy running up and down her forearm and swivelled in her seat, coming face to face with the horse happily nuzzling her steering wheel.
‘You’ve made a friend,’ the man on top of the horse said and smiled.
When he smiled, he didn’t look quite so officious. She thought how he actually looked like a normal human being and less like a Stubbs painting brought to life.
‘The name’s Spencerville…’ He paused. ‘Horatio.’ He held out his gloved hand and she shook it.
Anna snorted.
‘What’s so funny?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nothing.’ She laughed. ‘Well, it’s just funny to hear someone introduce themselves using their surname first.’
Clearly affronted, he hit the flank of his horse with his crop and started to trot. ‘Well, there’s nothing funny about driving at speed. Just be careful, yah? You could injure someone, yah?’ He rode off down the road. Oddly, Anna couldn’t see any other riders.
She revved her engine in annoyance. ‘How dare he bloody tell me how to drive. Horatio…’ she muttered. ‘Who’s even called bloody Horatio? Riding around like a Rear Admiral.’
‘Mummy,’ Antonia’s voice came from the back.
‘Yes?’ she said, taking the turn towards Trumpsey Blazey.
‘Why was that man dressed silly?’
Anna smiled.
‘He looked like a plonk-ah,’ Freddie said.
‘Freddie, I’ve told you not to use that word.’
‘S’OK, Mummy, I don’t think you’re a plonk-ah.’
‘How kind.’ She slowed the car as they approached Trumpsey Blazey: their new home. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the Cotswold stone bridge crossing the infant Thames and the chocolate-box thatched cottages either side. This was all theirs to enjoy.
The news had come out of the blue. Anna had been battling with the children over the merits of eating peas, in the kitchen, when she had received the letter from her dear aunt’s solicitor: she was to inherit her Auntie Flo’s country home. Auntie Florence was stepsister to her mother, Linda. There had been very few details, but the idea of moving from their tiny, mildew-covered, two-bed flat in London to the fresh country air was beyond exciting. It was her chance to give her children a better way of life. After all, she had failed at marriage with their father, Simon. She was, she hated to admit, lonely too. So very lonely, and when she thought about her aunt and remembered how very active her social life had been, she thought that, yes, she too could have that! This might be the way of making everything better. After all, she thought, in the midst of dreaming up freshly baked pies from her Aga, she had just received the dreaded news that her children would not be afforded the privilege of places at the best state school, but the one ten miles away that was deemed ‘dire’. She had phoned Simon (the ex) to explain the situation. She had thought this would be an appropriate time for him to step up, show himself to be the man and father he should always have been.
‘Simon, it’s Anna.’ She had breathed deeply into the receiver. ‘The twins haven’t been accepted at Royal Oak.’
‘What?’ he screeched and, for once, she knew they were on the same page. ‘They’re not going to…’
‘Yes. Sully Oak.’
‘Oh, Anna, blimey.’
She knew then, in that shared moment of grief, that they had failed their children. What she wasn’t expecting was the next curveball.
‘Can’t you get more work? Surely, someone needs an article on…’ She could hear his brain whirring, grasping at straws. ‘On the micro-climate of Hammersmith.’
‘Thanks, Simon.’ She held back a sob. ‘Thanks for making me feel even more shit.’
‘Well, you know, if I had the money…’ He was a cameraman for the Beeb.
Anna was about to argue, knowing full well he’d just sold his house and shacked up with some bird from the PR department, but she held back. She reminded herself that she had what she wanted: her children. Nothing mattered but them and he had threatened, not that long ago, to take her to court for access to his children. Anna wouldn’t give him any room for manoeuvre.
She had hung up.
After receiving the news from her aunt’s solicitor, she had a good cry in the privacy of the loo (where she often escaped, glass of wine or Bailey’s in hand, for a moment’s peace).
She had adored her aunt. Flo had been a dear friend as well as surrogate aunt. The immense sadness that threatened to overwhelm her was tinged with a sense of hope. They could escape London and the poor state school. Within minutes, she was online checking out the Ofsted ‘Outstanding’ merits of Trumpsey Blazey Primary and reading about all the various clubs and village traditions they could be part of. There was even some giant pie-rolling competition. She chuckled at the thought of how much fun it all sounded.
Once Anna had had a quiet cry in the loo, she grabbed the twins’ hands and they danced and danced around their poky kitchen until Anna thought maybe she would jinx her luck by showing no remorse for her aunt’s passing. And so she solemnly toasted Aunt Flo with a Thomas the Tank Engine beaker. She knew neither Freddie nor Antonia really understood, but they affably joined in.
Anna could see the cottage so clearly in her mind’s eye; although, she realised guiltily, she had been so caught up in her own downward spiral of barely scraping by, that she had only exchanged letters with Aunt Flo in the last two years and had last visited the cottage ten years ago, Aunt Flo preferring to come up to London to visit.
She brought her mind back to the here and now as she scanned the small row of houses on the main high street, her heart lifting in anticipation at each house plaque she read. Anna thought she remembered the house standing gleaming and proud at the head of Trumpsey Blazey. Half an hour later, and with no one around to ask, she tried to bring up Google Maps on her phone. It was pointless as she couldn’t read maps, but she hoped for some sort of epiphany moment where all those years of orienteering the Bristol Downs at school would come into their own. Public-school education was character-building, her father had claimed when she phoned home asking – no, begging – to go to the local state comprehensive.
‘Dad, I hate it.’
‘You can’t hate it. You’ve only been there a week.’
‘Yeah,’ she had moaned, ‘but they sent us out into the countryside with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a map and compass.’
‘Weren’t you just on the Downs? I remember doing the same exercise when I was at the school.’
‘Yeah, but we had no food for hours. It’s clearly illegal and some form of child abuse.’
‘How long were you out there for?’
‘Two hours,’ she had wailed, thinking she might have broken him this time. ‘Then we were allowed back for tea.’
She had been greeted by the sound of a long, dead dialling tone.
Not dissimilar to the one she was hearing now. Not dead – but no signal, to her mind, was as good as dead. ‘Bloody hell. What is the bloody point of a mobile if you can’t be bloody mobile with it?’
‘Mummy, bad word,’ Antonia said.
‘What word?’
‘Buggy.’ She meant ‘bloody’.
Anna looked back at her daughter, who always achieved an enviable look of disgust that Anna one day hoped to mimic when she was telling them off.
‘Sorry,’ Anna said, exhaling deeply. ‘Only I can’t find it.’
A tap on the window made her jump and she looked outside. That Horatio person stood holding his horse’s reins and peering in at them. She rolled the window down.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Aren’t you meant to be with the hunt?’
‘Yes, but I’m taking Taittinger home.’
‘Pardon?’ she said, trying to hide her smile.
He looked at her disbelievingly. ‘Am I speaking a foreign language?’
She inclined her head. ‘Not far off.’
‘Tatty,’ he indicated the horse, ‘needs to go home.’
‘Right.’
‘It looks like you’re lost. Maybe I can help?’
‘We’ve just moved here.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I haven’t been here in over ten years and can’t remember where the house is. I inherited it from my aunt.’
‘What’s the name of the house?’
‘Primrose Cottage.’
His look changed to what she could only read as: pity? ‘Oh.’ He tried to recover and smiled. ‘Yes, everyone’s been wondering who was moving in there.’
‘Well, where is it?’ She fought off the rising irritation at this man’s ability to make her feel so ridiculous. He seemed so supercilious considering she had only just met him; but, she knew, it was also because she hated to ask for help.
He pointed towards a narrow lane leading up towards a small cottage on the hilltop. ‘There.’
‘Brilliant, thank you.’ As she put the car in gear, he leant in.
‘Look, I wonder if we might have a chat sometime soon.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps a coffee tomorrow? I…’ He stopped, as if grasping for words.
Was he coming on to her?
‘Yes, maybe.’ Her mind raced with excuses. ‘If I’m not planting…’ She tried desperately to think of something country-esque and settled on vegetables. After all, she knew it wouldn’t be far off the truth: how hard could it be to grow vegetables? She would be the embodiment of The Good Life. ‘Potatoes,’ she announced triumphantly.
He smiled knowingly. ‘Ah, that old chestnut, planting potatoes.’
She nodded firmly and started to move off, leaving Horatio with his horse and a strange look of amusement on his face. The lane leading to the house was steep and rough.
‘Right, let’s go and see our new home.’ She drove along the bumpy lane to the house, about a quarter of a mile from the bridge, and at the top she stopped, her heart sinking. The downstairs windows were covered in ivy and the garden entirely overgrown with weeds. She could have cried if it weren’t for the sight of Horatio and Taittinger walking up the hill in her rear-view mirror.
‘Oh, why can’t he get lost?’ Horatio’s pity must have stemmed from his knowledge that the house was in need of that man off the daytime-telly home-improvement programme. Anna vaguely remembered a female presenter prancing manically from one room of tea-slurping builders, showing their bum cleavage, to another. All before said frilly presenter, along with the poor owners, who had never actually asked for a magenta-coloured kitchen, and the builders toasted their heroism and cried at their brilliance. The owners were then forced to smile at the camera and pretend they had always wanted a hot-pink kitchen with a life-size mural of their dead hamster on the main wall.
Anna felt humiliated. Turning to Freddie and Antonia, she put on a brave face. ‘How are you guys doing?’
‘I’m hungry,’ they chimed in unison and a lump rose in her throat. What had she been thinking? At least, in London, she had been able to provide the most basic of care for them: warmth and food. Now, she searched the derelict cottage for any signs of homeliness. It was a shell.
‘Me again,’ Horatio announced, out of puff, as he and Taittinger sidled up to the car and she put the window down once more.
‘I can see that. If you’ve come to gloat, please don’t.’ Her eyes smarted.
‘I didn’t think you’d be pleased.’
She bit back her comment and leapt out of the car, indignation flaring inside her. ‘But we’ll be just fine. So, Mr Horatio Spencer-what’s-it, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me and my children alone, instead of standing their looking on like we’re some sort of entertainment, then that would be most jolly.’ Jolly? Why did she use the word ‘jolly’? Help. Horatio was already rubbing off on her.
‘Jolly,’ repeated Freddie from the back.
Horatio was staring at her intently; maybe too intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare.
‘Listen, about that chat…’ She stared at him incredulously as once again he floundered. Who was this man? ‘I know what it feels like to be suddenly alone.’
‘I am not suddenly alone,’ she said, defensive. ‘I’ve been alone for years.’ Then she smiled, despite herself.
He grinned.
Her heart fluttered at his incredibly sexy smile but she pushed her shoulders back, more determined than ever. She was an independent woman, she said to herself, although she wasn’t entirely convinced at this point in time.
‘Thank you, I really appreciate your help,’ she said with sincerity. She knew she shouldn’t be so stubborn. Her mother’s voice rang around her head: ‘Anna, you are a mule, girl, a mule.’
Despite this, and ignoring the gnawing maternal guilt eating away at her stomach as she glanced in the rear-view mirror at her children giggling at Freddie’s burping-on-demand, she said, ‘We’ll be just fine.’
He plucked a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and a gilt-edged card from another pocket. Horatio suddenly looked like an ad for some ridiculous shop on Bond Street where the rich bought diamond-encrusted hip flasks because they could. Writing quickly, he passed her the card and tilted his riding hat with his forefinger, bidding her farewell. ‘Goodbye… Oh, I never got your name.’
‘Anna,’ she said frostily.
‘Anna. Like Anna Karenina.’ He laughed. ‘Same fighting spirit.’
‘Anna Compton.’
Anna hated coming across as the damsel in distress, but she was beginning to wonder if she had taken on too much. The cottage did not in any way match up to the idyll she had concocted in her head. She shook away her doubts. No, her aunt had left it to her and it was meant to be. She would make the most of it.
She refocused on Horatio who, she noticed, looked vaguely amused.
‘Right, well, Anna Compton. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.’ He clucked at the horse and Taittinger obligingly followed his owner down the hill.
‘Like Anna Compton,’ she muttered. ‘Idiot and hopeless mother.’ A tear made its way down her cheek and she brushed it away. She had to be strong or, at least, find the nearest shop and buy food for the kids and Sauvignon Blanc for herself. It was the only way. She looked at her children in the back and they smiled. She wondered if it was possible to love two little people any more than she did in that moment.
‘OK, it’s all going to be OK.’ She smiled unconvincingly.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Antonia.
‘Me too,’ said Freddie.
‘Me three,’ Anna joined in. ‘OK, let’s go and see our home.’
Anna helped them out of the car and held their hands, one child either side of her, as they approached the cottage. She let go of Freddie’s hand as she retrieved the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. As she pushed open the squeaky door, she was hit by a musty smell and dust danced in the air at the disturbance. The three of them stared wide-eyed at the sitting room. All the furniture was in place, as if Aunt Florence had just upped and left. Anna was flooded with memories of childhood summers spent here long ago and she remembered how magical Primrose Cottage had appeared then. She had always thought she and Aunt Flo were kindred spirits and knew it was through utter generosity that she had been left the small cottage and half acre of land. Why oh why, then, was she unable to get rid of the niggling doubt in the pit of her stomach? A little voice in her head was telling her she couldn’t do this; that the whole notion of idyllic country living had been barmy and out of her reach. She was washed afresh with guilt as she glanced down at her suddenly innocent and angelic-looking children: what sort of awful mother drags their children away from the safety of their – albeit incredibly poky and mold-ridden – flat, in a beaten-up Nissan Micra, with barely more than a handful of crushed, ready-salted Hula Hoops at the bottom of her tote bag? Anna Compton, that was who.
Taking Freddie’s hand again, she led them carefully through to the kitchen. She caught sight of the cream Aga and the quarry-tile floor, now thick with dust, the shelves covered in cobwebs, feeling hope for the first time that day. Maybe they would be OK after all. It just needed a good spring-clean and the help of a handyman. She would make it cosy…
An almighty crash came from outside and she let go of Freddie and Antonia, told them to stay put and ran to the open front door. Her car had rolled forward into an old chicken hut. She hadn’t put the sodding handbrake on, she thought, all because that stupid man had put her off.
She felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down. Freddie gazed up at her, looked outside, and smiled. ‘Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’
She pulled them towards her and nodded, sniffling. ‘Yep, Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’
Anna realised then that she was still holding the card the Horatio person had given her. She read the address. It wasn’t so much an address. Well, not the kind that required a postcode. It read: Ridley Manor.
The Chicken Hut (#ulink_1639e6b9-58a4-57ec-9a3c-d90fda7fa4cc)
Half an hour later, Anna was still staring helplessly at her car.
‘Mummy, the car is hurt,’ Antonia chimed in for the billionth time.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said, pushing down the lump in her throat. ‘Right, Mummy’s going to back the car out of the chicken house.’ She wondered momentarily if those words had ever been uttered before, and then bent down to the twins. ‘Listen, you two, Mummy has made a big mistake. I’m going to make a call to Diane and see if we can have a sleepover at hers tonight.’
‘Whoo,’ Freddie said, beaming. ‘Love sleepovers at Auntie Dee-Dee’s.’
Diane, Anna’s best friend, lived in an even grottier flat than her own in Hammersmith, but she did have three bedrooms. Anna grabbed her mobile from her back pocket and started to make the call. It beeped twice at her and she swore under her breath.
‘How can there be no signal? We’re on the top of a bloody mountain.’
‘Mummy.’
Anna glanced at Antonia. ‘Sorry.’
‘OK, um, you two…’ She turned and looked around the front room. ‘You two can watch CBeebies. OK? Mummy needs to sort a few things out.’ She was grateful she had downloaded various programmes last week onto her phone.
Anna instructed them to sit at the base of the stairs and to keep their coats on until she had managed to warm the house up. She flicked the light switch by the front door but nothing happened. Her face crumpled and she willed herself to be strong, trying to ignore the nostalgic yearning she suddenly felt for London.
The sound of laughter outside snapped her back to reality and, with the twins grinning happily at the sound of Postman Pat prancing around the screen, she headed outside.
Horatio stood by the chicken shed, a plastic bag in his hand, shining a torch at her car, wedged thickly in the chicken hut.
‘Hi,’ Anna said. ‘Something funny?’ She arched a brow.
His grin disappeared, but even in the dim light she could see his shoulders gently shaking. ‘I got Mary, my um… Anyway, I got her to cook you some…’ He stopped talking, offering her the bag. When she didn’t immediately take it, he ploughed on. ‘To put some food together for you. Should still be hot.’
Anna was torn between unadulterated happiness at the thought of food (she could at least ensure her children wouldn’t starve tonight and wished there was a bottle of wine in there too), and her pride.
She went with the latter. ‘We’ll head out to a shop in a minute or two. I just need to do a couple of things…’ Anna attempted her best haughty look, aiming for something reminiscent of Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice.
‘Like remove your car from the chicken hut?’ he suggested. She scowled. ‘Well, you have to admit it’s quite funny that I’ve only been gone for an hour and, in that time, you’ve managed to demolish a chicken hut and, by the looks of it, the front end of your car has seen better days.’
‘Please go away, Mr…’ She stopped, tried to remember which of his names had been his surname. ‘We’ll be leaving in the morning, so I thank you for your, um, help today but we won’t be needing your services any more.’ She realised now she had taken the Austen-scripting too far and was grateful it was now almost entirely dark and he couldn’t see her blush. It was funny, the whole situation was hilarious, and if she had been back in London, in the warmth, with fed, happy children, she would have laughed uproariously. Only she wasn’t. Right now, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, because what kind of woman managed to send a car through the back end of a chicken hut.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘take the food. Stop being so proud. At least, make sure your children have something to eat tonight. Nothing’s open around here now. The nearest Waitrose is forty minutes away in Cirencester and it’ll be shut now.’ He pushed the food in her direction again. ‘I’ll see if I can get your car out of here.’
‘I’m sure I can do it.’
‘I’m sure you can, but why don’t you go and get the children fed?’
As if on cue, she heard their voices inside. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’
She remembered the lights. Oh crumbs, they were sitting in the dark. ‘The lights, they don’t work.’
‘Are you sure?’ Horatio asked.
Clenching her fists, she thought she was pretty sure she could send something else through the chicken hut, in the form of a grown man. ‘No, I’m not sure, as we didn’t have electricity in London. I’m a dab hand with candles, though.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I’m sure, I tried the light switch.’
‘OK, come on then,’ he said, pointedly ignoring her comment and shining the torch towards the house as he walked up the path. ‘Mind how you step.’
‘Hello, you two,’ he said to the twins standing at the front door.
‘Mummy, I hate the dark,’ Antonia said.
‘Me too,’ Freddie said. ‘I hate, hate the dark.’
‘Since when have you hated the dark, Freddie?’ Anna said, thinking back to the number of times she had asked Freddie not to turn all the lights out in the flat, despite his protests that ninjas worked best at night.
‘Now. Cos you brung us to here.’
Anna went to correct his grammar but, aware of Horatio standing feet from them, fumbling around at the back of the room, she told Freddie he should view it as an adventure, and he jumped up, ninja-like, on cue. Seconds later, the front room was flooded with light.
‘There you are,’ Horatio said, standing from a kneeling position by the cupboard. ‘Electricity was off.’
‘Oh.’ Anna avoided his eye. ‘Thanks.’
He smiled. ‘Have you got plates? If not, Mary put some plastic picnic plates and so on in there.’
‘Thank you,’ she said again, imagining Mary’s perfectly manicured hands daintily holding a glass of sherry as she asked him to pop round to ‘the poor’ with yesterday’s leftovers.
‘You serve up and I’ll get the car out.’ He nodded, breaking the awkward tension that had descended on the room.
She knew she should say more but she was tired and…
And… Antonia had just head-butted her brother for apparently no reason at all.
‘OK, you two, stop. I know you’re exhausted. Come and sit in the other room. I’ll get the heating on.’ She had spotted the boiler earlier and offered a silent prayer to the Plumbing Gods that it was working. The children followed her through to the kitchen and she pressed the ON button. The boiler clinked and clanked loudly and Freddie laughed happily.
‘Farty-farty noise,’ he said, and Antonia, forgetting the latest battle, started giggling.
The old pipes creaked into action and Anna sighed with relief. She set the children up at the dusty farmhouse table and opened Horatio’s offering. Three Tupperware containers held a delicious-smelling beef stew and smooth potato mash, and there was a Nigella-Lawson-Standard (a place Anna hoped to occupy one day) apple crumble for afters. She beamed when she saw the bottle of wine.
Anna retrieved the plastic plates and spooned the food out. Freddie’s cheeks glowed pink as he ate and Antonia smacked her lips with delight. The kitchen had started to warm and she thought they might survive the night after all. They had bedding in the car and she would set the twins up on Aunt Flo’s old bed. She took out the bottle of Merlot and twisted the cap off, pouring generously into a plastic wine glass. She noticed that there were, in fact, two wine glasses. She couldn’t imagine why Horatio’s wife would encourage him to take a strange woman wine and then help her drink it. Then again, anyone who owned a horse called Taittinger and was married to someone as supercilious as Horatio must have had some sort of crisis.
Anna knew she was being unfair, but she was tired, cold and fed up. She hated looking desperate, even though she hadn’t felt this out of her depth in a long time.
‘OK?’ she asked the twins.
They nodded, mouths full of food. Anna turned at the sound of Horatio clearing his throat.
‘Car’s out. Left-hand side has taken a bit of a beating but otherwise it’s in good working order.’
‘It can join the other dents,’ she said and, another glug of wine later, smiled. It wasn’t his fault he spoke the way he did or that she had made the huge mistake of even coming to the countryside. ‘Thank you and please thank your wife for the food. It’s the happiest I’ve seen them all day.’ She nodded towards the children.
‘My pleasure but…’
‘Mummy, Freddie ate my food.’
Anna turned her attention to her son. ‘Don’t eat your sister’s food.’
‘I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to get in the way,’ Horatio said, moving towards the door. ‘Let me know if you need anything, like I said before.’
‘Thanks, but we won’t be staying.’ She followed him to the front door, carrying her glass and the bottle. ‘It was silly of me to think we could make a go of this. I blindly brought my two young children to the middle of nowhere.’ She frowned. ‘I may not be a perfect mother but it doesn’t seem fair on them.’
Horatio nodded. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He looked at her in earnest. He paused briefly and said, ‘I thought a lot of your aunt.’ He looked regretful. ‘But maybe you’re right, maybe it’s for the best.’
Anna ignored his last comment. ‘You knew her?’ She supposed he would have, but she hadn’t really thought about it.
‘Very well.’ He smiled. ‘She would often come up to the house.’ He gave a small shake of his head. ‘My parents’ house,’ he corrected himself. ‘And she would chat with me. She talked of you often.’
‘She did?’ Anna felt a pang of sadness.
‘Yes, she was very proud of you.’ He looked as if he wanted to say more but stopped himself. ‘I know it’s none of my business but the house is on its last legs.’ He looked around him. ‘Maybe you could rent locally instead?’
‘I can’t. It’s either this or nothing. My aunt left me this house, otherwise I’d be stuck back in London in my poky flat.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you have children?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, then you’ll know how hard it can be at times, but the difference is you can talk to your wife about it. But try imagining what it would be like doing this kind of thing by yourself with no one to voice your concerns to.’
‘Like what?’ he said. ‘It looks like you’re coping just fine.’
‘Like, um…’ Her head had started to grow fuzzy with the wine and she found herself flicking through the parental-disaster book she stored at the back of her mind. ‘So, um…’ She drank deeply again. ‘Like sending your little boy to school with his lunchbox, only to get a call from his school about its contents.’
‘Contents?’
‘His teacher wanted to know why I had sent him to school with a Nicorette patch, a Weight Watchers milkshake and the last of the Christmas liqueur chocolates.’ He laughed and she pouted. ‘All of that, in a sodding Thomas the Tank Engine lunchbox. I mean, there’s probably some government health warning about mothers like me.’
‘I bet yours was nice, though.’
‘What?’
‘Your lunch.’
‘Yeah, I got the corned beef sandwich and Penguin, but that’s not the point. So you’ve got to understand, Mr Spencer…’ She had downed the remainder of the glass of wine and it was giving her that joyous feeling of confidence and control. She refilled it quickly, slurped some more and continued. ‘I think I was really selfish coming here. Maybe I didn’t really think about what I was taking them away from. I mean, we had a pretty poky flat in London but it was still home, you know? They were just about to start at a local school… but it was a crap one. That was when I knew we had to move, when the children didn’t get into their first choice and Simon, that’s my ex, started giving me a hard time and…’ Her eyes smarted with tears. ‘You see? It’s not fair. And then you – yeah, you – come along all hoity-toity on top of a horse called Taittinger. I mean, seriously? And then you stand there and laugh at my predicament.’ She drank deeply again. ‘I mean, you can’t just stand there and laugh at a woman’s predicament. Well, you can, but it’s not on.’ Oh bugger, she was bulldozing. That’s what her mother called it. In other words, she had lost the ability to stop talking.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ he said kindly, appearing to have lost his la-dee-dah extra bits like the ‘yahs’ and the ‘jolly-whatsits’. ‘And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was kind of hoping you’d start laughing too.’ When she didn’t answer, he asked gently, ‘Do you work?’
She found his kindness touching and yet she didn’t want to break down in front of a total stranger.
‘I’m a journalist.’
‘Wow.’ His eyes widened with what would appear to be genuine admiration. ‘Are you going to work for someone locally?’
‘No, I’m freelancing for The Post.’ Anna laughed. ‘A London newspaper. My boss, Barry, wants to get the lowdown on moving to the countryside.’
Horatio smiled. ‘That sounds like you might have to stick it out then, but…’ He paused. ‘Maybe not here.’
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I think we should leave the village altogether. If it’s not here, I have to go. I can’t afford to rent around here.’
‘I haven’t known you for more than five minutes, but I’d quite like to get to know you, if you did stay in the area.’
‘Anyone would think you’re determined we’re not going to stay in this cottage!’
He looked embarrassed and concentrated his gaze on the floor. ‘No, it’s just that…’
She smiled. ‘Listen, you’re probably right, I should head back to London.’
She gave him a small smile and glanced up at him through a blur of tears and, fearing she might cry, looked away again. ‘Listen, thank you for today.’ She paused. ‘We’d better get an early night. Head back tomorrow. Stay with my friend.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘My friend Diane’s.’
Anna pushed the minor detail of her friend not even knowing of her plan to the back of her mind. Diane would never turn them away.
‘Where does she live?’
‘London.’
He nodded slowly.
‘I made a mistake coming here.’
A shadow appeared to pass across his features. ‘Anna, I don’t know how to tell you this… What I’ve been trying to say, but badly is…’
She furrowed her brows, interrupting him. ‘Why do you look so serious?’
‘When your aunt died, this house actually rightfully became part of my family’s property again.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Or, at least, that’s the message I was given by my mother. I’m looking into it, but, to be honest, it’s news to me too.’
She stood, unmoving, her mouth slightly gaping. Eventually she spoke. ‘No, I’m afraid there’s a mistake. My aunt owned it through and through.’
‘I’m afraid that, for whatever reason, my father gave your aunt this cottage, but it was with the proviso that we retained ownership of it.’
She gritted her teeth, her heart hammering. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Horatio, but you’re wrong and you’re going to have to leave.’ She stared at him defiantly, her tongue moving fast around her mouth. ‘NOW.’
He nodded and shifted, turning on his heels. ‘Look, I will talk to my mother again. I don’t agree with it, I just want you to know that.’
Anna shook with anger. ‘Get out.’
He nodded, looked at the doormat. ‘You know there’s a letter there for you.’
Anna followed his gaze to the mound of catalogues and unopened mail to her aunt. Sure enough, there was a letter addressed to her. Anna put the glass and bottle unsteadily on the floor and picked it up, frowning.
‘It’s my aunt’s writing,’ she murmured.
Anna ran her forefinger along the breadth of the envelope and pulled out a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket, a letter on cream Manila paper and a notebook. She read quickly, mindlessly caressing the locket.
‘All OK?’ Horatio said eventually.
She looked up, confused. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Are you sure?’ Horatio furrowed his brows. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale.’
‘Yes, please go,’ she said firmly and moved towards the door, opening it.
‘OK.’ He stood on the doorstep, his face twisting with regret and hurt.
‘It’s just a shock to receive something from my aunt.’ Anna indicated the bundle and the chain. The locket twirled in the glow of the naked bulb.
A throaty rumble built in his throat. ‘Anna,’ he started and, catching her look, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, never mind.’ He gave her a small, hopeful smile. ‘I’ll talk to mother. See what I can do.’
She shut the door and leant against the rough wood. Opening the letter once more, she mumbled aloud her aunt’s short note to her.
‘Dearest Anna, I’m sending this from the hospital. I didn’t tell you about the cancer because I didn’t want to concern you. Please don’t be cross. I’m an old lady who’s had a good innings. It’s time for me to go. By now, you will have arrived at Primrose Cottage. She’s yours. You’re probably thinking of leaving already (I know how much like me you are and don’t take this as a criticism), only I’m asking that you give her a chance. I didn’t have the energy to do much over the last couple of years. She is magical and the children and you will be very happy there.’
Anna paused, biting down on her lips as warm, salty tears coursed down her cheeks. She berated herself for her own selfishness. She should have been there for her.
‘Please stay, do her up with the small amount of money I’ve left you and be happy. In return, I ask you to do me one favour. I’ve been keeping this diary for many years, ever since I moved to Primrose Cottage. I’d like you to read it. I wanted to tell you my story but I was too afraid you would judge me for what I did. The Spencervilles at Ridley Manor will no doubt introduce themselves to you. Just tread carefully. It gives me comfort to think someone will know my secret and, hopefully, forgive me.’
Freddie appeared at her side and hugged her leg. Anna smoothed his soft hair with her hand and read the final part of the letter to herself.
‘Anna, I’m so proud of you. Please wear the necklace (my mother’s) and find your own happiness. You will, I know it. Love, Flo.’
Antonia arrived at her other side and put her small arms around Anna’s waist. ‘I love you two, you know that?’
They nodded and yawned.
‘Right, bedtime.’
‘Not go Dee-Dee?’ Freddie asked, his eyes wide with tiredness.
‘Not tonight. I’m going to get the bedding out of the car and then you’ll sleep upstairs, OK?’
By the time Anna had managed to retrieve the black bags filled with duvets and pillows from the car, Freddie and Antonia were asleep on the sofa. She draped a duvet over them and looked adoringly at her children. They looked like angels. She glanced at the letter, then back at her children, before softly climbing the stairs to see if she could get any reception at the top of the cottage. It was time to ring Diane.
Dee-Dee and the Longest SleepoverKnown to Man (#ulink_260c2cc6-4c85-5e34-a944-a220fa5a9d39)
The conversation with Diane did not go according to plan: somehow (and Anna blamed the one bar of signal and not the fact she had polished off most of the Merlot).
‘Hi, Dee-Dee, me ol’chumster can youzhearmez?’ Diane made some sort of sound at the end of the phone and Anna ploughed on regardless. ‘So, herezthing, thcottageisrubbish.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Wathwonderinifcouldstaywivyou? ThereizamancalledHorathio and he sayth house not mine.’
‘What do you mean? Your aunt left it to you.’
Anna hiccupped. ‘Yesth, I know. But he says not mine so maybe best I come back London.’
Diane sighed. ‘You’re giving up that easily? You were given it in probate so it’s yours.’ She paused. ‘Why don’t I come and stay with you, darling?’
Anna shook her fuggy head. Conversation was not going to plan. ‘No, Dee. Thingisitzhorridhere.’
‘Bet it’s not that bad.’
‘Really, itizth.’
‘Darling, I’ve been thinking I should stay with you until you get on your feet. She paused. ‘I mean, also I spoke to Barry yesterday. He said he could do with a freelance photographer for your column, so, Anna, is it OK if I come and stay?’
‘Yesth?’ Anna fell forward, her head hitting her knees.
‘Great!’
‘Whatzth?’ Alarm rang around Anna’s head. She realised she wasn’t thinking straight.
The line had gone dead and Anna lurched the other way, falling onto the mattress, the low-beamed ceiling shifting unnervingly above her. She thought about the direction her life was taking and nearly vomited.
She did, however, feel a renewed sense of ownership of the cottage. How dare a man, a stranger, tell her his family owned it and that he would effectively be making her homeless? Her aunt would have been mortified and her letter specifically asked that she stay there. She wouldn’t go away that easily.
Anna nodded resolutely and then thought about Diane…
She couldn’t seriously contemplate having mad London girl Diane staying with her when she was… She stopped. Tried to clarify what she was drunkenly saying to herself. OK, bluntly, it went a little bit like this: she could not have Diane come to stay when she was hoping to find some fit earl, lord, farmer (or similar). Was that what she wanted? Or was that the wine talking? She knew she needed to make friends. She knew already that Diane might be a bit much for the country lot, but then, Anna thought, chuckling to herself, maybe Trumpsey Blazey needed a bit of livening up.
Of the dates she had been on in London, very few had moved beyond the solidarity of trying to find a taxi together and then, being so drunk, realising it was probably best, or safer, to just smile goofily and go their separate ways. But even Anna Compton had managed two dates where things had moved at a more normal rate and they had stumbled into a taxi together. However, the first time, she had found there was nothing more sobering than a German babysitter (her name actually was Heidi) standing at the front door, tapping her foot and looking at the both of them like they were five. The second time, when looking for a babysitter, she had opted for a dear friend called Alfie, who’d said he would do her this favour in the name of getting her out of her onesie and into something ‘vaguely more sexy, darling’. What she hadn’t banked on was bringing her date home to find Alfie watching a male-only version of Baywatch produced in Bulgaria.
She squeezed her eyes shut and immediately regretted it. It was one thing being single with two children and getting drunk with a mate. But being single and getting drunk ALONE; that filled her with self-loathing. It hit her then: Diane should come and live with them, if for no other reason than it would be nice to have someone to help her with the twins, help them get settled.
Anna dragged herself off her bed and tiptoed halfway down the stairs to check on the twins. She could hear their gentle snoring and watched Freddie’s face looking suddenly so cherub-like. It was moments like this that made her more determined than ever to make life better for her children.
Yes, she thought, nodding to herself, filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Their new life was going to start tomorrow.
*
Diane arrived bright and early. Too early.
Anna had just about managed to get the children bathed, after which they had eaten the rest of the beef stew (Anna made a mental note that she might actually have to visit a supermarket today). They were now playing happily outside and she walked to the front door and watched them. The scene was something out of a fairy tale. Until she looked closer. Freddie had his sister’s hand and was whizzing her round and round to the tune of ‘Mummy is sick, Mummy is green, Mummy looks like a seasick bean’.
A car older and crankier than her own was chugging its way up the hill and she recognised it in a heartbeat. Diane parked her Citroen Saxo next to the Nissan and clambered out of the car, throwing her arms wide.
‘My darlings,’ she announced, ‘I am here.’
Freddie whooped at the sight of his favourite surrogate auntie and released his sister’s hand mid-spin, causing Antonia to break away and spiral like a spinning top to the ground. Her lower lip started to quiver but, on seeing Diane, she got up directly and ran over with Freddie.
Diane walked up the path, her eyes darting over the cottage, and took Anna in a firm embrace. Freddie and Antonia put their arms around Diane and they stood like that until Diane pulled away and broke the spell.
‘You look awful,’ Diane commented jovially.
‘Thanks,’ Anna said.
‘Mummy is sick, Mummy is green, Mummy looks like a seasick bean,’ Freddie started up again.
‘OK, you two,’ Anna said, wishing they would quiet down an iota: her head was about ready to explode. ‘We’re heading off to Waitrose soon, OK, so don’t get too mucky. Dee-Dee and I are going to have a quick cup of coffee.’
Diane gave herself a whistle-stop tour of the house and, when she returned to the kitchen, smiled. ‘Not quite The Good Life.’
‘I did try and tell you on the phone last night.’
‘Yeah, but it’s got a charm about it.’ She laughed. ‘The outside looks a bit like the end of the world has come.’ She paused. ‘But I like it.’
‘So, you want to stay?’ Anna poured the coffee out.
‘Oh, yes.’ She barked a laugh out. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve still got my flat in London in case I piss you off or cramp your sex life.’
Anna giggled. ‘Please. Don’t make me laugh.’ She clutched her stomach. ‘Drank a bottle of Merlot to myself.’
‘You’ve got a hangover on that? Lightweight.’ Diane wafted her hand dismissively. ‘That’s what I’m here for. To help you with this place and to have fun and… Girlfriend?’ She adopted her slightly strange Bronx meets Welsh accent. ‘Girlfriend, we are gonna have ourselves some fun.’
‘And look after the children.’
‘Yeah, course.’ Diane slurped at her coffee. ‘I mean, I decided to forego my feminism while I’m here.’
‘Can you do that?’ Anna hid behind her mug, stifling a smile.
‘What?’
‘Just stop being a feminist and then pick it up again? Not sure it’s exactly in line with The Female Eunuch and all that.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Diane appraised her friend. ‘But who could resist a good shag?’
Anna clinked her mug against Diane’s. ‘Hear, hear!’
A knock at the door startled them both. Anna went to see who it was.
‘Hi.’ A man with sandy-coloured hair and the brightest blue eyes Anna had ever seen stood on the doorstep, smiling broadly at her. ‘I wanted to say hello.’ He handed her half a dozen eggs and a zip-locked bag of bacon. ‘And welcome.’
‘Wow, thanks.’ She took them from him and wondered if it was possible to never go to a supermarket again and live off the land for ever more. OK, not the land, but everyone else in the village. ‘That’s really kind.’
‘I’m Richard.’
Anna held out her free hand. ‘Anna.’
His grasp was warm and strong, his hands slightly calloused, and then, as if reading her thoughts, he announced, ‘I own the farm you drove past on your way in. Briars Farm?’
Anna nodded. ‘Yes, I think I saw it.’
Anna flushed under his intense stare and turned her attention to the children, who had come to spy on the stranger. ‘Say hello to Richard. Look, he’s brought us breakfast. Isn’t that kind of him?’
Richard turned to the twins, who nodded shyly. ‘Do you guys want to come and see around the farm some time?’
‘Yeah!’ Freddie loved farms. ‘Can I drive a tractor?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Richard looked at Anna. ‘Come?’ She nodded. ‘Soon?’ He turned on his heels and walked off. ‘Enjoy your breakfast!’
Anna started to walk back towards the kitchen but spied Diane peeping out of the front window.
Diane grinned. ‘Ding-dong! Now that’s what I’m talking about.’
Anna smiled. ‘He was quite good-looking, wasn’t he?’
Diane rushed up to her and held her hand to Anna’s forehead. ‘Quite good-looking? Quite good-looking? The man’s the finest specimen I have seen for a long time.’ She nodded. ‘A really long time.’ She looked at Anna. ‘Do you think “breakfast” is a euphemism in these parts? Like, I’ll give you eggs and bacon, if you butter my bread.’ She puckered her lips. ‘Delicious.’
‘You are incorrigible,’ Anna said, picking up a cushion off the sofa and throwing it at her.
With Diane’s bags offloaded into the sitting room and breakfast eaten, they headed out in search of a supermarket.
‘I’ll buy the food, darling. It’s the least I can do,’ said Diane.
‘No, no, you’re on leave,’ Anna said matter-of-factly. ‘In fact, how did you manage to wangle time away from work at the magazines? And didn’t Tracey want you to do the make-up on the set of that new Brit film?’
Diane worked as a freelance photographer and make-up artist – often combining the two – and she was good, very good. They’d first met through Barry, who clearly had some sort of crush on her.
‘Anna, I’d like to introduce you to the next Annie Leibovitz.’ He grinned broadly. ‘She just did a shoot with the one and only…’
Anna had watched them both steadily, waiting.
‘Alice Cooper!’ Diane had eventually announced proudly. ‘And I did his make-up.’
‘But he’s a man,’ Anna commented drily.
‘Yeah, so?’ Her grin faded and she arched an overplucked brow. ‘You want me to do your make-up?’
Barry rested his pudgy hand on Diane’s shoulder. ‘That’s my girl.’
Barry had given them their next job and, as they discussed how best to work London Fashion Week, Diane set about working her magic on Anna’s face. She hadn’t the heart to tell Diane she wasn’t sure the orange lipstick and glitter lashes really suited her, but she had found a soulmate. They went out and danced all night, drank cheap shots, and Anna quickly forgot she looked like a clown as they downed another round of Flaming Sambucas.
Anna glanced at her friend and thought she saw a look of worry cross her pretty features; but then, as quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared and Diane smiled at her. It was good to have her here, Anna thought. Diane looked in the small cosmetic mirror and reapplied her bright-pink lipstick with a steady hand as Anna drove. Smacking her lips, Diane turned in her seat and handed Antonia her lipstick. ‘You want some?’
‘No!’ Anna said, fearing this might be the first step in her daughter losing her childhood. She watched in horror as Antonia pushed the waxy lipstick against her mouth and drew a long line across her cheek, her forehead and back down to her mouth. Freddie laughed and grabbed the lipstick off his sister and roughly slathered the lipstick over his lips and nose. ‘Oh bugger.’ Now her son was experimenting with make-up. Joy.
‘Diane,’ she said crossly, ‘they’re five.’ She gave her a sidelong look. ‘Five.’
‘Yeah, well, they need to learn sometime, don’t they?’ She nodded, taking the stub of lipstick off Freddie. ‘They’re both naturals.’
‘Freddie is a boy.’ Anna turned the car into the Waitrose car park. ‘And now I have children who look like a Harley Street doctor has marked them up for cosmetic surgery.’ She pulled into a space and turned off the engine, before swivelling round in order to get a better look. ‘Oh bloody hell.’
‘Oh, buggy hell,’ Antonia said, clearly having decided her mother swearing wasn’t so bad after all. Anna knew it: lipstick had been a catalyst to puberty.
‘You’re going to have stay here with the children,’ she said to Diane. ‘We can’t go around the supermarket looking like… like this.’
Freddie sliced the air like a ninja. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was about as far from inconspicuous as a little-boy ninja could possibly be.
Diane nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll tell the children about the latest celebrity I had to make up.’
‘OK. Good.’ Anna grabbed her bag out of the footwell under Freddie’s feet and got out of the car. ‘Who was it, by the way?’ She stood and bent in. ‘Who was the celebrity?’
‘Only Marilyn Manson!’ Diane said delightedly.
Now having second thoughts, Anna was about to suggest that Diane go round the supermarket alone, when Diane pushed a wad of twenties into her hand.
‘Where did you get this money?’ Anna stared at the two hundred-odd pounds in disbelief. ‘Have you robbed a bank?’
‘Have I robbed a bank?’ Diane threw her head back, laughing. ‘Kids, she thinks Auntie Dee-Dee would rob a bank.’
‘No, seriously, have you?’
‘Darling, if I’d robbed a bank, I’d be halfway to the Canary Islands by now, not kipping at my friend’s ramshackle cottage in Twee-ville.’
‘OK, so where? Have you taken out all your savings?’
‘Nope.’ She smiled. ‘Turns out Alice Cooper loved the bat I painted on his left cheek and the fangs I drew on with the kohl, so he found out my address and thanked me personally… Sent me a cheque emblazoned with a chicken. How cute is that?’
‘Cute,’ Anna said drily.
Diane shrugged. ‘Hence, Manson knocking on my counter, so to speak.’ She flung her arms out. ‘Darlings, turns out I am a big hit among the lords of the heavy metal.’ She grinned conspiratorially at Anna. ‘So, when I got your call last night, I figured I’d follow my bestie to Wiltshire and, if it worked and we ended up living together, I’d set up my own business in a shed or something and cater to the heavy metal stars of the shires.’
Anna suppressed a giggle. ‘What you really mean is you’ve been sent by Barry to take photos of me in the countryside and this was an advance?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, sucking her cheeks in in defeat. Then, a moment later, her energy returned and she said, ‘But Alice was telling me he owns a mansion up the road from you and Manson said he lives in Gloucestershire. I mean, seriously, it’ll be big. And what about Osborne? Isn’t his wife British? And, I mean, I’ll do either sex, so to speak. It’s going to be huge.’ She nodded her head defiantly. ‘Epic, in fact.’
Anna closed the car door and walked off, smiling. Diane, the girl who had never been out of London, was in for a shock, she thought, walking past a dozen Jack Russells tied up at the entrance to Waitrose and joining the throng of tweed and wax jackets. She grabbed a trolley and kept her head down, suddenly feeling very out of place in her scruffy denim jacket and I’M NOT SMALL, JUST FUN SIZE long-sleeve T-shirt. She made a mental note to visit Joules.
She started to fill the trolley with fruit and salad, feeling increasingly virtuous and like Mother Earth, until she reached the cake and sweet aisles, whereupon the thin layer of five-a-days was soon covered in Freddie’s favourite biscuits, Antonia’s Gummy Bears and her cake. Diane loved crisps so she picked up a buy-one-get-one-free multipack (she thought it uneconomical not to) and stocked up on spaghetti hoops and ketchup.
She was so busy debating the merits of Waitrose’s own alphabet spaghetti versus Heinz’s, she didn’t notice him until he was almost on top of her.
‘I’m a sucker for them.’
She turned quickly and found herself face to face with Richard. Blushing, she wondered why he had to find her in this aisle, whereas, in a Hollywood film, she would probably have been demurely selecting caviar or a rabbit’s leg. Not bloody alphabet spaghetti.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Yeah, me too.’ Lame, she thought. ‘What brings you here?’ She looked down and noticed the bacon and eggs in his hand. ‘Come to woo another woman?’
Oh bugger, did she actually say that out loud?
He smiled. ‘My mother wanted them. You had the food out of the farm shop, but mother doesn’t think anything that hasn’t been through a factory and has Waitrose stamped across the top can be hygienic.’
‘Oh.’ She smiled. ‘Well, we’re awfully grateful.’ She pushed her hand through her hair and leant her weight against the store shelf. ‘It was…’ She opened her mouth and tried to reproduce the same vowel sounds as Richard. ‘It was raaaaahlllly good of you.’
He laughed and winked. ‘You’re very welcome. Hope you can come to the farm sooner rather than later.’
She nodded, her smile quickly fading at the sight of Diane and the twins searching the aisle for her, their faces still covered in lipstick. Worse still, Diane had drawn the previously mentioned Alice Cooper fangs on herself. Oh bugger, thought Anna, she needed to hide. She bent her knees, angling her body behind Richard’s.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked, bemused.
As Diane and the twins marched towards her, she dived headfirst into the pulses. ‘Just remembered I need some kidney beans…’
‘Right.’ He crouched down. ‘Shall I get them for you?’ He handed her the tin at the front.
Anna spotted Diane, feet away, out the corner of her eye. ‘I only like the ones from the back. You know, in case they’ve been tampered with.’ She laughed hysterically and he obligingly shrugged and made his way to the back of the shelf. Anna took the opportunity to catch Diane’s eye and shoo her away, but as Diane neared, she ignored her (Anna had forgotten she was as blind as a bat, but, through vanity, refused to wear glasses), and she mistakenly swatted Richard’s face with her hand as he rose to a standing position.
It was too late.
‘God, sorry,’ Anna said to Richard, shooting Diane evils. ‘Are you OK?’ She flicked her hand. ‘Hand twitch.’
‘Mummy…’ Freddie indicated his sister. ‘Toni just wet her pants.’
Anna righted herself. ‘Why?’
‘Auntie Dee-Dee played the drink water till you wet yourself game.’
Diane hadn’t stopped staring at Richard and offered her hand as if she were the lady of a manor. ‘Diane. How lovely to meet you.’
‘Richard. And I love your costume,’ Richard said kindly. ‘In fact, I love all of your costumes.’
‘Oh this…’ Diane was about to lurch into an explanation but Anna cut her short.
‘Yes, they’re practising for Halloween,’ Anna said, a smile plastered on her face.
‘Excellent.’ Richard nodded at her. ‘So, you’re a vampire and you two are…’
‘Peppa Pig,’ Anna said quickly. ‘Only we didn’t have enough pink for their entire faces.’
Diane scowled. ‘I am not…’
Anna stepped firmly on her toe and Diane let out a squeak. ‘I guess we’d better be going. Farm.’ Anna smiled manically. ‘Soon. Definitely.’ She backed off quickly, taking Diane firmly by the arm.
‘Right, wine and then we go,’ she whispered hotly.
‘God,’ Diane said, her fangs moving up and down as she spoke, ‘what’s got into Compton?’ She peered more closely at Anna, who was busying herself with the label on some Pinot Grigio.
‘Do you know this one?’ Anna held up the bottle. ‘Lychees. It’s got lychees in it. We like lychees, don’t we? Or…’ She moved hurriedly along the aisle. ‘Maybe we should just get more Merlot. I mean, why mix the poisons?’
‘God.’ Diane stepped in front of Anna, blocking her view of the wines. ‘You don’t just think he’s hot. You’re smitten with el Ricardo. Compton’s only gone all mushy and girly on me.’
Anna looked at her. ‘Well, you know, he’s nice. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘He is nice.’ Diane nodded and started chanting under her breath. ‘He is niiiiiiice. Capital N. Capital I. Capital C. Capital E. Nice.’
‘Oh, didn’t realise you were literate,’ Anna said, smiling.
‘Did we ruin your moment?’ Diane grabbed a couple of bottles of Sambuca off the shelf. ‘For old times’ sake.’ She held the bottles up.
‘No.’ Anna went to put them back. ‘That’s not my life any more.’ She looked at the twins.
Diane nodded solemnly, putting them back. ‘You’re right,’ she said, picking up a three-litre box of wine. ‘We must at least pretend not to be alcoholics and there is no easier way than with the silent box. No embarrassing clanking of bottles on recycling day. Oh yes, my friend.’ She held the box up as if in an ad. ‘You too, ladies and gentlemen, can fool your neighbours into thinking you’re a saint.’
Anna burst out laughing. ‘Come on, you. The children need feeding and we need an early night because tomorrow we start on the house.’
‘Meaning?’
She hooked arms with Diane. ‘Meaning mops, dusters and toilet cleaner.’
Diane pulled a face. ‘Top bags dusting.’
Freddie came running back over from the next aisle with a bottle of Captain Morgan in his hands. ‘Mummy, look.’ He put it in the trolley. ‘It’s what pirates drink.’
Diane headed for the checkout. ‘God, I love your kids.’
Rural Speed Dating (#ulink_2e273d31-7c5d-5edb-8c40-4715e6f2056c)
A couple of hours, later Diane had unpacked her bags; in other words, she had taken them upstairs and laid her make-up out on the bathroom shelf. Anna had finally got around to setting the twins up in the bedroom at the top of the cottage. Its sloping ceilings were going to be the death of Anna but Freddie and Antonia could bounce around totally unaware. She had made the beds and placed Freddie’s blue quilt with the ship over his bed to the left. He had chosen the bed nearest the window because, as he was a ninja, he would be ready to protect Antonia. On Antonia’s bed, Anna had spread the pink quilt with the pony. It looked warm and cosy with the nightlight she had brought with them.
Diane was upstairs telling them a bedtime story after their bath and Anna was cleaning up the remains of supper. She had made spag bol, or something vaguely resembling a spag bol, and the children had eaten half an orange each without complaint. Anna hadn’t fed them any greens or fruit since they arrived and was convinced the early stages of scurvy were setting in. She could hear the children’s laughter from the top of the house and hoped Diane wasn’t getting them overexcited so that they wouldn’t sleep at all. Anna listened at the bottom of the stairs and heard Diane shout, ‘Then he only went and bit off a live chicken’s head.’
Oh bum.
Her phone started to buzz in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts, and her heart lifted at the fact that someone from the ‘outside’ was trying to contact her; perhaps they weren’t so remote after all. She looked at the screen. Barry.
Oh bum, again.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Barry.’ His voice filled the phone. ‘How was the move?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘Is Diane there?’
‘Yes.’ Anna rolled her eyes. ‘She’s here.’
He giggled excitedly. ‘Great, great.’ He breathed heavily. ‘Now, thing is, Compton, I need your column to start in this weekend’s paper.’
‘Barry, I’ve only just arrived.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘And what have you got so far?’
‘Barry…’ She was sterner now. ‘I’ve only just arrived at a house that needs a serious dose of TLC, I’m trying to settle the twins and, other than meeting a couple of locals and receiving a letter from my aunt, nothing’s happened.’
‘Well, thing is, I really need this.’ He suddenly sounded desperate. ‘The Post is going under unless I can come up with something that makes us stand out.’ He paused. ‘Now, I’m not saying your move to the country is going to chime with all our readers, but if you were prepared to give it a bit of welly…’ He stopped, barking out a laugh. ‘Welly? Get it?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said, through gritted teeth.
‘Well, basically, I’m sure Diane has told you she’s lost her job with the magazines and that she’s having to give up her rented flat in London?’
Anna took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Yes, of course she has,’ she lied, glancing up the stairs.
‘Right, well, we all need each other right now.’ He stopped, drew breath. ‘I’m out of a job if I don’t make this newspaper sing and you two clearly need the money. Can we do this?’
Anna heard Diane stirring on the stairs. ‘Barry, let me call you back in the morning, OK?’
A couple of minutes later, Diane trooped down the stairs. ‘I love your children. They’re like the perfect audience.’
Anna handed her a glass of wine and headed over to the sofa. ‘Look what I found on the mat.’
They sat, side by side, on the sofa, legs tucked underneath them.
‘What is it?’ Diane flipped the small orange pamphlet over and over in her hand. ‘It’s just some local business advertiser.’
‘Yes, but look on the first page.’
Diane opened it and read: SPEED DATING AT THE ROSE AND CROWN. She broke into a grin. ‘Are you kidding me?’
Anna shrugged. ‘You wanted to have fun. There you go.’
‘I’m sensing the singular here. What about, we want to have fun, and why don’t we go?’
Anna smiled. ‘Maybe I’m getting old or maybe because I’m a mum.’
Diane rolled her eyes. ‘Jesus, someone play me the violins already. You’re thirty-two with fantastic children and now you own your own house, albeit a bit of a dump.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But you’ve got everything going for you.’
‘Except a man.’
Diane nodded. ‘Exactly, my friend. Except a man.’ She got up and fetched the box of wine off the side. ‘See, told you, you can refill your glasses and no one is any the wiser.’ She squirted the wine into the glasses, spraying Anna liberally in the process. ‘OK, so that’s it, we’re both going.’ She read quickly. ‘It says “to book, ring this number”. Are you going to do it or am I?’
‘You go by yourself.’
Diane flicked her hair. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘Well, it’s not like we’re going to be speed dating each other,’ Anna pointed out. ‘If you want a drink with me in a pub, then we just go to the pub.’
Diane stood and put her glass on the coffee table. ‘Whatever.’ She grabbed the pamphlet, fled from the room, up the stairs, to Anna’s room. Anna could hear Diane’s voice, muffled, and then laughter. Minutes later, she padded back down.
‘All done. He just said get there a bit early to register and I told him we would because we’d need to sink a couple for Dutch courage.’
‘Classy.’
‘You’ll love me for it when you find the love of your life.’
‘I’m past it. Look at me. I can’t even remember what goes where.’
Diane wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Darling, it’s not rocket science. I’d imagine even you would figure it out.’
Anna grew serious. ‘I’m just not ready. I don’t trust them.’
‘Men?’
‘Hmmm.’ She sipped at her wine. ‘I mean, Simon ruined my appetite for any of them.’
‘Simon? Simon?’ Diane slapped her thigh. ‘Now, you can’t judge all men by Simon. He’s a commitment-phobe twerp. End of. But he did one thing for you…’
‘Gave me two gorgeous children.’
‘Exactly.’ Diane punched her playfully. ‘So, it’s time to unhook the chastity belt…
‘Again.’
‘Yes, again, and we can all be happy.’
‘All of us?’ Anna arched a brow. ‘When were you going to tell me you’d lost your stints at the magazines and were having to give up your flat?’
Diane’s head dropped. ‘I was going to tell you. Well, obviously, I had to tell you, but I knew you were going through your own hard time.’ She choked back a sob and looked at Anna, her eyes glistening. ‘Yeah, they let me go from both titles a couple of weeks ago and then I tried to get in contact with Tracey about working on the film set, and she’s been ignoring my calls.’
‘Then Barry phones you?’
Diane nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, he did.’
Anna sat up straight. ‘Why weren’t you honest with me? Why didn’t you tell me all this?’
‘Because you were so happy about moving to the country and… and… I felt stupid.’
‘Why did you pay for the food earlier then? I mean you can hardly afford it.’
She dipped her head. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ Sniffing, she added, ‘Sorry.’
‘And how much money do you have now?’
‘One hundred-odd.’
Anna sighed, held out her hand and took Diane’s, squeezing it. ‘Well, looks like we’re broke and in this together.’ She moved her head slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t think Barry’s idea is going to work. I mean who wants to read about someone moving to the sticks?’
‘He thinks you’re the next Bridget Jones.’
Anna snorted. ‘Well, he’s got some bits right… The big knickers for a start.’ Anna tried to make Diane smile but it wasn’t working. ‘Listen, I’ll text Barry now. Tell him we’re going speed dating and that I’ll get his first column over to him for the weekend run.’
Marigolds and Marmoset(ters) (#ulink_f8506fce-1285-5f1f-a9c4-7e32decf47b1)
The twins hadn’t stirred and Anna could still hear Diane snoring next door. She looked out of the master-bedroom window at the distant hills and startling pink and purple sky as the sun made its way up. She was revelling in how calm the world appeared in contrast to the twenty-four-hour bustle of London when she heard an almighty scream from above.
Anna ran up the stairs, two at a time, to find that Freddie and Antonia were, in fact, awake and now pinned up against their bedroom wall, their eyes round as saucers, fixed on the something in the centre of the room. Anna’s eyes darted across the floor and she, too, froze.
A mouse stood stock-still on the rug. These were the moments she desperately wished she wasn’t a single mother. Wasn’t this a job for men? Diane’s reprimanding voice filled her thoughts. ‘There’s no such thing as jobs for men and jobs for women. We can all do everything, only women can do more.’
Diane snored on and Anna refused to call out in distress. But, Anna thought, this woman couldn’t catch a mouse and was likely to have a heart attack if she tried.
This was where Anna knew she was meant to turn into a superhero mum who would say, ‘Guys, it’s only a mouse. He’s cute and furry and not going to hurt you.’ Only she didn’t. Instead, having eyed a light sabre leaning against the wall, she said, ‘OK, you two sneak very carefully along the wall and onto the landing. We don’t want him to run at us.’
Could a mouse run at them? She acknowledged that, perhaps, the little rodent was no bull, but it was everything she hated in rodents and insects: erratic. A bull, she figured, would be easier to deal with, surely. A bull made it pretty obvious when it was ready to come for you: steam out of its nose, pawing at the ground with its front hoof. A mouse didn’t offer these clues.
They nodded and Anna watched her children creep with their backs along the wall towards the door, until Freddie, out of nowhere, leapt at the mouse, sending their new furry friend scuttling in Anna’s direction. Her suspicions confirmed, she fled, almost as quickly as Usain Bolt, out the door.
‘Freddie!’ she called from the landing. ‘Are you two OK?’
Diane emerged from her bedroom, panda-eyes and still a trace of yesterday’s fangs. ‘What the hell is going on? Thought it was meant to be quiet in the country.’
Anna could hear Antonia crying in the bedroom and knew she had to attend to her children. She snuck back in and whispered, ‘Where is it?’
Freddie, with a glint in his eyes, announced it had gone and pointed at a crack in the skirting board. ‘It’s gone, Mummy.’ He smiled. ‘You’re a scaredy-cat.’
There was no denying it. ‘All right, Ninja, breakfast time,’ she said and led her brave little soldier into the bathroom to find Antonia.
‘I hate mouses,’ Antonia said, sitting on the loo seat.
Anna picked them up, one twin under each arm and made their way down stairs. Once they were settled in their chairs, she grabbed the juice and milk from the fridge, plucking some sugar-rush-inducing cereal off the side.
‘Sugar Puffs,’ she read aloud. ‘Why do I think this can only end badly?’ She put the box on the table.
Diane had removed the black rings from around her eyes and joined them. ‘Coffee, be a love.’
Anna sighed. ‘What did your last slave die of?’
‘I figure if I’m to be your slave today, then the least you can do is make me a coffee.’
‘OK.’ Anna filled the hob kettle. ‘You guys hear that? You are my witnesses that Diane Johnson hereby declares she will be my slave today.’
Diane smiled. ‘Yeah, well, I’ll even clean the toilets if it means you join me in the pub tonight.’
‘I can’t just leave the children,’ Anna pointed out.
‘I’ve sorted that.’
‘What?’ Anna turned. ‘Sorted how?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Diane looked at the twins. ‘Do you guys mind if you get a babysitter this evening?’
Freddie shook his head. ‘Only if she has stickers.’
‘Oh, she’ll have stickers and I’ve heard she’s going to bring…’
Anna put a firm hand on Diane’s shoulder and nodded towards the door. Once in the front room, Anna said, ‘Who the hell is this babysitter? They’re my children, Dee. You can’t just arrange stuff like this without coming to me first. You know, I like to know who’s looking after my children.’ She nodded. ‘It’s not a game.’
Diane let out a belly laugh. ‘Yes, I know. That’s why I phoned your mum.’
‘What?’ Anna raised her voice. ‘My mother? She doesn’t even like them. I mean…’ She shook her head. ‘That’s not strictly true. She thinks they’re like accessories.’
‘No,’ Diane said quickly, ‘that’s in your head. She adores them. She told me so. In fact, we had a nice chat.’
‘When was this?’
‘After you went to bed last night.’ She grinned. ‘We both agreed that if you got out more you’d realise it’s not normal to be in bed by nine.’
‘It is if you’re bringing up children and now live with a home-wrecking nightmare of a best friend.’
Diane put her hands up in defeat. ‘OK, I’ll ring her and tell her we’re not going any more. That she’s not needed. That we’re just going to stay in and self-medicate instead. Anyway, didn’t you promise Barry?’
Anna stared into her friend’s big, pitiful eyes and smiled. ‘Fine. You win.’ She walked back to the kitchen, muttering, ‘My mother? Seriously?’
The twins looked at her and she felt she had to be upfront. ‘It’s Grandma. She’s coming to look after you tonight.’ Anna injected some cheeriness into her voice. ‘You remember last time how much fun you had?’ They stared at her, blankly. ‘I mean, you loved marking her latest purchases out of ten, didn’t you?’
She could have cried and all because Diane had got some hare-brained idea into her head that she was going to find a man in her local watering hole. It was time to don the marigolds and forget about this evening. Primrose Cottage wouldn’t clean itself but, more importantly, Anna realised, the sooner she cleaned the house, the quicker she could get down to reading her aunt’s diary, which sat invitingly on the side.
Six hours later, the cottage looked like an entirely different place. Diane had cleaned the toilets, but not without complaint.
‘I mean, seriously, Anna? This is probably against the law. I mean, isn’t there, like, a group that protects people like me from having to scrub out other people’s…’
‘Dee, language,’ Anna interjected from the other room where she was removing thick layers of dust off the furniture.
‘No, I mean, come on. We’re talking layers and I think I’m going to die of bleach poisoning. You know, come to think of it, I do feel light-headed and there is a skull and crossbones on here…’
‘Yeah, you’ll die if you drink it, not clean with it.’
‘I beg to differ and you know what else, Anna? I mean, you’re living in the middle of the countryside. How do you know you don’t have a septic tank? Do you want to be chucking this stuff down the toilet?’
Anna entered the bathroom and stared incredulously at Diane, who sat on the toilet seat, earphones stuffed in her ears, eating handfuls of the twins’ Sugar Puffs cereal and reading the back of the bleach bottle.
‘You haven’t even got the cap off,’ Anna said drily.
Diane looked up, unabashed. ‘Better I warn you now than after I’ve done it.’
Anna crossed her arms, realising she was, sadly, probably right. ‘Clean the shower instead then.’
Diane huffed. ‘God, such a taskmaster.’
Anna told Diane about Aunt Flo’s diary.
‘Oooh, how exciting,’ Diane breathed.
Anna nodded. ‘In her letter, she said it was really important to her that I read it.’
She wondered what on earth her aunt could have kept a secret all these years? As she cleaned, she daydreamed and, by the end of the day, she was convinced her aunt must have been a lesser-known member of the royal family or a spy. She couldn’t wait to sit down, in a private corner, away from the children and Diane, and find out.
Diane moaned all day, but the twins, on the other hand, threw themselves into their chores. Freddie was shown how to mop the floor and, when Anna returned, she found him bottom first inside the bucket and Antonia skidding around the soapy ice rink that was the front-room floor.
At five o’clock, Anna declared it the end of the day and settled down on the sofa with a cup of tea and her aunt’s diary.
At Anna’s proposal they stop, Diane, feet up on the sofa, put down her magazine and lay back in the cushion. ‘Thank God for that.’
Anna was pleased with the shimmer and shine they had created: the wood burner glass sparkled, the cottage windows reflected their faces and the furniture gleamed. Of course, there was the outside to come, but that would have to wait for another day.
Diane looked at her watch. ‘By my reckoning, your mother’s going to be here in half an hour and we’re due at the pub at six-thirty.’
‘Six-thirty?’ Anna pulled a face. ‘That’s a bit early.’
‘Not when you’ve told the landlord we’re journalists and he wants us to take pictures of the pub.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot, we weren’t aiming for a perfectly timed late entrance. Why give everyone the wrong idea?’
‘Exactly.’ Diane grinned. ‘I’m off to have a bath.’
‘You can’t. The children need to go in there with half their plastic toys.’
‘Right, I’m off to put more perfume on then. French style.’ She wafted from the room dramatically and Anna sat, momentarily, until Diane returned. ‘You won’t turn into a princess sitting there. Come on.’
‘Let me just read a little of this.’ She indicated the notebook and flipped open to the middle.
Today I went up to Ridley Manor. Frank told me the house was mine. A present to keep me in the village. He said, however, not to tell anyone he had bought it for me. As if I would! I know that what we have needs to be kept secret, for everyone’s sake.
Anna read more quickly now, her breath catching. Horatio’s words circling her head. Maybe Horatio had been right; the cottage wasn’t hers after all. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
The sound of Antonia wailing cut through her thoughts and, feeling confused, she stuffed the diary into a drawer of the bureau.
Anna heaved her weary limbs up the stairs and found Freddie and Antonia fighting over a rubber duck. She disentangled them both and told them they could watch some Teletubbies – still one of their favourites – for a bit. She propped them up on her bed and fetched her phone. They were soon enthralled by the strange, hallucinatory world of colourful, furry animal-humans.
Diane had music blaring from speakers attached to her laptop. She bounced in, her cheeks glowing. ‘It’s Katy Perry. I love this song.’ She held a glass of rum and coke. ‘This is like being students or something.’
Anna looked at her clothes. What was she meant to wear to a speed-dating event at a pub? She had a black cocktail dress but it was short, really short, and, at the other extreme, she had a Laura Ashley tartan dress her mother had picked up for her from a charity shop. Diane hovered in the doorway in black trousers, stretched tightly over her bottom, and a velvet, cleavage-busting camisole.
‘What are you thinking?’ Diane did a twirl. ‘Sexy vamp is where my head’s at.’
Anna nodded. ‘All the way, girlfriend.’
‘What you going to wear?’
‘I’ve got this?’ Anna held up the cocktail dress. ‘Or, to play it safe, this…’ She picked up the tartan dress.
‘Jesus, Anna. You wear that and people will think you’ve come as Maid sodding Marian.’
‘Well, this is too short.’ She indicated the cocktail dress. ‘And other than that, I’ve got jeans and a ski suit.’
Diane sat heavily on her bed, sending the pile of clothes towards the middle. ‘Yep, definitely, the dress. That is hot.’
‘I don’t think men at the Rose and Crown in Trumpsey Blazey are necessarily looking for…’
‘You have no idea what the men in Trumpsey Blazey are looking for,’ Diane pointed out, glugging back an alarming amount of her drink. ‘Have some and then you might actually relax and realise you’re gorgeous.’
Anna took the glass reluctantly and swigged. ‘My children need to be bathed and their mother is trying to choose an outfit that doesn’t scream slut while she downs what tastes like pure rum.’
‘It’s got a dash of coke in it. Anyway, they’ll respect you for it.’ Diane looked at her in earnest.
When a knock sounded at the front door, Anna handed the bottle back to Diane, flushing with guilt.
‘Ah, Linda has arrived.’
‘Joy,’ Anna said.
‘I’ll keep her happy.’ Diane skipped out of the room, drink in hand, and Anna waited for her mother’s presence to be made known to the entire village and beyond.
‘Dee-Dee,’ came the booming voice that was her mother’s. ‘Cocktails! How wonderful.’ She paused. ‘I’m so glad you phoned!’
Diane’s voice, by comparison, was surprisingly soft and Anna sighed, heading in to the twins. They were growing sleepy and she undressed them and soon had them submerged in bubbles. She watched as a full-blown attack took place whereby Freddie’s Transformers head-dunked Antonia’s My Little Ponies.
‘OK, you two, Grandma’s here. You’re going to be good for Grandma, aren’t you?’ She just hoped Grandma would be good for them.
Anna plucked them out of the bath and wrapped them each in huge, freshly laundered bath sheets before hugging the sweet-smelling, damp, fluffy cocoons that were now her children. ‘I love you both and…’ Sometimes this happened and it was always when she was least expecting it; her heart wrung with sadness at the lack of a father figure in their lives. She wondered if they would grow up resenting her for not chasing after Simon; and if she was, in fact, enough for them.
‘Mummy, you’re crying,’ Freddie said, wiping a tear from her cheek.
‘You silly bean,’ Antonia said and hugged her, setting Anna off again.
‘Mummy,’ Freddie said, earnestly, ‘how long we stay in this home?’
‘Well,’ she paused, looking into his big blue eyes, ‘for as long as we can.’ She thought about Horatio’s words regarding the house and how much she had risked moving here. Irritation fizzled in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t just give the cottage up. She couldn’t. Her heart twisted at the thought of having to go back to London already. She needed it to work. She needed her children to be happy. ‘Do you like it here?’
He appeared to be thinking deeply. ‘I just want to play with friends.’
Anna nodded, a fresh tide of guilt sweeping over her. ‘Yes, and you’ll both make lots of new friends at your new school.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘And they can come and play here whenever you like. OK?’
‘OK,’ he said and they both nodded.
‘Annnnnnaaaaaaaaaa.’
The moment was broken by her mother singing her name and she took the children into her room, found their favourite PJs and dressed them.
‘You go down and see Grandma, OK?’
They nodded and walked to the top of the stairs, sitting down on their bottoms so they could slither safely to the ground floor. The stairs were steep and Anna had decided this would be the best option.
‘My dearest children,’ her mother called to them, ‘you’ll get dirty botties.’
‘Mum.’ Anna crouched down at the top of the landing, so she could be seen by her mother, and smiled. ‘Hi.’
‘Bananna.’ Her father’s nickname for her growing up had stuck with her mother, despite the fact it had to be pronounced funnily because ‘banana’ didn’t even rhyme with her actual name. ‘Why are your children coming down the stairs like strange, snake-like things?’
‘Because I told them it was safer. There’s no rail and, until I get one put in, I don’t want them falling down.’
‘It’s unhygienic,’ her mother announced.
‘We cleaned today.’
Luckily, Diane arrived and broke up the impending argument on stair hygiene and safety by offering Linda a cup of tea.
‘Only if you put a wee bit of that in it.’ Linda swept off in the direction of the kitchen. ‘My stepsister always had a strange affection for this place. Never could see it myself.’
Diane flashed Anna an apologetic look. ‘I’ll set up a DVD on my laptop for the kids.’
Anna headed back to her bedroom and grabbed the far-too-short black dress, slipping into it. With no full-length mirror, she had no way of checking on her appearance before she quickly brushed her hair out, applied some mascara and lip gloss and headed down the stairs.
Diane let out a low wolf-whistle and nodded approvingly; her mother, however, gave her that look, the one that said I did not bring you up to dress like a tart, and sipped her tea. Anna thought she might have got away with it when her mother opened her mouth and said, ‘I think you’d suit the tartan dress I gave you better.’
‘Right.’ Anna ignored her. ‘So what do you think you might play with the children?’
‘Ah, I thought we could watch Sex and the City reruns.’
‘Uh, Mum…’ Anna started panicking. ‘They’re not really old enough to be watching them. Just yet.’ She thought of Mr Big and the drinking and the talk about… ‘No, Mum, you can’t.’
Her mother pouted. ‘Fine.’
Diane whisked Anna towards the door, clearly sensing an imminent crisis. They put on their coats and Anna blew the twins kisses before stepping out into the October chill.
‘You know, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.’ Anna looked back at the closed front door. ‘I mean, Mum, she’s a bit off with the fairies.’
Diane linked arms with Anna, propelling her forward. ‘How old is she again?’
‘Sixty.’
‘Wow. She’s very…’
‘Full-on? Sexual? Bonkers?’ Anna shrugged. ‘Your choice.
‘All of the above.’
In heels, the walk to the pub was a good fifteen minutes longer than they had anticipated. Half an hour later, with feet that suggested frostbite and jaws truly locked into place, they breathed an audible sigh of relief at the light streaming from the pub window.
Anna had a quick look inside and, as yet, it appeared no one else had arrived. ‘It’s very quiet,’ she said, trying to hide her relief. They could just have a quick drink and head home.
‘Yeah, but it’ll fill up. Come on.’ Diane dragged her inside.
They tottered through the door and looked around. The pub was decked out in oak panelling, photos of Trumpsey Blazey through the ages adorned the walls, and a roaring fire brought welcome warmth to the women. However, one thing was missing: punters.
A balding man with a stomach that met them first came through a door on the other side and waddled up to the bar.
‘Can I help you?’
Diane started, ‘Yeah, we, um, thought there was some sort of event here tonight. Only, there’s no one here.’
‘Wrong,’ the man said. ‘I’m here and, if you look past the beam, here’s Nigel.’
Anna and Diane swayed, in sync, to have a closer look and, sure enough, an old man sat at the bar, staring into the depths of his bitter.
‘Right,’ Anna waded in. ‘It’s just that we booked our places for the speed-dating event.’
‘Speed dating? Here?’
‘Yes,’ Diane said, indignant, ‘I booked our places on the phone. I spoke to someone called Chris. He’s waiting for us. We’re journalists.’
‘You’ve got the wrong Rose and Crown. I think you must’ve rang Little Bury.’ He burst into laughter, his paunch moving up and down, his excess flesh having a field day and his plethoric face flushing with amusement. ‘Anyway, it’s no problem,’ he winked. ‘I can think of plenty of guys who’d like to chat to you pretty ladies.’ He headed out back momentarily before returning to the bar. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
Diane nodded. ‘Might as well, seeing as we’re here now.’
‘What’ll you be having?’ The landlord readied himself.
Diane spoke on their behalf. ‘We’ll have a bottle of dry white. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’
‘John.’ He bent down to the undercounter fridge.
She smiled at him and indicated Anna. ‘Seeing as Anna, here, didn’t even want to come out, and now I’ve dragged her to the wrong pub, the least I can do is buy a bottle.’
Anna was relieved in actual fact. ‘No, it’s fine.’
Anna pulled her dress down as it steadily rode further up her thighs like a piece of unruly clingfilm. Soon they were ensconced at a table in the corner, by the fire, and Anna almost forgot why they had come in the first place. She felt herself relaxing and her limbs thawing. Diane sat facing the door, her eyes darting towards it every time she heard any notion of a sound outside.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Don’t want to miss any hot totty.’
‘Can’t imagine, that’s going to happen,’ Anna said, scanning the empty pub, her eyes resting on Nigel sinking his third pint.
‘Hope there aren’t, like, loads of good-looking women around here. Hate competition.’
Anna smiled. ‘There won’t be because said good-looking women will have been snapped up by all the good-looking men, leaving us with…’
‘Oh, come on. A girl’s gotta dream…’
Diane didn’t get to finish her sentence because the pub door flew open and in marched a group of six or so men, all good-looking, all exuding youth and testosterone. Diane breathed in excitedly. ‘I’ll be damned if heaven hasn’t just walked through that door.’
Anna had to admit the pub suddenly looked like the set for a men’s outdoor clothing ad, and she thought the evening might prove to be more exciting than she had first imagined. But just as quickly as she had conjured up this new, positive way of thinking, in walked Horatio. He spotted her and came over, that same irritating, self-satisfied smirk on his face.
‘Hi,’ he said to Anna and then introduced himself to Diane. ‘I’m Horatio. We haven’t met.’
Diane, in full flirting mode, fluttered her eyelashes and shook his hand. ‘Diane. Anna’s bestie.’
‘Bestie?’ he said.
Diane smiled sweetly. ‘Yeah, you know, best friend.’
‘Ah, silly me.’ He looked at Diane and then his eyes ran the length of Anna’s body. ‘You both look wonderful. Going somewhere special?’
This is what he does, Anna thought. This is his way of making everyone around him feel about two inches tall. He knew they were on the pull, and yet he liked to watch women squirm.
Diane, missing this subtlety, fondled her necklace and announced, ‘We were here for the speed dating.’
‘Ah, the speed dating. Up there with potato planting, heh, Anna?’ She scowled. ‘I didn’t know there was speed dating here.’
‘There’s not,’ Diane said, grinning. ‘John says it’s at the other Rose and Crown, in Little Bury.’ She paused and slapped her own hand. ‘My bad.’
‘Oh?’ Horatio looked mildly amused. ‘But why should two such beautiful women need to go speed dating?’
‘Because,’ Diane explained, ‘if you can believe it, we’re not taken.’
‘More fool my species.’ Horatio nodded. ‘Lovely to see you both and hope you have a good evening.’ He met Anna’s eye. ‘I’m sorry about what I said to you… About the house… I’m looking into it as soon as I can find the papers. But I’m sure you’re quite right and I’ll do everything I can to ensure you keep it, despite your reservations about staying there.’
‘I did not have reservations,’ she lied.
‘Well, your car driving itself into the chicken hut wasn’t a great start for anyone.’
Diane looked at her and snorted. ‘Really?’
‘No, what’s not a nice start is being told you don’t own the house you’ve moved to, despite having seen the evidence that your aunt left it to you.’
‘Oh,’ Diane breathed as she realised who exactly Horatio was. ‘You’re that man.’
‘Have a nice evening, Mr Horatio.’
He opened his mouth and shut it again before moving off.
‘Are you sure he’s so bad because he seems quite luverly,’ Diane gushed. ‘I mean, really nice.’
‘He’s a twerp.’
‘Oh, come on. He said he’s sorry and even if he thinks he owns the house, let him.’ Diane fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Bet he’s loaded.’
‘Well, for a start, don’t get too excited because he’s married.’ Diane’s smile faded. ‘Second, he’s supercilious, has about a million names and owns a horse called Taittinger.’
‘Anything good?’
‘Yeah, you’re right, he’s loaded. Lives up at Ridley Manor.’ Anna leant in. ‘Also, he’s a Spencerville. You know, my aunt warned me about them, in her letter. Well, he’s one of them. Would explain why he thinks he owns my house.’
‘Well, he seemed nice enough, but yeah, sure, that would rile me too.’ She frowned. ‘I’m going to get us another bottle.’
‘But we’ve barely started this one.’
‘I know, but I need an excuse to find out who the chocolate-box selection of men are.’
Anna watched Diane totter up to the bar. ‘John…’ She spoke as if she was a regular. ‘Can we get another bottle?’
He beamed. ‘Sure thing.’ He gestured to the men. ‘And here are the men.’
‘I can see that,’ Diane purred. ‘But, tell me, who are these delightful creatures?’
‘I rang Tom at the back there to round them up.’ He smiled. ‘They’re here for you.’
‘Right,’ Diane nodded, ‘just us two women and these six guys? That could be, um, awkward.’ Then she quickly changed her mind. ‘Fun.’
‘John phoned us to fill in,’ piped up the shorter one at the front.
‘We do not need your charity. Thank you very much.’ Anna came up behind Diane, her fists twitching with anger. ‘Come on, Dee, let’s go. I don’t need to be patronised. We’re both better than that.’
‘I’d say,’ agreed the young man at the back.
Anna caught Horatio’s eye. He was sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing a glass of red and laughing. He was always laughing at her. ‘Come on, Dee, I don’t have time for this.’
‘Aw, come on, John wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m Tom, by the way.’ The tallest of the group thrust his hand forward and Anna obligingly shook it. ‘Let’s all just have a few drinks. No harm in that, is there?’
John had gone pink. ‘Sorry, I thought you’d like that, ladies.’
Anna sighed and smiled. ‘It was a nice thought.’
‘Look,’ John said, ‘to make amends, first round is on the house.’
They ordered their drinks and then all piled into one of the booths. Anna and Diane sat opposite each other and, as they grew increasingly tipsy, Anna was no longer sure if she was nudging her friend’s leg to get Diane’s attention, or if she was playing footsy with one of the men.
Diane had taken a real liking to the youngest.
‘Twenty-three, you say,’ Diane said, moving her face closer to the man on her left. ‘Your name’s Larry? Wonderful,’ she gushed as if he had just told her he performed surgery on the poor up desolate mountains. ‘I love the name Larry.’
Anna, meanwhile, chatted to Lee, a farmhand on Richard’s farm. However, while she was desperate to get more information on Richard, Lee was more interested in passing on all his knowledge about marmosets.
‘What? As in the monkey?’ She laughed. ‘That’s your passion?’
‘Yeah, love ‘em.’
‘Right, well, does Richard talk to you about marmosets?’ She would discuss anything with Richard and even marmosets appealed.
‘No, he doesn’t get it.’
That was the first thing Richard and Anna had in common. She imagined Lee delivering a speech at their wedding. ‘Richard and Anna often laughed at my love of marmosets and I’d like to think that’s what drove them together.’
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