Welcome Me to Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 2)

by Kate Hewitt

  On the train ride back to Wychwood, Emily gazed out at the rolling fields streaming by, bursting with buttercups, the grass a vibrant, almost fluorescent green. Sunlight streamed across the meadows, glinting on the puddles still left by the rain. It was all so impossibly beautiful, and it made Emily wonder how she could have ever lived in London, with its grimy streets and choking pollution, everyone busy and uninterested. She’d craved that once, but she didn’t anymore. Now she was really looking forward to getting back to Wychwood, even if the thought of Owen, and his absence in her life, made her heart feel as if it were being wrung in her chest.

  She faltered in her step as she passed the village green and saw the big, black-and-white “for sale” sign outside The Drowned Sailor. What would Owen do without the pub? It felt as if it were part of him as well as part of the village, his very lifeblood. It saddened her that she couldn’t even talk to him about it; he didn’t want her to. In the week since they’d had their last conversation, Owen hadn’t reached out at all. They weren’t going to date and it didn’t seem like they could be friends, either.

  As Emily came into Willoughby Close, Olivia popped her head out the door. “How was your visit?” she called.

  “It was actually okay.” Emily paused in the courtyard, her keys in her hand. “My mum’s coming back to stay with me for a while next week,” she added. She’d told Ava and Owen, but she hadn’t got around to telling everyone about what was happening. Saying it out loud made it feel more real, more immediate.

  “How do you feel about that?” Olivia asked with a look of compassionate concern on her friendly face.

  “Better than I expected,” Emily answered honestly. “I love my mum, and I’ve enjoyed her company in the past, but it can be very up and down. I feel more prepared somehow, this time. And I’ve already got a lot of her things here. I’ve been unpacking them, trying to make things welcoming.”

  “I saw the pottery in the window. Is that hers?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “It’s beautiful. I love the vibrant colours. Is she very artistic, your mum?”

  “She is, actually,” Emily said with some surprise. She hadn’t really considered her mother’s wild and different hobbies as anything other than a manifestation of her mania, but now she realised, along with Olivia, that the pottery bowls and vases were really quite lovely.

  “You know my mum lives in the village, as well?” Olivia told her. “There’s a terrific day centre in Witney she goes to. Lots of different people there.”

  “That’s a thought,” Emily said, although she couldn’t imagine her mother sitting around watching telly or playing Scrabble with a bunch of pensioners. She was only fifty-four.

  “I don’t mean that she would go there as a visitor,” Olivia said with a laugh. “That would be a bit much. No, I meant she could offer classes, perhaps. Pottery or painting. They’re always looking for volunteers.”

  “Oh, I never thought…” And she wasn’t sure she could imagine it. Would her mother be able to handle something steady? Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything close to resembling a regular job.

  “Think about it,” Olivia said. “And if it’s something she might like, I’ll have a word with the manager.”

  “Okay, thanks. That could be a really good idea.”

  As Emily let herself into her cottage, her phone buzzed with a text from Ava, checking how the visit had gone. And Alice had left her a casserole already warming in the oven, as well as feeding Cass. Emily read the note with its loopy, cursive handwriting and couldn’t help but smile.

  She wasn’t doing this alone. She didn’t have to manage her mother by herself; she didn’t have to manage her mother at all. They could have a proper relationship, in a supportive community, and it could be good, even if it was hard. She truly believed that now, and she was thankful…even if she still desperately missed Owen.

  *

  “It’s a beautiful day and you should be outside.”

  Emily blinked at Harriet’s rather firm tone. It had been a week and a half since Owen had ended things, and her mother was coming home in just a few days. Emily had been busy trying to get things ready for her, as well as keep on top of her job, although Henry had been expansive in his understanding, and told her she could take as much time off as she wanted. Emily appreciated the sentiment, but she liked her work, and the fundraiser was now less than two months away.

  And now Harriet was here, hands on hips, expression stern, telling Emily she needed to get out. Emily hadn’t seen her except in passing since that first night at the pub, which felt like a million years ago. She had no idea why Harriet was here now.

  “Ava told me about Owen,” Harriet said in her brisk way. “And I’m truly sorry. Men can be really amazingly stubborn and stupid. I can’t do anything about Owen, but I can help a bit. I’ve got the kids and the dog in the car and it’s a glorious day. I thought we could walk through the bluebell wood on the other side of the river, by the big estate. The rain and then the sunshine have brought them all out, and they’re truly gorgeous. I’ve even packed a picnic.”

  “And you want me to come?” Emily said, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. This was most unexpected. Yes, she’d made friends in Wychwood, and inroads into the community, but she was still more than a bit intimidated by Harriet Lang.

  “Why not? Ava said you might spend the day by yourself mooching about, otherwise.”

  Emily let out a huff of laughter, although there was some truth in the statement. As determinedly optimistic as she was trying to feel, a Saturday on her own could still feel rather long, especially when everyone else was busy with their families. “I don’t mooch,” she said.

  “Mince, then?” Harriet suggested, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know. It’s a lovely day, and the kids are getting restless. Why don’t you come with us?”

  In fact, Emily had been planning on spending the day tidying her already tidy kitchen, and perhaps doing some batch cooking, maybe going for a walk. Activities that would have satisfied her perfectly well in the past, but felt just a little bit empty now. Or even a lot empty. It was the strangest thing, but she didn’t actually like being alone anymore.

  “Well?” Harriet asked in her schoolteacher voice, a glint of challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring Emily to be brave enough.

  “All right,” Emily said with both a sigh and a smile. “Thank you for the invitation. Let me just get my wellies.”

  Three pairs of eyes regarded her curiously as Emily climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s estate a few minutes later, and was introduced to her children—fourteen-year-old Mallory, who had a bored, worldly-wise air; eleven-year-old William, who was full of manic boy-energy; and eight-year-old Chloe, a blonde cherub who didn’t stop talking. Daisy, an enthusiastic spaniel, barked rapturously from the boot, tongue lolling out.

  At least Harriet’s car was clean. Spotless, in fact. Emily noted the plastic pouches with the children’s names fastened to the backs of the seats with approval. Harriet was clearly a woman of organisation.

  “So how is the fundraiser going?” Harriet asked as she pulled out of Willoughby Close. “It’s only two months away?”

  “Yes, end of June. I think I have everything organised, but there is still a lot of detail work to do.” She’d spent the last week confirming vendors, arranging the proper licences and inspections, and was now looking for a PR firm to do the publicity and posters. Work had become a necessary and welcome distraction from thinking about Owen.

  “We’re all looking forward to it, aren’t we?” Harriet said with a glance back at her brood, who gave a variety of responses, from Chloe’s enthusiastic chirp to Mallory’s bored sigh. William had started kicking the back of Emily’s seat with methodical determination, something she was trying not to let bother her.

  “I hope it will be a success. A true community effort. I’ve got to get the posters up soon, so everyone knows about it.”

  “I mig
ht be able to help with that,” Harriet said. “I do some PR work freelance, and I’d do it for free, if you liked. I’ll give you my card with my website and you can have a look. No pressure.”

  “Oh, wow.” Free PR by a local businesswoman would be ideal. “Thank you.”

  Harriet gave her a quick smile. “It would be my pleasure, honestly.” She turned in to a gravel drive on the edge of a pastoral-looking meadow, a wood skirting on one edge and a tranquil pond glinting on another. “Right, time to exercise this lot,” she announced.

  “I don’t need to be exercised,” Mallory complained, while William hurled himself out of the car as soon as Harriet had put it in park.

  “This bit is open to the public although you have to pay for the formal gardens,” she explained as she slapped her National Trust membership card on the dashboard. “And dogs are allowed off lead, thankfully, or Daisy would go mad.”

  Harriet helped Chloe out of the car as Mallory slunk behind and William ran ahead with a ball. Harriet clipped on Daisy’s lead as Chloe slipped her hand into Emily’s, looking up at her with wide blue eyes.

  “Where are your children?”

  Emily let out a surprised laugh. “I don’t have any.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…I’m not married, for a start.”

  “You don’t have to be married to have children,” Chloe stated matter-of-factly. “My friend Izzy’s mum isn’t married. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh. Well.” Emily met Harriet’s gaze in a laughing plea for help.

  “Emily might have children one day,” Harriet said as she rounded them all up and directed them to a narrow path that wound through a deep wood. “She’s a bit young.”

  “How old are you?” Chloe asked.

  “Er, twenty-six.”

  “Izzy’s mum is only twenty-five—”

  “That’s enough, Chloe.” Harriet gave her daughter a gentle push. “Go kick the ball with William. Mallory, no phone.”

  Emily glanced behind them to see Mallory sulkily tucking her phone in her jeans’ back pocket. Did Harriet have eyes in the back of her head? That must be a mother thing, except her mother had never been like that.

  Chloe’s words continued to rattle around in her head—where are your children? Why don’t you have any? Questions she’d never considered for herself before, because the whole concept of children, family, husband, all of it, had been completely out of her experience and even her imagination.

  Yet now…now she felt differently. Now she felt that a relationship could be possible, if not with Owen, then maybe, one day, with someone else. And yet just the thought of “someone else” made her heart twist inside her. She didn’t want someone else. She wanted Owen.

  “So how are you, really?” Harriet asked in a gentler voice as Mallory lagged behind and William and Chloe raced ahead. They’d crossed the sunny meadow and were now walking through the wood, the path twisting through the trees among pools of sunlight and wells of shadow. The air smelled of damp earth and freshness, and despite her sadness about Owen, Emily’s spirits lifted just a little.

  “I’m all right, I suppose,” she said.

  “Ava mentioned your mum’s in hospital, but coming out soon?”

  “Yes, in just a few days.” Of course the Wychwood grapevine was sizzling with the news. Emily wasn’t surprised, and she tried not to feel raw. She certainly didn’t feel anywhere near as prickly and defensive as she once would have been.

  Harriet laid a hand briefly on her arm. “It’s not gossip, it’s concern,” she said quietly, seeming to see the struggle Emily still felt. “Although I know one can feel like the other. But we’ve all been through rough times, and we want to support each other. No one’s an island, you know.”

  “I am learning that, actually, thanks to everyone here.” Emily managed a smile. “You’ve been through rough times?” Harriet seemed so confident and capable, Emily had trouble imagining it.

  “Yes, I have,” Harriet answered frankly. “I’ve had my whole life upended, actually, and while it turned out to be a good thing in the end, it certainly didn’t feel that way at the time. It felt absolutely horrible.” She heaved a sigh of memory before continuing, “My husband Richard lost his job…we lost our house…I lost my friends, or at least the people I thought were my friends. It felt as if I had absolutely nothing. That’s why I ended up in Willoughby Close for a time. Richard and I separated for a few months.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said quietly. “I didn’t know any of that.”

  “It was very humbling,” Harriet continued, her face set in grim lines of memory. “I thought I had it all together. In retrospect, I was a bit arrogant, and I needed taking down a peg or two. I probably still do.” She gave Emily an abashed smile. “I don’t think we had the best start, and I know I’m a bit bossy, but I do want to help, you know.”

  “Thank you,” Emily murmured. She was grateful for Harriet’s honesty, but she wasn’t sure now how she could help. Owen was still uninterested. No matter how capable she was, Harriet couldn’t make him change his mind.

  “So, Owen,” Harriet said as if making an announcement, and Emily looked at her warily.

  “Yes…”

  “I’ve been where he is,” she continued with relentless determination. “Losing everything. Feeling as if you have nothing to offer anyone. And let me tell you, it hurts when you’ve always been the one who takes care of things. Who’s used to being in charge, and having all the answers, and bailing people out of their own scrapes.”

  “I know that is how you are,” Emily said with a small smile, “but do you really think that is how Owen is?” She realised she hadn’t had a chance to find out.

  “He was with you,” Harriet said bluntly, and Emily grimaced. Ouch. “I don’t know the ins and outs of course, but I know how hard it is for a man who likes being seen as the veritable knight in shining armour to suddenly lose his steed and his shield. That’s how Richard felt, and I was too angry and hurt to see it. I don’t want you to be the same.”

  “So is Owen like you or like Richard?”

  “Both of us in different ways?” Harriet answered with a laugh. “I don’t know. The analogy falls apart at some point I’m sure, but all I’m saying is, be patient. Give him a chance.”

  “Give him a chance?” Emily shook her head. “I think you’re talking to the wrong person. I’d give Owen a million chances. He’s the one who isn’t giving me one. He said he’s not in a place to have a relationship.”

  “Because he doesn’t think he has anything to offer you. So you need to decide if he does, and then you need to tell him so.”

  Emily stayed silent as she considered that terrifying prospect. Owen had been so very clear about what he did and did not want for her. Could she really be brave enough to put herself out there, to fight for what she wanted? What if Owen rejected her again? Emily didn’t think she could take that, not after everything else. “I don’t know…” she began, but Harriet shook her head.

  “I think you do. I know it’s scary. That makes it worth doing.” She touched her arm. “Look.”

  Emily looked up to see bluebells stretching in every direction, a living, violet carpet that was breathtaking in its pure beauty.

  “Wow,” she said softly. She’d been so intent on their discussion she hadn’t seen the beauty all around her. The possibility as well as the promise.

  Ahead of them Chloe let out a squeal, and William gave a cackle. Mallory heaved a dramatic sigh. “There isn’t even any signal here,” she complained.

  “You’re not meant to be on your phone,” Harriet shot back. She gave Emily an encouraging smile. “Think about it.”

  “Okay,” Emily said. She gazed out at the bluebells in the shadowy wood, the sky impossibly blue high above them. A day full of hope, of optimism. Maybe even of second chances.

  Maybe it was time to start taking some risks.

  *

  She was still considering Harriet’
s words on Monday, when she headed to work and spent a full eight hours at her desk, working on the fundraiser details as well as the appeal Henry wanted sent out to five thousand potential donors.

  The weather had stayed warm, and she’d enjoyed spending most of Sunday in her garden, weeding the flower beds and then just sitting in the sunshine. Her mother was coming home tomorrow, and Emily had got her room ready, everything spotless, tidy, and hopefully welcoming.

  The sun was still shining as she headed back to Willoughby Close at half past five, the air balmy and full of birdsong. Since Saturday she’d been dithering about doing what Harriet had suggested—finding Owen and telling him to give her—them—a chance. Yet every time she actually thought about doing, walking to his house and knocking on his door, her insides froze with terror. She couldn’t. She couldn’t risk the rejection.

  Then, as she rounded the corner to the turn-off for the close, her heart seemed to clang in her chest like a bell because there was Owen right in front of her. Had he come to find her? He faltered in his step, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  “Hey.” His voice came out in something close to a croak and he gave a crooked smile.

  “What are you doing here?” Emily asked. Too late she heard the hope in her voice, and saw the guilty look flash across Owen’s face. In an instant she knew he wasn’t here for her. Nothing had changed.

  “Jace and Ava invited me over for supper. I’m just using the shortcut through the wood.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment and something close to grief swamped her. Of course he was.

  Owen jammed his hand in the pockets of his jeans. “How are you? How’s your mum?”

  “She’s coming back here tomorrow with me.” Emily decided to sidestep the first question, because the only answer she could give was that she was missing him terribly.

  “Is she? That’s great news, at least, isn’t it?” A lopsided smile curved his mouth and made Emily ache. Everything about him was wonderfully familiar and yet impossibly remote.