The Cottage of New Beginnings

by Suzanne Snow

  The Cottage of New Beginnings

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Start of Content

  To Stewart and Fin, for everything.

  In memory of the late Pat Howard, first reader.

  Chapter One

  Willow Cottage had been empty for over a year before Annie Armstrong arrived and the reality of it would have exceeded her expectations had she not found her furniture dumped in the front garden. The earlier disappearance of the sun on a glorious July day meant swirling grey clouds had hurled rain over the few possessions from her old life that she wanted in the new one and drenched the lot. Skies now clear of the clouds that had wreaked this havoc, the sun beamed down again and picked out the glint of raindrops still clinging to her plastic-covered furniture as if mocking her late arrival.

  It can’t be, she thought, bewildered, squinting again as she took in the series of shapes scattered around the garden, and pushed her sunglasses back over her head to get a better look. But it was. Annie gave a moan as she recognised the remains of her furniture in the long grass, looking remarkably like an unfinished art installation. She didn’t know whether to ring her so-called removal men or the Tate gallery as she dived into her handbag for her phone. She tried the driver’s number three times before realising there was no signal. Crossly, she climbed out of her Mini and marched towards the house, weeds spilling onto the path and soaking her legs as she strode past.

  Aside from the new lawn furniture that she’d have to find a way of removing soon, the cottage was much as she remembered, nestled in an uncharacteristically overgrown garden, the old weeping willow in the back sending shadows through the sunshine over the roof and giving the house its name. The unmistakable scent of damp, clean country air hit her senses immediately and she breathed deeply, eyes closed as half-forgotten memories of endless days playing outdoors tumbled into her mind.

  Almost unwillingly Annie opened them again, peering at the house as she pushed thoughts of childhood away. She remembered Molly telling her the cottage was built of sandstone, which gave the building a lovely creamy glow that had begun to fade into a muddy grey. It had been winter, two years ago, when she was here last and Annie was surprised to see how worn and unloved the cottage appeared, and not just because of the state of the garden.

  She saw a note pinned to the front door and snatched at it, reading it quickly. It was from the men with the van, apologising for leaving in a hurry but no longer able to wait for her to arrive with a key. She sighed; it was hardly their fault she had been held up on the motorway and hadn’t been able to connect the call to let them know. She crumpled the note between her fingers, realising that her old life was beginning to seem less chaotic than the new one, and wondered how she would make a home in this place. She was starting to wish she hadn’t come to Thorndale at all, but didn’t know where else she might be able to mend her spirits.

  Staring forlornly at the heavy lifting she’d have to do, Annie decided instead to head to the village first to pick up sustenance before she started. She knew she’d be in desperate need of food – and wine – by the time she was done moving everything into the cottage, and would rather make the trip now to have supplies as motivation for later. Better to take the car as well, even if it was less than half a mile away, rather than carry it all back if she bought more than one bottle, which seemed likely.

  As she drove back into the village she had just passed through, Annie couldn’t help thinking how everything seemed smaller than she remembered it. Thorndale was busy with visitors now that the rain had died away; parents were half-heartedly trying to keep eyes on children racing around the village green while pensioners climbed slowly onto a noisily rumbling coach hovering awkwardly on the high street.

  A brisk, narrow river ran between the green and the high street, and people were sitting on picnic blankets or coats on the damp grass, eating ice cream or leaning back to sunbathe, faces tilted to the sun. Annie saw that the post office still survived but an art gallery had replaced the tiny garage with its single petrol pump, and people were staring through the windows in search of a masterpiece or a bargain. The small tearoom looked much the same, except for extra seating outside and a sign advertising ice cream from a local dairy farm. Beyond the centre of the village Annie spotted a tall, square church tower peering down on everything else and the canopies of the ancient trees surrounding the vicarage she knew was tucked amongst them.

  She drove alongside the green, overlooked by pretty terraced cottages and a row of larger Georgian houses facing The Royal Oak, the only pub. Thorndale Farm, set back as if trying to keep a polite distance from everyone else, was sheltered behind craggy oak trees bordering its walls and she spotted a group of teenagers in the shade, heads bent over their phones as their thumbs moved constantly. She glanced curiously at a couple of modern stone bungalows further on, and realised that the village had altered while she hadn’t been looking, becoming more than simply the farming community she remembered.

  When her godmother had died aged eighty-nine, Annie had been surprised and delighted to discover she had inherited Molly Briggs’s house, a small and simple cottage she had adored so much as a child. Now, Annie hoped that here she would find peace again. Nobody in the village knew she was arriving today and she wanted it this way, still unprepared to voice the devastating circumstances that had brought her here.

  With no spaces free in the car park at the far end of the village, she headed back to Thorndale Farm, which had an empty barn whose entrance had often been used as a parking place by locals in the know nipping into the village for a quick visit. Whenever the village was busy with visitors or the farmer wanted the entrance left clear, he would drop a couple of traffic cones in the gap to prevent tourists from taking advantage. Annie crawled along a narrow lane on the other side of the green outside the farm, dodging the group of teenagers who were now on the move with eyes glued to their phones. Outside the barn, cobbles stretching back to the lane were enclosed between grass verges either side of the huge doors and she drove right up to them, not completely blocking the entrance. She thought the barn doors had probably been replaced since she had last bothered to look; they certainly appeared smarter than they used to.

  Laughter and voices from the pub drifted over as people lingered outside to enjoy the last of the sun, the river speeding away between uneven rocks as she crossed a humpback bridge onto the high street. She smiled at the children clambering down slippery stone steps to the river, shrieking as they tried not to stumble into the chilly water. It reminded her of the days when she had played the same game, in this same place. As if conjured by her childhood reminiscences, she saw a woman she recognised as Kirstie Blaine standing at the front door of one half of a pair of semi-detached stone cottages further along, and Annie waved to catch her attention.

  ‘Annie! Oh, I can’t believe it!’

  They met halfway, laughing as they hugged, arms becoming tighter as they clung together for a
few moments. When they separated, Annie’s eyes ran over Kirstie’s face with pleasure, searching for the familiar and finding it despite the years that had passed since they had last seen each other. Kirstie had been Annie’s best friend in the village while they were growing up. Her parents were writers, her brother Ross several years older and Kirstie’s childhood had been eclectic and uninhibited. Annie had always envied Kirstie when she’d had to leave the village behind and return to school in Shropshire, her happiness suspended until the next longed-for visit.

  Kirstie’s thoughtful, distracted brown eyes and lithe figure were unchanged. Her muddy blonde hair was also the same, scooped back in a casual ponytail that left shorter strands drifting loose around her face, meaning she was forever tucking them behind her ears.

  ‘Your hair—’

  ‘You’ve barely—’

  They both laughed again, and then Kirstie spoke. ‘You go first. Are you here to see Molly? How is she?’

  Annie blinked, her smile becoming smaller as her eyes fell away from Kirstie’s curious gaze. Her hand went to her long, dark auburn curls, sweeping them across one shoulder in a casual gesture. It was three months already since she had lost Molly, but it still seemed unreal to say so, especially here in Thorndale, the village they had both loved. ‘She died in April, in a nursing home. She had to move in a couple of years before that as her arthritis was getting worse and she was struggling to manage at home. She had a fall just before Easter and then passed on a week later. She would have absolutely hated to linger or be a burden, she was still pottering in the garden every day until she fell.’

  ‘Oh Annie, I’m sorry, I had no idea.’ Kirstie’s voice lowered and she reached out a hand to squeeze one of Annie’s in sympathy. ‘I knew she was in the nursing home, of course, Dad mentioned it, but I didn’t know you’d lost her. I’m so sorry, I know how close you two were. I bet Dad doesn’t know, unless someone from the village has already told him.’

  ‘Thanks, Kirstie. But how are you? You look great, barely any older than the last time I saw you.’

  Kirstie’s lips pursed together and the expression in her brown eyes altered as Annie deftly changed the subject. Suddenly Annie had an idea of what Kirstie was going to tell her, and wished she’d never asked the question.

  ‘I’m fine. But we lost Mum after Christmas. She’d not been well for a while and after a battery of tests it turned out she had motor neurone disease. The prognosis wasn’t great, and she died within three months. It was still a massive shock.’

  ‘Oh Kirstie, you too. I’m so sorry, how awful. How’s your dad coping?’

  Kirstie glanced away, waving at someone outside the post office before her eyes came back to Annie’s and a small smile tugged at her lips. ‘I can’t decide if he’s coping really well or really badly. You know what he’s like, Annie. He’s gone and taken himself off to a miniscule Hebridean island to discover his spiritual values and live as sustainably as possible. You won’t get any argument from me about sustainability, but the values bit? Really?’

  Annie was remembering how brilliant and unpredictable Andrew Blaine had been when she and Kirstie were younger. One minute he’d be getting up at five every day to swim outdoors and before they knew it, he’d have changed his mind and taken up yoga, declaring that he’d seen one too many dead sheep in the water and he was never going to swim in the river again. But he’d also been great fun, hugely energetic and had taken both Annie and Kirstie on many an expedition, teaching them about the natural world around them and instilling values in Kirstie that Annie was sure she would never lose.

  ‘It sounds just like him if I’m honest. Is it a permanent move?’

  ‘Not sure, he’s planning to stay a year at least. That’s why I’m here today.’ Kirstie waved a hand towards the building behind her. ‘We’ve had an estate agent round to organise letting the house.’

  ‘Are you still living here? I always imagined you’d have disappeared and gone travelling long ago.’ Annie couldn’t remember whose turn it had been to email or call last but somehow they’d found it harder to stay in touch once they had left the village to study and travel. Annie wished now that they had made more effort.

  ‘I did, for a few years, and then came back to do a PhD. I’m living in the Dales again now, sharing a cottage with someone from work. A job came up with the National Park after Mum got sick and it meant I could be on hand for her.’

  ‘So what do you do? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s scientific, of course. Something environmental?’

  Kirstie grinned, trying to tuck her loose hair behind her ears. ‘You know me too well, Annie Armstrong. I am an environmental scientist, which right now means advising the Park Authority on wildlife. But hey, what about you? Is it even still Armstrong now?’

  Annie blinked away her thoughts before replying, forcing a brighter tone into her voice. ‘Yep, definitely still an Armstrong. I’m in no hurry to change that.’

  ‘Are you teaching?’ They had to shuffle to one side to let a family pass by, the parents trying to persuade two young children to eat their ice creams without squabbling over who had the biggest.

  ‘Yes, key stage two. I did think about high school, but it seemed a bit frantic and I really love my age group. They’re so rewarding, mostly.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Kirstie told her with a shudder. ‘All those hormones! I go into schools occasionally and it’s so much easier to engage primary kids, for a short time at least. But you always were brilliant with the little ones, Annie. Do you remember doing tea parties for my diddy cousins when they came to visit, and Molly would bake her famous scones and bring them fruit she’d picked straight from the garden, bruises and all? I’ve still never tasted scones as good.’

  Annie laughed, marvelling at Kirstie’s memory and other recollections spilled into her mind, reminding her again of what she had lost. She wondered for the umpteenth time if coming here really had been wise.

  Kirstie pulled a phone from her pocket and glanced at it. ‘Annie, I’m so sorry but I’ve got to go. We’ve got a group coming later for a guided walk at dusk and I need to be there. Are you staying long enough for us to catch up properly, maybe Friday night at The Courtyard, the old craft centre? They’ve updated the restaurant and started staying open later at the weekend for pizza and Prosecco. Do you fancy it?’

  ‘I’d love that,’ Annie replied honestly. She wasn’t planning on having too much social or community involvement just yet. She wanted to spend the summer as quietly as possible, settling into the cottage while she prepared for the coming term at her new school in the next village eight miles away and allowed her shattered heart to ease. But Kirstie was different, and Annie was nodding as she reached for her own phone from her handbag. ‘Oh. No signal.’

  ‘Par for the course here, some things don’t change much.’ Kirstie took a set of keys from the pocket of her walking trousers. ‘Why don’t we say seven? Give me your number and I’ll text you, you’ll get the message eventually.’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Thank you.’

  Annie reeled off her number and they said goodbye, and Kirstie disappeared into the house. Annie strolled back along the lane and joined the queue at the tea rooms for ice cream; she would do her shopping after this. It was soon her turn and she couldn’t decide between salted caramel and apple crumble and greedily decided to have both. She collected her enormous chocolate-topped cone and turned away, closing her eyes in delight as she took her first taste. There was a bench free on the little cobbled terrace outside the shop and she sat down, concentrating on not letting the ice cream run as she fished awkwardly for a tissue in her bag.

  ‘Anyone here drive a white Mini?’

  Annie’s head snapped up at the words spoken in an abrupt tone that carried easily across the green. A man was striding rapidly over the bridge and she knew at once from the firm set of his wide shoulders that he was angry. Tension radiated from him as he approached the huddle outside the tea rooms, which fell silent as h
e halted and glared at each of them in turn. Annie had a moment to admire his height and dark good looks before his eyes fell on her at the back of the group. Those eyes, with irises so blue and distinctive she was sure would be remarkable if he weren’t so annoyed, seemed to narrow beneath dark brows pulled together in exasperation as they gazed at one another. A swift heat raced across her skin as he dragged his glance back across the group and spoke again, his deep voice only slightly calmer.

  ‘White Mini? Abandoned outside the barn? If the driver doesn’t turn up in the next two minutes, we’re going to have to tow it out of the way.’

  ‘It’s mine.’ Annie stood up, already bristling at his curt manner and trying to force an apology into her tone to match her words. ‘Sorry. I hadn’t realised I wasn’t allowed to park there.’

  At once the man’s gaze swung back to land on hers and he let out a wry laugh as he challenged her. ‘Seriously? You just happened to miss the “no parking, access required 24 hours” signs, then?’

  His voice had deepened, and her lips tightened at his disbelieving tone. She squeezed past the people sitting nearby, pretending not to listen while they hung on to every word. She came to stand on the edge of the high street, facing him, and felt at once caught by the heat of his eyes on her as everyone else seemed to melt away, her senses flaring into a startling awareness of his physical presence.

  His face was tanned, with stubble covering a square jaw, criss-crossed by a scar, below a generous mouth and the suggestion of laughter lines around his eyes. He wore a red top beneath a matching waterproof jacket, a fluorescent stripe running down each arm with a badge below both shoulders, above practical, dark grey trousers and walking boots. His short hair was wet and messy, and mud clung to his boots and trousers.

  She suddenly realised her ice cream was melting as it dripped onto her hand and she crossly tipped the whole thing into a nearby bin, her appetite gone. She flashed an angry look at the man, rooting in her bag until she found her car keys. ‘I apologise if I’ve caused a problem. I’ll move it now.’ Her voice was brisk and low as she fought to diminish her body’s surprising reaction to him.