Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2018 by HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018.
Cover illustration © Lindsey Spinks / The Artworks
Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008225827
Version 2018-03-28
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Part Three: Twilight Song
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Keep Reading…
Chapter 1
Also by Cressida McLaughlin
About the Publisher
Part Three
Twilight Song
Chapter One
Badgers are nocturnal creatures, which means they only come out at night. They’re very shy, with dark fur, beady eyes and a white stripe down their nose. They’re quite large – about the size of a cocker spaniel – and they can’t see very well but their sense of smell and hearing is very good, so wear dark clothes and stay very quiet if you are trying to see one. They growl and play fight and make a lot of noise when they’re eating, and bushes rustle when they walk through the undergrowth. Coming across one in the dark can be very scary, but remember, the badger will be more scared of you than you are of it. Probably.
— Note from Abby’s notebook.
Abby Field’s hands were covered in lard, seed and, most unpleasantly of all, dead mealworms. The children standing at the picnic tables in Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s sunny outdoor area seemed entirely happy to bury their fingers – and forearms in some cases – deep in the mixture, their parents less so. There was one small girl of about five whose face was also partially covered, and warden Gavin, who was ostensibly there to help and who had two girls of his own, was trying desperately not to laugh while her mum picked buggy lard out of her hair.
A robin – was it Bob, who they had named the previous autumn and who liked to sit on the windowsill of the visitor centre? – was hovering nearby, hopping between table and floor, aware that there would be rich pickings once the children had finished their craft session.
‘How’s everyone getting on?’ Abby asked, after she had shaped little Benjy’s mixture into a ball and wiped her hands on an old towel. ‘Does anyone need help?’ About ten arms went into the air, and Abby grinned at Gavin before they each went to the raised hand nearest them.
‘We did this at the other place, didn’t we?’ one of the children said to their dad. ‘It was much better, we had a whole tub to take home, and there were TV cameras and everything.’
Abby caught the man’s eye and he smiled apologetically. Abby tried not to take offence at the boy’s words, but the knowledge that Reston Marsh, the nature reserve a few miles away, which was hosting the television programme Wild Wonders, complete with glamorous presenter Flick Hunter, was not only threatening the future of Meadowsweet but also running similar activities to them, was a blow she didn’t need.
It was spring on the Suffolk nature reserve, a sunny Saturday that was also, as Gavin was at pains to remind everyone, St Patrick’s Day. The plan was for the reserve staff to head to the Skylark, the quaint country pub in Meadowgreen village, once they had finished work, but Abby’s sister Tessa was coming to visit, and Abby didn’t want to share her with her friends on this occasion.
As the session came to an end and the children left, carrying their lard balls carefully in cardboard boxes, Abby’s phone beeped. It was her next-door neighbour, and owner of Meadowgreen’s converted chapel library, Octavia Pilch.
T-minus ten days until Jack Westcoat liftoff!! What is there left to do?
Abby huffed in frustration. Octavia was organizing the Jack Westcoat liftoff, which was actually an author event in the library, and should know exactly what there was left to do. Besides, Abby only had an hour before her afternoon workshop, making nest boxes with older children, was due to start, and she was desperate for a sandwich. She helped Gavin clear up the picnic tables and headed into the visitor centre.
She was surprised to see Penelope Hardinge, her boss and the owner of the Meadowsweet reserve, poring over the computer on the reception desk. Abby approached quietly, studying the neatness of the woman’s grey bun, the rigidness of her thin shoulders and, when she was close enough, what Penelope was looking at. It was the events page on the reserve website.
Abby felt her hands go clammy. Events were her responsibility and, over the last few months, they had become much more important. The nature reserve was under threat from various different angles, not all of which Penelope would talk openly about.
‘Can I help?’ she asked softly.
Penelope turned to her with steely eyes. ‘It’s looking a bit thin, isn’t it? For the next few months, at least. This is the spring, Abby, when blossoms bloom and chrysalises become butterflies and birds sing gloriously, and we should be maximizing on that.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Abby started, ‘but this is only the beginning. I’m a bit behind with the website, but I have a whole series of workshops to add, and there are six schools confirmed for the last two weeks of term.’
‘And grand plans?’ Penelope asked. ‘The incentives and membership boosts that will secure our future long term? Expanding on the walks is all very well, but you’re not thinking big enough, scaling it up in a way that will truly make a difference.’
‘A camping event,’ she said quickly, because that was a grand plan she’d had, it just wasn’t that well-formed yet. ‘I thought we could hold it on the field behind the meadow. We can combine nature trails and stargazing, run activities and binocular displays. Stephan and the café could cater, and I can organize local, organic producers to come and sell honey, veg and meat. It would be like a mini festival.’
‘Excellent,’ Penelope said. ‘I’d like to see your proposal for that on my desk by Tuesday, complete with how we’re going to end that event with noticeably increased membership numbers.’
Three days away. Shit. ‘A – a formal proposal?’
‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Wild Wonders is gathering momentum, and we’re limping along at a much slower pace, despite the murmuration event and your other, select, successes. It’s a few bright stars in a black sky, Abby, when it needs to be a galaxy if we’re to have any chance of survival.’
Abby nodded, feeling the weight of Penelope’s words. ‘And Swallowtail?’ she asked quietly.
S
wallowtail House, the grand Georgian mansion that was part of the Meadowsweet estate and stood looking over the reserve and Meadowgreen village, had once been Penelope’s home. She had moved out of it when her husband, Al, had died suddenly, and it had stayed empty for over sixteen years. A couple of weeks ago, Penelope had confided to Abby that if things didn’t improve quickly then Swallowtail House might have to be sold.
Abby knew that Penelope loved it, that despite leaving it to the mercy of nature, she wasn’t able to fully let go of it. And since Abby had taken herself or, more accurately, been taken on a tour of the abandoned property by Jack Westcoat, she felt strongly about it too. There was a bright future for that house, but if Penelope was forced into selling it to someone who didn’t know the area or the importance of the reserve then it could be disastrous.
‘I am holding on,’ Penelope said, ‘my teeth and claws bared, but until I can show the bank that Meadowsweet is firmly in the black, then we’re teetering on a precipice. It’s not an ideal position to be in.’
‘I know,’ Abby said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ Penelope stood up. She was a good few inches taller than Abby and intimidating in more ways than Abby had fingers to count. ‘Just be better. Are any birds nesting in the library, for example?’
‘What? No, I don’t think so.’ She gave a half-hearted laugh.
‘That’s interesting to know.’
Abby’s gaze fell to the floor. Penelope knew that she’d been helping Octavia with the library event. She hoped that Penelope wouldn’t also have realized Abby’s main motivation for agreeing.
When Penelope spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘I’ve spent some time with Jack recently, and I’m led to believe that he’s doing better than he was. Both by the man himself and someone I’m close to, who knows him well.’
‘The person you thought might be able help?’ Their previous conversation on this topic was etched into Abby’s mind because it was so unlike Penelope to show caring – and also because Jack Westcoat was her favourite subject, despite all her best intentions.
‘Indeed. His agent, Leo Ravensberg. We’re acquainted, and both invested in Jack’s wellbeing. If he’s agreed to Octavia’s event, then he’s made his bed and will have to lie in it. But it indicates that he’s prepared to show his face here, that he’s no longer hiding himself away, and that can only be a good thing. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with him.’ She walked purposefully back to her office, closing the door quietly behind her.
Abby let her arms slide along the desk until she could lean her forehead on them. ‘Shit. Shitting shit.’
Jack Westcoat, an author of dark, psychological thrillers, had escaped to the Suffolk countryside after an incident between a fellow author’s face and Jack’s fist, to try and write the book that would recover his reputation and restore his place in the hearts of his readers. At first, their relationship had been tempestuous; he’d complained about visitors to the reserve ruining his concentration as they walked past his new home, Peacock Cottage. Abby had explained that she couldn’t close the reserve just for him, and the tension had fizzed between them. But as the months had worn on, and their animosity had been overcome, Abby hadn’t been able to stop herself falling for him.
And yet, though her pulse increased whenever she thought of Jack’s dishevelled mane of dark brown hair and his startling blue eyes, she still tried to convince herself the feelings would pass, that their kiss had been a one off. He wasn’t right for her and would probably be moving back to London soon anyway. She held out hope that the problem would resolve itself, a temporary blip on the otherwise beautiful landscape that was her life. Except that she had come to see Jack as the most attractive part, and not just because he was physically gorgeous.
‘What kind of impression are you trying to give?’ a familiar voice asked. ‘Meadowsweet zombie land?’
Abby stood up, brushing her short blonde hair off her face. ‘Sorry, I was just—’
‘Swearing softly into the desk? What’s wrong?’ Rosa looked at her with sympathetic dark eyes.
‘The usual,’ Abby said. ‘Penelope doesn’t think I’m working hard enough, that I need to up my game. I have to write a formal proposal about my camping idea – by Tuesday!’
Rosa wrinkled her button nose, obscuring some of the freckles. ‘But you’ve been doing a wonderful job.’
‘Not wonderful enough, obviously.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘And now I have half an hour until workshop number two, and I haven’t had any lunch.’
‘Go and get a sandwich. I’ll book people in. Are you coming to the pub later? It looks like you could do with a chat.’
‘Tessa’s coming over,’ Abby said. ‘So I’m going to play it by ear.’
‘Bring her too!’ Rosa urged. ‘It’s been ages since I saw your sister, and if you don’t come it’ll be me and Octavia against the boys.’
‘You and Octavia are more than a match for them, but I’ll see. Thanks, Rosa.’ She hurried off in search of a sandwich, wondering if she could face another evening of Octavia Pilch talking about how wonderful Jack Westcoat was and how he was going to singlehandedly save Meadowgreen library from an early demise. If only she could get him to save Meadowsweet Nature Reserve as well, instead of just putting her off the job of doing it, then maybe she wouldn’t be feeling quite so worried.
‘You look like a lovesick teenager,’ were the first words that Tessa said as she stepped over the threshold into Abby’s homely front room.
Abby almost dropped the bottle of wine her sister had handed her, before she took it into the kitchen while Tessa made a fuss of Raffle. Her rescue husky was friends with everyone but had a special place in his heart for Tessa, who brought him organic treats from a pet shop in Bury St Edmunds.
‘Uh-oh,’ Tessa said, as Abby poured the wine and handed her a glass. ‘Have I hit on something? Has the impregnable Abby Field finally let her defences down?’
This was not how Abby had imagined the subject coming up, so she diverted it. ‘I’m not lovesick, I’m in trouble. At work. Not trying hard enough with the events, according to Penelope. As far from a gold star as it’s possible to be.’ She poured crisps into a bowl and brought them into the living room, where Raffle was waiting eagerly. ‘Not for you.’ She rubbed his nose as she placed the bowl on the coffee table.
Raffle looked up imploringly and then settled on the rug, his nose on his paws.
‘How is that even possible?’ Tessa asked, sitting opposite her sister. ‘Haven’t you spent the whole day doing children’s activities? I couldn’t cope with that and I’ve got two of my own. Neil put a brave face on it when I left this evening, but Daisy was having a tantrum because her pink Rapunzel socks were in the washing machine. I thought about staying to help him, but then realized I didn’t want to.’ She smiled brightly and Abby laughed, always amazed by her sister’s relaxed attitude to parenthood. Daisy and Willow didn’t often go in for tantrums, and they adored their mum, who looked like she spent her days lounging by a pool with a good book instead of looking after two young children.
‘Poor old Neil,’ Abby said. ‘But I am glad to have you to myself. The others have gone to the Skylark to drink Guinness and listen to Gavin’s awful fake Irish accent.’
‘We can go if you’d like to?’ Tessa said.
Abby shook her head. ‘I want you to myself. I wanted to spend time with my sister.’
Tessa sat forward on the sofa, suddenly wary. ‘Have you seen Mum recently? Did she say something? What about Dad – has he been in touch?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Abby took a long sip of wine, trying to fortify herself. How could she tell her sister how she felt about Jack when she hadn’t even mentioned that he existed before? He’d been in Meadowgreen for six months, twisting her mind into knots, and yet she hadn’t confided in the person she was closest to in the world. It had been part of her plan to let her feelings for him run their course, but instead the opposite had h
appened.
‘What, then? Come on Abby, you can’t hold out on me. This isn’t just about work, I can tell.’
Abby glanced at Raffle. He cocked his head, as if he was also waiting.
‘Jack Westcoat,’ she said, because that seemed like the best place to start.
Tessa frowned, and smoothed her artfully dyed lilac hair from her face. ‘Jack Westcoat? That writer who beat his friend up at some award thing last year? What’s he got to do with the price of fish?’
‘He didn’t beat him up,’ Abby said. ‘There was one punch, and things were – are – very complicated between them.’
Tessa folded her arms. ‘Why are you defending a famous author? Has Penelope’s negativity sent you round the twist?’
‘He’s here, in Meadowgreen,’ Abby said hurriedly, ripping off the metaphorical plaster. ‘He’s staying in the cottage close to the reserve, and I – I’ve spent a bit of time with him, gone on a couple of walks.’
‘What?’ Her sister’s voice was low, wary.
‘He complained about the reserve, and when I went to challenge him, we – I don’t know, Tessa, we’ve helped each other out. He’s been miserable, and I tripped one night, walking back in the dark, and he was—’
‘You like him,’ Tessa said sharply.
‘I don’t know.’ Abby rubbed her cheeks.
‘He hit someone, Abs. He was pissed off about something, and he used his fists to deal with it.’
‘He regrets it, more than anything.’
‘And isn’t that what Dad said every time he got into another row with Mum?’
‘That was different,’ Abby said. ‘So completely different to Jack. Whenever I’ve been with him, I haven’t felt remotely threatened, or that he’s even capable of something like that. Not even when he was angry about the reserve.’
‘But he is capable though, isn’t he? And from what I’ve read, his past isn’t exactly rosy. Didn’t he get up to all sorts with that friend when they were at uni together?’
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