‘Oh God,’ Jack clamped a hand over his eyes. ‘Please don’t. I’ve had enough teasing from Leo about all that.’
‘The interviewer was pretty terrible,’ Abby said, laughing, wondering whether to raise the subject of Leo and Penelope, then deciding she didn’t want to right at that moment, when she’d just got Jack back. They had all the time in the world to talk about it. But there was one thing that couldn’t wait. ‘I’m glad you told the truth about Eddie, though,’ she said. ‘You deserve more than what he did to you.’
Jack nodded and squeezed her hand, and Abby knew that was all that needed to be said, for now at least.
They had almost reached the gate, Raffle walking patiently alongside them, his acceptance of Jack so absolute that, if nothing else had convinced her, Abby would have known that he was a good man, one who could be trusted. But she had so much more besides her dog’s acceptance, not least her own instincts, which she had finally allowed herself to listen to, telling her that she had found someone she could be truly, exquisitely happy with.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ Jack said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘about your motto, friendship and chips.’
‘Oh yes?’ she asked, wincing as she remembered the night she had failed to listen to her own advice, and the embarrassing text messages that had ensued.
‘I wonder if we could amend it slightly?’ He stopped and faced her, the reflected sun turning the right side of his face golden, his eyes like the shimmering surface of the lagoon.
‘What to?’ Abby asked, having to force the words out because she was struck by his beauty all over again, and by the new, wonderful truth that this man was hers, that he had given up his life in London for her, wanted her as much as she wanted him.
‘The chips part is fine,’ he said. ‘But friendship is a bit too … it doesn’t convey my feelings well enough. It seems a little half-hearted.’
‘So, you want to change it to …?’
‘To true love,’ he said. ‘I love you, Abby, and it’s the most real, genuine thing I’ve ever experienced. I’m not ashamed to admit it, and if you feel even a fraction for me of what I feel for you, then I will be happier than I ever thought possible.’ His expression was intent, his lips parted slightly, waiting.
Abby didn’t want to torment him for a second longer. Her smile threatened to split her face apart. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I love you too. I have been bursting with it, miserable without you, trying to conjure up a world where I would be OK with us apart, and failing. I love you, Jack Westcoat. I accept your amendment to the motto, to change it to true love and chips. It’s perfect, perhaps even good enough to be the title of your next book.’
‘Not a chance.’ He leaned down to kiss her, taking the breath from her body with one expert, electrifying touch. ‘It’s far too happy,’ he said, trailing his lips down her neck. ‘It wouldn’t be an accurate representation of the death, destruction and bleakness within.’ He planted feathery kisses along her collarbone, as light as a butterfly’s touch, and as powerful as the wind that whipped across the water on icy March mornings. ‘Besides,’ he added with a smile, when Abby was leaning into him, her breathing ragged with desire, ‘there are some things that aren’t for public consumption, and now that I’ve got you back, I want you all to myself.’
The sun continued its slow, steady progress towards the horizon, and the House of Birds and Butterflies stood stoically in its grounds, its flaming windows looking over the village of Meadowgreen and the Meadowsweet nature reserve, as Jack and Abby sank into the long, dewy grass, the chips waiting for them at Peacock Cottage forgotten, at least for the moment.
Above them, a robin trilled a last, cheerful song into the still summer air, and a swallowtail butterfly passed close by, unseen by anyone except Raffle, who lifted his nose as it fluttered out through the gate, following a determined, dancing path towards the meadow trail, and the milk parsley growing in the hedgerows.
Chapter Seven
Lovebirds are small, rainbow-coloured parrots that come from Africa. They mate for life, and pine for their partner when they’re not together. They also feed each other (though not chips). The collective name for a group of lovebirds is, appropriately, an orgy.
— Note from Abby’s notebook.
Penelope opened her mouth to speak, and a nearby blackbird started singing. She glanced in its direction and raised a solitary eyebrow, and everyone laughed.
The candles on the birthday cake, thirty-two of them, shifted and danced, adding to the heat mirage of the sweltering late August day, but there was hardly any wind in the reserve’s picnic area, and no risk of them being blown out.
‘As I was about to say before one of our residents so rudely interrupted me,’ Penelope said, ‘thank you all for coming today to this momentous event. The birthday of someone who, I think we can all agree, is at the heart of Meadowsweet Nature Reserve. Abby,’ she continued, turning to her, ‘you are an invaluable member of this team – our newly promoted events manager, in fact – a good friend and, if rumours are to be believed, soon-to-be author of a bird book for children, something which will tie in neatly with Meadowsweet Fledglings.’
Abby’s skin flushed, and she covered her eyes as there was more laughter. ‘That’s never going to happen,’ she said. Jack squeezed her waist and she leaned into him, feeling the heat of his skin through his thin cotton T-shirt. She peeled her hands away and risked looking up.
‘No,’ Penelope said, her eyes dancing with amusement. ‘But I understand it was an entertaining afternoon.’
‘Oh, it was,’ Tessa grinned. ‘Abby must have been pissed off with someone when she wrote about how kingfishers bash fishes’ heads in before eating them whole, and she definitely doesn’t like magpies. Daisy saw one in the garden the other day and ran inside, screaming.’
‘I am so sorry,’ Abby said.
Her sister carried on, unperturbed. ‘But the highlight was when she told us about the lovebirds, and Willow asked what the word orgy meant.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Gavin said, chuckling. ‘Why did you have anything about lovebirds in there anyway? They’re not native to the UK.’
Abby shrugged, wondering why she had allowed Penelope to persuade her to have a gathering for her birthday, when it was clear that the embarrassment she’d expected was nothing compared to the reality. ‘It was … important to have them in there,’ she explained, glancing up at Jack.
‘I thought it was a triumph,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘Kingfisher brutality and lovebird orgies aside.’
‘Not that you’re at all biased.’ Tessa flashed him a smile, and Abby felt another rush of happiness that, upon meeting Jack, all of her sister’s fears had been dispelled. By the end of the bird book unveiling day, the two of them were regaling Abby, Neil and Caroline with ropey renditions of Flanders and Swann songs after too much red wine. The hippopotamus song was, understandably, the highlight.
‘Guys,’ Stephan said, ‘the candles are dripping wax all over the icing, so …’
‘Of course, Stephan, thank you. Everyone?’ Penelope lifted her arms and counted them in to a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday.’
Abby giggled, wondering what the birds must think of such a haphazard cacophony, and then when it was over, she bent forward and blew out the candles on the huge, chocolate fudge cake Stephan had made. Everyone clapped, and she started to cut it into slices.
‘No speech, Abby?’ Leo asked.
Abby shook her head. ‘Speeches really aren’t my thing.’
‘You could have fooled us,’ Gavin said. ‘What about that day in the café after the summer event?’ He pressed his hand to his chest, his voice wobbling dramatically. ‘I want you to know that you’ve all been wonderful. It was like a bloody Oscars acceptance.’
‘Shut up, Gav.’ Rosa slapped him on the shoulder. ‘We were all knackered, and we’d just heard Helen Savoury announce that she was giving the reserve thirty thousand pounds, and also let slip that Penelope had been
keeping something rather monumental from everyone.’ She looked pointedly at Leo, and he laughed.
‘I like the idea of being monumental. Usually my job is to thrust other people into the limelight.’
‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,’ Jack said. ‘What did you think I would have done with the information?’
Abby had told Jack about Penelope’s revelations the evening he’d returned to Meadowgreen. He’d been shocked and had admitted that he hadn’t picked up on the similarities between the two of them, a fact which, Abby knew, had annoyed him. He’d told her that he knew Leo was adopted, and that he was in touch with his birth mother, but that his agent had never been more forthcoming about that aspect of his life, despite their years of friendship. Abby had reassured Jack that it was only the coincidence of them both telling her to ‘smile, and you’re halfway there,’ that had made it twig for her.
‘Jack,’ Leo said, sighing, ‘you expect me to believe that if I had revealed your landlady was actually my mother, you wouldn’t have told Abby? Almost from the moment you moved here, our communications were sprinkled with titbits about this woman you’d had a run in with. “She’s so infuriating Leo, how am I expected to write? Oh Leo, did I tell you she wants me to go on one of her walks so that I can learn to embrace nature? Did you know she has a husky, Leo? She has the loveliest eyes, Leo, I can feel myself falling into them!”’
‘I did not say that!’ Jack shot back, laughing.
‘It was bloody close enough, though. You changed the entire plot of your novel just so you could find a reason to spend hours walking around the reserve with her. The most significant tributary in history.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Jack said, his cheeks colouring. ‘Everyone knows I’m besotted with Abby, there’s no need to humiliate me.’
‘Well, I think it’s adorable,’ Octavia said, cutting off a delicate piece of cake with her fork. ‘I could tell you were softer than you looked, like a tiger cub playing at being a stealthy killer.’
‘Or a baby hippo,’ Abby said, feeling Jack’s eyes on her as she joined in. ‘Hippos are very dangerous, but I’m not sure a young one would be that threatening. What are baby hippos called, does anyone know?’
‘A calf,’ Gavin supplied. ‘It could still break every bone in your foot if it trod on you. Not sure I’d peg Jack as a hippo. More a hyena, something like that.’
‘Jesus,’ Jack muttered. ‘Do we really have to debate what my spirit animal is? Shouldn’t Abby be the centre of attention here?’
‘No, no,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve done my bit blowing out the candles. But I will just say—’
‘Oh, here we go,’ Gavin said. ‘I knew you couldn’t resist it.’
‘I just want to say thank you,’ Abby continued, ignoring him. ‘For this – for the cake and the presents, and for all coming today to celebrate with me. I couldn’t think of a better way of spending my birthday than with the people I care about the most, and you’re all here – well, apart from those who have decided that Flick Hunter and Wild Wonders setting up at kingfisher hide is even more appealing than birthday cake, which I have to say makes me a very proud auntie, even if I’m a little worried that you’re coming down with something, Gavin?’
‘You’re more important than Flick,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Besides, Jenna told me that if I flirted with her I’d be sleeping in the spare room and the mattress in there’s crap.’
Everyone laughed.
‘That figures,’ Abby said. ‘Though I’m not sure a crush on Flick Hunter can explain Mum’s foray into the depths of Meadowsweet – has she had a brain transplant in the last couple of months, Tessa?’
‘She was showing off her new wellies earlier, but then they are gold. And she’s bought a birdbath for her garden, to go with the feeders you got her. You’ve got another convert.’
‘It took long enough,’ Abby said. ‘But I’m happy, even if she is angling for her own television appearance.’ She exchanged a smile with her sister and felt Jack’s grip on her tighten. ‘Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Thank you for coming, now eat cake and be merry!’
The day at Tessa’s, with her mum and Jack, and the grand unveiling of what amounted to a series of scribbles in various notebooks, had been better than she could have imagined. Other than her sister and her boyfriend hitting it off, Caroline had been relaxed and non-judgemental and, Abby could tell, making an effort. They couldn’t bridge years of pain and discomfort in a single afternoon, but they could take small steps towards a proper, emotional reconciliation, and Abby felt that now she had the tools – the confidence and self-belief – to start down that path. Not to mention someone she could talk it over with, who would support her and, whenever she needed, simply be there for her.
As everyone tucked into the cake, Willow, Daisy and Evan came rushing through the café, their legs splashed with dirt, Neil, Caroline, Karen and Joyce, and Evan’s parents following behind. Jonny brought up the rear, a pair of shiny new binoculars round his neck. Abby watched as he gave Rosa a kiss, her nose crinkling as she laughed in response to something he’d said. She waved at Evan, who was cutting slices of cake for the latecomers.
‘How are the production team getting on?’ she asked.
‘Amazing,’ Evan said reverently. ‘Flick’s going to let me do a piece to camera, about how Meadowsweet inspired my love of nature and the incredible Fledgling Programme that’s going to safeguard the future of the reserve for years to come.’
Abby struggled to hold in her laughter, wondering at Evan’s capacity to memorize the words that had, obviously, come from someone else. It seemed that Flick Hunter’s appeal wasn’t limited to men over twenty-five.
‘That’s wonderful, Evan. You’re the perfect spokesman for the Fledglings. You’ll have to let me know when it’s going to happen so I can watch.’
‘You’re doing it with me,’ Evan said, a forkful of cake hovering inches from his lips. ‘Flick said it had to be you, that you were the best.’
Abby raised her eyebrows. ‘She said that, did she?’
Evan nodded, the cake now firmly in his mouth.
‘She thinks you’re ace, Abby, like I do,’ he mumbled, crumbs spraying everywhere.
Abby felt her neck redden and could only smile in return. Satisfied that everyone was content, she took Jack’s hand and pulled him aside, until they were standing at the edge of the picnic area, the lagoon shimmering ahead of them, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue.
Jack had been back in Meadowgreen for three weeks. Three glorious, sun-filled weeks in which they had talked and laughed, walked through the reserve and spent every night in the same bed – sometimes at Peacock Cottage, sometimes at Number One Warbler Cottages. They’d had long, lazy evenings sitting at the picnic tables outside the Skylark with Abby’s friends – who were quickly becoming Jack’s friends too – or on Peacock Cottage’s tiny patio, the butterflies dancing around them.
When Abby finished at the reserve she would head to Swallowtail House, to find Jack discussing schedules or partition walls with the builders, his jeans and T-shirt covered in dust, specks of plaster in his thick hair. Or he’d be perusing catalogues full of furnishings and fittings, or sometimes, just leaning on the railing along the patio at the back of the house, looking out over the wilderness that was now his.
Once, she had found him sitting against the back wall of the house, the sprawling gardens ahead of him, his attention fixed on a notepad balanced on his knees. He had a cold cup of tea at his side, and several screwed-up bits of paper littered around him.
‘What’s this?’ she’d asked lightly. ‘Someone else you’ve found to pen notes to?’
He’d told her he was writing to Eddie, saying all the things he hadn’t had a chance to. Abby had sat alongside him, closing her eyes as the sun beat down, staying quiet while he tried to get everything out, reading it through when he asked her to. His words, as always, were eloquent and heartfelt, and her throat grew thick as she was remin
ded of all that had happened between them.
And yet, while Jack’s letter was unflinchingly honest about how Eddie’s actions had affected him, it wasn’t devoid of compassion, and Abby had been struck again by the differences between the two men, and how good Jack’s heart was.
Finally, he’d folded the paper up, slipped it inside an envelope and laid it on the stone railing, ready for posting, then replaced the cold tea with two bottles of beer from the mini fridge humming quietly in the kitchen. They had sat on the baked patio slabs and wordlessly clinked bottles, and it was only Raffle, returning from a foray into the bushes with a wild rose between his teeth like some kind of Romeo, that had shattered the sombreness of the moment.
Raffle and Jack were almost inseparable now, her husky delighted that he had someone to spend time with when she was at work, no longer left to his own devices at home or with Octavia on the few occasions she was free to walk him.
It still felt like a dream. But the best dream, one that Abby was slowly beginning to accept was actually real. Her happy, content life in Meadowgreen was still just that, but it was slowly expanding, growing to encompass all her hopes and ambitions, even though some of those, she hadn’t realized she’d been harbouring.
The reserve had a new lease of life too, and with her promotion to events manager – which Penelope had offered her the week after the Summer Spectacular, rather than in the café on the last day of the fair when enough bombshells had already fallen – she had more responsibility, more challenges, than ever before. Work on a new wildlife pond was already underway, Marek and Gavin digging it out, returning to the visitor centre muddy and red-faced, Penelope ensuring them that manual labour at the hottest time of the year was character building.
Abby had an engagement campaign to plan, to let all the members – old, new and Fledgling – know about their proposals to update the reserve and involve them in the decisions. They had the opportunity to make Meadowsweet outstanding, for visitors – of course – but most importantly for the wildlife that lived there, that sang and fished, fluttered, bred and slept within its parameters, and Abby was champing at the bit to get started.
Birds of a Feather Page 9
