The pretty circular community garden had been planted to commemorate the centenary of the First World War, and at the centre of it stood a huge iron sculpture of a soldier, a dog at his feet, with a verse by a local writer to remember the villagers who’d been lost in battle. Around it, in widening concentric beds, were an all-year-round selection of plants and shrubs and some wooden benches where people came to sit and enjoy the peace. One quarter of the circle was given over to the sensory garden, which was planted with a deliciously scented jumble of herbs and flowers as well as plants like stachys with soft, appealing leaves that felt nice. The residents from the care home at the top of the hill were often wheeled down here by their care workers, but today it was empty save for Bunty, the woman who lived in the white thatched cottage. She was sitting there with a thermos travel mug by her side, eyes closed, her expression peaceful. Hannah didn’t want to interrupt so she tried to sidle past quietly, but her bag rattled against the huge seed heads of some exotic plant, making enough noise that Bunty’s watchful pale blue eyes snapped open.
‘Oh hello,’ she said, sounding as crisp as ever. Hannah was a tiny bit afraid of Bunty. Every time she came into the shop she half-expected to get a telling off for not having done something or other, but of course she never did. Bunty had never been anything but perfectly charming, in her very old-fashioned manner.
‘Afternoon. It’s lovely out, isn’t it?’
‘Well, it’ll do,’ Bunty said, looking up at the sky. ‘One has to take advantage of the decent weather at this age. You never know when you might pop off.’
‘I—’ Hannah opened and shut her mouth. She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to say in response to that.
Bunty gave a hearty chuckle and shifted over on the bench, moving her thermos mug. ‘I’m not going anywhere any time soon,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement at her own joke. ‘How’s village life treating you?’
‘Good,’ Hannah said, sitting down at the opposite end of the bench. The wood felt smooth to the touch, worn down over the years by countless bottoms sitting down on it. She ran a hand along it, feeling the grain, briefly imagining who might have made it and where they might be now.
‘I remember when I moved from London to the village during the war, it felt like a huge change. Everyone wanted to know everything, and one felt rather like one had no secrets.’
‘Exactly,’ Hannah nodded. ‘People come into the shop and ask me all about how I ended up here, and where my husband is, and what my son’s been up to.’
‘And how does that make you feel?’ Bunty looked at her with a shrewd expression, and for some reason Hannah found herself opening up.
‘It’s weird. I think everyone expects moving to a village to be easy, but a lot of people here are working in London, or just not around. And when you work in the shop you’re sort of part of the fixtures and fittings – I mean, people say hello and pass the time of day, but it’s not . . .’ she tailed off. ‘Sorry, I sound pathetic.’
‘Not at all,’ Bunty said. ‘I remember when I moved here the strangest thing was how quiet it was at night. I couldn’t sleep because there wasn’t a sound – especially during the blackout, of course, but even afterwards I used to lie in bed listening to owls hooting and the sound of the wind in the trees and think how funny it was that there weren’t any cars going by, or sirens from the factories.’
‘It is quiet, isn’t it? I’m surprised by how easy Ben’s found it to adjust. I thought he’d struggle, but he seems to have settled into life here perfectly.’
‘He’s got his friends from school, though, hasn’t he? And a ready-made social life with football. It’s easier when they’re tots and you can pop along to mother and baby groups and that sort of stuff. When they’re teenagers, it can be quite lonely.’
Hannah sighed. ‘It can, a bit. I’ve been thinking about what to do – I wondered about setting up a book group or something like that, so I might meet some people outside of work.’
‘That sounds like a lovely idea.’
‘Would you come?’ Hannah looked at Bunty, who recoiled, chuckling.
‘I would not.’ She shook her head. ‘I have never been one for organized fun – and I have a daughter-in-law who is completely obsessed by the idea of getting me out and about, doing the most awful things. She thinks she’s being helpful.’ Bunty made a face like a child, which made Hannah giggle.
‘I won’t save you a spot, then.’
‘Please not,’ Bunty said, easing herself up from the wooden bench. ‘But I look forward to hearing how it’s going. Perhaps you can pop round for a cup of tea one afternoon while the shop’s in capable hands. I gather my young friend Freya is working there?’
‘She is.’ Freya, who was Sam’s daughter, was one of the teenagers who was actually paid to work there a few hours a week – part of the village’s decision to try and do something positive for its younger residents. She was a friendly, funny girl – Hannah loved the afternoons when she was in – and a definite candidate for the book group, as a voracious reader.
‘I think you might be onto something rather fun,’ said Bunty, as Hannah stood up and offered her arm. ‘Now, shall we walk back to the village together?’
‘I’d like that,’ Hannah said.
Chapter Seventeen
She rose even earlier than usual on the day Phil was expected.
‘Mum,’ Ben groaned, as she pulled open his curtains. ‘What the hell are you doing? It’s half six.’
‘I want this place looking nice for when Dad gets here.’ She looked around his bedroom, which looked like a bomb had hit it. The contents of his school rucksack were spilling out all over the floor; his filthy football kit was tangled up with a muddy football and a pile of plastic training cones he’d taken back from the park the other day. The desk was covered in revision papers – that was something, at least – he did seem to be more involved with schoolwork now he was at Bletchingham School. Lucy, who taught history there, had even mentioned when she’d popped in the other day that he seemed to be settling well.
‘It does look nice.’
‘It looks like we’ve been living like students for a month. Now, if you clean the bathroom for me, I’ll get the sitting room and the kitchen tidy.’
‘I don’t know why you’re stressing.’
Hannah didn’t either. But she dusted and tidied and polished the little cottage sitting room, straightening up the odd collection of ornaments Beth had left behind. Once Phil was really here to stay, the place might stop feeling like a temporary fixture and start feeling like home. And of course he was bringing more boxes full of things from home that she’d packed up and left behind, thinking they could wait. But – she headed into the kitchen, wiping the surfaces and shoving a pile of washing into a basket – it was the little things that made a place feel like home.
It was strange, moving to a village. In the middle of a city, you could be anonymous and it was to be expected. But here in Little Maudley, there was a lot of talk about the amazing community spirit of the village, but so far – if she was completely honest with herself – she’d felt a little bit disappointed. She picked up her phone and checked Beth’s cheery last message.
Hope you’re settling in well – Lauren is having an absolute ball here, and has got herself an apprenticeship working in one of the top Oxford salons. I’m up to my eyes in paint samples, redecorating Mum’s place. How are things in sleepy Little M?
Great, Hannah had replied. Settling in well, village people are so sweet.
The truth was that she’d been there almost a month, and apart from work, she’d hardly done a thing besides go to the AGM. There was, at least, an invitation to dinner at Helen’s tonight to look forward to, so she and Phil could have a giggle about that; they’d never really been dinner party people. She’d mentioned it to him earlier in a message, although come to think of it – she checked her phone – he still hadn’t seen that. Considering it was his job to stay on the ball and
keep in contact with people, he was the most uncommunicative person . . .
The one saving grace was Nicola. She’d offered to help get the bookshop ready, and turned up with a pot of white paint and two brushes later that morning. Hannah managed to juggle serving customers with painting, and when they stopped for a break Nicola pulled a series of sketches out of her bag.
‘I’ve been thinking about the ideas you had, and I . . .’ She hesitated. ‘I did some sketches so we could get an idea of how we might arrange things. What d’you think?’
Hannah bent her head over the papers to look. They were beautiful – Nicola clearly had a real talent for art.
‘We could sell these, you know.’
‘Do you think?’ Nicola looked embarrassed. ‘They’re just some pencil drawings.’
‘Yes, and they’re gorgeous. I love how you’ve made it look – it’s exactly how I imagined.’
‘I was thinking you could get Ben to do some artwork for the walls. You said he was good at graphics?’
‘Graffiti, not graphics,’ Hannah said, deadpan, making Nicola giggle. ‘Well, both, really. He’d love that. Might make him feel like he’s part of this, too.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. And if you look, I thought we could have a little shelf with picture books, because they’re more accessible for the little kiddies when they come in.’ Nicola’s voice was wistful. ‘I’d love to do a little storytime or something – do you think we could?’
‘I think it’d be a brilliant idea. Someone was saying that the community centre in Bletchingham has closed down, so the toddler group that took place there has nowhere to meet.’
Nicola’s face brightened. She pulled her hair loose from its ponytail and shook out her curls, then tied it up again.
‘You don’t mind me hovering about?’
‘Not at all. It’s lovely to have the company. And it’s supposed to be a community bookshop, after all.’
‘It’s just I’m at a bit of a loose end these days. When I stopped working full time, the idea was supposed to be that I’d get pregnant, get the house sorted, and by Christmas we’d be cosied up here with a new baby.’ She bit her lip and looked down, twisting her wedding ring, which hung loose on her finger. ‘Only now it’s October in a couple of days, and . . .’
‘I’m sorry.’ Hannah reached across and put a hand on her arm. Nicola was the same age as her – thirty-five. But while she had Ben lying upstairs on the sofa, resolutely ignoring her exhortations to get out and enjoy the autumn sunshine, Nicola was at the other end of the spectrum, desperately hoping she might become a parent.
‘It’s not the same at all, but I do remember when I . . .’
Nicola looked up. ‘Go on?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘No, it’s insensitive, I’m sorry.’ She swallowed.
‘Please.’ Nicola looked at her directly. ‘Nobody talks about it at all. It’s so bloody awkward. My family just keep making little digs, thinking they’re being funny. Chris has gone all weird about it and I feel like a sex pest. My friends are getting pregnant left, right and centre and it’s awful and I feel like a bad person for being jealous and –’ She gave a rueful laugh. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’
‘I got pregnant when I was eighteen,’ Hannah began. ‘And I honestly didn’t know what to do. Everyone assumed I’d – well, you know.’ She pulled a face. ‘But I had a feeling that it wasn’t the right thing to do for me. So along came Ben. And all my plans went out the window.’
‘You don’t regret it?’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘Not at all. But I’ve – well, all my life for the last sixteen years has been focused on Phil’s career, my being a parent . . . there hasn’t been much space for me. What I was going to say was that I did try and have another. It’s not the same, I know. But it just never happened.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Nicola’s voice was gentle.
‘It’s fine.’ Funny how two little words could sum up those two years when she’d been so focused on having a little brother or sister for Ben, the monthly disappointments, building herself up and hoping against hope, only to have to deal with the reality that it was never going to happen. Unexplained secondary infertility, the consultant called it. Whatever it was, eventually she had just stopped hoping and accepted that for whatever reason, Ben was going to be an only child. ‘The funny thing,’ she said, after a long pause, ‘was that Phil wasn’t that worried.’
‘Mmm.’ Nicola sighed. ‘Sometimes I feel like Chris just wants me to forget about it. I don’t know, maybe I’m being unfair.’
‘Hello, you two,’ said Helen, clattering into the shop. ‘Oh my goodness, what a wonderful job you’ve done of the painting. It’s looking awfully good, isn’t it?’
Nicola and Hannah exchanged a fleeting look and both turned, putting on their best game faces.
‘It does, doesn’t it? I’m looking forward to showing Phil what we’ve done.’
‘Gosh, he’s going to get a shock. He won’t have seen the shelves all filled up – it was in the midst of being built when he was here last, wasn’t it?’
Hannah nodded.
‘Well, it’s lovely that you’re going to have some backup, Hannah. And we’re looking forward to seeing both of you this evening.’
The day passed in a whirl. Nicola was back in the bookshop again, stocking the second-hand shelves with some expensive-looking hardbacks that had been delivered by a woman in a spotty midi dress who’d pulled up, leaving her engine running, and dashed inside.
‘Can’t stop, got to get to the divorce lawyer before lunch. But these cost a fortune and I’m bloody well donating them. If he’s going to sleep with his secretary, I’m going to give away all his possessions. Might as well make some money for the village fund, don’t you think?’ And with a brittle laugh, she’d dumped a huge plastic box on the floor of the shop and stalked out.
‘Who was that?’
‘Alicia Rowlands. She lives in a massive house on the outskirts of the village. Four children, huge garden, loads of money, and – well, I always thought her husband seemed too good to be true. He was a charmer. Helped with the school PTA, on the village council, all that sort of thing.’
Hannah puffed out a breath of relief. ‘Thank God I don’t have that problem. I always thought I was doing quite well if I managed to get Phil to come to parents’ evening.’
And then, half an hour later, Phil appeared. Nicola was on her way out the door as he walked in. She smiled a greeting, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
‘You have to say hello to people here, it’s part of the whole village thing.’ Why on earth had she started with a criticism? Hannah shook her head, dusted down her hands and came out from behind the shop counter. ‘Hello, darling.’
‘Hi.’ Did he sound weird? Maybe he was just tired.
She reached up to put an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss hello, but he didn’t bend to meet her, and his face when she stood on tiptoe to kiss him was rigid. Stepping back, she could see a nerve jumping in his cheek.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ He took a step back, knocking against a display of cereal boxes that wobbled precariously for a moment, then settled. ‘Where’s Ben?’
She perked up a bit. She might be struggling, but the lads from football had picked Ben up and really taken him in as one of their own. He’d headed back out again after training earlier, ball under his arm, a huge bottle of orange squash in his rucksack, eating an apple. ‘I’m off to the park. See you later.’
‘He’s out with the boys from his new team, down at the park. We could take a walk down in a bit?’ She checked the clock. ‘I’m expecting Fiona to come and do the last couple of hours, she’d be fine on her own.’
Phil shook his head. ‘It’s okay. Why don’t we go up and make a coffee? We need to have a chat, anyway.’
‘We do?’
She followed him through the archway and into the cottage. ‘What about the b
oxes? D’you want to bring them in now?’
‘They can wait,’ he said, collapsing on the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up untidily.
‘I’ll make the coffee, then,’ she said, walking past the back of the sofa. She noticed that the slight thinning at the back of his head was turning into a definite bald patch. God, they were getting old. It was weird to think of Phil turning forty.
‘Here you are.’
He took the coffee, set it down on the low table and sat up, hands on his knees, looking at her directly for a moment. Hannah wrapped her hands around her own mug, suddenly conscious of the late September chill.
‘We need to talk, Han,’ Phil began.
Almost before the words were out, she felt something inside her stomach dropping like a huge, leaden weight.
‘Talk about what?’
‘You must’ve worked out something was up. You’ve been here a month, and I’ve – well, the thing is . . .’
Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest that she looked down, half expecting to see it crashing around underneath her striped t-shirt and the embroidered shop apron she was still wearing. ‘The thing is what?’
‘You’ve been managing really well, haven’t you? I mean, the shop and Ben and everything?’
Hannah was still holding onto the coffee mug, her arms rigid and her back straight. She lifted her chin slightly, as if bracing for an attack.
‘I’ve been managing because that’s what I do. But I’ve been holding on, waiting for you to come.’
‘That’s the thing,’ Phil said, and he dropped his gaze and looked down at the carpet for a long moment. ‘I don’t want to come.’
‘What?’
‘I like living in Salford. I like being in the city. I like being able to go out for dinner and go to the theatre or to the cinema. I don’t want to live in the middle of nowhere.’
The Village Green Bookshop: A Feel-Good Escape for All Book Lovers from the Bestselling Author of The Telephone Box Library Page 13
