Along the top of the paper, just under the title, there was a colour photo of Ella and two of the horses. Somehow Miranda had manage to capture one where instead of looking stiff and formal, her nose was wrinkled in laughter, eyes shut, and Tor nudging at her pocket for a treat. The Welsh Horse Whisperer, the text said. Never mind that it wasn’t strictly accurate . . .
Feeling nervous, Ella turned the pages. Inside was a lovely, positive article which was bound to do the business the world of good. Not a word about anything untoward. She pulled a face to herself, feeling slightly guilty at just how cagey she’d been with Miranda. Maybe she’d send a box of chocolates or a card or something, just to say thank you. And God, maybe this would bring in the clients – and the money – they needed.
‘Will we be seeing you at the Christmas light switch-on tomorrow?’ Connie turned, picking up a cloth to give her beloved coffee machine a polish.
‘I’ll be there,’ Ella nodded. ‘I’m manning the PTA mulled wine stand.’
‘Lissa got you roped in again?’
‘Something like that.’ Ella turned to Jenny. ‘I think I mentioned my friend to you before – Lissa Jones, who teaches at Hope’s school?’
‘We met, actually. She seems lovely. Hope, you liked Miss Jones, didn’t you? She’s got lots of energy.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Ella motioned to her running kit. ‘She’s got me training for the fun run as well.’
‘How’s the training coming along?’ Connie called over her shoulder as she headed back to the till, where a customer was waiting.
‘Slowly.’
‘Are you sure you won’t join us for a bit?’ Jenny offered.
She looked like she would appreciate the company, and Ella hesitated for a moment. Charlotte was holding the fort, excited that she’d been offered the chance to sleep over in the spare room of the farmhouse.
‘If you really don’t mind, that’d be lovely. Can I have a latte, please, Connie?’
‘Can I have the iPad now, Grandma?’
Jenny rummaged in her bag and pulled out an iPad complete with a tangle of wires. Hope plugged herself in, the colouring abandoned, and sat back, watching a cartoon on the screen.
‘Modern children,’ Jenny said, as if by apology.
‘I think we all need to zone out after a hard day. How’s she getting on at school?’
‘Good. I’ve been surprised, actually.’ Jenny lowered her voice. ‘It’s been difficult –’ Jenny shook her head and poured tea into her cup and added milk, stirring absent-mindedly for a moment longer than she needed to, considering she hadn’t added sugar. ‘Well, I mean it can be, sometimes. Hope’s –’ She paused for a brief second. ‘My son-in-law – he works away quite a bit.’
There was a charged silence.
‘He’s not here at the moment. He’s dealing with his father’s estate. It’s all been a bit – up in the air.’
Jenny fiddled briefly with the shirt cuffs that peeped out below her navy cardigan, straightening them. She frowned and looked up.
‘It’s difficult, you see. When Sarah – when Hope’s mum passed away, it was hard for any of us to know what to do for the best.’
There was another beat of silence. Hope was staring out of the window now, watching the workers who were heaving the huge fir tree into place for the Christmas light switch-on.
Jenny continued. ‘It seemed easier to just pick up the reins. I’d been a mother before, and when Sarah was having treatments, I’d been looking after Hope. So it just carried on.’
This happened more often than not. Clients would come to Ella with one issue, and it would take a while before the real problem would reveal itself.
Jenny fiddled with a little paper packet of sugar.
‘And now?’
‘Oh, I’m not saying I want to step back,’ said Jenny, quickly. ‘Just that I feel sometimes that – well, with Lou’s heart scare, life can be very short, and you never know, and . . .’ She tailed off and took a drink, replacing the sugar in the bowl in the middle of the table.
‘Yes, it can.’ Ella looked at Hope.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve no idea why I’m telling you all this stuff.’
‘It’s fine. I think it goes with the territory. That, or I just have that sort of face.’
‘Well, I’m grateful to you for listening.’
The conversation shifted then, to Jenny’s plans to get Lou involved in village life and keep his mind off work, and her mission to sign up for the yoga classes at the church hall.
‘You could always sign up for the mini fun run? It’s only a mile.’
‘I’m too old for that sort of thing.’
‘I tried that excuse on Lissa. Didn’t have much luck.’
Ella glanced up at the clock. Time had slipped past, and she’d left Charlotte up there alone for long enough.
‘I’d better get going.’
‘Oh gosh, I’m sorry I’ve held you back.’
‘You haven’t at all. It’s been lovely to have a chat. See you soon?’
When Ella headed back up the road, she drove past the cottage where Hope, Jenny and Lou had settled for the next few months. Jenny was bending over backwards to make everyone else in her family content, but she didn’t seem particularly happy herself.
Chapter Twenty
Harry
Sure you don’t want me to come?
Nah, you can meet me after for lunch though. My shout.
Deal. (It’d have to be, I’m skint)
Harry smiled at Holly’s text. She was never anything but, and he said as much in his reply, laughing to himself as he hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat before switching on the ignition and putting the car into gear.
Nothing new there then . . .
There was always something a bit eerie about the Norfolk Broads in the depths of winter. Mist never quite lifted, but hung around the edges of farm buildings, wraith-like, giving the place a haunted feeling.
The roads were deserted, too. In summer the place was thronging with tourists and the roads choked with cars, but as Harry drove along the familiar route to Burnham House he felt as if he was the only person for miles.
The house had been standing empty since his father’s death, and he hadn’t been back. Hadn’t wanted to, in fact, and if he could have got away without going there and sorting through his father’s neatly organized belongings, he would have. As it was, there was a furniture clearance company coming the next morning. All he had to do was sort the place out, and then the estate agents would take over. He’d been back at work for a week and although his intention had been to sort the house immediately, he’d been putting it off.
He turned the key in the lock. The house was huge, imposing and solidly grey. In another setting, surrounded by trees, it would have made a cosy vicarage, with flowers in the window and a garden filled with roses and children playing. But for as long as he could remember it had been a huge, empty mausoleum. The house had been in the family for three generations, and Harry felt a vague sense of guilt that he wasn’t keeping it on. But his life was with Hope, and right now she was living with her grandparents in a cottage two hundred miles away in deepest, greenest, wettest Wales. At least the drizzle wouldn’t come as a surprise, he thought, looking out at the relentless dripping. It seemed to be damp all year round here.
With a lunch date sorted, Harry had a goal to aim for. Whoever bought this place would be delighted with it, probably. A vision of his mother popped into his head. He was tiny, his legs swinging under the chair as he sat drawing at the huge, scrubbed oak kitchen table. His mother was leaning, head in her hands, with her elbows on the silver hotplate covers of the Aga. She’d stood like that for a long time, he remembered. And then she’d gone. The next thing he knew she’d moved out, and he’d become a parcel that was manhandled back and forth between the two of them, waiting patiently while they bickered over who was having Christmas Eve and birthday, never asking him where he might like to be. It was
no wonder he’d been so desperate to escape.
He turned the key in the lock and stepped back to look for the last time at Burnham House.
Holly was waiting in the corner of the Saddlemaker’s Inn when he walked in. She pointed to the log fire with an impish grin. ‘Got the best table,’ she said, doing a thumbs-up sign. ‘I haven’t ordered anything yet. Was worried you might bail out and I’d be screwed because I haven’t got a bean.’
‘Bloody hell, Holl.’ Harry shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack that stood in the corner, right behind their little two-person table. ‘D’you need me to lend you some? Give you some, even?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s fine.’ She twiddled with the long string of beads she was wearing for a moment before letting go so they clattered on the tabletop.
Holly was incredibly proud, and perennially skint. He picked up the menu and scanned it quickly, knowing perfectly well what he’d be having.
‘D’you want –’ he began.
‘Sausage and mash and extra peas and apple crumble and custard?’ Holly laughed. ‘Yes. The usual.’
Waiting at the bar to place their order, he turned to look back at her as she fiddled with her phone. She twirled one fair ringlet around her finger absent-mindedly and screwed up her mouth sideways in a thoughtful pout, leaning forward to scrutinize something on the screen for a second. Then she caught him looking, stuck out her tongue and pulled a face.
It crossed his mind – not for the first time – that it wouldn’t be hard to fall for Holly. It would make everything work. As Sarah’s best friend, Jenny and Lou were fond of her and had known her for years. Hope adored her. She was funny, sweet, kind –
‘What’ll it be, love?’
‘Gin and tonic and a half of Guinness, please.’ He’d parked the car outside Holly’s place. By the time they’d had lunch and walked round to pick up her stuff he’d be fine to drive.
‘I’ve never been to Wales,’ Holly said, a forkful of mashed potato paused in mid-air. ‘Or maybe once, when I was little.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I still can’t believe Jen just upped sticks and moved you all to the back of beyond on a whim.’
‘Not really a whim, is it?’ Harry scratched his chin. ‘She’s had itchy feet for years.’
‘Yeah, I know, but it was visiting the rainforests of Costa Rica and drinking rum in Cuba she was after, not a wet winter in Wales, surely?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess you’ve got to take it where you can find it.’
‘Cuba, Wales . . . yeah.’ Holly pulled a face. ‘I can see how you’d go from one to the other. They’re basically the same.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment. There was the fleeting thought again. Maybe if he – should he be trying to settle down? Maybe if he and Holly actually did make a go of something, Jenny and Lou could head off and do something with their retirement. Holly wouldn’t have to worry about money, as he’d have the inheritance, and –
‘Penny for them?’ Holly poked his arm with a fork.
‘Oi.’
He shook himself and took a drink. They’d had one drunken encounter that they’d agreed to put to one side and forget about, not long after Sarah had died. That had been years ago – fuelled by far too much gin, their shared grief and the weird urge to cancel out what had happened by proving they were still alive, somehow. He glanced at Holly once again and she looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment that felt –
Strangely uncomfortable, is what it felt. Whether that was because he was worried his thoughts were written all over his face, or because he was trying to figure out if maybe they could have feelings for each other, he wasn’t sure.
They finished the meal and headed back to the car.
‘Bloody hell, you weren’t joking when you said it was in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Nearly there.’ Harry indicated and turned off the main road, up into the hills.
‘Is that nearly there, or “we’ve got another half an hour of this” nearly there?’ she teased him.
He pointed to the sign.
‘Welcome to Llanidaeron,’ she read, mispronouncing it. He’d done the same when they first arrived, but Jenny, who’d been put right by Connie in the little tearoom, soon corrected him. The language looked beautiful, but even though all the signs were in Welsh as well as English, he still struggled to work out how to pronounce any of them.
‘Oh, this is pretty!’ Holly jumped out of the car as soon as he pulled up at the gate. Dark had fallen quickly – the drive had taken a bit longer than expected thanks to traffic, and he was surprised to see the cottage in darkness.
‘Not sure where everyone is.’
He’d been expecting a rapturous welcome for Holly from Hope, and Jenny to be bustling about, welcoming her in, taking their coats. Instead the garden was lit by the automatic security lighting, but the cottage itself looked deserted. Fortunately he had a set of keys. He unlocked the door and ushered Holly in. Turning on the kitchen light, he spotted a note on the table.
Gone to Christmas Light ceremony. Come and join us if you get here in time! Jx
‘Oh wow, it’s even got an Aga.’ Holly parked her bum on the rail and beamed with happiness.
He waved the note at her. ‘You don’t fancy going back out to the village tree-lighting ceremony?’
Holly lifted her eyebrows and inclined her head towards a bottle of red wine sitting on the worktop beside the kitchen sink. ‘We could . . .’
‘Great minds.’ He passed it over. He didn’t take much persuading. He knew Jenny was keen to involve herself in village life, and she’d been telling him happily on the phone yesterday how she’d had a good chat with the woman who owned the stables, as well as Connie from the cafe. But it was cold, and dark, and he’d just driven 250 miles. ‘There should be glasses in the cupboard up there. I’ll get our bags in – you stay here, it’s freezing.’
‘Are you having fun, darling?’ Jenny looked down at Hope, who was gazing at the still-dark Christmas tree with expectation.
‘When are they turning on the lights?’
‘Soon, I think.’ Jenny turned to Lou. ‘What time did they say?’
‘Six thirty, the poster said.’
The air was filled with the scent of mulled wine and buzzing with the excited chatter of children, all wrapped up in scarves and hats against the cold. Jenny had said hello to Ella, and met her friend Lissa, the two of them standing at the fundraiser stall stirring a huge vat of steaming, spiced mulled wine. Hope had shyly taken a gingerbread cookie – but hadn’t said a word until Charlotte had come along, her fringe peeking out from a black beanie hat.
‘Your hair is red!’ Hope’s face lit up with delight.
‘For Christmas,’ Charlotte had nodded. ‘D’you want a mince pie?’
Hope shook her head no. ‘I don’t like raisins.’
‘Me neither.’ Charlotte bent down to Hope’s level. ‘I only like the pastry bits.’
As if to demonstrate, she bit the lid off a pie, shoving it all in her mouth in one go. Hope giggled.
Lou had pottered off to talk to Alan from the post office about something or other and Jenny stood, watching Hope watching Charlotte, and realized that she felt content. It was such a rare feeling that she stood for a moment, waiting to see if something else was going to take over – worry, or concern for Hope, or nervousness about Lou. But no, she was standing in the little main street of Llanidaeron, where despite the fact that she hardly knew a soul, people were smiling hello and jostling gently for position to see the tree light up, and she felt oddly at home. They’d lived in Norwich all their married life, but there was something lovely about this little place – perhaps because it was exactly the sort of village she’d wanted to live in when she was growing up.
‘How are you settling in?’ Lissa leaned across, raising her voice to be heard. ‘Are you excited about Christmas, Hope?’
Hope nodded, shy at seeing Miss Jones outside of school.
‘Yes,’ Jenny nodded. ‘I think we’ve landed in the right place.’
‘I think Llani’s got magnetic qualities,’ Lissa said in her lovely accent. ‘I tried to leave once, you know, but I got drawn back in. You’ll never get out of here now you’ve come.’
That wouldn’t be the end of the world, thought Jenny, smiling to herself.
‘Look, Grandma!’ Hope tugged her arm. A group of teenagers gathered by the tree, and in front of them a gaggle of much smaller primary school children.
‘Oh Christmas Tree,’ they began to sing.
Hope joined in with the countdown afterwards.
‘Ten, nine, eight,’ she chanted, clapping her hands in time. ‘Four, three, two –’
And with a wave of light, the tree was sparkling on every branch with hundreds of tiny silver-white lights.
‘Jingle Bells . . .’ began Lissa, behind them, and everyone soon joined in. Lou smiled broadly at her from across a sea of people. He was standing by the edge of the road, chatting happily to Alan, his back straight, shoulders tall. All those years of old-fashioned policing hadn’t left him. He’d mentioned something about Alan wanting help to set up a Neighbourhood Watch scheme, after there had been a couple of break-ins over the summer. Jenny had been dubious, but – she noticed him heading across.
‘Alan’s offered to buy me a drink so we can have a chat about this idea,’ he said, ruffling Hope’s hair. She was holding her hat, despite the cold, but at least she’d conceded that she’d wear gloves and a scarf.
What kind of drink, Jenny wanted to say. She bit it back, aware that the last thing he needed was her policing his every move. But it was hard. Harder than he realized. Watching him wheeled out on a stretcher and seeing him wired up to machines had brought back the cold feeling of dread she’d worked so hard to try and get over after Sarah’s death.
‘Can I borrow your man for a quick – no-alcohol – beer?’ Alan said, joining them.
Jenny flicked a glance at Lou and tried to arrange her face into a relaxed, yes-that-sounds-lovely smile. ‘How will you get back?’
‘I’ll give him a lift up the hill,’ Alan said. He rubbed his jowly face, thoughtfully. ‘I had a bit of a scare a few years back myself. I stick to the soft stuff as well.’ He smiled at her then, deep trenches forming in his jowly cheeks, and Jenny picked up Hope’s hand.
Finding Hope at Hillside Farm Page 16
