‘I’m totally fine with what happened with Garry,’ Willow said, with exasperation. ‘We were never meant to be together. What I’m not fine with is the constant comments, giggles and looks of pity. I bought a cake from Linda’s cake shop the other day and she asked if I was drowning my sorrows. It’s been six months. Let them talk about something else for a while, maybe they will have forgotten all about it by the time I get back.’
‘OK, OK,’ Ruby sighed. ‘I hate to say you probably made the right decision because I’m missing you already, but I think this could be good for you.’
‘You can visit anytime,’ Willow said as she approached the steps to the beach.
‘I may hold you to that.’
Willow smiled as she imagined Ruby with her brightly coloured clothes. She would be just what Happiness needed to brighten the place up.
‘You’d be very welcome.’
‘Are there any hot men there?’
Willow thought about Andrew. He was good-looking and had those huge shoulders she liked in a man. He had wonderful Mediterranean-blue eyes, which seemed to sparkle with permanent amusement. He made her laugh too. She shook her head with a smile.
‘Not for me, I think I need some time to find happiness on my own for a while, not fall into bed with a handsome stranger with a nice smile.’
‘Ah, so there is someone?’
Willow laughed. Ruby wouldn’t let it go if she thought there was even the remotest chance of romance in the air.
‘Ruby, you’re breaking up.’
‘Don’t you hang up on me.’
‘The reception is really bad, I’ll call you later,’ Willow said, making some crackly noises with her throat for good measure and then she disconnected the call as Ruby gave another squawk of protest.
She slipped her phone into her back pocket and looked out over the view for a moment. The tide was out, leaving a long horseshoe-shaped beach at the bottom of the steps. Steps that seemed to go on and on down the side of the cliff. The beach was completely deserted even though it was a warm sunny day. Clearly none of the residents of the village fancied a long trip down the steps either or the journey back up. Maybe she’d leave that bit of exploring for another day.
She turned up the path and headed back towards the village. She passed a few houses that were no more than crumbly stone walls, probably hundreds of years old. She hoped the rest of the village fared better than this. It didn’t take her long before she reached the bottom of the main high street where there were little houses either side of the cobbled road. Some of them were boarded up but, she noticed as she made her way further up the high street, even the ones that seemed lived in looked worse for wear with peeling paint, tiles missing from the roofs and broken fences.
She just felt so disappointed. Happiness was supposed to solve all her problems. She was going to start a new life here, and now that new life was looking bleak and dismal. She had been completely misled by the beautiful painting and she couldn’t help feeling a little angry about that. But it was just an advert, of course it was going to try to show Happiness in its best light. A crumbly, broken old castle and a village in ruins was hardly going to make anyone want to come. And really, she was more angry at herself. She was an idiot. How could she not have checked this place out first? How could she let herself get so easily swayed by an advert? Could she really stay here and build a new life for herself amongst the tattered ruins? But then what was the alternative? There was no backing out now. She could hardly go back to St Octavia with her tail between her legs. The gossips would have lots to say about that.
She carried on up the high street and curtains twitched as she walked past. She gave the occupants a cheery wave. But other than that she didn’t see another sign of life anywhere, the street was deserted. It was only half past six, was everyone really tucked up in their beds already?
She passed a row of shops that looked as though many years had passed since they had sold anything. One shop had an abandoned teddy in the window which looked sad and lonely as it stared out through the dusty glass.
She spotted the post office, the only splash of colour in what was otherwise an almost entirely grey affair. The front door was painted a bright red as was the sign above the shop window, the words Post Office painted in gold, written in a rather ornate handwriting. Someone clearly took pride in their place of work. In fact the three other shops that were clearly in use were all clean at least, their products ranging from cheese to paintings displayed cheerfully in the windows, even if the paint was peeling on the outside. There was hope here – not much, but some.
She decided to go to the pub, if it was still open. She was hungry and hopefully they might be serving food so she wouldn’t have to cook. If she was lucky she might even find someone to talk to in this little ghost town.
Three
She pushed open the door and was met with the kind of quiet you find in a library, so much so that for a moment she thought the pub might be closed. But there were people inside, a scattering of customers, maybe no more than ten, most of them sitting by themselves, a few talking quietly in small groups.
Ah, finally there was life here, after all. Albeit very quiet life.
Although what little conversation there was quickly died off to silence as everyone spotted her and gawped at her like a rare exhibit in a museum. She stood there awkwardly for a moment taking in her neighbours. Almost every one of them looked like they were over the age of ninety.
‘What can I get you, love?’ came a voice from the bar and Willow looked over at the barmaid who was at least in her forties. She was wearing a bright red polka-dot dress that matched the shade of her hair completely.
Willow cleared her throat and walked up to the bar with a confidence she didn’t feel as slowly quiet conversations resumed around her.
‘Don’t mind these guys,’ the lady said. ‘They’re just curious and all completely harmless. I’m Tabitha and my husband Connor is around somewhere. We’re newcomers too, although we’ve been here about a month now.’
‘I’m Willow. How are you finding it here?’
Tabitha let out a big breath. ‘Well, it’s very peaceful and quiet, everyone keeps themselves to themselves.’
Willow smiled at Tabitha’s attempt to put a positive spin on it. ‘Can’t be good for business.’
‘We do OK, mostly because Connor is a demon in the kitchen and some of the residents prefer to come in here for their lunch or dinner than cook for themselves. But we’re not exactly the social hub we hoped we would be.’
‘I know. The place feels so tired. I just expected Happiness to be a bit more… happy,’ Willow said.
‘So what will you be doing here?’ Tabitha asked, handing Willow a menu.
‘I’m having one of the shops, I’m a candlemaker.’
‘Ah that sounds nice,’ Tabitha said, though she didn’t seem totally convinced. Willow wasn’t convinced either. People loved her candles, the scents and different shapes and sculptures she made from the wax, but it certainly wasn’t going to bring anything great to the village.
Willow glanced down at the menu.
‘I can recommend the curry,’ Tabitha said.
‘Curry it is,’ Willow said. ‘And a half of cider.’
Tabitha poured her drink and Willow paid and went and sat in the window so she could look out on the street.
No sooner had she sat down than she was joined by a lady of about seventy years old who plonked herself down on the seat opposite Willow. Maybe Willow’s earlier assumption that everyone was over ninety had been a bit harsh.
‘I’m Dorothy.’ The lady stuck her hand out, her eyes shining with happiness. ‘I’m the village’s resident artist, I own the painting studio out on the high street.’
‘Willow,’ she said, shaking Dorothy’s hand.
‘Did I hear you say you were a baker?’ Dorothy said, excitedly.
‘No, sorry, I’m a candlemaker.’
She watched Dorothy visibly deflat
e. ‘What good is that to the village?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Willow said, awkwardly.
‘We used to have a wonderful baker here when I was a little girl. His name was Sam and he would have the most delicious cream cakes in the window, freshly baked every day. He would only have the best cakes on display and, if any of them got broken, he would take them off display and give them to the kids to take home at the end of the day. There used to be quite the queue of children outside his shop at five o’clock each night. Sometimes I think he used to break some of the cakes deliberately, just so he could give them to us at the end of the day. He made the most delicious apple cake too, great big slabs of it. We would have it every Sunday in our house throughout the summer and autumn.’
‘You’ve lived here your whole life?’ Willow asked, keen to distract Dorothy from the shortcomings of her being a candlemaker.
‘Yes, born and raised.’
‘What was it like here when you were growing up?’
‘Oh, it was thriving. Neighbours would walk in and out of each other’s houses, borrowing sugar or vegetables or just stopping for a chat. The children would play in the streets. Everyone helped each other out. We used to have dancing here in the pub or up at the castle. It was a wonderful place to live.’
‘What happened?’
‘The old lord of the castle, Rupert, was a wonderful man, as was his father before him. Rupert looked after everyone in the village and was very much part of the community. When he died, his grandson took over the castle and he was everything his grandfather was not. He was rude, arrogant, and had no time for the villagers. He partied away his inheritance, squandered it all on fast cars and alcohol until he was completely bankrupt. In a desperate attempt to get more money he tripled the cost of the rent of the houses and shops. Most of the people in the village couldn’t afford to pay those kinds of prices and, within a few months, over three-quarters of the village had packed up and left.’
‘That’s so sad,’ Willow said.
‘The grandson sold the castle on then but we never saw the person that owned it after that, I’m not sure if he even came here. The place fell into ruin and more people left. We had some new people come, like Roger and his sister Liz from the cheese shop,’ Dorothy nodded to an older couple sitting quietly in the corner. Roger had a splendid red flowery cravat knotted neatly at his neck. Liz had gold-rimmed spectacles that were balanced precariously on the very end of her nose and was wearing a blue fluffy cardigan despite the heat of the day.
‘But most of the newcomers didn’t stay long,’ Dorothy went on. ‘The castle and village passed through several hands over the last few years until Kitty and Ken bought it. They’re trying to build the village back up again but I think they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.’
Willow sighed. The village needed people to make it thrive again, young families to breathe life into the shops and houses, but when most people came and saw the state of the place they wouldn’t be stopping even if the accommodation was free.
The atmosphere, at least in the pub, was one of defeat. The villagers didn’t care any more and she didn’t know what she could do to change that.
A man who she presumed was Connor came over with her food and she picked up her knife and fork hungrily.
Just then the door was pushed open and Andrew walked in. He had changed into jeans and a clean white shirt that was rolled up at the elbows, revealing strong tanned arms. The sleeves around the shoulders were taut around muscles she hadn’t really spotted before. His curly hair was a little damp at the ends, but it was a bit more tamed now it wasn’t sticking out at all angles from underneath his baseball cap. She wondered idly what it would feel like if she were to stroke her fingers through it. He had those wonderful crinkles around the sides of his eyes when he smiled, clearly showing that he smiled a lot. She liked that.
Immediately, Roger stood up and came over to talk to him, obviously bemoaning some problem or other, pointing and gesticulating as Andrew listened intently. He gave the impression of taking Roger’s complaints seriously and that he had all the time in the world to listen to him, despite it being already way past normal working hours. Clearly, whatever Andrew said made Roger visibly relax. Eventually, after Andrew had taken the time to reassure him, Roger went and sat back down with his sister. But Andrew had only taken two more steps to the bar before a lady approached him. But again Andrew didn’t look annoyed, he was nodding thoughtfully as he listened patiently. Willow found herself smiling; it was clear he genuinely cared about the villagers.
‘He’s easy on the eye, isn’t he?’ Dorothy said.
Willow realised she had been blatantly staring at Andrew ever since he’d walked into the pub and Dorothy had noticed that. Willow’s food had been forgotten.
‘Oh no, I was just watching how much in demand he is. He’s not… I’m not looking for a relationship right now.’
‘You could do a lot worse than Andrew Harrington.’
‘I’m sure he’s lovely.’ She had a feeling that was an understatement. ‘But I’m quite enjoying being single at the moment.’
‘Hmm.’ Dorothy was clearly unconvinced.
Finally Andrew got served and Willow forced her attention away from him to focus on her food. The last thing she needed was the villagers to get the wrong idea and try to matchmake between them.
She looked up to see him striding towards her, a big smile on his face.
‘How are you finding the village so far?’ Andrew said, sliding into the booth opposite her, next to Dorothy.
‘It’s lovely,’ Willow said automatically and then berated herself. She wanted to moan to Andrew about what a state it was and how she had been misled. But none of it was Andrew’s fault and it seemed he had enough problems to deal with without listening to her complaints. Andrew smirked though, because it was quite obvious that the village wasn’t lovely. Dorothy grunted; even she clearly thought otherwise. ‘It will be lovely once it’s finished,’ Willow said carefully.
Andrew was staring at her intently, a small smile on his face. He really did have the most amazing blue eyes. She focussed on her food again and looked up to find he was still studying her. She glanced over at Dorothy who gave her a theatrical wink.
‘I’ll be up and out early tomorrow so if you want to come for a shower and I’m not there, just let yourself in and help yourself,’ Andrew said. ‘My door is always open and not just in the metaphorical sense.’
‘Oooh,’ Dorothy chuckled. ‘You going to scrub her back for her?’
‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you, you saucy little minx,’ Andrew laughed, nudging her. ‘Dorothy here, and quite a few women in the village actually, have been trying to set me up for months with their daughters and granddaughters and friends’ daughters. They all think I need a nice woman to look after me, when I’m more than happy on my own.’
‘Oh come on, Willy’s lovely,’ Dorothy gestured towards her like she was showing off a prize cow.
Andrew smirked at Dorothy getting her name wrong.
‘Willow is very lovely, but we’re not going to get together just because we’re the only two people in the village below the age of forty,’ he said, gently. ‘And I’m way too busy with the renovations of the village and getting ready for the open day to be getting involved with someone anyway. So you can stop your meddling.’
Dorothy held her hands up innocently as if she wouldn’t dream of doing so. Willow smiled slightly at the not-so-subtle warning to her too. Andrew was simply sitting here chatting to her to be friendly and she wasn’t to get any ideas that it was something else. She had received that message loud and clear. Well, that suited her just fine.
‘What’s the open day?” Willow asked, trying to change the subject.
‘There’s an open day in eighteen days, we’ve put invites out with all the local estate agents and renting agencies. We’re hoping that loads of people will come and be encouraged to apply for one of the houses. So we’re trying to get al
l the houses ready in time for that.’
‘That’s a big job,’ Willow said, thinking of all the houses she had seen so far that looked like they had seen better days.
‘It is,’ Andrew said, frowning. ‘Anyway, it’s pub quiz night, want to make a team?’
‘Oh, don’t you have other friends here that you normally team up with? Don’t feel you have to look after me.’
‘I don’t, and no, I just team up with whoever wants me.’
‘Everyone wants Andrew to be on their team.’ Dorothy rolled her eyes with amusement. ‘The boy knows everything.’
‘Is that right?’ Willow laughed.
‘I have a head full of completely useless facts. Are you in, Dorothy?’
‘Of course, it’d be nice to win for a change.’
Tabitha came round with quiz sheets as Willow finished off her dinner. She looked around the pub as people shifted around to make up teams. One team seemed to be Liz, Roger and another man who had pulled out a huge magnifying glass to read the quiz sheet. There were two ladies on another team; one seemed to be having a little nap. No wonder Andrew always won if this was the competition.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for more people to arrive?’ Willow said.
Andrew shrugged. ‘We don’t get a big turnout. Most of the villagers prefer their own company. So we need a team name, how about… Young at Heart?’ He gave Dorothy a playful nudge and she giggled like a schoolgirl.
Willow thought about that name and what Andrew had said a few moments before. She looked around at the small scattering of villagers again. ‘Are we really the youngest in the village?’
‘Yes, by a mile,’ Andrew said.
‘No children?’
He shook his head.
There was something sad about that too. The village needed children and young families to give it some energy and oomph. But what could they do to encourage families to live here?
There was no time to think about that as Connor suddenly switched on the microphone and tapped it a few times to get everyone’s attention. ‘OK, are we all ready for round one, question one?’
The Little Village of Happiness: A gorgeous uplifting romantic comedy to escape with this summer Page 2
