Книга - Willow Cottage – Part Three: A Spring Affair

Willow Cottage – Part Three: A Spring Affair
Bella Osborne


Beth is running away. With her young son Leo to protect, Willow Cottage is the lifeline she so desperately needs. Overlooking the village green in a beautiful Cotswolds idyll, Beth sees a warm, caring and safe place for little Leo.When she finally uncovers the cottage from underneath the boughs of a weeping willow tree, Beth realises this is far more of a project than she bargained for and the locals are more than a little eccentric! A chance encounter with gruff Jack, who appears to be the only male in the village under thirty, leaves the two of them at odds but it’s not long before Beth realises that Jack has hidden talents that could help her repair more than just Willow Cottage.Over the course of four seasons, Beth realises that broken hearts can be mended, and sometimes love can be right under your nose…Willow Cottage is part of a serialized novel told in four parts, following the journey of Beth and her new life in the Cotswolds. The full book will be out next this August, but for now, enjoy Willow Cottage seasonally.

























Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017

Copyright © Bella Osborne 2017

Bella Osborne 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.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2017 ISBN: 9780008181000

Source ISBN: 9780008181024

Version: 2017-11-16




WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT ESCAPE TO WILLOW COTTAGE (#ucadbf14d-47d7-5b82-9f4b-fcef0a0194d1)


‘Loved this book, so light-hearted and amusing’

‘A lovely read’

‘Oh what a little treasure this is! A cast of great characters, lovely Cotswold village and Beth trying to cope with the disaster she has bought’

‘Full of wit and charm’

‘Great characters who have quickly become established and rooted in my imagination. Very funny, but with deeper undercurrents woven in’

‘Loved the story, couldn’t put it down’

‘Absolutely loved this book, hooked from the start’

‘Three Words: Brilliant, Charming and Moving’

‘This is a wonderful read’


In memory of a truly amazing woman, my grandma 1903–1993


Table of Contents

Cover (#u54f3ce68-49fa-59f6-b6fd-df995f826a97)

Title Page (#u19a2102a-ed5a-5b95-9ec3-ba7c321754e2)

Copyright (#u11e7c617-56f8-5896-b946-299ee26c3204)

What Readers Are Saying About Escape to Willow Cottage (#u4be18fea-e53a-5a2a-9fc5-2aabc4d0e21b)

Dedication (#u3a1fd11b-8200-572f-9d16-9194cb05c800)



Chapter Twenty-Three (#udc4c8961-3744-57c2-866f-8206cf9aed47)



Chapter Twenty-Four (#uadd4a4aa-63f4-56a0-82cc-14a8bf371ba7)



Chapter Twenty-Five (#u3dfea7ed-c19f-5c7c-a9ea-724941b75c9d)



Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)



Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter Twenty-Three (#ulink_bc7dd2c8-35cb-5ba1-b19c-7aac2c3432ae)


Leo was back to his old self with the television blaring in the background and his face glued to his tablet. All was right in his world. Beth brought him a drink of juice and put it on the windowsill for him.

‘This is for you, Mum,’ he said as he pulled out the rest of the white envelope that was sticking up from the side of the sofa cushion. Beth’s stomach churned. She took the envelope from him, went to the kitchen and shut the door. She sat down and thumbed the envelope; she could feel that there was a card inside. Beth knew from the writing that it was from Nick; perhaps it was just a Christmas card. She could destroy it without opening it; fling it in the open fire tonight when Leo had gone to bed. It was a tempting thought that she could watch it burn but could she cope with not knowing what was inside?

In an instant she answered her question as she ripped it open. It was a Christmas card; simple and classy. She held it in her hands and noticed they were shaking ever so slightly. She opened the card and something fluttered to the floor. She left it there for a moment while she read what was written inside.

Dearest Elizabeth and Leo,

Wherever this finds you I pray you are safe and well.

Love always

Nick

Beth read it again. There didn’t appear to be any hidden message or any threat and most importantly no hint that he was coming after them. She leaned down and picked up what had fluttered out of the card. It was a newspaper clipping. She turned it over in her fingers to identify which side was relevant and then she spotted it.

SOCIAL MEDIA – FINDING THE MISSING

She speed-read the short article and nausea swirled in her stomach. One sentence in particular struck her: Social media has become a useful tool for the families of missing people and the police in helping to locate them. It went on to give various examples and how even celebrities had got involved with sharing and retweeting photographs to raise awareness and jog people’s memories. Beth slowly and deliberately screwed up the newspaper clipping until it was a tight ball in her hand. On top of the revulsion, she felt an uncomfortable sense of pleasure that she had known Nick well enough to second-guess that it would be something more than a Christmas card.

She remembered how she’d brushed over the fact that Nick used to open her mail. Everything would be still in the envelope. He appeared to have slit the envelopes neatly for her as a thoughtful thing to do ever since she’d ripped into one and got a paper cut. An innocent gesture, she had thought at the time. It was only later that she realized things were going missing: the social invitations, bank cards and the odd personal letter. It became clear that Nick was reading her mail when he questioned why she had visited certain shops or knew about an engagement party for a friend that had moved away.

The paper clipping was a clear threat, she knew that, but instead of fear she felt anger. She was angry that he thought he was still in control of her. Beth stood up, folded the card roughly and shoved it into her jeans pocket. There was a knock at the door and Leo was unlikely to stir so she went to answer it. If her face was stony when she opened the door the frown that appeared would have done nothing to enhance her expression of welcome.

‘Hiya,’ said Jack, ‘I hadn’t seen you about so I thought I’d check you were okay.’ He was smiling. Beth wasn’t. All the sensations generated by the newspaper article were washing around inside her. She didn’t speak. ‘Are you okay?’ asked Jack with a concerned raise of an eyebrow.

Beth swallowed hard. How could she have fallen for another charmer? Was she a complete idiot? She studied his face for a moment. There were no clues there. He looked completely normal. In fact he looked relaxed, casual and gorgeous and she, like a fool, had fallen for it. How was she to know he was another abuser? He was staring at her and she knew she had to say something. Leo was in the other room so she had to be careful. ‘Yes, fine, thanks. Was there anything else?’ Her tone was brusque and her expression remained sombre.

‘Er, are you sure you’re okay? And Leo?’ Jack half looked past Beth and she instinctively stepped forward to block his view into the hall. Jack pulled back, scowling. ‘There is something wrong, isn’t there? What’s up? Tell me.’

‘Nothing, and it’s really none of your business anyway.’ Beth shut the door. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Shutting Jack out was what she had to do. But then why did she feel so bad about doing it?

‘Beth!’ Jack banged on the door. ‘Beth, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me.’

Leo shuffled into the hall clutching his tablet. ‘Is that Jack?’ he asked as Jack continued to raise his voice outside. Beth nodded, leaning against the door as if shielding Leo. ‘Why can’t he come in?’

‘Because, because …’ Beth did not want to have to explain this. ‘We fell out and we’re not friends any more. You know that sometimes happens.’

Leo nodded his understanding. ‘Why did you fall out?’

‘Oh, nothing serious. Would you like a hot chocolate?’

Leo smiled and followed his mother into the kitchen as Jack continued to thud on the door. He eventually gave up and left Beth and Leo to have their drinks in peace and for Beth to start to think. She hadn’t actually begun a relationship with Jack so in theory keeping his involvement in their lives to a minimum should prove to be straightforward. However, the problem with theories was that they were often disproved. She liked Jack, that was the bottom line, and now she had to un-like Jack and it was not as easy as it was on social media. She needed to reset her emotional gauge where he was concerned. He was now a no-go zone and she couldn’t kid herself that she wasn’t more than a little sad about that. She gave herself a shake. She shouldn’t be feeling sad, she should be elated that she’d had a lucky escape this time. Perhaps that feeling would take longer to materialize.

There was also the question of Doris. She was meant to be dog-sitting again from tomorrow. She hated the thought of going back on a deal and whatever Jack had done in the past he had made a good job of her kitchen. But unlike Simon and his acceptance of a couple of packets of biscuits and a free-flowing supply of tea while he worked, there had been no end date pinned to the dog-sitting agreement. Beth had surprised herself by getting used to having Doris about the house while she worked and even enjoying her company. Leo considered himself to have a part ownership in the dog, flinging his arms tightly around her when he got in from school and using her as a stand-in playmate when Denis wasn’t about. But despite how Doris may have wheedled her way into their lives, Beth knew what she had to do.

She sat and stared at her fifth attempt to write a note to Jack. She really wished she didn’t have to do this, which made it that much harder to write. She sighed and gave it a final read.

Jack,

I am really sorry but I am no longer able to dog-sit for Doris. Leo and I have loved having her here but as I move on to the next stage of getting Willow Cottage ready for resale it won’t be possible to look after her any more.

Sorry.

Beth

Beth put what she hoped was a polite and well-worded note through Jack’s door as quietly as she could. She had almost made good her escape when the door opened and she heard his footsteps jog up behind her.

‘Beth, talk to me. What’s going on?’ Jack’s voice was soft behind her. People like Jack knew when to play the charm card and when to apply pressure.

For once Beth had thought through her response. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to be able to work on the hallway and it will mean having all the doors and windows open and I can’t risk Doris running away. Anyway, it was never meant to be a permanent arrangement, was it?’

Jack’s head twitched a no response. ‘You’re having all the doors open in this weather?’

Beth glanced around her as if only noticing for the first time that it was January. The snow had almost gone; all that was left were stubborn dirty lumps of ice here and there. ‘Got to get on. I want the cottage back on the market by Easter.’ She knew it was over-optimistic but she liked to set goals and stress to Jack that she was not a suitable candidate to set his sights on, since she would be moving on as soon as she could. Putting distance between them might help to heal the damage he’d done. She’d actually started to trust him. That was what hurt the most.

‘Oh,’ said Jack, fumbling in his pocket for his phone and frantically pressing buttons. ‘Did you hear about this?’

Beth was scowling. She didn’t want to get caught up in chitchat; self-preservation was key on a number of levels. ‘I need to get going …’

‘This guy hired a boat on Christmas Day to sail up the Thames and get Tower Bridge to open,’ he said at high speed as he glanced between Beth and his phone. ‘He was going to propose to her but she never turned up. Do you think it was Fergus and Carly?’ Jack thrust the phone under her nose.

Beth’s neck snapped back in surprise. She forcefully pushed the phone away and tried to keep a hold on her racing pulse. He wasn’t trying to hit her, but it was a swift movement and it had put her on high alert all the same.

‘I doubt it.’ She turned to leave.

Jack rubbed his chin and his face reflected his utter confusion. ‘Have I done something to upset you? Because if I have then … I’m really sorry.’

She turned back and briefly studied his face. He did look sorry but then that was all part of the charade. She’d seen Nick play out his role as wounded hero so many times. Petra had said domestic violence was in Jack’s past – she had an opportunity to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he had changed, but she simply couldn’t take a risk like that. She felt a strange sense of loss although it was something she had never really had.

‘It’s just that the New Year brings renewed focus, that’s all. I need to get on. Bye Jack.’ Tears pricked at Beth’s eyes and she had to turn away quickly.

Later that day Beth was thankful that she hadn’t heard anything further from Jack but she couldn’t help a sidelong look at his cottage as they walked past on the way to school. She wondered if Doris was shut in her dog cage or if Jack had found someone else to have her. Leo and Denis dashed into school, leaving Beth to her thoughts as she walked home. Another glance at Jack’s cottage on the return trip revealed nothing. She found herself sighing as she let herself into Willow Cottage. Right, now I really do need to get some work done, she thought.

Carly tapped Fergus’s arm. They were sitting in the back of his dad’s old Mini. Although, Fergus was more sort of folded into the back seat with his head only a fraction off the roof lining, which he bumped with monotonous regularity every time they hit a pothole, which was frequently. Fergus turned to look at her. An advantage of having a deaf partner was that instead of whispering she could simply mouth something and he would be able to lip-read it. He wasn’t the best at lip-reading and strangers were particularly tricky, but with Carly he understood every time.

‘What the feck is going on?’ she mouthed. Fergus snorted a chuckle and his dad glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Fergus signed back to her. ‘Going to see Granny.’

‘I thought that’s what he said. But she’s dead.’

Fergus snorted again and Carly gave him a nudge in the ribs.

‘Is your man all right back there?’ asked Mr Dooley in his thick Irish accent.

‘We’re both fine, thanks, Mr Dooley,’ replied Carly as she was signing to Fergus to stop snorting.

‘Ah, now you want to be calling me Cormac,’ said Mr Dooley.

‘Okay,’ said Carly as she took in what Fergus was signing in reply.

‘… it’s traditional that everyone goes to spend some time with the deceased …’ he signed.

Carly knew her wide eyes would be sufficient response. Fergus patted her thigh and then took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, and she tried very hard to relax.

‘Cormac?’ said Carly tentatively, not wanting to distract him too much from his erratic pothole swerving.

‘Yes, love.’

‘Are there family flowers we can contribute to or do we need to buy our own wreath? We weren’t sure which would be the right thing to do.’

‘No, no, you don’t need to worry about that. You see, Granny requested no flowers at the funeral on account of her pollen allergy,’ explained Cormac, his tone serious as he nodded at the rear-view mirror.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Carly, forcing herself not to dissolve into inappropriate hysterics.

They arrived at Granny’s house and peeled themselves out of the tiny car.

‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ he said, looking at his watch.

‘An hour?’ asked Carly, a fraction louder than she meant to. She was guessing there was nowhere she could get a black chai tea.

‘Did you want longer with yer granny?’ Cormac asked Fergus.

Fergus thankfully shook his head. ‘An hour’s fine, Da. Thanks.’ He put his arm round an anxious-looking Carly and led her inside. The small terraced house was dark and silent. They entered the front room where a vast amount of heavy drapes adorned the windows. As her eyes adjusted to the poor flickering light cast by numerous candles, Carly caught a glimpse of an open coffin before the door was closed behind them.

A sudden movement caught Carly off guard and she had to stifle a scream. ‘Ahh, Fergus. Good to see you, just awful sad about the circumstances, but yer granny would be glad you made it,’ said a short man as he left a chair next to the coffin and threw himself into a bear hug with Fergus. The man stood back to appraise him.

‘You look well, that English piss-like beer must be suiting you then?’ he guffawed.

‘They have Guinness there too, Uncle Padraig.’ She was impressed; Fergus’s lip-reading was better than she’d thought because she could barely understand the mumbling man with his heavy Irish drawl. ‘You remember Carly?’

‘Still a beauty, you are. Is he looking after you, now?’ he said, pulling her into a tight squeeze. Carly opted for copious amounts of nodding and grinning and hoped that would be enough of an answer to whatever it was he’d said. He turned to Fergus. ‘You need to get a ring on that there finger, so you do,’ he added, waving Carly’s left hand at Fergus, making her feel like a puppet.

Uncle Padraig let go of her and with an arm round Fergus ushered him to a corner for a private chat. She noticed Fergus gently reposition his uncle in front of him so he could lip-read and ask him to repeat what he’d said.

Carly didn’t want to look like she was eavesdropping so she turned away and then had a nasty surprise when she realized how close she was to the open coffin. She took an involuntary sharp intake of breath but steadied herself.

Granny was laid out in a simple dress and cardigan and looked just like she was asleep although as Carly cast her eyes towards Granny’s feet she had to stifle a chuckle. Granny was wearing rather fetching bootee-style slippers. Carly was fighting hard to control the giggles that were starting deep inside her. She was desperate to drag Fergus over but he was still deep in muffled conversation. There was lots of backslapping from the men and they joined her at the coffin.

‘Ahh, she’s sleeping peacefully now. Bless her,’ said Padraig as he put his arms round Fergus and Carly. ‘Now, will you do me a wee favour and translate to me laddo here?’ he asked Carly.

‘Of course.’ Carly faced him but now he was fiddling with his phone.

‘Hang on … just a minute there,’ he said slowly as he scrolled up and down the phone’s screen.

Fergus took Carly’s fingers in his and held them with the lightest of touches, and when she looked at him he was smiling. She squeezed his hand. It was an odd place to have a moment, but a moment it was. They could have been anywhere; it was just the two of them acknowledging the other one’s closeness.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ whispered Fergus.

‘And me,’ signed Carly, with her free hand. Fergus’s fingers tightened their grip and Carly felt something ping deep inside. This was what she wanted; she wanted to feel that closeness between them that she had feared was slipping away. Fergus turned his head to look at Granny and, mirroring him, Carly did too.

Suddenly Granny’s voice echoed around the sparsely furnished room. ‘Can you hear me?’ she said. Carly gripped Fergus’s hand and he looked at her with the same relaxed smile because he couldn’t hear it. Carly shot a look at Granny. ‘Now that you’re here I wanted to say a few words …’ Granny’s lips were definitely not moving and Carly was sure she’d never been a ventriloquist.

‘Are you not going to be telling him what she’s after saying?’ Uncle Padraig was looking mildly irritated as he waved his phone. Carly opened her mouth and then closed it again because she was feeling a little queasy, but she managed a nod. Padraig rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll start it again then,’ he said, as he fiddled once more with his phone. Carly let out a deep sigh and tapped Fergus’s arm so he was ready to read what she signed.

Thankfully it was a short message that Granny had recorded a few months ago, at her birthday gathering, saying what a good life she’d had and how proud she was of all of her family. She finished with an odd sentence. ‘… and remember: it’s easy to halve the potato where there’s love.’ Carly knew she was frowning but she couldn’t help it. What was the woman talking about?

Fergus started to laugh and Padraig joined in. ‘I’ll leave you to your prayers,’ said Padraig, his face abruptly becoming sombre. He patted Fergus on the shoulder and left the room. Fergus stood for a while with his head bent and his eyes closed and Carly did the same until she’d run out of things to pray for. She had another look at Granny in her bootee slippers and it made her smile. Maybe that was the idea? You never knew with the Irish, they were always up for the craic.

The Irish seemed to have a good balance when it came to death, thought Carly. The funeral was a long drawn-out and sad affair, as funerals often are, where many cried and a few wailed, which took Carly by surprise at first but a steadying hand and a few words about Irish traditions from Cormac had her understanding it all a little better. Once that was over it was all about celebrating Granny’s life, all the things she had done and achieved. And while it wasn’t the most adventurous or high-achieving existence, everyone had high praise for her as a mother, grandmother, friend and neighbour, and to the people who knew her best that was what really counted.

Carly managed to lure Fergus away from a riotous drinking game.

‘It’s noisy in there, are you okay?’

He shrugged. ‘They’re all family, they know about my deafness and that it makes no difference to who I am.’

‘Doesn’t stop it being noisy?’ said Carly.

‘No, but it does stop it bothering me.’ He put his arm round her shoulder, pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.

‘I saw you signing with that lady in the navy dress earlier. That was nice.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ laughed Fergus. ‘Mary is something like me mam’s third cousin twice removed and she learned to sign years ago when her donkey went deaf.’

‘What?’ said Carly, starting to laugh.

‘Well, she thinks she knows some sign language but I think she’s making half of the signs up so it was either her donkey or her neighbour that she signed and I’d like to imagine it was the former!’

When their laughter had dwindled Carly remembered something she wanted to ask. ‘What did Granny mean about the halving of a potato?’ she asked. She had been puzzling over it ever since.

‘It’s easy to halve the potato where there’s love,’ repeated Fergus. ‘It’s an old Irish proverb …’ Carly started to snigger. ‘It is! And it means that if you’re surrounded by love then however little you have it’s easier to share it.’

Carly stopped sniggering. ‘That’s actually quite sweet.’

‘I know,’ said Fergus emphatically and he kissed her softly.

The lady in the navy dress approached and signed to them both that there was ‘chicken cake’ if they’d like some. Fergus started to giggle as Carly kindly signed back that they would love some ‘lemon cake’ although she used the correct sign for ‘lemon’. Confusing the two was an easy mistake for a novice signer to make.




Chapter Twenty-Four (#ulink_b26ceb0e-99d2-563c-9c31-b0ffcbbb8034)


Petra was being attentive during Beth’s lunchtime shift and she figured that she must have spoken to Jack. When it was time to go, Beth was zipping up her coat when Petra came over to her. ‘Are you sure you are okay? I am a little worried,’ she said.

‘I’m fine, honest.’

‘Good. Then I won’t ask again. What is the next project at the cottage?’

‘Oh, decorating mainly but at some stage I need to tackle the stairs. They are missing a few spindles and that sort of craftsmanship is expensive so I’m not sure what I’ll do with them. But I’ll think of something.’

‘What about a night class? They do them at the college. I can have Leo and you can borrow my moped. All you need to do now is find one that gives you these skills. Okay?’

It made Beth smile at how quickly Petra seemed to solve her problem. ‘Okay, I’ll look into it.’

‘Good, you must do this.’ Petra squeezed her arm for emphasis. Beth couldn’t help but be touched by her support. The feeling that someone local had become a friend and was keen to offer suggestions to help her achieve her goal was heartwarming and despite everything else that was going on it made her feel calm.

Back at the cottage over a well-earned cup of tea Beth found herself searching the internet on her phone for carpentry courses. By the time she had reached the bottom of her mug she had found a local wood-turning course that ran one evening a week and was suitable for beginners. There was even a possibility that she was eligible for the concessionary price. Beth decided to join Petra on the school pick-up run to check that she really did mean it about the pink moped. Beth hadn’t ridden since university but her motorbike licence was still good and Petra said she’d let her know about insurance costs.

Beth and Petra were chatting as they passed Jack’s cottage and heard Doris’s plaintive whines and barks. Beth felt a twinge of guilt. Leo unexpectedly shoved his mother in the ribs. ‘That’s your fault, she’s shut in a cage! You’ve made her sad and I hate you!’ he shouted before running off. Petra looked sympathetic but Beth didn’t have time to comment as Leo was running at full pelt towards the road. He stopped as he reached the edge of the pavement, giving Beth time to catch up with him and escort him across.

‘Leo, we don’t push people around however cross we get.’

‘I don’t care!’ he shouted and he ran off once more, this time across the green towards the cottage. Beth rubbed her side. He had pushed into her with some force but it wasn’t that that was hurting. It was the fact that he thought it was acceptable to treat his mother that way. One more thing to loathe Nick for, she thought. She hated to see Leo upset like this; he and Doris were unfortunate victims of her self-imposed ban on Jack. She knew she was doing the right thing; she had to protect Leo, but that didn’t stop her feeling guilty for being the cause of his distress, and for that matter Doris’s.

In between arguments with Leo, Beth managed to make a phone call to the college and enrol herself on the wood-turning course. It was a brief interlude in an otherwise dreadful evening where Leo stropped about ignoring his mother while she repeatedly explained to him the importance of respecting other people.

Breakfast was frosty both inside the cottage and out. Leo’s jaw was rigid as he glowered at his porridge. Beth couldn’t help but worry about what else Leo had vicariously picked up from their time with Nick.

The walk to school was brisk, as Leo appeared keen to get away from his mother, and Denis was almost running to keep up. They were through the gates before she had a chance to say goodbye and she knew there would definitely be no backward glance from Leo today. She watched for a moment to check that he went inside and saw Jack greet Leo at the door. Leo threw himself at Jack and although the situation was awkward there was little Jack could do but let the child cling to him. All reason left Beth as she stormed across the tarmac.

‘Get away from my son!’ she said firmly in hushed tones so as not to create a scene as she tried to pull a now sobbing Leo away from Jack.

Jack put his hands up in surrender. ‘He’s upset but it’s nothing I’ve done.’

‘You fell out and now Doris is sad!’ shouted Leo as he twisted to address both the adults in turn. He rubbed roughly at his teary eyes with his coat sleeve.

‘Did we fall out?’ asked Jack.

‘Irrelevant,’ said Beth to Jack before crouching down to Leo’s level. ‘Doris is fine, isn’t she, Jack?’ Her expression willing him to reassure the child.

‘Er, oh, yeah. You know what she’s like, Leo. She sleeps most of the time.’

‘But we heard her crying yesterday,’ said Leo, his bottom lip pushed out, reminding Beth of when he was a toddler.

‘Well, yesterday was different as I was out all day but I’ll take her for a walk at lunchtime. Do you want to come?’

‘Yeah!’ squealed Leo, immediately brightening as his mother tried to control the fear and anger that was instantly coursing through her veins.

‘No, I’m sorry, Leo. You have to stay on school premises at lunchtime. Doesn’t he, Jack?’ The look that accompanied the sentence was instruction enough.

‘Oh, yeah. Silly me. No, you can’t come but I’ll tell you how she is and I promise you she’ll be fine. Okay?’

Leo nodded glumly as he pulled himself free from his mother’s grasp and sulked off into the school, dragging his rucksack behind him. The adults watched him go and Beth’s heart melted for her son. When he was out of sight, Jack ran his hand through his hair and gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘That was a bit tricky. I didn’t—’

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing hugging my child and then inviting him out of school?’ Beth felt the emotion catch in her throat and she fought hard to stay in control. The last thing she wanted to do right now was cry but the mixture of suppressed anger and unhappiness was a volatile cocktail. How had everything turned so suddenly from picture perfect to an utter nightmare?

‘Wow! Slow down with the accusations. That is not what happened and you know it.’

‘Stay away from my child or I will report you, Jack. I’m not the pushover you think I am.’

As Jack stood looking bewildered and confused in the doorway, Beth walked away, struggling to see as the hot tears blurred her vision.

Beth had a horrid day. She spent most of it replaying the scene at the school and going over and over what exactly had been said and whether she should speak to the head teacher. She had finally resolved that whatever Jack had done in the past he was now holding down a responsible job and she knew the support he provided to the school was invaluable. She decided instead to make it clear that if she had any cause to feel that Leo was threatened then she would be shouting it from the highest point in the village, which was most likely the Bleeding Bear pub sign.

She was very glad to leave a sulking Leo at the pub, don Petra’s helmet and escape to her first evening class. She took with her one of the broken stair-rail spindles so that she would have a template to make replicas, and popped this inside her coat. Beth had memorized the best route and knew that, even on the ancient moped, it should only take about twenty-five minutes to get to the adult education centre where the classes were being held.

January rain lashed at Beth for most of the journey and she felt vulnerable as a large lorry had overtaken her only leaving a narrow corridor of space between her and its thundering wheels. As she arrived at the centre a small sign pointed her into the car park and an allocated area for motorbikes. She parked the small pink moped between two large motorbikes, locked it up and jogged over to the steps that led to the entrance and provided some cover. A quick look at her watch showed that she had made good time and was a little early.

Beth was about to take off her helmet when a familiar figure came striding towards her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she found she was clenching her fists and gripping the spindle tightly. What the hell was Jack doing following her here? She started to struggle with the strap in her haste to take the helmet off quickly but even as she struggled she realized although Jack was heading towards her he was looking straight past her. She followed his gaze inside as he strode by without even a glance. Beth stood still for a moment and found she could undo the helmet strap in one easy movement if she wasn’t panicking.

Keeping her helmet on, she followed Jack inside, keeping a safe distance back, and discreetly picked up a leaflet as she went by the stand so that she could pretend to read that if he looked round. He turned a corner and then bounded up a staircase two at a time. As she reached the top of the stairs there was no sign of him and her helmet had almost completely steamed up. She stood, looking along the corridor, wondering if she should take her spying mission any further as curiosity nibbled at her conscience.

‘Oh, my word. You gave me a start!’ squealed an older lady in a very shiny blouse. She peered a bit closer at the tinted helmet. ‘Are you all right?’ she said slowly as if Beth was deranged. Beth had a quick glance down the corridor to check there was still no sign of Jack before she removed the helmet.

‘Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump. I was following someone …’

The woman gave her an old-fashioned look. Rumbled, she thought.

‘I thought they might be going to the same class. What classes are up here? IT?’ she ventured. It was most likely that Jack was running a course rather than attending one.

‘Oh, no classes on this floor, it’s all local meeting groups. What class are you here for?’

Bugger, thought Beth. ‘Wood-turning.’

The woman looked taken aback. ‘Then you need to be in the workroom outside. Come with me.’

‘Don’t I need to sign in or something?’ Beth strained a last look up the corridor as the woman put out an arm to guide her back downstairs. She gave in as her shoulders sagged and she trudged after the woman, leaving a trail of drips off her coat as she went.

The workroom was very tidy with a series of low benches on one side of the room and six workstations on the other side. Each station had a wall of tools all very neatly hung up. Two men were already seated at the front bench so she went to the one behind and sat down. They stopped talking as she approached and smiled kindly at her. Beth was introducing herself as someone marched into the room, creating a draught. The larger-than-life figure put her in mind of a ginger and slightly less hairy version of Hagrid from Harry Potter. He marched to the front of the class and clapped his hands astonishingly loudly. Beth instantly wanted to clap her hands together to see if she could get the volume anywhere near close. She sat on them instead to stop herself.

‘Hello, hello, welcome, welcome. New recruits and old favourites,’ he bellowed as he waved to two more men entering the room behind her. He was a bear of a man with a voice to match. Despite his size and volume Beth found she quickly warmed to Tollek, who explained that he was originally from Norway but had fallen in love at university in Bath and had stayed, despite having his heart broken. Beth found herself doing a head tilt at the romantic story and then, noticing that nobody else looked remotely interested, she sat up a bit straighter.

As she had suspected she was the only woman in the group with five men. Her bench partner was a homemade-jumper-wearing fifty-something called Ray who made lots of notes. The first half of the lesson whizzed by as Tollek provided a brief history of the craft of wood-turning and explained his own qualifications, which included coming from a long line of woodcraft devotees in Norway. He also ran through the course syllabus and placed a lot of importance on health and safety and the rules of the workroom. Beth eyed the machinery with longing. She really wanted to have a go.

‘Enough of me. Let’s have a break for coffee and a bit of socializing and then we will acquaint ourselves with the lathe,’ said Tollek with another handclap, which Beth was sure had set off a mild case of tinnitus. Ray scuttled round the bench to join the other men and Beth found herself following behind all the way to the refectory like a lost sheep.

She was rummaging in her purse for change when she heard Jack’s voice and forced herself to remain still and with her head down. She slowly turned to watch him leaving the break area with a young man. They stopped to chat outside the gents’ toilets and when the young man went into the toilets Jack walked away towards the stairs.

Beth pulled a receipt from her purse and prepared herself. As the young man came out she pounced.

‘Hi, sorry. The man you were with dropped something.’ She waved the receipt in front of him vaguely and he was momentarily distracted like a cat with a feather. ‘Which class is he in?’ She was desperately keen to know what Jack was doing here. It was none of her business but simple curiosity was getting the better of her.

The man reached out his hand. ‘I’ll give it to him if you like?’

That was the obvious thing to offer, she really hadn’t thought this through.

‘Oh, okay,’ she handed over the receipt. ‘Is it good? The class or meeting you’re going to, because I wondered if I might switch.’

He was frowning deeply now as he shoved the receipt into his pocket. ‘Sorry, it’s not a course. Look, I’d better go or I’ll be late.’

‘Oh, of course, yes. Enjoy yourself,’ said Beth, feeling like a total idiot. Was he shaking his head as he went up the stairs? She wouldn’t have blamed him. She sloped back into the break area, got herself a tea from the machine and went to read the noticeboard. There was a brochure of all the courses and she sprang on it, took it to a nearby table and started to look through it. Each course also had details of the room and floor it was on. The men from her course got up and left. She checked her watch: time to go back. A woman was wiping down the tables and Beth sidled back in.

‘Excuse me. Do you know which groups are meeting on the first floor tonight?’ It was a long shot.

‘Er, Tuesday, is it?’ said the woman and Beth nodded. ‘Knit and natter – actually no, that’s moved to a Thursday. Adult dyslexia support and domestic violence support,’ she said and then carried on wiping.

Beth knew she was frowning. Either Jack was dyslexic or there was something very sinister going on that he was attending a domestic violence support group. Beth wandered back to her class and sat at her bench and tried hard to listen to Tollek but her mind was distracted by what she’d just discovered and the uneasy feeling that was breeding in her gut.

After a lengthy discussion about tools and sharpening and a quick refresh of the health and safety they all moved over to the machine side of the room. Tollek ran them through the basic principles of the lathe, put on a safety mask and did a demonstration. Beth forgot about Jack for a while, watching Tollek intently as he rounded off a piece of wood. The machine had a low purr as Tollek expertly ran the chisel across its surface. Wood shavings curled away from the wood and filled the air with a fresh scent. She watched him cut in to make a specific groove and demonstrate the importance of keeping tools sharp. She was fascinated.

When the students had a go themselves Beth had to stop herself from running to a lathe in her excitement. Tollek came to each of them in turn and checked that their piece of wood was secure and got them started. Beth knew she was grinning as she rested her chisel on the tool rest and felt it make contact with the wood and change the tone of the machine’s purr.

‘Stay firm and smooth with your actions,’ said Tollek. ‘Good start, Beth.’

As she worked the wood her mind drifted back to Jack. Her curiosity was piqued and she wanted to find out more. He was either attending the dyslexic group or the domestic violence support group; she really hoped it was the former even though she hadn’t spotted any signs that had led her to think he might be dyslexic. But just because she hadn’t noticed anything that didn’t mean he wasn’t. Yes, it had to be that. Her foot slipped off the motor pedal and the lathe ground to a halt. She’d lost concentration.

Tollek was soon at her side and got her started again and this time she stared hard at the wood to maintain focus. A few seconds later her mind had wandered off again. If it was the domestic violence group why was he there? Was he scouting for his next victim? She felt a shudder go through her and immediately banished the thought. Surely nobody would be that twisted and surely not Jack, although she knew too well that just because someone was pretty did not mean they were good. Perhaps the support group was for reformed abusers? she thought. But if it was, that was an odd thing to need support for, wasn’t it?

Tollek suggested that they stop working and inspect their handiwork. She was so pleased she almost gave herself a clap. Despite her wandering thoughts she had actually made something that looked pretty good.

When it was time to leave she had visions of replacing every spindle and setting up her own wood-turning business. Everyone was buoyed by the experience and now they were all chatting, the gender barriers had been removed – they were one happy band of novice wood-turners.

As Beth waved her goodbyes she headed for the motorbike parking area and there she spotted Jack. He was on the phone and looking over the pink moped. What was he up to now?




Chapter Twenty-Five (#ulink_ef9ffae9-348e-5b5a-b4d0-d37e34c45de4)


Beth gripped the helmet tightly, pulled back her shoulders and strode over to Jack.

‘Problem?’ she asked.

‘Ah, ignore this message, Petra, Beth has turned up and I think that solves the puzzle. Bye.’ He ended the call and looked apologetically at Beth. ‘Sorry, I recognized the moped and thought someone had stolen it, because I knew Petra was working. But I’m guessing you’ve borrowed it.’

‘Well, I haven’t stolen it if that’s what you’re thinking!’

Jack’s expression was pained. ‘I didn’t think you had.’ He slapped a smile on his face. ‘So are you doing an evening class?’

‘Yes, wood-turning.’ She watched him closely for a reaction.

‘Wow, that’s a real skill.’

‘How about you?’

He looked at the ground. ‘Just a meeting, nothing as much fun as wood-turning. Anyway I’d better get back.’

Beth took a deep breath as he was about to walk away. ‘So are you dyslexic?’

There was a pause as Jack slowly spun back to look at her, his face crumpled in thought. ‘Er, no, why?’

‘In that case it means you must have been at the domestic violence support group.’ Beth stepped forward; she wasn’t sure why but she felt like she was going head to head with him. His facial expression changed rapidly in a few short moments.





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