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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
Pippa Mason is ready for a fresh start. She has bought Pumpkin Cottage in the picturesque Wye Valley village of Riverdean, where her late mother grew up, and plans to renovate a run-down bed and breakfast. Despite the complications of the project and a very surly builder, Pippa is settling into village life and starting to fall for the charms of local, outdoorsy Jake when problems start coming thick and fast ... Jenny Foster has plenty on her plate. It's busy enough running Riverside Lodge but now her husband Phil has been diagnosed with early-onset dementia. With doubts about how long she will be able to keep running the business, Jenny didn't need the threat of another B&B on her doorstep and the newcomer worming her way into the community. When the spat between the rival businesses escalates and an autumn storm brings matters to a head, Pippa and Jenny will have to see if Riverdean is big enough for the both of them.
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ESCAPE TO PUMPKIN COTTAGE
ANNA AND JACQUI BURNS
4For Carole
We miss you every day.5
Contents
Chapter One
Pippa
Pippa lets out an involuntary shriek as she spots the sign. ‘Welcome to Riverdean.’ She has arrived!
She follows the road as it bends sharply to the right, and her Audi is plunged under a canopy of trees. The brilliant blue of the sky peeks through the green and mustard leaves, as though even the sky is promising good times to come. And boy, does Pippa need good times. It’s been one hell of a year, filled with grief, job stress and break-up angst.
Pippa is ready for a fresh start. To stand on her own feet. The months of preparation, staying up late after work to plan, nights filled with worry and doubt, all seem worth it now she’s here.
She’s waiting for her first glimpse of the village. The Google images promised her chalet-style cottages in vibrant reds and greens, all with views of the sparkling river, scenes not unlike the Swiss Alps. The magic her mum spoke about all those years ago, wistful tales about her childhood spent in the idyllic Wye Valley. It sounded like a fairy tale to Pippa’s ears, compared to the constant bustle of London.
She spots one cabin, almost hidden from the road amongst the trees, spellbinding with fairy lights wrapped around the porch and ivy growing either side of the door. It’s all starting to feel real. The 8fairy tale might actually come true. Pippa can’t wait.
She rounds one more bend and is dazzled by the sun glinting off the river, ripples of babbling waters, just like the pictures. She thinks of lowering the window to hear the rush of water, but before she can, Pippa nearly barrels into the car in front of her.
She brakes just in time, gasping and yanking the seat belt away from crushing her chest.
The road has narrowed to a single track and, ahead, cars are stopped as far as Pippa can see.
A traffic jam in Riverdean? That’s not part of the plan.
She notices the car in front of her has its doors open and a man is leaning against it. He’s obviously been here some time. Pippa presses a few buttons on her car touchscreen, willing the satnav to work its magic.
‘Searching for alternate route …’ the robotic voice tells her. ‘No route found.’
Pippa repeats this a few times with the same outcome and sighs. She opens the car door herself, and shouts to the man.
‘Excuse me, do you know if there are any other routes into Riverdean?’
He turns round, surprised to be spoken to. ‘Tough luck,’ a Welsh accent tells her. ‘One road in, one road out. Probably some van up ahead blocking everyone’s way.’
‘Oh,’ Pippa says, her good mood starting to fail her.
‘I’d settle in if I were you. All part of Riverdean’s charm.’
She gets back in the car, shutting the door with a huff. She still has half an hour before she’s arranged to meet the local handyman at the house. She guessed he was the real deal when he told her he could only fit her in for ten minutes on Tuesday for a quote.
The river seems to be taunting her now, as do the roofs of cottages up ahead. So close and yet … 9
Pippa takes a sip of the pumpkin-spiced latte she picked up in Hereford. It’s her yearly tradition on the first of September, a way to mark the start of her favourite season. There’s the prospect of getting her coats out of hibernation, of taking long bubble baths with hot chocolates, the heat of the London Underground turning from unbearable to almost tolerable. Not that she’ll be seeing much of the city any more. Autumn in Riverdean seems a much more favourable option, if slightly terrifying. There is a sign advertising the ‘Riverdean Harvest Festival’ on the side of the road, complete with hand-painted gourds. This is more like it, Pippa thinks.
Pippa had driven from London to Hereford this morning, getting to the estate agents just after opening time to pick up the keys.
The keys to her very own B&B.
Something she’s dreamt of since she was a teenager. The white envelope on her passenger seat feels pregnant with future possibilities, the keys to her new venture. She can’t quite believe it’s hers. Can’t believe she no longer has to work on the reception desk of a hotel chain any more, trilling ‘Welcome to Mallory’s. Checking in?’ hundreds of times a day, drafting staff rotas and cajoling teenagers into cleaning rooms. She gets to be her own boss, set her own rules.
Pippa has wanted this ever since she stayed in a B&B in Scotland with her mother when she was about thirteen. She’d had a tough week in school and was feeling down.
‘We haven’t left the city for far too long,’ her mother had said, sensing her unhappiness. They’d driven up, spur of the moment, on a dark and dreary Friday night. The hotel was an old castle, and Pippa vividly remembers the owner passing her a cup of coffee as she curled up in front of the stone fireplace. She remembers feeling so grown up. How that weekend had felt 10more like home than any of their flats in London. How she and her mother had giggled, chatted and relaxed in the countryside. They’d left the B&B only to go for walks and had been greeted with warm biscuits and blankets on their return. Pippa wanted to create that atmosphere for other people. She wanted to curate her own slice of it in Riverdean.
And now all her belongings are crammed into the Audi, ready to get started. It’s depressing to think this junk filled her flat in Clapham, but barely reaches the roof of her car now. She thinks she had more possessions when she went off to uni to study Hospitality and Tourism. Then again, after uni, she shared so much stuff with Ben, the flotsam and jetsam of couple-life accumulated over their five years together. She couldn’t bear to see it any more after they broke up. And so, a few sad boxes are all she has. Some possessions of her mother’s. Cushions and a duvet. A box of photo albums.
Pippa blinks. She’s becoming maudlin now. This is an opportunity to buy new things. To fill her B&B with modern and quirky items that will keep her guests coming back for years to come. She already has three Pinterest boards dedicated to ideas for different themes. Scandinavian cosiness is her favourite at the moment, but she will decide when she sees the building she’s bought.
If she ever sees it.
Suddenly, there is noise. Car doors slamming shut. Engines turning on. The car in front lurches ahead and she trundles after it. She can see the reason for the hold-up as a box van is waiting, two-wheels perched on someone’s driveway, letting others pass.
Does this seriously count as a road? It’s ridiculous, Pippa thinks, as she’s forced to edge off the road to get past the van, her wheels practically dancing over the drop to the river. She takes another gulp of pumpkin latte to bolster her confidence as 11though it contains alcohol, and nearly misses her turning.
The B&B is down a steep incline, and another sharp bend. She’ll have to warn guests about this when she updates the website, Pippa realises. Maybe she can have a map and a recommendation for parking. At the moment it’s just a white screen, with the words ‘Pumpkin Cottage B&B. Coming Soon …’ in black cursive letters, aptly named for the most scenic season in Riverdean.
God, how do people in this village get around? The opportunities for dropping into the river seem all too possible. She needs the nerves of a moped driver on the Amalfi coast to navigate this road. Pippa’s brakes make an uncomfortable noise as she inches downwards, bunny-hopping her way towards the bottom. Where the hell is this place?
Finally, she spots the right building. There are only two other cottages on this road, which runs parallel to the river, with the B&B right at the end. It’s familiar from afar, similar in shape to the estate agent’s pictures, but up close is another story.
Is this really the ‘Charming B&B in need of updating’ they advertised? ‘Updating’ seems the understatement of the millennium. This looks as if it needs tearing down and starting again. She sees the crumbling brickwork, the faded paint on the door and windows, the weed-ridden front driveway, and water damage reaching over a foot up the front wall.
‘Bloody hell,’ Pippa sighs, turning the car engine off. What has she let herself in for?
She gets out of the car and walks around to the house. It has an odd layout, Pippa can tell even from the outside. ‘Higgledy-piggledy perfection,’ Pippa remembers the estate agent brochure saying. There was clearly a main house built at some point, but the building has been extended and extended, in various clashing styles of architecture, to form a real mishmash. She wonders where 12her dwelling will be. Hopefully she can find some corner tucked away from her guests, so she can have her own privacy.
Pippa’s Hunter Wellington boots sink into the muddy drive. This will be the first speck of mud they’ve seen since she purchased them in London years ago. They were a payday present to herself, representing her countryside dream, and she thought today would be the perfect day to get them out of the box. Pippa thought she’d fit right in with her Barbour jacket, Mango sweater, and wellies, but she suddenly feels like an alien. What is she doing? Buying a B&B like this, without even having seen it? No one she knows to help her?
This is new territory for Pippa and, despite her doubts, she’s determined to make a go of this on her own.
She walks up to the front door and inserts the key, although the door is in such a crumbling state Pippa wouldn’t be surprised if it fell open at the touch of her hand. Stepping immediately into a kitchen, she’s greeted by the enormous kitchen island, although that’s where the modern luxuries end, as the kitchen itself is an ode to pine. The pine cabinets blend into the pine-panelled walls so well, that the only giveaway to where the counters are is the lurid green work surface. The previous owner clearly had a love affair with china ornaments and net curtains, and the whole room seems dark, weighed down with the clutter, and lingering smells of greasy breakfasts. In need of updating is too right. Probably more than that, if the sagging damp patch in the centre of the ceiling is anything to go by.
And then Pippa sees it. The Aga. Standing proudly in the heart of the kitchen. If it was a Farrow & Ball colour, it would be named ‘heritage green’, Pippa thinks. She closes her eyes, imagining the current pine hideousness replaced by oak countertops, repainted cupboards, and a Belfast sink. Yes. The Aga would fit in quite 13nicely. She just needs to learn how the hell to use it.
The rest of the main building is in a similar state. Swirly-patterned brown carpets, corduroy furniture and Artex-covered walls abound. Just when Pippa’s feeling really disheartened, her gaze is pulled to movement outside the window. A flash of colour. She moves to look out of the communal living room window, and her heart soars. The view really is breathtaking. Nothing but the blue of the river, and verdant green of the trees opposite creeping up the other side of the valley. It feels as though the living room is suspended over the water. The flash of colour was a passing kayak, and Pippa watches as a group of them whizz past, a flurry of red plastic and the foamy spray of water.
‘Okay, so it has potential,’ Pippa says aloud, needing to hear her voice, to make sure this is all reality, not a far-off dream. She’s really here and this is really her B&B. This mess.
The doorbell rings and Pippa bolts to answer it.
‘You must be Grant,’ she says.
The man, in his early forties, is sullen and his creased forehead suggests this is his habitual expression. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say durr? The splattered overalls and dirty fingernails confirm she has the right man.
‘I’m Pippa. Come in,’ she offers, although he is already squeezing past her in the doorway, stepping on the cigarette he’s just stubbed out in the process. Okay, so she and Grant aren’t exactly going to hit it off.
‘Feel free to take a look around,’ Pippa says.
‘No, s’alright,’ he says in one word. ‘My grandma used to own this place. I know it like the back of my hand.’
‘Oh,’ Pippa says, unsure of herself. She recovers, reminds herself she is in charge. ‘Then you’ll know there’s quite a lot of water damage, some damp that needs fixing. I’m hoping to replace 14the render, maybe have some of the building cladded. Then a new kitchen, obviously. Replaster and paint throughout. I’ll source the materials.’
She nods, happy that she sounded confident, and fairly competent. Grant says nothing, but crosses his arms and walks past her so she’s forced to follow him. She notices his glance at her boots, the doubtful look on his face. Oh God, he knows she is a fraud.
‘I want the wall knocking down to the smallest bedroom too, open it up. I assume that’ll need planning permission?’
‘Should be fine,’ Grant shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t bother.’ Pippa frowns. She’ll have to check that.
‘I need this doing by the end of the month.’ She wants to get her first bookings in for October.
At this, Grant puffs out a breath. Pippa tries to keep her voice even. She’s used to dealing with builders, in fact prided herself on her ability to interact with them in Mallory’s. Whether she was chatting with decorators or schmoozing VIP guests, Pippa could mould herself into whatever was needed. A social chameleon. So why are her skills failing her now? She suddenly feels very tired. The early start. The drive. The exhaustion of finding herself here. Has this all been a mistake?
‘What do you think?’
Grant is silent again, and Pippa wishes he’d say something to ease her discomfort. She wishes she had someone she could call and complain to. Her mother. Maybe even Ben.
Grant turns to her suddenly. ‘Should be doable,’ he nods. ‘I’ve got a young lad that helps me out if it’s a big job. It’ll cost, though. I hope you’ve brought your chequebook.’
Chapter Two
Jenny
Realising the door’s locked, Jenny drops the shopping bags at her feet and sighs. She presses the bell, becoming more impatient with each unanswered ring.
‘Phil! Phil!’ she calls. It’s hopeless. She decides to go around the back. As soon as she touches the handle, she realises the back door is locked too. Peering through the window, she can see Phil at the table, his back to her.
‘Phil, open up!’ she shouts. The man’s deaf, she thinks, annoyed.
Then, as if he has all the time in the world, he gets up and unlocks the door. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d locked it.’
‘What on earth are you doing, anyway?’
‘Finishing that jigsaw. I’m almost done.’
Jenny rolls her eyes. She glances at the picture of Puzzlewood in the Forest of Dean, a local tourist spot, and the gigantic roots of an ancient oak, its moss-covered limbs stretching out on a carpet of gold leaves. Like a fairy wood. She can just imagine Titania and Oberon arguing in the clearing. ‘Ooh, well done. That bird is upside down, though.’
‘It’s not.’ Phil pauses and squints at it. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’
‘I’m always right,’ she grins, bringing the shopping bags into the kitchen and plonking them down in front of the fridge. 16‘Town was absolutely heaving this afternoon. Seemed to be lots of families getting the last bits of school uniform before the kiddies return next week. I had to drive around the car park for ten minutes before I spotted a space.’
‘Shall I get the kettle on?’
‘I’ll get it now,’ Jenny says. ‘Thank God I checked we had enough bacon in. We’ve got ten in tonight. Nothing would have been right in the morning if we couldn’t give our guests their fry-ups.’ She shudders, ‘Can you imagine? Aw, Phil, you didn’t eat the cheese sandwiches I made for your lunch. You must be starving. I put your favourite onion chutney in, too.’
Phil looks at her sheepishly. ‘I forgot. I’ll have them now.’
‘Well, don’t have all of them. It’s gone four o’clock. You won’t want dinner later,’ she says, trying to keep the irritation from her voice.
‘Ahem!’ There’s a polite knock at the kitchen door. A young couple is standing there. Room Eight. Darren and Zoe Hall from the Midlands. Jenny makes a point of memorising all of her guests’ names, even if they are only staying one night.
‘Everything okay?’ Jenny asks.
‘We were wondering if you can recommend a good place to eat tonight. We were hoping to eat at The Trout, but it’s fully booked.’
‘Yes, it’s a popular place that,’ Jenny commiserates. ‘You’ve got to book in advance for Fridays and Saturdays. Greenbrook, the village opposite the river, has a couple of nice pubs. There’s the White Swan and The Anchor. You’ll have to take the car. Or you could order a taxi.’ The fridge lets out its irritating beep warning the door has been open too long. Jenny closes it. ‘My son Jake could take you. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive, but he’ll be having a couple at The Trout himself later.’
‘Oh no, we couldn’t impose,’ Darren says, shaking his head. 17
‘Jake won’t mind. You’ll have to have a taxi back. Do you want me to try and book one of the pubs in Greenbrook for you?’
‘That’s okay,’ Zoe says.
After Jenny has taken their order for breakfast in the morning and they leave the kitche, she smiles. She loves helping her guests out and she knows she’ll have a great review from them. Good reviews are everything in this day and age of social media. They can make or break you. In the fifteen years since Jenny and Phil opened Riverside Lodge, guests had returned year after year, for the prime location of the ten-roomed bed and breakfast and the excellent hospitality they received. The review left on the website last week was glowing:
Riverside Lodge is a lovely place, situated on the banks of the Wye River with its romantic weeping willows. There are terrific walks in Riverdean and a smattering of lively pubs in the village and Greenbrook opposite. The host Jenny Foster couldn’t do enough for us. The beds were comfortable and the breakfast was superb. It felt a real home from home. We’ll be back.
Jenny was still basking in the compliments, even if Jake put on a silly Arnold Schwarzenegger voice from The Terminator when he repeated the last sentence. It’s true the summer season is coming to a close, but Jenny knows they will have guests throughout the year, flocking to the treasures this area of the country offers. Ramblers, families, even the odd hen or stag party, although the latter are very rare these days as Riverdean is a rather tame place for those seeking lively nightclubs or raucous company. Mind you, The Trout could be as noisy and boisterous as any pub in Hereford, Ross or Monmouth. Brett and Shaun, the pub landlords, usually had something going on every night with quizzes, karaoke, live 18music and open mic nights. Their honest pub grub, roaring fire in winter and fairy-light-festooned garden in the summer saw standing room only on many nights. The pub is also a magnet for Jake, especially since he’s been single.
Talk of the devil, Jenny thinks, hearing the clattering in the shed. She sees Jake wrestling with the red kayak as he puts it away for the evening.
‘Hi Jakey. Good day?’ she asks, as he enters the kitchen.
‘Beautiful,’ he grins. ‘The river was like a millpond. Crowds out today. Always the same in the good weather.’ He kisses Jenny on the cheek. ‘How’s Ma, then? The hostess with the mostest! The best landlady in the Wye Valley.’
Jenny laughs. ‘Can you ever be serious? I’ve just got in from town. Can you be a love tonight and give a lift to that lovely couple in Room Eight. Only to Greenbrook. They’ll have a taxi back.’
‘What’s in it for me, then?’ he teases. Jenny looks up at her handsome son, all six foot four of him. He’s a catch, that’s for sure, with his angular jaw, blonde hair and muscular frame from all the exercise he takes.
‘Well, I have made a steak and kidney pie for dinner tonight, which I believe is your favourite,’ Jenny says and then frowns. ‘Phil, you’ve eaten all those sandwiches. You’ll never eat your dinner later.’
‘Leave him alone, Ma. You’ll eat tonight, won’t you, Dad?’
‘Yes, leave him alone, Ma,’ Phil repeats.
‘Oh, well, if you’re both ganging up on me,’ Jenny says, good-humouredly. ‘Anyway, I need a cup of tea before I do anything else.’
The three sit down in companionable silence as Jenny pours them tea. ‘Is there anything better than tea from a proper china 19teapot?’ she asks, realising she says this rather a lot.
‘I see nothing wrong with dipping a teabag into a cup once in a while,’ Jake winks. ‘By the way, I passed Pumpkin Cottage earlier and could see life in there. Some mug has been tricked into buying that place, by the looks of it.’
‘It’s a lovely position that cottage. Right on the river. I thought that place might have been perfect for you when …’ Jenny pauses, ‘when you came back to Riverdean.’ Of course, they all know exactly what Jenny was going to say – when Jake and Amber split up. It’s like a sore spot, though – you avoided touching it at all costs.
Jenny had never liked Amber when Jake brought her to visit them when they started going out years ago. Amber was far too into her looks, Jenny thought at the time, with her bright red fingernails, her perfectly arched eyebrows and those four-inch heels totally inappropriate for Riverdean. And totally not right for Jake. Outdoorsy Jake. Kind, uncomplicated, salt of the earth. And so it proved, but not before Amber had got pregnant and they had Lola to complicate matters. Adorable Lola. And now poor old Jake was having to face being a part-time dad.
‘Yeh, but it’s in a right state. I wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. Too much work to make it habitable. A lot of water damage after the flood and it’s designed in such a topsy-turvy way.’
‘Any idea who’s got it? Someone local?’
Jake shakes his head. ‘Don’t know. I saw Grant go in there, so he’s obviously going to start work on it.’
‘That miserable so-and-so. He’s got a face that could curdle milk, that man. I’ve never seen him smile. And he’s certainly not the fastest worker. Too slow to catch a cold.’
‘You’ve almost finished the jigsaw, Dad,’ Jake says, changing the subject. ‘Impressive! Fancy coming to the pub tonight, then?’ 20
Phil sips his tea, looks at Jenny as if for approval.
‘You boys go and enjoy yourselves. There’s a good film on tonight.’ She mouths to Jake, ‘Are you sure?’
Jake nods, ‘I won’t have a late one. I’m picking Lola up in the morning for a dad and daughter day.’
Although Phil isn’t Jake’s real father, you would never know. They have such a special rapport between them.
‘That’s lovely,’ Jenny says. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I promised her we’d look for conkers and have a game. I might take her on the river later.’
‘Be careful. She’s only five.’ Jenny berates herself inwardly, knowing Jake is a protective father.
‘She loves it, you know that. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her,’ he says defensively.
‘I know,’ Jenny nods.
Later, as she loads the dishwasher, she thinks about all the jobs she has to do tonight. She’s got a few booked in for tomorrow night and she’ll have to set up Rooms Five and Six. There’s never any let up. She can hear Pointless blasting on the telly in the living room. Phil has the volume up too loud. She has to think about the guests. When you run a B&B, you sacrifice the privacy and freedom of normal family life. She wouldn’t have it any other way, though. It allows her to work from home and she loves meeting new people and hearing their stories. She’s just a nosy person, and loves the buzz of having the house full. It would be nice now and again if Phil could help out. It was their dream for so many years. No use thinking of that now.
‘Have you seen my checked shirt, Mum?’
‘The one you left on your bedroom floor all crumpled yesterday?’
He grins. ‘That would be the one.’ 21
‘It’s in the airing cupboard. Honestly, it’s like having a teenager in the house.’ She rolls her eyes but she loves having him home. At twenty-eight, she knows he must be desperate to find his own place. He’s keeping himself busy, though. He runs Riverdean’s kayaking club, has his own boat for trips down the river. He’s even started orienteering expeditions for school groups. Then there’s his craft ciders and ales. Like Jenny, Jake’s always on the go. All he needs is a nice young woman to settle down with. Perhaps buy a place of his own close by.
‘Do us a favour, Jake, and turn that telly down. It’s driving me mad. I don’t know why he watches it. He can never answer any of the questions.’
Jake shrugs, ‘It’s harmless. He enjoys it.’
‘He locked the doors again this afternoon. Better that than he goes wandering off. I worry something terrible will happen to him when I’m not here.’
‘He’s okay, though,’ Jake insists. ‘We’re managing.’
‘Are we? He will get worse. It’s inevitable. What happens then?’
‘Take each day as it comes. Isn’t that what the doctor said? Try not to think too far ahead.’
‘Easier said than done when you’re not living with it.’
‘I know,’ Jake says. ‘I’ll help as much as I can.’
‘You’ve got your own life, Jake. It’s not fair for you to be saddled with this.’
‘He’s my dad,’ he says simply. Jenny’s so grateful that Jake sees him this way. She married Phil when Jake was seven and he’s been more of a father than his real one, that feckless idiot. He went off to live in America and hasn’t bothered with Jake since.
‘The dementia nurse is coming for a visit Monday. At bloody last. It’s nearly three months now since we got the diagnosis.’
‘What will she do, then? 22
‘Assess our needs, apparently. Look at aids we can have at home to help him. See what support we’re entitled to. Anything will be a help.’ Jenny shoulders sag in exhaustion.
‘Hello?’ A young woman stands at the door, looking awkward.
‘Eve? Is there a problem?’
‘Sorry to be an absolute pain. I think I left the key in my room this morning. I can’t find it anywhere. We’re locked out.’
Jenny smiles. ‘Room Two, isn’t it? It happens all the time, don’t worry. I’ve got spares. I’ll let you in now.’ This is one problem she can solve, she thinks, as she goes into the cabinet in the hallway to get the spare key.
Chapter Three
Pippa
Pippa rubs the expensive oil into her hair, cherishing the smell of rose and sandalwood. She’s been in Riverdean a week now, and she’ll need to get round to finding the nearest salon. There certainly isn’t one in Riverdean, nor Greenbrook, and Pippa wonders if going furniture shopping in Hereford is enough of an excuse to pop in and have her roots retouched whilst she’s there. Her hair certainly needs it, restoring the golden and honey tones to her otherwise mousy natural colour.
She slips a dressing gown around her shoulders, tying it just in time as she spots a crowd outside her bedroom window. Teenagers, all in brightly coloured cagoules, are congregating on the lane outside her bedroom. They crowd around a map, frowning and pointing in various directions.
Pippa spies the familiar rucksacks, heavy with Duke of Edinburgh supplies. She remembers her DofE days, using the two-day camping trip as an excuse to stay up late with friends, talking about boys and drinking the premixed cocktails in lurid colours that they’d sneaked in their rucksacks amongst balled-up socks. These teenagers seem much more hard core, not put off by the rain currently pelting Riverdean, and trampling onwards with the help 24of their compasses. Maybe Pippa should have concentrated a bit more when she did it; it might have stood her in better stead for life in the countryside.
Her phone rings and Pippa spots Hannah’s name on the screen, one of her buddies from those schooldays.
‘Hellooo,’ she answers, hoping she sounds upbeat and cheerful.
‘Just checking in on my country bumpkin.’ Hannah’s face appears on the FaceTime screen. Pippa can see she’s wearing a blouse and faded lipstick, probably calling in on her way to her magazine editor job in London. ‘How’s it going there? Are you planning on spending the morning picking vegetables, mucking out horses, rolling around in the hay?’
‘Such a cliché,’ Pippa laughs. ‘You know I’m in a village, not on a farm. Try moaning at the builder and washing plaster dust out of my hair.’
‘The renovation not going well?’
‘It’s going … it’s going slowly, that’s all I can say. Grant keeps finding problem after problem. A rotten ceiling beam was yesterday’s issue. “That’ll add another grand on to the bill and if you want like for like, I’ll have to order the beam from Germany.”' Pippa mimics his sallow expression and downbeat tone.
‘Are you sure he’s not hot? He sounds hot,’ Hannah says.
‘Definitely not hot,’ Pippa says firmly, though keeping her voice low as she can hear Grant crashing his way through another room in the house. ‘Besides, you know I’m not in the market for a guy at the moment.’
‘Doesn’t hurt to look,’ Hannah reminds her, grinning wickedly. ‘You might find a sexy farmer.’
‘It seems to me that everyone in this village is over fifty years old. Which is fine by me, by the way. I need to focus on nothing but getting this B&B into shape.’ 25
‘Please tell me you’re doing something other than work?’ Hannah groans.
‘Yes, I am,’ Pippa lies. ‘There’s loads to do here, walking, kayaking, climbing …’
‘All things I’ve never heard you interested in,’ Hannah says, incredulously.
‘Well, I had broadband installed yesterday, so now it’s back to online shopping for decor,’ Pippa grins.
‘Okay, now I can imagine what you’re up to,’ Hannah smirks. ‘And that explains why you haven’t been replying to my WhatsApp. Seriously, did you have to move to the back of beyond?’
‘You know this village was very special to my mother,’ Pippa says, serious now.
‘So serious she never took you there before she died?’ Hannah says.
Pippa bristles. ‘There was a reason for that.’ Though what the reason was, Pippa doesn’t know. Her mother had talked about Riverdean, the village where she grew up, so fondly, yet never seemed to want to return. As much as Pippa asked, her mother never talked about why she left, and what was keeping her away. A part of her hopes that by being here she might get to the bottom of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah says, softening. ‘I just miss you, that’s all. And I’m trying to understand why you moved so far away from me. And to somewhere with no train station. It’s not fair I have to lose my best friend.’
‘You’ll understand when you see the village. It’s so beautiful here, it’s like another world. Completely different from the bustle of the city. You’ll love it.’ Although Pippa doubts Hannah will love anywhere without a sushi restaurant and a 24-hour gym.
‘You’d better invite me down soon,’ Hannah teases. ‘Anyway, 26enough about you, I have big big news. Huge!’
‘And we’ve been blabbing on about me this whole time!’
‘Last night, Louis was late coming home and I decided to do a bit of reorganising,’ Hannah begins.
‘As you do.’ Pippa knows Hannah’s flat is organised with military precision, the whole place Marie Kondo-ed on a fortnightly basis.
‘I was going through his pants drawer and guess what I found …’
‘I really don’t want to guess what he keeps in there,’ Pippa jokes.
‘A ring box.’ Hannah’s eyes widen. ‘He’s going to propose!’
‘A ring box,’ Pippa repeats, hoping her expression is convincing enough. ‘That’s amazing news!’
This isn’t exactly news to Pippa; in fact, she helped her best friend’s boyfriend pick out the ring as one of the last things she did in London. ‘You didn’t look inside it, did you?’
‘I was tempted but I thought I’d let the man have one surprise for me,’ Hannah says excitedly. ‘I wonder when he’s going to do it.’
Pippa could answer that, knowing Louis has plans to take Hannah to the top of the Shard on her birthday in a week's time, but really hopes her poker face is convincing enough. She’d warned Louis to keep the ring in his car. Was there really an inch of that apartment that Hannah wasn’t going to clean regularly?
‘That’s incredible, Han! I’m so happy for you both.’
‘I know! I can’t believe I’m getting engaged,’ Hannah beams.
‘You’ll have to keep this a secret from Louis,’ Pippa warns.
‘Durr! Luckily, I’m a lot better at keeping things secret than he is. We just need to get you a man now, too,’ Hannah says.
‘Okay, I’m happy for you but I’m going to hang up so I can join the real world where I don’t need a man,’ Pippa jokes.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just be happy for me! Shit, is that the time? I’m late,’ Hannah says, blowing air kisses at the screen. 27
‘You go,’ Pippa waves. ‘I’m missing you, too. Bye!’
She hangs up, and instead of moving to dry her hair at the ancient dressing table, she flops back onto the bed. Speaking to Hannah is a reminder of everything she’s left behind in London. Pippa felt lonely enough after her mum passed away at the start of the year, and now she’s left her social life, her old colleagues, everyone she knows and loves behind to start over somewhere completely new. Was it a crazy decision?
She remembers getting the phone call from her mother, asking if she could come round. Pippa could hear in her voice that there was a problem. She couldn’t have imagined what she was about to be told. Pancreatic cancer. There was more to explain the few weeks of tiredness and loss of appetite her mother had experienced than they could have predicted. Pippa still hasn’t quite digested how quickly her mum was taken from her. There one minute, walking around Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park with her, drinking hot chocolates and dragging Pippa ice skating, to lying in a hospital bed weeks later. Praying for a miracle. The unfairness of it all still has the ability to wind Pippa.
She realises she’s tracing her mother’s necklace with her finger, sliding the gold star pendant from side to side on its chain. Pippa is glad she’s here in Riverdean, even if it is the most dramatic life change she’s ever made. If she’s learnt anything this year, it’s that life is too short to spend a second of it wasting time, sitting back, waiting for the future you want to come and find you. She might have stayed in that Mallory’s job for ever, getting more and more stuck in her career. It’s time to chase her dreams now.
She hears a crash from the next room again, and Grant mutter a long drawn-out, ‘Fuuuuck.’
Pippa decides she’d better face the music now. 28
The air in Riverdean smells heavy with woodsmoke, and leaf mulch. Pippa loves how you can always smell autumn approaching, almost before any leaves change. The whole village is surrounded by a canopy of trees, interrupted only by roofs with smoking chimneys and the rush of the River Wye. She can’t wait to be crunching mustard leaves underfoot as she walks around the village. It will be a nice change to dodging puddles of vomit and broken bottles on her way to work in London.
She unzips her jacket as she steps off the gravel driveway, knowing it will be too hot once she’s walked around a little. The heat of the summer is still lingering in the September air. She starts up the road leading away from Pumpkin Cottage and towards the centre of Riverdean. It’s only minutes before she’s sweating and breathing heavily. It’s been far too long since she’s done a Pilates class, Pippa curses.
Now it makes sense to her why everyone in Riverdean looks so lean and healthy – even Grant, despite the chain smoking he’s partial to at lunchtimes. You need the thighs of an Everest climber to get up the various slopes and hills that lead around the village.
As Pippa reaches a bend in the road, she gasps at the view around the next corner, as more of the River Wye snakes into view. The water looks so active today, agitated and frothing against the banks on either side. She’s noticed the river has looked different every day since she’s been here, from serene in the sunshine to a few brooding rainy days. The hill continues to climb, and Pippa gets her phone out to check she’s going in the right direction for the post office, forgetting of course that the village of Riverdean has not been blessed with a strong phone signal. Dammit, why didn’t she check when she had Wi-Fi? Still, there seems to be only one path she can take, and that’s onwards and upwards. 29
‘Afternoon.’ Two walkers pass her quickly as if demonstrating how much fitter they are.
‘Good afternoon,’ she puffs, then pretends to tie her bootlace while she gets her breath back. She notices a child’s doll on the other side of the road. It looks too nice to be purposefully abandoned, barely a speck of dirt on it. Pippa goes to pick it up and perches it on top of a nearby hedge. Hopefully, someone will find it and the rain won’t get heavier.
She plods on up the hill, hoping the post office will be at the top of it. If only bloody Grant hadn’t missed answering the door yesterday when she was out, she wouldn’t need to be making this collection. He’d pretended he didn’t hear it, but she can well imagine him ignoring the doorbell. Probably didn’t think it was in his job description. Still, picking up the new chenille curtains she’s ordered for the guest rooms is exciting enough to keep Pippa walking up the hill. She’s chosen neutral colours, creams and buffs, wanting to keep calm and cosy vibes in the rooms, but has opted for floor-length for a bit of drama. She’s ordered some textured fabrics online that’s she’s planning to use to reupholster the old headboards. A combination of velvets and pinstripes that she hopes will give the rooms personality. She will try and make matching cushions for the beds and armchairs. The views of the river speak for themselves, so she’s decided to keep the rooms relatively simple. Simple, cosy, luxurious.
Pippa’s distracted by footsteps up ahead as a young girl of about five or six comes running towards her, her face tomato red and tear-stained. Is she on her own? She stops behind Pippa before letting out a guttural wail, that seems to originate all the way from her pink trainers.
‘Are … are you okay?’ Pippa asks, realising how redundant the question is. She can’t simply ignore this child. What if she’s gone 30missing? There has to be someone looking for her.
The girl ignores Pippa and continues her scream-wail of a cry. Pippa feels utterly panicked now. She has no idea what to do in this scenario.
‘What’s wrong?’ She approaches the girl, who seems to see her for the first time and takes several steps backwards.
Luckily, Pippa hears heavier footsteps coming down the hill, just as fast and panicked as the little girl’s.
‘There you are. Thank God for that,’ a man says, stopping next to them. He bends down, takes the girl by her shoulders and says very seriously, ‘You are never ever to run away from your dad like that again. Ever. Do you understand me?’
The girl continues crying and he hugs her to him, seemingly oblivious to Pippa’s presence. And why is she present exactly, she asks herself.
‘You scared the life out of Daddy. Now, come on.’
‘But I can’t find her,’ the girl says between sobs.
‘Maybe you left her in the car?’
‘No!’
Something clicks inside Pippa’s mind now. ‘Are you looking for a doll?’
The man and the girl both look at her at the same time, hopeful.
‘I just found her on the ground. She’s back … here.’ Pippa jogs down the hill, locating the doll.
The girl whips the doll from her hands, hugging her to her chest. It seems joy is restored, as she promptly falls to her knees and instantly starts checking the doll over.
‘You’ve saved the day,’ the man says. It’s only now Pippa realises how attractive he is. Tall, blonde. Muscular beneath a faded old T-shirt. He looks like he’s stepped out of the pages of some activewear catalogue. 31
‘No problem,’ she smiles, suddenly embarrassed. She should not be checking out fathers and husbands.
‘Thank you so much,’ he beams. ‘You’ve saved me from an afternoon of pain and tears. Not all of them hers.’ He indicates the girl.
‘No problem,’ she repeats. ‘Well, have a nice day.’ Pippa moves away, although has the distinct feeling of his eyes on her, that he wanted her to stay and talk.
No, that’s ridiculous.
She walks up the hill with a smile now, though. That’s her good deed done for the day. Maybe not everyone in Riverdean is a miserable sod like Grant. Hannah’s right, she needs to get out and actually meet people in the village. She can start by going to The Trout soon for food. It seems popular, if the full car park and muffled music at night is anything to go by. And the Harvest Festival is in one week. Surely the whole village will be going to that.
Pippa can’t stay holed up in Pumpkin Cottage forever, as appealing as that sounds. And who knows who she’ll meet?
Chapter Four
Jenny
‘Take your time,’ says Maeve, the dementia nurse, a warm, compassionate woman with curly red hair. Jenny knew she’d like her as soon as she opened the door to her earlier. She has no airs and graces and seems intuitively to know how Jenny is feeling.
Jenny is making a cup of tea, putting scones on a plate, with a little jar of blackberry jam and clotted cream, while Phil tries to draw the hands and numbers on a clock face.
Phil drops the pen in frustration. Jenny wants to put her arms around him, run away from everything. He doesn’t have to do this. They can pretend it’s not happening if they don’t say the words out loud.
‘That’s okay, my love,’ Maeve says, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘Can you remember that name I told you earlier?’
Phil shakes his head.
‘Jason,’ she prompts.
‘Brown,’ Phil smiles in relief.
‘That’s right. Now what about the address?’
‘Uh,’ he says, face twisting in concentration, ‘Something street?’ Phil asks.
‘Yes, good. Victoria Street. And the number?’
Phil shakes his head. He’s obviously distressed. Jenny swallows 33a lump in her throat. The doctor had gone through a similar series of tests six weeks ago. Maeve had told her, though, that she just needed to confirm the diagnosis, see what stage he’s at. The worst thing is seeing his frustration.
When Phil retreats to the living room, his face is drawn with tiredness. Maeve sips the rest of her tea, a half-eaten scone in front of her.
‘Well?’ Jenny asks.
‘Yes.’ She pauses. ‘As you suspected, I’m sure. He has short-term memory loss. It’s a classic sign of Alzheimer’s.’
It makes Jenny’s heart freeze, even though she’s known the diagnosis for a few weeks. ‘So, what happens now?’ Jenny looks through the kitchen window, watches the river, green and murky today in the gloomy weather. Usually, it’s a reassuring presence.
‘I’ll go through some things with you about the support you can have, the allowances you’re entitled to. There’s lots of practical things you can do to help with everyday tasks. I can see you have lists everywhere and that helps.’ She nods to the whiteboard above the kettle and Jenny’s instructions on making a cup of tea:
‘1. Make sure there is water in the kettle and switch it on. 2. Put a teabag in the cup …’
‘It’s not the end of your lives together, you know. Try not to see it like that. Things will be different, of course, but you have to try and stay positive, Jenny.’
Jenny nods and Maeve hands her a clutch of leaflets about Alzheimer’s.
‘I am always on the end of the phone if things get too much. You will need to take care of yourself. You can’t neglect your own needs, Jenny.’
‘I know. I’ve been reading all these stories about carers.’ 34
‘Everyone’s journey is different, though. Do you have any help? You’ve got a son, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, Jake. He’s twenty-eight. He lives with us at the moment and he does what he can. But he’s busy working and he has a young daughter, Lola.’
Maeve smiles. ‘You are entitled to some respite, too. You’ll need it. How are you managing with the business?’
‘It’s difficult. I tell the guests when they arrive. Just in case he decides to walk around in his underpants.’ Jenny manages a small smile. ‘We’re coping at the moment.’
‘Well, when things change, we can look at more support.’ Jenny notices she says when, not if. Maeve nibbles the rest of the scone.
‘At first, I actually thought he was having an affair,’ Jenny says, desperate to share this with someone who understands her guilt. ‘He seemed to have become so detached from us, almost bored, uninterested. I was hurt by his behaviour. Angry with him.’
Maeve nods and lets Jenny speak.
‘It slowly dawned on me that it was more than that. He left for work one day. I kissed him as usual. An ordinary day. And then I looked out the window. It must have been about fifteen minutes later, and he was still sitting in the car in the drive. He told me he didn’t know how to start the car.’
‘What work did he do?’
‘He was a deputy headteacher – a school in Ross. He was such an intelligent, clever man.’ Angry tears suddenly spill down her cheeks. ‘It’s cruel to see the essence of him just ebb away like this.’
‘Many call it a long goodbye,’ Maeve says.
Jenny likes the fact Maeve doesn’t try to tell her everything will be okay. She doesn’t offer false hope. She’s just there, understanding. When she leaves, Jake returns and Jenny is desperate to get out of the house. 35
‘I’m taking Archie for a walk,’ she calls to Jake. Their little rusty Labradoodle pricks up his ears in response as Jenny grabs the lead from the dresser. ‘Come on, boy. You’ve been very patient today.’ He tilts his head to the side as if he understands her.
Outside, Jenny inhales deeply, thankful to take lungfuls of the chilly autumn morning. Archie tugs on the lead in his enthusiasm to be outside. The sky is leaden and brooding, matching Jenny’s gloomy mood.
‘No, Archie, you can’t go down to the river.’ It’s a constant battle to keep him from wading in. He’s magnetically drawn to it. The path is so familiar to her; she knows it like the back of her hand. God, the plans she and Phil had when they moved in. It was around this time of year. Jake was thirteen and he was thrilled there were other boys in the village his age. The bed and breakfast was a new adventure. Jenny’s dream more than Phil’s. And she still loves it, but now she wonders how on earth she can go on running it and seeing to Phil.
‘Well, hi, Jen.’ Paula gives her a warm smile of greeting. She’s lived in the village a few years and has a little shepherd’s hut selling arts and crafts and souvenirs. It’s very cute with its gingham curtains and pastel-coloured bunting. Tourists can’t resist calling in to buy her jewellery, scarves, notebooks and home-made truffles.
‘Hello, Paula. It’s unlike you to be out and about this time,’ Jenny says. ‘Who’s holding the fort?’
‘Abi’s over with the baby. I had to pop out to post a letter.’ Paula and her daughter are like two peas in a pod, with the same tousled hair and nose rings. ‘Did you hear that someone’s moved into Pumpkin Cottage?’ Paula doesn’t give Jenny a chance to answer. ‘I saw a girl go in there earlier. I didn’t see her man. There’s a lot of work to do there before that place is straight.’
‘Well, we’ll soon find out all about it, no doubt. You know 36what Riverdean’s like.’ Jenny’s in no mood for idle gossip. ‘I’d love to chat but I’m trying to get this one walked before the rain comes in.’
As if on cue, big, fat droplets splash their polka dots on the path. Paula hurries off, resting a paper on her head. With dismay, Jenny realises she hasn’t got an umbrella.
‘Come on, Archie, let’s run to The Trout.’
By the time Jenny reaches the porch of the pub, she’s soaked through and Archie is shivering. ‘Me and my bright ideas, eh, Archie?’
Inside, Jenny sees there’s a few tourists and locals about and Brett and Shaun have lit the wood burner, creating a warm, cosy feel. With its mismatched tables, bright scatter cushions and wooden floor, it’s like a welcoming old friend. No wonder the place is so popular.
‘You’re like a drowned rat!’ Brett laughs. ‘Come on in, Jen, and sit by the fire. What can I get you? Whisky? It’s never too early for mulled wine.’ He hands Jenny a biscuit for Archie.
‘Hot chocolate,’ Jenny says, ‘but without any of that nonsense you put on the top.’
‘Nonsense like marshmallows and whipped cream? That’s what I like about you, Jenny Foster. You know how to live.’
Suddenly, Jenny feels tears prick her eyes.
‘Go and sit down. I’ll bring it to you.’
Archie snaffles his biscuit as soon as Jenny is seated. The dining room, adjacent to the bar, looks out onto the river and Jenny watches the rain battering the window. Her nose is running and she reaches for a tissue from her pocket, resorting to using the back of her hand.
‘Here you are,’ Brett says, handing her a tissue and laying the hot chocolate down on the table. ‘Hot chocolate, straight up and 37no frills. On the house.’ He pulls up a chair next to her and sits down. ‘Now, are you going to tell Uncle Brett what this is all about?’
‘The dementia nurse called this morning.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Brett rubs her arm.
‘Don’t be nice to me or I’ll cry again,’ Jenny says.
‘Okay. Drink up and haul your arse out of here as soon as you can,’ he teases.
