Chapter 4

4

The bedding! Laura had forgotten to pop it in the tumble dryer. Shoving the last of Jackson’s lavender shortbread into her mouth, she made her way into the utility room as the buttery goodness melted against her tastebuds. Good job she’d remembered, or she’d have been sleeping on the sofa again tonight.

Looking around, she located a washing basket in a tall cupboard by the sink. She’d had quite a productive day in the end. After spending the morning scrubbing and cleaning the owners’ suite upstairs, she’d begun unpacking her clothes. It hadn’t taken too long – the unpacking part anyway. After all, she’d not brought that much: a couple of bin bags full of clothes, a box of books and her parents’ battered old suitcase holding trinkets and such – photo frames of her late grandparents, pictures of family from her childhood and a photograph of her and her family on the day of the twins’ Christening – about the only image she owned of herself with her siblings and parents which didn’t also have Harry in.

She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed Harry could keep so many of the possessions they’d accumulated over the seven years of marriage and three before that of living together, but after cohabiting alongside him in the house which had once been their home whilst it was on the market and then in the months it actually took for the couple who had put an offer in to complete their chain, she’d grown to associate the once-cherished items with indifference, contempt even.

The dining table and chairs which they’d finally sourced after traipsing around at least ten different flea markets and they’d both spent two weekends restoring had suddenly transformed from somewhere they’d sit around hosting dinner parties, playing cards or sketching out designs for the garden to the surface upon which she’d filed for divorce, the place she’d sit for hours in the evenings, reading, attempting crosswords, anything to avoid venturing into the sitting room to sit in stilted silence with the man she’d once loved as he flicked from TV channel to TV channel obviously feeling just as awkward in her company as she was in his. The sofa they’d spent evening after evening cuddled up on chatting about the holiday they’d take next year or simply engrossed in a movie or TV series had changed from a comfortable sanctuary to where she had told Harry their marriage was over, where she’d later sought her parents’ approval of her decision and was instead met with the realisation they thought she was making a mistake.

No, she’d made the right decision, she’d needed this fresh start, not to be surrounded by inanimate objects which reminded her of a time she’d rather leave in her past.

After placing the washing basket on the floor in front of the machine, she rubbed at her eyes. Even just thinking about the items she could have brought with her caused the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. At the time, it had made sense for Harry to take charge of the household goods. He’d moved into his flat, she into her parents’ house. She’d have only had to pay to store it all.

Pushing all thoughts of that strange, murky period of transition between marriage and divorce from her mind, Laura tugged on the washing machine door, pulling until the latch released before shrieking and jumping back. Water cascaded down the front of the machine, pooling on the floor beneath her feet. Shaking water from her now drenched socks, she bent down and reached inside the drum, emptying the bedding into the wash basket. It was sodden. Literally sodden. Looking down, she watched the water seep from the bedlinen through the holes of the plastic basket, joining the puddle on the tiles before she piled it back into the washing machine again.

It obviously hadn’t spun. Stepping out of the puddle, Laura tore off her soaking-wet socks and ran through to the kitchen to grab the towel before making an attempt to mop it up.

With the floor now a little drier, she turned her attention back to the machine. She just needed to put it on a quick spin and then she could still get everything dried in time for bed. There: she turned the dial to the spin cycle and jabbed the ‘start’ button again.

Standing back, she watched the machine splutter to life with a groan. Hmm, it still wasn’t spinning. It was making all the right noises as it tried to empty the water, but the drum wasn’t moving an inch.

Okay, she’d seen this before. The belt must have broken. Her parents’ machine had stopped spinning just after she’d moved back into their house and her dad had managed to fix it himself. All she needed was a new belt and a screwdriver to get the back of the machine off. She could do that.

Not tonight, though. The village may be a treat for tourists, but everything but the local pubs and restaurants closed at five. Yes, after another night curled up on the sofa, she might regret not making the twenty-minute car trip to the nearest retail park and DIY shop, but right now her muscles were aching after all the cleaning, and besides, it would be nice to have a wander into the centre of the village tomorrow. She’d be able to meet some local residents and maybe grab lunch somewhere too. Yes, an early night and an early start tomorrow.

Lifting her head, Laura looked around the room. With her eyes dazed from sleep and the room dark, all she could make out were shapes and shadows and it took her a moment to realise the noise that had woken her hadn’t been in her dream. An almighty continuous splashing noise almost silenced the pounding of rain against the windows. It sounded just as though someone was standing next to the sofa pouring bucketful after bucketful of water down around her.

Another minute passed, and it dawned on her that the noise must be coming from outside. The guttering must be broken or something, causing the rain to run in torrents down the window before splashing onto the ground below.

Turning over, she covered her head with a cushion, hoping to dull the sound, and closed her eyes again. Just another hour. Please.

Laura pulled her coat on before checking the large clock behind the reception desk for the seventh time in as many minutes. It had to be almost nine now. Yes, quarter to. The shops must be opening soon. She’d have fifteen minutes to amble the short way into the centre of the village and locate a hardware store, or anywhere that might sell a washing machine belt. Hopefully they’d have one and she wouldn’t regret the decision she’d made yesterday to support local businesses rather than just ordering online or going to a chain store.

She rubbed the top of her arms, relieving a little of the ache from her muscles. After being woken once again by the rain gushing through the broken guttering at about half past three and lying awake staring into the darkness of the sitting room, she’d given up trying to fall back to sleep, even when the rain did stop. Instead, she’d begun deep cleaning the bathrooms, a task which had felt like a good idea at the time but which now she was regretting due to the aches and pains of reaching into the top cupboards combined with sleeping on the sofa.

Stepping outside, she locked the front door before turning and pausing on the porch. With the rain having relented at about four in the morning and the low morning sun trying to make an appearance between the dark clouds, it really was rather beautiful. Or else she could see that it would be. At the moment, the garden resembled a mud bath with a thin covering of grass that had seen better days, punctuated by the silvery lavender bushes and dark green ground ivy. Now that would be a pain to remove. A sheen of rainwater glistened across the cobbled driveway to the side of the inn, leading to the small car park around the back, but she could visualise what it could – what it would – look like. With a little work and a lot of perseverance, she could make it beautiful again.

She walked down the broken slabs of the garden path, wrapping her scarf around her neck as her ankles brushed past the lavender stalks. Pennycress Inn might be a little more run-down than she remembered from her viewing, but that didn’t matter. It was still a stunning building and gardens and the amount she’d paid for it made it a positive steal.

Closing the wrought-iron garden gate behind her, she turned right and began her walk towards the cluster of shops huddled around the village green at the centre of Meadowfield. Slowing down to a snail’s pace, she looked at Jackson’s house next door. It was a lot smaller than Pennycress. Obviously it would be, Pennycress had undergone extensive alterations and extensions over the years to convert it into an inn and had grown to accommodate the increasing number of guests, whereas it looked as though Jackson’s house might well have the original footage. It looked well-kept, though. From the immaculately cut lawn and tended hedges to the freshly painted front door and window frames, it was a million miles away from the condition of Pennycress.

Catching a glimpse of movement in one of the upstairs windows, Laura hurriedly looked down at the ground. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was watching him. Or worse, dropping by to take him up on his offer of help.

Laura pulled her mobile from her back pocket and scrolled through to Richie’s name before pressing the Call button. ‘Hey, Richie.’

‘Sis. Twice in two days? Well, I’m honoured.’ Richie’s voice was punctuated by noises around him. ‘I’m just about to get on the Tube so I can’t promise you I won’t cut out.’

‘No worries. It was only a quick thing, anyway.’ She took a deep breath. She knew she should let it lie. She was ninety-nine-point-nine per cent sure Jackson had been telling the truth yesterday, but she just wanted to be sure. ‘Do you know where Jackson is living now?’

‘Jackson? Somewhere in the Cotswolds, I think. He moved sometime in the autumn. Why?’ A loud beep sounded as the Tube door closed. ‘Hey, you could give him a call. His new place might not be far from you.’

He didn’t know then. Jackson had been telling the truth; she hadn’t been set up. ‘It’s not.’

‘No? That’s brilliant. How far away is he from the inn?’

‘Let’s put it this way. I could probably throw a stone from my front porch and break his window. Pay him back for smashing the glass on Dad’s greenhouse.’ Laura grinned. Now that had been a fun weekend. Jackson had spent the weekend at their house, as he often had to get away from his parents, and after a particularly lively game of football with a half-rotten potato their dog, Rufus, had dug up from the vegetable patch, they’d spent the rest of the time trying to prevent their dad from doing the one thing he loved most to do of a weekend – gardening – in the hope that they could enjoy the time off school before he uncovered the damage and punished them. As it happened, their plan failed, and they’d spent the Sunday knee-deep in manure and bulbs.

‘Ha, seriously? He lives opposite you?’

‘Next door,’ Laura mumbled.

‘Next door? No way! What are the odds of that?’ Richie’s contagious chuckle filled the line.

‘Yes, next door.’ She supposed it was quite funny and maybe she’d be able to see it that way soon. Infuriating at the same time, mind. She had still been robbed of her fresh start, but maybe she’d be able to come up with a solution, even if she didn’t have a clue what that could be.

‘You sound annoyed.’

She took a deep breath, he’d asked, so she’d just have to tell him. ‘Honestly? I am. This was my chance to make a new life for myself. To prove to myself and everyone else that I could do this. That I can turn my pitiful existence around and cope on my own. I?—’

‘Take a breath, sis. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.’

‘I do, though, don’t I?’ She fixed her gaze on a tree ahead, its twisted branches almost touching the car parked on the side of the road beneath it. ‘You and Jenny both have your lives sorted – like, really sorted. You’re both married, got gorgeous children and jobs or businesses. And then there’s me. I lived my life for Harry, didn’t give a crap about working my way up the career ladder and now here I am.’

‘Yes, there you are. You’ve just bought an inn!’

‘A decision that no one supported me in.’ She hated voicing it, accusing him, but it was true. No one had. Every single person she’d spoken to about her idea had tried their best to talk her out of it – her family, her friends, heck, even Bob who ran the local chippie back home had basically told her that running an inn would be a money pit and too difficult to do on her own.

‘We do support you. It’s just such a huge task for you to take on alone, that’s all. We’re just looking out for you. That’s all.’

‘I know. I just wish you believed in me. There was never any of this when Jenny told everyone she’d decided to quit her job and use her cooking skills to start up her own business making organic dog food. That was a huge decision for her, a huge risk, and yet everyone sang her praises for taking the leap.’ She sounded like a whining child even to her own ears, but it was how she felt and she’d been bottling it up ever since sharing her dream.

‘That was completely different. You know it was.’

‘Umm, I don’t see how. Apart from the fact that Jenny’s old job used to pay really well, whereas mine paid a pittance. Surely, she had more to lose than me and yet everyone encouraged her.’ She felt like crossing her arms and pouting as it all came out, instead she stuck her free hand in her coat pocket.

‘After running the logistics in her old job, Jenny had the skill set. She knew what she was doing, whereas…’ Richie grew quiet.

Laura could feel her face redden. So that’s what everyone really thought then. They had supported Jenny’s decision because they’d believed she’d known what she was doing, because they’d believed she was capable of building her own brand. But her? Nobody thought she was capable of doing anything remotely successful.

‘And Jenny had Rob’s wage to fall back on,’ Richie mumbled.

‘Don’t try to backtrack now, Richie. I’ve heard it all.’

‘Hey, Laura, wait, let me explain—’ The line cut out.