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Published by Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
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
‘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
Title Page
Copyright
What Readers Are Saying About Escape to Willow Cottage
Dedication
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading…
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter Twenty-Three
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.’