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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016

Copyright © Bella Osborne 2016

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 © July 2016 ISBN: 9780008180980

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 One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading…

About the Author

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Beth had spent the day surrounded by people who, she suspected, all looked exactly like their passport photos – not a smile between them. Beth yawned and stretched her arms above her head; it had been a long day.

‘Bid from the lady on the right,’ said the auctioneer as he carried on his high-speed number chant.

Beth spun round. She was on the right but it couldn’t have been her, could it? Her eyes darted around the room. Nobody was moving, not even a twitch. Her heart was racing and she could feel the panic rising.

‘Two ninety, at the back,’ said the auctioneer and Beth let out a sigh of relief. That was a lucky escape.

‘Any advance on two ninety?’ The auctioneer was looking directly at Beth.

What the hell had she bid on? She snatched up the catalogue and quickly thumbed through the pages, past her first choice of apartments she had come to buy and that had shot high above her budget.

‘Selling for two ninety,’ said the auctioneer, looking at someone at the back. ‘Lot 37, Willow Cottage, selling for two hundred and ninety thousand pounds.’

Beth found Willow Cottage in the catalogue and speed-read the blurb. It sounded like a slice of paradise – a cottage overlooking a traditional village green in the heart of the Cotswolds. She bit her lip. It was like that moment on eBay when you quite like something; it’s not exactly what you were after but the urge to grab a bargain and be termed a winner suddenly surpasses everything.

‘All done at two hundred and ninety thousand pounds? Going once, going twice …’

Beth waved her bidding card in the air. ‘Three hundred thousand,’ she croaked, wondering what on earth she was doing. She was meant to be waiting for her second choice of flats to be auctioned.

‘Three hundred thousand on my right, thank you,’ said the auctioneer. After checking with the other bidders he finally concluded. ‘Sold to the lady on the right brandishing the upside-down bidding card.’ And the gavel gave a satisfying thud as it hit the wood.

‘You have reached your destination,’ announced the Sat Nav with ultimate confidence. Beth pulled the hire car into the kerb, switched off the engine and looked around. She was parked by a large area of greensward, which was dotted with trees and encircled by impressive old properties of differing sizes.

Beth picked up the auction catalogue and peered at the small grainy photograph, then reread the description underneath – ‘Willow Cottage stands in a secluded position overlooking the village green within the picturesque Cotswold village of Dumbleford. Rare opportunity to purchase this freehold detached dwelling. Plot circa 0.6 acres with stream running through the property. Renovation opportunity.’

Somewhere in the back of Beth’s mind she recalled a certain person saying that he wouldn’t live in the countryside if his life depended on it and right now that felt like an added bonus. She checked the back seat. Leo was stirring from his journey-induced slumber and he instantly smiled when he saw his mother. The six-year-old was too tall for his car seat and would soon need to upgrade to a booster, but for now Beth just wanted to keep him safe.

‘I wish you’d brung my iPad,’ said Leo as he stretched.

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t find it. And brought is the past tense of bring. Okay?’ What did they teach them at these private schools? ‘Shall we go and explore our new home?’ Beth waved the auction details excitedly.

Leo yawned and stretched. ‘I’m hungry, Mum.’

Having anticipated this, Beth went to rummage in the boot and handed Leo a small bag of dried mango pieces as he got out of the car. Beth crouched down and showed Leo the small photograph of Willow Cottage on the auction sheet.

‘Now all we have to do is find our cottage. Which one is it, do you think?’

They both studied the small photograph. It was taken at an angle and part of the cottage appeared to have a climbing plant growing prettily up one side. There was a biggish garden in the foreground and very obviously a willow tree. It was quite a dark picture so it was hard to make out much else.

‘It can’t be hard to find a cottage with a tree like that in the garden, now can it?’

Leo shook his head as he shoved another mango piece into his already full mouth. He thrust the empty packet at his mother and hand in hand they started to walk around the green, checking out each house.

‘There’s no swings in the park,’ observed Leo.

Beth chuckled. ‘It’s not a park, it’s the village green. It’s more like a garden.’

‘Whose garden is it?’ asked Leo.

‘No one’s and everyone’s, it’s for everybody to use.’

‘Huh,’ said Leo, looking a little perplexed at the concept and possibly at the pointlessness of a space such as this without any swings.

It really was a divinely pretty village, thought Beth as she looked about her. The village green itself was the biggest she’d ever come across with well-worn paths crisscrossing it and a mixture of mature trees that she would need to consult Leo’s Book of the Countryside to identify correctly. Well cared for benches, with no signs of graffiti, were dotted at strategic points and the whole area was surrounded by the prettiest white chain-link fence that scalloped its way from post to post around the perimeter. A very grand mock-Tudor building had a prized position overlooking the centre of the green and two very symmetrical red-brick buildings either side stood slightly back, as if knowing their place. A couple of the smaller ones were thatched and Leo shouted excitedly as he spotted a thatched figure on the roof.

‘Pigeon!’ he squealed.

Another sign her son was London born and bred. ‘No, I think it’s meant to be a peacock,’ said Beth, squinting a little at the odd-shaped creature with the long tail. A small pond was home to a handful of fat ducks and what looked like a few of this year’s ducklings. There was a tearoom that had the look of a converted cottage, the only thing giving it away was the swinging sign in the shape of a large teapot. Each window had pristine white shutters making it stand out against the other not so well dressed properties. At the other end of the green was the village store cum Post Office, which appeared to be semi-detached to a very sweet looking cottage with a white picket-fenced front garden. Beth studied the small photo again. No, Willow Cottage was meant to be detached and there was no sign of the tree. Next to the store was the pub – the Bleeding Bear. It had a pub sign that could easily give a six-year-old nightmares so Beth hurried them past. As they drew near to the hire car Beth realized they had done a whole circuit. She spun round to see an ornate sign that clearly stated ‘DUMBLEFORD’ so they were definitely in the right place, but where was Willow Cottage?

A clanging bell announced that the door of the village store was opening and Beth and Leo watched as a figure dressed head to toe in beige came out, pulling a tartan wheelie trolley.

‘Let’s ask someone,’ said Beth, and she and Leo approached the hunched-up person. ‘Excuse me. Please could you direct me to Willow Cottage?’

The beige-clad old lady jumped and clutched at her heart. She was barely bigger than the trolley. ‘Oh my life, you gave me a turn!’ she said as she started to rummage in her trolley. She pulled out a bottle of sherry, unscrewed the top and took a large slug of the contents. Beth knew her eyes were as wide as an owl right now and she was very unsure what to do. Leo was mesmerized. The lady went to return the bottle to the trolley but stopped and suddenly thrust it under Beth’s nose.

‘Mind my manners, dear. Would you like some?’

‘Uh, no, thanks.’

The lady shrugged and returned the bottle to the safety of the trolley, giving the lid an affectionate pat as she did so. She then stood up as straight and tall as nature would allow and grinned a perfect false-teeth smile at Beth. Neither of them spoke. Beth sort of half grimaced back. The lady raised an eyebrow and tilted forward on her toes as if about to speak and Beth and Leo waited expectantly.

‘Willow Cottage?’ said Beth when she could stand the suspense no longer.

The old lady started to laugh; it was a giggly laugh that befitted her size. She stepped forward and gently shoved Beth in the middle. ‘Huh, silly me. Of course.’ She stopped laughing and frowned. ‘Who wants to know?’

Beth shook her head slightly. She had no idea what was going on but she had an uncomfortable feeling rising inside and she didn’t like it. She’d asked what she thought was a very simple question and a very simple yes or no really would have worked a treat.

‘I’m Beth …’ she thought for a second and decided on a whim to amend her name slightly. ‘Beth Browne. I’ve bought Willow Cottage.’ Just saying it out loud made Beth smile. It sounded so perfect. It was the last place she had intended to buy when she went to the auction but, when the sensible-looking flats had been snapped up for more than she wanted to pay, she made a snap decision and went with her heart and Willow Cottage was the result.

‘Huh?’ said the old lady screwing up her wrinkled face and making it look like a discarded piece of parchment.

Beth handed her the estate agent’s details, tapped the photo with a perfectly manicured fingernail and repeated slowly, ‘Wil-low Cot-tage.’

The little old lady scrutinized the page and started to laugh again. This time it was hysterical giggles that were coming in waves. As she laughed her head bobbed about making her mop of unruly white hair swirl about her head like smoke.

‘Mum, can we go now?’ whispered Leo, clutching his mother’s hand tightly.

But the lady was already moving off across the green giggling and shaking her head as she went. Great start, thought Beth. Round one to the local bag lady.

‘It’s okay, Leo. Let’s ask in the shop.’

The clanging bell sounded their entry to the small dark store, which was crammed full of stock. Beth thought she saw movement at the back so she led Leo in that direction down the narrow aisles. A cheery round-faced woman beamed into view. ‘Hello there, what can I get you? We’ve got lots of offers on.’

‘Thanks but I’m hoping you can help me.’ The woman’s face looked decidedly less cheery. ‘I’m looking for Willow Cottage.’

The woman’s eyebrows shot up and she tilted her head like an alert spaniel, her wavy brown hair adding to the comparison. ‘Willow Cottage?’

Beth nodded. She was starting to get that uncomfortable feeling again.

‘Willow Cottage,’ repeated the woman. ‘Oh, you mean Wilf’s place?’

Leo looked at his mother and she looked at the woman behind the counter. ‘I don’t know who lived there before but it’s ours now.’

The woman’s eyebrows went a fraction higher and something akin to sympathy passed across her face. ‘Down the side of the pub next door.’

‘Right. Thanks.’ Beth was pleased that they were definitely in the right place but how they had missed the cottage she wasn’t sure. She didn’t remember seeing anything next to the pub other than a driveway to what she’d assumed was the pub car park.

‘Sure I can’t interest you in …’ the woman searched the shelves frantically with her eyes. ‘Some discounted noodles? They’re only recently out of date.’

‘No, we’re fine, thanks. But I’m sure we’ll become regulars in here very soon.’

‘Lovely,’ said the woman instantly cheering up. ‘Oh and good luck.’ There was that sympathetic spaniel look again. Beth and Leo left the shop to the clang of the bell and walked purposefully past the pub next door. Leo stared open-mouthed at the pub sign – a frightening looking chained bear that was bleeding from a number of wounds. At the other side of the pub was the gravel track. Looking up the driveway she could see a rickety picket fence behind which was a sea of tall straw-like grass and a willow tree.

‘We’ve found it,’ said Beth, almost dragging Leo up the track. The closer they got the more of the willow they could see. But that was all they could see. It was a willow tree of mammoth proportions. Beth and Leo stood in front of it and gazed at the mass of gently swaying greenery as the summer breeze lightly fanned it.

‘Wow, that’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen!’ said Leo, his eyes darting over it as if taking in every pale green leaf. It was impressive but Beth was rather keen to see the cottage. She opened the gate that was held on by string and the rest of the rotting structure fell into the grass.

They stared at the remains. ‘Oh well, never mind,’ said Beth, her hopes still high as she and Leo stepped over the broken gate and skirted around the willow tree. And there was Willow Cottage, their new home. They both stood and gaped at the sight before them. Beth swallowed hard; this wasn’t exactly what she had been expecting.

Carly stood in the kitchen of her small flat and read the text again. It was spread over three messages because her ancient mobile phone couldn’t cope with long texts and she had an unnatural hatred of technology, which was why she had only now switched it on.

Hi Carly I bought a cottage at the auction – yay! It’s a bit further away than I’d planned – it’s in The Cotswolds. Please don’t say anything to anyone in case it gets back to Nick. Completion should be in a few days as I’m paying cash and using same solicitor as seller but I can’t wait so we’re going to take a look at it in the morning. I’ll call once we’ve found somewhere to stay. Missing you already. Beth & Leo xx

A bit further away? The Cotswolds was up north somewhere, wasn’t it?! Carly wasn’t sure but she did know it was a very long way from Kentish Town, London. She blew out a sigh and it made her lips flap together like a child blowing a raspberry. She missed Leo already and she’d only seen him three days ago. Carly loved her godson and, with little to give her hope that she would be having any of her own anytime soon, he was her kiddy fix. But however she was feeling about not seeing Leo, she could multiply it a thousand times for Beth. She understood why Beth had had to leave but it didn’t make it any easier to face.

‘The Cotswolds?’ she muttered to herself. It wasn’t even a city. What was it? A giant chunk of countryside in the middle of nowhere? She’d get the map out later and look it up.

Carly poured herself a large glass of Chablis and another for Fergus. She had a quick look at the veggie pasta bake turning golden and bubbling happily in the oven.

She pushed open the door to the spare room. ‘Dinner.’

A harassed Fergus stuck his bristly face round the door. ‘Give me ten minutes. Okay?’ He blew her a kiss and disappeared.

‘The pasta bake won’t give you ten minutes. Eejit,’ she muttered and she took a large mouthful of wine. She was fed up. She loved Fergus but they had been bobbing along together for nearly three years now and there was still no flicker of likelihood that he was going to propose. She’d tried dropping hints and staring longingly in jeweller’s shop windows but he had the hide of a pickled armadillo and nothing was getting through. Carly wished she could forget about weddings and marriage and enjoy being a couple because they were happy together, but having been brought up by her grandmother, she was a traditional soul at heart. She wanted to have children and knew Fergus did too, but she wanted to be married before they considered it. And more than anything she wanted to be a bride. Well, who didn’t fantasize about having their perfect wedding?

An unpleasant aroma wafted in Carly’s direction and she puzzled for a second as to what it was. Then, remembering the pasta bake, she grabbed the oven gloves and dived towards the oven. ‘Sod it!’

Chapter Two

Willow Cottage stood on the other side of a sizeable sun-scorched wilderness that may once have been a front garden but was long since abandoned to the forces of nature. Beth inched forward, blinking; she really wanted this to be a trick of her eyes or at least to look a little better close up. It didn’t. Ivy and traveller’s joy had covered most of the cottage’s boarded-up front door and continued to rampage down one side of the property and across the roof. The front of the property was symmetrical and that appealed to Beth’s sense of order but where there should have been four windows there were large sheets of board nailed in place. One of the boards displayed the auctioneer’s sign with the date of the auction and another flaunted a particularly good graffitied picture of a pink chicken.

Beth dragged her eyes away from the boarded-up shack to look closely at the photo on the auctioneer’s details and then back again. It was a masterpiece in artifice or perhaps plain old dishonesty. Whichever way she looked at it, she’d been had.

She felt a small hand clasp her own and she looked down at Leo. He was taking it all in and she suddenly felt that yet again she’d let him down.

He grinned at her. ‘It’s crap,’ he said. And although he was right she was still shocked by his turn of phrase.

‘Leo! Where did you hear that word?’

‘School. I learnt it in Reception … and you said it when you were arguing with Nick and …’

‘Sorry, darling.’

‘Can we go now, Mum?’ asked Leo, swivelling round and tugging at her arm.

‘Not yet.’

‘Can we go inside then?’

‘No, not at the moment,’ said Beth. Not now, not ever, it’s most likely unsafe, she thought.

But that wasn’t going to stop Leo exploring. He let go of his mother’s hand and marched with his knees high through the long grass until he reached where the boarded-up front door was barely visible through the overgrown greenery. Beth followed but, as she got closer, Leo disappeared down the jungle side of the property.

‘Hang on, Leo. Careful!’ she called, wishing she hadn’t worn a skirt and heels. Leo squeezed himself between the ancient wall and the plant and disappeared. ‘Leo! Ouch!’ she said as her bare legs found some hidden nettles. When she eventually managed to wriggle through the gap, destroying her Ted Baker blouse in the process, her eyes searched quickly for Leo. He was leaning over a low wire fence into a field looking at three horses that were eyeing him speculatively.

‘Look, Mum, horses!’ said Leo as he jumped up and down with delight. When he stopped bouncing Beth stood behind him and hugged him. It was a view to behold. The field the horses were in was part of a magnificent patchwork thrown over the undulating hillside that surged away from the cottage. They could see for miles. A small stream trickled its way down the side of the cottage, the gentle natural sound of flowing water instantly calming Beth’s senses. She breathed in the light warm air that held a hint of lavender. Somewhere in this forest of a back garden there must be a lavender bush, she thought. The back garden was considerably smaller than the front, as if they had built the cottage as far from the willow tree as they could and without considering the best layout for the occupants. Or perhaps it was to angle the cottage so it had these amazing countryside views from the rear windows?

She hugged Leo as he excitedly pointed at his surroundings. Beth suddenly felt very out of her depth. What had she been thinking to move this far away from London? She’d never lived in the countryside before, she’d only ever lived in the city. It all looked very picturesque but already she could feel her nose tickling, perhaps it was hay fever. She knew nothing about the countryside and, if it were possible, she knew even less about restoring a dilapidated property.

Willow Cottage from the back was no prettier than the front. More boarded-up windows and more galloping greenery. Beth left Leo, who was frantically waving grass at the horses who were observing him mildly as they chewed their own plentiful grass supply. She stood by the back door; it was a stable door, split in two and sturdy. It was unusual and she liked that. Beth stepped back and took in the old tired building. It was in a state but perhaps it was better inside. She decided she wasn’t going to give up just yet as she felt a sprig of optimism take root.

‘Come on, Leo, let’s find somewhere to have a drink. That tearoom looked good and I bet they do a good scone.’

‘Yay, cake,’ said Leo, throwing the grass over the fence and wriggling his way back through the gap at the side of the cottage. Beth followed and was taking Leo’s hand as they reached the willow when the bush-like branches of the tree parted and an old man stumbled out towards them. His face was red, he was waving his arms and looked rather cross, a little like a baby who had been woken from a nap.

‘Argh!’ shouted Beth as Leo screamed and ran towards the gap in the fence where the gate had once been. Beth ran after Leo and didn’t look back until she had hold of his hand and they were safely on the village green. Leo started to laugh. Fear and adrenalin mixed inside her and, whilst Beth was now frantically looking back towards the willow tree, she was laughing too.

‘Does he live in our garden?’ giggled Leo.

‘I really hope not,’ said Beth with feeling.

They were still chuckling as they entered the tearoom. Having not seen many people about the village, the tearoom held the answer – it was packed. There was one small table left near the door that appeared to be where the other customers had deposited used cups and plates. Leo sat down and Beth automatically handed him her mobile phone to play games on. Beth piled up the empties as best she could, creating a bit of a teacup tower and turned with the laden tray to return them to the counter.

As she turned, the door swung open and caught her elbow. As the heavy tray started to tip its load towards her son she countered the effect and promptly deposited the entire cargo over the person entering. The crash was quite spectacular as everything smashed on the floor.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ yelled the man who had failed to dodge the impact.

‘I am so sorry,’ said Beth, feeling the prickle of sweat on her chest as a violent flush engulfed her. Leo giggled behind her.

‘Look at the state of me!’ declared the teacup tower victim as dregs of tea and coffee dripped off his otherwise pristine white shirt. Beth surveyed the man who was now trying to kick cake crumbs off his shoes. He was in his mid to late twenties, clean-shaven, his dark hair had a hint of auburn and under neat dark brows were the palest grey-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Right now they were glinting like ice crystals as he grumbled to the fully tuned-in audience who all sat in silence staring at the floorshow.

A big-haired woman came bustling from behind the counter wearing a floral waist apron. ‘Oh, Jack, whatever happened?’ she said, attempting to dab at his suit trousers with a sponge.

‘Your new waitress threw a tray at me.’

‘Excuse me, I don’t work here,’ said Beth, feeling her temperature go up a notch with indignation.

‘Then why did you have a tray of crockery?’ asked Jack with a frown.

‘Yes, why?’ added the aproned woman.

‘I was helping, well trying to …’ said Beth, her voice now a lot smaller than it had been.

Jack huffed, ‘Yeah, great help.’ He shook his head and then watched the aproned woman as she continued to dab at his lower half.

‘Er, Rhonda, that’s not helping.’

Rhonda appeared to be in her own little world for a moment. ‘Oh, um, sorry. Here,’ she offered him the sponge.

‘Could you get me a double espresso to go, please, and I’ll be back in five minutes when I’ve changed.’ He aimed the last words in Beth’s direction and turned and left.

‘I’ll pay for that and the broken crockery,’ offered Beth.

‘It’s okay, accidents happen,’ said Rhonda. Beth crouched down as best she could in the fitted skirt and started to pick up the worst of the broken porcelain.

She was thankful for the sympathetic smile Rhonda gave her. ‘Don’t worry. Maureen will do that.’ A large lady who would be a prime candidate for over-60’s cage fighting, if there were such a thing, appeared from behind the counter brandishing a dustpan and brush.

Beth retreated to the small table and sat down. As Maureen cleared up, the tearoom clients went back to their drinks now that the entertainment was over. Beth waited patiently and Leo swung his legs and huffed a lot. The tearoom was equally quaint inside with mismatched crockery and simple wooden tables and chairs with gingham seat cushions in an array of colours.

Out of the window they had a good view of the village; a car trundled past and stopped to let the ducks waddle across the road before it drove through the ford and out of the village. Beth checked her watch. She needed to book them in somewhere for the night and she hadn’t seen any hotels since they left the motorway.

‘What do you want?’ asked Maureen, gripping a small notepad, her stubby pencil poised, her tone disgruntled.

‘A cranberry juice and a caffeine-free Coke, please,’ asked Beth with her best ‘I’m sorry’ smile.

Maureen stared at her and a muscle near her eye twitched. She tapped the laminated card on the table. ‘Teas, coffees, hot chocolate, lemonade or squash.’

‘Oh,’ said Beth hurriedly, familiarising herself with the items on the card. ‘Is it sugar-free lemonade?’

‘No.’

‘What flavours of cordial do you have?’

‘Orange and it’s squash,’ said Maureen. There was more twitching.

‘Hot chocolate, hot chocolate …’ Leo chanted.

‘Um,’ Beth frantically reread the list again. ‘Just two iced waters then, please.’

Maureen didn’t bother to write it down. She shoved her note-pad in the front pocket of her apron and marched off behind the counter. Beth let out a sigh. This wasn’t going well. A couple went to pay and, although she couldn’t quite hear the conversation, Beth was pretty sure they were discussing her. A series of furtive looks over their shoulders accompanied by huffing from Maureen confirmed her suspicions.

The door opened and in came Jack. He was wearing a similar well-fitted dark suit and despite his deep frown he was quite good looking. He strode purposefully across the tearoom to collect his espresso. When Beth saw him get out his wallet she dashed over to intervene.

‘I’ll get that,’ she said, opening her purse. As she looked up she saw she was moments away from bashing into Jack once again. ‘Oh, sorry.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Bloody tourists,’ he murmured as he sidestepped her and exited the tearoom. Beth felt decidedly awkward as she handed over a ten-pound note and silently Rhonda gave her the change and passed the two glasses of tap water to her.

‘Could you tell me where the nearest hotel is, please?’

‘There’s the B&B on the south side of the green and there’s the Bleeding Bear,’ said Rhonda. ‘The Bear does a great breakfast.’

‘Right. Thanks. And where would be the nearest Hilton or Marriott?’

Rhonda thought for a second. ‘That’d be Tewkesbury but Cheltenham’s nearer and there are hotels there.’

‘Thanks,’ said Beth and she slunk back to Leo with the glasses of water.

‘What about the scone, Mum?’ asked Leo looking totally unimpressed with the glass of water and its solitary ice cube.

‘Not now, Leo. Let’s drink this and go.’

A few short phone calls later she discovered that, thanks to a Medieval Festival, there was no room at the big hotels in Tewkesbury or Cheltenham or anywhere nearby. Staying in a bed and breakfast was never going to be the first choice for Elizabeth Thurlow-Browne. However, it appeared the village of Dumbleford was pretty short on options and she didn’t like the sound of the Bleeding Bear pub despite its recommended breakfast.

Thankfully, the landlady at the B&B was very friendly and keen to have residents for the night. She welcomed them by bustling around and thrusting leaflets at Leo that detailed all the local attractions.

‘And there’s the Morris competition tomorrow on the green. You’ll love that!’ she insisted. Leo let out a giant yawn.

‘Morris? Are they those funny little cars?’ asked Beth.

The landlady laughed, ‘No, dancing. Morris dancing, it’s a big thing round here. You might get to join in if you’re lucky!’

Beth could think of nothing worse.

She settled Leo in front of the small television and dashed out to the hire car to grab their case and Leo’s rucksack of toys. Seeing as it was dark she also grabbed her pink unicorn onesie from the overstuffed small car and shoved it under her arm. The hire car was parked further away than she’d thought and Beth was concentrating on where she was walking as she struggled with the case.

It was the dog she spotted first. A huge muscle-bound beast with flailing jowls that intermittently showed large white teeth as it hurtled towards her. Beth tried to get out of the way as the huge dog ran past her but at the last second she saw a large hooded figure running behind the dog and they barrelled into her, sending her sprawling across the pavement. If she hadn’t been winded, she would have had a lot to say.

‘Where the hell did you spring from?’ came a gruff and accusatory male voice that was worryingly familiar.

‘Could you get off me, please,’ was all Beth could manage, her response muffled by the onesie over her face. The large hooded figure was heavy and she was pinned to the case. He rolled onto his haunches, sprang up and dusted himself down. Beth pulled the onesie off her face and tried to hide the mass of pink furry material. She looked up and despite the hoody she recognized her assailant – it was Jack.

‘I think that makes us quits,’ she suggested as she sat up and started to get her breath back.

The dog must have kept going at first but now, realizing it was running alone, it was racing back towards them. Jack made a lunge for the beast’s collar and missed, and Beth found herself lying on the pavement again, this time with a huge dog slobbering all over her.

‘Argh! It’s trying to bite me!’ she yelled.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Doris wouldn’t hurt a soul.’ He got hold of the collar and winched the large dog off. He held out his other hand to help Beth to her feet.

‘I’ll manage, thanks,’ huffed Beth. ‘That thing should be on a lead.’

‘You should look where you’re going. Come on, Doris.’ Jack turned and jogged away.

Chapter Three

Carly had finished work for the day and stopped off at a small café on her way home. She sipped her black chai tea and jotted down her latest contract into her diary. As a British Sign Language interpreter she was in demand and received many different requests. Hospital work was her bread and butter but she took on other projects when they interested her. She popped the lid back on her half-finished drink, slipped the papers into her oversized handbag and left the café. She loved her job but sometimes it did feel like she was the grown up with the proper job and Fergus was … well he definitely wasn’t a grown-up with a proper job.

Carly loved Fergus, there was no question about it, but some of the things she loved about him were also the things that drove her slightly crackers. As she opened the front door she could hear him chattering excitedly in his playroom. That was what she called their spare room; he grandly referred to their converted second bedroom as his office but, seeing as all he did was play computer games all day, she thought her label was far more appropriate. She pushed on the door so it opened a fraction. It went quiet inside and he popped his head round the door in greeting.

‘Hiya, C. Good day?’ he asked, his game controller clutched between his thighs and his uncombed dark hair falling across his face.

‘You’ve not got dressed.’ Carly puffed out her cheeks.

Fergus looked down at his Minecraft lounge trousers and grinned. ‘I have, I was wearing Batman ones this morning.’ The door shut behind him. Every day was a pyjama day to Fergus – how he managed to pay his share of the bills into the joint account each month Carly had no idea. He had tried to explain how it worked a couple of times but, whilst she did use the Internet occasionally, she didn’t really get it and it still baffled her how he got paid for playing children’s games.

She pouted at the shut door and listened to him gabbling on to himself like a total loon. His own grandmother’s phrase popped into her head, recited in her broad Irish accent, ‘Thick as manure but only half as useful.’

Carly started chopping vegetables for a stir-fry and found the action quite therapeutic, although the more she chopped and sliced the more disgruntled she became. It was Wednesday night and she always saw Beth on a Wednesday night; it was takeaway and natter night, a chance to have a night off from signing and give her aching wrists a rest. That had all changed now that Beth had gone.

The flat’s door entry buzzer interrupted her thoughts. She put down the knife and went to see who it was. There was a hunched figure on the screen.

Carly pressed the button to speak. ‘Yeah?’

‘Carly, it’s Nick. Can I come up?’

Carly felt her heart start to race. ‘No, you bloody well can’t. Sod off.’ She leaned across the hallway and opened the playroom door. Fergus looked irritated at first until she pointed at the screen to show Nick’s face peering at them in black and white.

‘Come on, Carly. Elizabeth has blown this all out of proportion. I want to fix things but I can’t if she won’t take my calls.’

Carly felt the need to shout, ‘Out of proportion! You shit, you hit her!’

‘Carly, this is between me and Elizabeth. Tell me where she is. I just want to know she’s all right.’

‘I don’t know where she is,’ she lied, ‘but she is fine now she’s away from you.’

‘What’s he saying?’ asked Fergus and Carly relayed the conversation. ‘Tell him to feck off,’ said Fergus.

‘I’ve tried that. You go down and see him.’

‘Dressed like this?’

Carly shrugged; perhaps he would now see the benefits of getting dressed on a daily basis. She turned her attention back to Nick.

‘Nick, you can stand there till Christmas for all I care. You’re not coming in and I’ll never tell you where she is … even if I knew.’ She put down the entryphone. Nick stood and stared at the screen for a bit. She watched as he tried the door a couple of times and pressed the button again. Carly ignored it. Nick leaned on the button.

Carly swore and then answered. ‘I’ll call the police.’

‘I need to speak to her.’ Nick’s voice had a harsh tone to it now.

‘Never going to happen.’

‘I will find her. I guarantee it,’ warned Nick as he stared into the monitor. Carly watched him, her heart racing. He gave the door one last try and then walked away.

Fergus hugged Carly. ‘You okay?’

‘No, not really. Beth said he’d come looking for her. I think I’m starting to understand why she’s run so far away.’

Beth woke early in the small twin room of the B&B and pulled the pink candlewick bedspread up to her chin. It was many years since she’d slept under sheets and although she’d heard stories of bedspreads this was her first. She plucked at it as she listened to Leo snoring lightly. She hadn’t slept much, her mind full of buyer’s remorse. What had seemed a wonderfully romantic and spontaneous act at the auction now seemed like the epitome of stupid. Despite the state of the cottage, she had had a good feeling when she stood in the back garden with Leo. But her plan of buying something, doing superficial restoration, some painting and decorating and then a flourish of interior design before moving on to the next property was not likely to work with Willow Cottage. It needed major renovations, shoring up most likely or possibly knocking down, and she didn’t know where to start.

What was she doing? She was a Business Operations Manager. She knew about planning and executing efficiency strategies and adhering to compliance as well as how to cope in a male dominated world. She knew nothing about renovation and she feared the money she had would soon be gobbled up by this project. Most of her money was tied up in the London flat and discussing its sale with Nick was something she couldn’t face anytime soon. He had successfully blocked her access to their joint account so that didn’t leave her with much. Just thinking about him made her feel anxious.

Leo stirred and Beth turned onto her side to look at him – her gorgeous boy. He had slept well. He seemed okay even though he was miles away from London but at least he was safe. Maybe everything wasn’t such a disaster after all.

Beth was rethinking that statement later that day as yet another Morris dancer whooped towards her with a handkerchief and an exaggerated wink. Leo was dancing and laughing as if he was high on sugar, which he definitely wasn’t as Beth was fairly strict with both his sugar and fat intake. There had been lots of skipping about, banging of sticks and plenty of very repetitive music but it was quite jolly and Leo loved it. It was all a bit bonkers and quintessentially English, especially when it was performed on a village green.

After a jacket potato for lunch in the hectically busy tearoom, where the unsmiling Maureen served them, Beth decided they should have another look at Willow Cottage. She was really hoping that her brain had exaggerated what she had seen yesterday and now in the full sunshine it wouldn’t be quite so bad. Beth was also keen to see if she could get a look inside because that might actually be better than the exterior would have her believe. With the lure of an apple, Beth persuaded Leo to come and have another look at the cottage. She liked the fact that she didn’t have to answer to Nick, she could do what she wanted here and even if Willow Cottage had been a stupidly impulsive decision, at least it was her own decision. The village was a hive of activity today and there were cars parked everywhere and slow-moving jolly people clogging up every inch. They mingled their way through and, as they reached the pub, someone called to them.

‘Yoo hoo! Hello!’ It was the small elderly lady with the wheelie trolley. Beth looked around but nobody else was acknowledging the woman so she assumed she must have been talking to her.

‘Hello again,’ said Beth, stopping and waiting for the woman to get to her.

‘Now, lovey, tell me again,’ she said, slightly puffed by the effort of the last few steps.

‘Sorry?’ said Beth totally confused.

‘I want to make sure I heard right. What was it you told me yesterday?’

Beth raised an eyebrow, the bag lady was clearly quite potty, poor old soul. ‘I asked you where Willow Cottage was because I’ve recently bought it.’

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