work out, did she?
No, no, she really didn’t. After a fabulous summer of getting to know Charlie Davenport, the village vet, she had to admit, she had dreamed up this strange fantasy that when, if, she settled permanently then it would be in a cottage made for two. Not one.
But his life was far too complicated for that at the moment. He had a child to consider. They had a child to consider. Adorable little Maisie had to be their main priority.
Lucy knew what it was like growing up with only one parent, thinking that she wasn’t good enough, thinking she wasn’t loved, wasn’t wanted – and she was determined that Maisie would never feel that way. The little girl would know that Charlie, her father, loved her with all his heart. That Lucy wasn’t going to steal him away.
When Josie, Charlie’s ex, returned from her six month contract abroad, then it would be the right time for her and Charlie to spend more time together, be more involved, maybe, just maybe, settle down in that dream cottage together. But for now, making sure Maisie felt secure, was happy, was what really mattered.
She felt the small smile creep over her face as she thought about Charlie. They’d agreed at the start of the summer that they’d take things slowly, see how it went and it had gone – she knew her smile had grown – wonderfully.
But they didn’t know when Josie would be back, didn’t know what would happen when she returned – whether she’d settle locally with Maisie or not. And until they did, it was hard to see what the future held. What if Josie moved away? What if the only way Charlie could see his daughter was to move as well? What if she couldn’t find a new job close to where they went? What if, what if, there were just so many ‘ifs’, which Lucy wasn’t keen on at all. For a girl who liked to have a plan, be organised, the uncertainty was difficult. But she was learning, getting better at taking each day as it came.
So really, if she was going to be sensible about this, she had to decide what she really wanted. Now. And worry about the future later – after all if she bought a cottage now, she could always sell it.
She really had never thought the whole question of buying a house would raise its head for months though, years!
The estate agent’s crisp tone cut into her thoughts. ‘It would be in your interests to move quickly. It does, as I have mentioned, require a fair amount of modernisation, but opportunities like this don’t come up very often. A cottage for sale in Langtry Meadows is a rare occurrence, and I’d have normally already contacted interested parties, but Miss Harrington persuaded me to give you first option. I’d advise you not to dally about too long.’
Ah. So that explained the unexpected phone call from Bannister & Poole’s Estate Agency. She’d made an offhand comment to the elderly Elsie Harrington about needing to look for a permanent home, and as if by magic a solution had appeared.
‘I won’t, dally that is. I’d love to look round.’ It really was an opportunity she couldn’t pass on, she had to at least look. And ‘modernisation’ might mean that it had an outside toilet and a well – which would put it way beyond her humble budget.
‘I’ll email the details through, although they are currently just draft ones, they haven’t been approved.’ She could hear him shuffling papers in the background. ‘I can meet you there at 11 a.m. if that suits?’
‘Well, I.’ She would really have liked to share the news with Charlie first, see what he thought, but he’d be busy seeing clients. And she did want to stay in Langtry Meadows, whatever the future held for her and the man she’d fallen head over heels for. ‘Today? This morning?’
‘We do close at midday, it is Saturday you know.’
Which meant Charlie couldn’t go with her, but she could check it out first. It could be totally unsuitable anyway. ‘That suits perfectly, and er, thank you, Mr Ba—’ He cut her off mid-sentence, and Lucy slowly took the phone away from her ear and stared back out at the garden, knowing she had a stupid grin on her face.
Lucy glanced down at her pyjama bottoms, then up at the kitchen clock. This was not how she’d expected her last weekend of freedom to start. The new school term started on Wednesday, and they had an inset day on Tuesday, and she was officially the teacher of Classes 1 and 2. The last few days of the holiday were supposed to be about relaxing, chilling, preparing herself for the chaotic weeks ahead. She hadn’t factored in being woken up by a phone call from a bossy estate agent, and the kind of stomach churning, exciting news that had left her feeling all butterfly stomach-ey and jittery.
Her brain wasn’t exactly functioning either, which was how she always felt before the first strong coffee of the day. Lucy was not a morning person, she wasn’t really a night owl either. She was guaranteed to be the one that had to be in bed by midnight or she risked falling asleep on the shoulder of the nearest person and no doubt snoring and drooling in a very unattractive way. She was the one the rest of the students had drawn a moustache on when she was at college, as she slept through oblivious.
Her mobile gave a cheery bleep announcing an incoming message. Coffee. She needed coffee and a chance to wake up properly, then she’d shower and dress, and then she’d read the email that the efficient and officious Mr Bannister had already pinged off from his clean and tidy office, determined to disrupt the peace of her sleepy cottage in Langtry Meadows.
She’d only got as far as the bottom of the stairs, when a loud honk stopped her in her tracks. A warning honk, not the kind of gentle ‘go away’ noise that Gertie the goose often directed at unwelcome visitors. This had more urgency. And volume.
Rushing to the front door, Lucy threw it open, expecting some kind of carnage.
Gertie was having a fit. The type she normally reserved for straying men – as in they’d strayed on to her property and nothing to do with their morals. Well, to be more precise the goose was flapping her big white wings like some avenging angel and dipping her head backwards and forwards towards a mysterious object just inside the garden gate. Gertie didn’t like mysterious objects. She didn’t like most things, to be honest. And Lucy didn’t know if that was a ‘goose’ thing, or just a Gertie thing.
Lucy folded her arms, relieved that it was nothing more serious. ‘What have you got?’
Gertie glared back accusingly.
Lucy was used to parcels being left just inside the gate. Her regular postman knew all about how to deal with Gertie, but most strangers took one look at the bird as she hurtled round the corner of the cottage in response to the click of the gate catch, and scarpered. She couldn’t blame them.
‘Okay, I’m coming.’ She slipped her feet into the pink wellingtons that were in the porch. The wellies were her secret defence – with them on Gertie was putty (well not exactly putty, but no longer quite as lethal) in her hands. Gertie loved the boots; they were, as Annie had told her, the first thing she had seen and she thought they were her mother. She would happily follow them anywhere.
The parcel moved. Rocked. Gertie gave it a prod. It made a strange, wheezy noise and the goose drew herself up to her full height, gave a loud honk, then turned on her heel and marched off in search of something more interesting.
Frowning, Lucy lifted a corner flap cautiously. It sounded like there was something alive in there, and for all she knew it could be a box of snakes. Or worse. Rats.
Two eyes stared up at her out of the dark shadows of the box. One chocolate brown, the other the clearest blue she’d ever seen, spring water in a crystal
