Five Hundred Miles From You: the brand new, life-affirming, escapist novel of 2020 from the Sunday Times bestselling author

by Jenny Colgan

  Lissa took the car, as she had to drive a way out of the village to a house that GPS was absolutely no use for (as far as she could tell, signal burst in and out at unexpected moments). Joan had said something along the lines of, ‘the house has its own postcode’ which made absolutely no sense to Lissa at all until she’d found the road where it was meant to be, more or less, and driven up and down it several times before she’d realised that the two brick posts that looked abandoned were in fact exactly where she was meant to be.

  She drove up the narrow one-track road, marvelling at the idea of it. Vast woodlands petered away either side of the road – bluebells had sprouted here too, a magic carpet, and daffodils burst into view over the crest of a hill. Coming towards the house, she turned the car round the gravel forecourt – there was an empty fountain that looked rather sorely neglected – and stared at something glinting behind the house before finally realising it was the loch itself. Imagine living here! She couldn’t.

  She went up to the huge old main door and could make out various bangings and some music happening behind it, but nobody appeared to have heard her knock. She hadn’t been in the country long enough to realise that she ought to go round the back until a little voice alerted her.

  ‘Are you going to give us jabs?’

  A small boy with too long hair was standing on the side by the corner of the house. Next to him was an even smaller boy, with olive skin and very long eyelashes. They were wearing identical short yellow dungarees and yellow T-shirts.

  ‘We’re twins,’ the boy continued.

  ‘Are you?’ said Lissa dubiously. On the other hand, she’d seen lots of unusual things and it was very rude to assume.

  ‘AYE!’ shouted the smaller boy. ‘We is an aw!’

  ‘Okay then, great!’ she said. ‘Is your mother around?’

  The boys froze suddenly, then they turned as one and marched round the back of the property. Slightly spooked, Lissa followed them.

  A very petite dark-haired woman with a friendly face came out of the open kitchen door with a tea towel over her shoulder.

  ‘Hello! I forgot you were coming! Well, I thought you were coming the other day . . .’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Lissa.

  ‘That’s okay,’ said the woman, smiling. ‘I know what it’s like when you first get here. Isn’t everything huge?’

  ‘I thought Scotland was meant to be a small country.’

  ‘I know . . . Shackleton! Get the oven.’

  A tall, shambling teenage boy came out with a tray of cooling scones.

  ‘Chill your boots, already done it,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the woman, introducing herself as Zoe. ‘Want to come in? And have a scone?’

  ‘You’re English?’ said Lissa, surprised.

  ‘Oh yes! You too! Ha, we’re invading the place. Oh God, Mrs Murray will have a fit.’

  ‘Is that the woman who runs the grocery?’

  ‘Don’t mind her – her bark is worse than her bite,’ said Zoe. ‘You could say that about a lot of people round here,’ she continued as they passed an older lady who was cleaning boots rather ferociously by the sink.

  She put an old-fashioned kettle on the stove, then picked up a list from the messy sideboard. What a comforting room this was, Lissa found herself thinking.

  She started unpacking her kit.

  ‘Hari needs his MMR booster, but I don’t think Patrick has had his at all.’

  Lissa frowned.

  ‘But . . . I thought they were twins.’

  Zoe yelped with laughter.

  ‘Boys!’ she shouted. ‘Stop it! Nobody believes you’re twins, and you’re just confusing people!’

  ‘We are absolutely nearly twins,’ said Patrick, and Hari nodded solemnly, pointing at his dungarees as proof.

  ‘Isn’t it clear they’re not related?’ said Zoe, still smiling as she poured out tea.

  ‘I’ve met mixed-race twins before who looked different from each other,’ said Lissa.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Fascinating.’

  ‘She absolutely thinks we’re twins, Nanny Seven,’ said Patrick.

  Zoe rolled her eyes.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Patrick is five.’

  ‘AND A HALF.’

  ‘Five and a half, and he’s Shackleton’s little brother . . . halfbrother. Did Joan not explain this all to you?’

  ‘She just said it was complicated, then went back to reading a book about cow operations.’

  ‘That does sound like Joan,’ mused Zoe. ‘Okay. She’s right – it’s complicated. Hari’s mine and the rest are Ramsay’s. Oh, actually, that’s not too complicated when you think about it.’

  ‘Zoe and Ramsay are in love,’ said Patrick. ‘And that is why we are now absolutely twins.’

  ‘AYE,’ said Hari, nodding his head to emphasise the wisdom of Patrick’s advice.

  Zoe coloured.

  ‘Oh well,’ she said. Lissa smiled.

  ‘Did you move all the way up here for a man?’

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ said Zoe. ‘I moved here to get away from one. Anyway, here we are.’

  ‘Right,’ said Lissa. The scones were delicious, but it was time to get moving. She washed her hands carefully in the big old butler’s sink, then looked around for a place to line them up.

  A thin sallow girl sloped in, looking anxious.

  ‘I hate medical things,’ she said.

  ‘You hate everything,’ said Shackleton. ‘What? Just saying.’

  Zoe shot him a look, and put her arms round the girl.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said softly. ‘I’m right here.’

  ‘I’m just sick of nurses.’

  ‘It’ll be quick. But then you’ll be safe. I don’t want you to catch the measles.’

  ‘Mum didn’t either!’

  ‘Of course, she didn’t.’ Zoe held the girl closer. ‘We’ll get through this. I’ll get some bought cake for later.’

  The girl smiled.

  ‘Oi!’ said Shackleton. ‘What’s wrong with my cake?’

  ‘Bought cake! Bought cake!’ the little ones were already shouting, clasping hands in delight. Zoe smiled.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit of a madhouse here.’

  It didn’t look like a madhouse, Lissa thought. It looked lovely. A fire burned in the big kitchen grate and a large dog was wandering about aimlessly, and there were pictures on the wall and music blaring and a stew on the stove and she couldn’t help herself feeling jealous all of a sudden.

  ‘You like it here then?’ she said, as Zoe ushered them out of the kitchen to somewhere a little quieter.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Zoe, sounding heartfelt. ‘Oh, yes. I really do.’

  She saw Lissa’s face.

  ‘But it took a while, I promise.’

  ‘I’m only here for a bit. But I like it too!’

  ‘Well, try and enjoy it,’ said Zoe, laughing. ‘Right, shall we move them somewhere slightly more hygienic than a kitchen with a dog in it and flour everywhere?’

  They pushed open the door to a beautiful sitting room lined with books, and Zoe sat all the children on a slippery ottoman.

  ‘Ramsay!’ she yelled up the stairway, and just about the tallest man Lissa had ever seen came downstairs and draped his arms over Zoe’s shoulders.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘Yes. I’ve been meaning to . . . yes. Well.’

  ‘Have you got their red books?’ asked Lissa.

  The very tall man frowned.

  ‘Ah. The thing is . . . I have about ten thousand books, and, well, I’m not . . .’

  Lissa produced three new health books from her bag – Hari’s was in perfect order – and made Zoe and Ramsay fill them all in, while the children shifted uncomfortably and Patrick attempted to get into a kicking match with Mary, who finally grabbed a book off the shelves and moved to the window seat to ignore him.

  ‘Shall I put both the
twins down on the one form?’ asked Ramsay wryly as he filled in the forms, and Zoe shot him a look.

  ‘Stop it! You’re making everything worse.’

  ‘YES – TWINS,’ announced Patrick and the boys started marching around the room singing a loud song as Zoe gave Ramsay an ‘I told you so’ look.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Lissa, checking the syringes. ‘We’re ready.’

  Silence fell on the cheery room. Sighing, Shackleton rolled up his sleeve. Everyone watched him as he stoically endured the double injections. Patrick and Hari looked at each other.

  ‘Shackleton’s nae greetin’,’ said Hari in his low growl.

  ‘Shackleton isn’t greetin’,’ said Zoe automatically. ‘I mean crying. Shackleton isn’t crying. Seriously. Your dad isn’t going to be able to understand you.’

  ‘Naw, he willnae.’

  Patrick had pulled up his T-shirt sleeve and was presenting his arm with the air of a doomed soldier facing the firing squad.

  ‘I will absolutely not cry,’ he said, screwing up his little face. Hari watched with interest, then, after it was done, went up and gently wiped away the tear from Patrick’s eye. Curiously, he licked it.

  ‘Hari!’ yelled Zoe as Lissa reached into her bag and presented Patrick with a sugar-free lollipop.

  ‘Oooh,’ said Patrick and Hari’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘Oh,’ said Shackleton quietly. ‘Only, you see, I didn’t get a lollipop.’

  ‘You’re thirteen!’ said Lissa. The child was enormous; he looked old enough to drive a car.

  ‘I didn’t realise there was a legal limit for lollipops,’ said Shackleton. Lissa smiled, and brought out another one.

  ‘I don’t want one,’ said Mary loftily.

  ‘Can I have two?’ said Shackleton.

  ‘No!’ said all the adults in the room simultaneously.

  Hari might well have cried, even though he only needed his booster, had not Patrick stood in front of him letting him lick his lollipop as the needle went in. Mary withstood it with barely a flinch, which made Zoe sad at how used the child had been to pain, and she hugged her strongly afterwards. And then they were done.

  ‘Okay,’ said Lissa, straightening up. ‘There may possibly be a few cold-and flu-like symptoms, but don’t worry about them unless they last for more than forty-eight hours.’

  Patrick immediately started to cough loudly.

  ‘Or are completely made up.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Zoe. ‘Come on, Patrick, straight to bed with you.’

  ‘Actually, I think I am absolutely fine,’ said Patrick, eyes wide.

  ‘It was nice to meet you,’ said Lissa a tad wistfully. Obviously, they lived in a big mansion and were terribly busy and everything, but Zoe seemed like the kind of person Lissa would have liked to have had as a friend.

  ‘Thanks!’ said Zoe, and Lissa was halfway to the car before she turned round to find Zoe there.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Zoe. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I still have my London head on, where you never talk to strangers. It’s an old habit. Also, young people like you I’m sure wouldn’t be remotely interested in hanging out with someone else’s billion kids. But listen, would you like coffee sometime? Or we’re all going to the shows when they come . . .’

  Normally Lissa would have shut down, smiled politely and backed away, desperate not to reveal that she was desperately lonely. But she made a decision as she went to open the car door. To try something new.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Yeah. I’d really like that.’

  And they swapped numbers and as Lissa drove away she found she was smiling and decided, being on a roll, to head into the village square and treat herself to a book.

  There were a few people gathered round the book van in the village square and Lissa went up to have a little look. A pretty girl smiled hello as she poked her head round the door. The van was like a little TARDIS, far bigger than it looked from the outside and crammed with every type of book imaginable. It even had, Lissa was amazed to note, a tiny chandelier swinging from the ceiling.

  ‘Hello!’ she said. The girl smiled. ‘Oh, you’re the English girl! Hello again! The locals think we’re invading one person at a time.’

  ‘I know, I met Zoe.’

  ‘I’m Nina, by the way, just to remind you. You know, three is definitely enough for a coven,’ said Nina. ‘It’s really going to put the wind up Mrs Murray.’

  ‘Why the influx?’

  ‘Well,’ said Nina, smiling quietly to herself. ‘The men round here are . . . well, some of them.’

  Across the square, Wullie and Alasdair, who haunted the pub, were sitting outside on an absolutely ancient bench, enjoying the sunshine, even though they were still wearing their flat caps and ancient overcoats and high tied scarves. They waved to Nina, who waved back cheerfully.

  ‘My investors,’ she said, completely bamboozling Lissa. ‘So, how are you settling in? Are you going to the shows?’

  ‘That’s all anyone talks about,’ said Lissa.

  ‘We don’t have so much going on,’ Nina said, looking mildly wistful for a moment. Then her face changed and softened and Lissa followed her gaze and saw a tall sandy-haired man crossing the cobbles with a long stride. In a papoose on his back was a roundeyed baby about six months old, already stretching its arms up in gleeful anticipation of seeing its mother.

  ‘And,’ she said, ‘the babies up here are very ginger!’

  She kissed the man and picked up the wriggling infant as his dad unbuckled the sling.

  ‘Hello, captain,’ she said, rubbing the baby’s tummy. ‘How’s my best little man?’

  ‘He tried to eat some straw,’ reported Lennox.

  ‘Good sign,’ said Nina. ‘Moving on from dung. Lennox, this is . . .’

  ‘Lissa,’ said Lissa, putting out her hand.

  ‘Och!’ said Lennox. ‘You’re Cormac!’

  ‘Apparently,’ said Lissa. ‘Does everyone know each other here?’

  Nina and Lennox looked at each other.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Nina. ‘That’s more or less how it works.’

  She kissed the baby, who giggled.

  ‘He’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nina, pleased. ‘We like him.’

  She blew a raspberry on the happy baby’s stomach, and he chortled uncontrollably. ‘My mum still can’t believe I came back with a ginger baby,’ she added.

  ‘God, I can imagine,’ said Lissa, then: ‘Oh God, I didn’t mean it like that!’

  The other two just laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘How’s Cormac getting on down south?’ said Lennox. ‘He’ll hate it.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Lissa, who’d woken up to a patently drunken and misspelled email and a picture that was just a scribble. ‘He spent last night at a Stockton House and had a brilliant time.’

  She had been amazed to find herself jealous. She didn’t get invited to many private members’ clubs.

  ‘Cormac?’ said Nina. ‘Ha! Gosh, he’s changed. Maybe he’ll turn into a socialite and he’ll never come back and you’ll be stuck here!’

  Lissa looked out at the sun dappling the cobbles and then back to Nina with her happy baby and suddenly felt rather wistful.

  ‘What’s Cormac like?’ she asked.

  ‘Haven’t you met him? Oh no, I suppose you wouldn’t have,’ said Nina. ‘He’s kind. The old ladies love him.’

  ‘What about the young ladies?’

  Nina smiled. ‘Oh, he’s not an alley cat. Not like that Jake.’

  Lissa raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, is he?’ she said, disappointed.

  ‘Oh no! Did he have a crack at you?’

  Lissa shrugged. ‘He wanted to take me to the fair.’

  Nina grinned.

  ‘That’s adorable. Well, he’s . . . very nice.’

  ‘But a bit of a Jack the Lad.’

  ‘He . . . has girlfriends,’ said Nina.


  ‘That’s okay,’ said Lissa. ‘I’m not after anything serious. I’m supposed to be chilling out anyway.’

  ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ said Nina. ‘But he’s perfectly safe to go to the fair with. He’s a good bloke. Just not marriage material.’

  Right then a woman darted across the square, looking perturbed.

  ‘Lennox!’ she yelled. ‘Lennox, can you come?’

  Lennox looked confused.

  ‘Aye, Carrie, whit is it?’

  ‘It’s Marmalade,’ she said. ‘I can’t find him.’

  ‘Carrie!’ said Nina reprovingly. ‘You can’t just ask Lennox every time . . .’

  ‘Aye, I’ll have a look,’ said Lennox. Nina gave him a look that turned into a kiss. ‘You’re not the errand boy of the village.’

  Lennox rolled his eyes and packed little John back into his backpack.

  ‘Aye, the bairn will like seeing a cat,’ he said, as the baby waved his fists in the air. Nina watched him go affectionately and Lissa had the strange sense, as she had experienced a lot recently, of watching other people’s happy lives as if from behind a glass or on television, as if taking part in a life that wasn’t hers, wasn’t a place she could legitimately be in. Why did everyone else seem so sorted and organised (it would have surprised Nina very much to feel that anyone thought this about her; as far as she was concerned they lived on a shoestring, couldn’t ever go away because of the farm and she was miles from her family and there were myriad daily ups and downs, just like everyone else in the world. Although, when she got home in the evenings to the farmhouse and the log burner was blazing and John was kicking his little feet in delight on the lambswool rug, smelling of baby oil after his bath, grinning and gurgling up at his besotted father – well, nothing else seemed to matter quite so much).