The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘I only wanted one strawberry one.’

  ‘It was breakfast time! You can’t have milkshake for breakfast!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lizzie cut in with a smile. ‘I don’t have milkshake in right now but I promise to get some in for you next time you visit. I can do tea, though, as your brother says you like it, with as much sugar and milk as you want.’

  ‘I have four,’ Charlie said emphatically, clambering up the caravan steps without further invitation. Lizzie moved aside to let Jude follow, and he gave her an apologetic look, to which she returned a reassuring smile.

  ‘It’s really fine,’ she said. ‘I’m happy to have company.’

  ‘As long as it’s OK,’ he said. Then he lowered his voice. ‘He has two sugars; he only thinks he has four because I tell him that’s how many he’s having. Any more than two and he’d be clinging to your ceiling with his fingernails.’

  She laughed. ‘Two it is. Welcome to my humble abode.’

  She watched as Jude climbed the steps and then followed after him. When she got back inside she saw that Charlie had already plonked himself on her sofa and was examining her TV remote, very much at home. Jude hovered in the doorway.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Want some help?’

  ‘No. But give me a few minutes because I literally just put everything in my cupboards yesterday and I can’t remember where anything is yet.’

  ‘That sounds like our house and we’ve lived there for years so we don’t have that excuse. Charlie has a habit of putting things away in strange places and they’re never seen again.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lizzie said with a little laugh. ‘So you’re already at home then!’

  * * *

  ‘So, you’re the first neighbours I’ve met,’ Lizzie said, placing the teapot she’d surreptitiously washed clean of dust before filling with tea on the table they were now gathered around.

  Charlie grinned through a mouthful of Jammie Dodger. ‘I like these,’ he said. ‘My favourite biscuits.’

  Jude laughed. ‘All biscuits are your favourites.’

  ‘Not Rich Tea.’

  ‘Well, they’re not even really biscuits,’ Lizzie said, sharing a smile with Charlie. ‘They might as well be tea coasters for how much taste is in them.’

  ‘What’s a tea coaster?’

  ‘One of those things you put your mug on to stop it making rings on the table,’ Jude replied. ‘Not that you’d know because you never use them.’

  Charlie let out a cheeky laugh. ‘We don’t have any of them.’

  ‘Yes we do. Dad put them away in the cupboard years ago because he gave up trying to persuade you that that was where your cup was supposed to go.’ He turned to Lizzie as Charlie reached for another biscuit from the plate. ‘So you’re the person taking Mad Lady Mill on?’

  ‘Mad Lady Mill?’ Lizzie asked with a look of disbelief. ‘Is that what it’s called?’

  ‘Yeah. Well, it’s a nickname anyway. I don’t know where it came from but it’s the one my dad always used. Others too when I was growing up. I suppose something a bit tragic must have happened here once. That or a mad lady lived here.’

  ‘Is that why it’s been empty for so long?’

  Jude shrugged. ‘No idea. All I know is that no one’s ever lived here as far back as I can recall.’

  ‘We used to drive past it a lot when I was growing up,’ Lizzie said. ‘My dad always said he wanted to buy it and give it a bit of love but he never did. I suppose it was too much to take on with a family. Anyway, I’ll have to find a new name for it. I can’t call it Mad Lady Mill.’

  ‘How about Magnolia Mill? As it’s on Magnolia Lane?’

  ‘Oooh, I like it!’

  ‘Is your dad going to help you fix it up as he fancied buying it himself?’

  She hesitated, memories flooding back. Where did she even begin telling the story when it was so painful? She kept it short and hoped that would keep the tears at bay. ‘He died. The end of last year.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry.’

  Lizzie gave a slight nod. ‘Your dad died too?’

  Jude blinked. ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘Don’t worry…’ Lizzie smiled at his sharp look. ‘I’m not psychic or anything. Charlie told me.’

  ‘Charlie ought to start his own newspaper,’ Jude said, throwing his brother a sideways look. ‘He loves spreading news, especially ours.’

  Charlie simply grinned before slurping at his tea.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it, though,’ Lizzie said gently. ‘Was it long ago?’

  ‘Five years. I’d not long finished university. It was unexpected – a sudden heart attack – nobody saw it coming. I had plans but…’ He shrugged.

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘We lost her when I was twelve. Cancer. Charlie was still a baby.’

  Lizzie was seized by the sudden urge to reach across and pull him into a hug, but she pushed the impulse away. ‘God, I’m sorry. So it’s just you and Charlie?’

  ‘We’re alright. We’re happy enough now that we’re settled into a routine.’

  ‘It must have been hard at first.’

  ‘It always is – there’s nothing easy about losing a loved one. You must know that as well as me.’

  Lizzie nodded.

  ‘You still have your mum?’ Jude asked.

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. I’d hate to be without her.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. So, you’re going to be living here by yourself?’ Jude flushed a little.

  Lizzie could feel her own cheeks burning. While she was happy to be here, alone or otherwise, this wasn’t the future that had been in the original plans for her life. If things had worked out differently with Evan, she’d still have been in their safe little house in town. The crumbling windmill on Magnolia Lane might have been rescued eventually, but it wouldn’t have been by her.

  ‘It’s just me. For now at least. I tried to persuade my mum to come with me but she’s having none of it.’

  ‘It’s a big place to live in by yourself.’

  ‘I know. I expect I’ll get used to it.’

  ‘What made you buy it? If you don’t mind me asking, that is. It must have been a hell of a task trying to find out who owned it to buy it from.’

  ‘That wasn’t the problem; it was getting the purchase through – that was definitely a task and a half.’

  ‘So why go to all that trouble when there are some nice little cottages on the estate down the road all ready to move into?’

  ‘I suppose it reminded me of my dad every time I drove past, reminded me of happier days, of childhood. I don’t know really. It was like something drew me here and wouldn’t let go.’

  ‘And I thought you were just going to say you liked a challenge.’ Jude looked over the rim of his mug and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That too,’ Lizzie laughed. ‘And it’s certainly a challenge.’

  ‘It’s crazy,’ Jude continued.

  ‘So, do you live in one of those cottages on the estate?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘No, we’re in the big house on the road into the village. You might have seen it – you have to pass us as you turn into Magnolia Lane. We’re not that far from you actually… we drove past and saw you going into the caravan with some boxes yesterday.’

  ‘Our house has big chimneys,’ Charlie said, his mouth full of biscuit and jam.

  ‘And I think you’ve had enough of those,’ Jude replied, sliding the plate out of Charlie’s reach.

  ‘I don’t mind if he wants more,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘That’s very kind but you don’t know him like I do. It’s fine now but it won’t be pretty later on when he’s running circles around his bedroom like a hamster on crack.’

  Lizzie smiled.

  ‘So how about that invite to our place?’ Jude asked. ‘Want to take us up on it now you know us better or will you be running for the hills?’

  ‘I think I’d be running a lo
ng way to find hills round here,’ Lizzie said, her smile suddenly shy now. ‘It’s about as flat as you can get. I’d love to come over.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘What are you doing tonight? I’m about to make too much lasagne and I’ll need an accomplice to help dispose of the evidence.’

  ‘That sounds amazing.’

  ‘Seven OK? The dress code is smart casual and I’ll make sure your name is on the VIP list.’

  Lizzie smiled, her stomach doing little cartwheels while all thoughts of staying clear of men were forgotten.

  ‘Seven sounds great.’

  * * *

  Lizzie walked down Magnolia Lane, heading towards the big house that Jude had described. She’d noticed it a few times over the years when she’d driven this way with her dad, and it was strange to acknowledge – not for the first time – the unexpected course life could take. Not once on those journeys could she have even imagined that she’d one day be sitting in that house as a dinner guest.

  She’d decided to walk, confident that it wasn’t too far and figuring if a little Dutch courage was on offer when she got there, having no car to drive back would make it easier to indulge. Jude had offered to pick her up, but she hadn’t wanted to put him out. Besides, it was a lovely evening – the clouds burnished in saffron and orange as the sun sank low, the full moon still a promise. The hedgerows were thick with the peppery scents of wild grasses and foxgloves, birds darting and soaring, going home to roost or making a meal of the gnats circling in the air above the road. And a little Dutch courage would certainly go some way to steadying the hyperactive butterflies in her tummy.

  Back in the caravan, dresses, trousers, skirts and tops were strewn across the bed. The occasion was less formal than a proper dinner party – like the sort you’d throw for a boss you were trying to impress (not that Lizzie had ever had a job important enough to need to impress a boss) – but it was more formal than a slobby takeaway on a friend’s couch. What the dress code was here was anyone’s guess. Not only that, but a good deal of her clothes, her make-up, hair-curling wands, rollers and straighteners were stored at her mum’s house until she could make the room for them and it was really too far to drive up there to get any of it for this… whatever it was. Still, what she wouldn’t have given for something to smooth the nest on her head that had been towel-dried and blasted with the hairdryer to no good effect at all.

  Part of her was annoyed at the notion that what she wore tonight and how her hair looked mattered so much, and even more annoyed at her inexplicable nerves. It wasn’t a date. Of course it wasn’t a date. So why did it feel like it might be?

  The invite to dinner had been thrown out, a nonchalant gesture of friendship that didn’t mean anything. Jude was just being a good neighbour, and probably looking to give Charlie a bit of entertainment too. Lizzie was beginning to wish now that she’d made up some excuse not to go.

  It’s not a date and he won’t care what you look like, Lizzie kept reminding herself. Except that it didn’t matter how many times she told herself that, because she cared what she looked like and she cared about what he might think.

  In the end, she’d stepped out in her cleanest jeans and a pretty smock top – she hoped that the compromise between casual and feminine would be about the right balance. She didn’t want to look as if she was making too much effort. But then again, she did.

  With these thoughts circling the runway of common sense, the flats of Suffolk rolled away before her, mile after mile of greens and taupes, fields of crops and fields of fallow, meadows of wild grass, boundary fences and hedgerows, broken only by the road that ran and ran until it met the coast. Somewhere, away in the distance and out of sight, lay the sand dunes and marshes of Southwold and Walberswick, where Lizzie’s dad used to take her and her siblings crabbing during the summer holidays. Gracie would complain, Lizzie would follow her dad’s instructions to the letter – always the child who wanted to please – and James would be doing his best to get stranded in the oozing mud of the estuary. They’d spent many happy hours there but Lizzie barely had time to think of them these days. Perhaps it was another promise she’d make to herself now that she lived so close – to go and visit, to sit on the little wooden jetty quietly dangling her crab line once again, for old times’ sake. Or perhaps she’d walk the promenade watching the waves break around Southwold pier as the North Sea wind whipped them up. It wouldn’t make life that simple again, but it would make her feel free and light, if only for a short while. Who knew, if things went well with Jude and Charlie, maybe she’d even have new friends to take along?

  In the other direction was the village of Piriwick with its chocolate-box houses and a quirky village hall so wonky it almost looked drunk. There was a farm shop, an independent convenience store, a couple of quiet pubs, a tea room and that was about it – at least, if Lizzie’s memory served her correctly. Bolted onto the village was a tiny estate of new houses. It was meant to be part of Piriwick, but it was neither here nor there, and nobody in the village could quite decide whether it sat within their borders or not. Jude’s house occupied a strange spot even further along the road – too far out to be part of village life but too close to be anything else. In fact, Lizzie’s own mill was probably the first building on that road to really lay claim to the accolade of being ‘somewhere else’, though Lizzie wasn’t sure where that somewhere else was. If the new estate was suffering an identity crisis, Jude’s house and Lizzie’s mill were having mini breakdowns.

  Lizzie became aware of a thrumming engine. Moving aside and off the road, she waited for the car to pass. But it slowed and she recognised Derek as he pulled up alongside and wound down his window. In the passenger seat next to him sat a woman with steel-grey hair in corkscrew curls tied back by a scarf. Lizzie wondered if it might be his wife, Caroline. It seemed like a safe bet.

  ‘Need a lift?’ he asked.

  ‘Hello, Derek,’ Lizzie said with a smile. She offered a tiny wave to the woman in the passenger seat. ‘I’m fine but thanks for stopping to ask.’

  ‘It’s really no trouble at all,’ he said, eyeing her curiously.

  ‘Really, I’m OK. If I’m honest I’m quite enjoying the walk and I’m only going as far as Piriwick anyway.’

  ‘We’re going that far. You’re not going to the Golden Lion, are you? Only we’re going there – wouldn’t bother with the other pub, ale’s always a bit off – and you’d be welcome to join us.’ Derek looked at his passenger. ‘Lizzie could join us, couldn’t she? She doesn’t know anyone local.’

  The woman smiled. ‘Of course you could. I know a pair of old fuddy-duddies aren’t much excitement, but you’d always be welcome.’

  ‘That’s kind but I sort of have plans. Another time, maybe?’

  ‘Oh, of course, you just let us know. We visit the Lion most weeks. I’m Caroline, by the way. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘You too,’ Lizzie said. ‘Derek’s told me all about you.’

  Caroline turned to Derek. ‘It had better have been good.’

  ‘Oh, it absolutely was,’ Lizzie said with a grin. ‘He made you sound like an angel.’

  ‘Now I know someone’s telling me little white lies. And you’re quite sure we can’t tempt you into the car?’

  ‘That sounds very sinister, dear,’ Derek said.

  ‘She knows what I mean!’ Caroline slapped his arm playfully.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘I mean, it really is no bother,’ Derek pressed.

  ‘Derek!’ Caroline said with a little laugh. ‘Lizzie might not want you to know where she’s going – did you ever think of that, you old gossip!’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing like that,’ Lizzie protested, not really wanting to tell them despite this. She’d only just moved in and she wasn’t keen on being the subject of rumours so soon. ‘I’m just off to visit someone.’

  ‘Anyone we might know?’ Derek asked, while Caroline slapped his arm again.

  ‘Don’t give in to
his demands,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘Honestly, and people say it’s the women who are nosey! You have a lovely evening wherever it is you’re off to.’

  ‘Well then,’ Derek said, ‘if you’re sure then we’ll be on our way. Don’t forget, you have my number and you can call if there’s anything you need.’

  ‘Thanks, I will. Enjoy your evening too.’

  Derek lifted his hand in an airy wave and Caroline smiled warmly as he pulled away from the side of the road. Lizzie watched the car grow smaller until it finally disappeared.

  * * *

  If she’d been forced to hazard a guess, Lizzie would have said that Jude’s house was a Victorian build, though she was hardly an expert in these things. Standing in a garden of prim and proper rose bushes and mature plum trees, bordered by hefty leylandii, it was double-fronted with steeply angled roofs and tall chimneys, the weathered red brick embossed with an abstract wave design in a row beneath the eaves. The sash windows were tall and the front door painted a slick black. It was handsome, in an austere sort of way, but it didn’t seem to suit what she knew of Jude so far at all. Lizzie wondered how much of it was to Jude’s own taste and how much still remained from when his parents had lived there. Perhaps he was one of those people who didn’t really care all that much about houses, only that he had one to live in. It was funny not knowing, and Lizzie wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. But then, she’d thought she’d known Evan, and it hadn’t made any difference in the end.

  She took a moment to smooth her hair (for what it was worth) and collect herself. Then she knocked and almost immediately Jude was standing before her, smiling and looking a lot more relaxed than she felt she did.

  ‘You found us OK then?’ he asked.

  ‘It wasn’t that hard when you’re practically the only house on the road into the village,’ Lizzie replied, suddenly feeling shy. Now that she saw him again, he was so much more than handsome. He seemed to have this strange effect on her that she couldn’t explain, but it was all she could do not to stare hopelessly into the depths of his eyes. She wondered whether he could tell – if he could then he certainly wasn’t showing it.