Bryony watched as Josh leaped over without any bother. Her father helped her mother over, then Sam helped Callie and Jago took Polly’s hand and then Archie’s. Which left her and Ben.
‘Come on,’ he said once he was on the other side.
‘I can manage,’ she told him without looking at him.
‘It’s pretty slippery.’
‘I said, I can –’ As soon as her foot hit the bottom plank of the stile, it skidded out from underneath her, sending her flying right into Ben.
‘Woah there!’ he said. ‘You okay.’
She pushed him away and straightened her hair, catching his gaze as she righted herself. He was looking at her with such tenderness and concentration that she suddenly felt self-conscious.
‘You all right, Bry?’ Polly said, coming forward and reaching a hand towards her.
‘I said I’m fine,’ Bryony said. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
Without looking at anybody else, Bryony strode ahead on the footpath, determined to be the first person back at Campion House. There, she would kick off her boots, kiss her grandparents goodbye and get in her car and drive home before anybody could stop her.
Chapter Five
By the time Bryony got home, she felt emotionally drained and she still couldn’t help harbouring the thought that her family had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Welcoming Ben back into the Nightingale fold might have been a normal thing for them to do with an old family friend, but it couldn’t possibly be the right thing to do because she’d never felt so uncomfortable in her life.
Sitting next to him at the dining table had been unbearable. Their arms had nudged and touched in an agonised sort of dance. Had he felt it too – that awful sense of unease? No, he’d told his jolly traveller’s stories and stuffed his mouth full of her mother’s food. He’d had a brilliant time, but it had been at her expense.
Bryony did what she did best when she was mad: she tidied. She moved around her small home like a whirling dervish, her colours flying as she scrubbed and dusted until she was not only emotionally drained but physically too. By that time, it was after five and she realised that she was hungry, probably because she’d only been able to eat half her lunch what with having Ben sitting next to her. As her mother had predicted, there was nothing to make a decent meal in her cupboards.
It was then that she remembered the little table of goods for sale outside the cottage across the road from her. Cuckoo Cottage, she thought it was called. It belonged to Flo Lohman who Bryony knew in passing. She’d been into the children’s bookshop on a number of occasions. Bryony tried to think back now and recalled a thin, pale-looking boy had accompanied her. He’d been terribly shy and hadn’t said a single word. Flo was also a part of the new book group which her brother Sam had set up. She remembered Sam talking fondly about her and laughing at the ‘cake wars’ that had ensued between her, Honey Digger and Antonia Jessop.
Popping her jacket on, Bryony left the house and headed towards Cuckoo Cottage, sighing in disappointment when she discovered that the table was empty of produce. She looked at the pretty pink home with its thatched roof and white-painted door and wondered if it was worth knocking. What did she have to lose?
As soon as she knocked, she heard a strangled call coming from inside.
‘Coming!’
A moment later, Flo Lohman opened the door. She had pretty green eyes and a lovely smile which creased her face, but it was her shoulder-length white curls Bryony was staring at in bemusement.
‘You – er – you have a feather in your hair,’ Bryony managed at last.
Flo’s hands flew to her hair. ‘Usually do,’ she said. ‘Just had my head in the coop trying to find Hermia. She’s very shy and often hides away there during the day.’
‘I was just wondering if you had any eggs. There aren’t any out for sale.’
‘Ah! Very remiss of me. And I’m absolutely overrun with eggs too. Come on in and I’ll gather some up for you. How many would you like?’
‘Half a dozen would do very nicely.’
Flo nodded and led the way into her kitchen at the back of the house. It was a sweet little room with low beams and the sort of kitchen cabinets that had been cobbled together over many years with none of them really quite matching. Still, the overall picture was one of comfort and charm and Bryony instantly felt at home there. The place she was renting had one of those bland, fitted kitchens all in an off-white and it was anything but homely.
‘Now, where did I put the egg boxes? They’re here somewhere. I just got a new stack last week. Where are they?’ Flo looked around the kitchen, bending and stretching and peering around corners and under tables.
‘There!’ Bryony said, pointing to a table to the left of a dresser which was laden with papers, envelopes and an assortment of jam jars.
‘Ah, marvellous!’ Flo said, grabbing one and popping six plump eggs inside. ‘Fresh as a daisy these,’ she told Bryony.
‘What beautiful colours,’ Bryony said. ‘All so different.’
‘Like the hens who laid them – Viola’s are as pale as milk and Gertie’s are nice and dark.’
‘How much are they?’
Flo told her and Bryony paid her.
‘Thank you. Bryony, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Flo nodded. ‘We’ve spoken only briefly, haven’t we?’
‘You’ve been in my shop a couple of times.’
‘That’s right. Lovely it is too. I brought my great-nephew with me.’
Ah, so that was the pale, young boy, Bryony thought.
‘Not seen him for a while. I’d say he’s due a visit if I know anything about my nephew.’ She tutted and then peered closely at Bryony. ‘Are you alright, my dear?’
Bryony felt surprised by the question. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Hmmmm, that’s the worst impression of somebody who’s okay that I’ve ever seen.’
Bryony’s mouth dropped open to protest, but she found she couldn’t say anything and then her eyes began to well with tears and, all of a sudden, she was crying, right there in Flo Lohman’s kitchen with a box of eggs in her hands.
‘Oh my dear girl. Come and sit down. I’ll move that cat off the chair. Dusty knows he shouldn’t be in here. Then I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’
Bryony let herself be led to a wooden chair at the kitchen table and sat down. Flo handed her a tissue and Bryony dried her eyes and blew her nose as Flo put the kettle on.
‘Milk and sugar’s on the table,’ Flo told her. Bryony nodded, but decided to forgo her usual sugar when she saw a hen feather in the blue bowl.
‘Thank you,’ she said as Flo handed her her tea.
‘Sorry about the mug,’ Flo said as she moved a heap of old newspapers from a chair and sat down next to her. ‘It’s one I made at an evening class.’
Bryony looked at the asymmetrical mug with the handle that was slightly too big and tried her hardest not to laugh. It was so very Flo, she thought: home-made, funny and very comforting.
‘Tea,’ Flo said, ‘the universal cure-all.’
‘I wish it was,’ Bryony said.
‘Man trouble, is it?’ Flo boldly asked. ‘You have that sort of weary look about you.’
‘Do I?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Flo said. ‘Unmistakable.’ She took a huge slurp of tea. ‘Want to talk about it? I’m a very good listener, you know.’
‘Thanks, but I’m okay.’
Flo nodded, not looking convinced.
‘So, this man trouble,’ Flo began a moment later. ‘Is it Colin the baker?’
Bryony frowned. ‘How do you know about him?’ she asked, although she really shouldn’t have been surprised that that particular piece of gossip was out there.
‘You’re going out with him, aren’t you?’ Flo said, sounding baffled.
‘Well, not really.’
‘Oh, I’d heard –’
‘Well, we’re sort of going out I suppose,’ Bryo
ny said.
‘You don’t sound too sure, my dear,’ Flo said. ‘If you don’t mind me saying.’
Bryony sighed. ‘But it’s not Colin that’s the problem. I mean, the reason I’m crying.’
‘You mean there’s someone else?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Oh, my.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Is it Ben?’
‘You know about Ben?’
‘He was your childhood sweetheart, wasn’t he? Or have I got his name wrong?’
‘No, you haven’t got his name wrong.’
‘He’s back, I hear.’
Bryony frowned and then laughed. ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’
‘Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be and my right foot seizes up with arthritis from time to time, but I’m still pretty hot when it comes to what’s going on in Castle Clare.’
Bryony gave a wry laugh. ‘Life in a small town.’
‘Better than any gossip magazine,’ Flo said.
‘He was at my parents’ today,’ Bryony said.
‘Ben?’
She nodded. ‘Josh invited him. Can you believe it? And my parents were all over him. Everybody was. The long lost hero, he was, stuffing his face full of Yorkshire puddings at my family dining table whilst I was sitting there with my heart breaking all over again.’
‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Flo said, her hand moving across the table to hold Bryony’s.
‘I left after the dog walk which really made me mad because we were probably going to have hot chocolate afterwards.’
Flo shook her head. ‘He sounds like a very cheeky chappie to me.’
‘He is,’ Bryony agreed. ‘He’s cheeky and insensitive and thoughtless –’
‘And you’re still in love with him?’
Bryony gasped. ‘No!’
‘Then why is he riling you so much?’
‘Because he thinks he can just breeze back into all our lives after having left us. You know he actually came into my shop? He expected me to talk to him too.’
‘Well, let him.’
‘Let him what?’
‘Let him get on with it. You do what you do and let him get on with his Ben stuff. You can’t stop him, but you can control your response to him. By getting up and leaving your parents’ this afternoon, you gave him control. You showed him that he upset you. Is that what you wanted?’
‘But I couldn’t stay there a minute longer. I had to leave.’
Flo nodded. ‘I know it must have been hard, but if he sees you’re not bothered by him, he’ll soon go away.’
Bryony took a sip of her tea, wishing there wasn’t a hen feather in the sugar bowl.
‘That is what you want, isn’t it?’ Flo asked. ‘For him to go away?’
‘Yes, of course it is. With any luck, he’ll take his ugly beard and leave Castle Clare for the nearest jungle as soon as possible and things can go back to normal around here.’
‘He’s got a beard, has he?’ Flo said with a chuckle.
‘It’s horrible.’
‘Oh, I’ve always rather liked a beard. Makes a man…’ she paused, ‘manly.’
Bryony examined Flo, taking in the dreamy look on her face. Perhaps she was remembering a bearded beau from her past, she thought.
‘Have you ever been married, Flo?’
The dreamy expression on Flo’s face vanished as she was brought back to the present.
‘I’ve had my share of experiences, but marriage wasn’t one of them,’ she told Bryony. ‘My brother, Robert, married. It wasn’t a happy affair. Perhaps that put me off a bit. They had a son. Just the one. He’s a bit of a handful if I’m honest. Mitch. He married a woman who did a runner after their son’s first birthday party. The cake had just been cut. Can you imagine? It’s him, my great-nephew, who I bring into your shop from time to time. He’s a sweet boy. Painfully shy. It must be hard to grow up without your mother. I try to fill in a bit when I can, but I don’t suppose I’m much of a substitute.’
‘Oh, I bet he loves you. And I bet he loves coming here with all the animals,’ Bryony said.
‘Pity he’s not a little bit older and stronger, though,’ Flo said. ‘He’s only eight, you see, and he’s small for his age, I could do with a bit of help around the place.’ She shook her head. ‘But I mustn’t wish his little life away just so I can get a few chores done.’
‘Doesn’t your nephew help?’ Bryony asked.
‘Mitch?’ Flo almost screamed. ‘He’s no help to anyone. He just drops his boy off and disappears. I’ve no idea what he’s up to. He barely says a word when he does deign to come in. He just sort of skulks about a bit, grumbles something and then leaves. I notice he usually swings by before lunch and comes back after dinner so his boy gets fed twice. I don’t mind. Don’t get me wrong, now. But he never asks if that’s okay. Never checks if I’ve got enough food in. I don’t mind doing my bit and taking care of little Sonny, but I don’t like being taken advantage of.’
‘Of course not. Nobody does,’ Bryony said. ‘Sonny’s a sweet name.’
‘Yes, well, it beats his given name.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That daft mother of his called him Jefferson. Imagine landing a little boy with a name like Jefferson and then doing a runner after the birthday cake.’
Bryony had to hide her smile at the scenario Flo painted.
‘I don’t think Jefferson is too bad a name. Not when you think of all the odd things kids get called these days. Did you know there’s a Rainbow in Castle Clare?’
Flo almost spluttered into her tea. ‘No!’
‘She was in my shop just last week.’
‘It’s like something from the sixties.’
‘And it suits her too. She’s a fairy-like sort of girl.’
It was then that Bryony thought of something.
‘Flo?’ she said as she finished her tea. ‘You mentioned needing a bit of help around the place.’
‘Yes,’ Flo said. ‘The problem is I can’t afford to pay very much. In fact, it would be handy if I could pay in eggs and cabbages and other produce.’ She gave a laugh. ‘I don’t expect that would wash, though. Why? Do you have somebody in mind?’
‘Yes – me.’
Flo frowned. ‘But you’ve got your shop to run.’
‘Only during the day and not on Sundays or Mondays and my cupboards and fridge are permanently bare.’
‘But you wouldn’t want to clean out hen coops and shovel up donkey poo, would you?’
‘I would. I absolutely would.’
Flo looked puzzled by this.
‘I need the exercise,’ Bryony said, ‘and I like you, Flo.’
Flo shook her head. ‘There’s something else going on here, isn’t there?’
Bryony held her gaze for a moment and then sighed. ‘I need a place to hide.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ Bryony asked.
‘From this Ben, is it?’
Bryony nodded. ‘He’s already got to me at my shop and my family home and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone gives him my address, but he doesn’t know about this place.’
A small smile spread across Flo’s face. ‘So, this would be like a refuge. A hideaway!’ she said excitedly.
‘Yes!’ Bryony said.
‘Okay then, my dear. You’re on!’ Flo was on her feet and Bryony got up too.
‘Thank you so much, Flo! You don’t know how much this means to me.’ She flung her arms around the old lady who giggled like a little girl.
‘This will be our secret. A real adventure!’ Flo said and Bryony nodded. Yes, she thought, Cuckoo Cottage would be the perfect Ben-free zone.
After Josh had dropped Ben off at his sister’s house, he’d poured himself a glass of the cheap white wine Georgia had in her fridge and knocked it back. He shouldn’t have listened to Josh. He’d been wrong to go to Campion House. It had been great to see everyone again. He’d been made so welcome, but it had come
at a great price: he’d upset Bryony. She’d quietly slipped away some time after the dog walk. He hadn’t seen her go and Eleanor had looked upset when she’d realised her daughter had gone.
‘I’m sorry,’ he’d told her. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Nonsense,’ Eleanor had said. ‘You’re always welcome in this house. You know that.’
And Ben did, but he also knew that Bryony would never welcome him there nor in her shop.
‘Nor in Castle Clare,’ he said to himself. Actually, she probably wished he hadn’t come back to the UK at all. He bet she’d be happier if he’d found a friendly Amazonian tribe to live with. But he’d felt it was time to come back home. The truth was, he’d not only missed Bryony and his sister and friends; he’d missed the old town too, and he planned on staying. It was his hope – his dearest hope – that he could make peace with Bryony. Even if it didn’t go any further, even if they couldn’t go back to that special place they’d once shared, that warm and loving place where only the two of them existed, he’d feel as if he was making progress if she’d at least speak to him.
He poured himself a second glass of wine, remembering the time he and Bryony had drunk their first bottle of red together. They’d been seventeen and Bryony had sneaked it out of the dining room after a Christmas party. There’d been so many bottles left around the place that they’d felt sure one wouldn’t be missed.
They’d drunk it in Bryony’s bedroom, taking it in turn to swig from the bottle. It had been a horrible mistake. Ben had had to spend the night in Sam’s room because he was totally incoherent and couldn’t possibly drive home and Bryony had fallen asleep with all her clothes on. Ben had woken with a crashing hangover and Bryony had been sick all the next day. Luckily, Frank and Eleanor Nightingale had laughed it off, telling them that it was a lesson learned. Ben hadn’t touched red wine since even during his stint at a vineyard in Umbria.
Drinking his glass of white wine now, he remembered the pale-faced Bryony from that day after the red wine.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this, Ben Stratton,’ she’d told him.
‘It was your idea!’ he’d told her.
But she had forgiven him even though he didn’t need forgiving and they’d even been able to laugh about it later on.
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