by Anna Clifton
“Adam, he’s you at three!” Clarissa breathed in wonder. “I could see the resemblance from the photos you sent but I had no idea …” She then stopped, appearing to remember that the little boy in front of her was no photograph.
Crouching down in front of him, she gathered him into her arms. Abbie watched on with pride fit-to-burst as Henry, being the gorgeous, affectionate little boy that he was, snuck his arms around his grandmother’s neck and squeezed her back.
When finally the embrace was broken, Clarissa climbed to her feet and hurriedly swept tears from her face with the back of her hand. Abbie was so transfixed by her reaction that she didn’t notice Adam appear at her own side and place both hands on her shoulders from behind to guide her towards his parents.
“Mum and Dad, I’d like you to meet Abbie McCarthy.”
Clarissa and Tony Cooper wandered over to her, embraced her warmly and welcomed her as though she was a long lost friend. And Abbie knew as they enclosed her in their arms that she would forever associate them with the welcoming, earthy aromas of log fires, night-time mists and soft cashmere.
“Darling, I wish you’d stay with us in the house,” Clarissa complained as she held Abbie’s cold hands in her own warm ones. “I don’t know what Adam was thinking when he offered you the cottage instead. I don’t like to think of you and Henry down there all by yourselves.”
“Mum, they’ll be fine,” Adam argued gently with his mother, throwing Abbie a conspiratorial wink that sent her heart skipping like a smooth stone across mirrored waters. She smiled back at him, suspecting he’d been arguing with his mother in that patient, gentle manner all his life.
“Yes, Clarissa, they’ll be fine,” Tony weighed in jovially. “The girl doesn’t want to be overwhelmed by Coopers. Let her have her space and spend as much time up here as she wants. After all, it’s barely a five-minute walk across the fields. And she’d be far better served by you if you got her out of this cold rather than standing out here and arguing about the cottage.”
“Oh you’re right!” Clarissa cried. “What am I thinking? Come in. You must be frozen and exhausted. Are you hungry? I’ve kept supper for you.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Abbie replied as she let herself be lead into the entrance hall of the Cooper’s home. “You know what planes are like—you never seem to stop eating.”
“Look, Mum!” Henry cried, rushing up and grabbing her hand. He pulled her across to a full suit of armour standing to attention at the foot of an enormous staircase rising up before them.
“Isn’t he magnificent!” Abbie declared as she swung around to face Adam’s father. “Does he have a name?”
“As a matter of fact, he does,” Tony smiled as he approached Abbie and Henry. “His name’s Wilfred, and he’s quite a grown up boy really—about five hundred years old.”
“Is there someone in there?” Henry asked in fearful uncertainty before turning to look for Adam who was standing just behind him.
It was at that moment, after hesitating for the merest fraction of a second, that Henry looked straight at Adam and lifted his arms as a sign he wanted to be scooped up by his father.
Abbie pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of shocked delight. And in immediate response to Henry’s gesture, Adam gathered his son up into his arms so that he could look Wilfred in the eye.
“Lift his helmet up and see,” Adam suggested in a croaky voice, swallowing hard as he visibly grappled to absorb another precious offering of trust from his son.
Henry looked at Adam again for reassurance before finally slipping Wilfred’s metal face panel up to reveal the dark empty space within.
“You see, Henry, just a pile of old junk.”
Henry smiled at his father then, thankful he wasn’t going to run into Wilfred wandering around the house.
But behind them Abbie was busy fighting off a sudden panic attack that had been threatening since Adam had turned into his parents’ driveway. For as she watched Henry’s white blonde head next to Adam’s dark blonde one, she was overwhelmed by the notion that generations of Cooper fathers had picked up their little boys to see inside Wilfred’s helmet.
Only then did Abbie see that everything she’d taken for granted for Henry was now up for grabs.
No longer could she think of his future in terms of drifting through local Sydney schools and hanging out with his mates down at the beach during the holidays.
Suddenly Henry was no longer just Henry McCarthy, living with his great-aunt and mother in a tiny terrace in Paddington. Henry would inevitably become as much a Cooper as he was a McCarthy. A whole new life would beckon to him—a life so privileged that she was struggling to see how her role as his mother, and the home life she’d built for them both, wouldn’t shrivel away into nothingness in very short order.
“Henry, get down. I want to show you my bedroom,” Pete demanded, tugging on the end of Henry’s jeans. Adam lowered Henry to the ground and the two boys tore up the staircase and disappeared.
“Come in both of you. Mary’s making you a nice cup of tea,” Clarissa urged as she moved them into a warm living room off to the left of the entrance hall. “Here, Abbie, you sit near the fire and warm up. You’ve got no fat on you at all, have you?”
Abbie glanced at Adam who was still looking amused by the whole meeting. In fact, he was looking more relaxed and at peace than she’d ever known him to look; being home soothed him—she could see that.
“How long have your family lived here?” Abbie asked as a woman entered the room with a trolley of tea things—she felt as though she’d been transported back in time.
“Over three hundred years now,” Tony answered proudly. “We nearly lost it after the war because of the death duties, but my father saved it by breaking it down into tenancies. That gave the local farmers a chance to spread out their holdings too.”
“It’s a gorgeous house,” Abbie replied in wonder as she took in the rich wall coverings and rugs, scattered tables, vases and endless photo frames. “Warm and welcoming—a real home.”
“Thank you,” Clarissa beamed as she handed Abbie a cup of tea. “We try and keep it warm and welcoming. The austere look has never been our style.”
“So how long are you four staying?” Tony asked Adam who at that moment was flanked by the dozing Retrievers as he stood with his back to the fire, one of his ancestors glaring sternly down at them all from a portrait above the mantelpiece.
“Not quite a week, Dad. Then Abbie will take the boys home because JP’s asked me to stay on in London for a week or so to work with him on something that’s become urgent. Unfortunately that’s all Abbie and I can manage this time.”
“A week! Surely the boys and Abbie can stay longer than that!” Clarissa objected.
“Not this time, Mum.”
“Yes, Clarissa, stop bossing,” Tony interjected good-naturedly. “It’s a long leap from the Antipodes across the pond. Just be grateful they’re here at all.”
“But I want to introduce Abbie and Henry to everyone in the neighbourhood!” Clarissa declared with palpable disappointment.
“Well you can do that tomorrow at the fete,” Tony reassured his wife in his unflappable manner. “By the way, Abbie, I’ve signed you up for the bottle tombola stall.”
“Isn’t that a strictly male domain in this village?” Adam laughed in surprise.
“Well, Abbie will be the exception. All the chaps want to meet the mother of my second grandson. After all, any girl who doubles the number of my grandchildren out of the blue must be an exceptional type!”
“Don’t worry, Abbie,” Adam smiled. “We’ll set up a code of communication so that you can alert me when you’ve had enough of Dad and his cronies.”
“You won’t have time for codes, Adam,” Tony tossed back, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I’ve put your name down for the pork roll stall for the whole day.”
“Oh Dad, you didn’t!” Adam complained, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the
ceiling, but he couldn’t conceal the resigned smile that was playing at the corners of his mouth before he drove his gaze back to his father and added, “You realise that I’ll stink of pork fat for the rest of the week, don’t you?”
Abbie placed her empty china teacup on the little table at her side. She then sat back in her comfortable lounge amongst its down cushions as Adam chatted with his parents. All of a sudden the heavy malaise of jet lag was overwhelming her, aided and abetted by the cosy warmth of both the fire and her hosts.
Adam noticed.
“I’m going to take Abbie back to the cottage now,” he announced. “She’s done in.”
“Adam, there’s no need,” Abbie protested sitting up straight again in an effort to wake herself up. “I don’t want to rush you away.”
“Adam’s right. You do look done in,” Tony interjected as Henry and Pete arrived at her side.
“Mum, can I sleep here in Pete’s room? He has a bed with a roof.”
“You mean a four poster bed?” Abbie smiled, brushing[7] a lock of fair hair from his forehead with her fingertips.
“It has a curtain. We’ve turned it into a cubby house.”
“I don’t mind, but you’ll have to ask Adam.”
“Of course, if that’s okay with you,” Adam replied, looking at her searchingly.
But at that point the decision was made because Henry was already giving his mother a hug and saying good night before tearing out of the room again behind Pete.
Abbie was soon saying her goodbyes to Adam’s parents too, Tony promising to chase her out of bed bright and early for fete duties. There would be no hiding away from the Coopers in her little cottage that week—of that she was sure.
And Adam must have been thinking the same thing as he opened up the cottage just minutes later, giving her a droll look as he said, “Mum and Dad are pretty full on. I hope you didn’t feel overwhelmed.”
“Adam, they’re lovely,” Abbie replied, unable to stifle a yawn as she wandered through the front door. “They were exactly as Justin described them.”
“Justin?” he answered in surprise, walking ahead of her into the lounge room. Moving towards the fire, he began to load on extra logs to keep the cottage warm for the night.
“Justin told me that your dad is a less serious seventy-year-old version of you and an absolute gentleman, and that your mother would kill me with warmth and hospitality,” Abbie explained, perching on the edge of the lounge chair to watch Adam work the fire until the flames caught hold of the new logs. Then thrusting the poker[8] back into the stand on the edge of the fireplace, he slid onto the lounge beside her, perching on its edge as she was, his elbows resting on his thighs as he turned to her.
“I’m beginning to realise this friendship with Justin runs quite deep,” Adam murmured, tiny creases of approval playing at the edges of his eyes.
“We’re good friends,” Abbie agreed readily. “In fact, I don’t know what I would have done without him over the last few years.”
“So is Justin right then? Do you think I’m too serious?” he asked curiously, letting his eyes drift across her face like a floating feather.
Abbie nodded. “I do. But you’ve had a lot to be serious about lately, haven’t you?”
“I used to not be so serious,” he confessed, dropping his head into his hands and sinking his fingers into his hair. “Mum tells me I was a happy, easy going kid—exactly like Henry, I suspect. And that scares the hell out of me. Ellen’s death and then Pete’s troubles, they seem to have sucked away all the lightness. Since then life’s felt like a waiting room rather than a gift. What if Henry ends up like that? I’ll never forgive myself.”
He raised his eyes to stare into the crackling fire, his lips pressed together in pensive worry. Meanwhile, Abbie was fighting an almost overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, but instead she just nudged his shoulder with her own and offered gently, “‘Today is good. Tomorrow will be better.’”
Adam’s brows were knitted together quizzically when he turned to look at her.
“It’s a quotation,” Abbie explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s part of an embroidery work Maeve sewed for me when I was a little girl. I still have it on my wall at home. Think about it—it’s all you need really; there are things to be thankful for today and tomorrow is full of hope.”
Adam nodded and gave out a quiet, dubious laugh, “If only it were that simple.”
“Life is simple,” Abbie persisted. “It’s the people in it who make it complicated—Lord knows I’m the worst offender. But just think about today. It was good, wasn’t it? And you seem happy here in this village, so tomorrow will be even better.”
“I am happier here than anywhere else,” he admitted, watching her with a heavy look, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “You know,” he began again thoughtfully, “I suspect you have more hang-ups than a closet, Abbie McCarthy, but that mulish optimism of yours is a gift.”
And then ever so slowly he leant towards her as though he was about to close the remaining space between them and cover her mouth with his in one decided movement. In fact, she was so sure of it that she couldn’t breathe for a moment, her lips becoming full and sensitive in expectation.
“Having you and Henry here with Pete and me, it’s the strangest thing,” he murmured hoarsely, looking at her with an expression that seemed to suggest his moment of desire was fast escalating into something much more urgent. “It’s as though all the planets are moving into alignment.”
But then she knew she was wrong about the kiss thing because Adam was getting to his feet and saying, “I’d better go. Are you sure you’ll be okay here on your own? If you want to move up to the house at any time, just say the word.”
“Adam, stop worrying,” she reassured as she followed him to the door. “I’ll be fine.”
He smiled gently at her, but then the handsome angles of his face hardened again as he looked as though he was struggling not to slip his arms around her waist and kiss her goodnight. But all he did was give her a nod, tip his head under the low beam of the ancient front door and disappear out into the dark, cold night.
Chapter Nine
It was early and the morning was bitterly cold. The Cotswold countryside as far as the eye could see was in the grip of rigid, unforgiving frost. The impenetrable grey cloud that stretched from one horizon to the other offered no promise of respite from the below-freezing temperature. Yet despite the brisk start, the weather bureau had forecast an unseasonably warm and sunny day of about sixty degrees—a perfect day for the village’s winter fete.
Adam thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets for warmth as he wandered down the path towards the village with the dogs, Belle and Reuben, gambolling ahead of him through the long grass.
There was something different about that morning, yet for the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It was a strange, almost weightless feeling of having lost something—something he’d been lugging around for a long time but which had vanished without explanation as though carried away by a thief in the night. It was too weird a feeling to fathom and so he shrugged the collar of his heavy coat higher up around his ears for warmth and promptly dismissed the idea.
Instead he focused on the gentle calls of dairy cows nearby. They were contentedly wandering out of a milking shed and back towards the fields sprawling across the rolling hills on his left. Adam’s eyes scanned the distant farm buildings for a glimpse of their owner, Paul, his childhood friend.
Sure enough, the man himself appeared in the doorway of the shed, pulling in quiet contentment on a long awaited cigarette after his early start. Gazing beyond the fence line of his farm, he caught sight of Adam strolling along the bridle path that scaled the nearby hill and gave him a robust wave in greeting. Adam waved back but didn’t head over. He’d caught up with Paul on his last visit and knew he’d see him with his wife and kids at the fete later that day. Anyway, Adam was a
nxious to get to the village as soon as possible—to help set up, he told himself. But deep down he knew there was more to it than that.
As he turned the corner into the village’s main street he could see that Paul hadn’t been the only local to get out of bed early that morning. The church hall and the adjoining green were already a hive of activity as stalls and tents stood ready and waiting for the day’s activities to begin.
Adam made a beeline for the corner of the green where he suspected he would find his father, but he made slow progress. Friends and neighbours were keen to bail him up, welcome him home and ask about Henry—news had travelled fast.
Finally he was able to make his way to a stall that looked as though it was being set up for a tombola. Sure enough, there was his father holding a ladder against the roof of the hall.
“Morning!” Adam greeted him, an amused grin on his face.
“Morning to you too, Sleeping Beauty,” his father teased.
“Any reason you’re standing there holding onto a ladder with no one on it?”
“I’m waiting for my tarpaulin hanger to come down off the roof.”
“Well that’s a first! You don’t normally let anyone get their hands on your tarpaulins.”
“I’ve retired and appointed a successor who told me that seventy-year-olds in cord pants and Oxfords had no business climbing onto roofs[9] .”
“I couldn’t agree more; I’ve been telling you that for years. Who finally got through to you?”
And then Adam’s eyes lifted to see a petite but agile female figure moving down the ladder like a cat.
“It’s about time you turned up,” Abbie teased as she hit the ground.
“Have you been running already?” Adam asked, finally finding his voice after his eyes had made a ‘head to toe and back again’ journey of Abbie’s slim figure. She even looked like Catwoman in her black skins, matching fitted tracksuit jacket and fluorescent trainers.
“I found her looking lost on the side of the road when I was driving into Bourton this morning,” Tony explained.