Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill_An utterly uplifting holiday romance to escape with

by Emma Davies

  The others were all in the kitchen when he arrived, tucking into a plateful of sandwiches. Trixie jumped up as soon as he entered and crossed to the coffee pot.

  ‘Sit down, Tom, I’ll get you a drink.’

  He smiled gratefully. He hadn’t said a word to any of them about Isobel; he didn’t need to. Seth and Maddie had filled them in, and whatever they had thought of his attitude towards love and romance before, it had ceased to matter. It was now that counted, and Tom was one of them; they were on his side.

  He took a seat in between Seth and Clara and half-heartedly helped himself to some lunch, smiling at Trixie as his drink was gently placed beside him. The sandwich was halfway to his mouth when Maddie came flying down the hall. His heart leaped into his mouth as he looked up eagerly.

  ‘You'll never guess what just happened!’ she exclaimed, and then her face fell as she realised that the news she was bringing was not of the kind that Tom was so obviously waiting for. She mouthed Sorry at him.

  Seth looked up. ‘Don't you just hate it when people say things like that? Of course we're never going to guess, Maddie. Put us out of our misery before you wet yourself.’ Ordinarily, everyone would have laughed at that, but not today.

  She still stuck her tongue out at him though. ‘Rude.’ But then she stared directly at Tom, sobering. ‘Oh, Tom… this is really good news, except now…’

  ‘Spit it out, Maddie.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just had an email from some chap who makes documentaries. Apparently, he had dinner earlier in the week with, and I quote, a delightful young lady who spoke very eloquently about Joy’s Acre. So much so that he was sufficiently moved to find out more.’

  Trixie had just lifted her drink to her lips to take a sip and her hand jerked so violently that its contents slopped alarmingly against the rim, only just managing to cling onto the inside.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

  ‘It means, Trixie, that this chap – Adam is his name – wants to come and find out a little more about us with a view to possibly making a film about life at Joy’s Acre.’ She gave Tom a sideways glance, trying to restrain her enthusiasm. ‘Do you want to fill us in a bit?’

  ‘Not much to tell really. You all know Isobel and I had dinner with my sister-in-law the other day. Adam is her new man, and we got chatting, that’s all.’ He stopped. ‘Actually, that’s not all… Isobel got chatting, very eloquently as it happens, about falling in love with this place. How when she came here things in her life were very different to how they are now. How she loves all of you, the history of the place, the energy here, all the creativity… how that’s made her feel.’ He put his sandwich back down. ‘And she didn’t even know Adam was a film director, but she said it all anyway. She should be here telling you all about it, not me.’

  ‘Oh, Tom…’ Clara laid her hand over his.

  Seth picked up a stray piece of tomato from his plate. ‘Well, whether you realised it or not at the time, Tom, both Isobel, and you as well I would imagine, obviously made quite an impression.’ He dipped his head at them. ‘We probably ought not to get too excited about this,’ he nodded at Trixie who was visibly squirming in her seat, ‘at least not yet anyway. Not until we know what his intentions are. But it could provide the most wonderful opportunity for us, I don't need to tell anybody that.’

  He looked across to Maddie, who was still standing by the door. ‘What does he want to do? We could send him some information.’

  Maddie grinned. ‘I think it's moved on a little from there,’ she said. ‘He's spent quite some time this morning looking at everything on all the websites, and has even followed up some of the references to the history of Joy’s Acre, particularly Joy herself and her paintings. He says he's seen enough to want to pursue it, and has asked if he can come here and meet with us all.’

  The sound of Seth’s coughing was loud in the silent room. ‘So, when does he want to come?’

  ‘On Sunday.’ She looked at Tom. ‘He’s away the rest of the week on another project, but will be back at the weekend, and on Sunday he’s planning to spend the day with Tom's sister-in-law. He'd have to check with her of course, but it struck him that, provided it was okay with everyone else, it might make for the perfect opportunity.’

  ‘Oh my God…’ said Clara, voicing what everybody else was thinking. ‘I'm not normally here on Sunday of course but…’

  Trixie touched a hand to her hair. ‘Maybe it's time for a change,’ she said. ‘I'm not sure I'd want to be seen on television with bright pink hair.’

  ‘Let's not get too carried away,’ said Seth. He was trying hard to be the voice of reason, but Tom could see he was just as excited as everybody else. ‘What about you, Tom? Can you be here? It wouldn't seem to make much sense if you weren’t.’

  Tom glanced across at Maddie. ‘I'm playing at that wedding Saturday night,’ he said. ‘And it will be a late one.’

  ‘Well, yes but surely—’

  ‘And, like I said, Isobel should be here. It’s all down to her, how can any of this happen without her?’

  He stared down at the remains of his lunch, but it was all too much. He lurched to his feet, heading for the door, praying that Maddie would move because he really didn’t want to have to push past her.

  ‘Tom!’ she called after him.

  ‘It’s okay, Maddie, let him go…’

  He shouldn’t have, he knew that. But then the minute he walked out of the door at Joy’s Acre he already knew he was going to come here, and it was pointless trying to reason with himself. He was definitely in no mood for listening. The off-licence was on his way home, and kept very convenient opening hours, and even though the choice of whiskies on offer was very good, he couldn’t have cared less about that either.

  He drank the first glass straight down.

  Chapter 25

  The light was far too bright, but somehow Tom didn’t think that was what had woken him. He pushed his head down further into the pillow and resolutely shut his eyes. It didn’t make the pain any better but at least with his eyes closed there was marginally less to think about.

  For a couple more minutes he actually thought he might make it back to sleep, but then it came again, a nagging sensation that there was something not quite right. He lifted his head once more, trying to make sense of what his brain was trying to tell him, and then sat up cautiously, groaning as pulses of pain shot through his head. He could smell bacon…

  It took several minutes clinging to the edge of the bed before he felt sufficiently stable to stand, and quite a few more before the heaving sensation in his stomach subsided enough to allow him to move. He peeled his tongue away from the roof of his mouth and looked around for something to drink. Something that wasn’t whisky.

  Now that he was verging on being properly awake, the smell of bacon was not the only thing that was out of the ordinary. He could definitely hear voices. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was nine in the morning. What the hell was going on?

  He reached the bedroom door, and peered out onto the landing, even more confused when he opened it and realised that he recognised the sound of Clara laughing. He crept down the stairs.

  ‘Jesus, Tom, would you go and put some clothes on? I can’t cope with that this early in the morning.’ Clara was standing behind his ironing board, with what looked suspiciously like one of his shirts laid out flat on the top. She set the iron down and moved out from behind it, crossing to the kitchen table where she took a couple of items from a pile of neatly folded clothing.

  ‘I’m not sure I could cope with that at any time…’

  Tom’s head swivelled to see Trixie by the cooker. At least that solved the mystery of the bacon. His stomach lurched.

  ‘Right, put these on.’ Clara thrust a tee shirt and pair of jeans at him. ‘And then come and sit down.’

  He looked around the room in astonishment, and then at the clothes being held out for him, realising belatedly that he was standing in his boxer s
horts, and nothing else…

  ‘What have you done to my kitchen?’ he managed. His voice sounded weird, even to him.

  ‘Cleaned,’ said Clara, matter-of-factly. ‘And tidied, and washed and ironed. Thrown all your rubbish away, and poured the rest of the whisky down the sink.’

  ‘And opened the windows,’ added Trixie. ‘Don’t forget that. It smelled like someone had died in here.’ She gave him a very direct look. ‘Now go on, get dressed. Your breakfast is nearly ready.’

  He stared at her. ‘Trixie, I really don’t think I could…’

  ‘Clothes,’ she said. ‘Put them on?’ The tone in her voice brooked no argument. He did as he was told.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I think we meant for you to go somewhere else and put them on, but… never mind. At least it’s better than all that flesh.’ She turned back to the cooker. ‘You can sit down now.’

  He felt slightly happier being seated if he were honest, but he was still having huge trouble trying to keep up. He cradled his head in both hands, running his fingers through his hair.

  ‘Ladies…’ he began. ‘I realise I’m not at my best. But would one of you kindly explain what is going on?’

  Clara whisked the shirt off the ironing board, and buttoned it up over a hanger that was dangling from the door frame.

  ‘Well, it’s really very simple. Trixie and I are your fairy godmothers for this morning, because in case you haven’t realised, it’s Saturday.’

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘Saturday? The day of the wedding… The wedding you’re playing at, in just over four hours?’

  ‘Oh, shit…’

  ‘Exactly…’

  ‘How can it possibly be Saturday, it’s only…’ He struggled to count off the days he’d been at home, but he couldn’t get much beyond Thursday.

  Trixie placed a groaning plate of food in front of him. Sausages, bacon, mushrooms, fried egg and tomatoes.

  ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘Eat that, no arguments mind. I don’t care whether you feel sick. I’m an ex-barmaid don’t forget, I’ve seen it all, and heard all the excuses. You need food inside you, end of.’

  It was now half past ten, and Tom was again sitting at the kitchen table, only this time, he was showered, shaved, properly dressed, and just about to drink another cup of coffee.

  ‘Better?’ Trixie sank into the chair beside him, an altogether softer smile on her face.

  He was amazed to find that he did feel much better.

  ‘You two make quite a team,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘And I’m sorry… for being such a pain in the arse.’

  Trixie leaned across, nudging his arm. ‘It’s okay, it’s allowed, under the circumstances…’

  Clara came and joined them at the table. ‘We’ve missed you the last couple of days, you know.’ She gave Trixie a pointed look. ‘But you know that Adam is coming tomorrow, don’t you? It’s all been arranged.’

  Tom didn’t know for definite, but he had guessed as much. ‘It’s a great opportunity,’ he said. ‘And it has to go ahead, I know that.’ He inhaled and then let his breath back out slowly. ‘It was just too much, you know; having it all come about because of Isobel, and then knowing that she wouldn’t be around to see it. It didn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘And you’ve still heard nothing from her?’ asked Clara.

  ‘Of course he hasn’t. He wouldn’t have got himself into such a state if he had, would he?’ replied Trixie.

  ‘No, I guess not… It’s early days though, Tom. Don’t give up hope yet. She’s obviously going through a difficult time, and I’m sure she’ll be in touch when she can.’

  Tom gave them both a grateful smile. ‘You’re both being very kind, but it’s ridiculous, I know that. We hardly know one another… For goodness’ sake, we shared one kiss, and that’s all, and I’m acting like some love-sick teenager. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

  ‘Yup, you’ve certainly got it bad,’ said Clara. ‘I’ve never seen you like this, that’s for sure…’ She gave him a warm smile. ‘But do you know something? I really rather like this version of you. The one that cares about someone else more than they care about themselves. The one that isn’t afraid of talking about how they really feel. And the one who for the first time in their life has discovered what it means to fall in love…’

  He opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again, staring at her. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee, and then checked the clock on the wall. And finally, he made eye contact with both Clara and Trixie, who were grinning at him like Cheshire cats.

  ‘So, what do I do now?’

  ‘You drink your coffee, and then you go and get your things because Seth will be here in about ten minutes. You get all your gear together, and let him drive you to the wedding where you will play beautiful music and help a young couple to celebrate their marriage. And then you start to take one day at a time because that’s all you can do. And put your trust in fate, of course, because if it’s meant to be, it will be…’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up for this, Tom? You still don’t look great to be honest.’

  Tom grimaced, acknowledging the truth in Seth’s words. ‘I can’t let these people down,’ he said. ‘Or the guys in the band. I’ll be fine. And, sadly, having gone on one or two benders in the past, I don’t feel as bad as I might have otherwise.’

  They had just turned into the huge wide gates of the wedding venue and were making their way up the sweeping drive. It seemed incomprehensible that he had been here with Isobel only a matter of a week or so ago. So much had happened since then.

  ‘And you really didn’t have to drive me, Seth, I would have been okay.’

  Seth checked his mirror. ‘You may well be still over the limit, there’s no point in taking chances.’

  ‘Yeah, but now you’ve got to hang around for me to finish and then bring the van back. These things don’t always have a set finishing time, you know. I really don’t know how late I’m going to be.’

  ‘No, I know,’ replied Seth, bringing the van to a halt by the rear door of the hotel, almost exactly where Tom had brought Isobel before. ‘But then again I could always leave the van here and get a lift home with Maddie.’

  Tom nodded automatically, before realising what Seth had actually said. He looked around the car park, sure enough spying Maddie’s sleek sports car in one corner.

  ‘Well now I feel really bad, having you drag Maddie over here as well. I’m sorry, Seth. I’ve made a total bollocks of this, haven’t I?’

  Seth didn’t reply, but merely slid out of the driver’s seat. ‘Right, come on, I’ll give you a hand with your gear.’

  The blokes in the band were a great bunch, but like most blokes in a band they smoked, drank, and were not afraid of a ribald comment or two. That was why Tom liked them. They were decent, uncomplicated, ordinary people, and hugely talented with a mass of creative energy that was highly infectious. But give them an inch, and they could sometimes take a mile, and given they were expecting to meet Isobel today, Tom really didn’t think he could deal with their banter.

  He was just about to make up some excuse and let them know she wouldn’t be coming when he felt the weight of a hand on his arm. It was Ginger, the oldest member of the band, and a good friend.

  ‘That’s tough luck, mate,’ he said, with a look to Seth, who had just deposited an accordion at the edge of the stage. ‘We’ve been told about Isobel,’ he added, ‘so you needn’t worry; you’ll get no trouble from any of us today. An’ I’ve threatened to thump anyone who does.’

  Seth straightened, looking a little sheepish. ‘I thought it best to explain,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to cope otherwise.’

  Tom dragged in a breath. He was grateful, but it still hurt. ‘Cheers, Ginger,’ he said. ‘We’ll just play, okay. And I’ll try not to let anyone down.’

  The big man nodded, and went off with Seth to bring in the rest of the gear. With Maddie helpi
ng as well, it wasn’t long before the equipment was set up, and reluctantly Tom picked up his banjo. There were plenty of wedding guests milling around now, and they were going to want to hear some sort of music soon. He plucked a string, listening to see if the note was in tune before adjusting it slightly. He checked his watch – there was only twenty minutes to go before they were on.

  He had no idea how he was going to get through this. His head was feeling better than it had done first thing, but his shoulders were tight and there was a dull throb at the back of his eyes. It wouldn’t take much for a full-blown headache to erupt again. He rubbed a hand across his face and concentrated on his task.

  At first he didn’t notice. Amid the jumble of other instruments being tuned, it was hard to make out any individual sound, but gradually the notes wormed their way into his brain. It wasn’t that they were wrong, simply that they were coming from the wrong instrument. He looked up at the rest of the band, but they were all engrossed in what they were doing. He turned back to his banjo, but then looked up again sharply. Someone was tuning a violin…

  His head swivelled sharply to his right, eliciting a jab of pain, but he didn’t care. Because, standing just a little distance away, leaning up against a table, was Isobel.

  As soon as their eyes met she broke into a run, her violin held out to one side. Seconds later, his hand was buried somewhere in her hair as he pulled her to him, breathing in the very scent of her. She was trembling as he kissed her, but after a few moments she audibly took a deep breath, and he could feel her lips begin to curve upwards into a smile as she very slowly drew away. She sniffed, pulling herself up to the tallest she could be so she could look him directly in the eye.

  ‘One of these days I'm going to do that when I'm not holding a violin in my hands.’

  Tom looked down at it, and then very gently took it from her, one hand still resting against her shoulders, and then, without even looking, he thrust it into the hands of the person standing next to him.