The Eclair Affair

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Abby had almost started a pool on when Jonny would actually buy a pair of binoculars, but then decided it was cruel, and that if he ever found out he’d be mortified. It was the regular customers who kept the reserve going, even if most of them only bought a day pass and a slice of carrot cake rather than a £300 pair of Helios Fieldmasters with high-transmission lenses and prism coatings.

  ‘I need to fill up the feeders,’ Abby said to Gavin, who was leaning on the desk alongside her, turning a reserve map into a paper aeroplane.

  She went to the storeroom and lifted bags of seed, mealworms and fat balls onto a small trolley, then wheeled it outside to the bank of feeders just beyond the main doors. It was often awash with small birds: blue tits, great tits, robins, chaffinches and greenfinches. Occasionally a marsh tit would find its way there, or a cloud of the dusky-pink and brown long-tailed tits, their high-pitched peeps insistent. Small flocks of starlings would swoop down, cause a couple of minutes of devastation and then leave again. Squirrels regularly chanced their luck, and rabbits and pheasants waited for fallen seed on the grass below.

  Often, before visitors had even stepped through the automatic door of the visitor centre they had seen more wildlife than they found in their own back gardens, and once they were on the reserve, the possibilities were almost endless.

  Abby waited for a male greenfinch to finish his lunch and fly away, then set to work.

  Her job title, activity coordinator, didn’t encompass all that she did for the reserve, but she didn’t mind. There wasn’t anywhere she’d rather spend her time, and her role mattered. She belonged at Meadowsweet, and if Penelope wanted her to get more creative, to double the number of visitors, then so be it.

  Gavin had followed her out, pulling his reserve-issue baseball cap on, and Abby noticed how muddy his ranger overalls were.

  ‘That was a kick up the backside,’ he said, speaking frankly now they were well out of Penelope’s earshot.

  ‘Not unexpected, though,’ Abby replied. ‘There have been rumours about Wild Wonders for ages, and taking a fresh look at how we run this place wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?’

  ‘We could talk about it over a drink in the Skylark later, if you and the others are keen?’

  ‘You’ve got a pub pass, then?’

  ‘Jenna’s taking the girls to her mum’s for tea, so I’m jumping on the opportunity.’

  ‘I’ll see who I can round up,’ Abby said.

  ‘Grand. I heard it was someone’s birthday at the beginning of the week. We should do a bit of celebrating.’

  ‘How did you—?’ Abby started, but Gavin placed a full feeder back on its hook, then grinned and sidled off, whistling.

  She got back to her task, exchanging pleasantries with visitors as they strolled down from the car park. That was the thing about working on a nature reserve – nobody turned up grumpy. They were all coming for enjoyment, to stretch their legs and get a dose of fresh air, spot a species they loved or discover something new. There were the odd children who were brought under duress, but there was enough on offer to engage a young, curious mind once they gave it a chance.

  On the whole, the reserve was a happy place, and she wished that Penelope would embody that a bit more. She had always been a strict, no-nonsense boss, but even so, Abby had noticed a distinct cooling over the last few months. She could put it down to the threat of Wild Wonders, but Abby had a feeling there were other things Penelope was worried about but had so far failed to share with her team.

  But then, everybody had things that they wanted to keep to themselves. Abby had made friends here, but the thought of any of them – even Rosa – knowing her deepest insecurities, her past mistakes, made her feel sick. She hadn’t even realized she’d told anyone when her birthday was. She liked to keep them quiet, but she had to concede that a few drinks at the pub would be nice, and nothing they didn’t already do.

  On Monday, the August bank holiday, Abby had turned thirty-one. Her sister Tessa, Tessa’s husband Neil, and their two children Willow and Daisy had thrown Abby a birthday picnic in the garden of their modern house in Bury St Edmunds. Abby loved spending time with them. She was helping with the pond they were creating and had started trying to come up with ways to describe the wildlife that Willow, at eight, would be enthusiastic about, writing some of her ideas down in her notebook. Three-year-old Daisy was still a way off being converted, though Abby had her in her sights.

  But thirty-one somehow felt even more of a milestone than thirty had. Abby had no children of her own, no husband or boyfriend or even a glimmer of romance on the horizon – not that, after her last relationship, she felt inclined to dive into something new. It had been a long time since she’d shared her bed with anyone besides a large husky with twitchy ears and icy-blue eyes. Raffle wasn’t even supposed to go in her bedroom, but it had taken about five minutes from the moment she’d picked him up from the rescue centre for that rule to get broken.

  Working on the reserve, and the long morning and evening walks that kept her husky exercised, meant that Abby was fit, her five-foot-four frame slender but not boyishly flat. Her dark-blonde hair was shoulder length, often in a ponytail, and she wore minimal make-up, usually only mascara to frame her hazel eyes. Being glamorous wasn’t one of her job’s remits, and the village pub didn’t have much higher standards.

  As she tidied up the visitor centre later that day, Abby decided an evening in the Skylark with her friends was just what she needed. She took her usual route home, knowing the land like the back of her hand.

  The approach road that led from Meadowgreen village to the reserve’s car park was long and meandering, forcing cars to slow down, twisting around the larger, established trees, and a single building. If Abby followed the road it would take her three times as long to get home, so instead she cut through the trees and came out halfway along it, opposite the building it curved around: Peacock Cottage.

  Part of the Meadowsweet estate and therefore owned by Penelope, Peacock Cottage was a quaint thatched house with pristine white walls, a peacock-blue front door and four, front-facing windows – two up and two down – as if it had been drawn by a child. It was isolated, surrounded on three sides by trees, but also encountered regularly by visitors going to or from the reserve, the approach road passing within a hair’s breadth of the low front gate. Abby didn’t know who tended to the hanging basket – she’d never seen anyone go in or out of the cottage, though it still managed to look immaculate.

  She wondered how many people driving past, or walking the less-trodden paths through the surrounding woodland came across the cottage and thought about who lived there. Was it Mrs Tiggywinkle? Red Riding Hood’s grandma? Did the witch who lured Hansel and Gretel in hide inside, behind walls that appeared completely normal to adults, the true, confectionary nature of the house only visible to children? Abby had conjured up all kinds of interesting occupants, something that she’d never done when peering at Swallowtail House, perhaps because she knew Penelope had once lived there.

  Once she’d left the cottage behind and emerged from the trees, Abby was in the middle of Meadowgreen village. She walked past the post box and the old chapel that had been converted into the library-cum-shop, and was run by her inquisitive next-door neighbour, Octavia Pilch, its graveyard garden looking out of place next to the newspaper bulletin board.

  Then – as always – she crossed over the main road and walked along the outside of the tall, redbrick wall that shielded Swallowtail House and its overgrown gardens from the rest of the world. As she got to pass the main gates of the house twice a day, she didn’t quite understand her need to visit it that morning, except that it had drawn her to it, as if it wanted to give up all its secrets.

  She crossed back over as she came level with her road, unlocked the red front door of No. 1 Warbler Cottages, and was greeted enthusiastically by Raffle. The evening was warm so she discarded her reserve fleece, attached Raffle’s lead and set off on one of her husky’s favo
urite walks, neither she nor her dog ever tiring of being outdoors. Pounding through the countryside would help her think about how she could rescue Meadowsweet from the threat of closure, something that, until today, she hadn’t even allowed herself to contemplate.

  If you loved the The House of Birds and Butterflies and want to read on, then click here to buy now

  Also by Cressida McLaughlin

  THE CANAL BOAT CAFÉ

  THE ONCE IN A BLUE MOON GUESTHOUSE

  A CHRISTMAS TAIL

  Also by Cressida McLaughlin

  The Canal Boat Café series

  All Aboard

  Casting Off

  Cabin Fever

  Land Ahoy!

  The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out

  The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Starboard Home

  The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse

  Open For Business

  Fully Booked

  Do Not Disturb

  Wish You Were Here

  Primrose Terrace series

  Wellies & Westies

  Sunshine & Spaniels

  Raincoats & Retrievers

  Tinsel & Terriers

  A Christmas Tail – The Complete Primrose Terrace Story

  The House of Birds and Butterflies series

  The Dawn Chorus

  The Lovebirds

  Twilight Song

  Birds of a Feather

  About the Author

  Cressy was born in South East London surrounded by books and with a cat named after Lawrence of Arabia. She studied English at the University of East Anglia and now lives in Norwich with her husband David. When she isn’t writing, Cressy spends her spare time reading, returning to London or exploring the beautiful Norfolk coastline.

  If you’d like to find out more about Cressy, visit her on Twitter and on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you!

  /CressidaMc‌LaughlinAuthor

  @CressMcLaughlin

  cressmclaughlin

  www.cressidamclaughlin.com

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