A walk around Furzewell could never take very long. Leaving Eagle House, we strolled down Pump Lane to Fore Street, looking behind trees, in ditches and among brambles all the way and calling out for Monty. We passed a pair of thatched cottages, two cul-de-sacs of modern houses, then the entrance to School Lane, which, needless to say, led to the primary school where both of us would soon be spending our days. Next came the village hall opposite the little church, and then we arrived at the three small shops, of which Furzewell was justifiably proud. In these days of internet shopping and retail parks, it was quite something for such a small village to still boast a privately run greengrocery, butcher’s shop and general store. How they’d survived was frankly beyond me, unless it was simply because of the distance to the nearest town and the lack of a bus route. Mum had explained that quite a few of the residents were now getting on a bit, and preferred not to drive too far. But I’d also noticed that the managers of the shops had kept up with new demands, so that they appealed to the younger families too. As well as the old favourites – cabbages, swede and turnips, Granny Smith apples, plums – the greengrocer’s had very prominent displays of the more fashionable items like Swiss chard, kale, avocadoes and guava, all organic of course. The butcher’s shop was so well known for the quality and value of its locally sourced meat that people drove to Furzewell from bigger towns just to stock up their freezers. And I’d yet to discover all the items sold by the enterprising owners of Furzewell General Store, which was a grocery shop, bakery, newsagent’s, sweetshop, draper’s and hardware shop all rolled into one. The same family also owned the property next door to the shop, which I remembered as a nice little house when I was at school here, but which had now been turned into quite a trendy café, simply called Smiths after the owners. It was much loved by the young parents who congregated here after dropping off their children at school, to chat over their macchiatos and their flat whites.
As Mia and I walked into the shop, Mum looked up in surprise from her position at the till.
‘I thought you’d be busy all morning unpacking and sorting everything out,’ she said.
‘We’re looking for Monty,’ Mia told her, and Mum gave me a quick nod of understanding. ‘We’re going to try the park next.’
‘And we also, obviously, need chocolate and magazines,’ I said with a wink. ‘To keep us going.’
These necessities having been chosen and purchased, we said goodbye again, promising to be home by one o’clock, when Mum finished her shift, to have lunch together. We carried on down Fore Street to the little village green, where the remaining village pub, the Fox and Goose, stood on a small gravelled forecourt, with wooden benches and tables against the cream stone walls. Josh and I had often sat here in summertime to enjoy a pub lunch. I sighed to myself as I remembered those happier days, but tried to push the memories away. I’d never be able to get on with my new life back in Furzewell if I started getting sentimental about things like this – the memories were everywhere here.
As well as the pub, the village green was encircled by half-a-dozen pastel-coloured cottages known collectively and unimaginatively as The Houses on the Green. Number Four had been the home of my childhood friend, Amber. It was mostly in her company that I’d spent the early part of my teenage years, and these were the memories I was happy to indulge now, looking back fondly on our evenings of illegal booze, cigarettes and giggling with the local boys who gathered, like us, under that big horse chestnut. I was smiling to myself as we turned into Furzewell Park Lane opposite the green.
‘We need to keep looking for Monty, Mummy,’ Mia reminded me, bringing me back abruptly to the present. ‘Do you think we’ll find him in the park?’
‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Don’t get your hopes up.’
‘But my hopes are up. I don’t want them to go down.’
I smiled. ‘OK. Come on, then, let’s have a good look round the park.’
Furzewell Park, like the three shops, was something of an anomaly for such a small village. It had once, apparently, been the grounds of a big old mansion, which had long ago been demolished, and two small cul-de-sacs of 1960s semi-detached houses and bungalows now stood on its site. The local council, which must have had more funds back then than it seemed to have these days, had bought the mansion’s parkland and turned it into a recreation facility for the area. Like the village green, it had served the purposes of generations of raucous teenagers and courting couples, but these days there didn’t seem to be much evidence of football or cricket being played here, the tennis courts had returned to nature and the children’s play area had seen better days.
Mia and I were just scrabbling about in some hedgerow at the far side of the park, calling out ‘Monty! Monty!’ as if our lives depended on it, when from behind me a voice suddenly said: ‘Nic! I thought it was you.’
I swung around.
‘Amber!’ Straightening up and pushing my hair out of my eyes, I waded out of the bushes and gave her a hug.
She was laughing. ‘You’ve got twigs in your hair! What are you doing here?’
‘Searching for Monty.’ I nodded at Mia, who was still in the bushes, peering around. ‘Mia’s desperate to find him, but—’
‘I mean, what are you doing here in Furzewell? Visiting your mum, are you?’
‘Um … yes. Kind of. Well, actually, it’s more than just a visit. But what about you? Are you visiting your family too?’
Amber and I had been best friends, back in the day, but I hadn’t seen her for years. The last I’d heard, she was living in a flat share in Bristol. I sometimes saw her posts on social media, and I knew she was still single but had moved around a bit since, like me, she’d left Furzewell during her early twenties.
‘I moved back here, just before Christmas, actually. Bought myself a starter home on the new estate. I decided it was about time, at thirty-five, I grew up, got on the housing ladder and stopped living like some kind of ageing hippy.’
I laughed. ‘Hardly! But good for you. And it’s lovely that you’re back here as well as me.’
She looked at me with her head on one side.
‘What do you mean? Have you and Josh moved back too?’
‘Not Josh. Just me. And Mia, of course.’
There was silence – apart from the forlorn cries of ‘Monty! Monty!’ coming from the shrubbery.
‘What’s happened, Nic?’ Amber said at length. ‘Have you split up? You two … you go back forever.’
‘Mm. Perhaps that’s half the problem,’ I said wearily. ‘Look, I’d better not go into it all right now. But let’s get together for a drink sometime – soon! I’m so pleased we’re going to be able to spend time together.’ Carried away by the welcome thought of having fun with my old friend again, imagining us both as some kind of born-again teenagers, I added: ‘Where does everyone hang out around here these days?’
‘Hang out?’ she said, giving me an amused look, eyebrows raised. ‘Come on, Nic, this is Furzewell, and we’re both practically middle-aged. We can have a beer in the Fox and Goose if you like. I haven’t been in there for years. Or we could go for a coffee in Smiths.’
‘Right.’ I felt a bit silly. Of course, we were a bit past giggling together on the village green. ‘Well, yes, a beer in the Fox and Goose would be nice. I could ask Mum to babysit one evening. I’m off all this week, starting my new job next Monday. What about you? What are you up to these days?’
‘I work from home. Editing scientific journals.’
‘Blimey. You always were good at that kind of stuff. You got a degree in – chemistry, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes…’ She looked at her watch. ‘Look, sorry, Nic. It’s great to see you, but can we catch up properly another time? I’ve only come out because I’ve got a dentist’s appointment, and then I need to get back to walk my dog before I get on with my work.’
‘Oh! I didn’t know you had a dog.’
‘Yes – Benji.’ She smiled. ‘We have got a lot to catch up on, hav
en’t we?’
We made a date for the following evening, and were just saying goodbye when Mia stomped out of the shrubbery again, looking cross.
‘You’re not helping to find Monty, Mummy.’
‘Who is Monty?’ Amber asked, looking puzzled.
‘My mum’s cat.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, good luck. I’m not a cat lover myself.’ She pulled a face. ‘Don’t like what they do to the bird population. Prefer dogs.’
‘Fair enough.’ I shrugged. ‘I like both. Well, let’s chat some more tomorrow night. Bye, Amber.’
Mia and I continued on our way round the park. She’d practically lost her voice by now with her calls for Monty, which I joined in with less and less enthusiasm. This search was never going to end well.
‘We can try again tomorrow,’ I said as we left the park and headed up the hill, past the entrance road into the new estate being built on High Meadow, past the farm, and turned into the other end of Pump Lane to complete our circuit of the village. I wondered how on earth I was going to console Mia when she finally had to accept that we weren’t going to find the cat. Perhaps Mum would agree to the ginger-and-white kitten idea.
‘I met Amber Stowell in the park,’ I told Mum when she arrived home for lunch. ‘She’s moved back to the village – bought one of those new houses on the High Meadow estate.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise any of them were occupied yet.’
‘Yes: I walked past on my way back. There are a few with curtains up now, and cars parked outside.’ I shrugged. ‘It’ll be good to have some new young families in the village, won’t it?’
‘Yes. And nice that Amber’s moved back here. Is she married now, then?’
‘Seems not. We said we’d meet for a drink tomorrow night. Is that OK?’
‘Oh, yes – lovely, I’ll join you! I do like a girls’ night out.’
I blinked. ‘Mum, I was going to ask if you’d mind babysitting. I won’t make it late. But—’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. Fine.’ She turned away. ‘I’m going out the next night anyway, with Angie and Sue.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ She gave me a look. ‘But you know, you could always ask Amber round here for an evening instead. It would save your money. And we could all have a nice glass of wine and a chat. All girls together – it’d be fun.’
I didn’t quite know how to respond. I knew perfectly well I had to be careful about my money, but I was looking forward to having a drink with Amber, and this would be the first time I’d met a friend for a drink for years. Mum’s little hint about cosy nights in – all girls together – made me feel slightly queasy. I hadn’t wanted to be single again. It wasn’t something to be cheerful about. Being back here in Furzewell was the only good thing about it. But I did appreciate how good Mum was being to me and Mia. So I just smiled and said I’d consider it another time.
CHAPTER 3
Mia slept a little better that second night, tired out from her disturbed sleep the night before. But we were both woken by the rooster again before dawn, and she’d climbed into bed with me, talking about renewing the search for Monty, before I’d even got my eyes open.
‘It’s pouring with rain outside,’ I muttered, listening to the patter on the windows and pulling her close to me, stroking her soft dark curls, so like her father’s, in the hope that she might drift back off to sleep.
‘Poor Monty. He’ll be all wet and cold.’
I sighed. Josh had called the previous evening, wanting to talk to Mia. She’d brightened up when she heard his voice, smiling at something he said, but then fell silent and handed the phone back to me.
‘Daddy says Bella misses me,’ she said mournfully, and I cursed Josh for his lack of tact. I knew I’d have to have a serious conversation with her about the fact that – let’s face it – Monty was unlikely to turn up now. Perhaps after breakfast, I thought as we cuddled up together and listened to the rain beating down and the cock crowing.
But after breakfast, and after Mum had left for work, just as I was loading the dishwasher and thinking about how to broach that conversation, there was a ring at the doorbell and there on the step, shaking her spotty umbrella and kicking off her purple welly boots, was my grandmother.
‘Gran!’ I gave her a hug. ‘I was going to come down and see you later. You shouldn’t have come out in this rain.’
She gave me a look. ‘You think a drop of rain’s going to keep me indoors, Nicky? What am I, a lump of sugar, now, that’s going to melt in the wet?’ She shrugged herself out of her mac and hung it up, turning back to grab hold of Mia as she ran towards her. ‘Look at you!’ she said, laughing. ‘You’re so tall now. So grown up. I suppose you’ll be thinking about going out to work, driving your mum’s car and getting married soon?’
‘No, Granny Helen!’ Mia giggled. ‘I’m only five!’
‘But you’re going to be eighteen on your birthday, isn’t that right?’ Gran teased her.
‘No! I’ll be six, and my birthday is on April the twenty-eighth.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ She winked at me. ‘Well, I’d better start saving up for a big birthday present, then. Six is a very special age.’
‘That’s what you said last year about five.’ Mia giggled again.
‘Did I? Dear me. I must be getting muddled in my old age.’
I laughed. Muddled was the last word I’d use to describe my grandmother. At eighty-one, she was as sharp and bright as ever, as capable, sensible and intelligent as anyone half her age. On her eightieth birthday, in front of the family gathered here for a celebratory lunch, she’d announced that she was moving out of Eagle House – where she’d lived with Mum since my granddad died – into one of the little bungalows in Nightingale Court, a sheltered complex for elderly people opposite the village school. Mum had put up a barrage of protests.
‘But why on earth can’t you stay here? There’s so much room! What’s the point of paying rent on a bungalow? You don’t need to. You don’t need sheltering – you’re still as fit as a fiddle!’
Gran had waited until she’d finished, and then, calmly but firmly, explained that she’d thought it all through, that although she was lucky enough to still be fairly fit, she was beginning to find the stairs a bit much and it would only get worse, that she wanted to move now, while she could cope with the upheaval, before it got too difficult or her health deteriorated. Besides, it’d be a nice change, and she’d only be just down the road. And yes, she could afford the rent, she’d worked out her finances, she had enough money, she’d never been a big spender, so even if she lived to a hundred there would still be a bit left for Mum after she’d gone.
At this, Mum had reacted indignantly, saying she hadn’t meant anything of the sort, she didn’t want Gran’s money, she could spend it on whatever she liked – throw it all away, give it all to a cats’ home, chuck it in the sea for all she cared. And if a change was what she wanted, why didn’t she bugger off to Ireland, like every other bugger in this family seemed to do.
At the mention of Ireland we had shifted in our chairs, looking at each other, panic in our eyes. It could have escalated into something very unpleasant at that point, but Gran simply got on with her lunch, without responding.
‘Mum,’ I warned, shaking my head at her. ‘Perhaps you and Gran should talk about this another time.’
Josh, who tended to be the conflict-avoider, had said, ‘Yes. It’s a birthday party. Let’s all have some cake.’ Everyone quickly started to talk about the birthday cake, the cards and presents and flowers that Gran had been given by her friends in the village, and the subject of her move was dropped. But it did go ahead, a couple of months later. Gran quietly stuck to her guns. Even now, there was still a bit of tension between her and Mum on the subject.
‘So…’ Gran began as she sipped the coffee I’d made her, giving me a look over the top of her glasses. ‘Your mum says you’re staying here for g
ood.’
‘In Furzewell? Yes. I’m starting work at the school on Monday.’
‘And is Mia happy about that?’ she said quietly, glancing through the door into the lounge where Mia was engrossed in a kids’ TV programme. ‘Leaving her old school, starting somewhere new?’
‘Well, obviously not happy exactly.’ I sighed. ‘This situation … moving her in the middle of the school year, leaving her friends, her home … her dad. Well, it isn’t ideal, obviously.’
‘But necessary.’
‘If I didn’t think so, Gran, I wouldn’t be doing it.’
‘Fair enough.’ She nodded. There was kindness, understanding, in her eyes, as well as sadness.
I swallowed. ‘You haven’t asked why.’
‘None of my business. Whatever the reason, you wouldn’t make the decision lightly, I know that. It’s not easy being a single parent. Your mum knows all about that.’
‘Yes. That’s why it wasn’t what I wanted. Why I tried to stick at it – my marriage. But…’
I shook my head, couldn’t go on. I’d been putting a brave face on it for a long time, for Mia’s sake, but talking to my lovely grandmother now, the misery and unfairness of it all had suddenly risen up and threatened to overwhelm me.
She covered my hands with hers – hands that were worn thin, gnarled and weather-beaten but still strong despite the arthritic changes to her knuckles that had bent and distorted some of the fingers. The hands of a working woman. She’d grown up on a farm, milked cows, scrubbed out milking sheds, raised four children and then, when they were about forty, she and Grandad suddenly changed direction. They sold the farm, moved here to Furzewell, and while he ran a garden centre just outside the village, Gran fulfilled her ambition to train as a teacher. She’d finished up as deputy head of the village school, and was still – twenty years since her retirement – a respected member of the community. I’d always intended to follow in her footsteps, but I’d been in too much of a hurry to get married and throw myself into domesticity to bother going to university. Josh and I had wanted a family quickly, but as things turned out, it was several years before I had Mia, and we hadn’t had any more. By the time I started to regret not fulfilling my own career ambitions, the best I could do was to follow Mia to school when she turned four, working as a teaching assistant. I’d been happy in my work at the school in Plymouth and I was looking forward to taking up a similar post here at the village school.
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