The Village Green Bookshop: A Feel-Good Escape for All Book Lovers from the Bestselling Author of The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘We need to get going,’ she was saying. ‘Beth, I’ll give you a shout later.’

  She slammed the car door shut and was about to reverse away when Jake banged on the roof.

  He shook his head, laughing, and handed her the half-dozen eggs she’d left sitting on top of the car. ‘You’re not going to get very far with these on the roof.’

  She took the eggs with one hand, holding the steering wheel with the other. ‘I was trying to get back to Manchester before the motorway was completely snarled up.’

  ‘Well, unless you’re planning on having scrambled eggs for your tea, I think I’d put those somewhere safe.’

  The teenage boy sitting beside her took the eggs out of her hand and darted him a look before staring fixedly out of the passenger seat window.

  ‘Thanks. Sorry again. I mean, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She had an accent that reminded him of home – not strong, but definitely northern. And very pretty hazel eyes. He shook his head, realizing he was gazing at her in a way that probably made him look like some sort of weirdo.

  ‘You weren’t rude.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know.’ Her eyes twinkled as she gave him a wry smile. ‘And now that you’ve saved my eggs, I better get off.’

  ‘Any time.’ He gave the roof of her car a pat and stepped back, watching as she reversed out of the little bay outside the post office and waved a farewell to Beth, the owner, who was standing in the doorway waving back frantically. He hovered, not able to get past until she’d done the final wave, as the car disappeared out of sight into the dip at the bottom of the road. Jake turned back to go inside.

  ‘That’s my cousin,’ Beth said, unprompted, as he followed her in. ‘She hasn’t a clue about football so she won’t have any idea who she’s just talked to. Of course I’m not one to gossip . . .’

  Jake kept his lips pressed closely shut, having heard precisely the opposite from everyone he’d spoken to in the village. He’d been warned that Beth had a habit of taking everything she heard and relaying it to anyone who’d listen, usually with embellishments.

  ‘. . . so you’ve nothing to worry about on my account. I heard you were down at the private school this morning, doing some training or something? What’s going on there? Are you working at the school, or just doing some voluntary stuff?’

  ‘News travels fast,’ he said, wryly. He didn’t expand on it any further than that, even though he could see that Beth was absolutely bursting to know more. He picked up some eggs, the same kind he’d just rescued for Beth’s cousin – thinking how pretty she’d looked when she’d blushed and apologized for being rude – and a loaf of bread and some plump tomatoes. He grabbed a handful of chews for the dogs and placed them on the counter. Beth was still straightening leaflets and handed him one. He read it aloud. ‘Little Maudley FC Under-16 team – trials starting soon.’

  ‘You should get involved with the village team, if you’re looking for something to do. They’re trying to find a coach.’

  There was a derisive snort from somewhere in the depths of the village store.

  A girl with long hair tied back in a ponytail popped her head up from behind a shelf and said scathingly, ‘I hardly think he’s looking for something to do, mother.’ She glanced at Jake sideways. She was a younger, much more glamorous version of Beth and looked like she would be a perfect candidate for Melissa Harrington’s school prospectus. Her long hair swung over her shoulder like a glossy curtain.

  Beth rang up the goods on the till and offered him the contactless payment gadget. ‘Well, if you don’t ask you don’t get . . .’ She gave him a direct look and raised both eyebrows. ‘The whole thing about living in a village is supposed to be taking part in village life, isn’t it?’

  Jake took out his wallet and tapped his card on the side of the machine. Beth handed over his receipt with a slightly challenging expression. So far, besides hiring as many of the local tradesmen as he could to work on his house, he’d pretty much avoided village life, merely popping in and out of the shop and exchanging pleasantries. Under the circumstances, it had seemed better to keep a low profile.

  He folded the leaflet and put it in the back pocket of his trousers.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll think about it?’

  He cocked his head thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. ‘Let’s say I’ll consider it.’

  As he was closing the door, he heard Beth give a triumphant ‘YES’ and a moment later, another teenage snort of derision: ‘Little Maudley’s team is hardly going to have Jake Lovatt as their coach, are they?’

  That was the moment, he realized later, that sealed the deal. That, and the experience he’d had that day at Ridgeway Grammar School. Getting back to the house, looking at the life he’d somehow managed to build for himself, thinking about the boy he’d been and the chances he’d been given, he made up his mind.

  Sarah was pottering around the kitchen when he got back. She’d had a shower, and her hair was tied back from her pale, watchful face with a purple hairband.

  ‘You okay?’

  It was still weird having her there. She was a reminder of a life he’d never known.

  ‘Yep,’ she nodded, picking up an apple.

  ‘I’m making some dinner in a bit. You want some?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘What time’s the meeting tomorrow?’

  ‘Half ten.’ She gnawed at a thumbnail. ‘You still okay to take me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  When she’d turned up on the doorstep last month, he’d had to make a decision. Growing up without his mother had been hard. Where everyone at school had some sort of family unit, he’d always felt that being brought up by his aunt and uncle made him stand out. He’d daydreamed about a day when his mother would reappear and want to be part of his life – want to make up for all the years he’d missed. But it had never happened, and eventually he’d become accustomed to the family he’d been allotted. That was, until the day Sarah turned up – completely drenched, on a late June afternoon where the sky was bruised purple and the rain was clattering against the windows in a manner more suited to November.

  ‘Hello,’ she’d said, shivering.

  He’d sized up the situation in a split second. Whatever her problem was, she didn’t pose a threat – she was probably eight stone soaking wet, and her hair hung in sodden tendrils around her face. She’d pulled a piece of paper out of her bag – tattered, the writing faded with age – that showed who she was.

  ‘Come in and get dry,’ he’d said, installing her on the armchair beside the Aga. He’d fetched some of his ex-girlfriend’s old clothes, which were still folded neatly in the drawers, and offered her a dressing down and a towel.

  ‘Get yourself in a shower before you get hypothermia.’ He showed her the downstairs shower room and paced the corridor outside for the fifteen minutes she was in there.

  ‘Okay.’ He handed her a cup of tea. She shook her head when he offered sugar. ‘So – what’s the story?’

  She looked at him through watchful eyes, hands clasped around the mug. Even Diana’s yoga pants and sweatshirt were hanging off her.

  ‘So,’ she said, after a long pause. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t know you had a sister.’

  And that was how they’d started off.

  Chapter Seven

  The first day, he’d left her pretty much alone – not so much because he thought it was the right thing to do, more that he hadn’t a clue what else to do. There was a woman floating around his house – one to whom he was related, as was glaringly obvious not just from their identical high cheekbones and blue-green eyes, but her height, her build. She was genetically connected to him, but he didn’t feel anything at all except a basic human instinct to make sure she was okay.

  While she was sleeping, he nipped into Bletchingham and went to the only shop that sold women’s clothes. Guessing her size, he picked up some pyjamas, a couple of pairs of jeans, a hoody, some t-sh
irts. He baulked a bit, standing in the underwear department – that felt awkward. But she’d turned up with nothing but the tattered birth certificate and a beaten-up black rucksack, so what the hell else was he supposed to do? Cringing slightly, he picked up a couple of packs of knickers and shoved them in the basket. He could feel his face flaming red – this was a far cry from trips he’d made in the past to places like Agent Provocateur in London, where he’d gone in (usually armed with a text message loaded with hints) and bought up sets of tiny, exotic matching lingerie. These were practical, sensible – and the only underwear he’d be buying for his half-sister any time soon. He grimaced as the woman checked them over, calling out the size to confirm it as she bagged the shopping. He kept his head ducked low, hoping she wouldn’t recognize him, but she appeared to be completely in the dark, which was a relief, at least.

  He left the shop and jumped back into the BMW, only noticing the parking ticket as he put the key in the ignition. Oh, bloody hell – he reached out and ripped it off the windscreen, tossing it onto the passenger seat. Parking in Bletchingham was a complete nightmare. He hit reverse and made his way back past the pretty castle that was the old gaol, heading for Little Maudley.

  The dogs were waiting for him in the courtyard – Pippa, his PA, must’ve let them out. Mabel and Meg hurtled up as he opened the door, sniffing vigorously. They were clearly wound up with excitement at the prospect of someone new in the house. He grabbed the bags and went into the kitchen.

  Pippa was in the office, the door to the kitchen ajar. She looked up, hearing him return.

  ‘Oh hello,’ she said, and looked at him quizzically. ‘You’ve left . . . someone –’ she lifted an eyebrow – ‘upstairs?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘And there was I thinking you’d taken a vow of chastity after you and whatshername broke up.’ She smirked.

  ‘Oh my God, no –’ He shook his head in horror. ‘No, it’s not like that. She’s family.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Long-lost family, I think you’d say, but family nonetheless.’

  There was a sound from upstairs which made the dogs bark in alarm. Clearly Sarah had woken up. He really needed to talk to her, and it would be a hell of a lot easier if Pippa wasn’t there.

  ‘Look,’ he grimaced. ‘Any chance you could . . .’

  ‘Bugger off for a bit?’ Like all good PAs, she was pretty perceptive.

  ‘Uh, yeah.’

  ‘Course I can. I’m just doing some admin on the property stuff – I’ll take the laptop and finish it at home in front of Escape to the Chateau. That’s my kind of working day.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He stepped back out of the office. ‘I think I’ll make some brunch, then.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Ten minutes later, she was gone and he was frying bacon on the Aga. The dogs were lying at his feet on the rug that stretched along the foot of the range, panting, partly because it was still quite warm but mainly because they were desperate to help him with the bacon.

  ‘And by help,’ he said, dropping them both a piece, ‘you mean eat it all.’

  ‘Do you often talk to the dogs?’

  He looked up. Sarah had clearly showered and was standing in one of the thick white guest dressing gowns that hung on the back of the bedroom doors.

  ‘Quite a lot,’ he said, smiling. ‘They don’t answer back, and they think I’m the best thing since sliced bread.’

  ‘Sounds like the perfect relationship.’

  ‘Well yes, exactly.’ He tipped the bacon out and into a shallow Pyrex dish, popping it in the bottom oven to keep warm. ‘D’you want some eggs? Scrambled or fried?’

  Her stomach emitted a huge growl which made them both laugh. ‘Scrambled, please.’

  ‘Coffee? There’s some in the pot, if you want, or I can make you tea?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely. But only if you don’t mind? You’ve been kind enough already. I feel a bit like I’m imposing.’

  ‘Not at all. Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on to boil.’

  She didn’t sit down to start with – she fussed the dogs, paced around the kitchen, looked out of the window that overlooked the long lawn that rolled down towards the woods. Meg and Mabel, clearly sensing she was anxious, dogged her footsteps, tails wagging gently. Eventually, as he poured boiling water onto a teabag, she curled up in one of the kitchen armchairs, Meg’s head resting on her knee.

  ‘Here you are. Breakfast won’t be a sec.’

  ‘I’m surprised you cook your own breakfast.’ She looked at him from over the top of her mug.

  ‘Who did you think was going to cook it?’

  ‘I dunno.’ She shrugged. ‘I assumed people like you would have a chef, or a live-in housekeeper, or something like that.’

  ‘People like me?’ He took some toast and placed it on the side of her plate, adding a heap of crispy bacon and some eggs. ‘Salt and pepper?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  He put both their plates on the long, scrubbed wooden table, so they were facing each other. She was clearly ravenous – she wolfed down the bacon in minutes, not stopping to talk.

  ‘You must still be worn out after yesterday.’

  ‘I am.’ She chewed her lip. ‘It was – well, I didn’t really plan it.’

  ‘Which bit? Coming here?’ He buttered a slice of toast.

  Sarah nodded and paused for a moment, fork in hand. She gazed out of the window.

  ‘I can’t believe this is your house.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ he said, simply. ‘I don’t actually think it’s something you ever get used to.’

  ‘Nah,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘I can’t imagine you would.’

  ‘So – um . . .’ He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. ‘I was in town earlier and I noticed you didn’t have much – well, you didn’t have a bag? Anyway, I picked you up a few bits, just in case.’

  Sarah ducked her head for a moment. When she looked up again, her eyes were sparkling with tears that threatened to overspill her dark lashes and pour down her cheeks.

  ‘You didn’t need to do that.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, gruffly, ‘I did. Honestly, it was nothing.’

  She swallowed. ‘It wasn’t nothing. It was really kind. You don’t know me from Adam.’

  ‘Or Eve.’ He gave her a brief smile. ‘Except you’re family, which means you’re welcome, and – well, what kind of person would I have been if I’d left you standing on the doorstep in the pouring rain?’

  ‘Oh, lots of people would,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘No.’ She steepled her fingers together, looking down at them. ‘I know. I kind of had a feeling you wouldn’t. That’s why I found you.’

  He put his knife and fork together and rested his chin in his hands, looking at her steadily. ‘So why did you come looking?’

  ‘I didn’t.’ She pushed her palms together, making it look as if she was offering up a prayer to the heavens. ‘I didn’t have any choice. I mean I had to get away.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘From who.’ She looked down at the table again, and didn’t say anything for a long moment. ‘I was in a relationship with someone. After Mum died, I kind of went from pillar to post – I was too old to be taken into care, too young to know what the hell I was doing. The guy she was with when she passed – he was as dodgy as anything, involved in drugs and all sorts of stuff. I mean, they all were.’

  ‘You mean she had a series of them?’ He looked down at the ground, feeling awkward and somehow embarrassed for the mother he’d never known. He hadn’t really mourned her passing and he’d always felt a bit guilty about that.

  Sarah nodded. Her dark hair was drying in the heat of the kitchen, lifting into waves that hung around her heart-shaped face, making her look very young. There were purple shadows under her eyes and she flicked glances around the room the whole time, clearly without even realizing. What the hell was she afraid
of?

  He closed his eyes. All the time he’d been growing up with Aunty Jane, the subject of his mother had been a closed one. He’d learned, eventually, to stop asking. She was just something the family didn’t talk about. He’d had no idea he had a sister, ten years younger, being dragged from the house of one unsuitable partner to another.

  ‘Anyway,’ she began, exhaling slowly. ‘You know that saying about boiling a frog?’

  ‘The thing about them not realizing they’re in hot water or something?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘That’s basically what happened. I met Joe and he seemed really nice – like he’d look after me. Told me I didn’t need to worry about working, that he’d make sure I was all right.’

  ‘And then?’ Jake could already tell where this was going. He watched Sarah as she traced circles on the table with her finger.

  ‘It was subtle at first. He wanted to make sure I was okay. Didn’t want me seeing my friends. Didn’t like me going out.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Then the first time he—’

  He didn’t speak, just waited. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, and the scrape of Meg’s claws on the tiled floor as she shifted seemed amplified by the silence in the room. Sarah took a deep breath.

  ‘He hit me, because he was drunk.’

  Jake pressed his lips together to stop himself from speaking out. If he jumped in now, Sarah was going to think he was just another loud male shooting his mouth off.

  ‘Well, he said it was because he was drunk. Then he apologized, was an angel for a few weeks. Then it happened again. Thing is, it sort of went on, and then he’d be lovely, then I’d end up feeling like it was my fault, somehow. But the gaps between him being lovely and him losing it were getting smaller and smaller, and I started thinking that I had to get away.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘I looked up the family, and realized that Mum’s sister had moved abroad. But they never spoke, did they?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not as far as I knew. She brought me up. She lives in Spain now.’

  ‘Anyway, I started to work on an escape plan. I couldn’t go to any of my friends, or he’d have found me straight away. I figured if I could find you, maybe I could . . .’ she tailed off. ‘She used to talk about you, you know. Always knew when your games were on telly.’