‘Honestly, I don’t really know. I mean, I messed up but it wasn’t really anything I wouldn’t have been able to put right with an apology and a bit of grovelling.’
‘So why didn’t you do that?’
Hattie shrugged. ‘I suppose the bright shiny career working in fashion that I thought I was going to have one day wasn’t looking quite so bright and shiny anymore. I had friends and, even though Bertrand had left me high and dry, I was having a good time. Living in Paris was like a dream, of course, but… something was just missing. I can’t explain it, but I think now that maybe I was using the thing that went wrong as an excuse to give it up and come home.’
‘What do you think was missing?’
‘All that stuff didn’t mean anything. You know – like Dad’s job made a real difference and so did your law career. You did important things – Dad saved lives and you saved innocent people from prison. They meant something and my job with Alphonse just didn’t. It was like an empty sweet wrapper – all tempting and pretty on the outside, but when you got into it, there was just nothing there.’
‘So…’ Rhonda smiled. ‘While others leave home to find themselves, you’ve had to come back to do that?’
Hattie gave a small laugh. ‘I suppose you could look at it that way. I just need time to figure out what I want.’
‘It’s not too late to go back into education.’ Rhonda closed the door of the dishwasher and switched it on.
‘I know that’s what you and Dad would like, but it’s just not for me.’
‘How do you know if you don’t give it a chance?’
‘I just do.’
‘Well, if you say you want to do a job that matters like your father and I had, that’s all very noble, but careers like that don’t come with half an hour’s on-the-job training before your first shift starts.’
‘I said I wanted to make a difference, but I’m sure there are other ways of doing that without having to take exactly the same career path as you or Dad did. There has to be something out there for me, something that I’m meant for, and I just need to find out what it is.’
‘But opening yourself up to educational possibilities might help.’
Hattie frowned. ‘You’re starting to sound like Dad.’
‘Because I actually think your father might have a point. What if we made some enquiries, found out what it would take to get you on a course somewhere? We could go and look at some nearby universities, talk to some people…’
‘That’s not what I want, Mum.’
Rhonda pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes what you don’t want is exactly what you need.’
‘Yes, but if I don’t want it then I don’t really care if I do need it or not because I don’t want it. And that sentence does make more sense in my head.’
‘At the very least, don’t dismiss the idea out of hand. Please say you’ll give it some consideration. You did say you’d listen to our advice.’
‘I suppose I did.’
‘So you’ll think about it?’
‘I’m not making any promises.’
‘Good,’ Rhonda said, apparently choosing not to acknowledge Hattie’s negative response. ‘Your dad will be pleased to hear that the idea is not completely dead in the water.’
‘But I am going to look for a job in the meantime.’
‘Of course. You know, now that I think about it, I’m almost certain that Lance and Mark were looking for someone to help out at the Willow Tree.’
‘They’re still running that place? I thought they’d sell up after Mark’s heart attack.’
‘It was touch and go for poor Mark and we all thought that, but I suppose the Willow Tree is their lifeline. Lance told me they’d thought long and hard about keeping it on but decided that they’d be so bored if they sold up they’d probably eat themselves to death anyway.’
Hattie was thoughtful for a moment. Lance and Mark were fun, and it couldn’t be that hard working in a sweet little café like the Willow Tree where the lunchtime rush mainly consisted of the ladies of the village choir or the odd passing tourist on their way to the coast. It might just be the breather she needed while she worked out a bigger life plan.
‘I’ll call in tomorrow and see if the job is still going,’ she announced.
‘Right.’ Rhonda peered into an open cupboard. ‘Now that’s settled would you ask your father if he wants mint or chamomile tea?’
As Hattie made her way back to the dining room, her mum called after her. ‘In fact, when you’ve taken his order you can make it – it’d be good practise for your new career in catering.’
Hattie turned to her with a grin. It was a shame more conversations with her parents didn’t go this way, but when they did, she loved being at home with them again.
‘Oh!’ she said, suddenly recalling something she’d needed to tell them. ‘I don’t know why I just thought about it but I forgot to tell you that Rupert came looking for Dad earlier. He wants him to look at his knee.’
‘In that case we’ll skip the tea for now and pop next door. I’m sure Rupert will have one of his fruit wines open. Want to come?’
‘That sounds nice, and I did say I’d try to see him anyway now that I’m home.’
‘Perfect! I’ll go and fetch my jacket; I could do with giving old Armstrong a cuddle…’
Despite her long day of travelling, the three glasses of warming bramble wine shared with her parents and Rupert, the easy conversation with her affable neighbour and more than her fair share of fussing an old cat with a purr that could still shake tiles from the roof, regardless of his advanced age, Hattie still struggled to sleep that night. She woke early the next morning with the future on her mind. She’d told her mum that she didn’t want to go back into education and it was true, but she did have to concede that they had a point about where her life was going without it. She could train for something – but what? The fact was, it bothered her more than she’d let on. And she couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that had clung to her, even though she’d left Paris. Everything had gone wrong there in the end, no matter how hard she’d worked to make it go right. First Bertrand had abandoned her, and then she’d messed up with Alphonse.
As quietly as she could, she went downstairs as the sun was rising to make herself a chamomile tea.
As she pulled up the blinds in the kitchen to let the sunlight in, she was forced to smile at the sight of Rupert’s old cat, Armstrong, sitting on the windowsill, staring impassively at her. She opened the window and he stepped in, rubbing his face against her outstretched hand and purring so loudly that Hattie half wondered if it would wake her parents. Half an hour with Armstrong gave her more peace than any amount of sleep could have, and half an hour was all she got. Armstrong, as was his fickle way, decided he’d had enough mid-stroke, turned tail and stalked off. Hattie watched him leap down from the windowsill and pad across the garden, keeping a keen eye on a family of sparrows that were flitting noisily around the bird table.
She closed the window and filled the kettle. She’d been so engrossed with Rupert’s cat that she’d totally forgotten her tea. But then her gaze went to the bright meadows beyond her dad’s beloved garden. A walk. Maybe a good long walk would tire her out and she could head back to bed for an extra few hours.
Putting the kettle to one side, she headed upstairs to pull some clothes on over her pyjamas.
Hattie had only intended to do a circuit of the nearest field and then go back, but her thoughts had been so absorbing that before she knew it, she was treading the old path that led to the beach and the cliffs that overlooked it. She didn’t know what had taken her there, but now that she was on her way she longed to see the sea. So she quickened her step. She knew exactly where she wanted to go – to the secret spot where she’d always gone with Charlotte. They’d play, and later, when Charlotte got too old to play with Hattie, she’d take Hattie anyway. Then she’d show her patterns in the rocks or they’d hunt for shells. Sometimes they’d look for creature
s in the pools and sometimes they’d see how many different types of birds they could spot. Hattie thought with a melancholy fondness on those times now and though she knew it was pointless to wish them back, it didn’t stop her from doing it. Perhaps Charlotte wasn’t a perfect teenager, but she was always perfect in Hattie’s memory.
As Hattie approached the path that would lead to the beach, she heard a noise, carried on the breeze. It seemed to be coming from the cliff top. It sounded like… Hattie frowned. It sounded like braying.
Nobody, as far as she knew, kept donkeys around here. There was old man Ferguson’s farm up there, but he’d never kept donkeys and, besides, he’d been dead for years. Her mum and dad hadn’t mentioned anyone buying the place. Then again, she supposed it probably wouldn’t be a priority in their minds to tell her if someone had.
It came again and Hattie was intrigued enough now that she just had to go and look. So she changed direction and headed up to the cliff path.
At the top, sure enough, there was an enclosure and in it perhaps half a dozen or more donkeys. She was sure it had never been there before. So did that mean someone had bought the farm? If someone had, she wondered what else they were keeping.
She walked up to the wire fencing. Watching her idly was a smoky brown donkey. Hattie smiled. Within the enclosure, further away in a cluster as if they might be gossiping about the first one, stood the others. Hattie went up to the one on its own and approached it cautiously.
‘Hey, fella…’
The donkey shuffled forward and nuzzled into Hattie’s outstretched hand. She giggled and rubbed its velvet nose.
‘What’s wrong with that lot?’ she asked, nodding at the others. ‘Gossiping about you? I’d take no notice – gossips only gossip because they’ve got nothing useful to do.’
The donkey snorted down its nose at her and she leapt back with a giggle. But then it stretched forward and started to nose into her coat pocket.
‘There’s nothing in there, I’m afraid.’ She yanked a handful of wild grass from around the fencing and offered it, but the donkey didn’t seem interested. Instead, it went for her pocket again and she had to push him off.
‘So who owns you?’ she asked thoughtfully. Maybe she could take a walk to the old Ferguson place and see if anyone was living there now. But then, perhaps if someone saw her it might look like she was trespassing. At the very least it would seem incredibly nosey and she had the feeling that she shouldn’t even be here now with the donkey, let alone visiting the farm. But the donkey was so adorable that she decided it was worth taking the risk and she fussed him for another ten minutes before finally deciding that she ought to go back to her original plan and head to the beach.
Before she went, she walked the length of the fencing to see if she could get a closer look at the other donkeys. They were only vaguely interested in her, though she did notice that a grey one had now wandered over to the brown donkey Hattie had been fussing and was now standing silently alongside, both of them looking out to sea together like two old men sharing views on the weather. Hattie smiled. They were so cute. She’d always loved animals and she couldn’t bear to think of one suffering. In Paris, she’d fed any cat that came near the balcony of her flat, much to the annoyance of her landlord and flatmates. When she’d said that they looked like they were starving, her flatmates had only laughed and told her that if they were hungry they’d be keener to keep the rat population at bay.
With a last fuss of her new friend, Hattie turned back to the path that led to her secret cove. Not secret, of course, because everyone in Gillypuddle knew about it, but it was always the way she’d thought of it – hers and Charlotte’s secret. It was the place where they’d shared childish confidences, the place where she’d always felt she could have her sister’s undivided attention.
Once she got to the grassy steps, cut into the cliffs, memories overwhelmed her. When it was wet the steps were dangerous, but Charlotte would always cling to Hattie’s hand until they were down safely. When the weather was dry they’d flatten grass that had grown along the steps as they walked, disturbing bees and dandelion seeds and sending them into the air. The air now was salty, as it was back then, and the sea dashed itself against the rocks in a steady rhythm as it had always done and as it would continue to do. This coast, this landscape, this sea… they were forever – it was only the people who lived here who weren’t.
Hattie sat on the sand. It was damp. She poked her finger into it and wrote her name. Then she wrote Charlotte’s, and she tried to pretend that Charlotte herself had just written it. Even after all these years, just like her parents did, Hattie still missed her terribly. But unlike them, she just didn’t think that Charlotte would want to see her sad forever.
Chapter Five
Hattie had returned home from her hour on the sand feeling peaceful but still not tired. Her parents had gone out and left her a note to get her own breakfast, so she hadn’t been able to catch up with them or ask whether Sweet Briar Farm had a new owner. It meant the mystery would have to wait for now. So she’d got showered and dressed and had headed into the village on her quest to find work. The first port of call was to check out her mum’s recommendation.
The Willow Tree café was a little old-fashioned by most standards, but what it lacked in modernity it more than made up for in atmosphere. It was spotless, cosy and welcoming, due in part to the continued efforts of the owners, Lance and Mark. Wooden tables were dressed in clean red gingham cloths with fresh flowers in slender white vases and watercolours of the local scenery painted by Mark’s mother on the walls. Lance and Mark ran it with pride, and they loved it almost as much as they loved each other. Lance was ten years younger than Mark, dark-haired, trim and neat, while Mark carried a little weight (which actually rather suited him) and more grey in his perfectly groomed hair. Mark had met Lance in a bar in Amsterdam, where he’d been living and working after leaving his home in rural Wales for a spot of adventure, and by the time the night had been over Lance had already promised to move to England to be with him – or so the legend went. Hattie had never actually asked them how they’d met, but she didn’t think the story sounded all that unlikely.
They were both standing behind the counter of the Willow Tree now, side by side in matching deckchair-striped aprons, Mark looking suitably apologetic as he spoke.
‘I’m so sorry, my love,’ he said. ‘If only we’d known you were back we’d have snapped you up.’
‘You’d have certainly added a bit of glamour to the place,’ Lance agreed with an equally apologetic expression.
‘But Phyllis Roundtree came about it yesterday,’ Mark continued. ‘And we gave the job to her.’
Lance shot Mark a look that could have meant anything, but knowing the two of them of old, Hattie guessed it was a look that said they’d had some disagreement about Phyllis’s employment. She’d lived in the village for all of her… well, Hattie didn’t know exactly how old Phyllis was, but she knew she was old, and she kept herself busy and active. Hattie had no doubt that she’d keep up the pace in the café, and she was very popular on account of her sunny disposition, but she was known to be a little accident-prone. Quite a lot accident-prone, as it happened; her exploits including falling into a pub cellar because she’d failed to notice the trapdoor was open, getting caught in the closing doors of a bus as it started to drive away and knocking down the maypole in her out-of-control Mini Metro. And that was just the stuff that was big enough to become village news.
‘I don’t know that it would have been enough hours for you anyway,’ Lance added. ‘It’s only a little job and we can’t afford to pay a lot – it’s just to take the strain off Mark occasionally.’ He threw an affectionate glance at Mark. ‘Don’t want any more silly heart attacks, do we?’
‘So I have to take it easy,’ Mark said. ‘Even though it’s driving me mad. Doctor’s orders.’
‘My dad’s by any chance?’ Hattie asked.
Mark looked sheepish.
> ‘It’s OK.’ Hattie laughed. ‘I saw Rupert yesterday and he’s still asking Dad for medical advice too.’
‘I am very sorry about the job, though,’ Mark said.
Hattie shrugged. ‘It’s not your fault. I was just hoping to get a little something in Gillypuddle for now that would save me having to commute.’
‘If it doesn’t work out with Phyllis we’ll be sure to come to you next,’ Lance said.
‘I’d appreciate it,’ Hattie said.
‘Stay for a latte,’ Lance said. ‘On the house. You can tell us all about the glamour of gay Paris…’
‘Oh… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay for one,’ Hattie said. ‘And I don’t suppose you have a copy of the Gillypuddle Newsletter lying around?’
‘What on earth do you want to read that drivel for?’ Lance asked with a laugh as he poured milk into a steel jug. ‘Unless you’re desperate for an update on that family of ducks after their highly traumatic attempts to cross the A road last winter.’
‘No.’ Hattie giggled. ‘Nothing like that. I just wondered if there might be any other jobs in there.’
‘I doubt it,’ Lance replied and Mark nodded agreement. ‘We’d usually be first to hear any news around here and we haven’t heard anyone saying they need staff.’
‘Apart from Medusa on the hill,’ Mark added in a meaningful tone and Lance laughed.
‘Nobody in their right minds would work for her,’ he said. ‘Besides, didn’t she say it was a bed-and-board arrangement only?’
‘No pay?’ Hattie asked. Surely she had heard it wrong.
Lance nodded.
‘Really?’ Hattie frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, perhaps she’s paying some kind of wage, but whatever it is, it won’t be enough. I’d want a gold pig to work for her.’
Hattie was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Should I know who this person is?’
‘Jo Flint,’ Lance said. Hattie shook her head. ‘She’s been here for a good couple of years now,’ he continued. ‘She bought old man Ferguson’s place on Sweet Briar Cliffs.’
Hattie's Home for Broken Hearts: A heartwarming laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 3