Read the book: «The Summer of Second Chances: The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy»

CHAPTER 1
Snowdrops – a friend in adversity, consolation, hope

I reached Holly Cottage – my sanctuary – just before the late January sunshine faded into the grey-green hills of Devon. I had lost just about everything familiar to me; my partner, most of my friends, my job, the home I had loved. I pulled into the gravelled drive, turned off the car engine and opened the window. The silence was deafening. I took my seatbelt off and listened for a while; I realised it was the first peace I had encountered for a very long time. Hardly anyone knew where I was, that was the marvellous thing. And that was the way I wanted to keep it.

The road, if you could call it that, meandered up past the house and then tapered off as though it had lost interest into an unmetalled track with grass growing down the middle. Holly Cottage looked as though it had been dumped on the grass verge on the brow of the hill with views over the rolling countryside. It was like a child’s drawing of a house; stone walls, a slate roof, three upstairs windows and two downstairs, either side of a black front door. I had only travelled about forty miles, perhaps it was just my state of mind, but as I got out of my car, the air seemed livelier, different. I took a deep lungful of freedom and felt a bit shaky.

This was it, then, all pretence was gone. For the last few years I had lived in happy ignorance in Ian’s five-bedroom house surrounded by a half-acre of garden. I’d been anticipating a summer holiday in the Dordogne in a customer’s gîte. I hadn’t even known, much less cared, who my electricity supplier was. In hindsight, I had been beyond naïve; I’d thought nothing would ever change. Now I was going to live in a borrowed two-bedroom cottage with nothing much to recommend it but the view. How the hell did this happen?

But of course, if I was honest, I knew exactly how I’d ended up here. I’d trusted Ian, trusted him completely. And then everything had come crashing down. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of Jess I don’t know what on earth I would have done. I parked in front of the black door and remembered the conversation that had changed my life.

Jess had pouted for a moment, running a hand through her blonde hair.

‘Of course, Holly Cottage!’

‘Oh, I don’t think…’ Greg said, his brow furrowed in thought.

‘Please, don’t, I’m not a charity case just yet, you’ve been so great these last few days. A lot of my friends…’

I didn’t finish the sentence. I stood up and wandered around their conservatory, clearing my throat, pretending to look at their garden. Really I was trying to control my easy tears. A lot of my so-called friends had silently disappeared from the scene, as though Ian’s sudden death and my destitution might be infectious. To be honest, I didn’t want to talk to anyone any more, I couldn’t bear explaining everything over and over again. So I had got used to ignoring my mobile. I didn’t log on to my laptop to look at my emails.

Jess turned in her chair, the wicker creaking.

‘Lottie, you’d be doing us a favour, honestly you would.’

Her enthusiasm grew the more she considered it.

‘It’s only a little place. I bought it just before I married Greg. I used to work in a club in London. Greg calls them my wild years but they weren’t really. I lived on Uncle Ben’s Rice in a ghastly place in Peckham. I saved all my tips for two years. Very generous some of them were.’ Jess widened her blue eyes at me. ‘Oh nothing dodgy, so don’t worry.’

I looked at Jess with astonishment and new respect. She might look like a complete airhead but obviously she wasn’t. I was the nitwit here, with no financial sense at all, no career, finding myself at thirty-four broke and without prospects.

‘It’s all furnished; you wouldn’t need to take anything. Just your clothes and your bits and pieces. We could help you with that, couldn’t we, Gregsy? The van, you know.’

Her husband grunted and shifted in his chair, evidently not thrilled with the way things were turning out. Jess didn’t seem to notice; either that or she was ignoring him.

‘It has been rented out for three years but the tenants have just gone, owing money of course.’ She gulped as she realised the tactlessness of her words. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m not sure if I want to rent it out again or sell it. But either way it needs an upgrade. It’s right out in the country, the other side of Exeter, but less than an hour away. It’s a bit out of the way but really pretty. Ideal for you, in fact.’

I didn’t look at her. I tried to gather my thoughts.

‘How much would it be?’

Greg opened his mouth to speak but Jess interrupted him.

‘Nothing. All you need to do is give it a clean up, do the clever stuff you do with curtains and wallpaper and have a good flick around with a paintbrush. You’re ever so good with the interior décor sort of thing. Much better than me, that’s for sure. I know I need to spend a bit of money on the place. You’d be doing me a huge favour.’

‘Oh, Jess!’

‘No really, you would, wouldn’t she, Greg?’

Greg made some non-committal noises and looked back at his phone. I could tell he wasn’t very happy about this.

‘That’s settled then,’ she said, pleased.

‘It’s not settled at all,’ I said. ‘I can’t just use your house for nothing. I can’t accept, it’s too much.’

‘It’s not too much. You really would be helping me out. We’ve been friends for ages, and you were so lovely to us when we moved here. I know you can do this sort of thing in your sleep. Picking out colours and stuff. You could do it for a living, you know.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, trying to look modest.

I’d spent such a long time doing Ian’s house, picking fabrics, sourcing furniture, choosing colours, and I’d loved every minute.

‘Yes, you could, like that programme on TV where people have to upgrade rooms and paint crappy old furniture to make it look nice again. You could do that. We both said you should apply, remember?’

‘Yes, I know—’

‘Then stop arguing with me. Look, it can’t be rented out as it is.’ For the first time she looked serious. ‘Greg’s brother lives down there. We don’t have an awful lot of contact with him but he does have a key in case of emergencies and he sent me an email last week. About the Websters. They did a moonlight flit and left the cottage in a bit of a state. I was going to pay someone to get it cleaned up and put some of Greg’s men in there to decorate it but if you do it, it’s a win-win situation, isn’t it? This is just so “meant to be”.’

Jess gave me an artless smile, one that I bet never failed to succeed. I gave her a hug.

‘Well – thank you, Jess.’

I felt quite tearful and we stood and looked at each other for a moment, both of us a bit emotional.

Greg glanced up from his iPhone. He looked less jovial than usual.

‘I’ll tell Bryn to expect you any time this week, shall I?’ Jess continued. ‘And if he’s not in I’ll leave a message on his answerphone. He always picks those up.’

I began to panic. I was being either helped or pushed, I wasn’t sure which.

‘Who’s Bryn?’

‘My little brother, God help me,’ Greg muttered. ‘I’ve got to go and check my emails.’

‘Don’t be like that, Gregsy,’ Jess said, twirling her blonde hair between slender fingers. She watched as Greg went off to his office and turned back to me. ‘They fell out a few years ago but Bryn’s really nice once you get to know him. Just big, tall and a bit scary. Like a bear. But I know he’s not half as bad as he seems.’

This was far from reassuring.

‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all…’ I said.

Jess patted my hand. ‘Course it is. Think about it. It’s an adventure. A change of scenery. A bit of excitement. Just what you need.’

‘Don’t tell anyone where I am,’ I blurted out. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’

My head was aching. So was my heart. I had loved the house I had shared with Ian so much. I had been proud, but we all know pride comes before a fall. And what a fall.

I had decorated and planned every room in the years I had lived there. I had chosen things. The colour of the walls, the flooring, the towels, the lighting. Everything was perfect. Or it had been. It wasn’t now, was it? And it wasn’t mine either.

I stood outside Holly Cottage, lost in thought. Just about everything I had taken for granted had gone wrong. Now I had to take this chance and focus on the future because I certainly couldn’t change the past.

I got out, locking the car behind me although, to be honest, it didn’t feel as though there was a living soul for miles. I wandered around to the back of the house, my heels catching between the broken paving slabs. I wondered if the ‘huge and bear-like’ Bryn was around to watch the homeless idiot arriving. Might he be lurking in the shadows under the trees down the lane? For some reason I pictured him standing, shoulders hunched like Lurch from The Addams Family, knuckles dragging on the ground. Fortunately there was no sign of him. But he had left the back door key under an upturned bucket in the porch as Jess had assured me he would. The key stuck for a heart-stopping few moments and then turned in the lock with an unwilling squeak. I let myself in to the hall.

The stale scent of wet dog, mingled with something even more unpleasant, hit me. The smell of damp carpet, neglect and, unmistakably, fish.

I left the door open and made my way into the sitting room, one hand over my nose. The room was flagstoned with a large rug over the top, which was soaking. Someone had flung a plastic bucket plus water into the middle and my shoes squelched as I took a hesitant step into the room. They had also enhanced the décor by chucking around a few shovelfuls of ash from the fire. The walls were pale and marked with squares of grime where pictures had been removed. Underneath one windowsill the paper had been pulled off altogether and someone had drawn stars in pink and purple felt tip pen on the wall.

The smell was stronger here, pungent and eye watering. Trying not to gag, I pushed back the curtains and opened both the sash windows. The crispness of the evening air was welcome. I hurried back outside for a moment to refresh my lungs and then went upstairs to explore further, finding a small bathroom and two bedrooms.

There was evidence in the expensive wallpaper and the sisal carpet that this place had once been very pretty, but now it was neglected and extremely dirty. There were stains on the floor and muddy fingerprints around the china light switches, and someone had been free with wax crayons on the walls of the landing.

In the corner of the bathroom was a huge web, the spider still busy in the middle with a struggling bluebottle. I shuddered. On the mirror, in coral lipstick, was scrawled Bitch. It neatly crossed over the reflection of my cold, pale, frightened face.

Jess had wanted me to clean and decorate, that was the deal, but it was obvious this place wasn’t just in need of a flick round with the antiseptic wipes and a lick of paint; it needed pressure washing. The stink from downstairs was curling up the stairs so I opened all the windows and re-buttoned my coat.

In the larger of the two bedrooms was a mahogany wardrobe that had once been highly polished and beautiful, but was now scratched, covered with globs of Blu-Tack and propped up with a brick at one corner where one of the feet had been lost. There was a sink in the corner filled with scummy water and dead flies.

‘Bloody hell!’ I said.

My words echoed around the room.

‘What on earth’s been going on here?’ asked a voice from behind me.

I spun round, squeaking with shock. There was a silhouette of a man in the doorway, his shoulders almost filling the space. I yelped again.

‘Well, if you don’t want people to walk in you shouldn’t leave all the doors open,’ he said, unapologetic.

‘And you shouldn’t just wander in to someone else’s house uninvited,’ I said, my voice shrill with fright. I flapped my hands at him to shoo him back down the stairs.

He turned and went, his movements unhurried and careful in the confined space of the stairwell. I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to calm the thudding of my heart.

‘What’s happened here?’ he said. ‘It wasn’t like this the other day. And what’s that terrible smell?’

‘How would I know?’ I replied. ‘I’ve only just got here.’

‘Hang on,’ he said and went into the sitting room, ducking his head under the lintel. He searched around for a few minutes and then retrieved a rotting fish wrapped in newspaper from behind a radiator.

‘Jesus!’ I clamped my hand back over my nose and watched him take it outside into the garden.

He reappeared, framed in the kitchen door. ‘I’ve no idea where that came from. I’m assuming it’s nothing to do with you?’

‘Of course it isn’t. Why the hell would I do a thing like that?’

‘OK, calm down. All I know is it didn’t smell like this when I last called in. Nor was there a pond on the sitting-room floor. Perhaps the Websters are responsible?’

‘The Websters?’

Oh yes the Websters. What had Jess said about them? I should have paid more attention.

‘The last tenants. Two years without a problem and then Mr Webster discovered skunk and scratch cards. They left a few days ago. Spent all his money on things other than his priorities. But I know he left his house keys behind when he left. I can’t think how he could have got back in. I’ve been here, Webster had a beaten-up old camper van. Red and white. I’m sure I would have noticed…’

I stood watching him for a moment wondering who he reminded me of.

‘It needs a bit of a sort out,’ he said, his blue eyes flicking from the piles of junk mail behind the door to the chocolate handprints on the wall. At least I hoped they were chocolate.

‘A bit of a sort out?’ I said, incredulous. ‘Never mind the smell, it’s absolutely filthy and disgusting.’

‘Ah well.’ He shrugged his shoulders. They really were very broad. ‘I’m Bryn Palmer, by the way.’ He held out a hand and I shook it.

‘I’m Charlotte Calder. What do you mean “ah well”? Would you want to live here?’

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. ‘Nope.’

‘Nor do I.’

‘Well don’t then,’ Bryn said. He flicked another look around that conveyed his boredom with the whole conversation. ‘It’s up to you. I thought you needed a place to stay?’

‘You mean beggars can’t be choosers?’

‘Why would I say that? No one is forcing you to live here, are they?’

I struggled with my temper. I was caught between Holly Cottage and a hard place. I had nowhere else to go, at least at the moment. I had considered my Auntie Shirley in Croydon but I couldn’t bring myself to make that call. A one-bedroom maisonette with a view of the library car park seemed the very last resort. At least here I had a bit of privacy. And a bed.

‘Couldn’t someone have at least checked the place to make sure it was at least habitable?’ I said.

His dark brows drew together in a frown. I had overstepped the mark, that was obvious.

‘Someone? You mean me?’

‘Well, it wouldn’t have killed you,’ I muttered.

‘That was up to Jess and Greg to sort out, not me,’ he said, ‘you’re not my responsibility. I’m not here to sort your problems out.’

Bloody cheek, it was as though I was being passed around from one responsible adult to another. Like some sort of delinquent child.

‘But you live down here in this godforsaken spot,’ I said, dismissing the beauty of the hills around me with a wave of my hand.

He refused to be drawn in to any discussion.

‘If you aren’t staying I’ll have the keys back.’ He held out one hand, ready to take them.

I stood, fists clenched, trembling with indecision for a few moments. It was this or sleep in the car. I had no idea about council accommodation for a single woman without children but I guessed I would be low down on a long list. I didn’t want to spend money on a hotel. I couldn’t go back; the locks had been changed. I had no choice.

‘I’ll stay. For now anyway,’ I said.

‘Fine.’ Bryn obviously didn’t care either way. ‘If you’re staying we should get that wet rug out. I could help you do it now, if you like?’ he said.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. I needed him to help me; I’d never manage it on my own. Not that I’m scrawny or anything but I’m only five foot four, there’s only so much leverage I could get.

‘Thank you, that would be very kind of you.’

He nodded and I noticed there was a bit of Matthew McConaughey about him, mixed with some other actor whose name I couldn’t remember. Plus evidence of a fair amount of time spent in the gym. It was an attractive mixture. Pity his character wasn’t so appealing.

I spent the next half an hour helping him shift furniture and alternately pulling at the rug with all my strength and gagging at the smell. Or, perhaps more accurately, he had been helping me. By the time we managed it I must have looked a sight – red, sweating and with my hair falling all over my face. A glamorous episode in anyone’s book.

At last Bryn got the offending article out into the front garden, leaving me exhausted and filthy, shoving furniture back into approximately the right place.

‘Well, I must be off,’ he said.

He was about to leave and I was really going to be on my own. I was suddenly nervous. Perhaps I could keep him talking for a few minutes longer.

‘I’ve brought some stuff with me but is there anywhere I can get some fresh milk or some bread?’

Bryn gave an impatient sigh. ‘You can get milk and a few essentials at the post office shop in Bramford St Michael. Back down this hill and turn left. You can’t miss it.’

‘Towering skyscrapers and retail parks?’ I said.

His mouth twitched. ‘A fourteenth-century church, a pub and a bus stop on the left. You’ll see a row of thatched cottages and the shop is just beyond that. You’d better be quick; they close in half an hour. Unless they feel like closing earlier. Which they sometimes do. If they are shut you’ll have to carry on for a few miles to Stokeley. There’s a Superfine there that’s open until ten o’clock.’

‘Thanks,’ I said in a very ungrateful tone. With any luck Bryn and I would not meet again. I didn’t quite understand why he was here in the first place if he wasn’t involved in the upkeep of Holly Cottage. But I soon found out.

He flicked me a slow and rather blush-inducing glance. I could see the resemblance between him and Greg, at least in looks. He had that same energy combined with a strong impression of competence. He was the sort of man who would deal with life not let it deal with him.

‘I’ll be off then.’

I stepped to one side to let him leave but he walked in the opposite direction, out of the kitchen door, down the small garden and through the gate at the bottom.

‘Hey! Where are you going?’ I called after him.

‘Home,’ he said.

I followed him for a few steps and watched as he walked into the garden of the house next door. I realised for the first time that his garden was huge and absolutely crammed with spring growth.

The contrast between that and the untidy mess in what I already considered ‘my’ garden could not have been starker. Mine boasted a shabby, overgrown lawn, weed-choked borders and the battered remains of an old bath.

Bryn looked at me as he drew level. It was obvious he was trying hard not to laugh at me.

‘You live in Holly Cottage, I live in Ivy Cottage. I’m your neighbour,’ he said.

‘Just when I thought things couldn’t get any frigging worse! That’s all I bloody need.’

I couldn’t help it; the words were out before I could stop myself. Bryn looked at me for a moment, his eyes were very cold and my spirits sank even lower.

‘Sorry, it’s been a crap sort of day,’ I muttered.

‘Happy to help,’ he said at last.

I turned away and went inside, slamming my door behind me.