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First published in Great Britain in ebook format in 2018 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2018

Cover design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2018.

Cover illustration © Lindsey Spinks / The Artworks

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008225834

Version 2018-04-09

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Part Four : Birds of a Feather

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

About the Author

Keep Reading…

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Part Four

Chapter One

The marsh harrier is a large bird of prey with a brown body and a pale head. It feeds on animals that live on or near marshes and drops unsuspectingly onto defenceless creatures from the air. Its courtship call is a kind of mewling wail.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Outside the window of Peacock Cottage, the sunshine blazed. Abby Field could hear the bubbling trill of a robin close by, the gentle tap of bees occasionally banging against the windowpane, but inside the house, everything was quiet.

Jack Westcoat took a sip of coffee and let out a sigh that was like the slow deflating of a balloon.

Abby didn’t know how it had come to this; sitting on the sofa in the quaint, secluded cottage with the man who, over the last few months, she had come to see as the brightest part of her life. He was her summer to the spring of working at Meadowsweet Nature Reserve, to the winter of a confusing, unhappy childhood, her parents’ turbulent relationship leaving a mark that she thought she would never be able to rub away. She hadn’t imagined she would open up to him, allow him into her life, but he had snuck in, their sparring matches the fireworks of early attraction, their walks – through the reserve, around the abandoned Swallowtail House – early dates, and finally, last night, she had given in to her feelings for him.

And now this.

The London event the previous evening was supposed to have been the beginning of a fresh start for Jack, a chance to banish the memory of the year before, where he’d very publicly attacked a fellow author, Eddie Markham, and had slunk away to the Suffolk countryside with his reputation in tatters. Jack had asked Abby to accompany him to the gala, and she’d barely had to think about it. She had socialized, watched in admiration as Jack had charmed everyone and denied Eddie the satisfaction of a repeat of the previous year, and then they had returned, tired but with an air of quiet relief; not quite triumph, but close. When he had asked the driver to take them both to Peacock Cottage rather than drop Abby at home, she hadn’t hesitated. She had wanted Jack for so long, and the reality was better than all her imaginings.

But this morning Eddie Markham had turned up in Meadowgreen and tricked her. He’d grabbed her, a photographer waiting to take a photo of their false embrace. And now she was here, trying to understand why Jack hadn’t given his side of the story in the first place, and what this new development was likely to cost him, just when he’d started to put the guilt and regret behind him.

‘Eddie Markham was my best friend,’ Jack said, and the sound of his voice, low and deep, on the edge of breaking, made Abby’s breath catch.

Raffle, her husky, lifted his head briefly from his front paws, and then went back to snoozing at their feet.

‘We met at school,’ Jack continued, ‘and were pretty much inseparable. My background was more privileged than his, and that didn’t matter to me, but as we grew older, it was clear that it did to him. I tried my hardest not to ever make a point of it, and I thought we had enough in common that Eddie could see past it, but whenever we got in trouble he’d make quips about my dad bailing me out, how I was untouchable. In fact, Dad came down hard on me without fail, adamant that I had to learn from my mistakes.’

He glanced at Abby then away again, as if it was easier to pretend he was telling someone else. ‘As we got close to the end of school, Eddie started to behave outlandishly, splashing money that I didn’t think he had to go on expensive holidays, buying designer clothes, burning hundreds of pounds on nights out. And then we went to Oxford together, and things got worse.’

He released Abby’s hand and took Shalimar from the coffee table, squeezing the tatty toy between his fingers.

‘Worse?’ she prompted softly.

‘He started taking drugs, disregarding everything except having a good time: wild nights out, turning up drunk or wasted to tutorials, insistent that I should join him, that this was the best time of our lives.’

‘And this was what the papers were referring to?’ Abby’s throat felt as if it was sealed shut.

He nodded. ‘I was young, living away from home for the first time, and I suppose I was weak. But it was a few joints, too much alcohol and partying. I never took the harder drugs, never went to the extremes Eddie did, but I’m not proud of the way I behaved. And of course, it began affecting my studies. I told myself I was going along with him to protect him, to stop him self-destructing, that I was still fully in control.’

‘But you weren’t?’

Jack ran a hand over his jaw, the gesture now so familiar to Abby. ‘Not at all. And Eddie laid it at my door, said that I could have anything I wanted so why shouldn’t he be the same. It was warped, but I felt guilty. I wondered if, somehow, I had pushed him into it. I couldn’t see straight to a way out for him, but when my grades started to suffer, and with Eddie getting more and more reckless, I realized that I had to change. I didn’t enjoy being constantly high or hungover, and I didn’t want to be part of Eddie’s blinkered destructiveness. I told him that I wasn’t doing it anymore, hoping it would make him see sense too.’

‘What did he say?’

‘At first, he left me behind, and a part of me was relieved. But then he got his act together, dragging up his grades and knocking on my door, wanting to reconcile. That became the pattern; he’d work hard for a while, and then get lured back into the drugs and start going downhill again.’

‘And you stayed friends with him all this time?’ Abby asked.

‘I realized, after that first time, that I couldn’t do anything else,’ Jack said. ‘I’d grown up with him. How could I live with myself if I left him to fall apart? I continued to go out with him – though it was more as a chaperone. I stayed away from the drugs, stood up for him when his dedication to the course was questioned. And then I had a wake-up call.’ He leaned forward and rubbed furiously at his cheeks.

Abby took hold of his wrists and gently pulled his hands away. ‘What happened?’

‘Eddie spiked my drink with Ecstasy on a night out. He was already wired, I’d refused, as always, and so he took the decision out of my hands.’

‘Oh my God.’ Abby’s stomach twisted. She tried to imagine the panic, the helplessness of something like that happening to her. For Jack, who was always – almost always – so in control, it must have been horrifying.

‘I’d started seeing a girl, Hannah, and when I got back to our flat I was a mess. I’d worked out what he’d done, but I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know how much he’d put in my drink, and Hannah ended up calling an ambulance. She was upset and scared, my parents were called and the college was notified. I was lucky not to lose my place.

‘After I’d stopped taking part in Eddie’s stupid games and tried to support him, he’d compromised my relationships, my future. I thought, if he can go that far, then what else can he do? I broke off all contact with him and threw myself into my studies. And, over time, I heard he’d improved. He got cleaned up, started studying again, managed to scrape through with a degree of his own.

‘A couple of years after I’d graduated, when I’d been writing for a while trying to get a novel finished, our old professor, Ernest Chisolm, contacted me. He said Eddie was writing a book and was desperate to rebuild bridges. I should have said no – to this day I wish I had – but I was curious. I also thought that what he’d done to me had been the catalyst for his own recovery and I felt, somehow, I owed it to him to hear him out.’

‘It’s understandable,’ Abby said, sliding her finger round the rim of her coffee cup.

‘Is it? I knew that getting back in touch with him was a bad idea, that however much he’d moved on, that self-destructive nature wasn’t too far from the surface. But I saw him, and there was a semblance of the old Eddie there. He drew me back in – he’s charming, clever, and very good at pulling the wool over people’s eyes. We weren’t as tightly bound as we’d been before, but our friendship was shakily resurrected. And then, just as we were both getting our careers off the ground, he was accused of plagiarism by Ernest Chisolm. He’d ripped off the work of our tutor, who had stayed in touch with him, helped him, long after graduation.’

Abby inhaled. ‘Seriously? Your tutor’s work?’

Jack nodded. ‘Eddie asked me to bail him out. He said he was innocent, that Ernest was making it up, bitter that Eddie’s book was being published when his wasn’t. He said Ernest was lying but that he could placate him, make it go away. However, there was also a journalist who had uncovered it, and it was someone I knew. I wanted time to compare their work, to see for myself and make a decision, but Eddie told me the story was going to print, that there was no time.

‘He was so close to the edge, high on drink and drugs again, worse than I’d ever seen him, and I knew this could tip him over. I agreed to pay off the journalist while he settled whatever he needed to with Ernest, as long as he never mentioned my involvement to anyone, got his life back on track and stayed away from me.’

He looked at Abby, laughing when she was unable to hide her confusion.

‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘I should never have agreed to it. But he was drowning, Abby. And I, all high and mighty with my book deal and good early reviews, thought I could pull him out of the depths. It was about helping an old friend but, looking back, I realize it was about my own arrogance, too. I wanted to show him that I was tired of all his shit, that I was stronger than he presumed, and I could get this journalist to listen to me. Look how that’s turned out.’

‘Jack.’ Abby scooted forwards and took his hands. His T-shirt was faded red, the neckline pulled slightly out of shape. She thought of him putting it hastily on as Eddie had knocked on the door of Peacock Cottage that morning, imagining it would be her, then the shock at seeing him standing there.

‘He took my help and disappeared,’ Jack continued, clearly needing to get to the end of the story. ‘I checked their work, discovered that – of course – he had stolen Ernest’s. He’d been lying, I’d helped him to get away with it, and lost the trust and friendship of my old tutor in the process. But I believed that, in doing what I’d done, I’d saved Eddie – perhaps even his life – and that in some respects it was a price worth paying.

‘I got on with my life, barely heard his name, didn’t see any more books after his first, ripped-off novel. Then he started to appear in the red tops, pictured falling drunkenly out of nightclubs, better known for being a troublemaking socialite than a writer. And then, last year, there was news of this new book.

‘Eddie’s publicity was never going to involve straightforward reviews or a launch event at Waterstones, but I hadn’t expected that interview, or the lies in it. The idea that I forced him to brush the plagiarism under the carpet, that he had wanted to come clean, that I bullied him, couldn’t be further from the truth. And, if you were wondering …’ He sighed again, squeezing her hand. ‘I did not sleep with the journalist. I knew her, which was the reason Eddie had asked for my help in the first place, so I was more likely to be able to persuade her. Though the substantial sum she asked for was probably the defining factor.’

‘I wasn’t wondering,’ Abby said. ‘I didn’t believe that for a second. But what did he say to you – at the awards?’

Jack took his hand away and drank his coffee, even though it had long since gone cold. ‘He said that I shouldn’t be too disheartened that my relationship with Natasha had ended, that there were probably some journalists waiting in the wings to ease my pain, as long as I paid them well enough.’

Abby closed her eyes.

‘I know, it’s pathetic, but on top of the interview he’d given … I’d been called in by my publishers, asked to explain myself, was close to losing my contract. And he’d begged me to help him hide the plagiarism claim. At the time, I’d put everything on the line – my career, my reputation, my relationship with my former professor – and then, years later, he revealed it himself anyway, twisting my involvement. And so, when he appeared, seemingly without a care in the world and said that to me – I lost it. It was stupid and reckless. I regret it as much as any other part of this whole, sorry business.’ He stood up and walked to the window, pushing it wide open.

Sounds of spring invaded the room, a relief after the darkness of his story. It was horrible, all of it. Their friendship starting out so innocently, Eddie beginning to crumble under the pressure of trying to prove himself, the way he’d held on to Jack and blamed him equally, creating something toxic and destructive between them. And yet, she still didn’t understand.

‘Why didn’t you tell your side of the story? Why didn’t you explain to a newspaper, or someone you trusted, what really happened all those years ago?’

Jack turned and leaned against the windowsill. ‘Because I didn’t want to stoop to his level. I didn’t want to bring what would essentially be a playground spat out into the open.’

‘A playground spat? Jack, he spiked your drink! He stole someone’s work, got you to cover for him, then fed all those lies about you to the paper.’

‘But I chose to keep our friendship intact,’ Jack said. ‘I let him back in, and maybe I was partly to blame from the start. Maybe I caused this. His disregard for other people, the drugs, the need to steal Ernest’s work to secure his own future.’

‘How could you be responsible for what Eddie did, for the way he lived his life? Jack …’ She pushed herself up and walked over to him. ‘From what you’ve told me, you have given him too many chances. You tried to rescue him when, the truth is, he doesn’t want to be rescued. The man I met today was cruel. He has caused this pain, and implicated you, deliberately. He’s jealous of you, and he can’t bear to see you do well. You have to stop protecting him.’

‘I will. I have. After what he did to you—’

‘He didn’t hurt me,’ she said quickly.

‘But he did,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t brush it away.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, blinking rapidly, and Abby suddenly saw how vulnerable he was, as if the boy who had first smiled at Eddie Markham in a classroom all those years ago had returned, only to discover that Eddie had never really been his friend at all.

‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘Of course I do,’ he whispered. ‘You’re everything, Abby.’

He kissed her and she pressed herself against him, the spring breeze caressing her through the window as she tried to believe his words, that he wasn’t just reaching out for something positive in the midst of fresh despair.

‘I have to call Leo,’ he said eventually. ‘I have to tell him what’s happened.’

‘Of course. Do you want me to go?’

He shook his head. ‘Stay with me?’

She made more coffee, listening to the cadence of his deep voice through the thin walls of the cottage. The back garden was a riot of spring flowers, of tulips and lupins, a white rose bush, the stems drooping under the weight of its blooms. Bees buzzed, early cabbage whites flittered happily in the still air, and she heard the trill of a warbler in the woodland beyond. Everything outside was peaceful and beautiful, carrying on in a way that made her envious.

When she returned to the living room, Jack was slumped on the sofa, staring at his phone.

‘What did Leo say?’ Abby asked.

Jack didn’t reply immediately. He looked at her apprehensively, and despite the warmth of the day, she felt chilled.

‘What?’ Abby whispered.

‘He’s pissed off,’ Jack said. ‘Understandably.’

‘With Eddie?’

‘And with me. He thinks I should have seen it coming, that I should have protected you, and he’s right. I should have—’

‘What? Stopped me from leaving the house? Come on Jack, how could you have predicted this would be his next move? And isn’t Leo just firing off because he’s panicking? He seemed happy enough last night, unless he was giving you warnings when I wasn’t listening.’

Jack shook his head. ‘He wasn’t. But he thinks I need to face it this time, to stand up to Eddie, and I’ve told him I’m ready to tell my side of the story. I’m just sorry this has led to you being involved. If I hadn’t asked you to come with me last night …’

‘Stop it, Jack.’ She sat next to him and put the steaming mugs on the table. ‘What is the point of if only? We are where we are, and you need to listen to Leo, do everything he says. Promote your book, show everyone the real you, and prove that Eddie’s story is a complete fabrication.’

‘You sound so certain.’

‘And you sound like you’re already defeated. Come on Jack, where’s your fighting spirit?’

He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘My fighting spirit is here. With you.’

‘There you go then,’ Abby said. ‘Let’s see some of it.’

But Jack’s smile faded, taking Abby’s confidence with it. She suddenly felt weighted down by something, a realization that didn’t hit home until Jack confirmed it.

‘Leo says I need to go back to London. That I need to be proactive, speak to Bob Stevens about the Page Turner Foundation, get the interviews started. He says I can’t do that from here, that I have to throw myself back into the spotlight, bulldoze Eddie’s claims with my presence and overwhelm the negative stories with positive ones.’

Abby’s mouth was so dry that she could barely speak. ‘In London,’ she managed.

‘In London.’

‘When?’ It was a whisper.

‘He’s coming up first thing tomorrow, to help me pack.’

‘Tomorrow.’

The room was full of echoes. She couldn’t do anything else but repeat his words and try and make sense of the fact that, after tomorrow, Jack wouldn’t be here anymore.

‘Abby, I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have a choice.’

She felt the well of emotion, her thoughts whirring, wondering if this return to London was planned all along. If Tessa was right, and he had been using her from the beginning. But then she forced herself to look at him – and couldn’t believe it.

‘I could come,’ she said.

Hope flashed briefly across his face, then disappeared. ‘No, you couldn’t. Your life is here, in Meadowgreen. With Penelope and Rosa, Octavia, Raffle, Meadowsweet. I could never ask that of you.’

‘You don’t want me to come?’

‘You have no idea how much I want you to come, how painful it is that I know you can’t.’

‘I could. I—’ Her words were swallowed up as Jack pulled her against his chest. She pressed her face into the warm fabric of his T-shirt.

‘I should never have let you get dragged into this,’ he said. ‘I should have left you alone after that first day, when you came to berate me for complaining. You were right, too, but I couldn’t help it. Already, I knew I needed to see you again. I invented that rubbish about pheasants damaging my car, I sat at my desk thinking up ways I could get you to come here, or I could come and see you. Even after we’d been for coffee, part of me knew this was just a fantasy, that Peacock Cottage, Meadowgreen – you’re too good for me.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘And now I’ve proved that I can’t hold on to it.’

‘Jack, this is not your fault.’ She sat up. ‘How could it be?’

‘I should have stayed away from you. I should have been stronger, and then this – Eddie, going back to London – none of it would have mattered.’

‘Of course it would have. How can you say that?’

‘Because without you, I …’ He faltered, shrugging.

After tomorrow he would be back in London, and Peacock Cottage would be empty again. She would be left with nothing but memories and a dull ache in her chest that was already unfurling, blossoming like the roses in the garden.

A single tear leaked out, and she broke eye contact with him. Jack cupped her face and brought his lips to hers, and Abby let him kiss away her sadness. And, as their kisses deepened, ignoring the fact that the curtains were open, or that Raffle was sleeping loyally at their feet, all Abby could think about was standing next to him in front of Swallowtail House as the sun dipped and the windows flamed, and how much everything had changed.

Abby stayed with Jack, returning to his bedroom, glancing at her phone screen but not replying to the persistent messages from Rosa and Octavia, one from Tessa inviting her over tomorrow. Jack, too, focused solely on her, even when Leo’s name flashed up on his iPhone.

‘I’ll listen to his message later,’ he murmured, pulling the duvet over them both.

She tried not to think about the photos, and that if Eddie was as intent on hurting Jack as he seemed to be, then the pictures would most likely be online already. She tried not to think about anything but being with Jack.

When the sun began to set, he slipped from the bed, fed Raffle some cold beef, made cheese on toast and cups of tea, and brought them back upstairs.

Abby settled into the crook of his arm as they ate, watching the sky darken.

‘London’s not that far from Suffolk,’ she said into the quiet. ‘I could visit you.’

Jack kissed the top of her head. ‘The press might follow the story, see if they can get any more on what Eddie’s fed them. I don’t want to risk you being implicated any more than you already are.’

Abby nodded, trying not to feel it as a rejection.

‘And Leo will want me to concentrate on the book, the publicity.’ He sighed and put his empty plate on the bedside table. ‘I don’t want you to stay away Abby, but I need to protect you from some of this. If it gets difficult again, if I—’

‘Who will stop you from drowning your sorrows in a bottle of whisky?’

‘I promise that if I even think about it, I’ll go and get some chips instead, OK?’

Abby laughed, the sound breaking through the quiet. ‘OK. You have to keep that promise, though, or I’ll worry.’

He slunk down the pillows, pulling her to him. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘You will?’

He hesitated. ‘The thought of you here, striding through the reserve, sitting in the forest hide watching those ridiculous bullfinches will keep me going.’

She nodded, wondering how she was going to go back to her job, to be bright and bubbly and full of the joys of summer when Jack was living his life without her, back in London.

They slept, they talked, they held each other, and then, long after the birds had woken and the new day had begun, a loud knock on the door dragged them from sleep, and Jack crawled out of bed, pulled on jeans and the scruffy red T-shirt, and went to let Leo in.

Chapter Two

The magpie is a large black and white bird with a long tail about the same length as its body. They eat almost anything, and often steal eggs and baby birds from nests. They’re the subject of a lot of superstition – seeing a single magpie can be a sign of bad fortune, impending death or the devil. A magpie’s call is like a harsh cackle.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Abby took her time showering in Peacock Cottage’s clean but dated bathroom, hearing the low mumblings of Jack and Leo downstairs. She was pleased that, knowing everything, Jack was ready to give his side of the story, even if she didn’t believe her involvement should have been the final straw, that he should have stopped it long before now. His loyalty to Eddie was, in some ways, commendable, but she could also see that he had been trapped by him, stuck between friendship and the guilt of having been brought up in a family with more opportunities.

But in the relatively short time Abby had known Jack, she hadn’t seen him push his wealth in other people’s faces, even if that wealth was now due to book sales rather than his upbringing. He wore expensive clothes and aftershave, drove a good car, but he’d always done those things in an unobtrusive way, never showing off. She remembered that at the beginning she’d felt he’d had a sense of entitlement, but she had come to see that as the remains of the confidence he’d had before Eddie’s interview thrust him unkindly into the spotlight, and his frustration at the turn his life had taken.

She couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Jack was responsible for Eddie’s behaviour, but even after a brief encounter with him, she could see how he could get Jack to believe that, could weave his web around his friend in order to bring him down too. Eddie Markham was definitely a storyteller, even if his best ones hadn’t made their way between the pages of a book.

When Abby tiptoed into the living room, Jack was standing at the window with his back to the room, and Leo was sitting on the sofa, Raffle lying across his lap. His narrow face was punctuated by worry lines, and his smile, when he acknowledged her, was weary.

‘Hi Abby,’ he said. ‘Your dog’s taken a bit of a liking to me.’

‘Leo, it’s good to see you again. Even when—’ She gestured, unsure how to encompass everything. ‘Let me get him off, he gets heavy after a while. Raffle, come on dude.’ She stroked the fur between her dog’s ears and coaxed him off Leo’s lap. Raffle gave a single, loud bark and scrambled onto the floor.

Abby sat on the sofa next to Leo and saw the clutch of Sunday papers that he must have brought with him. The first one had a story about a hurricane in America on the front page, the devastation it had caused, but in the bottom right was a small, blurry picture, and Abby felt the shock at seeing herself, her bright blue T-shirt and denim shorts, her hair looking lighter in the sun.

The photo had been taken at the moment when Eddie had made his move, in the seconds when she’d been too stunned to react, and the headline accompanying it read: Markham and Westcoat’s war turns personal. Abby closed her eyes, torn between wanting to read what was written, and wanting to bury her head in the sand.

‘I’m sorry Abby,’ Leo said gently. ‘This is the worst one. I would say don’t read it, but I think you need to know what they’ve said.’

He riffled through the pile, pulled out a paper that had nothing about them on the cover, but then he turned to one of the pages inside and Abby saw the headline running across the top in bold font.

Thick as thieves: Eddie and Jack share same woman, hours apart!

Abby forced herself to read the short article.

The rivalry between authors Eddie Markham and Jack Westcoat took a new turn today when, we can exclusively reveal, they were seen snuggling up to the same woman, only hours apart. Eddie Markham, 34, whose second novel, Stifle, was published last year, was pictured in an embrace with 31-year-old mystery girl, Abby Field, the morning after the Page Turner literary gala, where she had accompanied Jack Westcoat, bestselling author of In the Grip of Death and The Fractured Path, among others. Jack and Eddie’s once-close friendship blew up last July when Eddie revealed that Jack had helped him cover up an alleged plagiarism scandal centred around his first book, The Scoop. Westcoat, 34, retaliated at the Page Turner awards with a well-aimed punch, and had been in hiding until making a triumphant appearance at the gala on Friday night. With his new book due to be published in less than three months’ time, it is yet to be seen what effect this new development will have on his troubled career. It is understood that Ms Field is a resident of the Suffolk village where Jack has been staying, while her involvement with Markham is still a matter for speculation. At the time of going to print, neither of the authors’ spokesmen were available for comment.

The rest of the page was taken up with two photographs. A bigger, grainier version of the one she had seen on the cover of the other paper, Eddie’s hand around her arm, his face inches from hers, Raffle positioned behind them so that his bared teeth were hidden from view.

The other was a snap from the gala that she hadn’t realized was being taken. It showed her and Jack, dressed in their finery, her arm in his as they stepped towards the hotel’s grand entrance. Jack’s head was angled towards hers, his hair flopping over his forehead, and he was smiling. She was looking down, probably concentrating on the steps, but her pink lips were curved upwards, the sheer fabric of her dress glistening like water under the camera’s flash.

If it hadn’t been in a national newspaper, used to tell a story that was so far from the truth that it was laughable, she would have wanted to cut it out and keep it as a memento of that night. She realized that she had no photos of Jack, that they had never stopped for a selfie, that she hadn’t taken one spontaneously, surprising him when they’d been walking through the woods.

‘Eddie hasn’t made a statement,’ Leo said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Which is a good thing. Maybe he’s hoping the pictures will speak for themselves, because he knows that if he tries to claim anything more then it will be quickly denied.’

‘By you?’ she asked.

Leo nodded, his fingers pressed against his lips.

‘We’re going to respond to this,’ Jack said, turning from the window. ‘We’re going to say that Eddie staged it, that it was the first time you had spoken to him.’

‘We’ll keep your name out of it, Abby,’ Leo added.

‘How? It’s already in here.’ She pressed her hand over the page, the newsprint dusty beneath her palm.

‘But we don’t have to confirm it,’ Leo explained. ‘We’ll refer to you as a close friend of Jack’s, if that’s OK with you.’

‘Sure’ she said. ‘Look, I – I should leave you two to it, shouldn’t I? Packing, and everything.’

Leo stood and gave her a quick, tight hug. ‘It’s been lovely to get to know you, Abby.’ He patted her twice on the shoulder, then stepped back. ‘Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon. And don’t forget to smile, OK? However miserable you feel on the inside, smile, and you’re halfway there.’

‘I’ll try,’ she said, forcing a smile, wondering why that phrase sounded so familiar.

Jack walked with her to the front door. She stepped onto the path, into a beautiful day bursting with the heady scents of early summer. She let Raffle’s lead out, allowed him to snuffle at the grass, at the tires of Jack’s squashed-frog Range Rover that, in a few hours, would be speeding down to London.

‘This is too hard,’ Jack said, wrapping his arms around her waist. ‘I’m supposed to go back to my flat, stand up to Eddie, talk passionately about my new novel, while you’re here.’

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said. ‘Better than fine. You’ll tell your side of the story, prove that you don’t deserve the accusations, that you’ve done nothing but try and help him, and your new book will be brilliant. You’ll be a huge success.’

‘What about you?’ he asked, tipping her face up to his. ‘Tell me what you’ll do.’

‘I’ll save Meadowsweet,’ she said. ‘And the house of birds and butterflies.’

His smile was strained. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ve seen you at work, seen the way people respond to your enthusiasm, how you’re inspiring a new generation of nature lovers, children – fledglings – who will grow up to make a difference. You give people hope, Abby, and I haven’t been immune from that. Even in the face of what’s happened, I’ll go back to London with hope, because of you.’

She exhaled, holding in her tears. ‘We’ll stay in touch, though, won’t we?’

‘Of course.’ He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her. This was the last time, she realized. A parting gift before he left to start a new chapter of his life.

‘I need to let you get on,’ she said, when they’d pulled apart.

‘I’ll write to you.’

‘You’d better. Goodbye, Jack.’

‘Goodbye, Abby Field.’

She walked down the path, Raffle trotting close to her, his fur rubbing against her leg. As she turned away from Peacock Cottage, stepping onto the track that would lead her to the village and home, she glanced behind her. Jack was slumped against the doorframe, a hand covering his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

When Abby got home, she went straight up to her bedroom, pulled UK Flora and Fauna down from the shelf and took out Jack’s letters. She removed each one from its envelope in turn, reliving their relationship through his words from that first, haughty complaint to the warmer, tender notes they’d become. Raffle lay alongside her, his nose nudging her elbow, and she wrapped her arms around him and let her tears soak his fur.

The rest of the day passed in a daze. She replied to Rosa’s messages as vaguely as she could, apologized to Tessa for not getting back in touch, and texted Octavia to thank her for looking after Raffle, saying the event was fun, but not elaborating. Nobody, she thought with relief, seemed to have seen the papers with her photo in. It hadn’t been splashed as widely as she’d feared, but still, appearing on the front of a national newspaper wasn’t something she’d ever expected to happen in her life. Her name had been mentioned, the implication that she was having – or had had – relationships with both Eddie and Jack, but somehow the reality of that wasn’t able to penetrate the fug in her brain.

Jack was gone, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t get Tessa’s words out of her head. Her suggestion that Jack was no good for her, that he would use her and then return to London. It had played out as her sister had warned, but Abby couldn’t believe that Jack’s sadness at leaving her behind was false, that he was going back to his old life willingly and putting on a good show of pretending otherwise.

As the evening slipped towards a cool, perfect night, a nightingale singing while the sunshine whispered at the edge of the horizon, and Abby was sitting listlessly in her cosy armchair, she got a text from Gavin.

You dark horse! Working your way through literary celebs like a kid in a sweet shop. Whatever will Penelope think? ;)

Penelope. Meadowsweet. She had to go back there tomorrow, to carry on with her job and act like everything was normal. With dread settling in her stomach, she cleaned her teeth and crawled into bed, Raffle refusing to leave her side.

Abby woke on Monday morning and for a few blissful seconds had no recollection of the day before. Then it hit her. She stared at the ceiling as sunlight danced patterns across it through the gap in her curtains, then forced herself out of bed to take Raffle for his walk. She got ready for work with a dogged determination, everything on autopilot.

She took the long way in, not wanting to be faced with Peacock Cottage and its emptiness, but walking past the gate of Swallowtail House was as strong a reminder of her time with Jack. The house looked beautiful in the sunshine, its crumbling stonework and cracked sills not visible at this distance, and it seemed to beckon her towards it. She lifted the hefty padlock Jack had bought, and a lump lodged in her throat.

She felt winded, like she’d been hit by a car and her breathing was refusing to settle, everything bruised and tender. She was also angry with herself. Was this normal? Had some of Octavia’s air for the dramatic rubbed off on her? She hadn’t felt like this when she had broken it off with Darren. She had been sad, of course, but it had been a relief more than anything. Now she felt hollow, as if she would crack open at the lightest touch.

‘Get a grip, Abby,’ she said out loud, and a robin landed on a branch ahead of her, its delicate beak opening, its song firing something inside her, spurring her on.

The visitor centre was quiet when she arrived, and as she hung up her coat, she heard Stephan whistling ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ loudly and tunelessly. He placed a steaming mug of tea on the reception desk.

‘Thanks so much, Stephan.’

‘Good couple of days off?’ he asked, his eyes finding hers and then flitting away.

Lead settled in her stomach. ‘You’ve seen?’

‘Joyce and Karen came to mine for a roast yesterday and, well, Karen’s a fan of those online news sites – Daily Mail bar of shame and all that. She reads some of the articles out to Joyce. They were quite excited – they had no idea you were involved with Jack.’

‘Shit,’ Abby whispered, resting her elbows on the desk. ‘It wasn’t – I’d never met Eddie before. He tricked me.’

Stephan nodded sympathetically. ‘I thought it would be someone playing silly buggers. Your event with Jack, though, how did that go? Always best to focus on the positives.’

‘It was lovely,’ she said. ‘Really lovely. Anyway,’ she added, desperate to change the subject, ‘did you have a nice weekend? I didn’t know you were close to Karen and Joyce.’

Stephan grinned. ‘We’re getting on, the three of us’ he said. ‘Though I’ve got my sights set on Joyce, as it happens. She’s a wonderful, strong woman, Abby. And so funny. I’m quietly confident that that she feels something for me, too.’

‘Stephan, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.’

‘I haven’t asked her yet, planning on officially inviting her on a date tomorrow night, scintillating conversation over a large bowl of paella, and I – uh-oh.’ Stephan’s eyes widened, and Abby turned in time to see Penelope striding in, followed closely by Rosa, who levelled her with a meaningful stare.

‘The three of you,’ Penelope said without slowing down, ‘in my office in two minutes. No dawdling.’

‘Shit,’ Abby muttered again, once Penelope’s door was closed.

‘Abby!’ Rosa rushed over to her as she pulled off her coat. ‘What on earth is going on? I saw the paper. Are you OK? What happened?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Abby said. ‘But the thing with Eddie, it was false. He made it up as another way to get at Jack.’

‘Crap,’ Rosa whispered. ‘And you and Jack?’

‘We—’

‘Now, ladies,’ Penelope said.

‘I’ll tell you later.’ Abby followed Rosa towards the inner sanctum.

The sun was streaming through the window, hitting the back of Penelope’s head so she looked like she had a halo. Stephan followed Abby and Rosa, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Abby wasn’t sure that would be enough to mollify their boss who, in a high-necked, navy blouse, her hair scraped into its usual, tight bun, didn’t look like she was in the mood for a natter over tea and cake.

‘I was going to keep this discussion between myself and Abby,’ Penelope started once they’d all sat down.But I have decided it’s no use beating around the bush, and that this involves all of you.’

‘Penelope, I—’

‘I had several important meetings on Friday, one of which was with the bank,’ she said, talking over Abby. ‘And the situation at Meadowsweet isn’t improving. I value all your efforts, and I know you’ve been working hard to keep this place going, however, it hasn’t been enough, and while some publicity is good, some is decidedly not.’

She didn’t look at Abby, but her meaning was clear. Abby dropped her head, her neck burning.

‘Anyway, that is an aside. My meeting with Mr Philpott was before the Sunday papers, and they had no bearing on his decision. We haven’t been making a profit, it’s as simple as that, and I cannot hold off the wolves any longer. I was given a number of options; seek an investor in the reserve or sell off some of its assets. While one of those is much more attractive than the other, I fear I no longer have a choice. Running Meadowsweet has never been about making money, it’s been about protecting the land, the wildlife, giving people the chance to see it, but without any sort of profit, it can’t survive. And now our time has run out.’

‘But couldn’t we keep looking for an investor?’ Rosa asked, her palms pressed together.

‘Rosa,’ Penelope said, a sigh in her voice, ‘I’ve been trying. A friend of mine has been exploring the options on my behalf, and it’s all been in vain. No, the decision is made. I’m going to have to sell Swallowtail House.’

There was a stunned silence, and Abby sank lower in her seat, wondering if things could get any worse.

‘Will that impact on the reserve?’ Stephan asked eventually.

Penelope pursed her lips, and Abby could imagine how hard it had been to say those words, to admit that the home she had been happy in with Al, that she had fought so hard to hold on to, was now going to be lost. What happened to the reserve was, perhaps, not the point for her.

‘It could do,’ Penelope said. ‘Of course, I own the estate, and am entitled to sell which parts I want, and the house itself is listed. But the grounds directly abut the reserve, and depending on who buys it and what their plans are, it could significantly impact on the harmony, the sanctity of Meadowsweet. Our only option is to move onwards and upwards, and hope that the new owner will be sympathetic to its position.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Abby said. ‘I know what the house means to you.’

‘Do you?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Do you have any understanding at all, of Swallowtail, of the reserve and their significance – of Al’s legacy? Because if you did, I believe you wouldn’t have been so casual in your handling of it.’

‘Penelope!’ Abby gasped.

‘I know Jack Westcoat, of course,’ she continued. ‘I can understand the attraction. But while you’ve been allowing him to take up all your time, you have let us down. Planning events halfheartedly, or leaving it so late that you’re in such a state by the time they come round you’re unable to deal with problems effectively. That is no way to run a public-facing business at the best of times, let alone when it’s in crisis.’

‘Now hang on,’ Stephan said.

‘Not to mention this latest failing.’ Penelope kept going, ignoring him. ‘While Reston Marsh is bathing in the wholesome publicity of Wild Wonders, you have got yourself embroiled in some sort of scandalous love triangle. I don’t claim to know the truth and I don’t want to know, but this, Abby, is not the kind of press we need. I don’t want you to be the only attraction anyone is interested in. First it was Jack, and now he’s gone back to London, he’s left you in his place. I had hoped, with his departure, the whole debacle would be over.’

‘Jack’s gone?’ Rosa asked, flashing Abby a concerned look.

Abby couldn’t move, couldn’t blink or breathe or open her mouth to respond to Penelope’s accusations.

‘I have been considering your position, Abigail, and I’m struggling to see any reason to keep you on here.’

There was a beat of silence, and then Rosa and Stephan started talking at once, leaning forward towards their boss.

‘Abby’s been brilliant, you can’t get rid of her.’

‘The whole thing will fall apart without her!’

Penelope held a hand up, stopping them. ‘I am still considering it. I’ll make my decision by the end of the week. Now, back to work, all of you. And I mean work, not gossip.’

They left her office, Stephan retrieving the tray of untouched drinks. Abby was last, and she half-expected Penelope to call her back, to give her a private dressing-down, or maybe ask what had happened with Jack. Leo had obviously been in touch with her, to let her know he was giving up his lease on Peacock Cottage, which was probably another blow to the finances of the estate.

‘She’s upset about the house,’ Rosa whispered as they walked slowly to the reception desk, where Maureen was talking to a group of visitors. ‘She’s not going to fire you. It would be a ridiculous, counterproductive move. Either she has no idea how much you really do here, or she’s just angry and can’t think straight. But what happened with Jack?’

They heard the click of Penelope’s door opening, and Rosa hurried back to the shop.

Abby took over from Maureen, and then, when reception was quiet, pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped a text to Rosa.

It’s a mess. Come to the pub with me later? x

Her friend’s reply was instant.

Sure. Xx

Abby hadn’t had a message from Jack since their parting the day before, but maybe he was feeling as shell-shocked as she was. She hadn’t sent him one either, and how could she now, when she was on the verge of losing her job, when he’d told her that the thought of her striding through the reserve was keeping him going, and very soon she might not even have that?

Chapter Three

Many species of ducks, geese and wading birds are only visitors to the UK, coming here for the food and the warmer weather and returning home in the spring. When you hear the honking call of geese above you and look up, you can often see them flying in a V shape. This is so they can get where they need to go more quickly, the bird at the front breaking up the wall of air, like an arrow. When one bird is injured and can no longer fly, family members stay with it, looking after it until it recovers, and then they all set off again together.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Abby arrived at the pub after collecting Raffle, expecting to find Rosa waiting for her at a table for two. Instead, she was at their usual, large table in the window. And so were Jonny, Stephan, Gavin and Octavia. A pint of lager sat bubbling at the empty place, and Abby, grateful and wary, dropped into the chair, picked up the drink and took a long, fortifying sip.

‘Dear Abby,’ Octavia said. ‘You’ve had a trying few days. Come, tell us everything, get it off your chest.’

‘What happened with Jack?’ Rosa asked. ‘Why has he gone back to London?’

‘Did Penelope really threaten to fire you?’ Jonny added. ‘I can’t believe it. Not after all those events.’

‘What the fuck were you doing gracing the front page of the Daily fucking Mirror?’ Gavin finished, his pint hovering close to his lips.

Abby leant down to stroke Raffle’s head, looking at the expectant faces of her friends, thinking how ironic it was that she’d become the subject of the gossip they loved to share, and wondered if she could bear to go through it with them. But her truth was better than someone else’s speculation or lies – she had come to appreciate that much – and these people who cared about her, who had stood up for her, deserved honesty.

She told them everything, stopping short of the intimate details of her time with Jack and the extent of her feelings for him, though she was sure they could see how wretched she felt.

‘So, Eddie Markham’s a total fucking snake, then,’ Gavin said, returning from the bar with fresh drinks. ‘Did you report him to the police?’

Abby shook her head. ‘He didn’t have a chance to do anything other than grab me, thanks to Raffle. And the photo made it look like it was consensual.’

Jonny drummed his fingers on the table. ‘The photo-editing software they have nowadays, they can do almost anything.’

‘It’s sick behaviour,’ Octavia said. ‘And you’ve lost your darling Jack because of it.’

‘Please don’t be sympathetic,’ Abby whispered. ‘I don’t know if I can take it.’

Gavin slung his arm around Abby’s shoulders. He smelt of sweat after a day working in the heat of the reserve. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘Get pissed, chuck things about, usual break-up stuff. And show Penelope how wrong she is – I can’t believe she said that you hadn’t been working hard enough! What a load of bollocks.’

‘Complete and utter bollocks,’ Stephan added vehemently.

Abby smiled. ‘Thank you – all of you. And I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, or I’ve done anything to deserve Penelope’s accusations. I got … sidetracked. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I still did it.’ She rubbed her forehead. The beer was already having an effect, and she fought the urge to lay her head on the table and have a quick nap.

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