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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 © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008225827

Version 2018-03-28

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Part Three: Twilight Song

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Keep Reading…

Chapter 1

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Part Three

Chapter One

Badgers are nocturnal creatures, which means they only come out at night. They’re very shy, with dark fur, beady eyes and a white stripe down their nose. They’re quite large – about the size of a cocker spaniel – and they can’t see very well but their sense of smell and hearing is very good, so wear dark clothes and stay very quiet if you are trying to see one. They growl and play fight and make a lot of noise when they’re eating, and bushes rustle when they walk through the undergrowth. Coming across one in the dark can be very scary, but remember, the badger will be more scared of you than you are of it. Probably.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Abby Field’s hands were covered in lard, seed and, most unpleasantly of all, dead mealworms. The children standing at the picnic tables in Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s sunny outdoor area seemed entirely happy to bury their fingers – and forearms in some cases – deep in the mixture, their parents less so. There was one small girl of about five whose face was also partially covered, and warden Gavin, who was ostensibly there to help and who had two girls of his own, was trying desperately not to laugh while her mum picked buggy lard out of her hair.

A robin – was it Bob, who they had named the previous autumn and who liked to sit on the windowsill of the visitor centre? – was hovering nearby, hopping between table and floor, aware that there would be rich pickings once the children had finished their craft session.

‘How’s everyone getting on?’ Abby asked, after she had shaped little Benjy’s mixture into a ball and wiped her hands on an old towel. ‘Does anyone need help?’ About ten arms went into the air, and Abby grinned at Gavin before they each went to the raised hand nearest them.

‘We did this at the other place, didn’t we?’ one of the children said to their dad. ‘It was much better, we had a whole tub to take home, and there were TV cameras and everything.’

Abby caught the man’s eye and he smiled apologetically. Abby tried not to take offence at the boy’s words, but the knowledge that Reston Marsh, the nature reserve a few miles away, which was hosting the television programme Wild Wonders, complete with glamorous presenter Flick Hunter, was not only threatening the future of Meadowsweet but also running similar activities to them, was a blow she didn’t need.

It was spring on the Suffolk nature reserve, a sunny Saturday that was also, as Gavin was at pains to remind everyone, St Patrick’s Day. The plan was for the reserve staff to head to the Skylark, the quaint country pub in Meadowgreen village, once they had finished work, but Abby’s sister Tessa was coming to visit, and Abby didn’t want to share her with her friends on this occasion.

As the session came to an end and the children left, carrying their lard balls carefully in cardboard boxes, Abby’s phone beeped. It was her next-door neighbour, and owner of Meadowgreen’s converted chapel library, Octavia Pilch.

T-minus ten days until Jack Westcoat liftoff!! What is there left to do?

Abby huffed in frustration. Octavia was organizing the Jack Westcoat liftoff, which was actually an author event in the library, and should know exactly what there was left to do. Besides, Abby only had an hour before her afternoon workshop, making nest boxes with older children, was due to start, and she was desperate for a sandwich. She helped Gavin clear up the picnic tables and headed into the visitor centre.

She was surprised to see Penelope Hardinge, her boss and the owner of the Meadowsweet reserve, poring over the computer on the reception desk. Abby approached quietly, studying the neatness of the woman’s grey bun, the rigidness of her thin shoulders and, when she was close enough, what Penelope was looking at. It was the events page on the reserve website.

Abby felt her hands go clammy. Events were her responsibility and, over the last few months, they had become much more important. The nature reserve was under threat from various different angles, not all of which Penelope would talk openly about.

‘Can I help?’ she asked softly.

Penelope turned to her with steely eyes. ‘It’s looking a bit thin, isn’t it? For the next few months, at least. This is the spring, Abby, when blossoms bloom and chrysalises become butterflies and birds sing gloriously, and we should be maximizing on that.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Abby started, ‘but this is only the beginning. I’m a bit behind with the website, but I have a whole series of workshops to add, and there are six schools confirmed for the last two weeks of term.’

‘And grand plans?’ Penelope asked. ‘The incentives and membership boosts that will secure our future long term? Expanding on the walks is all very well, but you’re not thinking big enough, scaling it up in a way that will truly make a difference.’

‘A camping event,’ she said quickly, because that was a grand plan she’d had, it just wasn’t that well-formed yet. ‘I thought we could hold it on the field behind the meadow. We can combine nature trails and stargazing, run activities and binocular displays. Stephan and the café could cater, and I can organize local, organic producers to come and sell honey, veg and meat. It would be like a mini festival.’

‘Excellent,’ Penelope said. ‘I’d like to see your proposal for that on my desk by Tuesday, complete with how we’re going to end that event with noticeably increased membership numbers.’

Three days away. Shit. ‘A – a formal proposal?’

‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Wild Wonders is gathering momentum, and we’re limping along at a much slower pace, despite the murmuration event and your other, select, successes. It’s a few bright stars in a black sky, Abby, when it needs to be a galaxy if we’re to have any chance of survival.’

Abby nodded, feeling the weight of Penelope’s words. ‘And Swallowtail?’ she asked quietly.

Swallowtail House, the grand Georgian mansion that was part of the Meadowsweet estate and stood looking over the reserve and Meadowgreen village, had once been Penelope’s home. She had moved out of it when her husband, Al, had died suddenly, and it had stayed empty for over sixteen years. A couple of weeks ago, Penelope had confided to Abby that if things didn’t improve quickly then Swallowtail House might have to be sold.

Abby knew that Penelope loved it, that despite leaving it to the mercy of nature, she wasn’t able to fully let go of it. And since Abby had taken herself or, more accurately, been taken on a tour of the abandoned property by Jack Westcoat, she felt strongly about it too. There was a bright future for that house, but if Penelope was forced into selling it to someone who didn’t know the area or the importance of the reserve then it could be disastrous.

‘I am holding on,’ Penelope said, ‘my teeth and claws bared, but until I can show the bank that Meadowsweet is firmly in the black, then we’re teetering on a precipice. It’s not an ideal position to be in.’

‘I know,’ Abby said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ Penelope stood up. She was a good few inches taller than Abby and intimidating in more ways than Abby had fingers to count. ‘Just be better. Are any birds nesting in the library, for example?’

‘What? No, I don’t think so.’ She gave a half-hearted laugh.

‘That’s interesting to know.’

Abby’s gaze fell to the floor. Penelope knew that she’d been helping Octavia with the library event. She hoped that Penelope wouldn’t also have realized Abby’s main motivation for agreeing.

When Penelope spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘I’ve spent some time with Jack recently, and I’m led to believe that he’s doing better than he was. Both by the man himself and someone I’m close to, who knows him well.’

‘The person you thought might be able help?’ Their previous conversation on this topic was etched into Abby’s mind because it was so unlike Penelope to show caring – and also because Jack Westcoat was her favourite subject, despite all her best intentions.

‘Indeed. His agent, Leo Ravensberg. We’re acquainted, and both invested in Jack’s wellbeing. If he’s agreed to Octavia’s event, then he’s made his bed and will have to lie in it. But it indicates that he’s prepared to show his face here, that he’s no longer hiding himself away, and that can only be a good thing. There’s no need for you to concern yourself with him.’ She walked purposefully back to her office, closing the door quietly behind her.

Abby let her arms slide along the desk until she could lean her forehead on them. ‘Shit. Shitting shit.’

Jack Westcoat, an author of dark, psychological thrillers, had escaped to the Suffolk countryside after an incident between a fellow author’s face and Jack’s fist, to try and write the book that would recover his reputation and restore his place in the hearts of his readers. At first, their relationship had been tempestuous; he’d complained about visitors to the reserve ruining his concentration as they walked past his new home, Peacock Cottage. Abby had explained that she couldn’t close the reserve just for him, and the tension had fizzed between them. But as the months had worn on, and their animosity had been overcome, Abby hadn’t been able to stop herself falling for him.

And yet, though her pulse increased whenever she thought of Jack’s dishevelled mane of dark brown hair and his startling blue eyes, she still tried to convince herself the feelings would pass, that their kiss had been a one off. He wasn’t right for her and would probably be moving back to London soon anyway. She held out hope that the problem would resolve itself, a temporary blip on the otherwise beautiful landscape that was her life. Except that she had come to see Jack as the most attractive part, and not just because he was physically gorgeous.

‘What kind of impression are you trying to give?’ a familiar voice asked. ‘Meadowsweet zombie land?’

Abby stood up, brushing her short blonde hair off her face. ‘Sorry, I was just—’

‘Swearing softly into the desk? What’s wrong?’ Rosa looked at her with sympathetic dark eyes.

‘The usual,’ Abby said. ‘Penelope doesn’t think I’m working hard enough, that I need to up my game. I have to write a formal proposal about my camping idea – by Tuesday!’

Rosa wrinkled her button nose, obscuring some of the freckles. ‘But you’ve been doing a wonderful job.’

‘Not wonderful enough, obviously.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘And now I have half an hour until workshop number two, and I haven’t had any lunch.’

‘Go and get a sandwich. I’ll book people in. Are you coming to the pub later? It looks like you could do with a chat.’

‘Tessa’s coming over,’ Abby said. ‘So I’m going to play it by ear.’

‘Bring her too!’ Rosa urged. ‘It’s been ages since I saw your sister, and if you don’t come it’ll be me and Octavia against the boys.’

‘You and Octavia are more than a match for them, but I’ll see. Thanks, Rosa.’ She hurried off in search of a sandwich, wondering if she could face another evening of Octavia Pilch talking about how wonderful Jack Westcoat was and how he was going to singlehandedly save Meadowgreen library from an early demise. If only she could get him to save Meadowsweet Nature Reserve as well, instead of just putting her off the job of doing it, then maybe she wouldn’t be feeling quite so worried.

‘You look like a lovesick teenager,’ were the first words that Tessa said as she stepped over the threshold into Abby’s homely front room.

Abby almost dropped the bottle of wine her sister had handed her, before she took it into the kitchen while Tessa made a fuss of Raffle. Her rescue husky was friends with everyone but had a special place in his heart for Tessa, who brought him organic treats from a pet shop in Bury St Edmunds.

‘Uh-oh,’ Tessa said, as Abby poured the wine and handed her a glass. ‘Have I hit on something? Has the impregnable Abby Field finally let her defences down?’

This was not how Abby had imagined the subject coming up, so she diverted it. ‘I’m not lovesick, I’m in trouble. At work. Not trying hard enough with the events, according to Penelope. As far from a gold star as it’s possible to be.’ She poured crisps into a bowl and brought them into the living room, where Raffle was waiting eagerly. ‘Not for you.’ She rubbed his nose as she placed the bowl on the coffee table.

Raffle looked up imploringly and then settled on the rug, his nose on his paws.

‘How is that even possible?’ Tessa asked, sitting opposite her sister. ‘Haven’t you spent the whole day doing children’s activities? I couldn’t cope with that and I’ve got two of my own. Neil put a brave face on it when I left this evening, but Daisy was having a tantrum because her pink Rapunzel socks were in the washing machine. I thought about staying to help him, but then realized I didn’t want to.’ She smiled brightly and Abby laughed, always amazed by her sister’s relaxed attitude to parenthood. Daisy and Willow didn’t often go in for tantrums, and they adored their mum, who looked like she spent her days lounging by a pool with a good book instead of looking after two young children.

‘Poor old Neil,’ Abby said. ‘But I am glad to have you to myself. The others have gone to the Skylark to drink Guinness and listen to Gavin’s awful fake Irish accent.’

‘We can go if you’d like to?’ Tessa said.

Abby shook her head. ‘I want you to myself. I wanted to spend time with my sister.’

Tessa sat forward on the sofa, suddenly wary. ‘Have you seen Mum recently? Did she say something? What about Dad – has he been in touch?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Abby took a long sip of wine, trying to fortify herself. How could she tell her sister how she felt about Jack when she hadn’t even mentioned that he existed before? He’d been in Meadowgreen for six months, twisting her mind into knots, and yet she hadn’t confided in the person she was closest to in the world. It had been part of her plan to let her feelings for him run their course, but instead the opposite had happened.

‘What, then? Come on Abby, you can’t hold out on me. This isn’t just about work, I can tell.’

Abby glanced at Raffle. He cocked his head, as if he was also waiting.

‘Jack Westcoat,’ she said, because that seemed like the best place to start.

Tessa frowned, and smoothed her artfully dyed lilac hair from her face. ‘Jack Westcoat? That writer who beat his friend up at some award thing last year? What’s he got to do with the price of fish?’

‘He didn’t beat him up,’ Abby said. ‘There was one punch, and things were – are – very complicated between them.’

Tessa folded her arms. ‘Why are you defending a famous author? Has Penelope’s negativity sent you round the twist?’

‘He’s here, in Meadowgreen,’ Abby said hurriedly, ripping off the metaphorical plaster. ‘He’s staying in the cottage close to the reserve, and I – I’ve spent a bit of time with him, gone on a couple of walks.’

‘What?’ Her sister’s voice was low, wary.

‘He complained about the reserve, and when I went to challenge him, we – I don’t know, Tessa, we’ve helped each other out. He’s been miserable, and I tripped one night, walking back in the dark, and he was—’

‘You like him,’ Tessa said sharply.

‘I don’t know.’ Abby rubbed her cheeks.

‘He hit someone, Abs. He was pissed off about something, and he used his fists to deal with it.’

‘He regrets it, more than anything.’

‘And isn’t that what Dad said every time he got into another row with Mum?’

‘That was different,’ Abby said. ‘So completely different to Jack. Whenever I’ve been with him, I haven’t felt remotely threatened, or that he’s even capable of something like that. Not even when he was angry about the reserve.’

‘But he is capable though, isn’t he? And from what I’ve read, his past isn’t exactly rosy. Didn’t he get up to all sorts with that friend when they were at uni together?’

Abby scooted forward, until she was precariously balanced on the edge of her chair. ‘All anyone knows is what was reported in the press. How can we judge him when we know nothing about what really happened?’

‘But presumably if you’re spending time with him, he’s spoken to you about it?’

‘Not a lot,’ Abby admitted. ‘But he’s been really down, Tessa. He’s hiding away to write a new book that he’s hoping will fix things, but he doesn’t know anyone and he’s isolated. He needs a friend.’

‘And so kind-hearted Abby Field drops everything as usual to help out someone else, someone who’s angry and upset, who’s lost control in the past. It doesn’t sound like a great balance to me. It sounds like he’s using you.’ Tessa sighed heavily. ‘This is so familiar, Abby. You’re walking over old ground, trying to save someone who isn’t worth it. Why don’t you think about yourself for a change and find someone who’ll look after you and won’t behave like a prick?’ Tessa’s eyes were bright, two points of colour on her porcelain cheeks.

‘I am thinking of myself,’ Abby shot back, stunned by her sister’s outburst. ‘I like him. A lot. And I’m struggling with all the things you’ve said, and I don’t know how he feels about me, not really. But I thought I could trust you. I haven’t told another soul and I wanted some reassurance, someone who’d talk it over with me, not – not attack him, or me, in the process!’ She felt tears spring to her eyes, as unexpected as her sister’s vehemence.

‘Shit,’ Tessa murmured, and then she was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, but I worry about you. Out here, just you and Raffle. It seems … lonely, to me.’

‘And yet the moment I find someone I like, you warn me off him. You don’t even know him!’

‘You’re right, I don’t. But I do know of him, and I can’t help but be concerned about that, can I? Doesn’t he live in London anyway? Surely he’s only here temporarily. You spend so much time saying you can’t deal with a new relationship, that you’re scared about falling for the wrong guy, and then you find this … this—’

‘He’s not a violent person. It was a one-off.’

‘How do you know Abby? How do you know he won’t turn, and then you’ll just put up with it, like you did with Dad?’

Anger blossomed in Abby’s chest. ‘I didn’t put up with it! I couldn’t leave, could I? Not like you, disappearing off to university. I had nowhere to go, Tessa! And if they hadn’t divorced, it would have gone on, getting worse and worse with me in the middle, without you there so we could look after each other. Don’t you dare say I put up with it!’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Tessa took both of Abby’s hands in hers. ‘I know I – I wasn’t there. I’m sorry.’ Tears filled her eyes too, and Abby bit her lip, trying not to give into hers.

‘Jack isn’t like that,’ Abby whispered. ‘I’m convinced he isn’t.’ She thought back to his words, to him questioning why she could be so sure of him, and yet unsure of herself.

Tessa sighed. ‘So, you’re going out with him?’

Abby shook her head. ‘No, we’re just … friends.’

‘So, there is something holding you back?’ Tessa’s voice was soft.

‘I was hoping to talk to you, to see what you thought before I took it further. Now I know.’

‘I just want to protect you. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt again. Tell me more about him. Tell me what he’s like.’

Abby pressed her fingers against her lips. She felt numb that she couldn’t, after all, confide in her sister. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Forget I mentioned him. Tell me about Willow and Daisy, how are they getting on? How’s the pond? Is Willow still frightened of the frogspawn?’

Tessa stared at her, then wiped elegantly at her cheek and slipped into a familiar, if stilted, monologue about her happy family life.

Abby tried not to let sadness creep in. She’d been expecting Tessa – who was always so adamant Abby needed some romance in her life – to dispel her fears about Jack and encourage her to take a risk. But instead her sister had warned her against pursuing anything with this violent man, and while Abby knew that was a ridiculous summary of Jack, she couldn’t help but feel that, at least on some levels, it was true.

Getting involved with Jack Westcoat was a bad idea. Her heart might be clamouring for him, but common sense – and now, as if hammering the nail in the coffin, her big sister – was telling her to stay away.

They settled into a rhythm that wasn’t quite normal, and Tessa made her excuses and got up to leave just after ten o’clock, giving Abby a sweet-scented hug on the doorstep, and promising to call her in the next few days, their earlier conversation avoided as if it had never happened.

Abby stood on the doorstop long after she’d driven away. It was cold and misty, the streetlights turned soft-focus by the haze.

‘Fancy a quick walk before bed?’ she asked Raffle. ‘Yeah, me too. Come on then.’

She had something to do that, considering her argument with Tessa, she was even more nervous about than usual.

She’d last seen Jack two weeks ago, on his birthday, when Octavia, Rosa and Jonny had crashed their badger vigil. Since then there had been flurries of texts, interspersed with the notes that were becoming the highlight of Abby’s days.

He had continued to deliver them to the reserve, despite her warning that she was never left to read them alone, and now each time they arrived, Abby’s anticipation was mingled with trepidation, because the notes were becoming more and more personal.

At first she hadn’t believed that he would be happy to lay himself bare in front of an audience, but then she realized he enjoyed it – just as he’d enjoyed their sparring matches all those months ago. She was waiting for one of the almost writtens, for him to slip in something too intimate to be easily explained away. It hadn’t come yet, but it was a close-run thing.

Dear Abby,

Bullfinches in the garden today. I still think they’re like robins on drugs, but they are brightening up the place while the daffodils struggle to break through the frozen earth. I’d like to talk more about their finchy peep soon if possible.

Yours, JW

Dear Abby,

The tributaries have been particularly interesting today – throwing up some unexpected things. Hard to balance when you’re peering into their murky depths, I find. What about you?

Yours, JW

Dear Abby,

OP in touch today. Is it normal to be terrified about a library event? I’ve talked on much bigger stages than this one, but Octavia and her chapel library put the fear of God in me (pun intended). Will you be there to hold my hand?

Yours, JW

Abby had been lucky that Octavia hadn’t been present for that one, and Rosa had made sympathetic noises when she’d read it over her shoulder.

It was the latest one, however, which Abby couldn’t stop thinking about, and which was probably part of the reason Penelope had given her a thinly veiled talking to today, as she’d been there when it had arrived at the reserve.

Dear Abby,

I’ve been thinking a lot about our badger vigil, and what we missed out on. Are close calls such as ours normal, or is it usually more satisfying than that? It’s been on my mind.

Yours, JW

Abby knew he wasn’t talking about the badger, and Penelope wasn’t stupid; Abby was sure it was no coincidence that she had allowed Jack to come into the conversation earlier that day.

She knew she was treading on thin ground, unable to resist answering Jack’s texts at work, finding herself thinking about him and staring into space when she should have been ordering more membership forms, but she couldn’t stop. She picked up the letter she had written before Tessa arrived, and closed her front door quietly behind her. Jack would still be up, she was sure, and as she approached Peacock Cottage she was rewarded with the welcoming glow through the thin curtains of the living room window.

She tiptoed quietly up the path, slipped the note through the letterbox and hastily retreated, hurrying back towards Warbler Cottages, skirting past the tall, imposing walls of Swallowtail House. Recently, when she’d passed it, she’d had the eerie sense that the house was watching her, as if now she’d been inside she was irrevocably tied to it. In the dark, that sense was increased tenfold. She was relieved that she had Raffle with her, the husky enjoying the jog at her side, his head lifted high to sniff the night-time air.

She silently recited her note to Jack, wondering if he’d found it yet.

Dear Jack,

Close calls such as ours are, indeed, very rare, and – in this case especially – much lamented over. And to answer your earlier question, handholding is one of my specialties, but not one I give out freely. In this case, the severity of your situation makes it acceptable to offer my services. OP reminded me that it was T-minus ten days. Hold on to your hats!

Abby

PS. You will ace it, have faith in yourself. x

When she got home she distractedly put more water down for Raffle, gave him a goodnight cuddle and then got ready for bed. She stared at the dark ceiling, trying to put Jack out of her mind so she could get some sleep, but then her phone beeped, and even before she picked it up she knew who it was.

Why didn’t you knock?

Abby’s fingers hovered over the screen. Even though the truth was far from simple, she didn’t want to lie – she found that being honest with Jack was easier than it was with Penelope, Rosa and, after today, Tessa. Somehow their discouragement made her feel closer to him, as if he was the only one she could confide in.

I’m afraid of what might happen, but I do want to see you. Talk after the library event? x

The reply was almost instantaneous.

I feel the same. After the library event can’t come soon enough, for all sorts of reasons.

Abby drifted off towards sleep with a smile on her face, Tessa’s warnings and her worries about Meadowsweet temporarily forgotten.

Chapter Two

Frogspawn might look strange, like clumps of jelly, but it’s an amazing thing to have in your pond, because it means you’ll soon have lots of tadpoles, and then frogs, in the garden. You can tell the difference between frogspawn and toad spawn because frogspawn is in little clusters, and toad spawn is in long strings, like a bead necklace.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

T-minus ten days for the library event soon became T-minus ten hours, and as Abby arrived at the visitor centre that morning, twenty minutes late and flustered, Octavia was waiting to pounce on her. Her red hair was hanging untidily over her shoulders, and her jumper was unironed.

‘Abby!’ She grabbed her sleeve and looked at her pleadingly.

‘What is it?’ Abby asked. ‘What’s happened? Has the library sprung a leak? Have you lost the key? Has Jack—’ Her voice caught at the thought that the star attraction had changed his mind. In some ways she wouldn’t blame him, but to leave it to the actual day to cancel was on the callous side.

‘Oh no,’ Octavia said. ‘Jack’s fine, the library’s fine, I’m … I’m … Abby …’ She took a deep breath. ‘There are fifty people coming tonight. Fifty. The most I’ve ever had for one of my author talks is eleven, and that’s only because it was that man up the road who does whittling, and all his cousins were visiting from America to celebrate his publication day.’

‘But that’s brilliant,’ Abby said. ‘How could that be anything other than brilliant?’

‘Because I don’t have enough chairs,’ Octavia whispered. ‘Do you think people will mind sitting on beanbags?’

Abby hesitated, wondering how this experienced woman could get to a point where she had sold tickets for an event without assessing her resources beforehand, and then decided not to be too harsh. Octavia had got carried away, and under the circumstances Abby could understand it. ‘I’ll go and see Ryan at lunchtime,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’s got a function room somewhere with some stacked chairs. Do you know how many you’re short by?’

‘Sixteen,’ Octavia said, ‘and that’s if more people don’t turn up on speculation.’

‘I’ll sort it out,’ she said, giving Stephan a grateful grin when a cup of hot, milky tea was placed on the reception desk.

‘You’re a darling,’ Octavia said. ‘And Jack will sparkle. Nobody will care what they’re sitting on once he starts speaking.’

Abby waved her neighbour goodbye as she raced towards the car park, and sipped her tea, watching a pair of greenfinches on the feeders while the computer woke up. A few smatterings of spring rain darkened the concrete, though the sun was trying to break through. She would like nothing more than to spend the day out in the fresh air, answering questions and checking the nest boxes were secured, but she had her camping extravaganza to organize. She had submitted a formal proposal to Penelope, but her boss had been underwhelmed, and Abby had been firming up the details ever since.

She had a list of remaining suppliers to get in touch with during quiet moments and, hopefully, by the end of the day almost everything would be ready to slot into the programme she was pulling together.

She issued day passes to a group of older visitors, all of whom had matching blue baseball caps, one of them explaining that their village pub had set up a social club, and that Meadowsweet had been chosen as their next excursion.

Abby listened as they bickered good-naturedly, and then showed them a map of the reserve, pointing out the different habitats and where the star species had been seen recently. Once they were armed with all the information, they moved away from reception to reveal Jonny, looking fresh and spring-like in a red checked shirt and smart jeans.

‘Jonny, how are you?’ Abby asked. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘Is – uhm, Rosa here?’

Abby hid her smile. ‘She’s got a day off today. Did you want to see the binoculars? She’s ordered in a new, mid-price range that you might be interested in.’

‘Oh sure, thanks.’

She led him over to the Birdseye View section, which was opposite the till, and next to the storeroom and Penelope’s office. The door was ajar, and as she left Jonny perusing what must have been his hundredth pair of binoculars, she went to pull it closed. But the inner door to Penelope’s office was also open, and she could hear her voice, a mixture of hushed and exasperated, as she spoke on the phone.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Philpott, but I need more time. A few more months.’ There was a long pause. ‘No, I can’t. Not at present. We do – yes, we do.’ Another pause. ‘No. That can’t happen. You’re aware of my – yes, indeed. He’s been assisting me in those areas. But there is still time, I assure you.’

Abby hovered, the silence now so long she thought the call must have ended without a goodbye on Penelope’s part, but then she spoke again.

‘There are jobs at stake, not to mention the future of the reserve, the importance of protecting this whole area. This is bigger than you or me, Mr Philpott. No, I do understand, there’s no time for sentimentality. If it has to be the house then so be it, but I am confident that it hasn’t come to that yet. I can show you when – yes, I look forward to seeing you too. Goodbye.’

If it had been an old-fashioned phone, Abby was sure she would have heard the receiver slam into its cradle, but there was simply the small beep of the call ending, and then a sigh and a rustle of fabric as her boss shifted in her chair.

Her heart in her mouth, Abby walked slowly back to reception. Things were as bad as Penelope had suggested, if not worse, and there she’d been, rolling her eyes at having to do a formal event proposal, sneaking off to the top of the woodland trail so she could reply to Jack’s text messages without distractions, daydreaming about him as she refilled the feeders each morning. She felt sick. Her smile when the next visitors arrived was decidedly forced.

The sense of shame stayed with her all day, and to counteract it she threw a new level of determination into organizing her camping event. She stayed at work until after five, feeling guilty even as she closed down the computer and took her jacket from the storeroom.

‘Goodnight, Penelope,’ she said softly to the closed door.

It opened. ‘It’s Jack’s event tonight, isn’t it?’ Penelope looked weary, worry lines creasing her forehead, and Abby wished she could comfort her.

‘You should come,’ she said instead. ‘There’s going to be a big turnout apparently, and I’m sure he’d love to see some friendly faces in the audience.’

Penelope nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’

‘OK.’ Abby smiled. ‘That would be great.’

It was still light as she walked home, her pace inevitably slowing as she passed Peacock Cottage. Jack’s texts had become more frequent as the day approached; they were self-deprecating and funny, overplaying his nerves in a way that she thought hid genuine anxiety. Suddenly, even thinking about him felt like a betrayal. Abby couldn’t let her mind wander anymore. She would go to the library event and support Jack, and then she would give a hundred per cent to the reserve. She would never forgive herself if it closed down with her knowing she could have done more to save it.

She arrived at the library at half past six, and it was already fuller than she had ever seen it. Ryan had come through, and there were rows of chairs set up theatre-style facing away from the main doors. Not all of them matched, some certainly looked like they had seen better days and, recently, quite a bit of woodworm – Abby hoped they wouldn’t collapse under anyone. At the front was a low, unassuming stage, which was where Octavia usually kept her displays of new releases. For tonight, it had been cleared, and there was a table with a jug of water and a glass, and one of the library’s most comfortable fabric chairs waiting to be occupied.

Abby glanced at the people already assembled. She recognized a few faces from the village, and Helen Savoury was there, flicking through a copy of one of Jack’s books, silver-rimmed glasses on her nose. Abby tried not to let panic consume her at the councillor’s presence, and looked around for a friendly face, but instead found the perfectly groomed locks of Flick Hunter. She was two seats away from Helen Savoury, her gaze going frequently to the side of the room, and Abby wondered whether Jack had invited her, or if she had discovered the event in the local press like everyone else. He hadn’t mentioned her recently, and Abby had allowed her jealousy at seeing them together to dissipate, so it was a shock to find her in the audience.

Even more now she needed to see someone she knew, and she homed in on Rosa and her corkscrew curls, sitting three rows from the front.

‘Rosa, how are you?’

Rosa stood and gave her a hug. ‘I’m good! I’ve spent a lovely day doing almost nothing, and now I get to hear the famed Jack Westcoat speak. I can’t get over how weird that night at his house was. I should never have come, but Octavia insisted that she couldn’t go alone, and Jonny and I caved in far too easily. Was he properly mad?’

Abby shook her head. ‘Not at all. If he had been, he would never have agreed to tonight. He is misunderstood a lot, I think. Especially after what happened at the Page Turner awards.’

‘You’ve got a soft spot for him,’ Rosa said gently. ‘How soft is it?’

‘Getting softer,’ she admitted. ‘It’s complicated, though. There’s the reserve, which I need to put more effort into, and Jack’s life, he’s … nothing’s simple, Rosa.’

‘Feelings get complicated when people try to deny them.’ She shrugged.

‘I wish that was all it was,’ Abby said, but the words resonated. If she gave into her feelings, stopped overthinking everything, would all the barriers between them dissolve into insignificance? ‘Anyway, tonight should be good. Jack Westcoat in one of his natural habitats. Have you seen him yet?’

‘He arrived about ten minutes ago and was immediately herded into the anti-chamber by Octavia.’ Rosa grinned.

‘Uh-oh. I’d better go and see what’s happening. Speaking of soft spots, Jonny was asking after you. I showed him that new Belkin range, but I’m not sure how taken he was.’

‘Oh?’ Rosa frowned. ‘That’s a good make. I wonder why he didn’t like them.’

‘Because they’re not you. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘What?’

‘Jonny is never going to buy anything from your shop because then he’d run out of excuses to see you, and that would break his heart.’ She squeezed her friend’s arm and then left her, lips parted and eyes wide, as if the wind had changed and she’d got stuck.

When Abby knocked and pushed open the door of the library’s small office, Jack was sitting in a chair with a cup of tea, and Octavia was behind the desk, calmly writing notes on a piece of paper. They both looked up when she walked in, Jack’s taut expression relaxing into a smile.

‘Hey,’ Abby said, allowing herself a moment to drink him in. He was wearing a simple grey shirt and smart, navy blazer, dark jeans that emphasized his long legs, and tan boots. His hair was slightly tamer than usual, and she wondered if he’d had it trimmed for the occasion and, if so, where he had gone to get it done.

‘Hi, Abby,’ Jack said. ‘Glad you could make it.’

‘Of course she was going to make it,’ Octavia replied. ‘She’s organized half the thing. Whizzing about on the Facebook page, leaflet-dropping the entire village, and solving my last-minute chair problem. Now Abby, I’ve written down a couple of questions in case nobody has any.’

Abby stifled a laugh. ‘I honestly don’t think that’s going to be a problem, do you?’

‘Be prepared. The scouts had that part right. Jack,’ Octavia turned to him, ‘obviously in the course of promoting an event like this, we don’t know who’s picked up on the fact that you’re here, but I haven’t seen any media types out there – large cameras, trench coats, anything like that.’

‘Me either,’ Abby added. ‘And I only promoted it on local Facebook pages.’

‘Exactly,’ Octavia continued. ‘But, of course, we can’t guarantee that it won’t have caught the attention of a wider audience.’

‘I understand that Octavia,’ Jack said. ‘I always knew there was potential for the press to pick up on it, but I appreciate you considering it too.’

‘Good.’ Octavia beamed. ‘Aren’t you a sweetie? The audience are going to eat you up!’

Jack laughed. ‘I hope not.’

‘Right then. Fifteen minutes to go. I’ll do a final round of checks, ensure the mic is working. Abby dear, could you stay here? You can be Jack’s fluffer.’

Jack choked on his tea, spraying a mouthful onto his jeans, and Abby stared at Octavia, trying to work out if she’d heard her right. Oblivious, the older woman swept out of the room, leaving an awkward silence behind her.

‘So …’ Abby said, heat rising up her neck.

Jack wiped at his trousers. ‘Do you think she knows what that means?’

‘On balance, I’d say yes.’ Abby sat next to him and gave him a sideways look. ‘I’m not doing it, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.’

‘I honestly wasn’t. God. Could you imagine?’

‘Octavia has a good heart,’ Abby said, trying very hard not to imagine it. ‘And a very individual way of doing things.’

‘She’s distracted me from my nerves, at least. And she’s been very kind to me, considering I wasn’t that hospitable when she came to track down the badger.’

‘That’s because she barged in unannounced. You were perfectly polite. Do you really get nervous?’ She turned to face him, her embarrassment fading.

‘I do. Nerves are healthy, and it’s been a long time since I did anything like this. The last time I was in a public arena was … that night, and so there’s more pressure than usual, a heavier weight on my shoulders despite it being off the beaten track.’

‘Octavia’s sold over fifty tickets. You’re a popular man, even in the sticks. What are you going to do? Read something from one of your books, talk about your writing?’

Jack nodded. ‘A bit of both. Then the Q&A, which I’m dreading.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said quietly.

‘I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.’

‘Of course,’ Abby said, but her mind flashed back to the phone conversation she’d overheard. She should be at home, working on her event schedule, wracking her brains to come up with this game-changing membership initiative that had, so far, failed to materialize. She looked into Jack’s blue eyes, at his smooth, stubble-free jawline, and felt hopelessly conflicted.

‘Showtime!’ Octavia said, appearing in the doorway. ‘Ready, Jack?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’

He followed Octavia out of the room, Abby taking up the rear. When Jack walked into full view of the makeshift auditorium, the cheers and applause were enough to lift the roof. He raised a nonchalant hand, slightly bashful in the wake of so much attention, and took his seat at the table. Abby slipped into a chair against the wall, side on to the stage, as if she was an usher rather than a member of the audience. But she was at the front, her view was good, and she watched as Jack greeted everyone in his deep, smooth voice and then picked up the book that Octavia had placed on the table. It was a copy of his latest novel, The Fractured Path, the one Abby had ordered from Amazon and read in only a few days.

He riffled through to a spot marked by a bookmark and started reading.

The crowd was pin-drop quiet as his sonorous voice filled the room, the rhythm of the words gripping and comforting all at once. It was mesmerizing, and Abby found herself getting lost in it, able to remember the passage he’d chosen and its point in the book, wishing he would continue to the end, however long it took. She had to blink herself back into the present when he finished and the audience clapped once more.

Then he launched into a talk about the process of writing, the research he’d done, a particularly gruesome, no-holds barred visit to a morgue that made him realize he could never be a murderer himself, because he didn’t have the stomach for it. He was funny, humble and disarming. Abby could sense the audience warming to him, wanting to reach out and gather him close. It could have easily been an act, his public persona, except that it was how he was with her – or at least, was starting to be.

Abby could see that Rosa was rapt, councillor Savoury’s expression was a mixture of interest and affection, and Flick was smiling proudly. It was obvious that some people had noticed the television presenter; that she was on the verge of getting as much attention as Jack was. His arms moved constantly while he spoke and he smiled a lot, loosening up as the talk went on. Abby felt a surge of triumph for him that only heightened her desire. When he sat down and took a sip of water, Octavia strode onto the stage, leading the exuberant applause.

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