Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal

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СКАЧАТЬ No, she wanted something more holistic than that. And that was where Google came in. It was a marvellous thing, Google, she thought while tapping in the words holistic therapy.

      As soon as Break-Free Haven Lodge popped up, Isla knew she’d found her answer. She gazed longingly at the red barn-style buildings set in rural acreage. She’d go to the States to seek help. Isla explored the website feeling more and more certain she was on the right track as she read about the various hands-on treatment programmes and counselling sessions on offer. The rustic exterior of the complex belied the calming oasis housed inside. Oh yes, she thought, her fingers tip-tapping her name into the contact form provided. This was a place where she could regain her mojo.

      The British were far too ‘closed mouths’ and ‘stiff upper lips’, the Americans were much more into ‘talking about things.’ Look at the way they all managed to work their problems out on Dr Phil, she thought, glancing over to the telly where there was a lot of smiling and clapping going on. Isla knew she’d gotten to the point where she needed to talk, or she’d go under. She was lucky in so much as she’d been given a warning that something had to give. Now it was up to her to heed that warning. That didn’t mean she had to tell anyone she was going to a mental health retreat, though.

      So, the word she was putting about on the street was that, to try and get some perspective back on what she was doing with her life, she was going to float like a free spirit around California for a fortnight. Yes, she knew it sounded very Eat, Pray, Love but this was her story and if it stopped people asking too many questions, then she was sticking to it.

      Unfortunately, as she sat cradling the phone between her ear and her shoulder, it was a story that was not going down well with her mum, Mary. Isla had taken a deep breath knowing she could no longer put off the inevitable and had called her to tell her mum she would be incommunicado as of Friday. The conversation was going pretty much as expected.

      ‘I don’t like this Isla,’ Mary muttered. ‘And this connection isn’t very good. You sound odd like you’re a long way away.’

      ‘I’m in London Mum; you’re in Bibury. It’s the other side of the world. I am a long way away.’ It was an understatement. Her hometown of Bibury on New Zealand’s West Coast, and London, her home for the past ten years, weren’t just hemispheres apart; they were an entire universe apart.

      Bibury was named for a Cotswolds village in Britain. Not just any Cotswolds village, oh no – Bibury was purported to be the loveliest of them all. Isla had heard that it boasted centuries-old stone cottages, their steeply slanting roofs giving the much-visited village its chocolate box quality. All this waxing lyrical had captured her imagination, and she’d had to go and see it for herself. It was top of her ‘places to tick off’ list while in the UK, and she’d spent a very enjoyable three-day break in the Cotswolds not long after she first arrived in London. She’d reported back to her family that yes, the British village of Bibury lived up to its good press. It was, she told them, very pretty, unlike its New Zealand counterpart which, in Isla’s opinion, would never win any beautiful town awards. Rugged and run down, yes, but beautiful? No. Isla reckoned the only thing the two places had in common was a river.

      Her gran, Bridget, had harrumphed down the phone upon hearing this, wittering on that she was willing to bet gold had never been found in the River Colne as it had in the mighty Ahaura River of her birthplace. Isla had rolled her eyes. Much like she was doing now as she realized that the slow hissing down the phone line was nothing to do with a dodgy connection. It was a sound she knew well. Her mother was sighing in that hard done by, heartfelt way she always did when her daughter’s actions perturbed her.

      ‘Don’t get smart Isla; you know what I mean. What’s going on with you? One minute you have a high-flying job and you’re living with a man whose arse you think the sun shines out of, and the next you’re chucking the lot in to go and look for yourself in California of all places.’

      ‘The saying is find yourself Mum, and I’ve just taken an extended leave of absence from work, that’s all. For your information, I’m feeling really sad about being single again too. I mean you had Ryan and me by the time you were thirty, and this isn’t where I saw myself at this point in my life. I need a rest, some time to think and take stock. I want to figure out what’s next for me, but apart from that Mum, I’m fine,’ Isla lied. She knew she sounded completely self–obsessed and she hated herself for it.

      Her mother snorted. ‘So you say, and you think far too much if you ask me. I’m telling you though, Isla it’s not normal being uncontactable in this day and age. How will we know where you are while you’re busy swanning around doing your floaty, find yourself bit? And, I don’t know what your gran’s going to have to say about it all.’

      Isla knew exactly what her gran would have to say about it. It would go something like this: ‘What are you on about Isla? Trying to find yourself?’ There would be the same snorting noise her mother had just made (it was hereditary), followed by: ‘In my day we didn’t have time to think about anything other than how we were going to put food on the table. You young people seem to think it’s your God–given right to be happy all the time.’ Gran hated self–indulgence and so did Isla, usually. West Coasters didn’t analyse life. It wasn’t in their DNA. They were programmed to tough it out and get on with it. They were of mining stock, and it made them hard.

      ‘Oh Mum, don’t make me call her please! And anyway, it’s not so strange what I’m doing. Nobody even knew what a cell phone was when you were my age. Facebook was far, far away in a distant galaxy and people somehow survived without knowing what everyone was up to every single minute of the day.’

      ‘Yes, but that was in the dark ages when our fingers did the dialling, and we didn’t know any better. As for your gran, well I’ll let you off that one this time. I don’t want her getting all worked up about what you’re up to because I’m worried about her to be honest, Isla. She hasn’t been herself lately, not since she had that fall, but you know what she’s like. She keeps telling me she’s a box of birds for a woman of her years with a dicky hip and to stop fussing. No, I think it might be wise just to say that you need a spot of sunshine and that the cell phone reception isn’t very good where you’ve gone. I’ll tell her I’m not expecting to hear from you while you’re in America.’

      ‘Well you won’t so it’s not a lie, but thanks Mum. I just want a bit of peace that’s all.’ It was the wrong thing to say.

      ‘Oh dear God! Now you’ve got me worried Isla. You sound like you’re about to take up religion. Don’t you go joining any of those strange sects they have over there in the United States. You won’t find yourself by sitting cross-legged and making ‘mmm’ noises my girl.’

      In the background, she heard her father yell out. ‘Ask her how she lost herself in the first place, Mary.’ A huge guffaw followed; he was a right card, her dad, Isla thought.

      ‘Mum, you had to twist my arm just to get me to go to Sunday school, remember? So I’m not about to turn my back on my worldly possessions indefinitely, sit around meditating under the stars and then having group sex, or anything like that.’

      ‘Isla! Watch your mouth please, remember who it is you’re talking to. Oh, and I do recall your Sunday school career because the only peace your dad and I ever got when you and Ryan were kids was on a Sunday morning. The Andersons were angels letting you join their family for church.’

      The Andersons, Isla recalled were a zealous family who had lived at the end of their street. They had four kids of their own but still felt it was their duty to take two extra little lambs, Isla and Ryan, to the Lord’s house each Sunday. They’d given up on trying to bring Mary and Joe into the fold. Despite this being a normal telephone СКАЧАТЬ