The Little Cottage in the Country. Lottie Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ camera and pretend they had always wanted a hot-pink kitchen with a life-size mural of their dead hamster on the main wall.

      Anna felt humiliated. Turning to Freddie and Antonia, she put on a brave face. ‘How are you guys doing?’

      ‘I’m hungry,’ they chimed in unison and a lump rose in her throat. What had she been thinking? At least, in London, she had been able to provide the most basic of care for them: warmth and food. Now, she searched the derelict cottage for any signs of homeliness. It was a shell.

      ‘Me again,’ Horatio announced, out of puff, as he and Taittinger sidled up to the car and she put the window down once more.

      ‘I can see that. If you’ve come to gloat, please don’t.’ Her eyes smarted.

      ‘I didn’t think you’d be pleased.’

      She bit back her comment and leapt out of the car, indignation flaring inside her. ‘But we’ll be just fine. So, Mr Horatio Spencer-what’s-it, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me and my children alone, instead of standing their looking on like we’re some sort of entertainment, then that would be most jolly.’ Jolly? Why did she use the word ‘jolly’? Help. Horatio was already rubbing off on her.

      ‘Jolly,’ repeated Freddie from the back.

      Horatio was staring at her intently; maybe too intently. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare.

      ‘Listen, about that chat…’ She stared at him incredulously as once again he floundered. Who was this man? ‘I know what it feels like to be suddenly alone.’

      ‘I am not suddenly alone,’ she said, defensive. ‘I’ve been alone for years.’ Then she smiled, despite herself.

      He grinned.

      Her heart fluttered at his incredibly sexy smile but she pushed her shoulders back, more determined than ever. She was an independent woman, she said to herself, although she wasn’t entirely convinced at this point in time.

      ‘Thank you, I really appreciate your help,’ she said with sincerity. She knew she shouldn’t be so stubborn. Her mother’s voice rang around her head: ‘Anna, you are a mule, girl, a mule.’

      Despite this, and ignoring the gnawing maternal guilt eating away at her stomach as she glanced in the rear-view mirror at her children giggling at Freddie’s burping-on-demand, she said, ‘We’ll be just fine.’

      He plucked a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and a gilt-edged card from another pocket. Horatio suddenly looked like an ad for some ridiculous shop on Bond Street where the rich bought diamond-encrusted hip flasks because they could. Writing quickly, he passed her the card and tilted his riding hat with his forefinger, bidding her farewell. ‘Goodbye… Oh, I never got your name.’

      ‘Anna,’ she said frostily.

      ‘Anna. Like Anna Karenina.’ He laughed. ‘Same fighting spirit.’

      ‘Anna Compton.’

      Anna hated coming across as the damsel in distress, but she was beginning to wonder if she had taken on too much. The cottage did not in any way match up to the idyll she had concocted in her head. She shook away her doubts. No, her aunt had left it to her and it was meant to be. She would make the most of it.

      She refocused on Horatio who, she noticed, looked vaguely amused.

      ‘Right, well, Anna Compton. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.’ He clucked at the horse and Taittinger obligingly followed his owner down the hill.

      ‘Like Anna Compton,’ she muttered. ‘Idiot and hopeless mother.’ A tear made its way down her cheek and she brushed it away. She had to be strong or, at least, find the nearest shop and buy food for the kids and Sauvignon Blanc for herself. It was the only way. She looked at her children in the back and they smiled. She wondered if it was possible to love two little people any more than she did in that moment.

      ‘OK, it’s all going to be OK.’ She smiled unconvincingly.

      ‘I’m hungry,’ said Antonia.

      ‘Me too,’ said Freddie.

      ‘Me three,’ Anna joined in. ‘OK, let’s go and see our home.’

      Anna helped them out of the car and held their hands, one child either side of her, as they approached the cottage. She let go of Freddie’s hand as she retrieved the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. As she pushed open the squeaky door, she was hit by a musty smell and dust danced in the air at the disturbance. The three of them stared wide-eyed at the sitting room. All the furniture was in place, as if Aunt Florence had just upped and left. Anna was flooded with memories of childhood summers spent here long ago and she remembered how magical Primrose Cottage had appeared then. She had always thought she and Aunt Flo were kindred spirits and knew it was through utter generosity that she had been left the small cottage and half acre of land. Why oh why, then, was she unable to get rid of the niggling doubt in the pit of her stomach? A little voice in her head was telling her she couldn’t do this; that the whole notion of idyllic country living had been barmy and out of her reach. She was washed afresh with guilt as she glanced down at her suddenly innocent and angelic-looking children: what sort of awful mother drags their children away from the safety of their – albeit incredibly poky and mold-ridden – flat, in a beaten-up Nissan Micra, with barely more than a handful of crushed, ready-salted Hula Hoops at the bottom of her tote bag? Anna Compton, that was who.

      Taking Freddie’s hand again, she led them carefully through to the kitchen. She caught sight of the cream Aga and the quarry-tile floor, now thick with dust, the shelves covered in cobwebs, feeling hope for the first time that day. Maybe they would be OK after all. It just needed a good spring-clean and the help of a handyman. She would make it cosy…

      An almighty crash came from outside and she let go of Freddie and Antonia, told them to stay put and ran to the open front door. Her car had rolled forward into an old chicken hut. She hadn’t put the sodding handbrake on, she thought, all because that stupid man had put her off.

      She felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down. Freddie gazed up at her, looked outside, and smiled. ‘Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

      She pulled them towards her and nodded, sniffling. ‘Yep, Mummy’s a plonk-ah.’

      Anna realised then that she was still holding the card the Horatio person had given her. She read the address. It wasn’t so much an address. Well, not the kind that required a postcode. It read: Ridley Manor.

The Chicken Hut

      Half an hour later, Anna was still staring helplessly at her car.

      ‘Mummy, the car is hurt,’ Antonia chimed in for the billionth time.

      ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, pushing down the lump in her throat. ‘Right, Mummy’s going to back the car out of the chicken house.’ She wondered momentarily if those words had ever been uttered before, and then bent down to the twins. ‘Listen, you two, Mummy has made a big mistake. I’m going to make a call to Diane and see if we can have a sleepover at hers tonight.’

      ‘Whoo,’ Freddie said, beaming. ‘Love sleepovers at Auntie Dee-Dee’s.’

      Diane, СКАЧАТЬ