The Lovebirds. Cressida McLaughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ of it. You have to take risks and see where they lead you. Don’t wrap yourself in cotton wool now because I failed to when you were young.’ She stroked Abby’s hair.

      Abby swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Mum, I know you did your best, that it was Dad, mainly, and that you were … protecting us. And I’m fine. I’m not closed off to anything, I just haven’t found the right person yet. I’m only young, there’s lots of time.’ She wondered if the platitudes would work and looked up to see that her mum’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

      This was not how she had planned to spend New Year’s Day. She was surprised by her mum’s openness – usually she was the opposite, doing everything she could to gloss over their less than idyllic childhood.

      ‘You OK, Mum?’

      ‘Of course I am.’ She wiped her fingers under her eyes elaborately, as if she was drawing curls in the air. ‘Now, shall we open that bottle of fizz I’ve been saving?’

      ‘I’m driving,’ Abby said.

      ‘One glass won’t hurt. And if you stay for dinner, then even better.’ She stood and picked up the tea tray, the china clattering as she went into the kitchen. Abby pulled her notebook out of her bag and made a note to buy her mum some bird feeders.

      The following morning, her mum’s words – her unexpected apology – was playing on Abby’s mind. She still found it hard to reconcile the elegant, composed woman with the mum she’d had when she was a child, always on the verge of flying into a rage. She had come to see that her dad had been the catalyst, and that her mum had only been trying to stand up for herself, to protect her and Tessa, picking fight rather than flight. Despite that, Abby couldn’t seem to bridge the gap between her and her mother, still unable to see past those memories, her parents feeding off each other’s anger, and the fear and loneliness she had felt as a result. She tried not to think of those last, horrendous arguments, the comparison between them and her mother stroking her hair the day before.

      Abby dressed in her winter work outfit of leggings under waterproof trousers, and a Meadowsweet fleece over a black, long-sleeved T-shirt, pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and put on some blusher and mascara. She added a slick of pink lip gloss, and then ran downstairs, wrapping her arms around Raffle as he greeted her and pointedly looked at his food bowl.

      ‘Nice long walk before work?’ she asked as she fed him, knowing that of course he wanted that, even though it was January and still dark outside.

      The cold hit her like a wall, and she zipped her thick jacket up over her fleece and pulled her woolly hat low over her ears. They strolled through the village, Abby’s new torch compensating for the weak glow of the streetlights on the main road. ‘Want to walk round Swallowtail House?’ she asked, and Raffle looked up at her, his tongue hanging out slightly. ‘Of course you do.’

      They made their way around the high, redbrick wall, and Abby paused as usual at the gate, shining her torch towards the grand house. She could hear the bark of a deer, the distant call of a tawny owl, the first fluttering of birds as they sensed dawn on the horizon. The bushes behind the house were too dense to walk through, so she took Raffle as far as she could, then turned back, wondering why she had put make-up on when she wasn’t even going into work yet.

      ‘What am I doing, Raffle? I haven’t seen him for weeks, and I expect he spent his time in London going to posh, glamorous parties and drinking Moët. He probably met a stunning brunette with long legs and a chalet in the south of France, who’s created her own line of intuitive make-up – or something equally mind-bending – and who kissed away all his worries, and they’re going to be blissfully happy and make the world’s most beautiful babies together. I’m sure he’s forgotten that he even asked me out for coffee.’

      Raffle whined gently.

      ‘I know,’ Abby said. ‘I don’t really care. And if I did, it wouldn’t matter. We were standing under mistletoe and he was being a traditionalist. He strikes me as very traditional, doesn’t he you?’ Raffle panted his agreement. ‘Besides, I said he had a squashed frog car, so really, it was over before it even got started. And anyway, these feelings … they’re not real, are they?’ Raffle barked once, loudly, and Abby gave him a treat. ‘You’re a good listener, puppy, you know that?’ Her husky licked her hand in response.

      She dropped Raffle at home, had breakfast and left the house for the second time that morning. By the time she got close to Peacock Cottage, she felt like a child on her first day back at school, unsure what would happen or where she’d fit in. Obviously, it wouldn’t be like that in the visitor centre; Rosa would be in the shop, Stephan would be cooking up a storm in the kitchen and Penelope would be in her office, keeping a wary eye on everything.

      Abby had firmed up her list of events during her few days off and was hoping to rope Rosa into some technology testing days, where they could take the equipment to the hides and boost visitor numbers at the same time as sales of binoculars and telescopes. She had also planned several guided walks – some focusing on the birds of prey, others on signs of spring. She wanted to show her guests that even in the depths of winter, nature gave you reasons to be joyful – there would be snowdrops and wintersweet, scented and beautiful, and lots of buds that appeared earlier than people realized.

      She also had an idea for a larger event in February, which to so many people was the worst time of year, when the winter seemed never-ending. She knew Penelope was expecting something groundbreaking. This one, she hoped, would attract more attention than most, and at least go some way towards putting Meadowsweet back on the map.

      No, the worries about the nature reserve’s survival Abby could take in her stride – those, at least, she could do something about. The new term nerves were all centred around Jack.

      She approached Peacock Cottage from the back and walked round the house until its quaint front aspect was visible, the blue front door and the hanging basket, the heather blooms long since gone. The Range Rover was parked outside and Abby’s heart jumped. He had come back. He hadn’t been whisked away to somewhere exotic by a glamorous entrepreneur after all.

      She was the first one at the visitor centre, so she pulled out her keys and unlocked everything, switching on the lights in the large, airy space.

      The Christmas decorations still hung throughout, shimmering in the weak January sun. Abby believed that once Christmas and New Year were done, any decorations should come down straight away, even more so in a public place. She hauled the stepladder out of the storeroom and set to work, carefully unwinding the tinsel, and plucking Octavia’s beautiful handcrafted birds from shelves.

      ‘Abby, Happy New Year!’ Stephan took off his coat and cycle helmet. ‘Good break?’

      ‘Lovely thanks, you?’

      ‘Not too bad. I spent it with my brother’s family, and they’re a riot when they get going. I’m exhausted. Can I get you a tea, or do you want a hand with all that?’

      ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you!’

      ‘On it.’

      Rosa was the next to arrive, just as Abby had finished de-Christmassing the place.

      ‘Oh, it’s all come down,’ she said, kissing Abby on the cheek. ‘I’ll miss the tinsel.’

      ‘New year, new start,’ Abby said. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

      ‘Not really. Just trying to hold onto that СКАЧАТЬ