It wasn’t untilshe was back at Hallow House, late in the afternoon with the light outside fading fast, that she settled down in her old childhood bedroom, surrounded by boxes yet to be unpacked, and opened her letter. Breath held, she began to read. Three sentences down she was able to exhale. They had agreed to her higher severance payout request. “Thank god,” she whispered. She still had no idea what she was going to do next, but now at least she had enough money to tide her over while she figured it out. It wasn’t a life-changing amount, but given that she no longer had rent or bills to pay—thank you, Mum—at least she wouldn’t have to resort to asking her family for a loan.
This much-needed grace period as far as her revenue was concerned also meant that she could think more rationally about her mum’s offer to join the family business. Maybe Bella was right; just because something felt like the path of least resistance, that didn’t mean it was the wrong one. What was it with her and this need to suffer in order for any achievement to feel valid? Why did she always have to do things the hard way?
7
Bella
Bella watched from the workshopwindow as Fred, wrapped in one of Aunt Aggie’s Mexican serape blankets, followed the aunts around the garden and in and out of the greenhouses, snipping the herbs and laying them in Aunt Cam’s basket. It was twilight and the moon was hidden behind scrubby swirls of wire-wool cloud, but the solar-powered fairy lights liberally festooning arches, arbors and pergolas around the gardens provided a soft light to work by. They were collecting what they needed to make Fred a face pack—since she had a date tomorrow—and a hair rinse that Aunt Aggie had promised would restore Fred’s shine. Bella wished it were that simple.
She saw the way her daughter’s smile slipped when she thought no one’s eyes were on her. She was in the garden, but her mind was somewhere else. She knew that feeling.
When Fred was a girl, she was full of fire; and even when she reached her teens and much of that fire was hurled her way, Bella had reveled in her spark, because she thought itwould keep her daughter bolstered against the things life would inevitably throw at her. It had pained her to watch Tim throw damp tea towels over her bright flames until her embers were almost too weak to glow. It pained her even more to think that in Fred’s desire to create a life that was in all ways the antithesis of her own, she was partly responsible for Fred seeking out a man like Tim in the first place. With hindsight she could see the missteps she’d made and could understand why her daughter might have been exasperated with her, but at the time she had simply wanted to give Fred all the freedoms she had been denied.
Bella had been raised in an autocracy. Her father’s word was law, his fists were justice, and the only power higher than him was God. She grew up understanding that she was sinful by the sheer act of having been born a girl. In his eyes she was only ever a heartbeat away from damnation and from bringing disrepute upon their house. There were so many rules that needed following, it was impossible not to break at least ten a day simply by being alive, and each infraction had its own punishment. Eventually, she realized that it wasn’t religion that dictated these harsh chastisements but her father’s own cruelty and need to exert control.
Her mother spirited them away to the safety of the aunts’ house so many times when she was little that Bella became used to being taken from her bed in the middle of the night and watching dawn break through the window of a train carriage. But in the end, her father always reclaimed what was his to govern. Bella swore to herself that Fredwould never be fettered by such rules, that boundaries were there to be pushed, that hands would never be raised in anger, but voices would always be loud with laughter. Fred would know that being a girl was a gift and that being loved was a given.
But every child will rebel, even if you eradicate everything they could possibly want to rail against, because that is human nature. And what Bella had seen as perfect freedom had left her daughter yearning for structure.
Bella had grown up believing that sex was sinful. It should only happen in the marriage bed and only for procreation. She had been unlucky in love. Her first love had done a moonlight flit and her second—her truest and most enduring—she had turned away for the sake of her daughter. His familial duties had required him to live hundreds of miles away and, back then, she didn’t have enough confidence in her skills as a parent to leave her aunts, or enough faith in love to risk moving her child to another country, only for things to fail. Sex had therefore become the perfect act of rebellion, and an effective antidote to grief and heartbreak too.
With the wisdom of her fifty-two years, she could see how growing up in such a hedonistic environment might have ignited Fred’s desire for a more traditional, mainstream life. They were each in their own way the products of growing up in environments without balance. Fred’s craving for normality—whatever that was—had driven her to quieten her voice and tamp down her wildness. But she’dbeen forged from unconventional, pertinacious women, and Bella could see that squeezing into the mold she’d created for herself was exhausting.
She nodded to herself as she thought,what Fred needs is to rediscover her weird.And she determined to help her find it.
8
Fred
Saturday, November 23
It was the first dayof the Pine Bluff Christmas Market, and Fred had a date—sort of. Warren had messaged her yesterday afternoon to see if she’d like to explore the market with him. She liked the idea of meeting in the morning; it felt less loaded.
Last night had been a pamper night at Hallow House, and there was no denying it had done the power of good—not only for her hair, which was now sleek and shiny, but also for her soul. For months, her thoughts had been consumed by financial worries; and for many months before that, she’d been burdened with the fallout from her breakup. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just chilled out. This morning she felt good, like she’d stepped out of a long dark passageway and into the light. She knew she had more work yet to do on herself, but this was a good start.
They’d arranged to meet outside the Crooked Elm.
She met Mr. Bishop and his tractor again on her way down to town, and once again she declined his offer of a lift.
“Suit yourself,” he said, idling along beside her. “Enjoy your date.”
Fred’s mouth dropped open. “How do you know I’ve got a date?” she asked, a little snappishly.
“The Pine Bluff Jezebels,” he answered, simply.
Of course.“Do you qualify as a Jezebel?”
Mr. Bishop gave her a disappointed look, tsking as he shook his head. “I did not expect that kind of sexism from you, Freddie Hallow-Hart, upon my word I did not.” He picked up speed and bounced away down the road, leaving Fred feeling somewhat chastened as she continued down to the town.
The industry of the last few days had culminated in a winter village of charming wooden huts like gingerbread houses snaking the length and breadth of the high street. Eager shoppers streamed into the town from all directions, a mass of brightly colored hats bobbed in the distance. Christmas music was being piped out from the sound system and every single hut was festooned in twinkling lights. It was only 11 a.m. but already the air smelled of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts. God, she’d missed this.
Warren was waiting for her by one of the picnic tables, tapping something into his phone with an expression of concentration, which meant he didn’t see her approach and it gave her the chance to take him in. His black coat didn’t overtly shout money but the cut and tailoring left one in no doubt that it had cost a packet. He wore brown chinos and shiny black boots, and was absolutely the most handsome man for as far as the eye could see.
“Hi,” she said when she reached him. She didn’t want to appear too eager, but her face appeared to be working against her, and she knew she was beaming like a smiley cartoon moon.
Warren looked up and greeted her with the kind of smile that made her feel like she’d made his day simply by showing up. She let herself revel in the fireworks ricocheting around in her stomach. “Hello,” he said. “Crikey, you look lovely!” Instantly his cheeks were suffused with a mass of magenta splodges, and he added, “Sorry, you’d think a writer would be able to come up with something better than that.”
Fred laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping it simple, and thank you, that’s very kind of you. I’m glad the bobble hat is working for you.”
