She cursed when she stubbed her toe on a box in the dining room. For the wake, she’d shifted a lot of the boxes around to various places but she and Tegan had done their best to get everything together in here to make it easier to work through.
Morgan twiddled the diamond solitaire on her ring finger as she thought about her fiancé. He was a good man. And a patient one, given the hundreds of miles that now separated them. But no matter how good a man Ronan was, and regardless of how many times she told herself that the unsettled feeling in her tummy was only nerves, the fear of the unknown, she knew she had an enormous decision to make and she couldn’t put it off forever. She’d agreed to marry this man, she loved him, but coming here had changed her in a way she couldn’t quite describe even to herself for now.
The table was barely visible, given it was covered in vintage items. In order to really sort through things, Morgan had had to unbox items ready to re-box, which seemed counterproductive, but it was the only way she could see it working. The dove-grey, extra-large sideboard was piled high with filled bags, the contents of which Morgan knew she had to progress through. The Welsh dresser that had once looked so elegant, with white crockery on display, instead had a collection of miscellaneous items for the markets that all needed going through. She took another cardboard rectangle and made it into the box it was designed for, folding it on the allotted edges, fashioning it into the container for some delicate items. Not everything was boxed up; some items were still in the original wrapping they’d been delivered in. She loaded in an ornate photograph frame, a silver embossed hand-held mirror with a matching hairbrush, a small flowery vase, all three things that might sit well on a dressing table from the 1950s.
She ploughed on with filling boxes with an array of items to get them organised.One rule she’d learnt from her mother was not to overpack. She’d done it the first time she helped at the markets, packed boxes as though she was moving house, not going to a market stall, and so they were all ridiculously heavy and took forever to pack and unpack.When she was done, shewent out to her little car, loaded the boot and then folded down the back seat to fit in the surplus.
Back inside the cottage, she took a shower and got ready to go out. She’d hoped she might have time for a relax in the garden after all her hard work, perhaps a cup of tea sitting on the bench she was so used to seeing Elaina sit on, but no such luck, with all the sorting, she left the cottage straight away and headed for the Bookshop Café.
In jeans and a bottle-green summer blouse, Morgan walked across the village green, down to Little Woodville’s high street and meandered along, waving to Betty and Peter, who were heading up to the pub. The village had earned its reputation of being quaint – a title it could still claim with its little humpback bridge straddling the stream flowing beneath, the village green that had already hosted family games of cricket now the days were long and the hours of sunshine plentiful, the Rose and Thatch pub with its small area out front with picnic tables in dark wood and its name depicted on a sign for all to see. Homes in the village were a mix of cottages and houses, some with thatched roofs, all with neat gardens, as if there was an unspoken agreement about standards that must be maintained.
Morgan crossed over the high street and made her way up towards the Bookshop Café, a welcome replacement for what had once been a photography studio. Cobbled streets separated residences and premises, the bank still served the community from its beautiful old building, and the dinky post office was still going with Clover at the helm. Her husband had been running it alongside her until they’d had a nasty break-up and nobody spoke about him much any more.
She came to the Bookshop Café. The window display showed off what was inside with some of the latest titles, a summer flower arrangement to match the weather outside, and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming the second you opened the front door. Somehow, it drew you inside without much effort at all. The bookshop made up most of the space. Oak shelves lined the walls, reaching not quite up to the ceiling, with front-facing books at the top to indicate what might be on the spines beneath. Three tables were spaced apart to create an aisle on either side and around them with books piled on top neatly and covers facing up.
Morgan said hello to Sebastian, who was moving the chairs from the café into the bookish part to arrange a setting suitable for an author talk, and she went to find Belle, seeing as she was early.
‘I don’t suppose you’re still serving, are you? I’ve been working so hard today, I keep running out of time and I’m starving.’
‘Give me a sec,’ Belle smiled, ‘I’ll sort you out.’ She delivered a tray of hot drinks to the woman huddled on the sofa with three kids, all engrossed in brightly covered books.
Back with Morgan, she suggested soup and a roll. ‘I’ve stopped food service but there is some soup left and it’s on the house; it’ll have to be taken home otherwise.’
‘I’m not on the scrounge.’
Belle waved away the concern. ‘You’re doing me a favour; that way I don’t have to decant it into a container and get it home without slopping it. Pull over a chair. Then your bum is on it when others arrive and you’ll have your seat reserved.’
Morgan grabbed a chair from the very edge so she didn’t mess up Sebastian’s arrangement. ‘How many do you have coming?’
‘Twenty-five, I think, so a good turn-out. I’ve made some canapes and there’ll be drinks. Sebastian is really looking forward to it. We haven’t had many events so far, but I know he enjoys a chance to show the shop off whenever he can. He’s proud of it. We both are.’
‘And so you should be.’ She looked across at the kids on the sofa, pointing to their books and chattering about them, eyes wide in fascination. ‘I was always happy as a kid if you gave me a big book filled with pictures and words.’
‘Me too. Children’s books are the best.’ At the back of the counter, Belle removed the lid to the big soup warmer and ladled out a generous portion into a white, porcelain, two-handled soup bowl. She set it down for Morgan at her table and nipped back to get the roll which came with a little packet of butter on the side. ‘Lentil and vegetable,’ she told Morgan, who was busy blowing across the liquid on her spoon. ‘And this soup has a hint of spice as well as plenty of the vegetables coming from Sebastian’s garden thanks to those veggie patches.’
Sebastian had some decent vegetable patches at Snowdrop Cottage. Belle liked to use the produce here if she could and it worked; the soup was comforting and homely.
As Morgan contentedly ate, people began to arrive nice and early to get a seat for the book launch. There were a few familiar faces, lots of new ones, and then, as she set down her spoon as she finished, she noticed Trevor come through the door. And he wasn’t alone. His son was back.
She took her plate and bowl over to Belle behind the counter. ‘Thank you. I’d have hated to have a growling stomach and put the author off his talk. Is he here yet?’
Belle pointed him out. ‘Doesn’t look like his picture, does he?’
Morgan laughed. ‘Not at all. Where’s the beard gone?’
She was stalling because Nate had turned up; not that she had anything to fear, but knowing he was so close had her feeling a little bit nervous. She had, after all, cried in front of this virtual stranger and told him her woes on top of the bridge that night, and he probably thought she was a bit of a loony.
The Bookshop Café was a recent addition to the village but as more people crammed inside the venue, Morgan had a sneaky feeling that this place was already as important to locals and visitors as the Rose and Thatch, the bakery, the church and everything else in Little Woodville.
Morgan took her chair back over to the group and sat down next to Clover, who’d just arrived, and it was as they chatted about the latest postal strikes that Clover wished weren’t happening that Morgan caught Nate’s eye. He was sitting at the front with Trevor and he smiled across at her, waved. She waved back, as did Clover, who said hello loud enough that it made plenty of people turn round and look at Morgan as though she’d been the one to call out.
Clover shrank in her seat a bit. ‘Didn’t mean to be so loud but I was surprised to see him. Oops.’
Morgan laughed softly as the author came to the front and the talk got underway. She hoped he’d brought enough copies of his book about Scotland because she was thinking she might buy one. Perhaps she’d recognise places she’d already seen; maybe it would trigger feelings of whether this change was something she could still get excited about. Her sister was right; she needed to think about this from all angles, not just because she’d said yes to marrying Ronan. But she felt guilty because he’d never hidden the fact he wanted to move back to Scotland one day. He’d always had it out in the open, but that was the problem: it had been easy for her to get on board with, especially in the early days of their relationship when everything was new and exciting.
The author had plenty of tales about his time in Scotland; he painted a wonderful picture, was eloquent with his descriptions and you could tell Sebastian and Belle were immensely proud of how the evening went, judging by their smiles as they handed around trays of canapes and drinks afterwards.
Clover was keen to queue to grab a signed copy quickly because her babysitter could only stay until 9p.m. so she didn’t have time to stay and chat long. Clover had only just reached the front of the queue when Belle pulled Morgan from the line.
