She loosened her scarf. “Because it’s hard,” she said. “You work with kids who have had the most traumatic start to life and don’t know how to make sense of the world. I helped them and I saw better outcomes for them, but every time you work with one of those children and hear about what they’ve suffered, you give them a piece of your soul.”
“You burnt out?” he said.
“No. I wasn’t at that point. I saw some of my colleagues burn out and I wasn’t there, but I knew I needed to step away for a bit, to recharge and do something completely different. When Mark saw Litton Manor for sale he wanted to start up his own business so we put together the business plan and got the cash sorted. I had some money I cashed in to help finance it. This was meant to be our new life.”
“You got lucky,” he said, driving down the quiet road towards the pub. “As weird as Severton can be, it will help you restore those pieces of your soul. Gran might be defrauding people into buying her handmade scarves to finance her home brew, but that home brew will be used at community events or other mad ideas she dreams up with the other old crones.”
“I can see that,” Sorrell nodded. “Are we here?”
They were. The pub was part of the Chatsworth estate, its brick the Derbyshire stone that characterised the area. Inside, the building was still free of Christmas decorations, but there were three open fires crackling with the smell of rich food and the clinking of cutlery and wine glasses.
Since being in charge of the Sunrise project, Zack had noticed the interiors of buildings more. Rather than simply inheriting the décor of an old folks’ home like he had at the Manor, he’d been assigned to finalise the details of a place that would suit an eclectic mix of people with a multitude of different needs. He noticed carpets and curtains and understood that the choice wasn’t always simply a budgetary one.
And here, with the thick, durable red carpets, and exposed wooden beams, the curios and pictures illustrating the lives from the Chatsworth estate, he felt a sort of peace. It was warm and comfortable, the sound of the wood snapping on the fire a lullaby and he wished that he had tomorrow off and they’d brought overnight bags to stay.
“I know they do a really good Merlot,” he said. “This is one of Rayah’s favourite places and it’s what she always orders.” He felt her now gloveless hand slip around his wrist as they walked through the pub to find an empty table. Even though it was a Thursday, it was fairly busy and he wanted a spot near one of the fires.
It was Sorrell who spotted a table close to the blaze, gently tugging him to the two leather wingback chairs. “Here,” she said. “Then tell me about the Christmas traditions in Severton so I can start to heal my soul.”
Chapter 11
It was past midnight when Zack drove up to Litton Manor. It was embraced in darkness; the only glimmer the light Sorrell had placed outside that illuminated the sign.
“From tomorrow it’ll never be dark,” she said, opening the door to climb out. “I have at least two rooms booked from now until Christmas.”
“You’re closed over Christmas?” he said, rushing around to the side to help her down. The way she looked at him when he offered her his hand was different to how he’d ever been looked at before. There was amusement there at the old fashioned manners, but he also saw a delight in accepting them, that she took them for what they were. No show, no grandeur or attempting to be a charmer like Jake, when he definitely wasn’t. She seemed to get that.
“Closed from Christmas Eve morning until Jan second,” she said. “And January would’ve been the quiet season, except there’s some form of mystical convention who have booked the place out for two weeks; then there’s a yoga retreat and after that it’s romantic getaways for Valentine’s day. I did do some special offers which seem to have worked. And Christmas Day your chefs are taking over the kitchen.”
“They’re familiar with it. And you don’t have to be around. Just come spend Christmas dinner—the non-work one—with us at the farm. It’s a nice respite after the mania of serving up to nearly a hundred residents,” he said. He walked her to the door, the security light flicking on.
The place was too still, too silent. He felt weird leaving her alone although he knew she’d been here by herself for a good three months. “Can I see you in?”
She laughed, the noise fracturing the quiet. “Zack, I’m used to this: it’s going to be strange sharing this place with people staying here. I’ve gotten used to being here by myself—and occasionally Gwensi.”
“I’m not used to seeing it this quiet,” he said. “I’ve only ever known it awake, during the day and at night—Mr Montgomery would wake up at two each morning, put a shirt, trousers and braces on, and come down for a brew and to read the bits of the Severton Weekly he’d forgotten about.”
“I thought you were always the manager,” she said, unlocking the door, lights automatically coming on as soon as they entered. That detail made him feel slightly better about her coming home alone after a night out, not that the idea of her on a night out was appealing. Zack had never had a problem before asking a woman out; he’d rarely been turned down, if ever, and he’d never had to try that hard. Unlike Jake who had never had to try at all. Or Scott, whose grumpy fuck-off-if-you-get-too-close vibe generally had women trying to break his bedroom door down.
“I was. But that meant if we were short staffed, I’d come in and cover. Or be here in three minutes flat if there was an emergency. Night shifts were when emergencies happened,” he said. “I could tell you stories, but then you wouldn’t stay here tonight.”
“You like your job, don’t you?”
He nodded, following her through to the bi-fold doors that were new, and out across the garden to the small cottage that he had used as his own home for a couple of years.
“I didn’t think that you were living here,” he said.
She put the key in the lock and turned, opening the door to an area that he remembered but was very different to how he’d left it.
“There’s a bigger building—you’ll know it—that I’m hoping to renovate and then live in eventually. I’m thinking this could be used as a suite or something more special, especially if I can get a licence to hold weddings here,” she said, leading him through to the lounge area. “Do you want a cup of tea? Or a beer? I don’t know what time you’re working tomorrow and I didn’t ask.”
“If you want a wine or a beer I’ll have one too. If you’re wanting to get off to bed then we’ll call it a night,” he said. It felt different, being here in her personal space rather than the manor in an area far more public. More intimate. More personal. His chest felt a little tighter and his breathing shallower.
“I can always have another wine. I’m not sure if what I’ve got in is as nice as what I had at the pub though,” she said, a little tipsy.
He followed her into the kitchen, a film reel of other times he had been in there playing in his head. “Sorrell,” he said.
She turned around suddenly, almost into him and he threw out his arms to catch her round the waist. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You feel…”
