Sliding the cards into his mustard-yellow cardigan pocket, he stepped into the corridor in his sheepskin slippers, propping his front door open with a scarlet loafer. No sense carrying around a bunch of keys when he was only dawdling around the manor.
He hoped the residents showed up in response to his invitation. Not everyone had been at the meeting, but it was vital to his plans to build a community who cared about each other to rebuild Little Beaubrook. Rose was owed that much. Perhaps, in a way, they all were.
As he left his apartment, there was a quiet squeak and the airing cupboard hinge (which an exasperated builder had given up fixing because the floor wasn’t quite level) gave a little shimmy and then settled, the door now hanging straight and true.
Dear Neighbours,
You are cordially invited to an association meeting. We will tour the village while discussing our next steps. Please gather promptly outside the manor gates at 5.30 p.m. today. Even if you’ve turned down the opportunity to be involved so far, please do consider attending.
Warmest Regards, Albie
PS: Don’t forget about the benefits of the Roseto effect!
Later that afternoon, he marvelled at what a wonderful day it’d been.
Theo had joined him on a gentle ramble through the country hills after eagerly answering the door when Albie posted the meeting invite through his letterbox. His young neighbour was obviously starved of company and, wandering along a path with the dense dark green of the New Forest huddled in the distance, they’d chatted easily about a range of topics. From surface things like places they’d travelled, where they’d grown up, favourite movies and current affairs, to deeper ones such as what they’dloved most about their late wives, because Theo was a widower too.
He’d decided to move here after finding the online listing while surfing the net in the depths of reactive depression. Looking for meaning after losing his previously healthy wife to cancer in a brutal fashion, within only two months of diagnosis. Albie had done his best to share words of comfort and wisdom, and by the time he bid goodbye to an emotional Theo beside the walled garden, the man seemed lighter. Hopefully, it was the start of a warm friendship.
Albie then spent a productive half hour in the library with Tori, pleasantly shocked by the way she’d reached out to him with her short note. Coaxing her into conversation with an opening gambit about books and literature, the further she’d got into the subject, the more she’d lost her usual scowl.
After a while, her shoulders relaxed, and she stopped twisting the sleeves of her sweater around her fingers. He’d been mindful not to crowd her, sitting on a red silk-covered chair across from where she perched on the yellow chaise longue. By the end of their time together, while she’d got emotional talking about her former career, she was more at ease. It’d probably be best if he avoided the topic of Ethan for a while though, as the mention of him had her back on edge.
In his head, he’d started forming a plan to get Tori’s help with an important task to also benefit her.
Following a lonely lunch, he’d napped before drawing up the list for today’s meeting. Now it was pinned to his clipboard, a blue biro attached with a piece of white string. Waiting for the others to join him outside the main gates, he gazed across the main street, arrow straight after the twisty turns of the country road leading into Little Beaubrook. The abandoned village was a palette of greens and greys, but with vibrant bursts of colour from the abundance of flowers in every cottage garden.There was sweet, scented lavender, white clematis and yellow roses, violet wisteria and purple geraniums, blue and white delphiniums.
To his right, along from the black gated entrance on this side of the road, a row of four half-thatched cottages sat in crumbling disarray. Glancing at his silver pocket watch, he noted he was still early. Shuffling along the slabs of the dark grey pavement, he stepped past the cottages to study the disused allotment, overgrown with leafy bushes and shrubs. It hid the beginnings of a path meandering up the grassy knoll to the manor’s larger community allotment. He’d found out the latter was created by the previous care home employees, so the gardening clause in the contract was fitting.
Continuing, he stared up at the big rectangular stone building which might’ve been an inn previously and would make a perfect B&B if fully restored. Beside it, a smaller building was about the right size for a shop. Crossing the road, and wishing fiercely Rose was here to explore this ruined but picturesque place with him, he noted the two groups of four cottages arranged in square formations with a shared courtyard in the middle of each, and an alleyway in between. His pace quickened as he passed a couple more cottages, including his own. Next to them, two larger buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, purposes unknown. At the end of the street, opposite the manor gates, was a middle-sized green.
There was no doubt about it, the village was off the beaten track, but rebuild the fourteen cottages and put some amenities in and people would visit. It would be picture-pretty enough for a postcard.
Hearing voices, he turned and saw the people spilling through the gates. They’d come, and for a moment, tears of relief and gratitude blurred his vision before he blinked and went over to greet them. Kirsten was clutching a notepad to her chest, redhair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her daughter was dancing around beside her, pigtails swinging and peering up at tall, dark-haired Harley in his habitual baseball cap. The man was in torn jeans and a white T-shirt and wasn’t saying much, but nodded occasionally in response to the little girl’s chatter.
From his kitchen window the previous morning, Albie had seen Harley mowing the back lawn, and Rosie – adorable in pink dungarees and plaits – raking up grass, piling small heaps into a wheelbarrow before pushing it to the compost heap near the main allotment. She’d obediently donned oversized gloves at Harley’s insistence, and at one point, as she’d worked with intense concentration, the corner of the man’s mouth quirked in a smile beneath his short beard. A rarity indeed, before he’d wiped it from his face and tugged his baseball cap down.
Albie’s own mouth twitched as Kirsten had gawped at Harley with a bemused expression, cheeks flushed. Rooting around beneath her chair, she’d approached them with a plastic tub of cakes and a thermos flask, plus a juice bottle for her daughter. Albie was intrigued to know what’d happened for their Site Manager to thaw after being so dismissive on moving-in day. Still, it was progress, and he was glad of it, whatever the reason.
‘Good afternoon.’ He greeted his neighbours cheerfully now. A spattering ofHellosensued, as Theo came down the driveway looking bemused, with Ariel sauntering beside him in a sunset-orange kaftan. Her curly brown hair was tied back with a fuchsia pink scarf and although not everyone could pull the outfit off, it suited her.
‘You got changed,’ Theo said to Albie, his expression transmittingsave meas the manor sparkled behind him at the top of the hill in the evening light.
‘Yes. Felt appropriate to put something rather more special on for this meeting. What do you think?’ Gesturing at the white sweater with navy Breton stripes covering his top half, teamedwith green and red tartan trousers tucked into blue suede cowboy boots.
‘It’s special, all right.’ A deep voice drawled, interrupting them. A man in his mid-thirties approached, a baby strapped to his broad chest in a sling. Little legs jolting as his father spoke, the infant woke up, wailing. ‘Shit,’ the newcomer said with feeling, before awkwardly patting the baby’s back. ‘I only just got him to sleep. Knew I shouldn’t have come to this sodding thing.’
Kirsten frowned at his language, pointing at Rosie, as Ariel gave the baby a look of such naked longing it made Albie wince.
‘Well, thank you for joining us anyway.’ He raised his voice above the baby’s strident cries, ignoring the man’s annoyance. ‘I’m Albie Curville, Chair of the commonhold association. This is Kirsten, the Vice-chair, and the rest of the group. Theo, Ariel, and Harley our Site Manager?—’
The new arrival cut across him rudely. ‘Look, I’ll be blunt. I have, quite literally, no time to spare.’ He gestured to the bawling baby, mouth twisting with impatience. ‘I only came to say you’ll have to do without me, so please don’t put any more notes under my door.’ His face was drawn, and sleep deprived, with dark stubble more unkempt than designer. He was reminiscent of Richard Madden, the actor who’d been so outstanding in BBC’sBodyguardyears ago, except a far more care-worn version. His shoulders also had a defeated-looking slump. With another swear word, he started backing up the gravel driveway. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Wait!’ Kirsten blurted. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Excuse me?’ He frowned, appearing wrong-footed, like she’d spoken a foreign language.
‘Your son?’ She pointed to the squalling infant, limbs flailing with rising ire. ‘What’s his name?’
