‘Hi, Jem. Just wanted to check you’ve arrived safe and sound and that Oak View Cottage is everything you hoped it would be.’
‘Hi Clarice. That’s kind of you. And yes. The place is perfect. Although the weather’s pretty naff. I have to say, it was a bit of a nightmarish journey, but never mind about that. I’m here, and it’s warm and cosy, and I’m ready to get on with the book.’
‘That is music to my ears. The weather’s not that great up here, and I’m not looking forward to going out. But it is a Saturday night, so it must be done. I’m running late, so I’ll have to go, but call me in a few days and let me know how things are going. Have a fantastic time, Jem. And try not to make too many lists.’
‘I’ll try. Have fun. Thanks for calling. And for finding this place.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Jemma placed her phone on a small table by the window. It was much like the one that had been in Esme’s cottage, although not identical. She could sit at this table and write, as she had in that cottage. Although now she had a brand-new laptop to type her stories on, not just an A4 lined pad on which to write them.
She went into the kitchen, where Molly had left a welcome pack, which was a wicker basket filled with some necessities, like tea bags, a jar of instant coffee, and a loaf of bread. It also contained the little booklet Molly had mentioned explaining how everything worked and where things were located.
Jemma opened the fridge and smiled. Inside was a two-pint bottle of milk, together with a bottle of white wine, a slab of cheddar cheese, and a tub of butter.
Jemma had brought provisions with her, which was just as well, because she had no intention of venturing out again thisevening, and she would need something to eat a little later. Tomorrow she would go to Folkestone to find a supermarket, once Molly had been and gone. But she must remember it would be Sunday opening hours. Now she made herself a cup of tea before returning to the sitting room.
She sat beside the window, on the padded cushion of a hardwood chair, and peered out into the rain. Her body was twisted slightly at the waist, and her elbows rested on the small hardwood table that matched the chair on which she sat, her legs crossed at her ankles. Her slippered feet swung back and forth, and she cradled her steaming cup of tea in both hands.
It might be the first day of summer, but even with the heating on, and the logs in the woodburning stove crackling away, it still felt more like February than June.
