“I brought this.” Alice brandished the tin Emily now saw she was holding. “Tiffin. It’s Henry’s favourite.”
“Thank you, that’s so kind.” Emily took the tin and put it on the counter. She realised there must have been something slightly and unfortunately dismissive about the gesture because Alice’s smile wavered.
“You’re not allergic? It does have raisins. Or maybe you don’t eat sweets…”
“No, no,” Emily said hurriedly. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it very much. Thank you.” She thought she’d said the right thing, but Alice was still looking a bit…nonplussed. Disappointed, even.
Why, Emily wondered on a silent sigh, did a simple conversation have to be such a minefield for her? Now if they’d been talking about work, she’d have been fine. She could talk about spreadsheets and databases and filing systems all day. But a simple bit of chitchat with a woman who was so obviously thoughtful and kind? Her stomach went in knots and her tongue became firmly tied as every instinct kicked in to stay private.
She couldn’t help it; it was a habit, one built up over years of careful self-protection. Stay polite, efficient, at a distance, so people didn’t look too closely, or ask too many questions. So they don’t find out the truth.
It was the way she’d always needed to be, and it was hard to stop now, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary, with this slip of a woman who so clearly wanted only to be her friend.
“Okay. Well.” Alice tucked her hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture as she kept smiling. “Is the moving truck coming soon? Because I could help you bring things in…”
Emily opened her mouth to say she didn’t need any help, then closed it again. “Actually, if you had any spray cleaner and perhaps some paper towel? I’d love to wipe all the surfaces before the furniture is put in.”
“Oh.” Alice glanced around at the near-sparkling kitchen. “Okay. I have some back at the house. I’ll nip up and get it for you.”
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
“Right. Won’t be a tick.”
Alice gave her another uncertain smile and then thankfully left the cottage. Emily let out a shaky breath of relief. This was all going to be so much harder than she’d expected, and that was saying something, since she’d had no illusions that it would be easy.
But every innocuous conversation felt like sandpaper on skin, an irritant, even a danger. It was hard to shed that self-protective skin even when it wasn’t needed as much as it had been back in London. After all, her mother wasn’t living with her anymore. She didn’t actually have anything to hide.
Emily slid her phone out of her pocket and checked it for messages, but of course there weren’t any. Her mum didn’t do texts, or voicemails, or even phones. No matter how Emily tried to stay in touch, Naomi preferred to surprise her by suddenly showing up, usually with a suitcase and a smile, to stay awhile.
That had been fine in London, when she’d lived in a building where neighbours didn’t notice or care. But here in Wychwood-on-Lea? With the helpful Alice popping round, and who knew who else? When Emily had driven into Willoughby Close’s courtyard, she’d seen at least one of the four cottages had been occupied, and it had made her stomach clench a little. She couldn’t be dealing with nosy neighbours, well meaning though they might be.
While Alice was gone, Emily decided to inspect the upstairs of the cottage. Henry had mentioned two bedrooms, and as she mounted the set of narrow stairs, she saw that indeed there were two—a master bedroom with fitted wardrobes and an en suite bathroom, and a smaller bedroom with a view of the back garden and the meadow and woodland beyond, the silver ribbon of the Lea River glinting under the fragile March sunshine before winding its way into a dark wood. It was, Emily supposed, so very idyllic…if one liked that sort of thing. She didn’t know if she did.
She’d grown up in the city, had found solace and safety in crowds, anonymity, life buzzing and pulsing all around her. The quiet here scared her, although she couldn’t say why. The solitude felt like a threat, the emptiness an exposure.
Certainly the possibility of nosy neighbours felt exposing. People coming in at all hours, with cheerful hellos and kind, smiling eyes, asking how she was, what she was up to… Emily suppressed a near shudder. It was like something out of a BBC comedy about moving to the country. It was what you were supposed to want, wasn’t it? Yet Emily was quite sure she didn’t.
“Hello? Emily…?” Alice’s friendly voice floated up the stairs. Emily turned from her view of the back garden and headed back down to the open-plan living area. Alice brandished a bottle of cleaning spray and a roll of paper towels with a triumphant smile. “Will this do?”
“Perfect, thank you so much.” Emily smiled and took both. As Alice watched, she started spraying. She wondered if she should have waited, but the truck would be here any minute and she needed everything to be clean. Still, perhaps it was a bit OTT.
“So,” she said in as airy a voice as she could manage, “how do you like living at the manor? I’ve only been here for your wedding. That was so lovely…”
“Honestly? It feels like a dream come true.” Alice laughed self-consciously. “As naff as that sounds, it really does.”
Emily glanced at the younger woman; happiness was radiating from her in an almost visible way, like beams of sunshine shooting out from her fingertips. A shaft of entirely unexpected envy twisted her gut and she spritzed some cleaning spray onto the top of the pristine cooker.
“Well, Henry certainly seems happy. He’s stopped scowling, which I never thought
