“You know my mum lives in the village, as well?” Olivia told her. “There’s a terrific day centre in Witney she goes to. Lots of different people there.”
“That’s a thought,” Emily said, although she couldn’t imagine her mother sitting around watching telly or playing Scrabble with a bunch of pensioners. She was only fifty-four.
“I don’t mean that she would go there as a visitor,” Olivia said with a laugh. “That would be a bit much. No, I meant she could offer classes, perhaps. Pottery or painting. They’re always looking for volunteers.”
“Oh, I never thought…” And she wasn’t sure she could imagine it. Would her mother be able to handle something steady? Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything close to resembling a regular job.
“Think about it,” Olivia said. “And if it’s something she might like, I’ll have a word with the manager.”
“Okay, thanks. That could be a really good idea.”
As Emily let herself into her cottage, her phone buzzed with a text from Ava, checking how the visit had gone. And Alice had left her a casserole already warming in the oven, as well as feeding Cass. Emily read the note with its loopy, cursive handwriting and couldn’t help but smile.
She wasn’t doing this alone. She didn’t have to manage her mother by herself; she didn’t have to manage her mother at all. They could have a proper relationship, in a supportive community, and it could be good, even if it was hard. She truly believed that now, and she was thankful…even if she still desperately missed Owen.
*
“It’s a beautiful day and you should be outside.”
Emily blinked at Harriet’s rather firm tone. It had been a week and a half since Owen had ended things, and her mother was coming home in just a few days. Emily had been busy trying to get things ready for her, as well as keep on top of her job, although Henry had been expansive in his understanding, and told her she could take as much time off as she wanted. Emily appreciated the sentiment, but she liked her work, and the fundraiser was now less than two months away.
And now Harriet was here, hands on hips, expression stern, telling Emily she needed to get out. Emily hadn’t seen her except in passing since that first night at the pub, which felt like a million years ago. She had no idea why Harriet was here now.
“Ava told me about Owen,” Harriet said in her brisk way. “And I’m truly sorry. Men can be really amazingly stubborn and stupid. I can’t do anything about Owen, but I can help a bit. I’ve got the kids and the dog in the car and it’s a glorious day. I thought we could walk through the bluebell wood on the other side of the river, by the big estate. The rain and then the sunshine have brought them all out, and they’re truly gorgeous. I’ve even packed a picnic.”
“And you want me to come?” Emily said, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. This was most unexpected. Yes, she’d made friends in Wychwood, and inroads into the community, but she was still more than a bit intimidated by Harriet Lang.
“Why not? Ava said you might spend the day by yourself mooching about, otherwise.”
Emily let out a huff of laughter, although there was some truth in the statement. As determinedly optimistic as she was trying to feel, a Saturday on her own could still feel rather long, especially when everyone else was busy with their families. “I don’t mooch,” she said.
“Mince, then?” Harriet suggested, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know. It’s a lovely day, and the kids are getting restless. Why don’t you come with us?”
In fact, Emily had been planning on spending the day tidying her already tidy kitchen, and perhaps doing some batch cooking, maybe going for a walk. Activities that would have satisfied her perfectly well in the past, but felt just a little bit empty now. Or even a lot empty. It was the strangest thing, but she didn’t actually like being alone anymore.
“Well?” Harriet asked in her schoolteacher voice, a glint of challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring Emily to be brave enough.
“All right,” Emily said with both a sigh and a smile. “Thank you for the invitation. Let me just get my wellies.”
Three pairs of eyes regarded her curiously as Emily climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s estate a few minutes later, and was introduced to her children—fourteen-year-old Mallory, who had a bored, worldly-wise air; eleven-year-old William, who was full of manic boy-energy; and eight-year-old Chloe, a blonde cherub who didn’t stop talking. Daisy, an enthusiastic spaniel, barked rapturously from the boot, tongue lolling out.
At least Harriet’s car was clean. Spotless, in fact. Emily noted the plastic pouches with the children’s names fastened to the backs of the seats with approval. Harriet was clearly a woman of organisation.
“So how is the fundraiser going?” Harriet asked as she pulled out of Willoughby Close. “It’s only two months away?”
“Yes, end of June. I think I have everything organised, but there is still a lot of detail work to do.” She’d spent the last week confirming vendors, arranging the proper licences and inspections, and was now looking for a PR firm to do the publicity and posters. Work had become a necessary and welcome distraction from thinking about Owen.
“We’re all looking forward to it, aren’t we?” Harriet said with a glance back at her brood, who gave a variety of responses, from Chloe’s enthusiastic chirp to Mallory’s bored sigh. William had started kicking the back of Emily’s seat with methodical determination, something she was trying not to let bother her.
“I hope it will be a success. A true community effort. I’ve got to get the posters up soon, so everyone knows about it.”
“I
