‘I know, I’m so excited for you!’ She reached under the counter again and pulled out a pencil case. It was bright pink, just like Pinky, with Orla’s name embroidered onto it. Lately, she had been walking into the village on the weekends, getting to know her new home and picking up a few bits along the way. She’d not been able to walk past this one in the window, and the shop owner was able to personalise it for her. ‘I got you a little something, for luck.’
Orla’s eyes widened as April came and knelt by her side, the case in her hands.
‘It looks like Pinky!’ she squealed, and April and Cillian laughed. Orla took the case and held out a little hand for April to shake. April shook it, pulling a funny face and pretending that Orla was squeezing her a bit tight. The phone rang in the office, and April dropped a kiss on Orla’s cheek, whispered good luck to her and ran to answer it.
‘Good morning, Shady Pines Chalet Park, April speaking. How may I help?’
‘Morning, April, Henry here. The riders all set?’
To say that April had been busy the last few weeks was a bit of an understatement. She didn’t throw an official reopening party or anything like that. She didn’t have the money, and the woman who woke up in Cillian’s arms every morning was a very different creature to the rattled, gibbering wreck she’d been when she arrived in Cornwall. She’d been working her magic ever since, and she wasn’t done yet.
‘Morning, Henry, all set here.’ She could see the Batten family coming across the chalet park, kids and adults alike excited and chattering away as they enjoyed their holiday. Henry, Judith, and April had started to link the businesses together further, and Judith was even hoping to open up her grounds next season, with a view to the donations and fees going towards the animals’ upkeep. Henry, with his horses and livery yard, was offering riding lessons to the guests, and the uptake so far had been amazing. April’s personal bank account was still low, but she needed less. Her ex-husband would probably faint at the figure, but the truth was, she was spending less. She didn’t need to spend £200 on her hair anymore to fit in with the other wives; her nails were painted by either Orla or covered in mud, paint or some other cleaning product; and her wardrobe was definitely more on the casual side these days.
The other day, she’d slept in one of Cillian’s flannel shirts and it had felt better than any cashmere on her skin. Cillian had thought it looked rather nice too, as she recalled. Their late-night meet-ups were trickier now with guests milling about the place, but they did manage it. Since that first night, they hadn’t spent more than a couple of nights apart, and even then that was only due to working late or one night when Orla was up with toothache half the night. Cillian, ever the doting dad, always put Orla first, never letting her find anything that might confuse her. Their late-night kisses and caresses were as far as it went, and they never discussed anything past the bookings for next week and their next project or update to the park that needed to be dealt with. She was making it work, the park was making money, the repairs and supplier bills less eye-wateringly high. April was living in the moment, barely spending anything, and she was as peaceful as she had been in such a long time.
Henry rang off, eager to get everything perfect for the guests’ arrival. April shot off a text to Judith, and before too long, she pulled up in a large and rather battered Land Rover Defender to collect the guests and take them to Henry. April waved them all off as Orla and Cillian looked on.
‘She’ll suss it out, you know,’ Cillian said, leaning on the counter and looking at her in such a way that her knees started to knock. He looked dead-drop gorgeous these days, the haunted look slowly fading away from his features. He looked his most relaxed when they were lying in each other’s arms at night, she thought, but she didn’t like to take the credit. She knew where her happy place was, and it wasn’t her own lonely chalet bed.
Beyond that, she didn’t want to tempt fate. Besides, she had plenty to occupy her mind, and the guests were always on hand to keep her from dwelling on things. She was here, she was open, she was doing it. Her new life. She’d even put a photo on social media, though it was a little tongue-in-cheek. A picture of Elvis, leaning against the blue gate and curling his lip. Underneath she’d written ‘Elvis is in the garden.’
A few of her work colleagues had messaged her, and she’d been able to talk to them without feeling shame and embarrassment about her life here. She’d not mentioned Cillian to any of them, not wanting them to be asking questions about where it was going, whether she would remarry, whether she’d be having any bundles of Cornish-bred joy in her future. She didn’t want to verbalise it to anyone else, when she couldn’t even have the talk with Cillian. It’s going well, she kept repeating on a loop. It’s going well. That’s enough. I’m happy.
‘All good?’ Cillian asked, as though he was reading the thoughts right out of her head.
‘Good.’ She grinned at him. ‘You all ready for school, Orla?’
‘Yes!’ she announced loudly, brandishing her new pencil case. ‘Let’s go, Daddy!’
The school was giving the kids an extra transition day, while the year six students were away at camp, and Orla couldn’t wait. She wasn’t as skittish as before, but she still got nervous when Cillian drove her to nursery. She could feel the tension
