“And what were they looking for?”
“Oh, I…” Maggie fumbled for a moment, her eyes darting away. “Money from the till, I imagine. Good thing I’d already gone to the bank, not that there’s much to take these days.”
Ellie’s eyes narrowed. She knew her grandmother well enough to recognise when she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Maggie was usually far too honest a woman that any hint of deception set Ellie’s hackles on edge; Maggie had always been partial to a guilty rub of her nose after every lie. Before Ellie could point that out, Penny charged in with a tray of tea.
“Here we are,” Penny chirped, setting down cups that looked as badly made as always—too milky and probably too sugary. “Ellie, dear, where are you staying? Do you want to stay with me and your mother? She’s put her pilates machine in your old room, but you can get to your bed if you crawl.”
Maggie spoke up before Ellie could respond. “Ellie can stay with me.”
"That would be great, Granny. Thank you." Ellie felt a wave of relief wash over her; she wasn’t sure she could have afforded the pubs above The Drowsy Duck for more than a few days. Still, staying with her mother wasn’t even a consideration for Ellie if she wanted to have a moment of peace while she was back here. “That’s sorted. I’m going to stick around in Meadowfield for a few weeks to help run the shop, get things in order, and make sure you stay off your feet as much as possible.” Maggie arched a brow that Ellie knew meant ‘I don’t need a baby sitter’, but right now, Ellie disagreed. “I know I’ve visited but I…”
“You never stay long enough to notice the cracks,” Maggie filled in what Ellie couldn’t find.
Sighing, Ellie nodded. “And I’m supposed to be eagle-eyed.” She smiled drily at the irony. “Perhaps I wanted to keep this place frozen in time, but time did what it does and marched on without me, even in a place as preserved as Meadowfield.” She pushed forward a bright smile, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It’s about time I took a look at what’s really going on around here these days.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Maggie said, patting Ellie’s hand, and she seemed to relax into her chair a little more. “In a lot of ways, it’s the same as it always was. In others—” She smiled, a flat line that Ellie couldn’t quite read. “Well, you’ll see.”
As she sipped her overly sweet tea and Penny joined in the awkward smiling, Ellie couldn’t help but wonder what Meadowfield had in store for her after twelve years away, and more importantly, what on earth she was going to do with herself after those few weeks were over. Beyond helping her gran get back on her feet and tidying up the shop, Ellie had no idea what lay in store for her future.
It should have terrified her more, but there was a spark of excitement firing up deep in her gut, and a small voice whispering something as clear as day from the back of her mind.
About time.
Chapter 4Home?
Ellie dumped her bag on the single metal bed in Granny Maggie’s guest bedroom in her quaint two-bedroom cottage. One of the houses that survived The Great Meadowfield Fire of 1770—thanks to being just outside the main cluster—the cottage dated back to the late 1600s. The rooms were small and cramp, with tiny windows and short doors to help retain the precious heat. None of the walls were smooth, each coated in thick layers of curving lime plaster followed by a century of paint. A thatched roof topped the house, the ceiling above her head sloped like it might fall in at any moment. A modern iron conservatory—Ellie’s favourite room—had been added at the back in the late 1800s. Some people saw it as ripe for tearing down to make way for a house with clean lines and big windows. To Ellie, it was the only kind of house she wanted to live in when she reached Maggie’s age.
She shrugged off her cardigan and draped it over the wooden chair at the small writing desk under the window, then took in the rest of the familiar surroundings.
The room was a perfect reflection of her grandmother’s personality: walls lined with bookshelves crammed full of well-loved tomes, including the smaller Agatha Christie paperbacks from her childhood still arranged in release order; a cosy patchwork quilt draped over the bed; and a small writing desk tucked into the corner. Bunches of dried lavender hung from the ceiling beams, filling the air with a soothing fragrance.
She moved to the window, gazing out at the garden bathed in twilight. The cast iron pergola stood proudly in the centre, its silhouette a comforting landmark in the fading light. For a moment, it looked exactly as Ellie remembered it from her childhood. She sighed, knowing that come morning, the harsh light of day would reveal the rust and encroaching weeds that time had wrought.
A clatter of pans from downstairs pulled Ellie from the window. She rushed down to the kitchen, her bare feet padding against the worn wooden steps. The scene that greeted her was both amusing and exasperating.
Maggie stood at the traditional green Aga stove, a determined set to her jaw as she attempted to manoeuvre a frying pan from the bottom cupboard. The country kitchen, with its exposed beams and well-used appliances, seemed to dwarf her grandmother’s now-frail form more than ever.
“Cooking?” Ellie exclaimed, hurrying over. “Granny—”
Maggie turned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Is ham, egg, and chips still your favourite, dear? With a little ketchup on the side?”
“It is,” Ellie admitted, prying the cold metal handle from her grandmother’s hands. “But you won’t be cooking, Granny. Come on, let’s get you settled.”
Despite Maggie’s protests, Ellie guided her into the Victorian conservatory. The framework was thick with hardened coats of decades-old green gloss. The glass-enclosed space was a jungle of potted plants and towering bookshelves, with a worn-in wicker chair nestled in the corner looking out over the garden. Ellie helped Maggie into the seat, ignoring her grandmother’s huffs of disapproval.
“Is this it?” Maggie grumbled, looking around at her leafy domain. “I just sit around and let people wait on me? There are things to do.”
“And there always will be.” Ellie couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing off the glass walls. “Yes, Granny. That’s exactly it. Rest and recuperation. I’m sure the doctor meant you should get up and about, not get on as normal.”
“Honestly, I am as fine as I ever have been. If only everyone would stop making such a fuss, is all.”
Ellie’s eyes wandered around the conservatory, taking in the familiar sights. She noticed a steady drip of water from a crack in the glass ceiling. Following the trail, more hairline fractures spreading like a web across the panes.
She sighed, crouching down next to her grandmother’s chair. “Why didn’t you tell me things had got this bad? I could have come home to help you.”
Maggie’s eyes softened, a hint of guilt flickering across her weathered features. “After everything this village put you through, you deserved to find yourself somewhere else. I didn’t want to interrupt that.”
Ellie’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words. Maggie reached out, resting her weathered fingers on her granddaughter’s cheek.
“Do you still feel guilty, dear?”
Ellie nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I think I always will, but there’s something else, Granny. I... I lost my job. The studio was sold, the department was reshuffled, and I was one of the ones they deemed unimportant enough to jettison.”
“Oh, Ellie. You could never be unimportant. But perhaps we’re both in the same boat. Too stubborn to be honest when we need help.” She paused, her eyes searching Ellie’s face. “How have you been, truly?”
A small smile tugged at Ellie’s lips. “Better now that I’m here.”
“Home?” Maggie asked, hope colouring her voice.
Ellie exhaled slowly, considering her words. “Once a Meadowling, always a Meadowling, right?” She met her grandmother’s gaze, adding softly, “We’ll see. I’m dreading telling Mum about the job. It was bad enough when I told her I didn’t want to ‘follow in her footsteps’ into acting. Getting that TV studio job was the next best thing in her eyes.”
“Listen here, kid.” Maggie’s eyebrows arched, a hint of amusement in her voice as she said, “Carolyn Swan has no right to call anyone a failure.”
A smile tugged at Ellie’s lips, knowing the truth in her grandmother’s words. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Didn’t you hear? My mother is getting back on TV for her big comeback.”
“According to who?” Maggie’s tone was sceptical.
“Auntie Penny.”
