With his body feeling the effects of a ten-and-a-half-hour flight and a restless night in a bed that no longer felt like his own, Henry zipped up his fleece and pulled on his hood. He had forgotten how the damn cold had a knack of seeping into your clothes in England. The temperature, while similar to that he had left behind, felt much colder. England in January was a grey, damp place — a stark contrast to the blue skies and beaches of Los Angeles. He stretched; his muscles felt heavy and uncooperative. Despite the cold, he needed the exercise and knew he would soon warm up once he started running. After a whole night of being inside the confines of Dapplebury House, he was ready to escape. He looked out along the gravel driveway flanked by a trimmed edge of lawn, the wispier more unkempt grass of the parklands beyond, and the woods he had explored as a child, all stretched out before him.
Returning home after dark the night before meant he had been met by a view of Dapplebury House lit up against the backdrop of the night sky. It was, without doubt, an impressive sight, albeit that it caused a tightening in his chest and increased the throbbing at his temples. The irony was never lost on him that he’d been brought up in a grand stately home that never truly felt like home to him. Outside at least, he felt less like he was being suffocated and the view, in daylight, was stunning. How had he forgotten that? How had he not realised how much he missed it until he was back?
Crouching to pull the laces of his trainers tighter, Henry was surprised to see Granger, one of his parents’ retired gun dogs, lumber out from around the side of the house. Henry had been touched by the genuine warmth of the greeting Granger had given him the previous evening. He found the dog’s enthusiasm about his return more honest than that of his mother. Pushingaway an image of his father looking frailer than he had imagined, Henry beckoned the chocolate Labrador, who wagged his tail and walked towards him. Henry had known Granger since he was a puppy. Having bred the pedigree gun dogs for generations, chocolate Labradors were synonymous with his family. The irony that both he and Granger were the product of years of selective breeding wasn’t lost on Henry. He put his arms around the dog, welcoming the contact and his warmth.
‘You and me, Granger, are more similar than you know.’ Henry sighed and stood up. ‘What do you say, want to join me?’
Granger stood still and huffed a silent bark that rose into the early morning air as a puff of smoke.
The exercise, the low mist that shrouded the land, the cold air on his face, and the freedom of being outside, was exhilarating. Henry knew the grounds well as if he had an internal map for them. As a child, when he wanted to disappear, he could do so for hours, much to his mother’s frustration. He knew all the best places to hide and only ever got caught that once, the last time with Ava.
The earth felt boggy beneath his feet; nettles covered the path and brambles threatened to entangle him. Five years was a long time. The plants had grown in his absence, reclaiming whole stretches of land. When he was a boy, Henry would have hacked them back with a scythe he snuck from the gardener’s shed; now he attempted to step over, move or dodge them, while Granger seemed to have no trouble in finding his own path.
Henry pressed on, turning at the old oak tree that still bore the scars of having once been struck by lightning. It was his favourite path to take to the lake. He once encountered the largest of the stags from the deer herd on that very path. The stag had stared at him, his round eyes fixed on him intently, his nostrils moving rhythmically, as he assessed the man before him. In that moment Henry felt keenly that he and the stag hada mutual respect, both treading the paths of their ancestors and trying to live up to their positions in life; both happy to be left alone. Henry knew once he was through the woods, he would be back onto grassland with the lake and the village beyond, in view.
Nearing the edge of the woods, Granger darted forwards. Wondering what had caught the dog’s attention, Henry went to follow, stopping in his tracks when he saw a woman walking a dog in the distance. The winter sun offered little warmth, but its low position in the sky meant it was glaring in his face. She was some distance off, but the red hair, tied up as it had been at the pub the night before, and the fact she was trespassing, as she always had, convinced him it was . . . ‘Ava.’ The word came out as a whisper.
Not wanting her to see him, hot from his run, caught off guard and after a night in which she had filled most of his thoughts, he slipped back under cover of the trees. The shade shielded him from the glare and made it easier for him to see as Granger ran up to her, wagging his tail. She crouched to greet him before standing. Granger sat as she gave him something, he seemed to expect, from her pocket. Her dog, a smallish spaniel, welcomed Granger happily. The two dogs sniffed each other, wagging their tails wildly, play bowing and enticing one another to give chase as they ran in circles while Ava laughed. Henry watched feeling like the trespasser, as the three walked on towards the lake.
Having been away, Henry had no idea how long Ava had been coming back to the grounds of Dapplebury House. He remembered the last time he had seen her there, the heat, the briefest touch of her smooth skin as they swam in the lake, and their kiss. He remembered too his mother’s anger, the sting of her slap and his regret that he never saw Ava again. At the end of that summer, he was sent to boarding school. After that,holidays, and walks in the grounds felt empty without her, and his resentment at his parents’ control over his life grew.
While Ava, Granger and the spaniel were walking parallel to the trees, Henry followed, being sure to stay out of sight. He knew the lake would cause them to come nearer, and the dogs might give his whereabouts away but, at that moment, he was willing to take the risk to get a closer glimpse of Ava. When he’d seen her in the pub, on the previous night, she had looked different from how he remembered her. Of course, she had grown up, so had he, but there was more. As a young girl, she had freckles on her skin and colour in her cheeks from the hours they spent outside. When he had seen her at the pub, she looked pale. Her hair was in a ponytail, which he felt suited her less than the unkempt curls he remembered and her clothes, he was pretty sure, weren’t her own. While he appreciated the fact her black skirt and shirt showed all too clearly that the boyish figure she once had, had changed to feminine curves, they didn’t reflect the Ava he felt he knew.
Hearing Granger bark, Henry jumped from his thoughts and paused, his heart thudding.
Ava stood still, not far from the line of trees, appearing to listen.
Henry knew he should show himself. So what if he was hot and sweaty? So what if he was in an old tracksuit? As the words,she’s right there,echoed through his mind, his legs felt uncooperative.You’ll look an idiot if Ava Flynn finds you skulking here. Henry attempted to steady his breathing.
Granger barked again, this time facing Henry’s direction. Aware his cover was blown, Henry went to move, but as he did so, Ava started to jog away, calling back as she went, ‘Thanks for the heads-up, Granger. You’re a star. Come on Myrtle, before the wicked witch finds us.’
Henry stared after them, amused at the reference to what he could only presume was his mother, and cursed. For twelve years he had waited to see Ava Flynn again. Now he had seen her twice in twenty-four hours and yet he’d hidden from view like a fool on each occasion. The last time he had seen her run away from the grounds at Dapplebury House, he had regretted not following, so why did he just let it happen again? ‘You're a bloody idiot!’
Granger, having walked back into the woods, stood in front of Henry and whined.
‘Not you. I think you might be the only sensible one in this place.’
As they turned to head back to the house, Henry thought about his conversation with the landlord of The Brown Dog the night before. After seeing the way he had been looking in Ava’s direction, Henry had spoken to him, to sound him out, and discover if he and Ava were an item. Learning they weren’t, was small comfort when picturing the blush on Ava’s cheeks as she had stood at the bar talking to the man, as he had gone to leave the pub.
Henry picked up his pace. ‘Come on, Granger.’ He thought about the things the landlord had said. Amongst the who’s who in the bar that night, he’d mentioned that Ava Flynn ran the local charity shop. Henry had no idea why. She was a talented artist and full of ambition when he had known her. She wanted more from life than the limits Dapplebury could offer, and yet there she still was, not looking like herself and running a charity shop of all things. Giving herself to good causes was her mum’s mission, not Ava’s.
Henry glanced down at Granger as the pair ran side by side. ‘Dapplebury House is a big place. We must have something to donate to a charity shop, don’t you think?’
Chapter Six
‘A full English and the company of my two favourite ladies, what a way to start the day!’ Gino smiled, picking up his knife and fork from the blue-gingham tablecloth.
‘Flatterer!’ Mary reached for the maple syrup and poured it over her icing sugar topped waffles.
Ava thanked the waitress who was still placing mugs of coffee down in front of them and buttered her toast before turning her attention to Gino. ‘What a treat, thank you.’
When she’d got his text about meeting up for breakfast, Ava knew she ought to say no. The sale had been underway for just over a week in the shop, and she was beginning to make some headway into the piles of bags and boxes for sorting out the back, but there was still plenty left to do. Having a sign on the door saying they wouldn’t be accepting donations until further notice, she knew she had to crack on. The last thing she wanted was people taking their donations and their loyalty elsewhere.
‘Toast is not much of a treat is it. You could have ordered a proper breakfast.’ Gino gestured to the mound of food on his plate.
‘Honestly, it’s good. I had cereal at half six this morning.’
Mary paused, her cutlery hovering over her waffles. ‘Half six? Why were you up at half six? Flo’s opening up the shop for you, you could have had a lie-in!’
