Page 70 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

Jen reached across the table to take her sister’s hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just – I think I thought that because I’m the one that always messes everything up you wouldn’t need me. I thought you had everything sorted on your own and I’d just upset this perfect balance you had. It didn’t occur to me that things might get hard for you, too, sometimes.’

Julia’s expression crimped into a frown and she squeezed Jen’s hand. ‘What are you talking about? You don’t mess things up. You’re – you’re the brave one, the free spirit, the charming one that everyone loves, no matter whether you follow the rules.’ She grinned. ‘You’re the youngest, you’ve always been able to get away with murder. I had to be the good girl.’

‘But . . .’ Jen’s mind was reeling. She was struggling to grasp this new perspective on their lives. She blinked, trying to take it in.

‘I wanted to be more like you,’ Julia said. ‘There must be so much freedom in not caring what people think.’

She was looking at Jen with what appeared to be envy.

Jen thought about the carefully neutral tone her friends used when they asked about her life. ‘I care more than you think,’ she said. ‘Maybe we both thought the other one had their life sorted. I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you.’

Julia sighed. ‘Well, that’s my own fault, isn’t it?’ The tears were back in her eyes, and her voice was shaky when she spoke again. ‘I am sorry for all that, you know. Really sorry.’

Jen looked at her. This was a subject she tried not to think about, because thinking about it made her feel like she was living the whole awful experience again.

But she couldn’t avoid it for ever.

Chapter Thirty-One

She had been newly qualified and full of bright-eyed enthusiasm. Her first job, as a Reception teacher in a sweet little primary school not far from where they’d gone to college, and not far from where she grew up and Julia had settled, was everything she’d dreamed of.

She had worked in the nursery class for a few weeks at the end of the term before she officially started, getting to know the school and the children she would be teaching. The staff were friendly and dedicated, answering all her questions patiently and helping her with suggestions for lesson plans and classroom displays. She was beyond excited.

The children were the highlight. They were the reason she’d gone into this profession in the first place; the satisfaction of gaining their trust and ensuring they felt safe and confident in her presence, the gentle guidance on behaviour that youngsters like this needed, the thrill of seeing them learn more each day.

There was one little girl, Martha, that Jen became especially fond of.

She was a shy child, and Jen spent some time coaxing her out of her shell, making her laugh as they played and read stories. It was always her dad that picked her up, and he smiled as Jen brought Martha out to him one day.

‘Ah, it’s the famous Miss Ward,’ he said, his ice-blue eyes twinkling. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Jen laughed. ‘Oh dear!’

‘It’s all good, I assure you. We’ve definitely got a little Miss Ward fan here, haven’t we?’ He smiled down at Martha, who was now holding his hand, and she nodded. ‘And I hear you’re going to be their class teacher in September? That’s great news.’

‘Daddy, are we going to the libererery?’ Martha asked.

‘Yes, we can,’ he said. He looked back at Jen, raising an eyebrow. ‘The liber-er-ery is one of our favourite places. Isn’t it, Moo?’

‘You’ve done so well with her,’ the nursery teacher said to Jen as they watched them go.

‘Thanks.’ Jen smiled as she helped to staple some of the children’s paintings to a board. ‘She’s a sweetie.’

‘She’s had a rough time actually. Her mum left about a year ago, and poor Martha was really rocked by it. David, too.’ She gave Jen a knowing look. ‘They both seem to be doing much better now, though. And it looks like they’ve both taken a bit of a shine to you!’

Jen blushed. ‘What? No. He’s just friendly, isn’t he?’

‘To some more than others,’ came the muttered reply.

She didn’t go to the library hoping to bump into them, but she wasn’t surprised when she did. Both of their faces lit up when they saw her, waiting to check out a huge pile of books.

‘Ooh, you’re a bookworm, Miss Ward,’ he said.

‘Jen,’ she said, shifting the pile around. ‘Guilty as charged!’

‘David. I’m more of a fall-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV man these days, the only reading I do is about a little mouse outwitting a string of woodland animals.’ He smiled ruefully, and Jen felt her heart skitter.

‘You can’t beat Julia Donaldson,’ she said.