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Gus, pleased with his purchase, left Tilly’s Bits ’n’ Pieces and carried on up the same side of the street, past the convenience store, where he grabbed some bread and more milk. Right at the end of the street, he found a pub. The Copper Plough, its name on the brickwork, had plenty of character and looked steeped in tradition, with iron lamp-posts marking out the path that led to the front door and dark wood around the entrance, which he imagined lined the inside too.
Gus crossed over to walk back up the other side of the street instead, passing the chapel, which had well-tended grass out front and looked to have a cemetery out back, judging by what he could see. He reached a track that ran from The Street but there was no sign to indicate where it led, although it didn’t take him long to realise that this must be the way down to the elusive cove itself, the reason this village got its name.
Gus had heard about Heritage Cove via Joan. He’d grown close to her since both of his parents had passed away. And when his marriage disintegrated and Gus still had to hold himself together, Joan had saved his arse more than once with her babysitting services. Without her, he’d have struggled to keep seeing patients and earn a living to support both him and his daughter. Joan had a no-nonsense attitude and felt like an extension of their family, and it was with Joan that Gus had talked about the next step for him and Abigail. For a long while, Gus had wanted to start his own veterinary practice, but he’d never been in a position to before. At first it was the finance and when he was left some money after his dad died, his plans came crashing to a halt when Abigail had her accident. His life had been turned upside down with her injuries and then his marriage breakdown. It hadn’t been the time to think of anything else, but he’d reached a point where he knew if he didn’t do it soon, he might never do it. And he wanted a change for Abigail too. She was still living in the house where her accident had happened, the house where they’d lived as a family. And so Gus had set about trying to find somewhere suitable to relocate.
Joan had helped with his search, enthusiastic even though it would mean them moving away from her. ‘You’ve been hiding behind me and my horses long enough,’ she’d told him. ‘You both need some independence, to move forwards, to put your pain behind you.’ And he’d nodded before she went on, ‘Your priority must be good schools. You want a village setting but with a bit of life for you both.’ They’d talked late into many an evening about where to go, looking all over the country. They’d trawled through listings for premises for sale. They’d discounted plenty – too much competition nearby, no good schools in the area, too far from any sign of civilisation, too expensive. And then Joan’s daughter, Kaya, had been to visit for the weekend and when she heard what her mother was helping Gus do, she told them both about how much she loved where she’d moved to on England’s east coast to teach art. She’d moved to the outskirts of Southwold and had shown Gus photographs of an area that looked so beautiful that Gus had begun to think coastal might be an idea.
He and Joan had turned their online searches to focus on the coast and by narrowing their search, they began to see opportunities. And once the temptation of living by the sea had been dangled, it was hard to go back. Gus knew his daughter would love it too. He made a few enquiries to no avail until he found an old bungalow in a village called Heritage Cove. It was the perfect premises for a new veterinary practice. It had land next to it that he could convert to a small car park, there were enough rooms to make the reception and two practice rooms. The competition was outside of the village and the population in Heritage Cove was large enough that he knew he could make a decent client base there. There were also a couple of properties to rent in the village for him and Abigail, each within a great school catchment area, and slowly everything had begun to fall into place.
This move had been in the making for a while but out in the sunshine now, exploring the new village, Gus found himself smiling. It had been a leap of faith but totally worth it.
Gus crossed over and back to the car. He’d have to check out the track down to the cove another time, but he wanted to get home and at least make a dent in more of the unpacking so the house didn’t seem quite so alien when Abigail came home from school. He drove the short distance to his new home and the first thing he did when he got through the door was call Joan to tell her he’d been to the Heritage View Stables and, not only did they have a vacancy for Denby, but it seemed a place where he’d be happy.
‘I am glad.’ Her relief was evident, because as much as Denby was Gus and Abigail’s horse now, she still loved him as much as she always had. ‘I will miss him, but I can visit.’
‘You’d better,’ he told her before they discussed the particulars for Denby and Joan agreed she’d bring him down on Saturday.
‘Any more questions, just give me a call,’ said Joan.
‘I will but I’ll email all of this extra information over to Hazel, the owner, and that should be enough for the contract to be drawn up.’
‘What’s the village like?’ Joan asked, now business was out of the way.
He stood in his kitchen, boxes still surrounding him, and smiled before he told her all about the main road that ran through Heritage Cove, the shop he’d found, the eateries within walking distance. ‘I think we’re going to be happy here.’
‘Me too.’ He could hear a smile in her voice.
‘Now, onto more serious matters. The art class.’
Silence, but only for a moment before he heard a distinct chuckle. ‘Kaya said to pass on her thanks again. And she told me that you did wonderfully. You were totally relaxed.’ She began to laugh properly now. ‘Well, all right, she knew you hated every second of it, but she was ever so grateful.’
It was Kaya who’d organised the class. He’d been a bit shocked when she’d asked him to fill in. ‘You’ve got a great body,’ she’d told him, something she could say without him thinking she was interested, given she’d been living with her partner Faye for the last three years. ‘Please, I really need to build up a good reputation with these classes,’ and she’d sounded so distraught that he’d agreed.
‘I’m glad I helped Kaya,’ Gus told Joan, ‘but I have to say, never again.’
‘If it helps, Kaya got lots of positive feedback.’
‘I don’t even want to think about that.’ The part of his body they were providing feedback for didn’t really bear thinking about. ‘Oh, before I forget, Abigail wanted me to tell you to give Denby a hug from her.’
‘He’s missing her already. It was hard to say goodbye to the both of you, but I know this is going to be for the best. And I can’t wait to see Heritage Cove myself on Saturday.’
‘I’ll treat you to waffles, a pub lunch, ice-cream, something from the bakery or tearooms, your choice.’
‘Looking forward to it. I’ll set off nice and early, should be in Heritage Cove by lunchtime.’
He finished the call, and after he’d made a cup of tea, he headed up to Abigail’s bedroom. The removal team had been here yesterday to drop everything off and, before Gus had headed out of the village to the art class last night, he’d assembled both his and Abigail’s beds, found the kettle, and put away the food he’d picked up at the supermarket en route. But apart from that, he’d done little else. And after the evening had ended so badly when he’d had to yell at those teenagers, he hadn’t been able to face anything else when he got in the door apart from settling Abigail down with a mug of cocoa, despite the summer temperatures, and asking her to get her bag ready to start at school.
Gus knew his own room needed sorting, but all in good time. For now, it consisted of a bed and a load of boxes he could just about navigate his way between. In Abigail’s room, he was pleased that it already felt better than last night. Now that you could see the turquoise bed covers with a mixture of white and turquoise scatter cushions, this room at least stood out from the rest of the magnolia house. The carpet was thankfully beige, so went with everything, just like the carpet in the other rooms. And he was grateful that the downstairs hallway had wooden floorboards, giving them somewhere to leave their shoes so they didn’t walk dirt over the rest of the house.
Abigail had already unpacked the boxes for her desk and had that set up, all the way down to the pen pot on one side. The magnetic board above the desk was already filled with horse paraphernalia, including a magazine article about grooming your horse, a photograph of her sitting on Denby that he’d taken a couple of months ago, an array of rosettes Joan had given her – cherry red, gold, emerald green and royal blue, all won on Denby over the years before he became Abigail’s horse. She’d fixed up a photograph of her with Gus on Christmas day at their house by a roaring fire. It’d been taken by Joan before she took Abigail to see Denby so that Abigail could give him his Christmas present – a wooden plaque for his stable door. Gus had the photograph of Abigail standing beside Denby’s stable door once the plaque was on there, Abigail smiling and Denby’s nose hanging over the door. He’d put that photograph in the lounge on the mantelpiece already.
Gus went to find his toolbox. He and Abigail had agreed the position for her wooden-framed illustration of horse and pony coat colours late last night after he’d used his pipe and cable detector to make sure they wouldn’t be doing any damage, and he’d promised he’d put it up today. This being a property that had been rented out a few times before, the owner seemed relaxed about any little additions they wanted to make, as long as Gus cleared it with him first.
He drilled a hole and, with the wall plug inserted, put in the screw before hanging the picture. He stood back before readjusting it once, twice, until he was happy with it, and as he got the final position, his eyes fell to the horse with the beautiful golden coat and white mane and tail and its label, ‘Palomino’. It looked a lot like Sherbert at the Heritage View Stables and an image of Hazel came into his head, with her long, blonde hair, and the slight awkwardness between them. He knew that going up to see Denby at the stables was going to be even more pleasurable if she was in charge. He’d have to ask again about the lessons, though; Abigail needed those and he felt sure Hazel would be the best person for the job. They’d been spoiled with Joan on hand to tutor Abigail in anything and everything to do with horses, but lessons here in the village would give Abigail more skills and knowledge, as well as confidence. She could learn to jump as she’d always wanted and go on hacks locally, which would help her get to know the area.
With the picture hanging, he undid another box and unpacked Abigail’sPonymagazines, of which there were a whole pile. He plonked those neatly on top of the lower chest of drawers of the two in Abigail’s bedroom. She could move them if she wanted, but at least this way she’d come home and see familiarity with all her things around her. The next box he came to was full of her clothes, but she could deal with those. He went and found the box of hangers and brought a good stack of them up to his daughter’s bedroom, leaving them on the bed for her. It would be a distraction if nothing else, if she’d had a terrible time at school. He’d spent all day doing his best to push that thought from his mind, choosing to focus on the positives and trying not to worry.
From another small box, Gus pulled out the plaque from Denby’s stable that Joan had given Abigail, telling her he would need it for his new home, and set it on Abigail’s desk, propped up at the back so she could see it and know she and her horse would soon be reunited. He took out a cushion from yet another box – this one had an amusing depiction of a horse’s anatomy with arrows pointing to parts such as the tail, which was known as the ‘fly swatter’, and the bum, which was ‘fertiliser dispenser’. He unpacked one of Denby’s old horseshoes and placed it on top of the taller chest of drawers, next to which he put another framed photograph of his daughter with her horse, this one his personal favourite because she’d been helping Joan to bathe Denby and she was soaked from head to toe. It seemed Denby had been hesitant to get wet that day and so Abigail had stood in front of the horse and told him it was okay, the water wouldn’t hurt, and promptly turned the hose on herself. That day was the most he’d heard her laugh since her accident and he’d laughed hard too, although he noticed Joan shedding a tear at the little girl re-emerging from the shell she’d squeezed herself into.
