Page 1 of Where We Belong

1

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Hope Travers groaned as the harsh sound of her alarm dragged her from the depths of sleep. Having tossed and turned for most of the night, she’d finally managed to drift off sometime after the church clock in the village had chimed a distant single note. There’d been a few complaints about the chimes over the years, mostly from weekend commuters who liked the idea of a pretty house in the country more than the realities of village life, but Hope found them soothing. The alarm buzzed again and she flailed her arm towards the bedside cabinet, knocking her phone off and under the bed in the process.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Muttering something unrepeatable, Hope forced her heavy head off the pillow and fumbled towards the bedside cabinet once again, managing to switch on the lamp this time. Squinting against the glare, she rolled onto her side, one hand groping around on the carpet for her phone. Three tissues, a KitKat wrapper and a pair of tweezers she’d presumed lost later, her fingers found the edge of the annoying device and she slid it out from under the edge of the divan base. After stabbing a finger at the off button before the alarm could buzz again, Hope flopped back against her pillow with a sigh. Perhaps a few more minutes wouldn’t do any harm…

A gentle rap against her door was followed by a sliver of light and a waft of familiar White Musk perfume, her Aunt Rowena’s signature scent. ‘Hope, darling, I’m going to put the kettle on and then I’ll make you something to eat. Shall I bring you up some tea?’

Ignoring her gritty eyes and the beginnings of a headache pressing against her temple, Hope forced herself to sit up. ‘You should’ve stayed in bed, Ro. Just because I’m up at some ungodly hour, doesn’t mean you have to be.’

The door swung wide and Rowena padded across the room to sit on the edge of Hope’s bed. She raised a hand to tuck a few strands of Hope’s long dark hair back behind her ear. ‘It’s an exciting day for you, darling, a busy one too. I couldn’t send you off without a bit of breakfast. You’ll probably be down at the site all day, so it’s important you start the day off right.’

Hope leaned into the gentle touch of her aunt’s palm with a smile. ‘You’re too good to me.’

‘Nonsense.’ Rowena leaned forward to give Hope a quick hug, her wild corkscrew curls brushing against Hope’s skin like a secondary caress. They were magenta this month, a vibrant shade that looked stunning against her emerald-green silk pyjamas. An artist by trade, Rowena’s wardrobe was its own palette. With a soft grunt, as though the effort was too much, Rowena pushed herself to her feet.

‘Are you okay?’ Hope pushed her covers back, ready to climb out and give her aunt a hand.

Rowena waved her off with a smile. ‘My back’s just a bit stiff. I was working on a new collage yesterday and I spent too long bent over my work bench, that’s all. I’ll sneak into Meena’s Pilates class later and that’ll sort me out.’

Another knock on the door had them both turning to see Stevie, Hope’s mother, standing in the doorway. ‘I thought I heard voices.’

‘Go back to bed, Mum,’ Hope urged, keeping her voice low before they managed to wake the rest of the family up. She turned to her aunt. ‘You, too.’

With an indelicate snort, Rowena knuckled her fists into the base of her spine then headed back towards the door to stand next to her sister-in-law. ‘As if we’re going to leave our girl to fend for herself this morning, of all mornings. Am I right, Stevie?’

‘Of course we’re not!’ Hope’s mother sounded as if the very idea was preposterous. They should’ve made a comical pair – tall, willowy Stevie in her neutral fabrics and pixie cut salt-and-pepper hair, and short, curvy Rowena with that mass of wild curls tumbling past her shoulders and almost to her waist, but somehow they complemented each other perfectly. And not just in looks. Together they ran the exclusive hotel and spa located in their family’s ancestral home and were as close as, if not closer than, blood sisters.

Hope climbed out of bed with a resigned shake of her head. ‘You’d think I was five, not twenty-five, the way you two cluck after me like a pair of Rhys’s prize hens.’ She’d meant it as a joke, but she should’ve known better. Though they were trying hard not to show it, Hope knew today was difficult for them.

‘We don’t mean to fuss,’ her mother said, a shadow dimming the sweet smile that was never far from her lips.

Rowena spoke almost on top of Stevie. ‘It was just an idea, if you’d rather we left you in peace, you just have to say.’

And now she felt like an ungrateful brat. ‘It’s a lovely idea, and one less thing for me to worry about, so thank you.’

The pair instantly brightened. ‘We’ll leave you to get ready,’ Rowena said as she reached for the door and began to pull it closed behind them. ‘No rush.’

Their arrival downstairs was greeted with a chorus of happy barks from the family’s motley collection of dogs and Hope closed her eyes in silent apology to her uncles and her cousin. Once the dogs were up, everyone was up. Swallowing a sigh, Hope grabbed a hair tie from her bedside cabinet and twisted her thick hair up into a messy knot on the back of her head. She’d washed it the night before as it took so long to dry these days. She kept promising herself she was going to get it cut off, get something manageable like a chin-length bob or one of those modern takes on a page-boy style with a nice undercut at the back to keep her neck cool during the hot summer days to come. Then something would come up at work and she’d end up cancelling her appointment and trimming the ends off herself.

She wandered across the hall to the bathroom she shared with her cousin, Rhys, and regarded her reflection in the mirror over the sink. With a wince, she tugged at the uneven strands of her fringe. Perhaps taking the kitchen scissors to it the other day hadn’t been the wisest idea. Once everything was sorted out, she would book herself a day off and spend it indulging herself at the spa. What was the point of living on the doorstep of the most exclusive establishment in the county if she never took advantage of the facilities there? For now, she’d settle for using one of the never-ending samples her mother gave to her in an effort to persuade Hope to take her skin care regime more seriously. She surveyed her cluttered half of the countertop, her three-quarters of the countertop might be more accurate, she thought ruefully, as she eyed the motley collection of bottles, pots and tubes before plucking a pastel-pink tube at random and reading the label. Brightening and lifting, hmm? Hope met her tired reflection once more. After weeks doing battle with the planners, the architect, three different building contractors and various members of her family, she could do with all the help she could get.

She squeezed a generous gloop of cream onto one hand then set the tube on the edge of the sink before rubbing her palms together and massaging the cream into her skin the way she would with her usual no-frills facewash. She only realised her mistake when her eyes began to burn and fill with tears. ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ Hope forced one eye open long enough to help her find the cold tap, turning it too far in her haste to wash the mess from her face and sending a jet of icy water over the front of the thin-strapped vest which served as a pyjama top.

‘Bloody hell!’ Arching her body away from the offending spray, Hope leaned too far forward and banged her forehead on the mirrored front of the cupboard over the sink. The next words that left her lips were even less polite.

‘Hope Elizabeth Travers!’

Whirling towards the laughing exclamation, Hope squinted through her agony to make out the familiar shape of her cousin. ‘It’s not funny!’ she snapped.

‘I think you’ll find it is,’ Rhys replied, still laughing as he leaned past her and tugged a towel off the wall rail. ‘Here, hold still a minute.’ He wrapped a corner of the towel around his finger and started trying to wipe the cream from her face.

‘I can do it myself.’ Hope snatched the material from his hands and scrubbed her skin clean. ‘I’m not five.’

‘I’m not five,’ he mimicked in the exaggerated voice he’d known since she was that age was guaranteed to drive her up the wall.

‘What do you want?’ Hope said, trying to cling onto the last vestiges of her temper.

‘Well, I was hoping for a shower.’ Rhys held his arms out in a look-at-the-state-of-me gesture.

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