Page 34 of Joker in the Pack

“Old, but usable.”

Hurrah! At least I could cook properly now. At times like this, a girl needed cake.

I spent three solid afternoons cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, and gradually, the years of grime receded to reveal a serviceable work area, at least until I could afford something better. The ceiling still had a yellow hue to it, but until I repainted, it would have to stay.

And painting came somewhere near the bottom of my list. There was still too much junk around for me to get at most of the walls, and I couldn’t afford paint, anyway.

No, I needed to get my priorities straight. With the sale proceeds from one of the three hedge trimmers I’d found, none of which had been anywhere near the overgrown garden, I bought enough ingredients to make several batches of cupcakes. A morning spent baking made the house feel more like a home, especially once the delicious aromas began drifting around downstairs.

And while I couldn’t deny I was looking forward to sampling the spoils, I did have an ulterior motive as I piped on frosting and added a few white chocolate curls. Once I’d packaged up the cakes neatly on paper plates, half a dozen to each, and added gift bows, I took them around to the neighbours.

Lilac Cottage lay second from the end in a row of five, although the large gardens meant they were widely spaced. Nobody answered the door at the house to the right, so I left the cakes inside the porch with a note and carried on to the other three.

At Woodbine Cottage, directly to Lilac’s left, a lady in her sixties opened the door while I was admiring the outside of her home. Built in the same style as Aunt Ellie’s place, nobody had skimped on the maintenance, and the neat exterior showed what was possible with a bit of effort. In short, it gave me something to aspire to.

“Come in, dearie. I’ve been wondering when we’d meet our new neighbour.”

“I’ve brought you some cakes.”

“Such a treasure. Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea and we can share them?”

So far, so good. Inside, Woodbine Cottage had a real country vibe going with bouquets of fresh flowers and little touches like the antique boot scraper near the front door.

The lady led me through to a rustic kitchen, complete with copper pans hanging from a rack over the central island. She certainly had all the good taste Aunt Ellie had been lacking.

“I’m Olivia, by the way,” I told her.

“And I’m Yvonne.”

Over a calming cup of camomile, she told me more about Upper Foxford. The village sounded as if it was in limbo, stuck between a time warp of retired people and the commuters gradually replacing them as they died off.

“So I’m an anomaly, then? Seeing as I plan to spend my days here rather than trekking back into the city?” Although when I thought about it, the lure of London formed an attractive option.

“Well, yes, but there’s plenty here for everyone. The Women’s Institute is having a fundraiser tonight for the local hospice. I don’t suppose I can convince you to come and bring a plate of those lovely cakes for the raffle?”

Hmm, my desire for acceptance battled against the prospect of an interrogation from every lady in the village. Was I ready for that level of scrutiny?

No. Not yet. I just couldn’t do it.

“I can certainly donate a selection of cakes, but I’m afraid I already have plans for this evening.”

Her raised eyebrow said she didn’t quite believe me.

“Uh, a conference call with a client,” I garbled. “In the United States. It’s been arranged for a while.”

And now I’d have to pretend to be on the phone for an hour just in case she sent someone around to check.

“In that case, you really must come to our next event.”

“Absolutely. I’d love to.” Did she realise I had my fingers crossed behind my back? “Oh dear, look at the time. I’d better get going—I’ve got cakes to deliver to our other neighbours as well.”

“I can save you some time there—Dennis and June at the far end are on one of those around-the-world cruises, and Samantha and Julian in between are commuters. They never get back until late on weekdays, and they’re out most of the weekend. Honestly, they’d be better off living in town.”

Apart from the insane property prices, obviously.

I ate the leftover cakes myself while catching up on web design work, and by the end of my first fortnight in Upper Foxford, that side of my life was up to date. I’d also begun making more money from eBay as more auctions ended, and four rooms in the cottage were pretty much habitable. Life began to get a little easier, apart from one small issue: loneliness.

I’d always imagined that if I moved out of my London flat, it would be to shack up with Edward. Despite the rawness I felt from his fling, I still missed him, or at least his company. I longed for somebody to talk to as I pottered around the house, a soulmate to curl up next to on the sofa while I read a book on chilly evenings.

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