Page 22 of Welcome to Pennycress Inn

Yuck.

But if she didn’t go, she’d become even more ostracised. And looking at it a different way, this might just be perfect timing. She could go and show her face, maybe even try to contribute to whatever was being discussed – what did a small place like Meadowfield have to discuss, or plan anyway? And if she came across as friendly and happy, then maybe, just maybe, it would show people what she could bring to village life.

Yes. She had to go. However much it filled her with dread just thinking about walking into a hall full of the people who had been less than welcoming, she needed to do it. But first she needed to brush her hair and slap a bit of make-up on. Oh, and make sure she didn’t have more ivy stuck to her.

12

She was here. She was at the village hall. Laura looked down the street. Trees lined the road on one side, fields stretching out towards the horizon beyond, cottages built with the famous yellow Cotswold stone on the other side. This was picture-postcard perfect and one of the many reasons she’d moved here. Besides escaping her parents’ house and a town where Harry seemed to lurk around every corner, she’d chosen to make Meadowfield her new home and the place to build her business because of views like this.

She jumped aside as a family walked past her, immersed in conversation. She had been standing there for at least ten minutes now, watching people file into the village hall. There must have been at least fifty people in there now, maybe more, maybe even a hundred. She wasn’t sure. She should have counted. It would have given her something to do, taken her mind off the worry of walking in there alone.

Another group of people walked past her, this time not seeming to see her at all as she was practically forced to step down from the kerb into the road to give them more space. She recognised some of them, the man from the hardware store andthe woman from the bakery. That other woman, with the long red hair, pushing a buggy, she’d been in the bakery too, hadn’t she? Yes, she was sure she had. That would explain why the two women had chatted away then, because they knew each other.

Laura held her hand up towards them and smiled. Lowering it again quickly as she got zero response apart from a quick glance from the younger woman. They had seen her then. Maybe they were thinking she shouldn’t be there. That she had no business attending the village meeting. Was it just for residents who had been there longer or were on a special committee or something? The leaflet that had been posted through the door may have been a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all.

Pulling the flyer from her pocket, she smoothed it out and reread the information. No, it definitely said ‘all Meadowfield residents welcome and encouraged to attend’. She was meant to be here.

But she couldn’t go through with it. It had been a silly idea. She’d greeted those people politely and had nothing in response. Who was to say when she went in there that anything would be different?

Nope. Nope. Nope. She wasn’t ready. She’d keep going into the village centre and trying to befriend people that way, try to show them she wanted to be a part of Meadowfield life, that she was here to stay. But all in one go like this? She couldn’t.

Turning, she pushed the leaflet back into her pocket as she began to walk away, straight into the path of someone else, someone who she collided with. Now that definitely wasn’t the impression she’d wanted to give. Reaching up to rub her arm, she kept her eyes down. If they didn’t catch a full look at her, they might not report back that she’d tried to attack a fellow villager or something equally daft. She mumbled, ‘So sorry,’ asshe dodged out of the way and began walking again, only to feel the person grip hold of her coat and pull her back.

‘Whoa. You’re going in the wrong direction.’

She relaxed. She knew that voice. Turning, she raised her head. ‘Sorry, Jackson. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

‘No, apparently not because the village hall is that way.’ Jackson released her coat and indicated the hall in front of them.

‘Oh, I’m not going in there.’

‘That’s why you’re here though, isn’t it? You have the leaflet.’ He pointed to the corner of the leaflet sticking up out of her coat pocket.

Laura shook her head firmly. ‘I was, but I’m not anymore. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll come along to one when I’ve been here a little longer.’

Taking a step back, Jackson crossed his arms and looked at her. ‘Why?’

‘Why? Well, no reason.’ She glanced towards the hall as more villagers arrived. She hadn’t realised Meadowfield was so big. Where were all these people coming from?

‘Umm, that’s not washing with me.’

‘Okay, I just don’t think it’s a good idea, that’s all. I’m new to Meadowfield, and I just don’t think I’ll be very welcome.’

‘Of course you’ll be welcome! Everyone has been really good to me since I’ve moved here.’

‘To you they might have been.’ She looked towards the hall again and lowered her voice. ‘To me, though, I get the distinct impression I’m not expected to turn up. Or wanted.’

‘To the meeting?’ Jackson raised his eyebrow.

‘Yes. No. Everywhere. To the village.’ She shook her head. She was probably being daft. After all, Jackson was a newcomer and he felt welcomed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m just seeing things differently.’

‘I’d say so. People around here really are lovely.’ As if to prove a point, Jackson held his hand up to wave at the two women from the bakery who had paused outside the hall, chatting to someone else. In return, they both smiled and raised their hands back, whilst the man they were with called across, ‘Hello, Jackson.’

Laura sighed. Yep, Jackson had definitely been welcomed into the Meadowfield community. The problem must just lie with her. ‘Come on then, let’s go in and get this over and done with.’

‘Okay!’ Holding out his arm, Jackson waited until she’d looped hers through his before leading the way into the village hall.

Pausing in the entrance whilst people were ushered to their seats, Laura looked around the vast room. Wooden beams adorned the ceiling whilst large, framed photographs of the village from previous years hung between beautifully stained-glass windows. ‘Wow, it’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?’

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