Page 6 of Welcome to Pennycress Inn

‘It seems to be, yes.’ Jackson looked down at the basket before holding it out towards her. ‘And this is the real reason I stopped by, to welcome my new neighbour with a food hamper.’

‘Thanks.’ Mumbling, Laura stepped forward and took the basket, which was heavier than Jackson had made it look, before placing it on the counter. ‘Sorry about?—’

‘No need to apologise.’ Taking a step towards her, Jackson held his arms out. ‘Does Richie’s sis still have a hug for me?’

‘Haha, always.’ Sinking into Jackson’s bear hug, she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in the familiar earthy aftershave. He’d not changed in that department then. His hugs were still the best. Stepping back from the embrace, Laura shrugged. ‘Sorry again for jumping to conclusions – and thanks for the hamper.’

‘No worries.’ Nodding, Jackson walked towards the front door, pausing before stepping outside. He indicated the fallen plaster. ‘I can pop by and take a look at that for you, if you like? I’m on shift this afternoon, but I’m free tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s all under control. Thanks.’

‘Okay.’ Frowning, Jackson held his hand up in a wave. ‘See you around then.’

After watching him walk down the garden path, she shut the door firmly behind him before making her way across to the reception desk and sinking her chin to her elbows. However nice it was to see Jackson again, this had been her new start and with him living next door – next door! – how was she supposed to assert her independence and show the world she was a capable adult, with him right there breathing down her neck? How was she supposed to prove herself to her parents? To Richie? To Jenny?

She glanced back at the door. To Harry?

Everyone would just think Jackson was helping her. They still wouldn’t believe in her. And she needed that. After the divorce and being forced to move back into her parents’ house, after her world falling apart, she needed people to see her for who she really was again. She’d had enough of the pity, of the treading on eggshells; she was ready to be herself again, to build herself back up. To be better, to show everyone she could do it, that she didn’t need to rely on others. On anyone.

But Jackson was here. And, by suggesting he pop by to fix the plaster, he was already offering to help.

Forcing herself to open the basket, she had to admit the aroma of freshly baked food was enticing at least, and a definite plus of having a chef as your neighbour. She rooted through the basket, pulling out and lining up the various home-baked gifts. Still, all the lavender shortbread or cheese and jalapeño rolls in the world wouldn’t make up for the fact that her dream of a fresh start away from anyone and everyone she knew had been crushed.

4

The bedding! Laura had forgotten to pop it in the tumble dryer. Shoving the last of Jackson’s lavender shortbread into her mouth, she made her way into the utility room as the buttery goodness melted against her tastebuds. Good job she’d remembered, or she’d have been sleeping on the sofa again tonight.

Looking around, she located a washing basket in a tall cupboard by the sink. She’d had quite a productive day in the end. After spending the morning scrubbing and cleaning the owners’ suite upstairs, she’d begun unpacking her clothes. It hadn’t taken too long – the unpacking part anyway. After all, she’d not brought that much: a couple of bin bags full of clothes, a box of books and her parents’ battered old suitcase holding trinkets and such – photo frames of her late grandparents, pictures of family from her childhood and a photograph of her and her family on the day of the twins’ Christening – about the only image she owned of herself with her siblings and parents which didn’t also have Harry in.

She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed Harry could keep so many of the possessions they’d accumulated over theseven years of marriage and three before that of living together, but after cohabiting alongside him in the house which had once been their home whilst it was on the market and then in the months it actually took for the couple who had put an offer in to complete their chain, she’d grown to associate the once-cherished items with indifference, contempt even.

The dining table and chairs which they’d finally sourced after traipsing around at least ten different flea markets and they’d both spent two weekends restoring had suddenly transformed from somewhere they’d sit around hosting dinner parties, playing cards or sketching out designs for the garden to the surface upon which she’d filed for divorce, the place she’d sit for hours in the evenings, reading, attempting crosswords, anything to avoid venturing into the sitting room to sit in stilted silence with the man she’d once loved as he flicked from TV channel to TV channel obviously feeling just as awkward in her company as she was in his. The sofa they’d spent evening after evening cuddled up on chatting about the holiday they’d take next year or simply engrossed in a movie or TV series had changed from a comfortable sanctuary to where she had told Harry their marriage was over, where she’d later sought her parents’ approval of her decision and was instead met with the realisation they thought she was making a mistake.

No, she’d made the right decision, she’d needed this fresh start, not to be surrounded by inanimate objects which reminded her of a time she’d rather leave in her past.

After placing the washing basket on the floor in front of the machine, she rubbed at her eyes. Even just thinking about the items she could have brought with her caused the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. At the time, it had made sense for Harry to take charge of the household goods. He’d moved into his flat, she into her parents’ house. She’d have only had to pay to store it all.

Pushing all thoughts of that strange, murky period of transition between marriage and divorce from her mind, Laura tugged on the washing machine door, pulling until the latch released before shrieking and jumping back. Water cascaded down the front of the machine, pooling on the floor beneath her feet. Shaking water from her now drenched socks, she bent down and reached inside the drum, emptying the bedding into the wash basket. It was sodden. Literally sodden. Looking down, she watched the water seep from the bedlinen through the holes of the plastic basket, joining the puddle on the tiles before she piled it back into the washing machine again.

It obviously hadn’t spun. Stepping out of the puddle, Laura tore off her soaking-wet socks and ran through to the kitchen to grab the towel before making an attempt to mop it up.

With the floor now a little drier, she turned her attention back to the machine. She just needed to put it on a quick spin and then she could still get everything dried in time for bed. There: she turned the dial to the spin cycle and jabbed the ‘start’ button again.

Standing back, she watched the machine splutter to life with a groan. Hmm, it still wasn’t spinning. It was making all the right noises as it tried to empty the water, but the drum wasn’t moving an inch.

Okay, she’d seen this before. The belt must have broken. Her parents’ machine had stopped spinning just after she’d moved back into their house and her dad had managed to fix it himself. All she needed was a new belt and a screwdriver to get the back of the machine off. She could do that.

Not tonight, though. The village may be a treat for tourists, but everything but the local pubs and restaurants closed at five. Yes, after another night curled up on the sofa, she might regret not making the twenty-minute car trip to the nearest retail park and DIY shop, but right now her muscles were aching after allthe cleaning, and besides, it would be nice to have a wander into the centre of the village tomorrow. She’d be able to meet some local residents and maybe grab lunch somewhere too. Yes, an early night and an early start tomorrow.

Lifting her head, Laura looked around the room. With her eyes dazed from sleep and the room dark, all she could make out were shapes and shadows and it took her a moment to realise the noise that had woken her hadn’t been in her dream. An almighty continuous splashing noise almost silenced the pounding of rain against the windows. It sounded just as though someone was standing next to the sofa pouring bucketful after bucketful of water down around her.

Another minute passed, and it dawned on her that the noise must be coming from outside. The guttering must be broken or something, causing the rain to run in torrents down the window before splashing onto the ground below.

Turning over, she covered her head with a cushion, hoping to dull the sound, and closed her eyes again.Just another hour. Please.

Laura pulled her coat on before checking the large clock behind the reception desk for the seventh time in as many minutes. It had to be almost nine now. Yes, quarter to. The shops must be opening soon. She’d have fifteen minutes to amble the short way into the centre of the village and locate a hardware store, or anywhere that might sell a washing machine belt. Hopefully they’d have one and she wouldn’t regret the decision she’d madeyesterday to support local businesses rather than just ordering online or going to a chain store.

She rubbed the top of her arms, relieving a little of the ache from her muscles. After being woken once again by the rain gushing through the broken guttering at about half past three and lying awake staring into the darkness of the sitting room, she’d given up trying to fall back to sleep, even when the rain did stop. Instead, she’d begun deep cleaning the bathrooms, a task which had felt like a good idea at the time but which now she was regretting due to the aches and pains of reaching into the top cupboards combined with sleeping on the sofa.

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