Page 8 of Welcome to Pennycress Inn

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Laura held her mobile away from her and stared at the screen. The call had been cut off. The train must have gone through a tunnel or something. Well, good. She didn’t need that negativity in her life. She didn’t need any of her family’s negativity. They could keep it and she’d show them. She’d show them she could do it. She’d open Pennycress Inn and the guests would flood in. Business would be good. She’d be a success. She would.

‘Hey, wait up.’

Jackson.

With her heart sinking, she stopped walking and turned around. Maybe he wouldn’t be so easy to avoid after all.

‘Morning.’ As he jogged up to her, he gave her one of those killer grins which would have had the teenage Laura buckling at her knees.

‘Hi.’

‘How’s life as an innkeeper treating you so far?’ He pulled his dark blue rucksack higher on his shoulder as she began walking again and he matched her pace.

She shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Only okay? Aren’t you supposed to still be feeling the lofty high of moving and buying your own business?’ He looked over at her.

‘Yes, I mean it’s great.’ She held up her mobile. ‘But I’ve just been on the phone to Richie.’

‘Oh really? I’ve been meaning to catch up with him for a couple of months now. By the sounds of it, he’s knee-deep in nappies and toddlers.’ Jackson chuckled.

‘Yes. That and working in London. He got promoted a couple of weeks ago, so…’ She shrugged.

‘I didn’t ask yesterday, but how are your parents? And Jenny? I keep meaning to join you all for one of your mum’s monthly roast dinner events, but what with my shifts and other stuff…’ He shrugged. ‘I take it she still does them? That she still guilt trips you all into going home for dinner on the first Sunday of every month?’

Laura nodded. Her mum had always been a stickler for tradition and her ‘rule’ of making a large roast for the family on the first Sunday of the month had been going ever since Richie had moved out when he’d been nineteen.

‘I hope I’ve finally been forgiven for breaking away?’ Jackson gave a quick smile.

‘Ah, yes, that was quite the scandal.’ Laura remembered when Jackson had first started going out with his long-term girlfriend, Angie, who had been more into weekend country retreats than travelling to rainy Lincolnshire to sit around a table with a family who weren’t hers or Jackson’s. ‘Nobody dares utter the name Angie around my mum to this day.’

‘Ha.’ Jackson looked upwards as the sky grumbled, reminding them that thunder was forecast.

‘I’ll have to pop by and say hi to her.’ Not that she wanted to. She’d rather run a million marathons than have a cuppa with the snooty Angie.

‘That’ll be a tad difficult seeing as she’s currently thousands of miles away.’ Jackson grimaced. ‘She got a transfer with her job to the US about eight months ago.’

‘Oh, right. And you didn’t go with her? I would have thought that’d be right up your street, having the opportunity to travel and live abroad?’ She turned to him as his jaw flexed. They’d been dating for what? At least three years and she’d never seen Jackson quite so besotted with a woman before. Plus, he’d always spoken about travelling. Something must have happened.

‘No. We weren’t right for each other in the end, and besides, I had other responsibilities.’ Jackson pointed across the road to the whitewashed pub with a battered old sign swinging in the breeze. ‘That’s me. That’s where I work. Pub chef, bartender and general dogsbody until we get some more staff. See you around.’

‘Ah okay. Yep, see you.’ He was still a chef then but by the sounds of it, Angie moving away had set him on a different path too. Much like her with the divorce.

Giving him a quick wave, Laura turned in the opposite direction towards the village green and the shops. Yes! There was a hardware store. Perfect.

She glanced across the road as Jackson disappeared through the pub door. He’d tell her if he wanted to.

The bell above the door tinkled loudly, announcing her arrival, and she watched as the handful of people in the store turned and looked at her. Smiling broadly, she walked down the first aisle of racking displaying tools and other DIY paraphernalia. Here, these looked as though they were washing machine belts. She picked one up and turned it over, catching the eye of the man standing behind the counter, his arms folded as he sported an array of wood shavings in his beard. She could ask him for help.

Grabbing two different packs from the small silver hooks, Laura made her way towards the counter.

‘Excuse me, please?’

As soon as she’d started to speak, the man turned, apparently oblivious to her question and to her presence, and called towards an elderly couple who had just walked in. ‘Janette, Pat, over here. Your new mop head came in with yesterday’s delivery.’

‘Oh, lovely. We were hoping it would have, weren’t we, Pat?’ The woman turned to Pat as he closed the door behind them, the bell tinkling again.

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