Page 4 of Coming Home to Roseford Villas
Striding back down the long hallway of the ground floor of Roseford Villas Bed and Breakfast, Leo gave way to the shock that he’d tried so desperately to keep under control since he’d opened the front door. As the memories assailed him from all corners of his mind, his knees started to tremble. Feeling in need of a breather, he took a hasty seat on the settee in the B&B’s communal living room, which was too low for him to really sit on comfortably. He leaned back into its squashy embrace, trying to get a handle on things.
Aurora. Rory. Rory Henderson. Well, Rory Dean, now. From the infrequent glances he’d taken at her Facebook page in the past two decades, there hadn’t been any evidence of a marriage, but perhaps she just didn’t want to shout about details of her personal life. But then, who used Facebook any more? Maybe it was a recent thing. He hadn’t updated his relationship status, or added any photos for that matter, in quite a few years himself.
He sighed. Twenty years ago, they’d meant the world to each other. Two sixteen-year-olds who’d been allies against the whole world, and felt all the pain and ecstasy of first love. They’d spentas much time together as school and their parents would allow, discovered things about each other that only they knew. Then, when circumstances had conspired to part them, he’d eventually broken her heart.
And despite two decades’ distance from the last time he’d had any communication with her, it all came flooding back to him. The absolute extremes of what it had been like to be a lovestruck teenager, and to have that love come to an end, hit him with a force he’d not felt in years. That, combined with the frustrations of his current situation, left him gasping for a hard-fought breath.
Calm down, he told himself sternly. This situation shouldn’t have been anything, compared to the trials of the past year. So what if Rory was here? They’d been over years ago and they’d been kids when they’d fallen in love. What mattered was the present. They were both adults now, and they’d had whole lives. Rory was his guest for the duration of her stay, nothing more. He’d ensure that he treated her with the professionalism and courtesy that she deserved. And if there was an opportunity for a friendlier catch-up, then it would be light-hearted and focused very much on their adult lives. Their lives after each other.
Although, he thought, light-heartedness had been in quite short supply for him lately. Washed up in Roseford, career on hiatus, relationship over, and in recovery after an accident that left him with potentially life-changing injuries, he had enough to contend with without delving into the past. He’d been used to living day by day since the accident and he had to try to keep doing that. For the moment, that was all that mattered.
Leo stood back up from the sofa, feeling the inevitable twinges in his back as he did so. Thankfully, there were no other paying guests at the B&B until next week, when the three rooms in the house were all booked with guests attending the Roseford Literary and Arts Festival, so, barring any other last-minute bookings, he’d have the main house to himself for a bit. It wasn’t that he minded sharing the residence – he’d actually quite enjoyed playing host at the B&B while his uncle and aunt were away – but seeing Rory had thrown him off balance and he needed time to regain his equilibrium. What was it his therapist had said after his life had imploded? Take each day as it comes, and go minute by minute if you have to. He’d tried to follow that mantra as closely as he could, but today he really felt it resonate. Today, seeing Rory again, it felt as if living second by second was too long.
6
The ping from her mobile made Rory stop unpacking. She assumed it was Alex checking in on her. In all the surprise of seeing Leo again, she’d forgotten to text her flatmate to confirm her safe arrival. But when she looked at her phone, she realised it was a message sent to her via Facebook Messenger. From Stella Simpson, of all people.
Stella and Rory had been friends during their university days, and had reconnected on Facebook some years ago, but hadn’t kept in regular contact. They’d swapped messages over the years but had rather faded from one another’s regular lives. Curious, and still trying not to think about every second of the recent encounter with Leo, Rory tapped the message.
Hi Rory!
Wow – what a surprise to see you’re in the West Country! And even more of a surprise to see you’re in Roseford. I’m living at Halstead House, Writers and Artists Retreat, which you’ll find at the west end of the village. You’re probably busy, but if you have time for a catch up, let me know and we can meet for coffee.
Hope to see you soon,
Stella xx
Rory smiled. Of course, Stella must have seen the snap of the notebook she’d put up on Instagram just after she’d got to the chalet. She’d hashtagged #Roseford #amwriting, trying to get herself motivated. She vaguely remembered seeing that Stella was running a retreat these days, but had completely forgotten that it was Roseford she was running it in. These coincidences just kept stacking up, she thought. It was almost as if the universe was conspiring to bring her to Roseford. Or perhaps that was just her own imagination running wild. Whatever it was, she’d be excited and happy to meet up with Stella again. Perhaps Stella could help with the research Rory needed to do up at Roseford Hall. She’d already got an appointment to see the archives about Edmund Treloar, but it would be great to get the insight of another writer in the village.
Another writer. Rory blushed at her own presumption. She wasn’t a writer in Stella’s league, having decided to put her English degree to equally good use as a teacher rather than going into the business of writing, as Stella had, in her days as a journalist. But it was better late than never. And even if she and Stella were worlds apart in terms of their output, it would still be great to catch up with her. It had been far too long.
Excitedly, she sent a message back suggesting coffee the next day. She needed reasons to get out of the chalet, and seeing Stella was a great reason. Quickly Stella suggested she come to Halstead House at around two o’clock, and Rory happily agreed. She couldn’t wait to see the retreat, and, hopefully, to gain some insight into the kinds of things that Stella was doing to support her own creativity these days.
Well, she thought, as she continued to put her things away. It wasn’t quite the start she’d imagined to her six weeks of solitude, but then unexpected things always happened in fiction: perhapsher own life, over the next few weeks, would provide her with ample inspiration to finally get to grips with her own ideas for a novel. Not for the first time since the booking had changed, she thought: you couldn’t make it up.
Later that evening, while the air was still warm but night was beginning to creep around the edges, Rory decided to head out for a bite to eat. Once again, she used the small gate in the garden wall that led back out onto the lane. She was relieved to have that exit route: she had just about settled herself with the idea that Leo was her temporary host, but that didn’t mean she wanted to bump into him any more than she had to. If she could get out of Roseford Villas without seeing him, then all the better.
As she ambled down the incline towards the centre of the village, she was better able to take in the sights and sounds around her. The evening sun gave the sandstone buildings a warm, light toffee hue, and the scent of the stocks in the tubs and baskets in several gardens reached her nose. She breathed deeply, feeling some of the stresses of the long drive and unexpected encounter with Leo beginning to dissipate. From somewhere ahead of her, she could hear the thwack of a cricket ball on willow as an evening game took place, and she looked forward to dinner at the pub with eagerness. She’d forgotten all about food after encountering Leo, but her appetite had returned with a vengeance and her stomach was growling in anticipation of a decent meal.
Rory rounded the corner back onto Roseford’s main street and glanced to her right, where she knew, somewhere, Halstead House was. She was excited to meet up with Stella again and looked forward to sharing news with her old friend. But tonight,she just needed a decent meal and a glass or two of something to go with it.
Heading into the Treloar Arms minutes later, Rory appreciated the cool atmosphere of the old stone pub. It was busy, inside and out, with what looked to be a mix of locals and tourists, all enjoying food and drink on a decent summer’s evening. The large fireplace, with its oak beam running across the top, was embellished with a large vase of flowers, and alongside them was a prominent advertising card, proudly proclaiming the arrangement to be the creation of Roseford Blooms, the local florist.
A chalk board to the right of the bar area advised Rory to grab a table and order at the bar, so she glanced around and saw an unoccupied one just outside on the patio. Setting the cardigan she’d grabbed in case of a sudden evening drop in temperature down on the back of one of the chairs, as well as the novel she’d stashed in her bag down on the table, she walked briskly back to the bar to peruse the menu, also all on chalk boards behind the bar, and get a drink.
‘Evening,’ the landlord, wearing a badge that proclaimed his name was Dave, greeted her as she approached. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A white wine and a glass of water, please.’
‘Ice with both?’
‘That would be great.’
As Dave busied himself with the drinks, he called back over his shoulder, ‘Lovely evening. What brings you to Roseford?’
Rory paused. This was her first opportunity to establish herself as a slightly different person to the one who’d finished school yesterday afternoon. Should she do it? The faint prickle of imposter syndrome cracked at the back of her throat as she replied. ‘I’m a writer. I’ve come to Roseford to work on my, er, new novel.’My first novel, she mentally corrected herself.
Dave raised an eyebrow. ‘A writer, eh? Should I have heard of you?’
