Page 1 of Coming Home to Roseford Villas
PROLOGUE
He’s leaving tonight. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through tomorrow, the next day, and after, without him. I know it’s for the best, but there’s a huge part of me that just wants to beg him to stay. There’s so much I wish I could tell him, but I can’t. His bloody, bloody parents! Why do they have to do this? Why can’t he at least stay with his aunt and uncle? OK, so they’re miles away, too, but we’d still have been in the same country! I feel I’m being ripped apart, and nothing will ever make that go away.
We’ve promised to email and MSM every day. But is that enough? I know he says he’ll be back for uni, but that’s another two years away, and what if he meets someone else out there? Some fit, surfer type who’ll make him forget all about me? I don’t think I’ll survive if that happens. I’m so scared of losing him…
—FROM THE DIARY OF AURORA HENDERSON, AGED SIXTEEN
I will come back to you, my darling, darling F. I’ll find a way. And we will find a way to spend the rest of our lives forgetting about all thisunpleasantness. The storm is about to break, I can sense it. It won’t be much longer until the ship sails and I’m back where I belong, with you. Have faith, dear F, if you can still trust in God, that He will find a way to end this, and end our separation. The thought of returning to your arms sustains me through these long, unending nights…
—LETTER FROM EDMUND TRELOAR, JANUARY 1915 (UNSENT)
1
If Rory Dean had included this scenario in the opening chapter of her yet-to-be-written novel, she would have cut it as being far too convenient. The timing, it had to be admitted, was eerily perfect. The last school bell of the year had chimed its irritatingPeppa Pig-like tune, which usually for Rory and the rest of the large secondary school where she worked would be the most exhilarating moment of the year. Unfortunately, the chirruping of the bell had coincided with her phone emitting a received message ping – the contents of which had been most unwelcome.
We regret to inform you that we have had to cancel your booking at Hyacinth Cottage. However, Airbnb is delighted to offer an alternative, at a substantial discount to compensate you for the lateness of this cancellation. If you choose to take up this alternative booking, you will be able to check in after 1p.m. on Saturday.
Lateness! That was putting it mildly, Rory thought. She was due to drive three hundred-odd miles from her flat in York downto Somerset that very evening. She’d packed her bag the night before and now, having tidied the desk in her classroom, picked up a bag of exercise books, washed out her absolutely filthy coffee cup and replaced it in the department office, all she had to do was head home, remind her flatmate that she was going away and head down a succession of motorways until she got to her destination. Now she didn’t even know what that destination was.
Slamming the door of her classroom a little harder than she intended and forcing a smile as a large number of students surged past her, wishing her, ‘Happy summer holidays, Miss,’ she hurried out to her car. This was meant to be six weeks of a complete change of scene – getting away from York to the rolling hills of Somerset and, for the first time in a long time, forgetting that she was a teacher. For six weeks that summer she was going to be Rory Dean, writer. The fact that she hadn’t actually written anything since she was in her teens, well, nothing serious, anyway, wasn’t going to stop her from spending the summer holiday acting out the fantasy that she was the novelist she’d always aspired to be.
Unfortunately, losing the booking on the Airbnb cottage that she’d secured in the dark cold days of a January winter was a major fly in the ointment. The cottage had been intended to be a total retreat for her, away from the inevitable chaos of her flat share and the frantic workload that being a secondary school teacher entailed. The sleepy Somerset village of Roseford could not be further from her hectic life. And Hyacinth Cottage would have been the perfect place to get started on a project that she’d had in the back of her mind for years. Now, it seemed that wasn’t to be.
‘Shit!’ Rory couldn’t help banging the steering wheel in absolute frustration. Then, realising she’d been spotted by one ofthe assistant heads, also beating a hasty retreat to their own car, she forced another smile and wound down her window.
‘How can it be the end of term, and I’ve still got a bucket load of marking to do before we get back in September?’
The assistant head smiled and offered her condolences before heading briskly to her own car. Gathering what was left of her wits, Rory started the engine and drove swiftly off the premises of the large secondary school where she worked, breathing a sigh of relief as she left. She loved her job as an English teacher, and was happy at her school, but she also felt a sense of relief that she was able to put the day job behind her and focus on something else. She’d worked incredibly hard this year, as always, but with a slightly different goal in mind. And now, despite the last-minute change of accommodation, the anticipation of more than a month of creative freedom was enough to raise her spirits as she drove home.
Later that evening, excitement battled, once again, with disappointment. She’d wanted the perfect retreat, and Hyacinth Cottage, while pricey, had been it. A small, one-bedroom place just off the high street of historic Roseford in Somerset, it had cost a fortune to rent for the summer holiday, but Rory had saved hard all year for that exact purpose. It was now or never, she thought, to write something for herself. It was an indulgence she’d fantasised about for years, and she had been on the verge of achieving. But now, the shine had tarnished. Instead of a pretty cottage to herself, she’d been offered a different option, albeit at a third of the price of Hyacinth Cottage. But it wouldn’t be the same.
Rory was inclined to just cancel the booking – after all, she could write anywhere, couldn’t she? – but she knew she’d struggle to find anywhere else at such short notice. All of the holiday cottages in the entire South West would have been booked up months ago, or if they hadn’t, they’d cost a fortunenow. And the thought of slobbing around the flat for the break, staring at the walls and just doing what she’d done every single other summer holiday, cleaning and panicking about her marking, just didn’t appeal.
‘Everything OK, hon?’ The voice of Alex, her flatmate, coming in from work, broke into her gloom.
Rory gave a brief grin. ‘Oh, you know.’
‘I thought you’d be long gone by now?’ Alex flumped down on the sofa next to Rory and grabbed a slice of the pizza that Rory had been picking at.
Briefly, Rory filled her in on the change of plans.
‘The worst of it is that I was really looking forward to living in Hyacinth Cottage for the summer and being totally on my own – no offence intended,’ she added hurriedly. ‘This place I’ve been offered isn’t exactly the same.’
‘None taken,’ Alex replied. ‘Frankly, I was kind of looking forward to getting rid of you, too!’
‘Thanks,’ Rory said dryly. ‘So do you think I should still go?’
Alex paused a fraction too long. ‘Of course you should.’
‘Were you, er, planning oncompany, when I was away?’ Rory asked, sensing Alex’s reticence.
‘Well, Luca was going to spend some time here,’ Alex admitted. ‘Since we’d, you know, have the place to ourselves. But I can always go to his place…’ Alex trailed off.
Rory felt sympathy for her friend. The prohibitive cost of rent in York, as in all cities of the UK, meant that people in their thirties like them were more often than not sharing accommodation with at least one other person, if not a few. She and Alex had maintained a happy and harmonious flat share for a few years now, but she knew, eventually, if things with Luca worked out, that Alex would want him to move in, and then there would be three of them in a flat that was barely big enough for two. It was another reason why she’d wanted to escape toSomerset and be on her own for the summer holidays: to play house and imagine what it would be like to be in her very own home, even if that was just an illusion. She knew she should have been saving the cash, just in case she needed it as a deposit for another place to live, but the pull to get away was just too strong.
‘No, you don’t have to do that,’ Rory said. She knew how much Alex and Luca wanted an uninterrupted few weeks. ‘I mean, how bad can it be? The place they’ve sent me seems nice, and it’s a third of the price of the cottage. That’s not a bad deal, really.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Alex replied. ‘I don’t want you to feel as though you’re being chucked out of your own home, hon.’
