Page 15 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Hello?’ Imogen pushed open the door and tried to push her trepidation down at the same time. Birdie’s wind chime tinkled in the wind, and everything felt ominous as she slipped off the green coat.
‘Imogen, is that you?’ Birdie called.
‘It’s me!’ She sounded like she was mid-panic attack.
‘Oh, good.’ Birdie stepped in through the back door, wiping her boots on the mat and pulling off her gloves. ‘I was checking on the sprout trees, but they’re not quite ready. Another couple of days.’
‘Great.’ Imogen left what she thought was an acceptable pause. ‘Dexter said Mum called you?’
Birdie scoffed and rolled her eyes, and Imogen felt instantly better. ‘She spoke to me as if the last decade hasn’t gone by without a kind word between us.’
‘Ugh, really?’ Imogen wrinkled her nose. She knew all her mother’s tricks. ‘But she didn’t ask if I was here?’ Shefollowed her gran into the kitchen, and was assaulted by the delicious scents of onion and garlic frying.
‘No,’ Birdie said. ‘She put on her saccharine voice, asked how I was and if I was looking forward to Christmas. She mentioned you as if in passing. The whole thing was ludicrous.’
‘What did you say?’ Imogen slid into a chair at the kitchen table. How could Stella Rowsell pretend that she was on speaking terms with the mother she’d disowned, and think she could get away with it?
‘I said nothing of note. I asked why she was calling, and when she brought you up, I feigned ignorance, asked if the wedding had gone well. Stella muttered something inaudible and changed the subject.’
‘You didn’t challenge her?’
‘My dear,’ she said, sitting in the seat next to her, ‘if I’d told her I knew that she was calling to find out if you’d come here, it would have given the game away. She would know you were here, because how else wouldIknow that you’d escaped your wedding?’
‘I might have called you,’ Imogen murmured. ‘No, you’re right. Mum would have found out. Thank you for not telling her.’
Birdie put her warm hand over Imogen’s. ‘Of course. But it proves that she’s looking for you. I don’t know how often she’s been in touch, but …’
‘I’ve kept my phone off. But I need to call them. Her and Edmund.’
Birdie’s expression softened. ‘I do think that would help ease your anxiety.’
‘Dexter said the same thing.’
‘He’s a good lad. A heart of gold, and big enough to care for everyone – especially considering what he’s been through.’
‘He told me a little bit about Rae. I can’t imagine.’ Imogen ran her finger over a knot in the wood of the farmhouse table. ‘He’s been so kind to me.’
‘He looks out for everyone in Mistingham. He’ll take you under his wing without hesitation.’
‘It’s a good wing to be under.’ Imogen wondered if that made his kindness any less special, the fact that he was a sounding board for the entire village. But he had made her feel cared for, at a time when she wasn’t sure she deserved it. It didn’t matter how many other people he was helping. She dropped her forehead to the table. ‘I’d better make these calls, then.’
‘You do that, and you’ll be rewarded with garlic chicken and rosemary potatoes.’
‘God.’ Imogen put a hand on her stomach. ‘That almost makes it worth it.’
‘You’ll have earned it after having a conversation with my daughter.’ The scorn in Birdie’s voice should have made Imogen sad – mother and daughter estranged, no sign of the tension easing anytime soon – but she knew exactly how her gran felt. There were a lot of challenging things about her mum, even if you approached her with as much magnanimity as you could muster.
‘Imogen Rowsell, what on earth are you playing at?’
Imogen sighed and closed her eyes. She was thirty-one years old, but she felt like she was seven all over again, and had been discovered playing fairies under the duvet whenshe should have been asleep. ‘I’m doing OK, Mum, thanks for asking.’
‘Iwasn’tasking, and I think you should be asking that ofus, ofEdmund. The man is in bits, his wife-to-be abandoning him at the altar like that. We had to break out the expensive whisky. Where did you even run off to?’
As if there was nowhere for her to go.As if she was onlyplayingat life, choosing to run away from her wedding.‘I’m with friends, and I’m safe, but I need a few days to get my head sorted out. I didn’t want you to worry.’
‘About the mental state of that poor boy? Or all the money we’ve wasted on a beautiful, important day that was just disregarded, by you, as unimportant?’
‘It wasn’t unimportant to me. It wastooimportant – that’s why I did what I did.’
