The Great Village Show
Read The Great Village Show Online
Authors: Alexandra Brown
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015
Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2015
Cover images ©
Shutterstock.com
Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007597390
Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007597406
Version: 2015-06-17
For Mavis Holdsworth Mercer
26 November 1928 – 15 January 2015
My Doncaster nanny, a lady who was always very
kind to me xxx
‘Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer’s year – it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul.’
–Anonymous
Contents
J
essie Cavendish hadn’t been sure about uprooting from their elegant Chelsea mews house and re-locating to the quaint, but quite muddy, little village of Tindledale. Having grown up in a rural, close-knit, welly-wearing community, she knew first hand how incestuous they could be and how isolated they could make one feel. Yet, as she hiked on up to the highest point overlooking the valley, landmarked by the biggest oak tree she had ever seen, pausing to catch her breath as she slipped off her cardy and tied it neatly around her waist, she realised that the more she saw of this idyllic part of the world, the more she rather liked it.
Tindledale was surrounded by lush, undulating green hills dotted with lambs and an abundance of pretty wild flowers, pink apple orchards and strawberry fields. At its heart lay an adorably cobbled High Street, flanked either side with black timber-framed, white-wattle-walled shops with mullioned windows – it really was a special place. And Jessie wasn’t the naïve person she had been back then, when Sebastian had enticed her away to the bright lights of London, to the city where all the women lived fabulously glamorous lives in their pretty ballerina pumps, or so she had thought. But Jessie had grown to realise over the years that it was often far easier to ‘get onboard’, as Sebastian was fond of saying, whenever one of his big, life-changing plans was mooted. Plus, the children would be so much happier in the village school, with its postage-stamp-sized playground and quaint clock tower on the roof – no more navigating the super-shiny 4x4 (Sebastian had insisted she drive the triplets in the oversized, but extra-safe tank, but she hated it, much preferring her clapped-out, old and
very small
Mini) through the narrow, congested streets of London on the nursery school run.
Moving here would mean just a short trundle through the village where the triplets’ new friends were bound to live, and perhaps Jessie would meet and make some friends of her own too! Yes, far nicer than having the children cloistered away inside some archaic boarding school, as Sebastian had been planning for far too soon after their sixth birthdays, having registered the children’s names before they were even born – so at least she had managed to hold out for something in return,
this time
, for distancing herself from her old life, her family, her friends, her support network … But then Jessie was under no illusion that this was precisely
why
Sebastian was so keen for them to move ‘down from London’ to the countryside. She’d make the best of it, as she always had, and maybe living in Tindledale would help them relax, Sebastian especially. That would be bound to have an enormously positive impact on them all.
Jessie closed her eyes and tilted her face up towards the rejuvenating rays of the early summer sun, letting the warm breeze cool her flushed cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself and then ran a hand over her perfectly taut abdomen. She allowed herself a moment of contemplation, before her mind drifted back to more trivial thoughts – would she manage to find a yoga class to replace the one she loved in London? Tindledale village hall, perhaps! The estate agent had mentioned the thriving community and all that it had to offer: Brownies, Scouts, an amateur dramatics group; even a knitting club in the local haberdashery shop – and she had been meaning to learn to knit for ages now. And something about a summer show being a big part of village life – Jessie made a mental note to find out exactly what this entailed, as it certainly sounded more exciting than the flower-arranging sessions with the Women’s Institute that Sebastian had said would suit her. And then something else occurred to Jessie, something that made her heart sing, something that she hadn’t thought about for such a long time. Bees!
Jessie had loved keeping bees as a child. And chickens. Her dad had taught her how. And, for a while, she had even written about country life for a variety of farming magazines, before her own life had somehow turned into looking after the children and the home instead, so Sebastian could concentrate on his career. Well, maybe this was a chance to change things around and rekindle her passion for bees and chickens … goats and gardening too! The possibilities were endless. So Jessie made her decision. She would do what Sebastian wanted – what she wanted too, she was sure of it now – and move here, to the village of Tindledale.
So with her mind made up, and a sudden urgency to hike back to the car and drive straight to the estate agent’s office to sign all the paperwork for the new house, Jessie took a deep breath and allowed herself one last thought of ‘what if?’ before shaking her head and exhaling hard, knowing there really was no other solution. This was how it had to be. And besides, a fresh start away from London and the distraction there was probably for the best …
A
s if on autopilot, I flick on the kettle and select two mugs – one with
Best Mum Ever
on for me, the other with a swirly letter J for Jack. I spoon coffee granules into each of them and then I remember. Jack isn’t here any more! I let out a long breath, before twirling my wavy fair hair up into a messy bun, securing it with a red bobble band from a wonky clay dish Jack made for me in nursery all those years ago – it’s been proudly displayed on the windowsill ever since – before storing his cup back in the kitchen cabinet. Jack has only been gone a week, but I have to say that it’s felt like the longest seven days of my life. Although not quite as bad as when he first went away, back in September – that was really difficult. For a while, it was as if a chunk of my heart was actually missing, which might sound completely melodramatic, but it’s true; it was like a physical pain, a knot of emptiness wedged just below my breastbone that I just couldn’t seem to shift. You see, Jack and I kind of grew up together – I wasn’t much older than Jack is now, when he was born. I know it’s only university and he’ll be back again in a few months for the summer holidays, but still … I guess it’s taking me some time to adjust to my now empty nest.
But I am so proud of him, I really am, and that should make this transitional phase of my life a whole lot easier to cope with. It’s just that I’m so used to keeping it all together for Jack and me – now it’s only for me, it feels very strange indeed. I inhale sharply and drop a sugar lump into my cup, before giving it a good stir, taking care not to clatter the spoon excessively against the side of the mug – Jack hates the sound of it, especially after a late night of gaming with his mates up in his attic bedroom, and even though he isn’t here I find it comforting to remember our familiar family quirks and oddities. I smile fondly at the memory of me bellowing up the stairs for him to turn the volume down or at least put on the expensive Bose headphones that he saved up so long for – working weekends collecting glasses and helping out in the Duck & Puddle pub in the village.