Cosy Nights & Snowball Fights (Little Duck Pond Cafe #36)

CHAPTER ONE

The air when I stepped out that late September morning was unexpectedly chilly. Autumn had well and truly arrived. And as I locked the cottage door and scraped a layer of ice off the windscreen of my car, I was feeling more positive than I had in a long time.

The day before, I’d finally given in to my boss’s gentle persuasion and joined the café crew for a girls’ night out.

‘You should pop in, Laurel,’ Ellie had said with a light shrug, as we cleared tables at the end of the day. ‘It’s just going to be Jaz, Fen, Katja and myself. No boys allowed, I promise!’

I’d laughed and felt myself blushing.

Everyone thought my shattered wedding plans were the reason I now stayed in every night, with only the TV for company, but that was only a small part of it. Nine months after everything fell apart last Christmas, I was still grappling with the emotional fall-out, nowhere near ready to share the truth of everything that had happened that December day. Even my parents didn’t know. I’d told myself I was waiting for the right moment, but really, I just couldn’t bear to see the shock and concern on their faces when I told them the whole story. They were worried enough about me, especially now that I’d moved to Sunnybrook and a new job at the Little Duck Pond Café.

I missed Mum and Dad so much. They were only a ninety-minute drive away, over the Surrey border in West Sussex, so it was easy enough to see each other. I’d made a few trips back to the family home in the village of Compton Meadows, and they’d come to visit me in Sunnybrook for a whole wonderful week back in June. Mum was eagerly planning another visit to dovetail with Dad’s annual leave.

Little more than seventy miles separated us.

But some nights, when I was feeling lonely, they might as well have lived on the moon.

As for the girls I worked with, they were all lovely. Maddy seemed more curious about my past than the others – or maybe she was just a whole lot cheekier (which I quite liked). I suspected from her occasional sly questions that she’d guessed there was a lot more to my story.

Since I arrived here, I’d become a fan of boxsets and a serious chocolate addict. (If I ever found myself without either, I’d start to panic, although thankfully the village store was open till late and there was always another streaming service offering a free trial.)

It wasn’t exactly a healthy way to live. I knew that. But it was a routine that kept me safe... away from the people who’d hurt me. My nightly routine was my safety blanket – and I hadn’t imagined throwing it off any time soon.

So I was really quite surprised to hear myself say, ‘Okay. Thanks, Ellie. Maybe I will join you.’

When I got home, though, I’d started to panic, wondering what on earth I was going to wear. Spending your nights lounging on the sofa didn’t involve anything more fancy than stretch bottoms and baggy tops. Maybe it was time to be brave and look in The Boxes...

When I’d moved into this tiny, rented one-bed cottage back in March, I’d shoved most of my clothes under the bed and bought some new stuff. I guess it was a self-protection thing, not wanting things from my old life to taint the new. Now, six months later, who knew what memories would be stirred up?

The boxes were dusty. Very dusty. Kneeling on the floor, I started pulling out colourful tops and pairs of jeans I’d forgotten I had, as the emotions I’d been trying so long to suppress began wriggling free.

They were outfits from a time when I was happy and carefree, my life all planned out. Marriage to Gavin with Jo as my chief bridesmaid and about to start an exciting new career, working in a busy beauty salon.

Here was the pink bodycon dress I’d worn on my first date with Gavin... and I’d been wearing this turquoise beaded top and these pale, wide-legged trousers on a hot night in Lanzarote when Gavin had got down on one knee in the restaurant and asked me to marry him in front of a cheering and clapping crowd.

I smiled through my tears as I held up a rather garish orange T-shirt.

Jo, once the best friend a girl could have, had persuaded me that with my dark, shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes, orange was definitely my colour, so I’d bought it but never actually worn it. (We’d been out celebrating Jo’s birthday and she’d had a few too many gins to make sensible judgements!)

I threw the T-shirt on the bed, a bitter taste in my mouth.

Those days were gone. It was time to move on. This night out with Ellie and the girls would be the first day of my new life... a time to emerge from hibernation!

So I’d picked out jeans and a floaty pink top, shoved the boxes back under the bed, and I’d joined the girls for dinner at the rooftop Celestial Café in the village. The restaurant was open to the stars and in awe we’d watched the sun set, burnishing the horizon with a reddish golden glow as we ate. Their chatter and laughter had lifted my spirits and I’d been happy to continue the evening in the bar of the Swan Hotel down below. A giant harvest moon hung in the sky and it felt like a good omen. From feeling scarily alone when I’d first arrived, I was finally starting to feel like I might have found a second home in Sunnybrook.

Now, with memories of a lovely night out to boost me, I hopped in the car feeling lighter of spirit than I had in a long time and set off for my shift at the café.

The cottage I was renting with help from Dad (I’d promised him it was only until I got on my feet) was in a little hamlet a mile or so out of the village, along a tree-lined lane fringed with similar properties, and I needed my trusty old pale blue Fiat to get me to work and back. As I drove along, I flicked on local radio. I usually enjoyed listening to Liam Westerbrook, who hosted the breakfast show on Radio Daydream, but that morning he was talking about autumn and how the nights were drawing in.

Autumn had always been my favourite time of year but this year was different.

Abruptly, I switched off the radio. The arrival of autumn meant that Christmas would follow very soon, and I was absolutely dreading the festive season, although thankfully November, when the festivities began in earnest, was still quite a way off yet.

I glanced at the car clock. Scraping the car windscreen had taken time and I didn’t want to be late, so I was driving a little faster than usual as I turned into the lane leading to the café car park.

Suddenly, without warning, the café door opened up ahead and out of the building marched a man wearing a red tartan kilt and matching waistcoat. He clearly hadn’t noticed me because he promptly flung both arms in the air and started doing what looked like a very bad attempt at a Highland Fling right there in the middle of the road...