The House of Birds and Butterflies. Cressida McLaughlin
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I subconsciously go looking for it.’ Her voice dipped, the pain of those memories still able to hurt her despite the time that had passed. ‘It’s easier if I just stay on my own.’
‘But you got out,’ Tessa protested. ‘You put up with Darren’s crap for far too long, but you left him. You didn’t let it get like Mum and Dad, and you are not the same as them, neither of us are. The way Dad behaved was unforgivable, and you have to give Mum credit for fighting back, even if walking away would have been better for everyone.’
‘Tessa—’
‘I understand your reservations. You haven’t made the best decisions with men in the past, but you can’t let it hamper your whole life. Not every guy is going to be like Darren, or Dad.’
‘Except they’re all I’ve experienced.’
Tessa shook her head. ‘No, Abby. Don’t let Dad’s failings stop you from having a rewarding, healthy relationship. He’s caused both of us – you, especially – enough pain. Don’t give him that satisfaction, too.’
‘But whenever Darren raised his voice, or I lost my temper with him, I thought—’
Tessa took Abby’s hand. ‘No relationship is without arguments; what matters is how you deal with them. Dad never got it right. Darren was an idiot, and those guys before … Abby, it doesn’t mean every man is like that, or they’re the only ones you’ll ever come into contact with. You can’t live your life believing that, because you’ll lose out on so much. You’ve had a bad run of things, but you’re much more settled now, with your house and your wonderful job. I don’t see why a loving relationship can’t follow.’ Tessa gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Besides, you’re going to get overheated about stuff unless you’re the Dalai Lama. You need to build up a head of steam then clear the air sometimes. It’s all part of it, and making up can be the best thing.’ Her smile turned into a cheeky grin, but it faded quickly when Abby didn’t reciprocate.
‘But what if they frustrate you every time they open their mouth?’ Abby said. ‘And you feel this rage building up inside you, and you want to scream and pummel their chest, and then every time you imagine doing that, you picture them taking hold of your arms and silencing you with this kiss, this amazing, powerful kiss, so that you don’t even feel the rain or—’ She stopped suddenly, heat going to her cheeks.
Her sister was staring at her with a look of shocked delight, and Neil was standing in the doorway, open-mouthed, holding a bottle of wine.
‘Who the hell is that?’ Tessa asked.
‘Nobody,’ Abby said hurriedly, stretching her glass out towards Neil, who had recovered and was holding the bottle aloft.
‘Bullshit is it nobody,’ Tessa whispered. ‘That is a very well-formed fantasy, and I need to know right now who the man is.’
‘It isn’t anyone real,’ Abby said. ‘It’s just … Octavia got this book for me, from the library. She clearly believes, as you do, that my sex life is somewhat lacking. Anyway, this ridiculous novel is full of—’ she glanced at Neil, who was intent on his iPhone, his nose almost pressed into the screen. She was embarrassing everyone, though in some ways that was better than continuing the depressing conversation about her parents and her own, less-than-happy relationships. ‘It’s a bit raunchy, that’s all. Not what I’m used to.’
‘With a dashing, infuriating hero who you argue with in the rain?’ Tessa hugged her knees. ‘It sounds like the Pride and Prejudice film with Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen. That scene in the downpour is perfection. Whoever this author is,’ Tessa said, and Abby jolted upright, almost spilling her wine, ‘then they’ve clearly been watching that film. You’ll have to give me the details.’ She glanced at her husband then winked at Abby, and Abby felt all at once like she’d been let off the hook and dug herself a deeper hole.
She wished she’d remembered that film adaptation and pretended it was the reason for her over-excitable imagination. Now she would have to invent an author and a book title that sounded convincing – but then Tessa would look online and not be able to find it, or else she’d have to search through Octavia’s stock and see if she could pick out a book to match, which sounded like a hopeless task, and one which would no doubt result in the rumour being spread around the village that Abby Field was looking for erotic literature.
The irony was that the person who would probably be best at conjuring up novel titles was the one who was responsible for Abby’s ludicrous outburst. If only he hadn’t stood there in the rain, in his expensive jacket with his scowling, sea-blue eyes and perfect jawline, and then pulled her beneath the porch with him, she would never have let her imagination run away with her in front of her sister in the first place.
But as long as she kept it to herself and had no more slip-ups like that, then the unhelpful feelings were bound to go away and Jack Westcoat would simply be her irritating adversary, until he realized the delights of the reserve were too much for him and skulked back to London to write his dark books. She was confident that he would be a short-lived problem, and she would soon be able to tick him off her to-do list for good.
Contrary to some beliefs, pheasants are not known for damaging cars – unless they fly into them, which sadly happens quite often. They are beautifully coloured game birds, with shiny orange and green feathers, and they have a mechanical walk, as if the floor is cold and they want to make as little contact with it as possible. Their loud call is, perhaps, a bit like a hooting rooster.
— Note from Abby’s notebook
Abby had to admit that Destiny, the face painter she’d hired for the Halloween event, was top-notch. A little boy was running around with his features covered in an intricate web, a sinister spider crouching, poised, at his hairline. The pumpkin faces were terrifying or friendly, depending on the age of the child, and now she was creating a kestrel’s elegant face on a small girl who was sitting impeccably still.
The drawing table was full, the café had been taken over by mask-makers when the sequins and feathers started blowing away in the wind gusting through the picnic area, and there was an air of happy chaos throughout the visitor centre. Abby wondered how the real wildlife was coping, but a quick glance showed her that the coal tits and chaffinches decorating the feeders weren’t remotely bothered by the noise and hubbub.
She waved at Rosa as she hurried back to the picnic area, the wind not disrupting a competitive game of apple bobbing, currently being overseen by Gavin. She gave him a grin as he handed a goody bag to a successful bobber, and went to stand next to him.
‘Going well, Gavin?’
‘Never better, Abby. Bloody cold out here, though.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I was planning on dunking your head in the bucket in celebration of all your hard work, but I don’t think even I can be that cruel.’
‘Thanks!’ Abby laughed. ‘I think. It is November in a couple of days, we can’t expect balmy weather.’
‘Yeah, don’t I know it. The girls have already written out their bloody Christmas lists. I’ve told them to talk to Santa, because I’m not interested.’
‘Gavin! You can’t—’
‘They said they wanted them from Santa anyway, so we’re on the same page.’
‘Except Santa’s not real, so you will actually have to go and get the toys.’
Gavin shrugged. ‘There’s loads of time yet. Loads.’
Abby held her hands up in submission. ‘Fair enough. And thanks for the no-dunking thing. I’m leading the night-time walk later, so I could do without getting