The End of her Innocence. Sara Craven
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to the idea of a female stepchild when it had been put to her, and Chloe remained in Willowford.
She’d eventually been invited to Florida to see her father and meet her stepmother, together with the twin boys born a year after the marriage, but the visit was not a success, and had not been repeated. Now he was little more than a name on a Christmas card. Her birthday was clearly a date with associations he preferred to forget, and although this was bound to sadden her, she decided she could not altogether blame him.
But at some point she would also have to decide whether he, or Uncle Hal who’d loved her like his own, should give her away at her wedding. And that could be tricky.
When tea was finished she loaded the china and cutlery into the dishwasher and switched it on, then checked her mobile phone for a message or a text from Ian, but there was nothing.
She sighed inwardly. ‘Do you need a hand with supper, or shall I take my things up to my room now?’ she asked her aunt, replacing the phone in her bag.
‘Yes, go and unpack, dear.’ There was an awkward note in Mrs Jackson’s voice. ‘We’ve been decorating upstairs, doing some renovations too, so you’ll find it all rather different. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘On the contrary, I’m intrigued.’ Chloe spoke lightly, but when she opened her bedroom door, her reaction was stunned.
It was completely unrecognisable from the cosy, slightly worn haven that she’d loved, she thought numbly.
The rose-coloured carpet she’d begged for in her early teens had vanished, replaced by stripped, sanded and varnished boards. The pretty sprigged wallpaper had given away to plain walls in a rich, deep cream, and the curtains she’d made herself to go with the carpet had disappeared too. The new drapes were in a vivid blue, matching the tailored spread fitting the single brass bed.
The familiar shabby furniture had gone, but the small cast-iron fireplace was still there, filled with a display of blue teasels. And a fitted cream wardrobe and a mirrored dressing chest now occupied the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast, which Uncle Hal had once shelved to hold her books, toys and ornaments.
It was smart, shiny and new, and it looked terrific, but it was now very much a guest room, she realised with a swift pang. There was nothing left of her at all.
And the bathroom across the passage was an equal shock. The big cast-iron bath and wide basin had made way for a modern white suite, glittering with chrome accessories, and a glass cubicle with a power shower had been installed in the remaining space, while the walls and floor were tiled in turquoise and white.
But what’s brought all this on? Have they had a lottery win I don’t know about? Chloe wondered as she went back to the room that no longer belonged to her. Although the window seat was still there, and the view over open fields where cows grazed quietly hadn’t changed.
She paused, her mouth twisting. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought with sudden impatience. You’re a grown woman, not a child to be hankering for a pink carpet, a collection of pottery owls and a complete set of the Famous Five books.
Things change, and you ‘re about to move on yourself, so stop whingeing and get a grip.
She unpacked swiftly and neatly, stowed her cases under the bed, then returned downstairs.
Aunt Libby turned from the Aga with a look of faint apprehension as she entered the kitchen.
‘What happened? Did some TV makeover team come knocking at the door? It all looks amazing.’ Chloe knew her smile was a little too wide and too bright, but her aunt seemed reassured.
‘Well, no, darling. Your uncle and I have a different reason for smartening the place up.’ She paused. ‘You see, we’ve decided to downsize.’
‘Downsize?’ Chloe’s smile was wiped away, and replaced by shock. ‘You mean you’re—going to sell the Grange?’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh, heavens, has something happened to the practice? Is it the recession?’
‘No, no, on the contrary.’ Mrs Jackson’s reassurance was swift. ‘It’s busier than ever, and that’s the problem. It’s always been a twenty-four-hour service, and your uncle isn’t getting any younger.
‘It’s been a wonderful life, of course, and he’s never wanted anything different, but now he’s seriously considering retirement. Giving himself time to do the things he’s never been able to fully enjoy before. His fishing, for instance. And he might even take up golf again. And we both used to love quite serious walking.
‘So, they’ve been interviewing for a new assistant, and one of Ian’s friends from college might be interested in becoming a partner.’
‘This isn’t just a dream for the future, is it?’ Chloe said slowly. ‘This is a real plan for now.’
‘Well, nothing will happen for a while, and wherever we go, there’ll always be a place for you, Chloe. Never doubt that. But, at the same time, we know you have your own life to lead and we’re so proud and so happy for you.’
‘But you’re not intending to leave the area, surely?’ Chloe felt as if the flagged floor was shifting under her feet.
‘Almost certainly,’ her aunt said briskly.
‘But I thought you loved Willowford.’
‘It’s a fine place,’ Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘And it’s been good to us, but I don’t think your uncle and I ever felt we’d end our days here. We’ve had a survey and valuation done on the Grange, and it seems we can afford to pick and choose where we’ll go next.’ She smiled. ‘It’s quite an adventure.’
‘Yes,’ Chloe agreed quietly. ‘Indeed it is.’
And I—I have my own adventure to embark on too, so I shouldn’t begrudge Uncle and Auntie a thing.
‘We’ve started de-cluttering, as they call it, already,’ Aunt Libby went on. ‘You gather so much stuff over the years that you don’t need, so the charity shops for miles around have reaped the benefit.
‘Oh, not your things, darling,’ she added quickly. ‘We boxed and labelled it all for you, and put the cartons up in the attic, ready for whenever you want them.’
There’d be room at the cottage for them, thought Chloe. Although she’d get rid of the toys, except for the teddy bear her father had bought on his way home from Saudi to see his wife and new daughter. And the books which she’d keep for her own children—when they came along.
She waited for the usual glow of anticipation that occurred whenever she contemplated her future with Ian, but, for once, it seemed curiously muted. On the other hand, her entire homecoming hadn’t been as expected either. It had been thrown off course by that dire humiliation at the filling station and had never really recovered.
I’ll be better when I hear from Ian, she told herself, and at that same moment the telephone rang in the hall.
‘And that’s almost certainly for you,’ said Aunt Libby, turning back to the meat she was browning for a cottage pie.
‘So what’s happened to the dream job?’ Ian asked, once the ‘it’s wonderful to talk to you’ preliminaries had been dealt with. ‘Did you get fired?’
‘No, of course not.’ Chloe was taken aback. ‘On the contrary. They wanted me to go with them for the summer to run their villa in the South of France.’
‘And you turned that down for Willowford? Amazing.’
No, Chloe wanted to say. I turned it down for you.
Aloud, she said, ‘I felt it was time to come home, back to real life again.’ She paused. ‘So, what time shall I see you tonight?’
He sighed. ‘Can’t manage tonight, Clo. There’s a pony club committee meeting and I’m chairing it because Mrs Hammond’s away. You must have known for ages that you’d