Summer with the Country Village Vet. Zara Stoneley
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had been the worst of her life. She’d thought that being the only girl in the class not invited to Heather’s party had been bad. She’d run all the way home from school, then rushed up to her bedroom with Sandy, shut the door and cried into his fur until her face was all blotchy. But then it got worse. Two days later Sandy had gone, and her mother had taken her to a new, horrible place.
She could still remember that feeling in the playground. The pain in her stomach, the ache in her throat. Knowing that Dad was right. Everybody hated her.
There was a giggle and Lucy blinked, dragging her thoughts back to the present. A little girl, her arms wide like a windmill was chasing a duck across the green. A woman was watching her, and even at this distance Lucy could sense the proud smile on her face. It could have been her, once, with her own mum. Before things had changed.
Now, this gentle reminder of how it had once been was hurting far more than the gruesome thoughts that often interrupted her sleep.
She didn’t want to go back to not belonging. To being the odd one out. She wanted to be that little girl again, happy, secure.
The view misted over before her eyes and Lucy wiped her arm angrily across her face to get rid of the threatening tears, gulping down the upset that was bubbling up in her throat.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t as simple as the picture she’d painted for Sarah, the story she’d sold herself. Working in a village wasn’t on her life plan for a purpose, and it wasn’t just down to promotion opportunities. It was down to control. Being able to live the life she wanted. Going forward not back. Not feeling shunned by a close community that didn’t like outsiders.
The old familiar feeling of panic started to snake up from her stomach, wrap itself around her heart and throat, making it hard to breath. This was not the village she had been brought up in. She clenched her fists and tried to stop the trembling that was attacking her whole body. She’d gone from calm and admiring the view, to feeling agitated and out of control in seconds, which was why she never looked to the past. She had to get a grip.
All villages weren’t full of small-minded petty people. They didn’t all hate people they’d decided weren’t good enough, didn’t belong. Places like this could be restful, pleasant, not bathed in an undercurrent of foreboding. She closed her eyes, counted slowly, willing herself down. Her mother had always been on edge back then, just before they left, expecting the worst, and that fear had grabbed hold of her as well. Leaked into the corners of her life.
She’d never found out what that worst was, but whenever she thought of country life she thought of that. Unease.
Lucy wanted to jump back into her car, head back to her nice safe home and the life she’d made for herself. The anonymity of city life. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t an option right now.
She took a deep breath. It would be an option one day soon. This was just a temporary solution until she got life back on track. Which she would do. She wasn’t her mother.
This was so not why she’d qualified as a teacher though. She never wanted to relive her old idyllic life, the nice part before it all imploded. Before her dad had decided they weren’t good enough and discarded them, thrown them onto the rubbish heap. Just like her so called friends had done. Just like David Lawson had done.
She hadn’t deserved it as a kid, and she didn’t deserve it now.
Oh God, she was being ridiculous. Sense of foreboding my foot. She’d been reading far too many scary books, it was no wonder the panic attacks were coming back. She was in a perfectly nice, tranquil village where the worst that could happen was she’d get bored to death.
The loud quack made her jump. Or she might get pecked to death. A very indignant mallard looked up at her. ‘Well, I haven’t got any bread if that’s what you’re after.’
The duck tipped his head on one side, then blinked in disbelief before raising himself as high as he could, on surprisingly long legs, and shook his feathers vigorously. He settled back down onto the grass and for a moment she did feel like that long forgotten happy child again. She was sorely tempted to kick her shoes off and step onto the thick inviting carpet of green grass, to stroll over and sit beneath the soft dappled shade of the weeping willow and watch the ducks. Which was far better than collapsing in a pathetic, bubbling heap. But she couldn’t do that either. Not now.
Instead she let her gaze drift over the haphazard array of cottages, and settle on the large building at the top end of the green. Even at this distance she could tell it was a pub, which meant… she looked to the right and spotted it. An old red-brick building which was instantly recognisable as the picture on the website. Langtry Meadows Primary School.
It was nothing like the old school she vaguely remembered attending. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, ignoring the slight tremble in her fingers, and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just a job. She belonged here as much as the next person, she was a teacher now, not the child who couldn’t live up to her father’s expectations.
His words echoed in her ears, as though he was there. She couldn’t escape them. ‘It’s not real, Lucy. Nobody cares about you,’ he’d given a small sad smile, ‘they only bother with you because I’m your father. If I wasn’t here you’d see how useless you really are, just like your mother.’
She hadn’t believed him at first. But it turned out he’d been right. Her dad was always right. After they’d moved, not even her best friend Amy had said goodbye, or replied to Lucy’s letters, or come to see them in their new home. But neither had Dad. It was as if she’d never existed.
She closed her eyes and took an involuntary step backwards. Away from the green, the memories.
‘Hey!’
Lucy clasped her hand to her chest and spun round at the harsh male tone. It couldn’t be her father, not here.
‘Move.’
He was bigger than her father. Taller, stronger, and even as her brain was telling her to fight off the hand that was reaching out towards her, he was rugby tackling her, taking her with him. Sending her off balance. She flapped her arms wildly, and was pretty sure from the grunt in her ear and the sharp pain in her wrist that she’d smacked him across the head as they staggered back locked together.
‘What the—?’ There was a loud clang and she shrank back against him as a large horse (how the hell had she not heard that coming?), galloped past so close to her car that the stirrup iron caught the wing mirror of her car. She was dimly aware of the rider grappling with the reins, of a shouted apology, a whoosh of air and brief whiff of sweating horse.
Then nothing.
Lucy clung on to the arm that was wrapped around her. Her knees were trembling, in fact her whole body was shaking in sympathy with the pounding rhythm of her speeding heartbeat. She’d hated horses ever since her father had insisted she should learn to ride. They were so big. So scary. So many feet and big teeth. They could kill you and not notice. This one nearly had.
‘Ouch.’
She suddenly realised she was digging her nails into the strong forearm, gripping on for dear life. And she was leaning against the safety of the firm body behind her as if she knew him. Which was kind of awkward.
Oh God, that warm breath against her neck was doing weird things to her. She closed her eyes, which made things worse as all her senses seemed to home in on his slightly woody scent, on the fact that the well-muscled arm was part of a very firm body. It was obviously delayed shock that was making her this hyper-aware.
‘Christ you’ve got a good left hook.’ She twisted, glanced up. Mistake. Dark, concerned brown eyes were looking down straight into hers as his lips practically brushed against her cheek. Full, dry lips.
He rubbed the side of his head with his free hand, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his generous, very-kissable, mouth.
They were practically in a clinch, well the closest she’d been to a clinch for quite some time. Oh hell. She swung