8. Connie
Chapter 8 Connie
Connie spent the morning cleaning the house and doing laundry. It crossed her mind that she could wander over to Forest Nest and see what was happening, but since she’d handed over the reins to Milly two years ago she’d been careful to limit her presence around the place. She was conscious that appearing too often might make it seem as if she didn’t trust her daughter. But it had been hard to relinquish something that had been such a big part of her life for so long. She made herself available for busy times, but they had a good, strong team supporting them, and she was rarely needed. Which had turned out to be both good and bad.
There were days when she wondered if she’d done the right thing by passing over responsibility. Having devoted the best part of her life to nurturing and growing the business, it felt strange that it was no longer a priority. Forest Nest featured in her earliest memories. She remembered sitting at the desk in her mother’s office with a coloring book, aged seven, waiting for Peggy to finish work for the day so that they could do their “walk around” together. When school had demanded more of her time during the week, she’d helped in all her spare moments. She’d done whatever needed doing, from sweeping floors to making up beds with fresh sheets.
She’d started working at Forest Nest full-time when she’d left school, and when her mother had decided it was time for Connie to run the place, she’d given free rein to her ideas. It was Connie who had seen the potential of tapping into the luxury end of the market. She’d watched what was happening around her and knew there were people who wanted to enjoy the wildness of nature while maintaining all their creature comforts. Connie had upgraded the cabins and built new ones. She’d offered creature comforts and more. Bookings had soared.
And now it was Milly’s turn. The café had been Milly’s idea, and Connie had to admit that it had been a good one. The place was always buzzing with people, and being able to enjoy breakfast and lunch on the deck overlooking the water had proved to be a popular option for those who didn’t want to cook.
Watching her daughter grow into the role had been satisfying, and Connie had been ready to take a step back and do more with her life, but then Richard had walked out and her life had been given over to supporting her daughter and granddaughter.
She sighed as she folded the clean laundry into a neat pile.
She couldn’t believe history had repeated itself. Not for the world would she have wanted Milly to go through what she had gone through. When David had walked out of their marriage with no warning, it had been the lowest point of her life. The business had sustained her. Forest Nest had given her a reason to get out of bed and keep moving, and not just because she needed to provide for Milly.
And now here they were, back in a similar position.
Was that why she found the whole thing so stressful? Was a small part of her reliving that time of her life alongside Milly? Or was it simply that seeing your child suffer was the ultimate parental challenge?
She frowned as she stared out the window.
She kept telling herself that Milly’s emotions weren’t her emotions, but knowing that in theory didn’t help in practice. She didn’t just sympathize, she felt the emotions along with her daughter as if they were somehow invisibly connected.
But she couldn’t carry on like this, could she?
Her mother was right. She needed to put more focus on her own life instead of constantly being on alert in case Milly needed something. She needed to do more for herself.
If she found a new purpose, maybe she’d stop worrying about Milly for five minutes. It wasn’t as if Connie’s worrying was helping anyone.
But what exactly was she going to do? Two years ago she’d been planning to travel and see the world, but then Richard had left and she’d known that there was no way she’d be comfortable leaving her daughter with no support. Milly was running a business and had a child, and Connie knew exactly how challenging that could be, particularly during the teenage years. She’d decided that she needed to be there for all the small things that made such a difference. School pickups, the occasional meal, moral support. All the things her own mother had done for her.
And even though it was eighteen months since Richard had walked out, she knew she still wasn’t ready to do an ambitious trip. She’d worry too much to enjoy it.
No, she needed to start small.
Still thinking about it, she grabbed her bag, locked the front door and walked into the village.
It was another glorious day. She was tempted to make herself a picnic and head up to her favorite place near the lake. She could even take a book.
The village was small, little more than a hamlet, but it felt like home to Connie. She loved the stone cottages, the slow pace of life and the proximity of nature. A stream bubbled alongside the road, spanned by a pretty stone bridge that dated back several centuries. In winter smoke curled from the chimneys of those houses but now, in summer, flowers bloomed in borders and spilled from pots, bringing vibrant color to an already bright summer’s day.
Feeling more upbeat, she walked into the bakery to buy fresh bread.
She was trying to decide between a sourdough loaf and a rye bread when someone tapped on her shoulder.
It was Paula, from the choir. Connie hadn’t seen her in months, and coming so soon after the conversation with her mother she wondered if this was the last nudge she needed.
“Connie! It’s good to see you.” Paula’s warmth flowed over her. “We were talking about you just this week because we’re short of sopranos. When are you coming back?”
She’d always enjoyed singing, and she knew the choir members well. And would being unavailable for one evening a week really make much difference to Milly at this point?
She opened her mouth to say that yes, she would come back, when Paula gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.
“No pressure. I can imagine things must have been very hard. How is poor Milly doing? I thought about you the other day when I was over at my Tanya’s for her twentieth wedding anniversary. I swear those two are as much in love now as they were on the day they married, and the kids are doing well.”
Connie wondered how it was people could be so unthinkingly tactless.
“I’m pleased.” She said it firmly. She didn’t want to become the sort of person who couldn’t be happy for someone else, but still she found herself wanting to head for the door. “I need to go, Paula. Great to see you.”
“How is Zoe doing? A breakup like that has a terrible and long-lasting impact on a child.”
And just like that Connie’s moment of optimism passed and she was thinking of Milly again. Worrying about Milly. And Zoe.
Long-lasting impact.
Zoe seemed to be handling everything well, but what if she wasn’t? Was there something more Connie could be doing to make her feel loved and secure?
“Milly and Zoe are both doing well.” Her lips felt stiff and dry as she responded. “My daughter is a wonderful mother.” Did she sound snappy and defensive? Yes, probably, but at this point she didn’t care.
“But having to sell their home—perfectly awful.”
Connie’s heart was pounding. “Not awful at all. They’ve moved into the boathouse, and it’s a wonderful place to live. It’s right on the water. They couldn’t be happier.”
She said the words but couldn’t stop thinking about what Zoe had said about Milly crying herself to sleep.
And now she just wanted to get home before the anxiety could tighten its grip. She didn’t have the emotional energy for a picnic, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to read a book.
“Anyway, back to the subject of the choir,” Paula said and smiled at her. “When are you coming back?”
“I’m not.” The words left Connie’s mouth without her even having to think about it. What she needed wasn’t sympathy, or reminders of everyone else’s perfect lives, or dire prophesies about how Richard’s actions might have wrecked Zoe’s future, and that was what she’d get if she went back to the choir. This was a small community. Everyone not only knew everyone else’s business but they had an opinion on it and didn’t hesitate to voice it.
There would be no escape or distraction because everyone would be asking about Milly.
Most people were well-meaning and genuinely caring (although she was starting to wonder about Paula), but if her objective was to fill her head with something else for a few hours, then choir wasn’t going to be the answer. Nor was book group or any of the other hobbies she’d enjoyed before Richard had walked out. She’d joined those groups because they were local. The convenience of proximity.
But that wasn’t what she needed or wanted.
Paula frowned. “But if Milly is doing well, why can’t you come back?”
“Because I have some exciting things going on at the moment, and I can’t make the commitment to rehearsals.” Eager to extract herself from the conversation as swiftly as possible, she chose a sourdough loaf and handed over her credit card. “But do give my love to everyone.”
Feeling a little sick, she left the bakery and walked along the street, her mind clouded by the past. There had been times early on when she’d worried about the impact of her own divorce on Milly, of course, but she’d been too busy holding everything together to dwell on it. She couldn’t change the fact that David had chosen to abandon his daughter, but was there something she could have done differently? Better?
Part of motherhood seemed to be adjusting to living in a permanent state of guilt.
She was frustrated with herself for letting Paula’s comments affect her so deeply. Just because another person said something didn’t mean it was true.
But now the niggle of worry was there, and she couldn’t remove it.
Her mother was right to be concerned that Connie had put everything on hold so that she could help Milly, and she needed to do something about that. But it was obvious to her now that she couldn’t go back to the things she’d been doing before. People knew too much about her and her situation.
She paused outside the library, scanning the notices in the window. Some of them had been there for so long they’d been faded by the sun.
Babysitter needed.
Gardener for hire.
Dog walker available.
It was all the usual things, including an ad for the hiking group her mother enjoyed so much.
Connie loved the fells and enjoyed being outdoors, but as much as she loved her mother the last thing she needed was to go hiking with her too. They’d end up talking about Milly and Zoe. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. And anyway, she needed something different.
She was about to turn away when a small poster caught her eye.
Waterside Trekking—enjoy the beautiful Lake District scenery from horseback.
She felt a rush of nostalgia. As a child she’d loved horse riding, and for a short time she’d even dreamed of having her own pony, but it hadn’t been practical and eventually that hobby had drifted into the past along with so many other things.
She stared at the picture of the horse and rider trekking along the side of the lake with mountains stretching beyond. It looked so tranquil.
She shook herself. She was sixty. Far too old to take up riding again. Ridiculous. And anyway if she wanted to try riding, she could simply go to the local stables. Given the number of guests from Forest Nest that were sent their way, they’d probably give her a friendly rate. But again, that was too close to home. And she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure, even though her role in the business was much smaller than it once had been.
No, whatever she ended up doing as a distraction, she was going to do it away from her home turf.
She stared at the ad again and on impulse she pulled out her phone and dialed the number.
“Is that Waterside Trekking? I’d like to book a ride please— yes, a two-hour trek sounds perfect.” Did it? Would she survive two hours when she hadn’t been on a horse in years? She wouldn’t be able to walk afterward. “I’m not exactly a beginner, but it has been a while since I’ve ridden . . . How long? Oh, about forty-five years.” She cringed as she said it, but the woman on the other end of the phone didn’t seem alarmed or at all put-out by the fact that Connie wasn’t in the first flush of youth.
Nor did she recognize her name when Connie gave it. She didn’t ask how Milly was coping or whether it looked as if Zoe was going to be scarred for life.
Maybe this had been a good idea after all.
The woman was still talking, asking when Connie wanted to come.
“When?” Connie hadn’t thought that far, but now that she’d made the call she decided that the sooner she did it, the better. Otherwise she might change her mind. “As soon as possible. When do you have availability?”
When she heard the woman telling her that they’d had a cancellation that afternoon if she was interested, she almost refused. She’d expected to have time to think about it. To change her mind and cancel if she wanted to.
But before she could stop herself she was promising to be there and getting directions.
She ended the call and stared at her reflection in the shop window.
She was going horse riding.
And for now she wasn’t going to mention it to anyone. This would be something just for her.