Chapter Three
The music was loud enough that Annabelle could hear it from her own sitting room.
She was determined to ignore it though, people deserved to enjoy themselves in their own homes, after all. But when her tea began vibrating across the coffee table in rhythm with what she could only assume was the bass line, she decided perhaps a friendly word was in order.
Besides, she had a welcome basket to deliver, and now was as good a time as any. She’d just slip in a quiet word about the music at the same time. Something friendly, of course. Something nice and cheerful. She didn’t want to give her new neighbor the wrong idea.
The basket sat on her kitchen counter where she'd left it that morning, cheerful gingham cloth still perfectly arranged around the lemon biscuits and jam. She'd added a small card that read "Welcome to the neighborhood!" in her neatest handwriting, complete with a smiley face.
The music grew louder as she walked up the path to the cottage. It was rock music. Proper rock music with electric guitars and drums, not the sort of soft indie folk she usually heard drifting from village windows.
"Right then," Annabelle said to herself, adjusting her grip on the basket. "Just a friendly introduction. Everyone loves a warm welcome."
She knocked on the door. No response.
She knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.
Well, obviously. Whoever was inside would have trouble hearing a knock over the music, wouldn’t they?
The third time she knocked, a little harder this time, the door swung open under her knuckles.
"Oh," Annabelle said to the empty hallway. "Hello?"
The music pounded from somewhere deeper in the house. She hesitated on the threshold, basic British politeness warring with the fact that the door had quite literally opened for her. That was practically an invitation, wasn't it?
"Hello?" she called again, stepping inside. "I'm so sorry to barge in, I just wanted to…"
There was no one around.
She'd drop the basket on the kitchen table. That was all. Just leave it there with the card and make a quick exit. The kitchen was visible straight ahead, through the open doorway, and…
The bathroom door to her left swung open.
Annabelle's brain registered several things in very rapid succession.
First: there was a woman emerging from the bathroom.
Second: said woman was completely, utterly, spectacularly naked.
Third: said woman had tattoos. A lot of tattoos. And was… oh God, oh God, don't look…
"Jesus Christ!" The woman jumped backward, slamming one hand against the doorframe. "What the hell?"
"I'm so sorry!" Annabelle whirled around, basket clutched to her chest like a shield, her face burning hot enough to roast chestnuts. "I knocked! I did knock! The door opened, and I thought…"
"You thought you'd just waltz into a stranger's house?"
"No! Well, yes, but not like… I was bringing a welcome basket. I'm your neighbor, I just wanted to…"
"To get an eyeful?"
"No!" Annabelle's voice came out as a squeak. The tattoos had been very detailed. Very… artistic. She absolutely had not been looking. Except she had, obviously, because how could you not when someone was standing right there, dripping wet and… and naked and, well, quite… rather… fit. The word seemed weak but Annabelle didn’t dare think of another.
"Christ, hang on." There was rustling behind her, and Annabelle stared resolutely at the wall, studying a small crack in the plaster as if it were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. "All right, I'm decent. Sort of."
Annabelle turned slowly. The woman had wrapped a towel around herself, a very small towel that left very little to the imagination.
She was taller than Annabelle by about two inches, with dark hair plastered to her skull and water droplets tracking down her shoulders.
Her face was flushed with what Annabelle desperately hoped was just the heat from the shower and not incandescent rage.
Actually, scratch that. The expression on the woman's face was definitely rage. Annabelle’s stomach clenched.
"I am so sorry," Annabelle said again, the words tumbling over each other.
"I promise I'm not a complete lunatic, I'm Annabelle Swift, I teach at the primary school, I live just next door, and I made you lemon biscuits because I always make lemon biscuits for new neighbors, and I brought jam and some honey from Arty at the pub, and I know you probably think I'm completely mad but I promise this is normal, well, normal for Bankton, and… "
"Are you having me on?"
"What?"
"Is this a joke?" The woman gestured at the basket, then at herself, then at the door. "Did someone put you up to this?"
"No! I just wanted to welcome you to the village!"
"By breaking into my house?"
"I didn't break in! I knocked three times, and the door opened, and the music was so loud…"
"So you thought you'd investigate?" The woman's voice dripped with sarcasm. "What, did you think I'd collapsed in the shower? Needed rescuing?"
"I thought I was being neighborly!"
"Neighborly." The woman repeated the word like it tasted bad. "Right. Because this is exactly what normal neighbors do. Just wander into stranger's homes uninvited."
"The door was open!"
"That doesn't make it an invitation!"
They stared at each other. Water dripped from the woman's hair onto the hardwood floor, forming a small puddle. Annabelle clutched the basket so tightly the gingham cloth was probably permanently wrinkled.
"I really am sorry," Annabelle tried again, aiming for her best calming-down-upset-children voice. "This has gotten off to an absolutely terrible start, and I take full responsibility. I should have waited until you answered the door properly. I just got excited about having a new neighbor, and—"
"Excited." The woman laughed, but it wasn't a kind sound. "Brilliant. That's exactly what I need. An excited neighbor who doesn't understand basic boundaries."
Annabelle felt something twist in her chest. She was used to people finding her a bit much, Lily teased her about it constantly, but this felt different. Meaner.
"I'll just go then," she said quietly, setting the basket on the floor by the door. "The biscuits are quite good, even if you don't want to talk to me. And welcome to Bankton. I hope you… settle in well."
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
Annabelle paused, hand on the door.
"Take your basket."
"It's a gift."
"I don't want it."
The thing in Annabelle's chest twisted harder. "Right. Of course."
She picked up the basket, carefully not looking at the woman, and stepped outside. The music was still pounding from inside the house, now competing with her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Annabelle stood on the path for a moment, basket in hand, face still burning. She'd really made a complete hash of that, hadn't she?
One of the flowers, a bright yellow dahlia, had fallen out of the basket during the chaos. It lay on the ground looking sad and wilted already, and Annabelle bent to pick it up. Then another fell out as she straightened. Then a third.
"Bugger," she muttered, trying to tuck them back in.
"Annabelle!"
She jumped, spinning around to find Daisy Green bouncing up the path in her Royal Mail uniform, positively vibrating with curiosity.
"Was that her?" Daisy asked, craning her neck to see past Annabelle toward the cottage. "What’s she like? I haven't gotten a good look yet. Very mysterious. Very famous."
"Famous?" Annabelle blinked.
"Oh yes!" Daisy's eyes were wide. "Gloria told Blossom who told me, the new neighbor is that rockstar. You know, from that band." She hummed a song, loudly and out of tune. "That band."
Annabelle's stomach dropped. "What?"
"Raven. That’s it. Raven." Daisy pulled out her phone, fingers flying over the screen. "Here! Raven. Lead guitarist and songwriter for Krimson Kisses. They split up. Raven’s girlfriend, Alissa, well, girlfriend is putting it strongly, her sort of, on again, off again thing, only went and secretly married their soundman in Vegas and now everything’s in uproar and Arty at the pub says she’s probably here to write a solo album, because that’s what he’d be doing in her place and, yeah… "
She turned the phone to show Annabelle a picture.
It was definitely the woman from the cottage.
The same angular features, same dark hair, though in the photo it was styled and dry and she was wearing considerably more clothing.
She was holding a guitar and glaring at the camera in a way that was probably meant to be brooding and artistic but mostly just looked annoyed.
"She's famous," Daisy breathed. "Another celebrity. In Bankton. It’s just like when Lilah Paxton moved in. But Lilah’s part of the woodwork now, you’d barely even know she was an actress at all, and besides, she’s gone all the time filming. But a real rockstar. Here. Can you imagine?"
Annabelle could imagine it quite clearly, actually. She could imagine being a famous person trying to escape scandal and find some peace and quiet, only to have an overly enthusiastic primary school teacher barge into your house while you were naked and fresh from the shower.
"Oh dear," she said faintly.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just… I think I've made rather a mess of things."
Daisy beamed at her. "I'm sure it's fine! Everyone loves you, Annabelle. I bet in a few weeks, you and Raven will be best friends. Wouldn't that be something? Me being friends with someone who's friends with a famous rockstar!"
Annabelle managed a weak smile. The flowers in her basket were definitely wilting now, probably from the sheer force of the disaster that had just occurred.
"I should go," she said. "Lots of marking to do this evening."
"Oh, before you go," Daisy lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Do you think she'd sign something for me? Nothing too pushy, just maybe a photo or… or something."
"Daisy, I really don't think…"
"Right, right. Too soon. I'll wait a few days. Maybe a week. Give her time to settle in." Daisy nodded sagely. "That's what you always say, isn't it? Give people time?"
"Yes," Annabelle said tiredly. "Time. That's the answer."
She walked back to her cottage, trailing wilting flowers behind her like sad confetti. The music from next door had, mercifully, been turned down to a more reasonable volume. She could still hear it though, angry guitar riffs that seemed to match her neighbor's personality perfectly.
It's fine, she told herself firmly, setting the basket on her kitchen counter and staring at it. It's just a bad start. Once she settles in, everything will be fine. We'll laugh about this. Probably. Eventually.
The lemon biscuits stared back at her, looking disappointed.
"It'll be fine," she said out loud to her empty kitchen. "Everything will be absolutely fine."
Except now she had to live next door to someone who probably thought she was a deranged stalker.
Her phone rang just as she was putting the jam back in the fridge.
"Met the neighbor yet?" Lily asked.
"Sort of," hazarded Annabelle.
"So? What's she like? Our own village rockstar."
"I've only just met her."
"And?"
Annabelle groaned. "It was a disaster."
"Can't have been that bad."
"Lily, I walked in on her. Right out of the shower. Completely naked."
There was a long, long silence.
Then Lily started laughing. She laughed so hard that Annabelle was pretty sure that she dropped the phone. At least it was a minute before she could speak properly.
"It's not funny."
"It's absolutely hilarious," Lily gasped. "Oh my God, Annabelle. Only you."
"I knocked. Multiple times. The door just opened."
"And you thought that was an invitation to walk inside?"
"The music was very loud!"
Lily sighed. "What did she say?"
"She called me a lunatic. And asked if I thought it was funny. And refused my welcome basket."
"That’s uncalled for," Lily said loyally.
"That’s what I thought." Annabelle sat up straighter. "Still though, it’ll all be better in the morning, I’m sure. These things happen, don’t they?"
"Only to you," Lily said.
"It'll be fine," she said, more to herself than to Lily. "Once she settles in, we'll laugh about this."
And this time, she really was starting to believe it.