Chapter 2
The lights outside her little cottage had been left on, like beacons in the gathering darkness, and the key was exactly where she’d been told it would be.
So what if she’d never done something like this on her own before?
She could do anything. Stepping through the wood panelled door and into the hallway, she sighed in relief – it was just as gorgeous as she remembered.
There was something reassuring about the uneven floors and the sporadic beams lining the ceiling.
The old windows rattled as a sudden burst of rain lashed down, and Eliza shivered.
She looked into the cosy kitchen, complete with a fresh loaf of bread on the table, and then popped her head into the poky little dining room, but it wasn’t until she entered the living room that she found the fireplace.
Countryside perfection. A tidy pile of logs was sitting neatly next to the fire.
All she could think was that if Henry was here, he’d have got the fire going in no time, or knowing him, called someone to do it. Well, fuck it, who needed Henry? If he could make a fire, she bloody well could too!
Opening every drawer in the place, she finally found a box of matches and a long tapered lighter in a chest on top of the fireplace.
She piled the logs into an aesthetically pleasing pattern in the fireplace, until she felt it looked like a Home go and have a shower while Agatha and I try and sort this place out.’
‘Good idea,’ answered Eliza. ‘Let me grab a quick shower and then we can all go on a family adventure and find a local coffee shop!’
Agatha’s eyes narrowed. ‘Eliza, this isn’t Primrose Hill, there isn’t going to be a hot Kiwi serving flat whites on every street corner, you know.’
‘Well just because people around here are either old or married, that doesn’t exclude them from drinking coffee, does it? Come on, where’s that Fox positivity? I’m sure we can find something.’
Margaret was already opening cupboards and tutting. ‘This kitchen is utterly primitive. Luckily for you I’ve brought you some essentials – proper tea, some cheese and biscuits, that Parma ham you like, and some of my homemade casserole. You can’t live on wine and crisps, darling.’
‘Watch me,’ Eliza muttered under her breath as she headed for the stairs to grab a quick shower. As she reached the top, she could hear her mother’s voice drifting up from below.
‘. . . such a shame about Henry. I always thought he was a bit too polished, but I didn’t expect him to be unfaithful.
Poor Eliza, thirty-eight and starting all over again .
. .’ She quickened her pace, not wanting to hear the rest of that conversation.
She really didn’t need to hear how unlucky in love she was; after last night’s crying she was pretty aware that things hadn’t worked out how she had hoped.
She cranked the shower as hot as it would go and just let the water wash over her as she tried to drown out her mother’s words.
Thirty-eight and starting over. She made it sound like some kind of terminal diagnosis.
But then she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and realised she wasn’t exactly the picture of a woman with her life together.
Her hair was dishevelled, her mascara smudged beneath her eyes, and honestly, her mother was right – she looked exhausted.
‘Pull yourself together, Fox,’ she muttered to herself as she scrubbed her hair clean. ‘You are free Eliza, adventurous Eliza.’ She could be a completely new person and do daring things she’d never tried before, like having hot-rebound-sex-with-a-local. Now, that was a thought . . .
She heard the ancient pipes groan in protest as she rinsed her hair, and made a mental note to mention the plumbing to the landlady when she met her.
Still, there was something charming about the temperamental water pressure and the slightly wonky shower head.
It all felt very reassuringly country in the light of day.