Chapter 1
ONE
FERN
As the car I’m a passenger in comes to a stop on the sweeping driveway of my idyllic new home, a million thoughts are running through my mind.
For me, the day an adult moves to a new house is not too dissimilar to the day a child starts at a new school.
There’s an air of nervousness that accompanies the worry of whether the right thing is being done.
There is the dull ache of anxiety in the pit of the stomach caused by the regret of leaving old friends behind and the possibility that new friends might be harder to come by in this fresh setting.
And, most of all, there is the unmistakable realisation that no matter what happens next, life is never going to be the same again.
How could I describe this new place? For starters, I’d say it’s very different to the house I’m moving from, although that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
I mean, who can ever complain about upsizing, right?
But there’s more to life than size, as any woman likes to remind a man, so I have always been smart enough to look beyond that and get into the details.
Technically, this property is a beautiful structure, a two-floor whitewashed building consisting of four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen I once only dreamed about and the type of dining room that would be perfect for entertaining guests.
That’s before even mentioning the spacious lounge area and the gorgeous back garden that seems to go on forever.
But as good as all that is, it’s more about what’s at the front of the location of the house, which is even more stunning than what’s inside or behind it.
That’s because the property couldn’t be located in a more idyllic spot.
Built just across the road from sand and water, the house overlooks the Solway Firth, a stretch of water between England and Scotland that forms part of the border between the two nations.
And what a pretty border it is. On a day with fine weather, much like today, and the previous day I came here to inspect the property, the views are incredible, you can see for miles both along the water’s edge and also straight across, meaning a person can be standing in one country but looking at another.
It’s incredible to be able to see Scotland on a clear day, or ‘The Bonnie Banks’ as it has been referred to in the past by many a person.
That might sound all well and good, but this is the UK, so what’s it like on a bad-weather day?
Fortunately, I’ve not been here to experience one of those yet, but I can safely assume this place has a very different feel to it when the sun is obscured, the clouds have wrapped themselves around the landscape, and the grains of sand on the beach are being peppered with ice-cold raindrops from the heavens.
But it’s not the prospect of inclement weather that is giving me cause for concern about moving here, nor is it the property itself, because it really is a stunning place and one anybody would be lucky to call their own.
No, there is one other reason why I have my reservations about what I am doing as I sit in my car and think about the new future I have agreed to be a part of, and the simplest way of describing my state of mind at the moment is this:
Conflicted.
Ask around, and I’m sure there are plenty of people I’ve known over the years who would be happy to describe me. But if I had to describe myself then I’d sum myself up in three words.
A city girl.
That’s right, I love a concrete jungle. The high-rise buildings.
The coffee shops on every corner. The bars and restaurants that stay open late and the cafes that open early.
The shopping centres and the parks. The intimate theatres and the cavernous arenas.
The choice of supermarkets and the array of transport links.
And the people, oh so many people. Commuters.
Students. Retailers. Baristas. Waiters. Street performers.
Joggers. Dogwalkers. All hustling and bustling with places to go and people to see.
Bumping elbows with one another on the train or just standing behind each other in the line to get a mocha.
Energy. Vibrancy. Life.
I’ve always lived in a city. Manchester mainly, as that’s where I grew up and have spent most of my adult life, only broken up by a three-year spell at York University and a two-year work placement in the biggest English city of all, London.
Those experiences mean I have never known anything other than 24/7 noise and action and funny smells and the chance to find somewhere open to enjoy a drink, whether it’s 3 p.m. or 3 a.m., and while some people might hate it, I bloody love it.
As far as I’m concerned, a city isn’t just a big collection of buildings, it’s actually a living, breathing organism made up of the people who call it home, and I have always been one of those people.
Until today.
Now I am no longer a city dweller. Rather, I am somebody who has to find comfort in open spaces, long silences and, most of all, solitude. From a population of over two million to barely five hundred, and I’m pretty sure that is counting the sheep in the nearby hills too.
So long, Manchester.
Hello, Arberness.
Of the people who live in this village, I’m told that the majority are those whose relatives had lived here before them.
There have been several generations of the same family around here, and not many of them left the village for bigger and busier pastures, instead staying because they took pride in their remote region and saw the beauty in being somewhere less overrun than the cities and towns nearby.
But a few residents were not born here nor had they any previous connection to the village before they settled in it.
Instead, they are simply people shunning the major metropolitan hubs and seeking the quiet life as they grow older in a place where there is certainly plenty of quiet.
There’s no doubt about it.
This is going to take some getting used to.
‘I guess we should get out and give the removal guys some help.’
The voice of the man sitting beside me in the car snaps me out of my trance, and when I turn to look at him, I see that he is smiling at me.
It’s a nice smile. A handsome one. The same one that charmed me all those years ago, when I first saw it flashed in my direction, and the same smile I saw as I made my way down the aisle in my white dress.
His smile was wide then, and it’s certainly wide now, but I’ve never seen it bigger than on the day six months ago when I agreed to leave our old life behind and move here, to this remote place, to start again with the man that I married.
Yep, this move was my husband’s idea. I’ll make that clear now, just in case everything goes wrong soon, which is a very real possibility.
That’s right, moving out here to the middle of nowhere was the thought and suggestion of Drew Devlin, or Doctor Drew Devlin, as he likes to introduce himself to others.
‘I didn’t spend all those years at medical school just to be another Drew,’ he told me once as we were on our way home from a dinner party, and after I’d asked him why he insisted on giving his professional title outside of the workplace.
‘It’s important to include that little extra word at the beginning of my name.
I worked hard for it and, if nothing else, it’s a conversation starter. ’
I hadn’t bothered to challenge him on that, although I did tease him a little about it just for fun. I also made sure to tell him that it didn’t matter to me whether he was Doctor Drew, Dentist Drew or even just Dreary Drew because he was my man, and I was proud of him whatever he did for work.
But while I didn’t often mention to my husband how much I liked the fact that he was a fully qualified and practising doctor, because his ego certainly didn’t need another boost, the truth is that I love what he does for a living.
It’s a well-respected and very important profession, not to mention well paid, as well as being very convenient whenever I have any symptoms that I might need a quick opinion on.
There’s never a need for me to wait for an appointment when I can just lift up my T-shirt and ask the man in bed beside me if my new mole looks like it might be trouble. It might not be my sexiest move but when you’re pushing forty, as I am, being sexy is way down on the To-Do List.
But it’s not all fun being a doctor’s wife.
That’s because a job in the medical profession demands dedication, diligence and, most of all, a willingness to work long hours to see all the patients who have illnesses and ailments that require special care and attention.
It’s simply not possible for a doctor to do a half-hearted job.
It’s all or nothing, give great care or no care at all.
And Doctor Drew always prides himself on giving the best care to his patients that he can.
The problem was, he had just too many of those pesky patients, hence the idea to move out of the city and continue his career somewhere a little quieter.
‘Imagine it. With less patients to see every day, I can finish at five o’clock, or maybe even earlier,’ Drew had told me when he was pitching me the idea. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? More time together? Well, it’s never going to happen here. But if we move, it can be a reality.’
I remember the expression on his face when he had said those words to me, or rather I remember his piercing blue eyes staring into my own and making me feel like they always did, which was special.
He has always had that power over me, like I imagine all good-looking men have over women, in that one look could usually melt a heart and get him what he wanted.
The fact he always has such relaxed body language helps him too.
He’s never stiff or unsure. He always acts as if he is fully confident about what he is saying and, I guess, for the most part he is.
‘You know I want you to finish work earlier,’ I’d agreed, much preferring having my husband home at a decent hour as opposed to him walking through the front door at seven or eight o’clock, grumbling about a backlog of referral letters and an overcrowded waiting room.
‘But it’s a bit extreme to go from here to there, isn’t it?
I mean, we have everything we could ever need here.
Family, friends, all our favourite places. What would we have there?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. How about peace? Tranquillity.
Fresh air. Miles of open space to relax in.
Long walks on the beach. Village fetes. An actual community to be a part of rather than just being another statistic squashed into an overpopulated section of the country.
And, most importantly, for the first time in my life, and our marriage, a proper work/life balance. ’
I had to give it to Drew. He did make a compelling argument for why we should consider moving. But it was an argument that he would have to sharpen and refine over several days before I eventually started to come around to his way of thinking.
‘I can see you’re really serious about this,’ I had told him one night after he had come home grumpy again from another tiring day.
‘You know I have my concerns about it. But if it’s really what you want then I’ll do it.
I’ll agree to move. But on one condition.
We find the perfect house. If I’m going to be in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but bleating sheep and crazy village folk, I at least want a nice kitchen.
You promised me a breakfast bar when we were engaged, and I’m yet to see any evidence of one. ’
That breakfast bar was just one of many grand ambitions I had harboured ever since I got into a serious relationship with Drew.
We’d often lie in bed together for hours in the early days of our romance and discuss all sorts of dreams, some sensible, some a little crazier.
Places we wanted to visit. Cars we wanted to drive.
What we wanted to be doing when we reach retirement age.
I’m pleased to say that many of those dreams came true.
But, as always in life, some fell by the wayside.
I’ve never seen Drew so happy as the night I agreed that we would leave Manchester and move to Arberness, a place he picked, he told me, because he had been there a couple of times while coming back from lads’ trips to Scotland, and it had always captured his imagination.
I was yet to be as convinced as he was that the tiny village was the best place for us to begin the next chapter of our lives, but once I’d agreed the moving plans began in earnest. Our house went on the market for a very profitable price while we quickly set about finding a new home in the village.
It only took a couple of trips up north before we found the house we wanted.
‘It’s perfect,’ Drew had told me before I had even laid eyes on it, but once I had, I felt the same way.
As anyone in a marriage will know, agreeing on something is half the battle, but this was one thing we didn’t have an argument on.
The house was perfect. The size, the location, the price.
It ticked every box we had when we first made contact with an estate agent.
And here we are now, with the removal men carrying our boxes into it.
And so, as Drew and I get out of our car, it is now official.
We live here now. Not back there in the city, where everything is familiar and accessible, but here, where everything is new, spread out and smells strange, as if my nostrils can’t quite understand why the air is clean and not filled with exhaust fumes.
Have I done the right thing, or have I made a mistake?
Am I going to like it here or grow to resent it?
Will I make new friends, or will my only company during the working week be whatever sheep wanders up to the wall at the bottom of our garden?
And will I fall in love with the view of the beach at the front of my house, or will its sands start to torment me over time, causing me to long for the familiar feeling of the hard concrete of the city streets that I once walked on with such confidence?
I suppose only time will tell. But as we go inside our new house and think about making a start on unpacking all the boxes that are beginning to pile up in our hallway, I know one thing is for sure.
My husband is very, very happy to be here.
Possibly a little too happy.
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