Friday October 3rd 2025
Brianna just rang. Having resulting loss of mojo. Feel quite peeved.
“Have you booked an appointment to get it on with Keith?” she said.
Was walking down the Rue, heading for the chocolate shop—we were out of pumpkin spice truffles, because whatever Galoshes thinks, seasonal is seriously selling.
The coffee machine has been up and running for a week now, and we’re the busiest we’ve ever been, despite peak tourist season coming to an end. Doc’s biscuits are flying.
“Keith the sperm guy!” Brianna explained, when I asked her what the hell she was on about.
“Oh. Didn’t we decide against Keith?”
“Right, well, whoever, whichever father you settled on.”
“I’ve not booked my first proper appointment at the Guernsey clinic yet,” I said. “And you don’t just get to wander in and grab a pot, if you know what I’m saying—there are a bunch of things to do first.”
“You’ve not booked it?”
This was full of subtext.
“You know I did the initial stuff and got myself checked over before I even got to the island,” I said, swinging open the door to the chocolate shop. “It’s not like things aren’t in motion.”
Karyn gave me a gratifyingly cheery wave.
“I just thought you would be raring to go, now that you’re feeling so much better in yourself, and you’re sure the island is where you want to do this…”
“I was. I am! I am.”
Grabbed all the pumpkin spice truffles, piled them under my chin, and made my way to the till with my phone wedged to my ear. The signal down this end of the Rue was always terrible, and Brianna’s voice crackled as she said, “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“Of course not!”
“Not getting distracted by the cute boy you kissed last weekend?”
“No,” I said, a bit too loudly. As though I hadn’t spent the entire week daydreaming about making out with Jones on the sofa.
“Sorry,” I mouthed at Karyn, who had jumped a little.
“Bri, now isn’t a good time. I’m still totally committed to the plan, all right?
I’ve just been busy. And I’m probably going to lose my job in a minute. ”
“Fair point,” Bri said. “What is your plan to support your future child when your cut of the inheritance runs out?”
“Wow, you’re fun today! Let me call you back,” I said, hanging up and dropping the phone on the counter. “Sorry, Karyn. All these, please.”
“Ah, I remember those days,” Karyn said with a smile as she tapped away at the till to apply the farm-shop discount. “When you just have to have something! Glad my truffles are hitting the spot. It was always capers, for me.”
“Right,” I said, checking the message that had just popped up on my phone screen. “Wait, sorry, capers?”
I shouldn’t have called you from work, I’m in boss lady mode and went too hard.
My question is, do you think you’re going to wait and see if things get serious with Jones, instead of pursuing this solo?
Do you even know if he wants kids? Isn’t he Mr. Island Hermit—didn’t he turn up determined to be alone…
? I’m worried I’ve pushed you in the wrong direction by wanging on about how you still have room in your life for romantic love. Xxx
“I just loved them! Here you go, sweetie,” Karyn said, sliding a large paper bag across the counter.
Thanked her (ignoring weird caper chat—the woman is a committee member and just called me “sweetie” and smiled at me, so if she wants to talk about obscure tiny vegetables that’s fine with me) and made my way back to the farm shop with the truffles, mood distinctly dampened.
Was Bri right? Was I delaying on starting things with the fertility clinic?
Thought that by shutting things down with Jones, and keeping my plans a secret, could keep myself safe from that temptation. But maybe even that wasn’t enough.
Despite all my resolutions…am I letting that daydream of a love story with Jones get in the way of the real dream I came here to find?
Jones also being weird today.
“Are you OK?” he said, when I returned to the shop. “You look a bit flushed. Do you need to sit down?”
“Pardon?” I said, unpacking the truffles. “Oh, no, I’m fine, I’m just in too many layers.”
I’d called the fertility clinic on the way here—they had an opening on Sunday, so I’m all booked in for then, and was feeling quite weird about it.
(Still am, TBH.) Also pretty sure I get flushed every time I’m in Jones’s presence now—have been avoiding him so scrupulously this week that I’ve hardly put it to the test.
“Do you want to go home and change? I can stay a bit longer if you need me to. Or get you something from the stables and drop it back on my way to Rog’s cart?”
“What?” Risked a suspicious glance his way, then checked my outfit. “Have I been shat on by a bird or something, and you’re too polite to tell me outright?”
“Please do not say ‘shat’ in front of the customers,” said Galoshes, who had appeared just in time to see me disgrace myself in some way, as she is wont to do.
“There aren’t any customers right now, Galoshes.”
“Not with you swearing like a sailor, there aren’t.”
Decided to rise above. Even Galoshes could not pretend I was putting customers off—this was a rare moment of calm in a hectic week of us all crash-coursing barista training (watching a lot of videos about milk frothing) and trying to keep up with the demand for Doc’s already-famous chocolate and cherry biscuits.
“Rog’s cart?” I asked Jones.
He was looking particularly gorgeous in a checked shirt and jeans haphazardly tucked into mud-caked brown boots.
He’s started wearing his hair swept back from his face—it’s a lot longer than it was when he first arrived here.
It’s a very good look. Whenever I’ve seen him this week, can pretty much only get through it by reciting to myself, He is not the plan, he is not the plan, he is not the plan.
He’d make a really hot dad, went a very bad voice in my head.
“He’s going to teach me how to drive a horse and cart,” Jones said, looking an adorable mixture of embarrassed and delighted.
“What! What for?”
“Well, I can’t drive a tractor.”
“I wouldn’t worry about not having a special tractor license, Jones—this is Ormer. Haven’t you seen the licensing prices?”
Pointed to the sign that had once lived stuck inside the farm shop window, now pinned to our community noticeboard. Toby’s idea, actually—sweet, conscientious Toby, who still has no idea he’s going to be a father.
The sign reads:
GET YOUR LICENSES FOR 2025 NOW.
Available in the Constable’s Office 2 p.m.–4 p.m. Tues and Weds.
Carriage Driving: ￡12
Tractor: ￡15
Firearms/shotgun: ￡5
Whenever I see it, it reminds me how this island looked when I first arrived on the Rue in the dust and sunshine. A tiny Wild West.
“I don’t actually have a driving license at all, though,” Jones said sheepishly.
“You don’t drive!”
He shook his head.
“I wonder whether Jerry would ask.”
“You’d hope.”
“But…”
“Yeah. Probably not.”
We grinned at each other. Uh-oh, prolonged eye contact. Absolutely deadly. I looked away instantly, but he’d already made me go hot again. Was thinking about the way he’d felt on top of me, the hungry kisses against my neck, my jaw…
“I’m making us stew tomorrow,” he said, with a decisive nod. “Lots of vegetables. Maybe some cavolo nero. You look a bit peaky. You need to make sure you’re getting enough iron, and since you don’t eat meat…”
Am slightly surprised—not by the comment about iron, because you get this about twice a week if you’re a vegetarian, but by Jones’s sudden interest in my diet. Cannot decide if this is oddly paternalistic or quite sexy. Probably a highly problematic combination of both.
“Have you had your booking appointment with a midwife yet?” Marly asked me when I arrived at the farmhouse to see Red a few hours later.
Was still quite grumpy. Has been that sort of day.
Cannot seem to win: am either getting flak from Bri for being insufficiently pregnant or from Marly for being pregnant and not doing enough about it.
Hate this lie. Want to be up at the B&B checking on Red as much as I can, but that means being around Marly and Rosie, who both keep mothering me and my painfully nonexistent baby—Marly has obviously shared with her wife, which I do get, but only makes this harder.
Rosie and I are friends, and now I’m lying to her as well. More lying.
Though, since finding that bizarre list of Charlie Joneses, am pretty sure she’s lying to me about something, too. And I’ve still got no plausible explanation as to what.
When did everything get so messy? It’s all lies and secrets and people pretending to be things they’re not. Where’s my beautifully simple new life gone??