Chapter One
Twenty-two months later
The sun reflects down on the river outside Willow River Mill as I lean against the wooden garden table with my hands curled around my mug of tea. I lift my face up towards the sunshine; I want to make the most of the rays that are shining down on me before the freezing temperatures start again. It is getting chillier now. The nights are drawing in, and I have already started hoarding wood for the log burner. Fortunately, there is plenty of timber in the two acres that belong to the mill, and I have become quite handy with an axe since Craig left. In fact, I find chopping logs quite therapeutic at times. It gets all my frustrations out as I picture his face.
I look around the garden and thank my lucky stars that we randomly drove past the mill when it was for sale all those years ago. If it wasn’t for Craig making a wrong turn on the way to Llandovery and ending up accidentally heading down a single-track road, we wouldn’t have known about it. It is one of those places that you would never find unless you stumbled upon it, which is precisely what we did. There it was, all run down and uncared for, a bit like how I am feeling at the moment. It was as though it was meant to be, and we were its saviour. If only life were that easy. When we bought it and were so excited for our new start, I never expected that I would be living here alone all these years later, without Craig by my side. At least I am grateful that he had the decency not to fight over the house during the divorce. I suppose he wanted to get out of the marriage quickly when he knew all along that he wanted to marry Josephine and have babies with her. Number two is already on its way, and I suspect Josephine was pregnant with number one when he unceremoniously broke up with me.
I try not to think of either of them, and especially not the children they have that I couldn’t conceive. What good would it do to torture myself like that? Instead, I have kept myself to myself since the moment Craig walked out. I don’t need anyone. It is only at Christmas that it can get a little lonely, so that is why I have decided to no longer celebrate it.
Last Christmas, I mostly spent the day alone as Aunt Grace was in the hospital after a fall, and so, apart from my visit to her in the morning to give her some gifts, it was just me. My friends kindly asked me to have lunch with them, feeling sorry for me, but I pretended I had plans. I certainly wasn’t going to be that sad person that friends feel obliged to invite over. So, the truth is that I have pretended I have other plans for anything I am invited to for almost two years now. The more excuses that I make, the more people leave me alone.
My best friend, Liz, who I grew up with, doesn’t even check up on me any longer. She has given up. Of course, she isn’t to blame. There are only so many unanswered calls that a friend can take. Liz would come all the way out here at first and drop cakes on the doorstep. When she knew I was home, but not answering the door, she would shout through the letterbox and tell me how she had made me a carrot cake and to get it quickly before a fox came along. In fairness, they were lovely carrot cakes. But I couldn’t face seeing Liz because she has the perfect husband and three perfect children with cutesy names. I figured that she could never understand how I was feeling, and why should she?
The night that Craig walked out, my life immediately stopped. I no longer wanted to see anyone, not even my best friend, and only felt safe at home in Willow River Mill. It is as if my walls guard me from the harsh reality of the world. I don’t have to explain to anyone that my husband left me for a younger model to have kids with, and I can sit around in a dressing gown or onesie all day without anyone judging me. I don’t feel as if I need to be accepted into the world any longer. I am just me, with no make-up and greying hair that I choose not to colour. Some may say I have let myself go. I prefer the idea that I have decided not to conform to societal pressure.
I do make sure I get dressed properly some days, like when the supermarket delivery is due, or if I need my hair cut with the local mobile hairdresser. But, generally, I am mostly a hermit in a onesie. I grow vegetables in the garden, and I am pretty sure that this year my strawberries were better than any in the supermarkets. The blackberries this autumn were so juicy, and I made several tarts to store in the freezer. The idea is that I will eventually become completely self-sustainable. I don’t want to depend on anyone.
I smile to myself as I take in the rays of this most glorious November day, and I am thankful for my safe haven. I look around to tell someone what a lovely day it is, but nobody, apart from the postman or the odd angler, come out this way.
If only Aunt Grace were here, I could have called her for a chat. We always had the best conversations. It has been two months since she went to bed one night and never woke up, which is exactly how she would have wanted it.
As her next of kin, her solicitor keeps asking me to go to the office to discuss her last will and testament, but I can’t face going into town. It was a miracle that I managed to leave the house for her funeral, but I was determined not to let her down. It was incredibly hard for me, though, and I just wanted to run back home. It is far too peoply out there for me.
After staying out here for so long, I can’t bear the hustle and bustle of towns with their crowds. The thought of meeting with the solicitor is just too much for me. So, I have told them, they will have to do it the old-fashioned way and write me a letter with whatever they want to tell me. I can’t face speaking to them on the phone about it either. Aunt Grace always wrote people letters, so I am sure she would approve of that. She had penfriends all around the world at one point and always had the most beautiful stationery with matching envelopes on her bureau. She also sent charity Christmas cards. Nowadays, far too many people send e-greetings. When I enjoyed Christmas, I adored finding cards on my doormat. It doesn’t feel quite the same to get a ping in your inbox.
Time flies, even when you’re alone, and another Christmas is coming around so soon. My first without Aunt Grace. I will probably do the same as last year and have beans on toast and pretend it is another normal day in Olivia world where everyone has given up trying with me. I don’t know how I would react if someone held a Christmas cracker near me, but I’d imagine it wouldn’t only be the cracker that fell apart.
I head inside to change from my nightgown and dressing gown to my daywear of a furry blue onesie when the ringing of the home phone takes me by surprise.
I pick it up, holding it as far away from me as possible as though it is a poisonous snake. Who on earth could it be?
I pull the receiver closer to me as I hear a female voice on the other end of the phone. It is Charlotte, the HR manager at the bank.
‘Hey, Olivia, how are you doing?’
‘I’m fine. Thanks.’ Immediately I know the true purpose of her phone call. The bank was so supportive of me when I took sick leave and said that they would keep my job open for as long as it took for me to feel better. Thankfully, as Craig and I hadn’t gone away together for ages, some holiday time has been added to my salary, along with a few weeks of unpaid leave. However, the truth is that I still don’t feel any better, and the thought of sitting behind that glass panel all day handing out change and cashing people’s cheques fills me with dread. I can already imagine the small-town gossips coming in, asking me questions about Craig and his new wife. I don’t want to be the subject of this week’s gossip. I hear them in my mind saying things about me. How I look, how I seem emotionally. I would have felt trapped in that little kiosk, but it was inevitable that I would have to return one day. They can’t keep my position open forever. I try to calm down the panic in my voice before answering Charlotte about what my intentions are.
‘Um, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. I still don’t feel ready to come back in and face everyone, to be honest.’
‘Okay, I understand. I don’t want to push you, but we do need an answer. We can’t keep the job open indefinitely, I’m afraid.’
‘No, I get that. Can you give me a few more days to decide?’
‘Sure. How about I call you at the end of the week?’
‘That’ll be fine. Thank you for your patience.’
Putting the phone down I realise the time to face reality has finally arrived. I can’t sit around all day any longer. My money is starting to run out no matter how much I try to live sustainably. The thought of being back in the corporate world makes me feel terrified. I know I am lucky that they have been so supportive and paid me sick pay for so long, but the day has finally come when I must consider returning, and that is a highly scary proposition. Whatever will I do?
I take a blackberry tart out to defrost from the freezer. Comfort eating is a terrible habit of mine. Only lashings of cream and a piece of tart are going to make me feel better about the decision I have to make. I pop the kettle on for a cup of tea to soothe my throat, which has suddenly gone dry, when there is a knock on the door. My goodness, it is like Piccadilly Circus here today. A phone call and a knock on the door in one day is practically unheard of.
As I reach the front room, I can see the postie’s van from the window.
‘Hiya, lovely. You alright?’ says Ken when I open the front door. He is always so jolly and my favourite of all the postmen. He never complains in the winter about the icy road up here, unlike some of the other posties.
‘Yes, all good, thank you. What do you have for me today?’
‘Ooh, not sure. But you’ll have to sign for this one. Important, is it?’
‘Hmm, looks like it.’ It must be the letter I am expecting from the lawyer.
Even though Ken tries to chat with me, I don’t reciprocate. I have a feeling that he thinks I have nobody to talk to all day and that he is the only person I will see, which is true – but that is the way I choose it to be.
‘Ooh, you can feel the chill in the air. Not long until Christmas. It’s come round fast, hasn’t it?’ he says.
‘Yes, I suppose it has.’ I will be fifty-three soon, another year passed by.
‘What you doing for Christmas? Any plans yet?’ asks Ken.
‘No, nothing. Same old. Anyway, thank you for this. I’ll be seeing you then.’ I try to get away. I need to see what is inside the envelope, and besides, I am no longer the social person I was. I have nothing to say, but then, I suppose living like a hermit in a mill, I don’t have many anecdotes to share.
I tear open the envelope to find a letter and another envelope inside with Aunt Grace’s writing on it. She has written my name and I trace the letters on the envelope with my finger. It is so nice to see my Aunt Grace’s carefully crafted cursive writing again and it leaves me emotional. Still, I look at the solicitor’s letter first to see what he says.
Dear Ms Edwards,
As per your request, we are attaching the information regarding Mrs Grace Pugh’s last will and testament. We also enclose an envelope that she gave us to hand to you in the event of her death.
Please confirm that you have received and read this and how you wish to proceed.
Yours Sincerely,
Dewi Jones
Estate and Probate Solicitor
Before I look at the copy of the will, I pluck up the courage to open Aunt Grace’s letter. I want to get it over with. My emotions are running everywhere, and as I see the first words, tears come tumbling down. Until now, I have had no tears. I didn’t even cry when Craig left me or at Aunt Grace’s funeral. I tried to keep up a brave face. But now the tears are flowing. Perhaps this is a good thing, or, like some over-saturated dam, I may have burst one day.
Dearest Olivia,
My darling, darling girl, where should I start? If you’re reading this then I am afraid I am no longer with you. Please don’t be sad though. I lived to a good age, which was longer than any of my sisters managed. I hope you will be thankful for this extra time we had together.
Darling girl, whilst I wanted to write you a letter to tell you not to be sad, I have something else that I must share with you. I have a secret, and I have thought long and hard about telling you this. I was going to take it to my grave, but I have changed my mind. You must wonder what I am going on about, my darling Olivia! But I need you to do a favour for me. You are the only person in the world I could trust with this.
Do you remember my friend Silvie? Well, many years ago, not long after your Uncle Harry died, we went to see a show in London. You know how I always loved musicals! We went to see Grease and it was glorious. We had the best day, and this sounds terrible, but I had never felt so free. You see, Harry could be a bit domineering at times. Nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors – but I will leave it at that.
Anyway, Silvie and I had just left the theatre when it started tipping down! The clouds had darkened whilst we were sat inside, and, as it was July, neither of us had thought to bring an umbrella. I’d only just had a perm, and we must have looked a right sight, running down a street in London, trying to protect our blow dries with our jackets over us! But then, this absolute gentleman came out of nowhere and put an umbrella over us. I turned to look at him and, well, I had never seen anyone as handsome! He had stunning dark hair and eyes that sparkled. Please don’t think badly of me, but how I instantly wished I had met him years ago! I mean, I certainly wasn’t looking for a man to replace Harry at this stage in my life. It was time for me to be free and go to movies and shows with Silvie.
But, seeing this man, he reminded me of one of those beautiful movie stars from the sixties. I must have looked a bit odd as I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him as we walked down the street with him carrying his umbrella and the three of us squashed under it.
Then, as we passed a coffee shop, Silvie suggested we buy him a coffee, to show our appreciation to him for saving our hairstyles. And that is how I met Marek from the Czech Republic, who I was to fall madly in love with. But then, I got scared. It was too soon after Harry’s death for me to be with someone else. The family would never have forgiven me for moving on like that. I came to my senses and thought I should be practical. When he wanted to move over to be with me in the UK, Harry’s mother, Elsie, was living with me, as she wasn’t well by then, and I had to do the right thing, didn’t I? Family must always come first.
So, I ended it so that I could care for Elsie, and he never wrote back or acknowledged anything. Along with this letter, that was the hardest thing I have ever had to write. I cried tears and smudged the ink so many times that I had to start over and over again. But I knew I had to be strong. Do you remember when Elsie died? It was practically a year to the day from when I sent that letter.
After Elsie’s funeral and everything had settled down, I decided to write to Marek and tell him that I now had a chance to enjoy my life. But, like I say, it was a year after I’d ended things. What did I expect? He never bothered replying and so I had to move on. A handsome man like that was never going to wait around. But now, I have one dying wish.
I want you to tell him in person that I have died.
You are probably wondering why you can’t just write him a letter, or find him online somewhere, like you do nowadays. But I would like you to visit him face to face in Prague. I never got to go, so my wish is for you to go and find out what Marek is like. Does he still have that thick head of hair? I have so many questions, and I know I will never have the answers, but I would like him to explain why he never replied. Even if he was hurt, he could have answered my letter when I asked for another chance – or at least told me to bugger off!
It feels like closure and then I will be at peace. I want you to tell him that he was the love of my life and I never forgot him. I am sorry if this comes as a shocking revelation, but Harry really wasn’t the man everyone thought he was.
My solicitor has Marek’s address. I have asked him to pay for the tickets and accommodation for your trip from my estate and, as I know how you procrastinate, I have told him that you must travel within one month of receiving this letter. I have left my estate to you, my gorgeous girl, apart from a little chunk to the donkey sanctuary. However, I have asked that any money is only released once you have completed this mission for me to Prague. I hope you understand.
I also leave you your favourite snow globe, which I have asked the solicitor to send you separately. It was given to me by Marek. You always loved that so much and now you know why I did too. Sometimes, receiving a gift is not about the gift itself but who has given it to you.
I love you my darling Olivia as if you were my own child. I hope that had I ever had a daughter she would have turned out just like you.
With all my eternal love,
Aunt Grace xxx
I spill tea down the front of my onesie and feel pretty sure that she wouldn’t want a daughter who turned out like me right now. Then I place the letter back down in shock.
She had a secret lover in Prague! Her marriage wasn’t as happy as I thought?
There is so much to take in right now. I mean, where do I start with this letter? Not only did she have a lover in Prague that nobody knew about, but also, how on earth did Aunt Grace expect me to go to Prague to find Marek? I can’t even go into the nearest town without being overwhelmed. Well, there is no way I can do it, dying wish or not. Aunt Grace knows how hard it has been for me to leave the house. Why on earth would she ask me to do this? Unless she wanted to force me out of the house. I wouldn’t put it past her.
Well, I won’t be doing it. I shall write back to the solicitor and tell him. There is no way I shall be going to Prague and meeting a stranger that I know nothing about, and that is the end of it.