More from Alison Sherlock #2
Harriet had told her friends that she was fine about the failure of the business, but she really wasn’t. It had felt like the final straw after the loss of her aunt and uncle, and she was struggling to find any positivity at all these days.
Suddenly overcome with grief, she felt the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
She had managed to keep them mostly at bay for six months, but now she couldn’t stop crying.
Returning to Cranfield to sell up her aunt and uncle’s cottage was hard enough.
After all, if she hadn’t been saddled with the business debts, she wouldn’t have to sell Lavender Cottage but could live there permanently, as had been her dream for so long.
But she had no savings to pay off the debts, so the cottage would have to be sold.
The worst part was knowing that her aunt and uncle wouldn’t both be waiting for her on the doorstep when she arrived.
She shook her head and willed them to go away, but the tears continued to fall.
She grabbed her mobile from the passenger seat, turned it over, and stared at the back cover. There, pressed inside the clear case, was a sprig of lavender. She instantly felt a little calmer and began to feel comforted. Lavender had always had that effect on her.
During her many stays in Cranfield, the view out of her bedroom window had always been the same. At the end of the back garden was the old railway line, which hadn’t been in use for many years. Across from the line, there was a long path that led to the nearby village of Cranbridge.
On either side of the path were fields. The ones to the right belonged to her best friend Flora’s family farm.
But on the other side, there were two fields full of the lavender plants that Uncle Fred had planted many years ago.
The fields had long been left to run wild by the owner, but Uncle Fred had been a keen conservationist and had wanted to draw more bees and butterflies into the area.
So, each summer, Harriet’s days had been spent amongst the gloriously vivid purple flowers, enjoying the incredible display.
They were her happiest memories of her times in Cranfield.
She could still remember her aunt giving her a sprig of lavender to place underneath her pillow when she returned to the dreaded boarding school each term.
The sweet smell, as she lay there at night in the darkness, had been the only thing she had held onto when it had all gotten too much.
The lavender reminded her of her aunt and uncle and that she was loved.
She looked down at the phone in her hand and brushed her thumb across the lavender imprinted on the case, lost in bittersweet memories. Suddenly, the phone lit up in the darkness with a text. It was from Libby.
No petrol? What are you like?! On my way! x
Harriet’s mood immediately lifted. There it was, that spark of hope that had supported her through her unhappy childhood. It all came from the love and help she had always received from her friends and family in Cranfield.
She checked her face on her phone and wiped away the streaked mascara that her tears had caused. Libby mustn’t know that she had been upset; she didn’t want to worry her friend.
Harriet suddenly remembered a conversation she had had years ago when she had come home from boarding school upset and deflated after yet more failed exams. ‘Keep fighting, love,’ Uncle Fred had told her. ‘Life is short, so you’ve got to make the best of it.’
‘He’s right,’ Aunt May had added, drawing her into a warm hug. ‘You need to dance in the rain as often as you can because the sun will always come out again the next day anyway.’
Harriet smiled to herself as she sat in the darkness and tapped the Music app on her phone. Scrolling through the songs, she spotted the Abba song ‘Dancing Queen’.
‘I couldn’t agree more, Aunt May,’ announced Harriet out loud with a grin to herself as she glanced at the starry heavens above.
So, she switched up the volume on her phone and held onto it as she climbed out of the car and began to dance in the middle of the lane.
The hazard lights flicking on and off almost matched the beat of the song blaring out, she realised with a laugh as she carried on dancing. Her woes lifted, she felt ready to face anything once more.
Headlights appeared in the distance, and she felt even more cheered up.
Libby would understand about her needing to dance in the road.
Or rather, Libby would laugh and shake that long pale blonde hair of hers in ironic despair over her friend’s constant positivity that she always moaned about.
Harriet would shrug her shoulders in response and might even persuade her friend to dance for a while with her.
At least it was a way of keeping them both warm on that chilly night.
The car drew nearer, and in the glare of the bright headlights, Harriet gave the driver a cheerful wave and turned around to wiggle her bottom in an exaggerated manner, all the while laughing.
But as she turned back, she realised that it wasn’t Libby’s face behind the driver’s wheel after all. Instead, it was a man, a complete stranger, who was staring in stunned amazement at her.