Starting Over at Starlight Cottage (Starlight #1)

Chapter One

‘Oh, bog off!’ I shrieked down the phone.

The air quivered with the force of my tone.

‘Tut, tut, Tilly. Always such unimaginative and limiting vocabulary,’ drawled my husband.

Robin had played his usual trick on me. The goading game. He’d pressed all my buttons. Wound me up. And any other expression one cared to sling into the wordy equation.

I’m not usually a pink-cheeked, bosom-heaving harridan. Certainly not at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning when about to don my sou’wester and take my dog for a walk. Outside, November rain was downpouring like a carwash in full flow. Inside, my soon-to-be ex-spouse had yet again brought out the worst in me.

Robin, now firmly in the thrall – and under the thumb – of a very pushy mistress, wanted me to leave the marital home and make way for him and Sexy Samantha. Well, fine. But not until I was good and ready. And right now, I wasn’t.

I needed to detach emotionally from this house. It had been my home for all our married life. Twenty years. A lot of love had gone into its bricks and mortar, not to mention a major refurbishment. What a shame one couldn’t refurb one’s marriage.

Angrily, I tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind one ear. I needed fresh air. Now. With Cindy. And where was Cindy?

I took a step back. Bent my knees. Tipped my head sideways and peered under the kitchen table. A brown-and-white furry body was wedged between the legs of one chair. A long stringy tail wagged cautiously as a pair of chocolate-brown eyes regarded me anxiously. In that moment I felt like the worst doggy mummy on the planet.

‘Sorry,’ I crooned. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorryyy . I love you.’

‘Apology accepted,’ said Robin crisply. ‘As for the love bit, Tilly, it’s too late for that.’

The line went dead before I could deliver a crushing reply.

I abandoned the mobile as Cindy crept out from under the table.

‘That was Robin,’ I said. ‘The man who once promised to love and cherish me until death do us part. As you know, I am now legally extricating myself from him at considerable expense.’

Indeed, Mum, I imagined her to reply.

Such was my life these days. The only conversation within these walls was of the make-believe kind between me and my four-legged friend. Naturally Cindy understood my every word. And it went without saying that she was on my side.

Your ex is a prat.

See?

‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘Sorry you’ve got caught up in it all. It’s not what I wanted for you. Not when you’ve already come from one broken home.’

It’s fine, Mum. As long as I’m with you, then that’s all that matters.

‘You are such a darling.’

Mum?

‘Yes?’

Do you ever worry about the conversations that you and I have?

‘I know what you’re hinting at,’ I said carefully. ‘You’re suggesting I’m having a spot of bother with my mental health. That it’s a bit wobbly.’

More like kaput.

I ignored the dig and headed off to the coat cupboard with Cindy at my heel. In this weather she’d need to wear her waterproof coat. She wasn’t a fan of rain at the best of times.

‘And also’ – I prattled – ‘you think I’m lonely. But I’m not. I have you, so how can I ever be lonely?’

You know what I mean. I think you should get out more.

‘I don’t want to get out more,’ I said, strapping her into the waterproof and clipping the lead to her collar. I shrugged on my own waterproof, then grabbed my wellies. ‘I’m not even sure I want to go out in this weather,’ I declared, opening the front door.

For a moment, the two of us regarded the rainstorm, then Cindy looked up at me in consternation.

I’m not sure I want to go out in it either.

‘C’mon,’ I sighed, pulling on my boots. ‘Let’s do this.’

Together, the two of us stepped out into the deluge.

We walked along the pavement, hugging the fences and garden walls of the executive houses in my street. This was Meopham’s most prestigious tree-lined road. Occasionally Cindy and I would pause and cower, anxious to avoid a fountain of puddle-splash from passing cars.

Getting into stride, I reflected on the chit-chat that had just taken place between me and my dog. Well, okay, if you want to be picky, the conversation between me… and me. I didn’t doubt for one second that Cindy had her own thoughts and that she tried to telepathically convey them, but her vocab was probably more along the lines of:

Food... now!Treat… now!Wee… now!

But like most dog owners – and maybe cat owners too – I had entire conversations with my pooch, and I liked to believe that she reciprocated. Cindy was privy to all the details of my upcoming divorce from Robin.

I’d also entrusted some of it to Lisa, my colleague and bestie. She’d listened in wide eyed horror when I’d revealed the reason for me and Robin abruptly separating.

My husband had been staying increasingly late at the office, apparently chasing an elusive account. The whole working late thing might have continued forever if I hadn’t surprised Robin and unexpectedly turned up at his office.

Protheroe & Jameson Accountants were situated near Sevenoaks’ Stag Theatre. I’d anticipated that Robin – the Jameson part of the business – would be amazed by my off-the-cuff gesture to see a comedy act followed by a late-night candlelit dinner at a trendy bistro. However, the surprise had been on me.

I’d walked purposefully through the main open-plan office area. Usually heaving with activity, at this later hour it had been empty. I’d then paused to give a light tap on the door to Robin’s private office. Without bothering to wait for a reply, I’d gone through – straight into a nightmare.

For there, skirt rucked up around her thighs, was my husband’s PA. Samantha was sprawled across Robin’s desk, legs in the air. Her bare backside had been positioned over the ink blotter. I’d vaguely wondered if the Montblanc I’d gifted Robin last Christmas had been wedged up her arse. But all thoughts about fountain pens had fragmented as my brain struggled to process my husband giving not dictation, but dick tation.

It was one of those moments where the three of us had all reacted with split-second precision, causing us to bellow, squawk and shriek in perfect synchronicity.

In hindsight, it would have been most satisfying to have grabbed the waste bin and rammed it over Samantha’s head, before tugging hard on Robin’s balls. Unfortunately, I’d been ambushed by a tidal wave of tears. The weeping had been so copious as to be semi-blinding. I’d hardly been able to see. In fact, the flow from my tear ducts had not been dissimilar to the deluge I was now walking in with Cindy.

Certainly, my exit from Robin’s office had been horribly undignified. Desperate to flee, I’d spun on my heel, crashed into the doorframe, cannoned into a desk, bounced off the photocopier, then tripped over a typing chair before finally making my getaway.

‘Wait, Tilly,’ Robin had called after me. ‘Come back. I’ve made a stupid mistake.’

‘You WHAT?’ Samantha had screeched. ‘You told me you were leaving her!’

Their subsequent row had been drowned out by my strangled sobs and the roar of my heartbeat thanks to my aortic valves seemingly relocating to my eardrums.

Rather than head home, I’d bobbed down a side street. Retrieving my mobile from my handbag, I’d switched off the Locator app, then ducked inside the Stag Theatre.

Finding my seat, I’d been acutely aware of the empty space beside me. I’d quietly sobbed along to the comedian’s banter, while the audience had split their sides. To this day I have no idea what the guy’s name was. Nor could I repeat any of the jokes he told. But I do remember the man sitting in front of me. As I’d worked my way through a packet of Kleenex, he’d repeatedly turned to glare at me.

‘Are you aware that you sound like a trumpeting elephant?’ he’d hissed.

I’d regarded him through puffy eyes.

‘And are you aware’ – I’d snorted attractively – ‘that somewhere you’re depriving a village of an idiot?’