Chapter 1 #4
The subject line glared in bold black letters: Congratulations! You’ve Won a Stay at Clockmaker’s Cottage!
Pippa’s jaw dropped. ‘No. Way!’
Rose squealed, grabbing her arm. ‘Open it! Open it! It was meant to be!’
Hands shaking, Pippa clicked on the email.
From: The Horology Committee
Subject: Congratulations! You’ve Won a Stay at
Clockmaker’s Cottage!
Dear Ms Bell,
In association with Mr Horace Vale, the Horology Committee is delighted to inform you that your entry has been selected as one of the winning tickets in this year’s exclusive accommodation lottery.
We are therefore delighted to invite you to enjoy a complimentary stay for the duration of the Puffin Island Horology Clockmakers’ Convention at the historic Clockmaker’s Cottage, once home to Walter and Horace Vale.
Your prize includes:
- Three nights’ accommodation at Clockmaker’s Cottage (check-in Friday, check-out Monday).
- Exclusive access to all parts of the cottage not usually open to the public.
- A complimentary meal at The Sea Glass Restaurant with a special guest.
Keys to the property are located in the lock box to the left of the front door.
Access code: 0210.
We look forward to welcoming you to Puffin Island and hope you enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Warm regards,
The Horology Committee
Pippa stared at the screen, completely in shock. ‘I … won. I actually won! I’m going to stay at Clockmaker’s Cottage.’
Rose clutched her by the shoulders, shaking her. ‘What the …! People don’t just win things like this! This is fate. Actual fate!’
Pippa’s mouth was dry, her pulse a drum in her ears. ‘Oh my God. My life is a romcom!’
Rose was looking at the email. ‘I think you may have company.’ She tapped the screen. ‘It says “one” of the winners.’
Pippa reread the email and saw that Rose was correct. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘This is just what I need.’
Rose looked out of the window. ‘The question is, how are you going to get there?’
Rain battered the glass, wind driving it sideways in relentless sheets. It was St Swithin’s Day, and the weather seemed determined to prove the legend right. The news had already reported flooded roads, fallen branches, and chaos everywhere.
‘The convention starts in the morning,’ said Rose, ‘which means you’ve only got tonight. Honestly? I’m not liking your chances.’
Pippa glanced back at her phone and opened the train app.
‘You’re right. All the later trains have been cancelled due to flooding and debris on the line.
’ She scrolled, her heart racing. ‘Except…’ Her head flew up.
‘There’s one leaving at four p.m. Thirty minutes!
I don’t even have time to go home and pack. I’ll miss it!’
Rose stood up and went into full survival mode. ‘You’ll have to take some of my clothes. I’ll get my suitcase.’
‘I haven’t even got time to get changed.’
‘Then go like that,’ shouted Rose from the bedroom, pulling her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe.
‘In my wedding dress?’
‘Honestly? Iconic! But change your shoes. There’s a pair of trainers by the front door.’
Pippa hurried into the hallway then stared at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall by the front door.
Her mascara was slightly smudged, veil askew, bouquet abandoned on the foot of the stairs.
‘Well … I’m kind of already dressed for a dramatic flight, aren’t I?
’ She laughed, jamming her feet into the trainers while Rose packed some clothes then wrestled the suitcase from the bedroom into the hallway, along with a rucksack that dangled precariously from her other arm.
‘Take snacks and a coat!’ Rose commanded, suddenly all military efficiency.
Pippa lunged for the kitchen counter, snatched a cereal bar and a banana, and shrugged into Rose’s enormous parka. The hem of her wedding dress ballooned beneath it, making her look like a yeti. She tried to zip it but gave up when the teeth refused to cooperate over the meringue-shaped layers.
Rose flung the suitcase upright. ‘Right. Go, go, go!’ she ordered, grabbing the car keys. ‘We have no time to waste.’
They hurtled out of the front door and into the rain-lashed street like two women in a heist film, only instead of balaclavas, one of them was tangled in a bustle of tulle and a crooked veil which she cast aside.
A neighbour’s terrier went berserk, barking from the arm of a chair in the house opposite, as if alerting the entire street to some scandal unfolding outside.
Across the road, a man crouched beside his car, swearing quietly at a flat tyre.
When he spotted them he straightened up and gawped.
‘Afternoon wedding or evening escape?’ he called.
‘Bit of both!’ Pippa yelled back.
Rose bundled the suitcase onto the back seat and slid behind the wheel – Pippa was already in the passenger seat – then switched on the engine. The car coughed, spluttered, then grudgingly roared to life.
‘Please don’t crash,’ Pippa muttered, clutching the rucksack on her knee like a comfort blanket.
Rose gunned the accelerator, the tyres skidding on the slick tarmac. ‘Relax, I’m basically Lewis Hamilton.’
‘You stalled three times on your driving test.’
‘And still passed!’ Rose retorted triumphantly, sending the windscreen wipers into overdrive.
The roads were treacherous, slick with rain and strewn with puddles that reflected the flashing glow of headlights.
Storm winds rattled the trees and sent leaves skittering across the tarmac.
It wasn’t the kind of weather Pippa would usually venture out in, but needs must. Every roundabout was a white-knuckle turn.
Every red light felt like a negotiation between momentum and Rose’s brakes.
‘Okay, if we skid, just scream,’ Rose said, leaning forward in her seat and squinting through the windscreen at the lashing rain.
Pippa gnawed on the cereal bar as if it could double as a stress ball. Her phone buzzed in her lap with another message from Rob, followed by one from her aunt who lived in Devon. She shoved it back into her coat pocket. She couldn’t deal with any of them now.
‘Think positive thoughts,’ Rose sang as they fishtailed slightly around a bend.
‘Positive thought: I’m going to die in a Ford Fiesta, and the headline will read “Runaway Bride Ploughed Off Road”.’
‘Catchy,’ Rose said, eyes fixed ahead. ‘But maybe let’s workshop that later.’
By the time the train station came into sight, Pippa’s nerves were stretched tighter than the elastic in her garter. The digital clock above the entrance ticked forward with merciless efficiency.
‘One minute!’ Rose gasped, swerving into a space with a dramatic handbrake turn that absolutely no one but her would have called ‘controlled’.
They bolted across the car park, dragging the suitcase through puddles, the once romantic waves of Pippa’s hair reduced to a soppy mess. A group of teenagers loitering by the ticket machine whooped as though they were watching the best episode of a soap opera they’d ever seen.
‘Good luck, missus!’ one of them shouted, filming the whole scene on his phone.
Pippa would no doubt be a meme by morning: Runaway Bride vs. Train Timetable.
The tannoy announced, ‘The four p.m. to Sea’s End is now arriving at platform two.’
‘Oh God, that’s mine!’ Pippa cried.
The train nosed into the station. Commuters shuffled into place, casting Pippa wide-eyed looks, and it was no wonder. It probably looked as though Miss Havisham herself had decided to take public transport.
Rose shoved the suitcase towards her. ‘Go, Pip! I love you!’
‘Thank you! I love you too!’ Pippa shrieked, pelting down the platform, her trainers splashing in every puddle.
The guard’s whistle pierced the air.
‘No, no, no!’ She flung herself forward, arm outstretched like some slapstick action heroine.
A stranger caught her elbow and heaved her up the final step. The doors whooshed shut behind her.
Still standing on the platform, Rose pumped her fist in triumph. ‘She made it!’
Pippa stored her suitcase in the luggage rack and then collapsed into the nearest seat, her chest heaving and laughter bubbling up despite the panic.
She had done it. She had actually done it.
She’d left the wedding, survived Rose’s driving, outrun the storm, and caught the train by the skin of her teeth.
For the first time all day, she felt the faintest spark of exhilaration.
The adventure had officially begun. A weekend of clocks was exactly what she needed.
Puffin Island, here I come!