Page 2 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
‘Yeah, but there’ll be no Jude Law swigging brandy in mine.’ Erin took a step back before her colleague actually rammed the phone into her nose, wondering if they really could swap. Jess, their third-year student nurse, was the most naturally elegant woman Erin had ever met. She made every outfit look stylish, even ordinary green scrubs and black safety trainers, and always added a touch of sparkle. Today it was a jewelled flower clip in her hair, glinting amongst the dark lengths. Her face was a perfect oval, with well-defined cheekbones and evenly spaced brown eyes, ones that Erin always thought of as memorable and striking.
‘No, but you’ve got Oli Sterling instead, and he’s way hotter. Look!’ Jess tried again with the phone and Erin feigned disinterest, refusing to be distracted. She’d lost nearly a whole evening doing exactly this, and she’d already seen quite a lot more of her new colleague in those shots than she’d planned to. Her mind was tugging her back to the May Ball again; Oli’s determination when he’d seized her hand and hurried her away from everyone else, their very last chance beckoning.
‘Jess, as of tomorrow he’s going to be working with us, and therefore his social media is off limits as far as I’m concerned.’ At least it was now. Erin moved to Elaine’s desk and pretended to stare at the screen to avoid further scrutiny. Jess had become a good friend since Erin had moved here, and she didn’t often take no for an answer when her mind was set on a course of action.
‘You could throw a party to welcome him?’
‘For a lodger who’s only staying three weeks? Are you kidding me?’
‘Movie night, then,’ Jess said airily, giving Elaine a grin. ‘Don’t forget we’re all coming round to yours to binge Christmas Netflix. Starting withHolidate.’
‘Oh yeah. I love that film.’ Erin had forgotten it was coming up, and quickly tried to recall the details as Elaine chuckled. ‘Sorry, remind me again which Saturday we said?’
‘You’re hopeless, all you think about is work.’ Jess exaggerated her eye roll. ‘It’s two weeks on Saturday, six p.m. You’re doing the food and I’m on drinks. Are you going to invite Oli or shall I?’
‘Let’s just see how it goes. He probably won’t want to socialise with us seeing as we’ll all be working together.’ Erin could but hope. ‘I’m sure he’ll have his own plans, he’s literally just borrowing a bed.’
‘Maybe it’ll be yours,’ Jess said, laughing at the flustered look Erin shot her. Once Erin had wanted that as much as her hard-won Cambridge First. ‘Just think, there you’ll both be, squeezing past each other in that tiny kitchen and sharing a bathroom. You lucky girl.’
‘Not especially.’ Erin was imagining it too and her cheeks turned pink; such thoughts were way too close to the surface. She needed to get Jess off the subject of Oli before her friend began to suspect something was amiss. ‘Listening to you, anyone would think you’re not loved up with Noah now you’ve bought your first home together.’
‘Yeah, but a girl can still appreciate beauty, can’t she?’ Undaunted, Jess finally pocketed the phone. ‘I’m off, you can tell me tomorrow all about your first evening together. Night, Elaine.’
‘There won’t be anything to tell.’ Erin also said goodbye to Elaine and headed outside to her red pickup. She loved her company vehicle, even if it was always full of mud, the multitude of equipment she carried for work, and spare wet weather gear for any eventually. She was making a full and happy life here, and the prospect of Oli Sterling’s unwelcome presence was the only cloud on the steady horizon she’d worked hard to establish.
When she’d landed the job, finding somewhere to live was a priority and it was her mum who’d encouraged her to consider buying. For Erin, taking on a home of her own had been a huge leap and she’d worried about leaving her mum too, but they both knew it was time. Gil had let her know about a place that was for sale in Hartfell, and she’d fallen instantly in love with Bramble Cottage’s quirky corners and cosy nooks when she’d gone to view it. She already had a mortgage agreed in principle and a decent sum for a deposit after years of saving, and the sale was swiftly agreed. After she’d moved in, the thrill every time she arrived home had still not diminished. Until now, with Oli’s arrival imminent.
Frost was glittering on the cobbled lane when she got out of the pickup and crossed the few stone flags which formed her tiny front garden, dotted with pots and plants she hadn’t yet got around to replacing. Her neighbour Edmund, a couple of doors down, was a keen gardener and he kept them replenished with winter bedding for her, a favour she reciprocated in cake. Baking, along with the music she didn’t play as often as she’d like, were her two main passions outside of her career.
Erin opened the front door and stepped straight into the sitting room, grateful for the heat enveloping her. The previous owners had replaced the windows and central heating a few years ago, and she was very thankful for that and a compact stove on which she burned logs sparingly. Having grown up in town, she’d always imagined herself in some neat new-build, not this two-hundred-year-old cottage with scraps of evidence still speaking its history, like the initials carved into the rough beam for a mantel above the fireplace, level with her chin, or the handwritten recipe books she’d found in a kitchen cupboard and couldn’t bear to throw away. It didn’t bother her in the least that she could touch the banister at the bottom of the stairs in the kitchen with one hand and the sink with the other – not a selling point the estate agents had thought to include in the details.
A small Formica table and four plastic chairs from a charity shop sat in front of the sitting room window, and her ancient two-seater sofa and matching armchair were chintz. Not exactly the style she was after, but the deposit and legal costs had swallowed her savings, and she couldn’t afford to be choosy when she’d been offered them for nothing. They were comfy, which Erin appreciated when she curled on the sofa after a long day of consultations or a difficult call-out. This curious little place was hers now and she adored it, aware of how fortunate she was to be here.
At least Oli’s rent would help with the new bathroom she planned to install next year. The current one was wedged beside the kitchen off a squat hallway separating the kitchen from the sitting room. The bathroom dated from the 1980s, the shower a later addition fixed to the tiles above a turquoise bath. Paying the mortgage was her first priority each month and she carefully portioned out the rest of her salary once that was safely taken care of. There was no getting around the fact that repainting, choosing accessories and nicer furniture was on hold for now. But she couldn’t wait to celebrate her first Christmas here and decorate the cottage until it sparkled with the joys of the festive season.
She pulled her work boots off and left them on the rack behind the door, her feet in thick socks sinking into a cheerful floral rug over the stone-flagged floor. Three antique hooks hung above the boot rack, and she draped her coat from one, a tremor on her skin reminding her that soon Oli would be doing the same. She was still thinking about making a cup of tea or having a shower before he arrived when she caught sight of a sleek SUV pulling up outside her window.
She’d know his profile anywhere; she’d spent too many hours trying not to be distracted by it when they’d studied together at Catz, sitting up late night after night. So, he was early. Her pulse skittered as she took a hasty step back in case he spotted her staring. His head was bent, presumably checking his phone, and then he got out of the car with that easy, long-limbed elegance she thought she’d forgotten. Her palms were clammy as he went to the open boot, the light illuminating his face. He grabbed a leather bag and, as the boot glided shut, she wondered wildly why she’d ever thought his feet wouldn’t reach the end of her spare bed.
She took a long, steadying breath when he rapped on the door, wiping her palms on her legs. Memories of the May Ball were dancing through her mind again, taunting her with the promise they’d held then. She couldn’t think any more of that first kiss, his mouth hungry and demanding on hers as he’d slid an arm around her waist to pull her into him, how she’d kissed him back just as urgently.
She blinked hurriedly, trying to force those thoughts away. Oli was facing the lane, and he spun around as she opened the door, the familiar grin she remembered so well already in place. He’d always been able to unbalance her without even trying, and her body was reminding her again about his touch and what it felt like to be in his arms, to have him stare at her with desire and something more. Something she’d never allowed herself to name.
‘Hey, you must be Elaine. Great to meet you, I’m…’ Oli’s mouth fell into a gape as the bag in his hand crashed to the ground and Erin saw his face pale beneath the fading suntan. His smile dissolved as his eyes locked onto hers and a few moments dragged by before he muttered her name. ‘Erin? Seriously?’
Chapter Two
St Catharine’s College, Cambridge, Michaelmas term, thirteen years ago
Erin had thought the university open day and the information she’d received for new undergraduates had given her a good sense of what to expect, until she’d arrived in Cambridge on a mild September morning as a nervous and suddenly uncertain student full of doubts. She was worried about her mum too, helping to fetch her belongings by train and then bus, before settling Erin into very pleasant and fully furnished accommodation with meals catered, a luxury she wasn’t used to. Heather was often plagued by fibromyalgia flare-ups, which brought more pain and fatigue, and it was one of the reasons why she and Erin had moved in with Heather’s parents all those years ago.
Erin’s life, growing up with her family in an everyday Yorkshire town, was one of practicalities and without frill or fuss. Her grandad had retired early from mining with lungs no longer at full capacity, and they made do with Heather’s part-time hours in a florist shop and her nan’s cleaning job, plus the seamstress work that kept Joyce bent over her sewing table every day. As soon as she was old enough Erin had taken over the cooking, trying to ease the burden on everyone else. Her grandad did what he could, and it still frustrated him that he was no longer the main breadwinner in the family.
Their house was an ex-council one that her grandparents had scraped together enough money to buy, and most of the furniture was older than them. A narrow three-bedroom terrace with a long, thin garden, Erin slept in the box room at the front, which she’d decorated herself after saving up some earnings from her part-time job in a charity shop. Her grandad spent most of his time tinkering in his shed or pottering slowly in the garden, tending the vegetables he loved to grow and which they depended on.
Books and the library had been her escape, and she’d devoured everything, from children’s stories and classics like the Brontës and Jane Austen, to James Herriot, non-fiction books on the natural world and every kind of animal. She’d loved animals for as long as she could remember, and volunteered for a local shelter. Later Erin had spent her work experience weeks with a charity providing veterinary care for people who couldn’t easily afford it, those for whom life without their adored animals might have been almost unbearable. Occasionally she and her mum took the bus into the Dales for a day out, and Erin would dream of being a qualified vet and living in the place she’d fallen in love with, reading James Herriot’s books.
She was a gifted student, aware that hard work and excellent results would give her choices, and might help put her family on a path to a better life. One where they didn’t sometimes have to worry about choosing between heat or a hot meal in the winter. She’d left high school with A-starred results across the board and followed up with top marks in three sciences at college. Soon after she’d had offers from both Cambridge and Edinburgh.
