Page 2 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
‘Granddad will look after him during the day.’
‘He’s eighty,’ Ollie pointed out.
‘Eighty-one, actually. But he’s still sprightly, and if you’re agreeing to type up his memoir, then he can’t really complain.’ Melissa grinned. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘Does he even like dogs?’
‘Oh yeah, loves them. He’ll be made up – about all of it.’
Ollie felt a rush of something – triumph, elation, relief? She could start again at a new job in a brand-new bookshop, help Melissa’s granddad, Liam, turn his handwritten history into a typed document, take Henry for long walks to the beach, getting fresh air and exercise. She could have a more peaceful, fulfilling life.
The only thing missing would be Melissa, who was following her heart and the sun to Portugal.
Ollie grasped her friend’s hand. Her phone sat between them on the sofa cushion, the email with its life-changing news still open, like a talisman.
‘I’m going to miss you like fucking crazy,’ Ollie said.
Melissa laughed. ‘You will. But you’ll be living your perfect Cornish life, and you’ll soon forget about me.’
‘Not a chance,’ Ollie said, laughing along with her. ‘But it is going to be perfect, isn’t it? God.’ She tipped her head back, letting out a groan. ‘I cannotwait.’
‘A perfect, wholesome, Instagram-worthy life,’ Melissa announced.
They swapped smiles, Ollie unsure why her friend’s assessment of the move she was about to make didn’t sit right with her. She pushed the discomfort aside and thought, again, how that one shocking, painful incident had given her an opportunity that she never imagined she’d get. What she couldn’t do, she realised, as her mind started buzzing with plans and to-do lists, was waste it.
Chapter Two
Two months later…
Ollie had woken up to the soft smudge of an autumn mist feathering the view that, even though it had been hers for the last two weeks, she still hadn’t got used to. There was the gentle green of the lawn outside her converted barn, then the rolling hills beyond, parting perfectly in the middle like a child’s painting to reveal the grey-blue slice of sea in the near distance. The sun had risen slowly – it was noticeably taking its time the closer the year crept to Christmas – and once it was up, it hadn’t been strong enough to blast away the soft grey cloak that, if anything, made the landscape even prettier.
But now the inside of her converted barn mirrored the outside, because Ollie hadn’t yet fixed on the optimum number of incense sticks she needed to get the smell without smoking herself out of her own home. She swore, wafted,then gave up and pushed open the French doors, letting in a blast of October cool.
Henry lifted his nose off his paws, sniffed the air, and bounced up on his strong legs.
‘No Henry!’ Ollie shouted, but her dog had already rushed through the open door. ‘Fuck!’ At least he wasn’t bold enough to stray much beyond the potted bay trees on the patio, despite the temptation of the lush, well-mown grass.
Ollie followed her dog outside and stood barefoot, hands on hips, on the cold paving slabs, while Henry bounded and yapped, running up to her and away, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune at being allowed out, into the day, so soon after waking up.
Ollie tried to look cross, but she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.
She had been nervous about assuming full responsibility for Henry, but Melissa had taken him to training classes when he was a puppy, so his moments of being a terror were few and far between. And, now he was eight months old, he was settling into himself. Still boisterous and full on, but slightly less of a whirling dervish. He was a source of happiness and amusement, and while she was still trying to find her feet in her new surroundings, he was a constant. Of course, that would all change tomorrow. She had the rest of the day to get in the headspace for her new job.
Being mindful was a new approach for Ollie, and she wasn’t used to it yet. In London, she had rolled from one thing to the next: a busy day at work, a book event or drinks with friends, going to a play or picnic with Melissa, dinner with Guy. She had rarely stopped to think abouthow she really felt, assess her stress levels, wonder whether she was doing herself – or others – any good.
Now she was determined to look after herself more – her mental health, as well as her physical. But every time she committed to half an hour of incense and meditation, of deep breathing or yoga, something went wrong. Whether it was a smoke-out, Henry deciding he needed a wee or her phone blaring because she’d forgotten to put it on silent, Ollie’s attempts at living in the moment were always foiled. She hated when people let her down, but what was really unforgivable was when she did it to herself.
She scooped her hair up – long, thick and wavy, her natural reddish-brown dyed a bright, cherry red with blonde highlights – into a ponytail, and stretched her arms skywards, breathing through the ache in her shoulder.
‘Hello day!’ She inhaled, bringing air slowly into her belly then her lungs, the way her mindfulness app had taught her. The strong scent of patchouli wafted out of the doors and mingled with Cornwall’s sea-salt air. She settled into a rhythm, closed her eyes and attempted to tune out Henry’s bouncing circles and high-pitched barks, but then another voice disturbed the quiet.
‘Is everything OK here? Your oven on fire, Ollie lass?’ It was deep and rumbling, a strong Cornish accent mixed with a hint of the Irish heritage in Melissa’s family, and Ollie already knew it well.
She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I’m good, thanks, Liam. I just lit too many incense sticks.’
‘Ah. Right.’ He nodded sagely.
Melissa’s granddad, Liam Byrne, was the owner of Foxglove Farm – and Foxglove Barn, which she was rentingfrom him. He was eighty-one years old but looked ten years younger, with a tall, rangy frame, mid-brown hair only just beginning to grey at the temples, and a narrow face. His dark eyes were kind, accompanying an easy manner that made him instantly approachable. Melissa had explained that he had fixated on the need to write his personal history because he was worried that his time was short, but other than a slight limp, he seemed fit and healthy.
