Twilight Song Read online

  Octavia was in the kitchen fixing them drinks, which they’d all agreed they could do with – out of relief more than celebration.

  ‘Is she on her own?’ Jack asked.

  ‘A lot of the time,’ Abby said. ‘Her husband works in London, and sometimes stays there during the week, and her two boys are grown up and both live there now too. There’s been talk of her and Ian moving down so that they’re closer, but I think Octavia needs this – the community, the village. And Ian likes the peace at weekends.’

  ‘Peace?’ Jack raised an eyebrow, and Abby laughed.

  ‘Of the countryside. They’re very affectionate, whenever I’ve seen them together.’

  ‘What is it?’ Jack asked, after a moment. ‘You look wistful.’

  Abby shrugged. ‘Nothing.’ She didn’t want to tell him how much she envied Octavia and Ian’s long, comfortable relationship. They might spend a lot of time apart, but they made the most of it when they were reunited.

  ‘You’ve been quiet this evening,’ Jack said, refusing to give up.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’ She shifted round to face him. ‘What about you? You were brilliant, the way you dealt with all those shitty questions.’

  ‘I was very close to snapping,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘Not – not physically, but … I wasn’t entirely naive, I was expecting a tough crowd, and it’s no less than I deserve. But some of them were …’ He shook his head.

  ‘Vicious,’ Abby finished.

  Jack gave her a rueful smile. ‘Welcome to the weird world of people knowing all about you, thinking that, in some respects, they own you, and certainly have a right to challenge your behaviour. I didn’t get a chance to thank Rosa before she left, will you do that for me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And thank you, too, for being there. I always feel calmer when I’m with you.’

  ‘Is that because you know you can let off steam if you need to?’

  Jack laughed. ‘Are we talking about arguing here, or …?’

  ‘For the last time, Jack, I am not going to be your fluffer!’ She grinned at his shocked expression, and then Octavia bustled into the room with three martinis, complete with olives, on a yellow tray.

  ‘Octavia,’ Abby said, ‘when you talked about having a drink, I didn’t realize you meant this!’

  ‘Nothing beats a good martini and this, I promise you, is a good martini. Cheers.’ They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks, both Abby and Jack making appreciative noises. It tasted amazing.

  ‘Jack, my love,’ Octavia continued. ‘Thank you for gracing my humble library with your presence, and please excuse the downright rudeness of some of the crowd. I have a list of names, and I’m going to bar each and every one of them.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Abby said, laughing. ‘The whole point of the event was to boost visitors to the library. That would be counterproductive.’

  ‘Please don’t take drastic measures on my behalf,’ Jack said. ‘I knew what to expect.’

  Octavia narrowed her eyes. ‘Some of the things they said were appalling.’

  ‘Most of them had an element of truth,’ he said, picking an olive out of his drink and popping it in his mouth.

  ‘Not the one about drugs though, surely?’ Octavia asked. ‘I didn’t believe that when I read it in Eddie’s interview, and I can’t imagine you snorting white powder up your nose in a posh men’s club, though I’m not provincial enough not to realize it goes on.’

  Jack stared into his drink. ‘I’ve done some things in my past that I’m not proud of,’ he said quietly, ‘and that was a very long time ago.’

  Octavia gasped, and Abby closed her eyes.

  The press had made references to his troubled past, and Jack had told her that he’d made mistakes, hurt his friends and family, so the admission didn’t shock her as much as it clearly did her neighbour. She just felt sad that, sitting under a public microscope, he wasn’t able to put it fully behind him.

  ‘Eddie’s interview with the newspaper was, in many respects, as fictional as his books,’ Jack continued. ‘And he has embellished everything to suit his motives. But I never claimed to be perfect, and there was a time when my behaviour left a lot to be desired.’

  Abby squeezed his shoulder, and Jack placed his hand over hers, his grip tight.

  ‘Abby’s writing a book you know,’ Octavia blustered, her eyes wide with shock. ‘A bird guide for children. One day I’ll be hosting you at the library, and I’ll have to borrow every single chair that Ryan owns.’ Her laugh was over-cheery.

  ‘Seriously?’ Jack asked, looking up. ‘Why haven’t you told me before now?’

  Abby should have throttled Octavia, but at least the tension in the room was dissolving. ‘Because I’m not, it’s … how did you even know?’

  ‘Because I saw your notebook on the coffee table when I came to borrow some white vinegar that time. Remember?’

  Abby didn’t have any white vinegar, but she had searched her cupboards on the off-chance and hadn’t realized her scribbles had been left out for all – and by all, it only needed to be Octavia – to see. ‘I, uhm—’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Jack said eagerly.

  ‘No. It’s not a real book, I’m just – I was trying to explain the difference between willow tits and marsh tits to my sister, and Willow wanted to know too, because of having the same name, so I was working out how to explain it in a way that she’d understand, and I—’

  ‘Came up with this ingenious idea,’ Octavia finished.

  ‘It’s just a few random thoughts. I’m not writing a book. I don’t have time, even if I wanted to write one, which I don’t.’ She laughed nervously.

  ‘It sounds like a brilliant idea,’ he said softly. ‘Will you show it to me?’

  Abby felt her cheeks burn. ‘It’s not a book,’ she repeated.

  ‘I don’t care. I’d still love to see your ideas – when you’re ready to share them.’

  Abby held his gaze, felt the pull of him, and then remembered Penelope’s resignation as she’d spoken to Mr Philpott on the phone.

  ‘Maybe one day,’ she said noncommittally, and looked away.

  They left after eleven, and while Abby wanted nothing more than to invite Jack in, Penelope’s overheard conversation was running on a loop through her mind. And she could see that he was exhausted, leaning on her doorframe as she unlocked the door and greeted a delighted Raffle.

  ‘Why are you so quiet, Abby?’ Jack crouched and let Raffle nuzzle his cheek. ‘I can understand if my admission to you and Octavia has given you second thoughts about spending time with me, but I promise you that’s all in the past. It wasn’t the reckless addiction Eddie made it out to be, and anyway, you were distant before that. What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s not you,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It’s the reserve.’ She crouched in front of him, wondering if Octavia was listening, if she’d left her front door slightly ajar. ‘It’s in even more trouble than I thought.’

  Jack frowned. ‘How so?’

  ‘I don’t have all the details, just some things I overheard but … I’ve not been working hard enough; I’ve let myself get distracted. I need to put more hours in. I feel like, if I don’t, I’ll be letting everyone down. What if Penelope has to sell Swallowtail House and the estate, and they turn it into new homes or something? I couldn’t live with myself.’

  ‘It won’t come to that,’ Jack said. ‘The reserve’s got too much going for it – you’re there, for a start.’

  ‘But I’m not doing enough,’ Abby protested. ‘Penelope’s been relying on me, and I’ve—’ She faltered, risking a glance at him.

  Jack held her gaze. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly, and Abby’s heart cracked a little bit. ‘What can I do to help? If the answer is to stay away, then of course I will.’

  She was more torn than she’d ever been. ‘I think I do need you to stay away,’ she said slowly. ‘But I don’t want – I mean, I—’
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  Jack tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear and looked at her with such tenderness that Abby had to use all her inner strength not to shuffle forwards and let herself be gathered into his arms. ‘I know about the pressures of work, remember? And I know how important this place is to you, and Penelope.’

  ‘But you – you won’t go anywhere, if I have to do this for the next couple of months?’ She sounded pathetic, but she had to be sure. She wondered if Flick Hunter, with her perfect smile, was waiting in the wings, ready to fill the space Abby left.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He gave Raffle a final stroke, then stood and helped Abby to her feet. ‘Whatever you need me to do, Abby, I’ll do. And if you ever want to see me, you know where I am.’ He leant forward and pressed his lips gently against her cheek. Abby closed her eyes, concentrating on his touch, however brief.

  She wanted to go back to the night in Peacock Cottage, for there to be no pressure at the reserve, no warnings from her sister about repeating the same destructive patterns, no confirmation from Jack that he had matched that stereotype, however long ago. She wanted the decision to be simple, and it was anything but.

  ‘Thank you for tonight,’ Jack said.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ It came out as a whisper, and she watched him give her a final fleeting smile and then stride down her short front path and turn towards the main road, the walls of Swallowtail House looming up ahead of him in the darkness.

  When cars started to roll into the car park on the Saturday morning of the early May bank holiday weekend, and Marek rushed outside in his bright orange event T-shirt, Abby felt like she was being held together by hope and coffee. She didn’t usually drink coffee, but as she’d burned the candle at both ends over the last few weeks she had discovered that a nice, comforting mug of Earl Grey didn’t cut it.

  The morning passed in a blur of set-ups and questions, and by midday, the field beyond the meadow was filling up with tents, families and groups of friends milling around the stalls and the activity areas, seeing what was on offer.

  Gavin was directing the final stall-holders down the track that led from the car park, behind the visitor centre and to the field, and Marek was checking the cordon they’d put in place along the bank of wildflowers, protecting the plants, bees and butterflies from the constant press of feet as visitors used the meadow trail to get to their final destination. There were signs saying the wildlife was to be enjoyed but not touched, and from the flutter of common whites and red admirals, earlier than usual because the weather was so warm, Abby was reassured that they weren’t being put off by the extra humans invading their patch.

  She shook her head and flapped the neck of her orange T-shirt, wishing she’d paid a little extra for a more breathable fabric. They had averted disaster three times already, and it was only lunchtime on the first day.

  When a young couple had realized, following a long drive from Norwich, that they’d left their tent in the hallway at home, Gavin had given them one of the staff tents, high-fiving Abby for ordering spares. Then a caravan had turned up, having ignored the event information and hoping to be admitted, and Abby had explained that it wouldn’t be allowed on the field. There had been a few minutes of tension before she had come up with a compromise, allowing the owners to park in the far corner of the car park, enjoy the festivities and return to their caravan to sleep in. Lastly, the mobile bar had discovered that their freezer had broken down en route and their ice was now a large tray of water. Stephan had produced the bags of ice he’d bought on the off-chance, so all was well for the G & Ts and glasses of Kopparberg that would inevitably be drunk throughout the day.

  Abby returned to the visitor centre, her head swimming. Now it was all happening, she was worried it hadn’t been a good idea in the first place. Would they have irreparably damaged the field and the meadow trail with all the footfall and tent poles? Should they have allowed alcohol? It wasn’t very likely that any visitors would get too raucous, but were the careful cordons they’d set up and all the extra volunteer support enough to stop anyone ending up in the lagoon? Abby had researched events put on by other wildlife-centred venues, and felt hers was in keeping with the spirit of the reserve, but was it too big?

  Just as she reached the bird feeders a family approached, a rolled-up tent tucked under the dad’s arm. Her smile brightened when she saw who it was.

  ‘Evan, how lovely to see you! You’ve grown.’ She threw caution to the wind and embraced the boy, who was noticeably taller than when she’d first met him back in the autumn. ‘You’ve come to camp?’

  ‘And go to all the talks and events, Abby. I want to see everything I can. Are we allowed to go in the hides at dusk?’

  ‘All except the forest hide,’ Abby said. ‘Because of the steep stairs. There’ll be staff and volunteers on hand to help out, to lead walks and tell you where you can and can’t go. I’m so glad you’re here! Hi,’ she said, greeting Evan’s parents as he headed eagerly in the direction of the meadow trail. ‘I’m so happy he’s still interested, that his enthusiasm hasn’t worn off.’

  ‘He’s more than interested,’ his dad said, laughing. ‘I’m convinced he’s going to go into wildlife conservation. He’s already planning out his options at secondary school, and he’s only in year four.’

  ‘I think we’ve got this place, and you, to thank for that.’

  Abby brushed his mum’s compliment away. ‘The passion was there before Meadowsweet, we just helped bring it out of him.’

  ‘He’s still got that notebook you gave him,’ his mum added. ‘It sits on his desk, and he writes down everything he sees in the garden.’

  ‘Really?’ Abby said, and because her nerves were frazzled and she’d had barely any sleep, she felt the warning prickle of tears. ‘That is so lovely to hear, thank you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ his mum said quietly, and squeezed her wrist as they walked past.

  ‘Abby,’ Penelope said, as she stepped inside the calm and cool of the visitor centre. ‘You look like you’re preparing yourself for a life sentence, not a night in a tent.’

  ‘Are you coming outside?’ Abby asked. Her boss was wearing a loose white shirt, khaki cropped trousers, and Birkenstocks showing off purple-painted toenails. Her long grey hair was in a loose ponytail.

  ‘Of course I am. Are you?’

  ‘I just need to …’ She scrabbled at the papers on the desk, unsure what she was looking for.

  ‘Abby Field,’ Penelope said forcefully. ‘I know that, despite the event having already started, you’ve still got doubts. Need I remind you that the reserve will have to close if nobody comes to visit it, and the wildlife may be at peace once that happens, granted, but their habitats will no longer be meticulously looked after, the reed beds will take over, species will be forced out and the bitterns will not get the extra food they need to flourish. And if my efforts fail, and I have to sell Swallowtail House and all its land, then whoever buys it may decide to bring it into the twenty-first century, and everything will be gone, just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Replaced with another estate of identical houses, driveways that don’t allow the land to breathe, patches of AstroTurf. If I could speak for the inhabitants of the reserve, I would say that a weekend of fun, laughter and noise on the adjoining field was worth holding onto their sanctuary long-term, wouldn’t you?’

  Abby stared at the desk. ‘Yes, Penelope.’

  ‘Oh, dear Lord, I didn’t mean to make you cry. You’ve run yourself into the ground. What on earth is wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Abby turned away from her boss and wiped at her eyes. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and then that hand forced her to turn around and she was pulled, awkwardly, against Penelope’s slender chest.

  ‘I know you care about this place as much as I do,’ Penelope murmured. ‘And I’m sorry if I’ve been harsh on you. I’m under a lot of pressure. But it hasn’t escaped my attention how hard you’ve worked to make today happen. It’s your job, but it doesn’t m
ean I’m not grateful for the effort you’ve put in. Now, run home and give that husky some attention, and I’ll see you back here in an hour.’

  ‘Penelope, I don’t need to—’

  ‘Go, Abby. And when you return, I want to see a smile.’ She tightened her hug for a second, patted her twice on the shoulder as if to spur her on, then released her. ‘Smile, and you’re halfway there,’ she added, leaving Abby perplexed, and not a little shocked by her tenderness.

  When she got back to the reserve, feeling refreshed after some quality time with Raffle, a ham and cheese sandwich and a pot of tea, Abby didn’t have time to draw breath before Gavin intercepted her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked warily.

  ‘Two things, neither of which you’re going to like.’

  Abby closed her eyes. ‘Hit me.’

  ‘Number one, Flick Hunter is here, can you bloody believe the cheek of it? Though she does look positively gorgeous.’

  Abby swallowed, trying to work out why the Wild Wonders presenter would make an appearance at their event. Was she checking out the competition, or had she been to Peacock Cottage and discovered it was happening that way?

  ‘And two?’ she asked, trying to push the thought away.

  ‘The storyteller’s got gastroenteritis but has only just let us know,’ Gavin said. ‘So, in half an hour we’re going to have an eager circle of children waiting to be brainwashed into adoring nature with a selection of carefully chosen stories, and nobody to deliver them.’

  ‘Can’t you do it?’ Abby asked. ‘You’ve got young children.’

  ‘I’m hopeless at story time,’ Gavin said, holding his hands up in submission. ‘Besides, this bloke’s supposed to be a proper writer, and if I turn up in my Day-Glo reserve T-shirt and try and pull it off, I’ll get lynched.’

  ‘Small children will not lynch you, Gavin.’

  ‘What about their parents? Why not call Mr High-and-mighty-author, see if he can fill in? You’re pals now, aren’t you?’

  Abby bit her lip, barely noticing when Gavin disappeared, refusing to help fix the problem he’d just delivered to her.