The Turn Of The Page. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 I know, the garden needs dealing with. And it will be, in a moment. But I’m seizing time to read the paper…and it’s really nice taking ten minutes for myself. I’ve stopped feeling guilty about the, taking time for myself. I’ve realised that I need it, like I need food and sleep. And it does help that the girls are older – a lot older, from their point of view, I guess: they’re all walking, talking, potty-trained and they have each other for company. They’re not lonely.
Me, in one way I’m only a bit older. If I’d gone to university, as we’d been planning I should do, I wouldn’t even have finished my first year yet. In another way – I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years. Whilst simultaneously feeling totally out of my depth. I’m going to write to old Mr Mellish this week. I don’t know why I’ve been putting it off, feeling reluctant to do so.
I always read the business pages. After all, this is what I would have been studying. In fact, I usually turn there first and today was no exception. North Chocolates has never been floated, so I can’t check their share prices, but I do look for any articles about the firm. So far there haven’t been any that I’ve seen…
Oh. Today was bucking that trend.
And it looked like I’d missed quite a bit when I wasn’t getting a paper, as the writer was doing a recap of previous articles from those dates. I could check them out on line in full – if I’d had a line and a signal and a working phone or computer.
It was worrying reading.
“…Now that probate has been granted” (this was from a previous article) “Mr Garratt-Oldsby, the executor, is proposing to sell North Chocolates to a conglomerate, arguing that this is the best way to provide job security…” Jill would have hated that!
Another previous article. “In a surprise twist in the drama of North Chocolates, another player has entered the stage. Most of our readers will remember the tragedy that overtook the family…” This was never a financial page article originally! The writing was far too emotive. “Mr Mellish, who has equal powers and, most importantly, power of veto, says that for all he knows the seventh shadowy player in this story may not have perished. No proof of death has been presented, owing to the impossibility of recovering the wrecked vehicle…Amanda Woodridge, their adopted daughter, has executive powers invested in her as well, and he considers it his sacred duty to preserve …”
I bet old Mr Mellish never said “sacred duty.” Not his style at all.
And then the current stuff. “This weekend’s worrying events (see full article on page 3)…” I turned to page 3, a feeling of dread washing over me.
“Solicitor’s lucky escape…” I breathed again.
But it still wasn’t good news. Mr Mellish’s office had been burgled. And then burnt down. And his home had been burnt down too: both at the same time and in the middle of the night.
What had saved him was the fact the he hadn’t been there. He’d been hiking in the woods as usual, staying in his cabin hidden away up in the hills.
Garrett-Oldsby has expressed his sympathy, saying that it was probably someone local who had a grudge against Mr Mellish. I just thought: this is all about the firm. Still. Thank goodness I hadn’t written to him! My letter would have been there, and whoever was behind this would have known that I was still alive and so were the girls. Thank goodness I’d wanted to wait until I’d cleaned and tidied the little house that had sheltered us. I was tending the garden almost mechanically, thinking about what I’d just read. The danger to the girls was still real. The danger to me too. It wasn’t safe yet to claim their inheritance. And mine as well, from the sound of it. I was going to have to rethink everything. It felt like going back to square one, back to the living from day-to-day, unable to plan for any future. But as I started to deal with the weeds that were threatening one of my seedlings, I thought again. I would be planning for a different future. A future on this island for the time being. But I also needed to bring the girls up to be ready to take up their inheritance.
Whilst simultaneously keeping them safe. And keeping them in ignorance of it. Hmmm… Something I’d learnt in school came to my mind a couple of weeks later while I was fishing. Monasteries used to work like this! A stewpond for the fish (eels featured a lot, apparently) vegetable and herb gardens…When the girls got older, they could help me with all of this. And I was pretty sure that if things got desperate, I could ask Mr Miller and his wife for help. I wasn’t alone.
I needed to work out how to make a business of my vegetable patch. I had an outlet, so what I needed to do was ramp up production. Was there any part of it that I could mechanise to speed things up? I’d have to think about that. Right. That’s the girls safely penned in with loads of toys and books to keep them happy. Those dungarees aren’t going to fit beyond this year – I’ve got the shoulder straps extended as far as they’ll go! And just about everything else they own is also too small. Another problem… This is everything cleared out of the house (memo to self: get those pans properly cleaned up). And this is me, ready to get the walls and ceiling scrubbed down and cleaned up. I was planning to do this before we left: now that we’re staying, it’s even more important. And this is afterwards! Not bad, huh? I just need to get those pans cleaned up, and this will look great. Let’s get this lot on the line, and start another day. I’ve been planning…now all I need is to earn enough money to start making my plans a reality. What could I do to make the gardening more efficient? Fishing is so my thinking time. We scraped by last year, with some help over the winter, but this year I’ve started much earlier, and I’m planning to grow a lot more. However, there are still only so many hours in the day. I reckon if I can cut the time I spend watering, that’ll help. I’m hoping that there’ll be something, some ideas in the DIY books Jill had sent up for Mark and her to learn from.
Time’s a resource too, isn’t it? Not one that I can write down on my balance sheet, but it’s limited, and I have to think how I use it. Someone has dropped off a pair of gnomes. Go figure! The children love them – they keep moving them round the garden, given half a chance. When I have time to keep and eye on them, I let the three of them out of the pens! They’re pretty good at understanding No now, and they do stay away from the pond, but I can’t do anything else at the same time. So they don't get much chance to be totally free-range. It has taken weeks to earn enough for the parts for this, but I’ve finally got there. And it will make life a lot easier. Once I get it up and running, that is… It’s pretty, isn’t it? “Take a couple of nice dresses with you,” Jill had said. “And we’ll go out all three of us one evening for a nice meal, and we’ll do an afternoon tea, you and I together. I want to say thank you for all you’ve done for us, all you’ve been to us, before you go off to university.”
This was going to be for the evening meal. I couldn’t resist putting it on one last time. But actually, I’m about to unpick it and use the fabric to make something for the girls. They have practically nothing to wear! And I’m going to need the money I’m saving up for winter clothes. I’ve got a detailed financial plan now… And there we are. Three little girls in cute matching dresses. I made the pattern out of the ever-useful newspaper. I’m glad they’re all still small – hand-sewing is not quick, and I couldn’t just tack the dresses together. I would never have believed that my school sewing lessons would have come in useful for something though! And thank goodness for beach sandals – their toes can poke out of the ends as much as they need to. This folder, and the paper in it – they were going to be for me to make notes on those textbooks. Ready for my course starting. Now I’m making notes on our finances, on my business plan, counting every last penny. Twice. And using this year’s figures to forecast for next year, working out what I can put aside for when they outgrow the cots (we are going to have four beds!). And clothes and shoes: they’re a constant need.
Mr Miller said that there is a place where I can sell all their stuff that they’ve finished with later on – the potty, the cots, the toys, the books. I’d love to keep the books as a memento of Mark and Jill, but that’s not going to be possible. We’ll need every penny.
We’ll need every penny, but this is going to work. We can – just – do this.

The Turn Of The Page. Chapter 2

Chapter 2. I’d managed to fit in quite a fair bit of dozing, one way and another. Daisy was now crashed out in the cot and Hazel and Fern were fed, clean, and playing happily: I could hear them babbling away. And it hadn’t rained this morning: I could grab ten minutes to sit down and read the paper. And Mark and Jill would definitely arrive today, and I could move out to the Island Inn with its spa and quiet bedrooms and delicious food that I didn’t have to cook for myself in between managing three small children. Bliss! I actually felt the colour leave my face as I unfolded the paper and saw the headlines.
“Crash Was No Accident!”
“North Chocolates Family Forced Off Road To Plunge To Death!”
I read the words but my mind couldn’t actually believe that they were true. I read the article four times before it even made sense to me.
They should have been here when I was expecting them. They would have been here: early. The car had gone off the road along the cliffs on the mainland side. The assumption had been that it was driver error, that Mark or Jill had dozed off at the wheel.
“We had done a very full day’s business,” Mr Garratt-Oldsby, their solicitor had said.
No-one had seen it happen – or at any rate no-one had come forwards. And then a bird photographer had gone to retrieve his camera that he’d had set up to film the dawn flights.
“I was just hoping for some good shots, but the camera had slipped a bit – some animal must have knocked it – so it was filming the road as well as the sky. I nearly didn’t even bother looking at it, but you never know what you might have caught, so I checked it anyway.” What he had caught was Mark and Jill’s car being forced off the road and over the edge by a small – and stolen – lorry. Which had now been found, burnt out in a disused quarry, so no clues there. There was a map, showing just where the accident had happened, and an explanation about local currents and depth and undertow – it all came down to “What goes off there is never seen again.”
Never seen again.
Mark and Jill were never going to be seen again?
I looked out at the bleak gray sea and couldn’t believe that they were somewhere under there, lost forever. I unfolded the paper with numb fingers that fumbled at the pages and carried on reading inside. Pictures and biographies of both of them. That map again and a more detailed explanation of why it was highly unlikely that their bodies would ever be recovered. “Too dangerous for even the most experienced of divers…” A financial article about North Chocolates’ market share, how it had grown and some decently restrained speculation about its future. And then something that made my heart jerk inside my ribs.
“The tragedy is even greater when we realise that these callous thugs also murdered three innocent children…” I leapt to my feet, the blood rushing back into my face as quickly as it had left it, and raced into the house. The children were just where I’d left them – Daisy asleep in her cot and Fern and Hazel each looking at a book. Of course they were safe.
Everyone, though, thought they were dead. But what if someone found out that they were alive? Their parents had been killed…
A phrase from Jill’s letter (her last message to me. Ever.) came to my mind. “I’m so glad the girls are safe with you…”
“I’ll keep them safe, I promise,” I said softly. “If I can. I will do all that is possible…”
How I was going to do it, I had no idea. I had a little money, but not much. And I couldn’t apply for any other funds. And I didn’t know who I could trust either. We were going to need this garden. By the next day, my brain was beginning to work, albeit a bit sluggishly. I’d better extend it. Maybe I could sell some produce, later, as well as store it for the winter. Time to get to work… It was raining. The place was grubby. The children cried for Mamma and Dadda some of the time. But they were fed and healthy: I was keeping their bodies together. And I could usually soothe them, eventually. They were used to me being around, looking after them, playing with them, from their birth. They’d heard my voice while they were still in the womb.
There was no-one to soothe me. I fell asleep with tears on my face, time after time and woke with stiff cheeks and sticky eyes. And summer moved towards autumn. Daisy and I mostly spent time together at night – and not much time either, because I needed some sleep too. I’d got them into a sleeping rhythm that more or less worked without some poor child crashed out on the floor. Daisy sharing my bed had been a disaster that had involved falling out of bed (both of us) down the side of the bed against the wall (Daisy) and getting no sleep at all (me). The disastrous day that had followed that night had convinced me that I needed sleep if I was going to be able to take care of the children. And now it’s autumn and moving towards winter. And we’re still all in one piece, though my clothes are loose on me. But the children are growing nicely. I’ve got them all potty trained (and just in time!), and they don’t ask for Mark or Jill as often. They’ve taken to calling me Madda – sounds like Mamma and Dadda rolled into one, which is quite apt. I’ll keep it as a name.
Plus – it doesn’t sound like Amanda. I can say it’s short for Madeleine, which was my great-great aunt’s name.
Mark and Jill’s story faded off the front page after a few days. I kept reading, in the hope that it would turn out not to be true, that they would have had a miraculous escape, fallen onto a ledge or something and been rescued eventually. No. But something that did come up was an article saying that “their adopted daughter, Amanda, was presumably also in the car as she has not been seen or heard of since the accident either.”
I’m supposed to be dead too. So Madeleine Woodridge’s descendent is a safer person to be. Another midnight chat with Daisy, before I sleep for a bit. Bless her, she’s really good at entertaining herself. I need to replace the other door before winter, but I think I can manage that. I have a market for my surplus fruit and veg – organised via the paper delivery. Once a week, this old guy – Mr Miller – turns up in a van and collects what I have and pays me for it. I think we exchange a sentence at a time.
“One of Madeleine Woodridge’s tribe are you?”
“I ‘member her quite well.”
“You’ve got a look of her.”
“She was one determined lady.”
“She’d be pleased to see you’re keeping the place up.”
We live week to week. I can’t think ahead, can’t plan ahead. Sometimes we just live day to day. This is too hard! I should have been at university by now. Enjoying myself. Learning. Building for my future. And instead…this. Some cleaning has to happen, I suppose. And today is surprisingly mild: one of those fluke late-autumn days with a soft warm breeze. I can open all the doors to dry everything off. And we won’t have another day like this before spring, so I better make a start. And let’s see if I can get the filth off this as well. And wash that disgusting curtain too. That was the last mild day! It will be winter in earnest soon. And I don’t know what the girls will wear next winter, because these snowsuits (which we’d brought with us for chilly days on the beach) are getting a bit tight already. I hope they last this winter. But the girls have been splendidly healthy – no colds or coughs because there’s no-one to catch them from. Makes a change from the endless round of runny noses they used to bring home from playgroup and nursery. They’re eating home-grown food and fresh-caught fish (that pond has its uses!) and getting loads of fresh air. I think Mark and Jill would be happy with how they’re growing. Snow! But we have new doors, so we’re cosy enough. And seeing as I can’t work on the garden, I have more time to spend with my little sisters. Which is nice. And I also have more energy too, which is also nice. The downside is that I also have more time to spend with my own thoughts.
This is so hard. I have been living day-to-day, just surviving. I don’t know who I can turn to. I don’t know who I can trust. If I write to old Mr Mellish, and tell him that the girls are still alive, will that put their lives in danger again? Can I afford to take that risk?
And I miss Jill and Mark so much… I cried yesterday for hours. And it wasn’t missing Jill and Mark that undid me – it was a simple act of kindness.
Old Mr Miller turned up in his van, which was totally unexpected, as I’ve nothing to sell. Then he handed me a gift, which was even more unexpected. And then spoke three whole sentences at one go!
“Old Madeleine Woodridge, she did us some favours in her time.” A pause.
“Figured maybe you could use this food.” Another pause.
“My wife knitted these for your little ones, out of some odds and ends of wool she had left over.”
I was desperately trying not to cry there and then. I figured it would have him high-tailing it for the hills.
“Thank you so much.” I couldn’t get any more words out without dissolving into tears.
He went red, and with an obvious effort got a fourth sentence out.
“Jus bring your little ones up to help others if they get the chance.” The he did practically flee to his van!
And I went inside and cried and cried and cried. I don’t think I’d realised how lonely I’d been feeling. Because I’m never alone…but that kindness, that someone-else-has-thought-about-me moment undid me completely. I hadn’t realised how desperately worried I’d been either, until I felt the burden lift, with that simple gift of food supplies. We’d make it through the winter now. Other small kindnesses have come our way. The newspaper subscription ran out a while ago – Mark and Jill had signed up for the quarter only – and I had no way of knowing what was going on for a while. But then the paper girl started dropping one off from time to time. When I eventually caught her, I told her I couldn’t afford a paper again.
“It’s okay. It’s a spare from yesterday. My boss said to drop it off – he used to do that for old Mrs Woodridge apparently. Better going to you than going to waste.” She smiled cheerfully at me and cycled off.
So now from time to time I can catch up with what’s going on in the world, I know what day it is, and it also comes in very useful for toilet paper too! Nothing goes to waste here. A farmer came by and dropped off a load of logs. “My grandma and your great-grandma was good friends,” he said gruffly. “She’d have been real mad at me if I didn’t look after Madeleine’s great-granddaughter.”
I cried again after he’d gone. It’s spring! We made it through the winter and I am replanting the garden. Some of these I started off indoors: they’ll grow fast. I chitted some of the potatoes, and hopefully we’ll have a nice crop of those too. Next stop this afternoon is the pond, to see if the fish in it survived the winter. I think I’ll throw this one back and let it grow some more! But if the tiny ones made it through the winter, then the bigger ones will have survived as well.
Fishing’s nice for having time to think: sort of calm and meditative. What I’m thinking about is getting in touch with old Mr Mellish. Jill said she’d given him some fairly sweeping powers, though she didn’t say what they were. But she did trust him. And that firm belongs to the girls now: it’s their inheritance. I’d like to get this place clean and tidy though before we leave. It’s sheltered us well these past few months, kept us safe. This old house deserves a bit of love and care in return. And these walls need a good scrub down! As soon as we’ve got a good drying day, I’ll take everything outside and do just that.
And then I’ll get in touch with Mr Mellish, and we’ll see about getting back to our previous lives. Though we’ll come back to the island, often. Our roots are here, and we’ve been welcomed because of that.

Changing Seasons, Summer VI, part 3 (c) (ii)

A very excited Andy tracked down the newly engaged mayor in the pantry, where he’d been putting away jam for his lady-mayoress-to-be.
“Names! You wanted names! To scare off those bad guys! Well, my boss has just seen those lakes.” Andy was almost stammering. “And you might know about some funding we were going to apply for? B-but we didn’t think we’d get the big grants from that particular pot. But these lakes! They c-could have been made for the funding proposals! We m-might get as much as ten million: that’s for a long-term project – but we can’t miss getting either three or five. My boss is talking to Rafe and Leo now about which b-building we can have over there. That university name has g-got to be worth something.”
Quite a lot, and they both knew it.
“And even better, it’s a Fence Foundation project.” At the blank look on Mayor Tench’s face, Andy explained.
“Paul Fence. Silicon Valley entrepreneur. Made a massive fortune and is now busy giving it away. Particularly interested in environmental issues, cleaning up post-industrial wastelands…and we’ve got this brilliant example of what nature can do on her own right here. Trust me, this is another big name.” “That’s new,” Sal said, round for a sleepover and a 'wait until you hear my latest news…’ catch-up.
“Only on loan,” I said, a bit regretfully. “Lucie said she wasn’t using it at the moment. Don’t know why not…”
“Aha!” Sal said triumphantly, with the air of one who has had a theory confirmed. “I was wondering, when I met her in Minnie’s the other day.”
“Wondering what?” I asked.
“If she was pregnant or not. There’s a certain look…Horses have it too.”
Honestly, the things that girl says! “I know you don’t believe me, but it really is true. This is really nice chocolate, by the way. And it’s good to get away.”
“From your overbearing big brother?” If Chas had tried to boss me around the way he’d been doing with Sal…
“He’s got an excuse to be even worse now – but actually, I had a really good talk to him. And I got him to see reason in the end.”
“Tell me, tell me! I want a blow by blow account.” She obliged. “But once he’d realised Byron wasn’t interested in me, that helped a lot. In fact, Byron’s actually doing the same as Bea now – helping round the stables in exchange for rides. Only I’m not teaching him, of course.” Sal paused. “Why didn’t you tell me about Byron liking you? I thought we were friends. And he’s a nice guy.”
Oh no. Not her as well! I’ve had everyone telling me what a nice guy Byron is. With an add-on from Georgie pointing out that Byron likes me for who I am. Only Lachlan’s said anything different: he said it wasn’t good to want to be totally independent and self-sufficient. He just doesn’t get it: that’s been the goal all my life. Me, Clara Hayes, managing on my own.
“That’s what I can’t stand about him,” I said. “He’s ‘such a nice guy’. Him and his happy, secure childhood…” I was doing it again, letting my emotions show far too clearly. Sal went very still. “I had a happy childhood too,” she said quietly. “Even after Mum died. And I really value all that Dad did to make it happy. I don’t think I want you sneering at that. I won’t stop for that sleepover after all. Thanks for the hot chocolate, though.” What was wrong with me? Why was I behaving like this? I’d been fine until Mr Nice Guy arrived. I needed to talk to Addie – and, late night or not, she’d be there for me. I threw some clothes on and cycled through the dark streets, past the sleeping shops, heading for Addie, who’d seen through me, known me and cared about me since I’d arrived here. She could help me make sense of the chaos in my head and in my feelings. And Addie wasn’t there. The building was quiet and peaceful, as always, but there was no Addie. There was a total absence of her presence.
Clara Hayes, you’re on your own again. There. All six children in the playroom, each of the older ones either playing with one of the younger ones or keeping an eye on them for the next twenty minutes. That was the deal, and Patience had set the timer. Which meant that she could write a little bit more of her fortnightly letter to her mother.
“I d-don’t know why you write,” Euan had said once. “She n-never writes back.”
“I’m not writing to get an answer,” Patience had said calmly. “I’m not writing to get something back. I’m writing to give. To tell her about her grandchildren. What she does with the gift is up to her.”
Now, what had she written so far, and what was still to be told? Of course! The latest news in the town: Chas and Sal Woodside’s bombshell news. She opened the folder to take out a new sheet of paper – Minnie didn’t stock writing paper, so it was this or nothing. Where should she start? Probably with a bit of background, or this would sound confusing.
“Remember the story I told you about that English brother and sister who came over to rebuild the stables that had been founded by one Sir Charles Woodside, back at the turn of the last century? How Sir Charles had been forcibly separated from his (secretly married) wife, because his family didn’t want him to marry her? Only he already had, so they were a bit behind the fair! And then she died in childbirth and her family told Sir Charles that the child had died with her?” Honestly, it was like something out of a novel.
“But the child hadn’t, his son hadn’t died. And Chas and Sal inherited the documents that proved this. So Chas is Sir Charles Woodside’s legitimate descendent. And he inherits the title. He doesn’t have to go to England to take up his seat in the House of Lords, or anything like that – it’s a very minor title, though it goes back quite a long way. And there’s no property to inherit either – apart from Woodside Barns, which is where they already are anyway.” Patience put her pen down for a moment. All was still peaceful in the playroom. Twenty minutes shouldn’t be too long for the older ones to be with the younger ones. She thought about that sad story. Sir Charles could have had his son growing up with him. Instead, he’d become one of the fathers to the town, bringing in the racing, the horses, and the prosperity that had come with that.
“So Chas is now Sir Charles Woodside, and Sal says he’ll need a bigger hat, though I think he’s a bit embarrassed by it all. However, we put him straight on the Town Council. He says he doesn’t know anything, but we told him that didn’t matter. We need his name. The more ammunition, the better.” She put the finished letter in the box and flipped up the flag. The weekly mail collection-and-delivery was tomorrow. Early! Getting everyone sat at the table and fed all at the same time was quite an effort! Which is why they only did it once a day. When all the children were at school of course, they’d eat breakfast together as well, but that was still a good two years away.
“Do you think having Sir Charles Woodside, Andy’s university and the promise of the Fence Foundation is going to be enough?” Euan asked Patience. The next meeting was only a week away.
“I don’t know. If it was the guarantee of the Fence Foundation now, that would be worth a lot…but it’ll be six months before that’s official. Though Andy’s boss has had some informal conversations and – off the record – they’ll definitely be getting one of the three big grants, off-the-record isn’t official at all and can’t be used as such. They still have to go through all the processes.” Most weeks there was mail of some sort or another. Mostly advertising, it was true! But Patience wrote to some old friends – the ones who could cope with the idea of living somewhere with no internet communication! – and a few of them wrote back, saying they actually liked writing a real letter. “Only I’d never do it normally, because email is quicker. But this is good for me in a funny kind of way.” And it looked like there was a proper letter in the box today. And the next minute, the mail was in a heap on the ground, where she’d dropped it in her amazement. Her mother had written to her! Six years of silence, and her mother had written… “She said it was when my father heard that I’d worn the rubies he’d given me, to give me confidence in that first meeting…apparently he was really touched by that. She says it’s only been his own stubborn pride that’s kept him from admitting how much he’s missed me, and that he was wrong in the first place…”
“So that’s where Barnabas gets it from!”
“I’m afraid so. But now he wants to make up for it big-time, my mother says. No, not by giving us lots of money.” Patience had felt Euan stiffen beside her. “He knows I wouldn’t accept it. But this is what he did say.”
Patience quoted her father’s words to her mother. “We’ve crossed swords with Lee Popeman Enterprises before. They do not have a good reputation. Tell Patience that I am personally instructing Knight, Goodman and Waters to act for the town. I think that you’ll find that Lee Popeman’s attempts to browbeat and intimidate you will be a lot less enthusiastic in the face of that information…”
“I’m happy for us to accept this. It’s for the whole town,” Euan said.
“Me too. For the same reason. We’ve got our final name. And our children will get to know their grandparents.” “I heard a rumour that you’d picked up a batch of second-hand Dick Francis novels for Chas and me.” Sal smiled her nicest, friendliest smile at Byron: there was such a sadness in his eyes these days. “After all, we can’t use our Kindle until that mast is up and running, and I can’t wait another six weeks to have something to read.”
“I did, I have and I haven’t let anyone else see them yet!” There was a pause, and then it was as thought Byron couldn’t help himself. “Sal – you’re Clara’s friend. What have I done to make her dislike me so? I mean, if she was just indifferent to me, I could understand that. But it’s like she actively dislikes me, no matter how nice I am to her?”
How do I tell him this? Sal asked herself. It’s not like he can change his past. And Clara’s so stubborn these days, I don’t know what would change her. “My happy childhood! Her problem is my happy childhood?” And this was a side of Byron Sal had never seen before. Don’t shoot me, she thought, I’m only the messenger.
“I’m sorry, Sal. I know this isn’t your fault. But wait until I find Miss Clara Hayes and tell her just what I think of her.” This park is looking so lovely now. There are wild flowers growing, and all the planting that we’ve done (mostly under Grandpa Geo’s instruction) has brought this central area back to life. I can see why Mayor Tench would meet his Mary here back when they were courting. And now he’s a-marryin’ of Bess Preston next weekend. Even if people do think I’m heartless, I’m glad for him: he’s had a long, lonely time of it. And that company has run off with its tail between its legs…most things are looking good! Oh no, not him! Can’t I have any peace anywhere? Now I’m going to have to put up with his niceness again. And feel ashamed because he’s so much nicer than me. This? This was Byron?
“I obviously need to apologise to you. For having the had the bad taste to have ‘a happy childhood’.” Ouch. Things still weren’t right between me and Sal either. And I’d missed out on hearing her news about Chas personally, spoilt her joy in telling me.
“I mean, it was so lovely for me, visiting my cousins…” okay, no need to be quite so sarcastic about that “…a year with this batch, a year with that batch…” Huh? “Just for your information, Miss Clara Hayes – and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread this all over the town – my parents died when I was five. And so I was passed around among the cousins like a parcel: one school year at a time. It was probably a lot better than being in care, but it wasn’t like having a real home of my own. Want to know how I learned to be so nice? Because then you’re a pleasure to have around and they’re pleased to have you back again instead of resenting it. Then no-one minds sharing a bedroom with you for the year, giving up some of their space to you. And it wasn’t hard: I genuinely do like people. But you have no idea how much I wanted a place of my own, a place where I really belonged.” “And I was stupid twice over, wasn’t I? Stupid enough to think that I might find it here, in this place, in this community. And stupid enough to think that I might find it with you.”
And beneath his – pretty incandescent – rage, I saw the hurt. I had got this so wrong. So unbelievably wrong. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” And then I turned away from him and burst into tears. The real gut-wrenching you-can’t-fake-this sort. Why? Because I’d just realised that I’d ruined any chance of a friendship between us. And that was probably the biggest mistake of my life. And because I had hurt him – and Sal – with my self-protective behaviour. I told you he was nice. Next thing I knew, his arms were round me and he was hugging me while I said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” over and over again – and made his t-shirt very wet in the process. Goodness only knows what I must have looked like, but it didn’t seem to put him off. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was so, so wrong about you,” somehow segued into, “Please will you forgive me?” and “I don’t want us not to be friends, I truly don’t.”
“I want more than friendship,” he said gently. “I want you to let me into your life, let me look after that feisty-but-lonely girl I see in you. If you don’t want that, then fine. I’ll leave, with no hard feelings between us. Tell me what you want.”
Let someone look after me? For a moment, all my pride and desire for independence flared up in me – and died down again. What had that gained me?
“Please don’t go,” I said. Oh boy. I think I’m going to have to personally apologise to just about every person in town. Janet had never been a bridesmaid before, and she was so nervous that her mother had stepped in.
“Sit here until it’s time for Bess to walk down the aisle. That’ll keep your dress nice. And I’ll tell you when to go to the back of the church.”
I hope I don’t spoil this, Janet thought. It’s the first wedding here for years. And the best wedding that there could be. Everyone was in total agreement about that. This was the perfect First Wedding For Years couple. “Reckon as we’ve come full circle,” Mayor Tench said before he kissed his Lady Mayoress. Marcus and Euan were standing near the groom. Euan apparently had a pocketful of rice he was determined to throw!
I remember when they arrived, the groom thought. Marcus was first of all. ‘N then that Clara, over there with that nice young man of hers, ‘n then Euan. And now look at us, look at the town. Reckon I’m right glad I stayed here after everyone else left. ‘N people coming back too, like May here, ‘n Ludo, people who remember how this place useter be as well. ‘N me? Never thought as things would end up like this. Never expected such a happy endin’. But here it is. ‘N a load of new beginnins’ as well.

The End.


This story wouldn’t have looked half so good without the work of two very talented people: Cyclonesue at TSR and Sandy from ATS3 and I’m so grateful to them for their amazing creations.

I’m also so grateful to all the people who’ve made characters and houses, some specifically for this town and some as gifts to other people. Here they are, in no particular order.

Clara and Miss Adelaide Kirk and the church were made by AlphaFen (now AlphaFFrog) and can be found here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9310815

Marianna, Lachlan and the children and the Old Forge are by AlphaFen (now known as AlphaFFrog) and can be found here:
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9310543

Frank, Honey, Maddie and house were made for me by Hidehi as a lovely gift.
I’ve tweaked them slightly to fit the scenery of Two Lakes, so if you’re going to play them, they won’t look quite like this. I’ve tweaked Maddie’s personality too…
Link here for the house:
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9351879
And for the family:
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9351878

Blake and his house were made by Jessabeans. Link here for Blake
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9352926
and here for the house
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9352888
which I tweaked slightly to fit in with the landscape and the story.

Bea and Lara’s house was made by Jessabeans for me as part of the Amayzing gift exchange. https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9310215 An Old Jockey’s Nightmare is here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394756 and that was by LMC6254, for the SummerFest gift exchange. So were Artie and Old Pete https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394755 I’ve altered the buildings very slightly, to fit in with the town – the telegraph poles are by Cyclone Sue at TSR.

Rusty Wrangler’s was made for me by LMC6255 for the SummerFest gift exchange as part of her Art of Dilapidation series!
And it’s here:
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9395123

Leo’s Place was made for me by LMC6254 for the Summerfest Gift Exchange as part of her Art of Dilapidation series.
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9395270 The Better Days Bakery was also made for me by LMC6254!
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394968 The Meithers’ Place was made for me by LMC6254 for the Summerfest Gift Exchange.
Link here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394596

Caleb and Chris were made by Suzses, for BreeMiles for the Homebound Holiday Gift Exchange 2020 Link here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9432116

Cyclonesue made nearly all of the factory buildings!

I made Patience and Euan – link here: http://samelasstories.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/the-mcphail-renovacy.html

I also made the Preston Farm and family – link here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=8796816 I don’t think there’s any cc in those two creations, but if you’re really wary of that, then it would be worth custard-checking them first.