Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 14
Horoscopes had a lot to answer for. Not that Anna Redding was superstitious – she wasn’t madly into such things – but one of her housemates, Lauren, found them amusing and sometimes read them aloud on a weekend when there was time to linger at the kitchen table.
One particularly cold Saturday in November, Anna emerged from her room and hit send on the text she’d just tapped into her phone before hurrying down the stairs. She glanced at the time as she padded along the hallway: almost midday.
‘There you are!’
Anna smiled as she entered the kitchen and walked over to make herself a much-needed coffee. Lauren and Georgia, her other housemate, were already at the table, and she sank into a chair inhaling the comforting smell from her mug.
‘Pisces.’ Lauren looked meaningfully at Anna over the top of the Harrogate Herald.
Anna faked a groan. ‘Not another dose of Mystic Moron. Go on then. Hit me with it.’
Lauren assumed what she referred to as her newsreader voice. ‘The wind of change is approaching, but is it news from a stranger or a blast from the past that will sweep you off your feet?’
Anna rolled her eyes. ‘More likely to be the icy pavements right now.’ She picked up a slice of thickly buttered toast from the platter on the table and bit into it, wiping her fingers on her pyjamas. ‘Is that the best she can do?’
Georgia – whose wealthy family owned the house they all shared – looked up from texting on her phone, then flicked her hair over her shoulder.
‘Utter poppycock, darlings. Besides, Anna, there would be the most dreadful brouhaha from your Giles.’ She also had a tendency to talk like she’d just stepped out of an episode of Downton Abbey.
Exchanging a smile with Lauren, Anna took another bite of toast. ‘How’s your head this morning?’
Lauren pulled a face. ‘Felt like someone was trampolining on my eyeballs when I first woke up. Took some painkillers and went back to sleep.’ She raised her mug of coffee. ‘And I’m on my third of these, which helps.’
Georgia looked up from her phone again. ‘Poor darling. Feeling seedy is quite the worst thing ever.’
‘Mixing too many different drinks,’ Anna said sagely. ‘It’ll get you every time.’
Lauren walked over to re-boil the kettle. ‘I know. So much for spending the entire evening in a bar that sells nothing but gin.’
‘I don’t think we were supposed to work our way through the entire menu.’ Anna laughed, despite her own somewhat tender head. They’d had such a great night out, the sort only a group of old friends can have. She stretched and got to her feet. ‘I need more toast.’
Dropping some bread into the toaster, Anna glanced at Lauren where she leaned against the counter, cradling her refilled mug. Her friend had a head of neat blonde hair, stylish and short, unlike Anna, who had shoulder-length brown hair that was neither straight nor curly but annoyingly wavy and difficult to tame.
‘Still tall then?’ Lauren grinned up at her, and Anna smiled at the familiar refrain.
‘Still short then?’
‘You’ve no idea how much I envy you your long legs.’
Anna fished two pieces of toast out of the toaster. ‘Don’t. My unspeakable cousin once described me as having lofty proportions. Made me feel the size of a Georgian town house.’
Lauren’s cheeks dimpled, and Anna quickly buttered the toast and followed her back over to the table. Georgia pocketed her phone and stood up.
‘Lunching with Mummy. I’ll bag the first shower, sweeties.’
Anna eyed Lauren across the table as Georgia closed the kitchen door.
‘And then there were two.’
‘All the more for us. So,’ Lauren sipped her coffee, ‘when’s Giles getting back?’
‘Sometime today.’ Anna’s contentment deflated a little, but she pushed aside the sensation. She’d think about it later.
‘He’s lucky you didn’t get stolen last night.’
Anna wrinkled her nose. ‘I think we experienced the pinnacle of bad chat-up lines.’
‘You certainly did!’
They were both still chuckling about the appalling lines they’d been subjected to when the doorbell interrupted them.
‘I’ll get it.’ Anna picked up a slice of toast and made her way along the hall. It was the postman.
‘Mornin’, love. Got a signed for in’t name of A. Redding.’
‘That’s me.’ Anna stuck the toast between her teeth and signed, frowning at the envelope. It was from her aforementioned much older cousin, Victoria, who, although she’d raised Anna since she was a baby, never got in touch.
Back in the kitchen, Lauren was clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. ‘What’ve you got?’
Anna dropped a couple of bills on the table. ‘No idea. My miserable cousin has sent something.’
‘Hah! There you go.’ Lauren pointed to the open paper. ‘There’s your unexpected news.’
‘She’s hardly a stranger.’
‘She is if you never see her anymore.’ Lauren waved her phone. ‘Georgia sent a text – needs more tea. Do you want some?’ She raised the kettle, but Anna shook her head.
‘No, thanks. Besides, I’ll probably need something stronger by the time I’ve seen whatever this is.’ Anna threw Lauren an amused glance. ‘Victoria must think it important if she’s spent money on getting a signature.’
‘I’ll line up for the next shower then.’ Lauren turned for the door. ‘See you later.’
Anna sank back into her chair at the kitchen table and tore open the envelope, pulling out a slightly thinner one and a piece of paper containing a few lines in her cousin’s handwriting: Enclosed was forwarded on from the old address. Looks important. If you’re in any sort of trouble, don’t come running to us.
‘And I love you too,’ whispered Anna as she tossed the paper aside, pretending Cousin Victoria’s lack of interest didn’t still have the power to hurt. The envelope indicated it was from a company – Potter, Ball & Mottershead – and dated some weeks ago.
Puzzled, Anna opened it. Why would they be writing to her at an address she hadn’t lived at for more than ten years?
The heading conveyed the bad news.
Estate of Miss Margaret Joan Stratfield, deceased.
Anna’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled to understand. How could Aunt Meg have finally passed away, and yet she didn’t know?
Tightness gripped Anna’s throat, and she swallowed hard on it, but it only intensified as a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. It didn’t matter that Aunt Meg had been a prisoner to Alzheimer’s, that she hadn’t recognised Anna anymore. The thought of never seeing her again hurt.
Anna sniffed and dashed a hand across her eyes before fishing her mobile out of her pyjama pocket. She’d better call the hospice and find out what happened.
‘I’m off, love. Meeting Jaydon at one.’
Anna looked up as Lauren put her head around the sitting room door. She’d barely moved from the sofa since making her call, but as soon as Lauren saw Anna’s damp cheeks, she rushed over to sit beside her.
‘What is it? Don’t tell me Giles is being an arse again?’
Anna smiled shakily. ‘No, had some sad news. My aunt Meg passed away.’
Lauren hugged her. ‘Oh, Anna! I’m so sorry.’ She frowned as she released her. ‘Did the hospice call?’
‘No, my cousin forwarded a letter from a legal firm in Cornwall, so I called the hospice to find out what happened. I was way down the call list, living so far away, but they say they still tried me. Turns out they’d written one of the numbers down wrong.’
‘Was it the Alzheimer’s?’
‘Yes, and no. She got pneumonia and was gone within forty-eight hours. The funeral was a few weeks ago.’
Lauren glanced at the envelope on the table. ‘And the letter?’
‘They want me to contact them, to do with Aunt Meg’s will. It must have been drawn up around the last time I stayed in Polkerran, as they had such an old address.’ Anna took a sip of her drink. ‘Those summers in Cornwall were the happiest days of my childhood. Quite possibly the only happy times.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Even though we weren’t related, Aunt Meg and I became very fond of each other.’
Lauren looked at her watch. ‘Do you want me to stay? I can easily cancel my date.’
Anna shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. Where’s Georgia?’
‘Gone for luncheon with Mumsie, darling.’ Lauren did her best impression, and Anna laughed.
‘You go. I’m going to—’ She stopped as her mobile started its merry tune: Giles.
Giving her a quick hug, Lauren hurried from the room as Anna accepted the call.
‘Hey, Babes.’ How many times had she asked him not to call her that? ‘Bit of a prob.’
‘What’s up?’
‘One of the chaps has a spare ticket for the game at Twickenham later. Won’t be heading back until tomorrow.’
To her surprise, Anna felt nothing but relief and not the slightest disappointment that watching a bunch of men get hot and sweaty running round with an oval-shaped piece of leather was more of an attraction than a night with her.
‘No worries. I’ve got plenty I should be doing.’
‘Don’t sound so low, Babes. I’ll be back soon.’
Anna shook her head, even though he couldn’t see. ‘It’s not that. I just heard—’ she drew in a shallow breath ‘—my aunt Meg died.’
Giles’s voice sharpened. ‘The old bird in Cornwall? Did she leave you anything?’
‘Giles!’
‘Sorry, Babes, but you did say she had no family.’ Conciliatory now, Giles tried to backtrack. ‘I mean, I’m sorry she died, but she was pretty old, and she’d been ill for years.’
‘I know, but it still upset me.’ Why should someone elderly dying not be a cause for sadness? ‘I only wish you’d known her.’
Giles’s tone softened. ‘I really am sorry, Babes. Look, got to go. Call you when I’m back up north.’
‘Okay. Safe journey.’
Anna checked the time before pocketing her phone. She ought to shower and get dressed. But then again, it was Saturday and she had no plans. She’d make a cushion nest in front of the fire and immerse herself in memories of Aunt Meg and those happy summers of her childhood.
Several hours later, Anna prodded her solitary supper around the plate and stared at the background of her laptop: a selfie of her and Giles at the York races last summer. Why wasn’t she missing him more? He’d been away on business for a week now. Shouldn’t she be desperate to see him?
Anna had always been a die-hard romantic who’d lived on a diet of love stories through her teens and dreamed endlessly of meeting that special someone, becoming a wife, mother to several children, and finally having the security of her own home. She had lived her life through the pages of her much-loved books, waiting for the thunderbolt to strike, to feel every heart-wrenching emotion of falling in love. So why wasn’t she feeling like that about Giles now? Anna blinked and straightened up. Had she ever felt that way with him?
Her appetite non-existent, Anna placed her fork on her plate. She’d given up on her dream years ago, having failed to find anyone to stir her in such a way. The romance novels had been assigned to boxes under her bed, her bookish heart comforted by rediscovering some of the classics she’d read at school: the Brontës, Hardy, Gaskell and Austen.
Had she done the right thing – giving up? Giles was amusing company and could be quite sweet sometimes, but he’d never made her feel an ounce of what a novel’s heroine described when the hero was around. Had her desire for a sense of belonging, a family of her own, led to this?
Feeling rattled, Anna glanced at the clock in the kitchen as she put her plate in the dishwasher. The house was quiet; time to lose herself in a book. Lauren hadn’t returned, Georgia had gone out and although one of Anna’s friends from the night before had phoned to invite her out for ‘a dose of the hairy dog’, she hadn’t felt like it.
Anna grabbed her book – Wilkie Collins was her latest find – then looked up in surprise as Lauren came into the room.
‘Didn’t think I’d see you until morning.’
Dropping her oversized designer bag onto the table, Lauren pulled a face. ‘Decided it wasn’t worth it.’
‘Oh dear.’ Anna took two glasses from the cupboard. ‘What happened?’
‘The usual. Wanted to make things a bit more formal.’
Lauren was a serial dater, focused on furthering her high-flying career and shunning any hint of commitment.
Anna opened the fridge and pulled out an open bottle of rosé. ‘Join me?’
‘Absolutely. Let’s raise a toast to your aunt Meg.’
They were soon comfortable in the well-proportioned sitting room – Georgia insisted on calling it the drawing room, but as Lauren pointed out every time she did, no one was so much as going to pick up a pencil in there – each nursing a large glass of wine.
‘How’re you doing?’ Lauren sipped her wine and eyed Anna over the rim of her glass.
Anna shrugged lightly. ‘Just wish I’d found a way to visit Aunt Meg since the summer, but you know how mad it’s been, with all the events I’ve had to do.’ Anna worked as a project manager for an event co-ordination company and took on assignments across the county.
‘But she didn’t recognise you anymore.’
‘I know.’ Anna reflected on her visits to the hospice in Cornwall. She’d tried to maintain them, despite the vast distance. ‘Aunt Meg said something strange to me. “Follow the shells.” I had no idea what she meant, so I asked her.’ Anna took a sip of her wine. ‘She looked blankly at me. I’ll never forget the confusion in her eyes, but then she said, “I don’t know. Why don’t I know?” It broke my heart, and she never spoke as if she knew me again after that visit, but every time I went, she would press a small shell on me as I left.’
Lauren’s brows rose. ‘Is that what the collection is in your room?’
Anna nodded. ‘I didn’t know what to do with them but couldn’t face throwing them away. She must have taken them with her when she went into the hospice. After what she’d said to me, it felt like we were still connecting. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But the time came when I went and there was no shell other than Aunt Meg. She didn’t even open her eyes. I sat there for an hour, held her hand, and I wept.’ Anna stopped, her eyes aching with unshed tears.
Lauren viewed her with sympathy. ‘I remember you coming back from the visit. Wasn’t that last Easter?’
Anna gave a watery smile. ‘Yes. I managed to go a few times after that, but it was always the same. Her mind had given up on her long before her body was ready.’ Feeling her voice wavering again, Anna took another sip from her glass, closing her eyes as the cool liquid flowed down her throat.
‘Come on. You need distraction.’ Lauren leaned forward and picked up the remote. ‘What’s it to be? Strictly? The Masked Singer? Or something you need your brain for?’
Anna curled up in the corner of the sofa, tugging a throw from the back to tuck around her feet. ‘You choose.’
Scrolling through the options, Lauren selected the film currently showing on an obscure channel, an old romantic comedy they’d seen before, but as the credits rolled two hours later, Anna felt unsettled. It all came back to the same thing: people falling in love, getting their happy ever after.
‘I think I need my bed and my book.’ Anna put her empty glass on the table and got to her feet. Lauren stretched and did likewise, and Anna followed her into the kitchen and picked up her copy of The Woman in White from the table. Lauren started to rummage in her bag, then held up a book in triumph.
‘There it is. Keen to get back to this. It’s just heating up.’
‘What are you reading now?’
Lauren showed her the cover: a copy of the latest bonkbuster.
‘Not really your sort of thing, mate. Not so much Dickens, more A Tale of Two Titties!’
Anna continued to smile as Lauren headed for the stairs, then she turned back to switch off the lamps in the sitting room. Why couldn’t she be more like her friend, focused on a career and not having this desire for a man to share her life?
Because it’s not your dream.
‘And it’s as elusive as ever,’ Anna muttered as she switched off the first lamp.
She walked over to stand in front of a painting of Polkerran Point hanging above the fireplace – a watercolour of the harbour at full tide in early morning, her favourite time of day, when the light was almost ethereal. Anna looked fondly at the steps on the quay where she’d spent endless hours crabbing. She could almost smell the saltiness in the air, hear the gulls crying and the water lapping. She reached out a hand and touched the painting, consumed by the past, those summers in Polkerran, and then, with sudden clarity, assailed by the memory of Alex Tremayne, the boy who’d made her teenage heart pound.