Alice blew her fringe from her eyes and pulled over to the side of the road, if it could even be called that. ‘And you’re quite sure we’re going the right way?’ she asked Jamie in the seat beside her, a large-scale Ordnance Survey map flapping in the welcome breeze as she wound down the window allowing the stifling heat in the car to dissipate.
They’d taken shifts driving in the end, through the most awful conditions, never quite sure that the snowy lanes were heading in the right direction and the further south they drove, the less evidence they saw of the promised thaw. It was some testament to their concern that they had persevered, grateful to the sturdy four-wheel drive, that even so skidded occasionally and made their hearts race.
And now, poised near the top of yet another hill, Kitty leaned forward between the front seats, pointing to the tiny icon on the map that apparently represented the only dwelling for miles around, among the rolling hills and valleys of deepest Dorset: Connor’s Dorset estate.
They all looked at each other for a moment, no doubt all thinking the same thing – was it any wonder that an ambulance had been unable to reach Connor’s wife in time? As the crow – or helicopter – flew, civilisation was but a twenty-minute hop away, but following these winding single-track lanes, Alice had lost all sense of direction.
‘Well, if he wanted to hide away, he chose the right place at least,’ Jamie said quietly, squinting at the map and turning it this way and that to pinpoint their own location. He looked ahead doubtfully, as Alice put the car into gear on the steep slope and pulled away. ‘According to this, it’s just around the next bend, but I don’t see how . . .’
They crested the hill and words caught in their mouths; the view opening up before them was breathtaking, so remotely wild and unspoiled. A narrow driveway wound down to the valley below, branching away from the lane itself, flanked by frosted, pollarded beech trees, their very presence disturbing the occasional flurry of a bold pheasant making a break for it. At the bottom sat a whitened oasis of lawns surrounding a sprawling house, Connor’s much-blighted and forlorn Range Rover the only sign of life.
‘Are you ready for this?’ Alice asked, glancing back over her shoulder as they approached, still unclear as to the exact nature of Connor and Kitty’s friendship. Having spent the last three hours in the car together, Alice had an even deeper respect for their lovely vet, sharing the absolute commitment that Kitty brought to her work and her animals, not to mention her obvious affection for Coco.
From where Alice was sitting, it was entirely possible that Kitty’s concern might be just as much for Jamieson as for Connor, and she couldn’t help thinking that would be a missed opportunity. But this was no time for matchmaking. They genuinely had no idea what they were walking into and it was no coincidence that Alice had restocked her doctor’s bag thoroughly before they left. One heard such awful things about rock stars hitting ‘rock’ bottom that she wanted to be prepared. Whether anything could prepare them for what lay ahead was anyone’s guess and she squeezed Jamie’s knee gratefully, thankful for the moral support.
Nobody, not even Connor’s Estate Manager, had seen or heard from him since the radio show. Only Kitty had briefly spoken to him on the phone, and was now replaying the conversation in her head on repeat in case she’d missed something crucial. It had taken all of Alice’s resolve to accept that not every story had a happy ending and there was a voice in the back of her head urging her to brace for the worst.
Isolation.
Depression.
Humiliation.
Never a winning combination.
A flurry of barking caught them all unawares, as they parked the car, a veritable pack of mismatched hounds hurtling around the corner of the house in greeting, their excited breath in hot puffs of misty air. Jamieson loped along behind Agatha Peal’s excitable troop, targeting Kitty for his affection, his tongue lolling and his tail thwacking so hard against Kitty’s thighs it would doubtless leave bruises.
‘Morning,’ said Connor quietly, appearing from the same archway, filthy wellington boots and a shabby Puffa waistcoat making him almost unrecognisable. Together with the beginnings of a beard and deep shadows under his eyes, it suggested that personal hygiene had not been high on his agenda but Alice couldn’t have cared less. The wave of relief at seeing him alive, if not well, made her clasp the car door for support.
‘You found me then.’ His tone was ambivalent, as though he would have been unmoved either way.
‘Of course we found you!’ exclaimed Kitty, striding forward to pull him into a hug and ignoring his cat-like stiffening response. ‘We were hardly going to let you fester down here for ever, were we?’
Connor glanced around, his glazed eyes following the stunning elevations and copses that marked out his territory, falling to the dogs milling affectionately at his side. ‘I can think of worse ways to go, actually. Touring springs to mind.’
‘Hmm,’ said Alice noncommittally, still attempting to find her equilibrium. Even in this sweeping rural paradise, it was clear that Elsie’s maxim held true: you can be miserable anywhere if you take yourself with you.
It was now their job to persuade Connor to come home to Larkford, where there was no doubt that a little love and support would help to get him back on the path to happiness.
Assuming he forgave them for letting him down.
Assuming he was prepared to give them another chance.
‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ said Jamie easily.
‘Or something to eat? It’s very nice down here, but have you any idea how long it’s been since we passed a coffee place?’ Alice urged herself to manage nonchalance. There had been enough drama already.
There was a flicker of amusement in Connor’s eyes that buoyed Alice immediately. ‘That’s rather the point, though, don’t you think?’ Connor said, with a small gesture towards the heavily frosted woodland and snow-covered hillsides surrounding them. Agatha’s dogs were clearly on message already, gambolling and haring around the sweeping lawns and shrubberies, knocking loose showers of snow and in Seventh Heaven at the freedom.
Filthy wet paw prints led the way into the kitchen – a jaw-dropping statement of cream-painted wood and granite, somewhat undermined by an array of half-empty baked bean cans, some with forks sticking out of the top, not to mention an entourage of empty wine bottles in varying shades and a flurry of annotated sheet music spilling all over the table.
‘Taking good care of yourself then, I see,’ said Kitty, giving Connor a sideways glance.
Jamie pulled open the fridge and gagged slightly at the whiff of curdled milk and God only knew what else. ‘Okay, well, have you got any coffee at least? I’d settle for some beans if that’s all you’ve got? I’m bloody starving.’ His stomach rumbled a crescendo, endorsing his statement.
Connor hesitated, emotions flickering across his face, almost as though offering coffee or sustenance might in some way obligate him, an implied acceptance of the terms of their visit. He wasn’t a stupid man and he could obviously tell that the three of them hadn’t driven all this way on a social call.
He flicked on an impressive coffee machine, which gurgled and chuntered into the silence. ‘Why did you come?’ he asked.
Alice was ready, primed with a tactful answer, sticking to the plan.
She had not accounted for Kitty’s emotional reaction at Connor’s obvious decline. ‘To bring you home,’ Kitty said firmly, stepping forward and clasping both his hands. ‘To bring you back to your friends, to the people who care about you. And to stop you doing anything you’ll regret.’
Connor said nothing, merely pulled his hands away and busied himself with the complicated machine, flicking coffee grounds everywhere as he did so with trembling hands.
Kitty cast an anguished glance over at Alice, yet waded in again with both feet. ‘What about Jamieson? He needs veterinary care.’
‘There are other vets in the country, Kitty,’ Connor said, his back turned and his words muffled. ‘He and I are doing just fine. We’re cut from the same cloth, the old boy and me.’
This taciturn, scathing Connor wasn’t one that any of them recognised and Alice thought, yet again, that bringing Lizzie or Will might have been a better solution. After all, Connor barely knew the three people in this room, owed them nothing, not even an explanation – and yet . . .
Alice accepted the offered espresso with a smile, wandering around the kitchen, taking in the all-encompassing views from every window. Not another soul in sight. True isolation – both literal and metaphorical.
‘We’ve come to say sorry,’ she said simply.
*
With the benefit of hindsight, of course, it had been a mistake to bring Kitty. Perhaps it was the illusion of his old life and new life overlapping that seemed to make Connor flinch every time she spoke, or touched him. And it was obvious from the familiarity and frequency of her touch that theirs was a friendship that had prospects.
‘Come and show me the grounds then,’ Alice encouraged, as the sun finally broke through the cloud cover, and the coffee had long since been replaced by wine. Very good wine, as it happened. Clearly Connor’s cellar had a lot to recommend it, nervous breakdowns aside.
Kitty was lying on the enormous sofa in the kitchen, Jamieson flaked out, snoring, half on top of her and the other dogs pressing themselves tightly around her. She wasn’t going anywhere. Jamie sat back at the kitchen table, feet propped up. ‘I’ll stay here.’ He gave Alice and Connor a brief nod, his presence benign but reassuring.
Connor needed no encouragement, only serving to convince Alice that her intuition was right. When worlds collide . . .
Stepping from the momentary brightness of the landscaped lawns into the cover of the trees, Alice felt the temperature drop still further. With each step, she and Coco kicked up the virgin snow, the first to break its crisp finish. ‘I can see why you love it here,’ she said to Connor. The rural isolation of Connor’s Dorset estate made Larkford look positively cosmopolitan by comparison and the snow only compounded its rare beauty.
‘It’s very special,’ he agreed, ‘but hardly the reason you’re making the longest house call in NHS history?’
‘Oh, this isn’t a house call,’ Alice countered instantly. ‘I’m not here as your doctor; I’m here as your friend. In fact, there was so much competition for the Find Connor Mission, that we all drew straws. Me, Lizzie, Will, Holly, Taffy, Elsie – even Clive was beginning to wonder where you’d scooted off to.’
Connor raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘And you got the short straw?’
‘Exactly!’ said Alice, blushing furiously as she stumbled into his trap. ‘No! I mean, not the short— That is, I won.’
‘I appreciate you coming, I do. But you’re on a fool’s errand. If there’s one thing the last few weeks have taught me, it’s that I can’t run away from my problems.’
Alice’s brow furrowed. ‘But isn’t that exactly what you are doing?’
They stepped out into a wide, open glade, which was crisscrossed by deer tracks, startling a pair of red kites, who swept up into the air with such grace and majesty that Alice found herself speechless. She glanced around and her gaze fell upon a single winter cherry tree, its nascent blossom incongruous against the snow, and it became clear that theirs had been no aimless ramble.
‘I ran away to Larkford,’ Connor corrected her. ‘So there’s no wonder it didn’t work out. I needed to come back here. To deal with it properly. I guess I just realised that I can’t live with one foot in the past, or it will always be calling to me . . .’
‘So, selling the estate?’ Alice ventured.
Connor shrugged. ‘Time to say goodbye.’ He saw her wince and a half-smile tugged briefly across his face. ‘It’s nothing dramatic. Why do people always assume that if you’re creative, you’re all about the drama? It’s a question of practicality really. How can I commit to a life in Larkford, building a business there, if I’ve always got this place as a bolthole? It’s just hard, you know, to let go? Let alone to start building a new life . . .’
He stepped over to the tiny cherry tree in the centre of the clearing, its very fragility showing its youth. ‘Rachel and I planted this tree the same weekend we found out she was expecting.’
‘Oh,’ managed Alice quietly, imminent tears beginning to gather and a prescient tingle at the back of her neck.
‘This was supposed to be our forever home. My grandchildren were supposed to climb this tree and learn about its history. Our family history. How can I move on, Alice, and leave this tree behind?’
‘Bloody hell,’ gulped Alice, all professionalism long since having deserted her. ‘I have no idea, Conn. Not a bloody clue.’ She sniffed inelegantly. ‘But I do think you’re right and that living with the past is no way to build a future. And I think that Rachel would agree. I mean, I didn’t know her – but you do. You know that she would want you to be happy again.’
Connor gave a wry smile. ‘She used to tease me about the second Mrs Danes, you know? But it was only ever funny because we knew it wouldn’t happen . . . It still won’t.’
They stood in silence for a moment, Coco circling around them, contentedly drinking in the feast of new smells and delights. It was certainly tempting to think that this rural idyll might hold all the answers that Connor was obviously looking for, but Alice held firm. He needed people around him, specifically people who cared, as he made his next steps into the world.
She opened her mouth, about to tell him just that, when he spoke.
Not necessarily to her, or so it seemed. Perhaps near her was a more accurate assessment, as he quietly unburdened his soul.
‘I didn’t go looking for fame, you know? I was just this awkward, spotty, gangly teenager – I looked as though I’d got caught in the elevator doors. But I loved my music. And then I got to college and there were four of us. Just having fun, jamming together. It gave us something to focus on while everyone else was getting girlfriends . . .’ He gave a small, tired laugh at the memory. ‘And then, one day, there was Rachel. She saw something in me, I guess. She saw enough to make it worth her while to shack up with a music nerd, when she could have had her pick of any man in the Student Union.
‘And she made me a better me. Even without all the fame and the success and the madness – I was still a nicer bloke when she was in the room.
‘And now, without Rachel, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to be “Connor Danes” – I’ve forgotten how to be anything other than that awkward kid.’ He shrugged. ‘Sitting with her in Hyde Park blowing bubbles at the pigeons is the last authentically “me” moment I remember before this whole crazy Hive thing began. I have no idea who to be now,’ he finished despondently.
Alice reached out and wrapped one arm around his shivering shoulders, resting her head against him. ‘Just be yourself, Conn.’
‘I have no idea who that is. And how clichéd is that?’ he replied earnestly. ‘Middle-aged rocker trying to “find” himself by organising some mad music festival? You know, I think it’s because we all missed the part where most people grow up – we got to carry on playing every day and got paid to do it . . . I’m just a teenager in an ageing body at this point.’
He shook his head as Alice made to contradict this assessment. ‘Maybe I should have bought a Porsche instead of a farm and just embraced it?’
‘A full on midlife crisis?’ Alice said doubtfully.
‘Or finally time to grow up, right?’ He sighed. ‘She’d like the irony I suppose. Rachel. Me quitting the band now, even though I couldn’t do it when she asked me to.’ He paused. ‘She was worried I was going to be Peter Pan,’ he explained, his fingers still grazing the delicate blossom of the cherry tree in front of them. ‘She wasn’t sure you could be in a band and still be a good dad.’
Alice certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge that Rachel probably had a point. There was nothing to be gained by adding to the burden of Connor’s guilt.
‘So I’ve been thinking, while I’ve been here, that somehow, I owe it to Rachel to find something positive out of this whole ghastly mess.’
‘Like the festival?’ prompted Alice.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. But actually I was thinking more about other people’s kids. The kids that don’t know that eggs don’t come in boxes or what a cow looks like, or what grass feels like walking barefoot . . .’ He nodded to himself, as though a decision had been made.
‘Like an outreach programme?’ Alice said, trying to follow his train of thought.
‘Well, it seems mad to me that a third of the kids in this country don’t know where milk comes from, you know? And who are they more likely to listen to, eh? “Connor Danes” or some crusty old farmer?’
Alice eyed him up. The stubble on his jawline, the filthy wellies and tattered muddy clothes, smiling at the look of peaceful determination that had settled on his face. ‘A distinction without a difference, my friend,’ she said, tucking her arm through his and feeling his laughter vibrate through her.
Baby steps, she thought, as they walked back towards the house, to Kitty, Jamie and the other dogs. At least he was thinking ahead, thinking of a future. All she had to do now was persuade him that his future was in Larkford, among friends.