It seemed sensible to leave the keys to Thimble Cottage with her mum and dad so they could come in and check around from time to time. They wouldn’t like it considering the clause in Matilda’s will stipulating that Esme should live in the house, and she tried to convince herself that had Matilda been alive, she would have understood. For now, at least, Esme focused on packing the essentials. She’d have to arrange to come back and get the rest once she’d settled back in the flat in London she’d once shared with Warren and she’d have to phone the little farm shop down the road too and let them know that she wouldn’t be able to start her job after all, and she hoped she’d be able to get work in London again without having to wait too long.

As for her grandma’s house, she’d need to work out what to do with that too. She didn’t want to sell it, but she didn’t want to leave it empty for years on end either. It wasn’t a problem she was in a place to solve right now, and it would take her parents’ input too – something they wouldn’t be keen to give when they found out where she was going.

Outside, darkness had now cloaked the hills beyond the village. There were hardly any streetlights near the cottage, not like it was in London. On quiet nights with her grandma, Esme had liked that because the moon would seem so much brighter and closer and she could see more stars than she’d ever seen in London. But tonight, she only longed for saffron streetlights illuminating the dark corners of the lane, bright windows and noisy bedrooms overlooking hers. Little Dove Morton was a lonely place without her grandma.

Her phone bleeped as she stuffed underwear into her suitcase and she rushed over to check it.

Esme smiled and then returned to her task, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she inspected some less-than-glamorous undies before shoving them back into the drawers. She’d left a lot behind when she’d left Warren, including her sexiest underwear – something she certainly hadn’t planned on needing for a long time. There was going to be a lot left behind here at the cottage too that she’d have to sort, but it would wait for a while at least. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to move in. And who knew, maybe she’d even persuade Warren to leave London and settle for life at an easier pace in the Peaks once they were married? In which case, it made sense to leave things here for her return. It had been more than a pipe dream since she’d made her decision to take him back, and she felt sure that if she went about suggesting it in the right way he’d be willing to hear her out. After all, the house was half hers and there was no rent to pay – unless her parents suddenly decided to charge it, but even then it wouldn’t be as much as she’d pay in London – and Warren was always complaining about money, so it made perfect sense. Although, she had to accept that she might have to wait a while for that eventuality when he still had to divorce Shelly before they could even think of marriage and moving house. Esme didn’t know Shelly at all – apart from the few things Warren had told her – but she could only hope that Shelly wasn’t the type to make things as slow and painful as possible by dragging her feet. Part of Esme wouldn’t have blamed her for that, and part of her felt guilty for being the other woman – no matter that she hadn’t been aware of her part in the betrayal – but when all was said and done, Esme reasoned, Warren’s relationship with Shelly couldn’t have been right when he’d been looking for comfort and love elsewhere, could it? Did that make Esme the villain of the piece for being the one he ran to? She didn’t want to think so, and so she tried not to think of it at all.

Her stomach growled impatiently but she ignored it and carried on with her packing. She had to lose all this weight she’d put on living with her grandma – although a little had disappeared since Matilda’s death, she still weighed more than she had when she’d first left London. Perhaps Warren would forgive that for now because he’d know it had been down to comfort eating and her grandma wanting to look after her. It was too late to do anything about it now anyway, so whatever he thought, this curvier version of Esme was what he was getting. He said he loved her, and he’d love her regardless, wouldn’t he? Perhaps this time he’d be less judgemental, just glad to have her back.

When all her clothes were packed, Esme sat on the bed and took stock of the little room that had been a sanctuary for the past few months. She’d miss the worn sheepskin rug and the floral wallpaper and the dressing table with patches of old blue nail varnish on it, and the way the door dragged on the carpet, even if sometimes she wondered if it had been good for her, being holed up here.

Her phone began to ring. She rushed to get it from the dresser and was surprised to see that instead of being Warren’s, the number showing on the display was that of her parents’ house.

‘Hello?’

‘Love, it’s me.’ Her mum’s voice was brisk and clear on the line, full of purpose. ‘Dad and I have been talking and we think you should come home. At least for Christmas. We know Matilda left the house for you to live in but we’re not sure it’s the best place for you to be right now.’

‘But, Mum—’

‘Esme, we’re not trying to get you out of the cottage. We’re more than happy to go along with Matilda’s wishes in that respect and you can live in it for as long as you want, but you shouldn’t be there alone right now—’

‘Mum, I—’

‘I know what you’re going to say but I’ll say again that we don’t think you ought to be there alone. That’s all.’

‘But—’

‘If you’re worried about the house being empty you needn’t be. We can pop in from time to time to check on things. In time, we’ll decide together what to do with it – which, of course, means you living there if you want to. Your father did mention buying you out if you didn’t want to stay there but I thought you might want to. For now, we really think it would be better if you were here with us.’

‘But, Mum—’

‘Dad’s ready to come and pick you up whenever you like and your old bedroom’s made up. I’ve got chicken in for tea if you want to come tonight.’

Esme sat on the bed and ran a hand through her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m going back to London.’

The line crackled and hissed.

‘Mum… did you hear me?’

‘Back to that man?’

‘Don’t…’

‘But that’s what you mean, isn’t it?’

‘He’s changed. All that other stuff is out of the way now.’

‘He tried to commit bigamy with you!’

‘He knows it was wrong now and he’s sorry.’

‘It wasn’t just wrong, it was illegal! He lied to you about his wife for all that time – and that’s without the other things!’

‘What other things?’

‘The way you utterly changed when you met him.’

‘Mum… I thought we were past all this. I know you don’t particularly like him but—’

‘Don’t particularly like him? I hate him, and I reserve that word for people who truly deserve it. If he died tomorrow I’d jig on his grave and your dad feels the same.’

‘Mum!’

There was another silence. Then: ‘So you’re determined you’re going back?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what are you going to do with Matilda’s house?’

‘I don’t know. I thought maybe Warren and me could live here.’

‘Over my dead body!’

Esme pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I don’t know then – I haven’t thought that far ahead really.’

Another pause. ‘Please come here before you leave for London. At least talk to us before you go.’

‘So you can try to change my mind?’

‘So we can talk some sense into you.’

‘Isn’t that the same thing in your book?’

She heard her mother take a sharp breath. ‘So you’d rather I pretend to be happy about this?’

‘I want you to let me live my life the way I see fit.’

‘But the way you see fit isn’t good for you! If I saw you shooting drugs would you want me to stand by and not say a word?’

‘Seriously, Mum? It’s hardly the same.’

‘He clicks his fingers and you run. He’s no good for you, and yet you want him all the more for it. What does he have that’s so irresistible?’

‘It’s not like that. He’s leaving his wife and I love him – there’s no reason for us to be apart now.’

‘Even after you spent so long getting over him? And don’t think we don’t know what sort of state you turned up at Little Dove Morton in because Matilda did talk to us. We were desperate to intervene and the only reason we didn’t was because she insisted it could be handled better her way.’

‘But that was when I thought he was going to stay married to Shelly. I couldn’t stay with him when he had a wife, could I?’

‘So everything your grandmother did to help you means nothing either?’

‘Mum, please… she’d understand.’

‘I highly doubt that. But as she’s no longer with us, we’re never going to know.’

‘She understood that I love him. She knew the only reason I left was because of Shelly. She’d never tell me what to do.’

‘I should imagine this Shelly’s throwing a party.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘She’s had a lucky escape by the sounds of things.’

‘Why do you need to say such mean things about Warren all the time? You barely know him.’

‘That’s true, I don’t. But I know you. And I know that you’ve changed beyond recognition since you’ve been with him and not in a good way.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘You didn’t come up for your dad’s special birthday, and in the past you would never have missed something as important as that. You didn’t visit when he had his hernia operation; you said you’d come for your cousin’s wedding and then let her down at the last minute. You stopped visiting your friends, you were thin as a rake and whenever we did manage to meet up all you did was look at your watch and fret about the time so you could be back for him… I could go on. What else am I supposed to think about that? He’s a bad person. He lies and manipulates and controls, and he’s made you a shadow of the girl you were. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. I can’t believe that you’d even think of going back to him.’

‘People change, Mum. It’s part of growing up. Just because I’m not the same wide-eyed little girl who lived with you doesn’t mean the changes are for the worse, and it doesn’t mean they’re down to anyone else. Maybe it was nothing to do with Warren. Maybe I just changed.’

‘Your grandma would have agreed with me.’

‘Well, as you just said, Grandma isn’t here, is she? We can hardly ask her.’

Esme bit her lip. Her retort had been harsh and it wasn’t what she’d meant to say. But her mum was off again, attacking Warren at every opportunity, just like before, and it had just come out.

‘Mum—’

‘Fine,’ her mum cut in. ‘Go to him, but don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong again.’

The line went dead. Esme stared at the phone as the number disappeared and the screen went black. It looked as though she was going to need Warren more than ever because now there wasn’t anyone else. She could only hope he wouldn’t let her down this time.

---

Esme clicked the PAY NOW button, and the confirmation pinged through to her email. That was it – her train to London was booked and by tomorrow afternoon she’d be back there. Warren had arranged a day off work to collect her from the station and they were going for a drink at his local – what used to be their local – afterwards to celebrate. Esme’s stomach groaned as she closed the lid on the laptop, and this time the feeling of hollow nausea that swept over her was too much to ignore. She went to the kitchen and picked up an apple from the fruit bowl, making a mental note as she did to clear the food from the pantry and the fridge before she went to the train station. Perhaps a local food bank or homeless charity would be grateful for it. The car she’d picked up cheap could stay here at Thimble Cottage – she’d have little need for it in London and it really was more of a hindrance there than anything else.

As she munched on her apple, she ran through an inventory in her head, trying to make sure she’d packed everything she was likely to need, in the short term at least. But it was hard, because her mind wouldn’t stay on any of it. There were doubts, tapping away in the back of her head. Was she doing the right thing? Had Warren really changed? Would he really divorce Shelly for her? What if her mum was right – what if Warren really was bad for her? Sure, sometimes she’d thought him unreasonable and demanding, but nobody was perfect and no relationship was either. Everyone knew that love needed patience and tolerance and a bit of work if it was going to last. Hadn’t her grandma said just that? She’d compromised for Granddad so many times and their marriage had been one of the strongest Esme had ever known. So Warren sometimes told her things she didn’t want to hear and nagged her into things she didn’t want to do, and she’d lost a few people along the way, but he did it because he thought he was doing the best for her and that proved he loved her, didn’t it? She could make compromises for love, couldn’t she? She could certainly do with a little love right now, even if that meant turning a blind eye to a few faults. In time, compromise would be as easy and natural as breathing.

Sometimes, when she was quiet and thoughtful and the skies beyond the windows had darkened, she could almost see Matilda sitting in the armchair, turning to her with a brisk smile.

‘Time for supper and some brain exercise,’ she’d say, surfing the channels for reruns of her favourite quiz shows while Esme went to fetch cake from the pantry. It had become a nightly ritual during their last weeks together, something Esme had grown to love, something that represented stability and order and emotional safety, as they tried to outwit and outscore each other on the questions and squabbled good-naturedly over the last bit of crumbly fruit cake.

Not tonight, though. Not any night now, ever again. Esme’s eyes misted and she cleared them with an impatient thumb. Grandma would have said it was all tears for nothing and what was the use of crying for an old woman who’d had her time? And even though Esme would have to disagree, she couldn’t deny the sense in it too. She had to look forward now, not back, to a new future. The engagement ring she’d once thrown at Warren was now back on her finger. It was a strange compulsion that had made her pick it up from where it had fallen the night she’d left London, but perhaps this moment had been in the divine plan all along. Her fingers ran over the smooth metal. Was it proper gold? What carat was it? She’d never even asked. She looked down at the diamond glinting at her. Was it even a diamond? Then again, did it even matter? It was a symbol of a commitment, nothing more, and did the authenticity of it even matter?

Esme shook herself. She had more packing to do and it was hardly going to happen with her standing around, pondering what might or might not be real.

Out of habit, she popped the apple core in the compost bin, just as her grandma would have done. Silly really, because it wasn’t as if Esme was going to be putting compost on the garden any time soon; the bin was just another thing she’d have to empty and clean out before she left. She went upstairs to her bedroom and, even though she’d just told herself she had lots of practical things to do, she reached for Matilda’s wedding photo – Granddad and Grandma as teenagers, smiling broadly, arms linked. Grandma clutched a glorious trailing bouquet of roses and Granddad wore his army uniform in shy pride. It was still in the old, broken frame, lying in the dust that had gathered on her dressing table. Esme turned it over, looking for the clasps that would undo the frame to get the photo out. Maybe she’d take it with her, slot it into a book to keep it safe until she could get a new frame that matched the décor of Warren’s flat. Maybe Warren wouldn’t mind it hanging on their wall too much – it was only an old photo, after all.

The fastenings were stiff with age and rust but after a bit of coaxing they came apart, one by one, with a faint ping. Esme slid the back off the frame to reveal the blank side of the photo and…

She frowned. Something else was lodged in there, slotted in behind the photo, out of sight. Esme pulled two rectangles of card out and peered at them. Plane tickets – old, by the looks of things. For a start, nobody even got plane tickets now – it was all electronic on your phone or print-at-home boarding passes. The tickets were in Grandma and Granddad’s names. Esme’s breath caught in her throat as she read the destination and the dates of travel. Heathrow to Helsinki, Helsinki to Rovaniemi, December 2008 – they were due to travel two months after Granddad had died.

The frame fell to the dressing table with a clatter and Esme lifted the tickets to her face, staring at them as if somehow the words printed on there might change if she looked hard enough. She reached into her memory. Wasn’t Rovaniemi the place in Lapland Grandma had planned to take her? She could only draw one conclusion from her find – Granddad had planned to take Grandma to see the Northern Lights after all, to exactly the same place as Grandma had planned to take Esme. Had she known about it? Or had Granddad hidden the tickets behind the photo so she wouldn’t find them and spoil the surprise? If Matilda had known then she’d never said, and clearly they never got to go because her husband had died in October of that year and she would never have gone without him. At least, not back then when the loss would have been sharp and raw. But if she didn’t know, then it was one hell of a coincidence that Grandma had booked that same town for them to visit.

Esme shook her head. Silly – it was probably the most popular Lapland resort and the travel agent had probably just recommended it when Grandma asked. After all, it was the home of Santa Claus, and of course the travel agent would recommend it for a Christmas trip. Grandma would have gone in with a list of things they wanted to see and do and this place would have fitted the bill perfectly.

Esme took the tickets over to the bed and sat down, all thoughts of packing and old photos forgotten. What did it mean that they had shown themselves now, after all these years, at this precise moment? And despite trying to dismiss it, it was strange that the destination he’d chosen was exactly the same as the one Grandma had booked for her and Esme. Did it have to mean anything at all or was it just a coincidence?

Her gaze was slack as a thousand scenarios ran through her head, and then she twitched, as if shaken from a trance, and got to her feet. Taking the photo and the tickets, she went over to her suitcase and tucked them into the front pocket to keep them safe.