A Season for Second Chances(39)

“It’s a lovely spot,” said Max.

“Yes, it is,” said Annie. “I like it very much.”

“You’ll be bored,” said Max. “I know you.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” said Annie.

“I want you back,” said Max.

Annie pulled the keys out of her handbag and set about unlocking the various deadbolts, determinedly ignoring Max’s comment. She pushed the door open and felt, rather than saw, Max crane his neck to see past her.

“I mean it,” said Max. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Annie. “Just pop the bags down there, thanks.”

Max did as he was told.

“Thank you, Max,” said Annie. “Well, then, good-bye.”

Max climbed the last few steps so that he was level with Annie and dropped the bags onto the welcome mat. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but Annie turned to place Tiggs’s basket in the hall, leaving Max to recover his balance awkwardly.

“I’ll see you soon,” said Max.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Annie, purposely noncommittal.

Max stepped back down, and Annie could feel him looking at her.

“Well,” said Annie. “Thanks for dropping by. Don’t make a habit of it.” She smiled sweetly.

“What’s happened to you?” Max asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Annie.

“You’re so feisty,” said Max. “I like it.”

“I’ve always been feisty,” said Annie. “You just stopped noticing.”

“I’m noticing now,” said Max. He had a glint in his eye, like a shark sensing blood in the water.

“Good for you,” said Annie. “Say hello to Ellie for me!”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but Annie closed the door firmly and locked it for good measure. She ferried Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and her luggage up the stairs. She stood to the side of the kitchen window so that she was obscured from view and waited for Max to leave. When at last she heard the crunch of wheels on shingle, she relaxed.

A reproachful meow broke Annie’s reverie.

“Sorry, Tiggs,” said Annie. She unhooked the latch and the door to the basket swung open. “Welcome to your new home.”

Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle unfolded her puffball body out of the basket and stretched first her front legs, then her back. She allowed Annie to make a brief fuss of her and padded nonchalantly out of the room, tail held high, to explore the rest of Saltwater Nook.

Annie spent the rest of the day indoors; she didn’t want Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle to feel nervous in a strange place. After she had showered and changed into something suitably sloppy, Annie went down to the freezer in the cellar and took out two mackerel fillets for herself and a bag of sardines as a treat for Tiggs. As she began the flight of stairs back to the flat, something by the doormat caught her eye. Annie doubled back on herself and stooped to pick up a piece of lined paper, carelessly torn at the top and folded over into a note. She opened it.


Dear Ms. Sharpe, I came to call on you this morning to see how you are settling in but unfortunately you were not in. I am sorry to have missed you.

John Granger



The note seemed innocuous enough, and yet Annie couldn’t help feeling it was somehow critical. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’re just feeling oversensitive after your run-in with Max.

Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and Annie spent the day amiably pottering around the flat. Annie sat in the armchair, with her feet on the footstool, reading The Woman in White until her eyes began to cross. Tiggs catnapped in various locations until she found the afternoon suntrap on the window seat and settled down until dinnertime. When the sun began to set, turning the sky to ripe apricot as the great orb disappeared down below the waves, Annie and her housemate had dinner together, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle on the floor and Annie on the sofa, watching Antiques Roadshow. For the first time in more years than she could remember, Sunday felt like a magical precursor for the week ahead.





Chapter 31



Annie pulled up next to the picket fence and hauled the bags out of the boot. She’d gone to the nearest town to pick up supplies for the first book club meeting on Wednesday; she liked to get ahead of the game. She had bought scented candles for the tables and two lamps with puffins and crabs printed on the shades so that they wouldn’t have to use the flickering strip light, which gave off grisly crime scene vibes.

Since Gemma was keen to bring wine, Annie decided to make a nonalcoholic hot apple punch as a complement, reasoning that the smell of cinnamon and mixed spice heating on the little hob would also create a sense of warmth in the chilly room. She was planning to cook some mini pesto tartlets to have hot, along with antipasti and a big bowl of fancy crisps. Preparation, planning, and list making were some of Annie’s greatest joys, and starting a new life required a whole new level of rumination that she was only too happy to embrace.

It was late in the afternoon. It had been chilly all day, the pale sun masked behind smoky clouds, and now even that scant light was starting to fade. The air was clammy, and she could feel it clinging to her hair as a woolly gray fog slipped over the rocks and blotted out the landscape. Annie shivered and felt grateful for the little waft of smoke spiraling out from the chimney of Saltwater Nook, signaling warmth within. As she hauled her bags of shopping up the garden path, she saw a wicker hamper sitting on the top step in front of the door. She climbed the stone steps and stooped to read a paper parcel tag tied to the basket handle: