Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(13)

Emma’s lips twitched. She closed her eyes, groaned. ‘I’m a cow.’

Maggie gave her a look of pity mixed with amusement. ‘A little, but, well, you’re in pain, it can make anyone grumpy.’

Emma sighed. ‘I suppose, but it’s not a great excuse, I don’t like that I’m like this. I think it’s just that he invades my space. I know he’s trying to be nice… But that just makes it worse.’

‘I can get that. Also, I mean, it’s always just been you and Evie here, well, and your crazy aunts too, but now it’s A Man in Hope Cottage,’ she said, a little theatrically, her hands making a rainbow across the air as if her words were on a movie poster. ‘What will Emma Halloway do? Find out, this Saturday on Film Four…’

Emma laughed. ‘You’re crackers. God, I missed you.’

‘Me too. I’m sorry it took being knocked over by a van to bring you home, but I’m glad you’re here, for a while at least.’

‘Yeah… it’ll be a while too,’ Emma said darkly.

‘They still don’t know how long the recovery might take?’

Emma shook her head. ‘Or if I will completely recover.’ Admitting what she hadn’t had the strength to say to her aunts.

‘Oh, you will. I’m sure of it. I mean, they’re probably working on it already,’ Maggie said, her eyebrows dancing meaningfully as she made a vague gesture towards the empty kitchen beyond the screen.

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t get me started. I’ve told them not to bother.’

‘Why not? Surely every little bit helps, and if you don’t believe in it, what’s the harm?’

‘There’s other reasons.’

Like the fact that she was in this situation because they’d sent The Book, and the postal worker who’d tried to deliver it knocked her down. She knew, logically, an inanimate object hadn’t been the cause, but it was hard to forgive it all the same.

As if she could read her mind, Maggie glanced at the table and said, ‘Is that it? The Book,’ she added in reverential tones.

Emma shrugged. ‘Yes, in all its two-hundred-year-old glory.’

‘C-could I –’ she cleared her throat, ‘Would you mind if I had a look? I didn’t dare ask when I was a kid… and there was always someone around so I couldn’t really sneak a peek.’ She winked.

‘Knock yourself out,’ said Emma, easing herself back on her pillows next to Mikey, who was still fast asleep. Maggie crept forward eagerly, flipping through the pages. ‘Some of these are ancient!’ she said, turning to one that dated back to 1818, her mouth flopping open. ‘This newsprint on some of them – it’s amazing, it’s like a bite out of history!’

‘Yeah,’ said Emma, ‘I think it’s partly why I became a food writer, I mean, moving aside all the folklore and stuff attached to this book and us. The recipes offer a real sense of history – from the early recipes before the introduction of spices, times when meat was in short supply, and before sugar was a staple.’

Maggie nodded eagerly, still flipping the pages, ‘Like this – “Peasebread”?’

‘Yeah, that was popular in these parts back in the day. Some of the recipes call for these forgotten foods, like peasemeal. Evie’s good that way though – I mean, in the garden she grows lots of old-fashioned herbs like tansy and rue, and she kept almond milk long before it became fashionable to do so.’

‘Incredible,’ remarked Maggie. ‘Oh, my goodness, these names!’

‘I know,’ said Emma, giving her a wry grin. The names, frankly, were a little mad. ‘Evie told me once that they say what they mean, not what they are.’

Maggie frowned. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’ She leaned forward to read. ‘The instructions are wild,’ she said with a laugh. She read one aloud: ‘The herbs should be picked during the light of the harvest moon, and added before twilight on the second day.’ She made a noise of surprise. ‘It even comes with a warning – ‘A volatile recipe, to be made only with a calm temperament. Clear your emotions before you begin the layers, so as to avoid any unintended consequences, or be prepared to deal with the aftermath.’

‘Do they really do all this?’ she asked, meaning Evie and her aunts. She didn’t ask, ‘Do you?’ – she knew the answer was no, or at least, not any more.

Emma shrugged. ‘Yeah, they do.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘You know, I was always a bit envious of you growing up… I mean, I never told you this but I used to wish that Evie would adopt me, or maybe it would turn out that actually I had some family connection too. My nan said that one of the first Halloways married a Gilbert, so it seemed possible,’ she said, with a wry smile, shaking her head at herself.

Maggie’s family, the Gilberts, like the Allens, Halloways and Leas, were one of the oldest families in the village. Maggie had told Emma that herself the year she first came to live at Hope Cottage, after Emma’s parents had passed away. It was the same occasion as when she had told Emma rather matter-of-factly at the school gates that they could be friends if Emma liked. Emma, who’d been feeling lost and alone, had been really touched.

Emma sat up now in surprise. ‘I didn’t know that! Or that you felt that way.’