After my call to David, I spent the next few days dithering over my decision, but on Thursday, as planned, I loaded up my ancient car, which had been an eighteenth birthday present from Dad and which I couldn’t bring myself to trade in even though it was becoming increasingly unreliable, and set off for Wynmouth, on the north Norfolk coast.
During the journey, and when I was tempted to turn back, I reminded myself that if I wanted to see my plans through properly then this visit really was the only option. However, rather than head straight to the lodge when I crossed the county border, I delayed the moment by taking a detour into the little coastal village. Ostensibly it was to see if anything had changed, but in reality, it was to buy a few more minutes in which to mentally prepare.
There were no new additions to Wynmouth as far as I could tell, but what had always been there looked, to my eyes at least, a little more cared for. The village sign, set in the green, had recently had a fresh lick of paint and the shops around the edge appeared smarter too. The pub, the Smuggler’s Inn, was sporting a different exterior colour and the row of brick and flint former fisherman’s cottages which led down to the beach were in good repair.
The sudden intrusion of another plethora of memories ensured I didn’t linger, but instead wove my way back around the narrow lanes and out of the village, failing to spot the sea because the tide was too far out. As the road twisted and turned, I fell to wondering if Wynter’s Trees was going to look as cared for as the village and I didn’t have to wait many minutes to find out.
‘Well, that’s new,’ I observed, as I turned off the road and on to the drive. ‘Welcome to Wynter’s,’ I read aloud, as I opened the passenger side window and leant across the seats to take in the personalised board which told visitors they’d arrived.
The sign was well over eight-foot high and featured a very jolly Santa, sleigh and reindeer soaring over what looked like the acreage owned by Wynter’s Trees.
The artist had done a good job and I wondered how much it had cost to have a bespoke sign designed and painted. I couldn’t remember any email about it but I knew I could have done it for a fraction of the cost. Then I remembered that I didn’t draw or paint for myself anymore so it wasn’t worth thinking about.
I put the car in gear, released the stubborn handbrake and carried on along the drive, which was now enchantingly flanked on either side by rows of tall red and white striped candy canes. They lit the way in the gathering darkness and, like the sign, weren’t the only new additions. There was also a five-bar gate blocking entry to the yard, but even if there hadn’t been, I would have rolled to a stop at that point anyway.
‘Wow,’ I whispered, pulled up short by the sight of the lodge, which was on my left and set back, almost amongst the trees.
Tears pricked my eyes as I took it in and acknowledged that my memory had failed me. In my head it was much smaller and I’d forgotten how intricately carved and painted the bargeboards which gave the place its authentic gingerbread feel, even in the height of summer, were. It was a home fit for Santa himself and for a few years it had been mine. They might have been unhappier than I would have wished for, but there was no denying, the aesthetic was idyllic.
The lights in the lodge were all switched on, giving the rooms a warm glow, and there was smoke curling out of the chimney. David had gone above and beyond to welcome me back and my intensely emotional response to the sight of the lodge, which I had never formerly felt any affection for, was a surprise. However, it wasn’t quite as much of a shock as the piercing noise of an alarm which began to screech when I tried to open the gate.
I covered my ears and took a hasty step back; my burgeoning tears banished as I looked about me, half expecting to see a police car racing up the drive.
‘You were supposed to call!’ yelled a man’s voice from the veranda a few seconds later. ‘You were supposed to let me know when you were here and I was going to let you in!’
The guy, draped in a bath towel which was far too small for his towering frame, pulled on a pair of work boots and ran over to where I was standing, open mouthed and wide eyed.
He was at least a foot taller than me and thickset, and there was a smattering of freckles covering his broad chest and shoulders. His hair was dark or at least, I assumed it was. It was hard to really tell because he’d clearly just jumped out of the shower and was sopping wet. When he turned around, I noticed that he’d got what looked like a pine tree tattooed down the length of his broad back, but it was difficult to make out the details in the harsh glare of my car lights and already agog, I felt it would be rude to stare.
‘There,’ he said, punching buttons on a keypad and thankfully silencing the noise. ‘That’s better.’
‘Much,’ I nodded in agreement, my ears ringing.
‘You must be Liza Wynter,’ he said, running one hand through his hair, while the other held on to the precariously positioned towel.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. I felt winded by the unexpected drama of my arrival and the proximity of his near nakedness. ‘Yes, I am and I’m sorry about the noise. I hadn’t realised the gate would be alarmed.’
‘Never mind,’ he dithered. ‘No harm done.’
He had started to shiver, which was hardly surprising given that he was sodden and it was the chilliest evening of autumn so far.
‘And I’m guessing you’re Edward?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded, running his hand through his hair again. ‘Sorry, I should have said. I am Edward, although more or less everyone calls me Ned.’
‘Ned,’ I repeated.
He was certainly a good-looking potential proprietor. Not that how he looked mattered. But then again, Wynter’s Trees needed someone physically fit at the helm and this guy fitted that description perfectly. I felt my face start to colour as I imagined him effortlessly hefting trees about.
‘Dad did message you,’ he said, biting his lip to stop his teeth chattering. ‘He sent a text when we realised you were going to be late.’
‘I must have been driving when it came through,’ I said. ‘Although I’m not really late because I never said what time I’d be arriving.’
Ned nodded. ‘Dad also said he’d forgotten to tell you he wouldn’t be around until the weekend now.’
‘Oh,’ I said, feeling disappointed. ‘No, he hadn’t mentioned that.’
That was annoying too. I had been hoping to get straight down to business, but I could hardly talk to Ned about my plan without his father present.
‘Never mind,’ said Ned, picking up on my disappointment. ‘It’ll give you time to get to know the place again without him breathing down your neck.’
He said it without sarcasm, and I noticed there was a hint of a smile playing about his lips. I guessed he knew how often and how hard his dad had tried to get me to come back. I didn’t point out that getting to know the place again was the last thing I intended to do.
‘Look,’ I said instead, noticing he was in danger of becoming frozen to the spot, ‘why don’t we go inside? You’re going to catch your death out here.’
‘Good idea,’ he said, looking down at me. ‘It is a bit brisk, isn’t it? And I’ve left the shower on. Can you manage to bring your stuff in?’
‘Of course.’ I said, wondering why exactly he was using the bathroom in the lodge.
The shock of seeing him half-naked meant it hadn’t registered before and there was no chance to ask him because he eagerly, and not surprisingly, sprinted off. I pushed the gate further open, drove my car through, then closed it again and transferred my few bits of luggage from the boot to the veranda before taking a deep breath and lugging it inside.
Finding myself back in the lodge felt every bit as uncomfortable as I had expected it to and as I looked about the place, I felt satisfied that my mission to cut all ties with the business was the right one. I would endure this unwelcome onslaught of emotions, with my mind firmly focused on convincing Ned to buy me out and my eyes trained on next year’s calendar, the travel brochures and my business plans back in my flat.
‘New year, new start,’ I whispered. ‘New year, new me.’
Looking at the room in more detail, I realised it didn’t look as if it had been abandoned and shut up at all and it didn’t smell or feel like it either. It was warm and cosy, thanks to the roaring log burner, and there was the delicious scent of something hearty coming from the kitchen. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said the place was being lived in but that couldn’t be right, could it?
Heavy footfall on the stairs drew my attention and I gasped as Ned came back into view and a dog started barking somewhere.
‘What on earth?’ I frowned, further poleaxed by his choice of clothes. ‘Why are you wearing that jumper?’ I blurted out. ‘It belonged to my dad.’
Ned looked fondly down at the chunky snowflake patterned navy knit which encased his broad chest and flat stomach.
‘No,’ he grinned, smoothing it down, ‘this is definitely mine. I’ve got a whole collection of them and from what my dad has told me about yours, I don’t think I could fit into his. They wouldn’t be long enough, would they? Although,’ he said, his eyes sparkling, ‘I am every bit as much of a fan of the festive season as your father was.’
I felt my face flame as I realised he was right. He was much, much taller than Dad and there was no way he could have squeezed himself into any of his jumpers. The one Ned was wearing was oversized, even on him and looking at the pattern more closely, I could see it wasn’t the same. It was very similar, but not identical.
‘Sorry,’ I swallowed, still lingering on the lodge threshold. ‘I can see it’s different now. The sight of it just took me by surprise.’
‘No worries,’ he shrugged. ‘Can I take your coat?’
I took a further step into the room and gave Ned another tick on my mental checklist. His love for all things festive would be a great help when it came to asking him to buy my shares. Anyone as keen on Christmas as my father had been would be thrilled at the prospect of owning somewhere as seasonally spectacular as Wynter’s Trees.
‘Thanks,’ I said, handing over my coat.
‘I hope you don’t mind that I’ve moved in,’ Ned carried on, heading towards the utility room on the far side of the kitchen, which was where the barking seemed to be coming from.
‘Moved in?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘After the last break-in Dad and I decided I needed to be permanently on-site, but of course you know that already.’
‘Did you?’ I frowned again. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes,’ he said, looking back over at me. ‘Dad emailed you about the damage to the barn from the last break-in months ago and then about me opening up the house.’
‘I must have missed the update,’ I said, wondering which of the many emails I’d received and merely skimmed over held those particular nuggets of information.
‘Dad has said that you tend to be a bit slack in the inbox department,’ Ned admitted.
‘Has he?’
Given that David had let me know, I could hardly take umbrage at the fact that Ned was living in the lodge and actually, he looked so at home I couldn’t help thinking that was yet another plus point. Him already being so settled in the place would make his taking over feel like a logical next step rather than a great change and upheaval. Had I been fond of the lodge and had a hankering to live in it myself, his presence might have rankled, but as it was, this arrangement was just fine.
‘Now,’ he said, as he hung up my coat and then put his hand on the utility door handle as the barking reached a whole new level. ‘How do you feel about dogs?’
‘I love dogs,’ I said, moving to stand nearer the sofa and quickly adding, ‘as a rule.’
‘Excellent,’ he grinned. ‘In that case, brace yourself, and don’t worry, this fella’s all bark and definitely no bite.’
I opened my mouth to ask what he was about to unleash but was practically bowled off my feet before I got the chance.
‘This is Bandit,’ said Ned, introducing me to the huge husky with the thickest coat and bluest eyes who had skittered across the wooden floor at breakneck speed and into my arms. ‘Second line of defence in the keep Wynter’s safe campaign. He’s an absolute softie, but no one who turns up with criminal intent needs to know that.’
Once he’d said a very thorough hello, Bandit sat panting at my feet and looked up at me as if butter wouldn’t melt. I wasn’t sure if he was as innocent or as well behaved as he was trying to make out, but he was beautiful. I gave him another fuss, my fingers practically disappearing in his thick coat.
‘He’s a rescue hound,’ Ned further explained. ‘His original owners hadn’t had him five minutes before they realised they weren’t going to be able to cope with him.’
‘And can you?’ I asked, raising my eyebrows as I abandoned my post next to the sofa which had served as no defence from Bandit’s enthusiastic welcome. Not that I really minded, because he was so lovely. ‘He must need a lot of exercise.’
‘Just about,’ Ned laughed. ‘And he does. I’m a keen runner, so he gets a good few miles under his belt with me most days.’
I supposed you didn’t get a physique like his from felling trees alone and I could easily picture the pair of them pounding around the plantation.
‘He’s perfect for this place,’ I pointed out, although I was sure Ned was already aware of that.
‘I’m hoping for snow this year,’ he told me. ‘The photo opportunities with him will be too good to miss.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And he could be the perfect mascot for the website too.’
In my mind’s eye, I could easily imagine the idyllic snowy scene on the homepage, enhanced by Bandit’s blue eyes and elegant stature, but then I gave myself a shake and shrugged the image off. What the Wynter’s Trees website looked like was nothing to do with me.
‘Are you hungry?’ Ned asked, making Bandit’s ears prick up. ‘Not you pooch,’ he tutted, ‘I was talking to Liza.’
‘I am a bit,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Ned nodded. ‘I thought you might be, so I’ve made a steak and ale stew in the slow cooker. I hope that’s all right? You’re not vegetarian, are you?’
‘Sounds great,’ I said, and right on cue my stomach growled. ‘And no, I’m not.’
‘In that case, why don’t you put your bags in your room and freshen up and I’ll start plating up?’
I didn’t turn the lights on in my old room. In fact, I barely opened the door. I just put my bags on the floor and nudged them inside with my foot. I’d deal with any emotional reaction to the sight of the room at bedtime and in private. I wasn’t really expecting there to be one, but then I hadn’t expected to well up at the sight of the lodge either, so it was probably best to err on the side of caution.
‘I meant to say,’ said Ned, handing me a plate filled with stew, soft and fluffy dumplings and glossy, green kale, ‘I’ve taken the spare room opposite yours. I hope that’s okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘I have been in the big double room,’ he said, his eyes briefly meeting mine. ‘But only to bleed the radiator and occasionally open the windows.’
‘Thank you,’ I quietly said.
That had been Dad’s room and I knew it would still be just as he had left it. Not for the first time, I wished I’d had the courage to make decisions about what I wanted to do with his and Mum’s things when I was at the very bottom of the pit of grief, rather than having to face it all now.
‘So,’ said Ned, when I didn’t say anything further, ‘Dad tells me you’ve been working with some challenging students for the last few weeks, what’s that been like?’
He poured us both a glass of wine and I told him some of the more amusing anecdotes I’d accumulated, along with further details of what my real job as an art therapist entailed and how much I missed it.
Being stuck in a classroom for the last few weeks had hit hard after all the hours I’d formerly spent outside with the small groups of students I supported, encouraging them to use the natural world both as inspiration for their work and as a balm for their troubled souls. I didn’t venture into details about my freshly formed business plans. It was my intention to only reveal those when Ned, David and I were all together.
From what his dad had already said, Ned struck me as an astute businessman and I was pretty certain that he would pick up on the fact that an enterprise such as the one I had in mind would require more than a teaching salary and savings to get it off the ground.
The conversation between us flowed easily, and I was grateful that Ned had gone to the trouble to make my first evening back as stress free as possible. As I looked across at him, I realised just how like David, in that respect, he was.
‘So,’ I said, turning my attention back to the focus of David’s recent call, ‘do you think it’s going to take long to get the papers drawn up to sell and transfer your dad’s share in the business to you?’
Ned helped himself to another ladle of stew, then looked at me. Now his hair was completely dry I could see it was touched by chestnut highlights.
‘I’m not sure, to be honest,’ he told me. ‘All Dad’s done so far is brief his solicitor about what might be happening. He didn’t want to do more than that until we’d met and you’d decided if you were happy for him to sell to me or not.’
There was no doubt in my mind that Ned was going to win my seal of approval. In fact, he was already well on his way to receiving a gold star, hopefully along with my share in the business too.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Are you in a rush to get away again? I was hoping to run you through the new ideas I have for the place. You never know, you might even fancy sticking around to help me get some of them up and running.’
It wasn’t the time to explain that whatever he had in mind wasn’t going to matter to me because I was planning to leave for good, so I just played along and tried not to feel too guilty about it.
‘I’m not in too much of a rush,’ I told him, choosing my words with care. ‘But I’m going to travel soon, so I won’t be staying here for long.’
‘Dad did say you had plans to see a bit of the world,’ Ned nodded. ‘And he’s told you he has too, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘New Zealand.’
‘And that’s just for starters,’ Ned laughed. ‘I reckon he and my aunt will be taking a full global tour if Dad has his way.’
‘That would be amazing.’
I’d never had David down as a global explorer before. I had assumed his roots were too established in Norfolk to take such a monumental trip.
‘And where are you heading?’ Ned asked me.
‘Japan,’ I told him, ‘Or maybe Iceland.’
‘Wow,’ he whistled. ‘Not both?’
I thought about that. ‘Perhaps,’ I eventually said. ‘It’s going to depend on what Father Christmas puts in my stocking this year.’
If my shares raised enough, and I was careful with my budgeting, travelling to both sides of the world might turn out be a possibility.
‘In that case,’ Ned smiled, emptying the last of the wine into my glass, ‘you’d better make sure you’re on the nice list, hadn’t you?’
