Samantha slipped her phone back into her pocket.
“All done,” she said. “It’ll be waiting for you when you get there.”
“At the Sunken Willow,” added Tom.
“Thank you so much!” said Annie. “That was really kind of you.”
“If you want to throw yourself into village life, the pubs are the best place to start,” said Tom. “They’re kind of the heart of the community.”
“And our shop is its arteries!” added Samantha proudly.
“We came down from London three years ago and I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” he said, and Samantha nodded in agreement.
“Welcome to Willow Bay!” Samantha called as they headed down a set of steps and onto the beach.
Annie began to climb, crossing driveways that snaked down to the houses hidden in the hillside.
Within minutes she was sweating and panting. She peeled off her jumper and tied it round her waist.
The gulls’ cries still dominated the skies, but here they were joined by the chirrups of other birds: the warbling coos of wood pigeons and doves and the sharp, high-pitched whistle of starlings, jostling for position in the trees above.
Annie’s shadow bobbed along ahead of her, as if encouraging her to keep going. When she reached the summit of the hill and stood with her hands on her hips, she felt triumphant. She looked at her watch; it had taken her forty minutes. She mentally challenged herself to have smashed that time out of the park by the time she left Willow Bay next spring.
The change to autumn was reflected in the busy front gardens. Japanese anemones waved for attention and reedy hollyhocks listed drunkenly, their blousy blooms replaced with brown papery seed heads that looked as though they would jangle like Morris Dancer bells if you shook them.
Annie thought about her kitchen garden back at the Pomegranate Seed. The squash would be ripe, the courgettes all but finished. The new menu would be in full flow. She would miss pulling the parsnips for winter soups and stripping the sprout trees for the hundreds of Christmas dinners they would cook in December. But she had weathered change before: When her parents had died, so close together in time that the pain was still raw when the next wave of grief crashed over her. When the boys went off to uni, and later when they truly left home to begin careers and build their own lives. Yes. She had experienced greater upheavals than the loss of a kitchen garden. Strange, she thought, that she missed the kitchen garden and not the husband she had left behind.
Chapter 17
Warm and invitingly dark, the Sunken Willow was significantly busier than it had been on Annie’s last visit. The smell of open fire mixed with the rich scents of roasting meats and the earthy notes of cauliflower cheese made Annie’s stomach growl.
Through a gap in the crowd, Annie spotted Pam’s ample cleavage at the pumps before she saw her face. One of the patrons moved his head, and Pam’s face came into view.
“Annie Roast Pork!” Pam called, meeting Annie’s eyes.
“Hi!” said Annie.
People were beginning to notice the stranger in their midst, and Pam, sensing her patrons’ curiosity, said loudly: “Everybody, this is Annie. She’s looking after Mari’s place for the winter.”
This announcement was met with lively greetings, glasses raised in her direction, and multiple offers of drinks. Annie smiled and said, “Thank you!,” took rain checks on drinks, and hoped that the population of Willow Bay didn’t think her surname was “Roast-Pork.”
“Emily, love! Do me a favor and take Annie round to the restaurant, would you?” Then she turned back to Annie. “Emily will take you round, and Bill will bring your dinner out in a minute. What can I get you to drink?”
Annie was parched from her walk up the hill.
“I’ll have a large glass of Zinfandel and a pint of iced tap water, please,” said Annie.
“Right you are,” said Pam. “I’ll bring it through.”
Annie followed Emily through the bar, down a couple of steps and into, judging by the lilt of the stone walls, what must have been the oldest part of the pub, which served as the restaurant. Families were finishing up their puddings and sipping coffees.
Emily stopped at a table situated in a nook by the window. Annie slid onto the bench, festooned with cushions with stag heads and embroidered thistles. To her surprise, Emily took the Windsor chair opposite her.
“Did you have a chance to read the pamphlet yet?” she asked.
Dammit! thought Annie. What with the move, she’d completely forgotten where she’d even put it. “Oh, dear. Sorry, no, I haven’t.”