The House of Birds and Butterflies

‘This one?’ he asked, cutting the engine.

‘Yes, this is it.’ Abby looked at her terraced house. It wasn’t remotely cottagey, not in the way Peacock Cottage was, but it was snug, it was her home, and she could see Raffle, his nose pressed up to the glass of the downstairs window, waiting for her as if he could sense when she was on her way back to him.

‘Is that a husky?’ Jack asked, peering over her shoulder.

‘That’s Raffle. He’s my rescue husky. Do you want to come in and meet him?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She looked back at Jack, frozen mid-breath, hoping with equal measure that he would say yes, and also no.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I’d love to, but perhaps not now. It’s late, as you say, and I … sure you’ll be OK?’ He gestured towards her hands.

‘They’re just grazes, fine once I give them a good clean. Thank you for the lift, and for … coming to look for me. It was brave.’

Jack frowned and ran a hand over his jaw. ‘Brave?’

‘Your cottage is in the middle of the woods,’ she clarified. ‘I’m a fan of nature, as you know, but if I lived somewhere like that, there is no way I’d step outside after dark in response to a noise, not unless I had a weapon with me, not even if it sounded like there was a fairground starting up right outside the front door. I was only there because I had no choice. If we were in opposite places, I wouldn’t have come to your rescue, I would have left you to get eaten by bears, or make your own way home, whatever.’

‘Which, I seem to recall, is pretty much what you wanted me to do when I found you.’

Abby felt the flush creep up her neck and was glad of the darkness. ‘Sorry about that. I was flustered, annoyed with myself for getting scared, and—’

‘I was the last person you hoped to see?’

‘You were inevitable, considering where I tripped.’

Jack laughed, the sound loud inside the confines of the car. ‘I was inevitable?’

‘God, that came out wrong! I just meant nobody else would be around, only you.’ The words somehow had more weight than she had intended, and she scrabbled to change the subject. ‘I saw you venturing out into the village today.’

He nodded, not quite meeting her eye. ‘I know Flick Hunter from a charity event we did a couple of years ago,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize she was here, but it was good to see her. A friendly face amongst, well—’ he gestured around him. ‘I’m new here, as you know.’

‘She’s anchoring the television show at the nature reserve on the other side of the marsh,’ Abby said quietly.

‘She was telling me about it. Has it affected things at Meadowsweet?’

‘Not really,’ Abby admitted. ‘Not that noticeably, anyway. We need to be more proactive about drawing in visitors regardless, so in some ways the push has been good.’

Jack stared out of the windscreen. ‘That’s often the way, getting forced in a direction you never intended, finding out that it was the right move all along.’ He faced her again. ‘Let’s hope it works out for both of us.’

Abby wanted to ask more, to connect the dots between his words and what Rosa and Octavia had told her about him, but she didn’t want to seem nosy, and now, with Raffle waiting inside and her bed calling to her weary bones, wasn’t the time. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed,’ she said. ‘Thanks again for rescuing me. Your car’s comfortable, by the way.’

‘Noted.’ He nodded, suppressing a smile, his lips lifting at the corners. Abby wondered if she’d conjured them up right in her fantasy, how the lips she was staring at would feel if they were pressed against hers.

‘Right then,’ she said, her voice paper-thin. ‘Night.’

‘Goodnight, Abby.’ He waited until she’d closed the door, walked up the front path and put her key in the lock. She stepped into her warm, vanilla-scented hallway and turned. He made a gesture that was half wave, half salute, and pulled away from the kerb.

When she fell into a fitful, broken sleep that night, the memory of her fall enhanced by the smarting of her palms, all she could think about was Jack running his hands up her arms, and the concern in his eyes when he’d knelt beside her in the mud.

When she woke the following morning, Abby felt like she hadn’t had any sleep at all. She took a longer route to work, walking along the brick wall around Swallowtail House, getting that extra peek of the building that intrigued and calmed her. The wind was still raging, low clouds racing across the sky so the sun had no chance to break through, but it never stopped the wildlife, and Abby paused to watch a pair of goldfinches, their regally coloured feathers flashes of bright in the grey. They bobbed along the high wall then disappeared over it, into a place she longed to explore.

She wasn’t the only one who wondered why, if the reserve was in trouble, and Penelope no longer wanted to live in the grand mansion, she didn’t sell it. Did she really hold onto it simply because it was a reminder of her and Al’s life together? And if that was the case, then why wasn’t she looking after it? The longer it was left, the less likely it was to survive at all. If Penelope wanted to preserve it then handing it over to someone else, and making a profit in the process, would surely be for the best.

But she couldn’t suggest it. The older woman would have considered it, would have her own reasons for handling things the way she did, and wouldn’t have listened to Abby in any case. Perhaps selling the house had some implications for the reserve, as it was all part of the same estate. She turned away from it and fought her way through the fallen elder to get back onto Meadowsweet’s woodland track.

She didn’t know why she wanted to avoid the sight of last night’s fall, but she felt off kilter, uncomfortable despite the success of the previous day’s event. She was gratified that the only disaster had come at her own hands, had harmed nobody but herself, but still she wished that, if there had to have been a witness, it could have been anyone but Jack. And yet, in some ways, she was glad it had happened. She couldn’t help but replay their encounter, the softening between them in his car a reconciliation of sorts. There had been no sign of Flick Hunter at Peacock Cottage, and he’d offered up the information about her freely, as if Abby deserved an explanation. She felt as if she was at the edge of a tunnel, knowing she should turn back but desperate to see where it led.

When she arrived at the visitor centre, she had a welcoming committee.

Penelope was standing at the reception desk, her arms folded accusingly, and Rosa and Stephan were in the shop, pretending to rearrange the display of Halloween chocolates but obviously waiting for whatever dressing-down was about to be handed out. Gavin, never one for subtlety, was leaning against the wall, a piece of grass in his mouth in place of a cigarette. When she caught his eye, he winced sympathetically.

Abby slowed, putting her hands behind her back, suddenly conscious of the grazes on her palms even though, now they were clean, they were hardly visible.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Is there – did something happen, yesterday?’

‘I don’t know,’ Penelope said. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

She put the emphasis on the last word, glaring at Stephan, Rosa and then Gavin, reminding them this wasn’t a spectacle, but none of them budged and Abby was thankful. She knew that, as embarrassing as it was to be reprimanded in front of her friends, they would also back her up if they could. The only thing was, Abby couldn’t think what this could possibly be about. The event had gone smoothly. Unless Gavin had let those boys go too far with the apple bobbing and failed to tell her about it.

‘I’m not sure what there is to say,’ she said slowly, casting around for anything that might help her understand what had happened.

‘Well, would you like to explain this?’ Penelope put something down on the desk. It was an envelope. White, pristine and, when Abby looked closely, sealed.

‘You haven’t opened it?’

‘Of course not,’ Penelope said. ‘It’s addressed to you. But I doubt whatever is inside will be particularly complimentary, going by the last one we received.’

Her insides suddenly churning, Abby turned the envelope over. In the slanting, elegant script she now recognized as Jack’s, was her name. Abby Field. They had come a long way from bee Post-it Notes, at least. A hundred things went through her mind – was he going to complain about the event after all, the swathes of people it had brought to the reserve? Had he meant to do it all along, and only failed to say anything last night because Abby was there alone, and he’d seen her as vulnerable? Or was this because she’d insulted him by saying he was inevitable? She had been encouraged by the thaw between them, but maybe she’d misinterpreted it.

They were all looking at her now, even Stephan and Rosa abandoning their pretence of display reorganization. Penelope’s politeness at not opening other people’s mail didn’t extend to letting them read it in peace, she noticed. She didn’t want to open it in front of anyone; she wanted to take the blow in private because, she realized with startling clarity, it would be a blow, to see harsh words from Jack aimed at the reserve, aimed at her.

‘Come on then,’ Gavin said. ‘We’re all dying of curiosity here. What has Mr Snooty got to say for himself now?’

She took a deep breath and ripped open the envelope, sliding out the folded piece of A4 paper and laying it out flat on the table before she lost her nerve. She skimmed over the words, then read them again more slowly, clamping her jaw together to stop her emotion from showing.

Dear Abby,

How are your hands this morning, and your ankle? I hope they’re suitably recovered and not suffering too much from passing up the chance of being tended to by me. When is your next guided walk? I’ve been wondering if I should take you up on the kind offer you spat at me several weeks ago.

Yours, JW

PS. Glad the squashed frog met with your approval.

‘What is this?’ Penelope asked, her brows furrowing. ‘What does this mean? Squashed frog? Has he been hurting the wildlife?’ She levelled Abby with a piercing, unsympathetic gaze, waiting for full disclosure.

‘No no,’ Abby said quickly. ‘It’s a conversation we had, a little while ago. He hasn’t harmed anything. But he’s not angry, see – he’s even considering coming on one of our walks. We’ve turned things around.’

‘What is this business with your hands and ankle? Just what have you been doing with my tenant?’

‘Nothing,’ Abby said. ‘Nothing at all, Penelope. There’s really no reason to worry; everything’s good.’

She folded the note and put it back in the envelope, then in her handbag, and hurried to the storeroom to take off her coat. She should be mad with Jack – there was no way she wanted Penelope, Gavin or Stephan to know about her ridiculous accident the previous evening, and as much as she would have been happy to tell Rosa, and Rosa, by her keen look, would be more than happy to find out, she didn’t want to risk it spreading.

Her feelings for Jack Westcoat, as conflicted as they were, were her business alone, a tempting fantasy to fill her idle moments. They would come to nothing, would fade out as quickly as they had arrived. It was good he was no longer against her or the reserve, and hadn’t once mentioned the extra traffic passing by his cottage during the Halloween event, but that was as far as it went. He was a writer, a disgraced one, and obviously as keen on his privacy as she was. She wondered if he would have written the note at all if he’d known that Penelope would force her to open it in front of everyone. They were destined to bump into each other occasionally, but so what? It didn’t mean anything.

As she hung her coat up and slipped the note into the inner, zipped compartment of her bag, she found that she was smiling, almost tempted to take it out and reread it, study the slopes and curves that his long fingers, pen held between them, had produced. But that would be taking it too far. She hadn’t delved into the background behind the scandalous events Octavia had taken much delight in telling them about, and she didn’t want to, even though she knew they would be readily available online. She didn’t want to know what had happened, discover something that would damage her view of him, just as, conversely, she didn’t want to make him a bigger part of her life than he was.

Jack Westcoat was a mirage in her mind, almost as much a work of fiction as the books he wrote, and that was where he needed to stay. The spark between them couldn’t be healthy; she knew that from personal experience, could easily replay the memories of verbal arguments between her mum and dad that had started on the right side of cheeky and ended with slammed doors, thrown crockery, and then, towards the end of their relationship, the abuse her mother had faced at her father’s hands. Her own escape, as a child, had been the fields behind her house, the calm and quiet, the colourful flutter of the butterflies and the high, unconcerned trill of warblers.

And yet, in her adult life, she had begun to repeat the pattern, drawn towards men whose passion started out as attractive but became dangerous. Jack was obviously next on her list of hopeless decisions, and she needed to stay away from him, even if the pull to see him got stronger.

There was just the small matter of his proximity to the reserve and her journey home, and the fact that now, it seemed, he wanted to come on one of her guided walks, was actively showing an interest in the nature reserve and the wildlife he’d been so against. She couldn’t allow that opportunity to pass by, however complicated it made things. Getting people inspired by nature was her job, after all.

She took up her post behind the reception desk and busied herself straightening the already neat maps, spotter books and day passes, ignoring the curious, almost knowing look Rosa was giving her.

Chapter Seven

Barn owls are like ghosts in the dusk. Graceful, honey-and-white birds with heart-shaped faces, they glide through the countryside looking for food. They are not the same type of owl as Hedwig in Harry Potter, which is a snowy owl, but I think they’re just as beautiful.

— Note from Abby’s notebook

With Halloween and bonfire night out of the way, Christmas seemed to hurtle towards them, and Abby and Rosa agreed to meet early in the visitor centre one mid-November morning to adorn the space with decorations. As Abby left her house and locked the door she found Octavia at her side, wearing a bright-green coat with white fur trim which, on top of her red hair, made her look like a large Christmas elf.

‘You’re decorating the reserve this morning, aren’t you?’

Abby had a brief vision of trying to hang paper chains from the trees. ‘The visitor centre,’ she said. ‘How did you know?’

‘Oh, something I overheard. I’ve been busy.’ She thrust forward bulging carrier bags, and Abby saw they were full of glittering decorations: baubles, strings of tinsel and birds made out of gold, silver, blue and purple wire. They looked homemade.

Abby stopped worrying about where Octavia had overheard her and Rosa discussing their plans, and whether she had started to bug their phones, because she was too distracted by the beautiful decorations.

‘These are … did you make these? For the reserve?’

‘There are some up in the library too, though book themed rather than avian. I thought it would be nice if Meadowgreen had continuity to its festiveness, and was seen as one harmonious village. I’m hoping to convince Ryan to hang up the offerings I’ve made him in the pub, too.’

‘But how much time did it take you to make all these? And what if it’s all wasted, and Ryan says no? I’m not going to, of course, and Penelope has got more important things to worry about than Christmas decorations, but … won’t you be upset if he rejects them?’

‘Not a worry, pet,’ Octavia said, patting her shoulder. ‘I’ll bring him round.’

Abby could imagine it, too.

They walked to the reserve, Abby taking her usual shortcut, aware that Octavia also knew it, and if she took the detour she had used for the last couple of weeks the older woman would start asking questions. As they got to Peacock Cottage, Octavia’s pace slowed almost comically, and she peered towards the windows. They were dark, the shiny red Range Rover absent from its usual space, and Abby felt a twinge of disappointment as she wondered where Jack had gone, whether he was out shopping or had disappeared back to London for good.

It had been two weeks since he had rescued her from the dark, and then followed it up with his good-humoured note, but since then she hadn’t seen or heard from him and had spent far too much time wondering if he was expecting an answer to his question about her guided walks. She had thought it was rhetorical, but should she have let him know the dates? Had she pushed him away? She had been going around in circles, telling herself it was a good thing, and then feeling a sharp sense of loss that she might have done just that.

‘No more from Mr Westcoat?’ Octavia asked as, her curiosity unrewarded, they trooped through the last patch of woodland before reaching the visitor centre.

‘A couple of brief meetings, one more note, but it was much … friendlier. I think he’s coming to terms with his adopted neighbourhood.’

‘That’s good to know. I suppose he realizes beggars can’t be choosers, and after what he did …’ She tutted loudly.

Abby prayed that she wouldn’t elaborate and was overjoyed to see Rosa waving at them from the doorway.

‘This is unexpected, Octavia,’ Rosa said. ‘Come in, I’ll make you both a hot drink.’

‘Octavia’s brought spectacular handmade decorations,’ Abby said. ‘It seems right that she should be able to help put them up. Or else just direct us from one of the café pews, whatever you prefer?’

‘Oh no, I’ll get stuck in, my love. No point keeping these hands idle when I could make the job easier.’

Abby lost herself in it, analyzing angles and viewpoints, working out where the best places would be for Octavia’s glittering creations. She hauled the ladder out of the storeroom and climbed to the top to hang strings of shimmering, rainbow tinsel from the centre of the domed roof out to the edges, like a maypole.

By the time they had finished, the whole building was dripping in festive, sparkling colour. They had even dared to put a mini Christmas tree on Penelope’s desk, and Abby was eager to see what the reaction would be. Would she accept it, smile, even, or ask for it to be removed before she threw it in the bin?

Abby knew so little about her boss, about who she spent time with outside work, whether she had close friends she let her hair down with. She had tried to picture Penelope relaxing, and found she couldn’t. She knew, via village hearsay, that Al had been her one true love, that she had abandoned her old life the moment he’d died – everything except the reserve, which she kept alive in his memory. They’d had no children together, and Abby thought she must be horribly lonely. Perhaps, over the years, she had held onto her loneliness, nurturing it, slowly shutting everyone out. It was such a shame.

Beneath the sternness, Abby could sense that there was so much more to Penelope, but perhaps living in a close-knit village, the way gossip whispered through it like wind through the trees, had made her cautious.

‘Earth to Abby.’ Rosa clicked her fingers in front of her face and Abby started, almost dropping the sparkly purple bird she was holding, unmistakable as a wren with its upright tail, its small, bulbous body and sharp beak. ‘Stephan’s just arrived, and we’re going to get a bacon roll before we open. You in?’

‘Five secs,’ Abby said. ‘Got to pop this little guy somewhere.’ She turned in a slow circle, looking for the perfect place for her wren, and chose a shelf in the Birdseye View section, between two high-end pairs of binoculars. Secretly, she named the bird Jonny, and went to find her bacon roll. As she approached the table, she realized the others were already deep in a conversation she would have tried to steer them away from, had she been there from the start.

‘It’s very gloomy and empty looking,’ Octavia was saying. ‘Has he gone? Had enough of the place? Abby said …’ She glanced up. ‘Oh, hello pet, I was just telling the others that Peacock Cottage seems deserted again. He didn’t last long, did he?’

Abby slid in next to Stephan, thanking him for the sandwich. ‘He could have gone to the shops.’

‘True,’ Octavia mused, but Abby knew it didn’t fit in with her sense of the dramatic. ‘And he’s stopped complaining, you were saying.’

‘Oh yes,’ Rosa said, swiping a glance at Abby. ‘The last note he left was almost enthusiastic about the reserve, or certain aspects of it.’

Abby stared at her plate. After Jack’s note, the one that had made her smile and thoroughly confused everyone else, Rosa had pressed Abby about what it meant, but Abby had been as vague as she could be, saying they’d almost literally bumped into each other and it was a sort of apology from him. It wasn’t the truth, but she thought that if he had something to be sorry for, then his swift change of opinion, from hostile to conciliatory, might make more sense. Rosa hadn’t been convinced – she knew when Abby was holding something back – and hadn’t entirely let it go.

What Abby was absolutely not prepared to do was give anyone her opinion of Jack Westcoat, for fear that her complicated feelings for him might escape along with it.

‘I was saying to Abby,’ Octavia carried on, oblivious to the atmosphere between the two friends, ‘that if he’s really in all that much trouble, and this is – or was – some kind of safe haven, then he isn’t in a position to be complaining. But then maybe he’s that kind of man, one who does as he pleases, always looks after himself and damn the consequences. Long before this latest incident he’d had a few reckless years, according to newspaper reports. It seems old habits die hard, and I’ve been debating with myself whether I want to unleash a man like that on the library regulars – but it would do wonders for our profile, having such a famous author under our humble roof. As long as he’s not going to fly into a rage, I think it would be worth it.’

‘You’ve not approached him about it yet then, Octavia?’ Stephan asked.

She shook her head, her myriad of necklaces jiggling. ‘I was giving him a couple of months, but now I see I might have left it too late.’

‘Left what too late?’

Abby hadn’t heard Penelope approach, and judging by the startled looks of her friends, she wasn’t the only one.

‘We were wondering if your tenant is still about, Penelope? You know, Jack Westcoat, notorious, bad-tempered author.’ Octavia was the only one in the vicinity of Meadowsweet – other than Gavin when he was being bold – who was unfazed by her.

‘Mr Westcoat is still in Peacock Cottage,’ Penelope said, ‘though I’m not sure he would appreciate being a subject at the breakfast table. I do, however, like the way you’ve made the reserve look festive. I’m sure our visitors will love it, and I believe I have you to thank for the quirky decorations, Octavia?’

‘I enjoy a bit of crafting, and what better way of spreading festive cheer than to share that with friends? Glad you approve. That’ll be a selling point when I go and see young Ryan later.’

‘Indeed. And please, if you have to talk about fellow residents of Meadowgreen, be mindful that what may be shallow gossip to you, is actually very serious for them. He happens to be in a position where his every move is liable to be scrutinized, and I’m sure he’d be grateful if, while he is here, he could at least get some let-up from that. Now, do you have a spare piece of tinsel, Abby? The tree you’ve left on my desk is looking somewhat forlorn.’

Octavia rustled about in her bag and pulled out a few colourful strands that were the perfect size for the miniature Christmas tree.

‘Thank you,’ Penelope said.

‘Do you want a bacon roll? Come and join us for a bit, maybe?’ Stephan glanced up hopefully.

Penelope’s thin lips shivered into a smile. ‘That’s a very kind offer, Stephan, but I have some paperwork to go through. A cappuccino would be welcome, but please—’ she held a hand out, stopping him as he began to rise – ‘not until you’ve finished your breakfast. I’m not gasping.’ She walked back to her office, twisting the tinsel between her fingers.

‘Bloody hell,’ Rosa whispered, after they’d heard the door shut. ‘What was that about? I was sure she’d be Queen Grinch over Christmas; I remember she was pretty nonplussed last year, but that was while we were all still getting to know each other. Is she softening?’

‘Interesting what she said about Jack,’ Stephan said. ‘Very much as if she knows him personally and is looking out for him.’

‘That makes sense,’ Rosa said. ‘She wouldn’t want just anyone staying in one of her houses, she’s way too particular for that.’

‘How do they know each other, then?’ Octavia asked. ‘And what does she think of all his antics at the awards ceremony, and the reasons behind it? Did you read up on that?’ Rosa and Stephan nodded and Abby joined in, hoping if she pretended to be clued up Octavia wouldn’t go over it again. ‘I could barely believe it,’ she continued. ‘I wonder how he’s hoping to recover his reputation after pulling a stunt like that? It makes the attack on his friend almost acceptable by comparison.’

‘As Penelope says though,’ Stephan said cautiously, ‘we have to be careful. It’s his life, and you never know how much the press have twisted things or blown them out of proportion. He might be a highly decent chap, stuck in a very difficult situation.’

Rosa nodded, her eyes finding Abby’s and then sliding away. Abby knew that, as much as her friend wanted to have the full story about the contact she’d had with Jack, she wouldn’t put her in an awkward position in front of Octavia.

Octavia, however, had no problem asking the pertinent questions. ‘What do you think about all this, Abby love? You’ve been very quiet, and you’ve had a couple of encounters with him. Is he author-talk material, or is he as dark as those terrible psychopaths he writes about?’

‘I’ve never read his books,’ Abby said, picking up crumbs on the end of her finger. ‘He was difficult to begin with, but he was prepared to listen to me. He might even come on one of my organized walks, so he can’t be all bad.’

Stephan laughed. ‘As long as they’re a nature lover, they’re OK with Abby. He could have punched everyone at the awards ceremony, but if he stopped to look at the bluebells Abby would forgive him.’

‘Hey,’ Abby protested, forcing a smile.

‘Well.’ Octavia shook her head, and then her shirt, depositing crumbs on the table. ‘Wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books? Jack Westcoat on one of Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s guided walks. That would give Flick Hunter and Wild Wonders a run for their money, and no mistake.’

Nobody pointed out to Octavia that, even if Jack came on one of the walks, he was highly unlikely to want the fact advertised to the whole of Suffolk.

The turn-up for the books happened one Saturday morning a few weeks later, when Christmas Day was less than three weeks away, and Abby had started to hum ‘Fairytale of New York’ on repeat.

She liked Christmas, and loved spending time with Tessa, Neil and the girls. Though their festive period inevitably included a visit from their mum, who would regale them with tales of her burgeoning single life, cruises and wine trips to France, dinner parties and dances in the posh Suffolk village of Lavenham, and a card from their dad, complete with additional scribbled names on the bottom, reminding them of his new, younger family, and how little time he gave to them any more.

Still, Abby knew it was for the best, that new families and scattered lives were bliss compared to that claustrophobic pressure cooker of a house where one wrong word was likely to wreak havoc. While her dad had tried to make amends for what he’d done, she was more comfortable keeping him at a distance. At least everyone seemed more or less happy now.

She was trying not to think about what her dad would be doing with his wife Susan and Abby and Tessa’s half-brother Shaun (who, despite being fourteen, they had only met on a handful of occasions, and how different their Christmas would be to the ones she had experienced growing up), when she pulled on her extra-thick fleece in the storeroom and went to meet the guests who had booked onto her winter warmer walk.

The first thing she noticed was that Evan was there, with his mum and dad in tow. He had an expensive-looking pair of binoculars around his neck, and a spotter book and pen clasped in his gloved hands. Abby’s heart soared, all thoughts of her dad forgotten.

‘Evan,’ she said, before greeting the rest of her visitors. ‘How are you? Still enjoying nature spotting?’

‘It’s the best,’ Evan confirmed. ‘We’ve been all over and I’ve seen so much stuff, but this is my favourite reserve. Are we going down to the kingfisher hide today? They’ve seen one there already this morning, I checked the board.’

‘Yes, I thought we’d go there. Our kingfishers are pretty consistent, if you stay for long enough you should get a good sighting from the right-hand windows. I’m so glad you’re here – you’ll have to tell me about all the things you’ve seen after we get back.’ She pointed at his book and Evan grinned, glancing at his mum and dad to check they’d noticed Abby’s interest. This, she thought, was why she loved her job so much.