Page 4 of All Wrapped Up

My head was still buzzing long after Lizzie had left and as I thought over everything that had occurred in the brief time she had been with me.

Not only had I decided it was time I rejoined the human race that day, I had also invited a stranger across the cottage threshold, been outed as the person behind AutumnEverything and been offered an unexpected opportunity. No wonder I was reeling!

Surprisingly, it didn’t take me long to find Lizzie among my list of AutumnEverything followers because she turned out to be one of the people who commented the most consistently.

Her declaration that she really loved the account was no exaggeration and having met the woman behind the many words she had posted, I could now read what she had typed with her voice in my head.

It was just a short leap from there to finding the account for The Cherry Tree Café.

Just as I had known it would be, the grid was an absolutely gorgeous mix of cakes and makes and I hoped I could trust Lizzie to keep my secret because I would love to visit without fear of worrying that she’d shared more about me than I wanted anyone in the Fens to know.

In spite of my efforts not to worry about what Lizzie might or might not do, my sleep that night bore the brunt of my brooding and I spent much of the night tossing and turning and feeling hot and bothered as I got tangled in the sheets.

‘So, what are you up to today?’ Mum asked, when she video called rather too early the next morning. ‘Did you get the storm? You don’t look as if you’ve had much sleep.’

‘Cleaning first, then some gardening, but only if it isn’t too wet,’ I said, wishing she hadn’t alluded to the dark smudges under my eyes. ‘And the storm did land. The thunder raged for hours, but it’s feeling much cooler now, which I’m grateful for.’

I’d opened all of the cottage windows and the air blowing through and making the curtains billow was cool and fresh. I had been going to post a photograph of the spare room window with a jug of fresh flowers cut from the garden on the sill, but held back once I’d taken the shot.

I adored my online account, but currently had mixed emotions about posting so soon after Lizzie had recognised my things around the cottage. I would have to get over that, though, if I didn’t want to fall out of favour with the algorithm.

‘Your dad was watching the thunder tracker thingy,’ Mum told me. ‘He thought it looked as though you were clear of the worst of it by midnight.’

‘Well, I had an early night,’ I responded, unwilling to go into the real reason why my sleep had been disrupted, ‘and it felt like it hung around for ages once it had woken me up.’

‘Oh, I hate it when that happens,’ Mum sympathised and I had to smile, because nothing short of a shot going off was able to wake her once she’d fallen asleep.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ she asked. ‘Other than tired. Are you bored yet?’

‘It’s only been a few days,’ I reminded her, knowing she was referring to the renovation work and decorating being finished and me having less to do. ‘And there’s still plenty to get on with in the garden.’

‘Yes, but I know you, Clementine,’ she commented cannily. ‘You’re at your happiest when you’re up to your neck in brick dust and paint samples. Have you had any thoughts about moving to take another renovation project on?’

Both Mum and Dad had initially been devastated when I moved so far away but soon came to realise and appreciate the huge part the renovation had played in helping me come to terms with my grief.

As I had got to grips with the work, I had both the time and privacy to properly process my loss and I came to realise that just as I was changing the cottage, losing Callum had changed me.

As the four walls accepted their new look, I accepted my grief.

I didn’t deny it, or try to paper over it, I made my peace with it and it was then that I was finally able to let the wound start to heal.

‘I’m going nowhere, Mum. No more brick dust for me,’ I replied sincerely. ‘Rowan Cottage is my home now.’

‘In that case,’ she said, a frown etching her forehead, ‘what are you going to do?’

The last thing I wanted was her and Dad worrying that I was going to be twiddling my thumbs and falling to brooding.

‘It’s looking likely that I’m going to be helping out with an event in town soon,’ I fibbed, thinking of Lizzie’s visit. ‘And by the sounds of it, it’s going to be pretty full-on.’

Mum looked thrilled. ‘That sounds exciting,’ she smiled. ‘What is it?’

‘I can’t tell you the details,’ I further blagged. ‘My friend, Lizzie, has sworn me to secrecy.’

‘I don’t think I’ve heard you mention a Lizzie before,’ Mum mused.

‘You must have done,’ I tutted, digging myself an even deeper hole to later climb out of. ‘She runs a café in town, with her friend Jemma, and she called here yesterday to rope me into helping with this idea she’s had.’

The festival idea might have come from Moses, but I wasn’t about to get myself further into it and start attempting to explain that.

‘Oh well, in that case,’ Mum said happily, ‘the garden will have to wait a bit longer, won’t it?’

‘I’m sure I can manage both,’ I said confidently. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Not much,’ she shrugged. ‘I had my hair done yesterday.’ She turned her head from side to side so I could see the impact of the half-inch trim. ‘Oh, hold on. I can hear your dad’s back from picking up his paper and he’s bound to want to say hello.’

‘Is that Clemmie?’ I heard Dad shout from the hall. ‘Don’t let her go. I’ve got something to tell her. I’ve just seen Jill and she said I could pass it on.’

Jill was Callum’s mum and aside from birthday and Christmas cards, I’d completely lost touch with her and his dad, Colin. Maintaining contact had been too painful after I’d made the decision to move away. I tried not to feel like I’d abandoned them, but I didn’t always succeed.

‘Did you hear that?’ Mum asked.

‘I did,’ I said, with a sigh as I imagined Jill and Colin still buried in their grief and still living in the house that overlooked the river that had taken their son. ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’

Callum and I had only been married eighteen months when he drowned in the river that ran through the town while trying to save a child who had fallen in.

There had been days of rain ahead of the accident and the river was swollen to capacity as the extra volume of water squeezed its way down from the hills, through the town and under the bridge.

The road either side had been filled with onlookers as it reached its peak early one evening and somehow a little girl had fallen in.

Callum had been one of three people who stopped when he spotted the commotion as he drove by and then jumped into the swirling torrent to rescue her.

He was the only one who had been swept away.

I hadn’t known any of what had happened until there was a knock on the door and I found two police officers on the step looking grave.

I remember I had been laughing as I skipped down the hall to open the door because I had assumed it was Callum, weighed down with the tins of paint I had asked him to pick up on his way home from work.

We were getting ready to decorate the last room in the house we had successfully bid on at auction, gutted and brought back to life.

The whole place had been neglected for years and there were times during the three-year intense renovation when we had felt like giving up, but thanks to my love of social media, the project had accrued a huge and enthusiastic following online and with the extra support from our parents, we had rallied to see it through.

Or almost through. I had never got around to painting that last room and eighteen months after Callum’s funeral, I had moved to Rowan Cottage with the walls I left behind in that one room still showing bare plaster.

‘Hello, love,’ said Dad as his face filled the screen and I slowly drifted up through the sea of painful memories that mention of Callum’s parents always evoked.

‘Hi, Dad.’ I swallowed. ‘Did you get your paper?’

‘I did,’ he said, holding it up, ‘but not all the news is in print today.’

‘Oh?’

‘I bumped into Jill. And you’ll never guess.’

‘Go on.’

‘They’ve put their house on the market.’

I felt my mouth fall open.

‘They’re selling up.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Mum said tearfully.

‘Did you get that, Clemmie?’ Dad frowned. ‘I think the screen’s just frozen.’

‘No, it hasn’t,’ I said. ‘And I did hear. I’m just in shock. I can’t believe it. What absolutely wonderful news!’

Colin had barely left the house since Callum had died and the curtains were hardly ever opened at the back because the windows overlooked the river. I had hoped for so long that one day they would find the strength to leave and now they had. I was so relieved for them.

‘I knew you’d be pleased.’ Dad smiled and I could tell he had a lump in his throat.

‘More than pleased.’ I sniffed. ‘A million times more than pleased.’

Mum looked as emotional as I felt and we were all still smiling when we signed off.

There wasn’t much in the way of dust, but I set about cleaning right through the cottage, with my summer Spotify playlist blaring and the windows all still wide open.

I was in an elated and celebratory mood as a result of Jill and Colin’s decision and I hoped they’d be settled somewhere new in time for Christmas.

It would be a push timewise, with autumn on the horizon but not completely beyond the bounds.

And talking of autumn…

Once the season had popped back into my head, it was impossible to shake off further thoughts of the festival that wasn’t going to be happening in Wynbridge or the fact that I had told Mum that I was going to be involved in it.

I might not have gone into the details but I knew she wouldn’t forget I had mentioned something and, having looked again at what I had posted on AutumnEverything the previous year, it took no effort at all to imagine what could have been achieved if there had actually been some time to do something about it.

As I scrolled through my prettiest posts, I visualised exactly the sort of things a festival to celebrate the cosy season could include beyond the pumpkin fields Moses had loved and then without really meaning to, I started listing event ideas in my head.

There were myriad opportunities to celebrate out of doors, along with art and craft workshops, whole community events – given what Lizzie had said about Christmas, I now knew Wynbridge had a thriving community – delicious food to eat and seasonally spiced drinks, anything and everything to do with pumpkins of course, and all kinds of sweater weather fun.

My imaginings weren’t ultimately going to come to anything, because there was no one available to make them happen, but it was fun to daydream.

And, as long as Lizzie kept my secret, I would be able to enjoy sampling the autumn menu in The Cherry Tree Café, as well as admiring the fields full of pumpkins, which was some compensation.

‘Oh no!’ I yelped, as I realised that while I had been distracted, it had started to rain and the infamous Wynbridge wind was helping the downpour find its way inside. ‘No gardening for me today, then.’

I rushed around and closed the windows and then spotted that the garden gate was swinging wildly in the wind. If I didn’t secure it, it would probably be damaged.

‘Damn,’ I muttered, as I snatched up a jacket which was hanging above the shoe rack in the hall and pulled it over my head. ‘Rain, rain, go away!’

By the time I’d dashed down the path and secured the gate, then rushed back into the porch, I was pretty soaked.

I shook the jacket out, then held it to my nose.

It was a battered, waxed garment that Callum and I used to share.

It didn’t smell of him now, but as I returned it to its peg and smoothed it down, I heard something crinkle in one of the inside pockets.

‘No way.’ I swallowed, as my hand reached in and came out with a crumpled piece of paper held tightly in its grasp. ‘It can’t be.’

One of Callum’s most endearing qualities was that he used to leave me little, handwritten ‘love-notes’ where I least expected to find them.

Some were romantic, others were funny or poignant, but they all touched my heart and made me smile.

I had found a surprising number in the three years since he had been gone.

The first one, most likely the last he’d written, had been tucked inside an already opened cereal box, another in a shoe I hadn’t worn until the following summer and so it went on.

That said, I had worn the jacket dozens of times since he had passed, so I had no idea how I had missed the note I now clutched in my hand.

There was no rhyme or reason for it being there, but it was definitely a note from Callum and I sat in my favourite armchair and carefully smoothed it out on my leg to read it.

Today you encouraged me to take a HUGE leap of faith, Clemmie, and boy, has it paid off!

This is just a little reminder that the best and loveliest things can happen when you take a risk!

Though you probably won’t need reminding, because you already know it, don’t you? Anyway, I hope this wasn’t a waste of ink!

Love always, C x

Tears streamed down my face as I read Callum’s words and fought hard not to wish he hadn’t taken his very last risk.

It briefly saddened me to think that I couldn’t pinpoint what the leap of faith he referred to had been.

I had pushed him out of his comfort zone many times during the house renovation with my ideas about decorating and design, so it could have been something as simple as painting the bedroom ceiling the same colour as the walls.

However, the details didn’t really matter.

It was the timing that truly counted. Had I been the sort of person who believed in portents, the timing of finding this particular note, just as I was poised to try my hand at socialising again, though not to the extent Lizzie had suggested, would have been entirely apt, wouldn’t it?