Page 3 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

Saturday morning was one of those bright December days, where the sky’s blue, but the air’s so cold it almost strips the skin from your bones. I was pretty sure my nose was glowing like Rudolph’s as Jack and I headed into the paddock and began to inspect the model village.

It was something we did periodically, making sure that everything was okay, and taking note of anything that needed repairing or repainting.

Recently, the new owner of the estate, Callie, and her boyfriend, Brodie – who was the grandson of the previous owner, Sir Lawrence, or Lawrie as he preferred to be called – had decided that the model village would be a great asset to the village and had suggested that we open it up to the public.

I’d thought that was a great idea. With Freddie now at school, it meant I had some time to myself at last, and I was keen to get back into the world of work.

I had to admit, my confidence was low, having been fortunate enough to stop working when I’d had my first baby twelve years ago.

I’d been a stay-at-home mum ever since, which was what Jack and I had both wanted, but now it was time to go back to work I was a bag of nerves at the thought.

Running our own attraction, right here in the village, meant I wouldn’t have to go for interviews, or try to find a job that I could work around the kids’ school hours. I’d be my own boss. It seemed like a win-win situation to me.

Jack still wasn’t so sure. He was worried about the lack of privacy, for one thing.

The paddock backed onto our garden, which was quite small.

The kids would be in full view of the tourists, he pointed out.

Any visitors wandering through the model village would be able to watch them playing in the garden.

He was far from happy about that and took the opportunity to remind me of the fact as we did our inspection.

Naturally, I felt the same, but I thought a six-foot fence would solve that problem.

‘And block our view across the fields beyond,’ Jack said grumpily.

‘Only from downstairs.’

‘And there’s still the issue of visitors having to traipse through our outbuildings and garden to get to the paddock in the first place.’

That was true. Honeywell House had been constructed very oddly – from the outside, at least. Situated down quiet Honeywell Lane, you entered the property through a five-barred gate, finding yourself in a courtyard, edged on three sides by buildings.

To the left was Honeywell House. Straight ahead and to the right was an L-shaped block of outbuildings.

We could access the garden from our kitchen door, but everyone else had to go through the outbuildings to get to it. That made it nice and secure for us, but it was far from ideal for paying visitors.

‘Thing is,’ Jack said, ‘we’re going to have to make a path at the side of our garden that people can follow to the paddock.

And that means fencing down that side, too.

It’s going to take another chunk of the garden, and we can’t really afford to lose any.

It’s small enough as it is with three boys and a dog the size of a grizzly bear. ’

‘He’s not that big,’ I said, glancing round and seeing Toby watching us forlornly from the garden.

Well, actually, he was pretty hefty. ‘It’s just a matter of getting used to it, that’s all.

And it’s not like we live in a city and there’s nowhere for the boys to run around and let off steam, is it?

There’s the playground just up the road, and they can walk for miles round here. ’

‘But it’s not ideal, though, is it, love?

’ Jack frowned as he picked up a model of what was supposed to be the ghost of Isaac Grace, the former landlord of The Quicken Tree Inn in the village.

‘Hello, he’s looking a bit worse for wear.

I’ll have to give him a coat of paint.’ He dropped Isaac into a bag and gave a heavy sigh.

‘I’m not trying to pour cold water on the idea, honest I’m not, but I do think we need to give this more thought. ’

‘But it’s all arranged!’ I protested. ‘We said yes to Callie and Brodie ages ago. Think about it. I can finally go back to work! And you’ll be able to quit your job and work with me. We’ll be a proper team. Self-employed, too. Imagine being our own bosses, Jack! It’s the dream, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a lot of hard work and insecurity, if you ask me,’ Jack said.

He’d never been the most adventurous of men, it had to be said, but I’d honestly thought I’d managed to talk him round.

‘What if it doesn’t attract as many paying visitors as Brodie forecast?

And what about in the winter, when the tourists stay away because of the bad weather? What if we get a bad summer? What if?—’

‘What if, what if, what if,’ I said sulkily.

‘We can’t live our lives worrying about what ifs!

Look, everyone else in this village manages to make it work.

Look at all the businesses there are here that depend on tourism.

They earn enough during the main season to keep going through the winter months. I don’t see why we shouldn’t.’

‘But locals still use the shops and the cafes and the pub out of season,’ he explained in an annoyingly even tone.

‘They’re hardly going to want to visit a model village more than once, are they?

Once their curiosity’s been satisfied that’ll be that, and then it really is down to us attracting enough tourists.

I just don’t see it happening, that’s all. ’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ I asked, my heart sinking at the prospect of him shutting the whole thing down. ‘That we forget it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Jack took my hand and squeezed it. ‘I can see you’ve got your heart set on this, love, and I don’t want to take that away from you, but I think I should stick with my job on the trains. At least until we see how the land lies.’

‘But you were looking forward to giving up your job! You said it would be great to be your own boss and work alongside me.’

‘I know I did.’ Jack sighed. ‘It’s just something you say though, isn’t it? A pipe dream. I don’t want to put that amount of pressure on us, that’s all. We’ve got to think about this properly, love. We can’t just jump in headfirst. Maybe if we give it a year, see how it goes…’

‘You want me to work here by myself? How am I supposed to fit that around picking the kids up from school? And what about holidays and weekends, or if they’re ill, or if they have to go to the dentist’s?’

‘Do you think,’ Jack said carefully, ‘that you’re so keen to get back to work and, at the same time, have some back up with the kids, that you’re maybe overlooking all the potential difficulties?’

I glared at him. ‘For one thing,’ I said coldly, ‘the kids are as much your responsibility as mine. If I’m going to have to fit work around their school hours, I don’t see why you shouldn’t, too.’

Jack said nothing, but I saw his teeth nipping at his lower lip and knew he wanted to. I waited. Just let him say one more word, that was all.

It was okay for him , I reasoned. How was I ever supposed to get a job if I’d have to take a day off at the drop of a hat, should one of the boys become ill? Employers would take a dim view of that.

That’s if I could even find a job. How did you explain that you’d had twelve whole years off work to look after children?

There would be people far more appealing to employers than I’d be – people who felt at home in the workplace and had proved they could be trusted to stick at their jobs without having to juggle them around kids.

I could imagine the interviews – if I was lucky enough to get that far.

The boss would probably ask me what childcare provision I had in place.

I wasn’t even sure if that was legal any longer, but would it stop them?

They’d find a way, no doubt. People could be very sneaky.

I’d bet fathers never had to worry about things like that.

I mentally shook my head at the injustice of it, then realised Jack was speaking after all.

‘—when even running a Dyson over the carpet seems to be too much for you right now.’

I stopped dead. ‘What did you say?’

Jack gave me a guilty look. ‘I’m not criticising. I’m just worried, that’s all.’

‘Are you complaining about the state of the house?’

‘No! I told you I’m not criticising. It’s just…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not like you. You were always so houseproud, even when the boys were little. But lately?—’

I blinked away angry tears. ‘That sounds suspiciously like criticism to me,’ I snapped. ‘If you’re so worried about the state of the house, why don’t you pick up the Dyson once in a while?’

That wasn’t fair, as Jack helped out around the house quite a lot, especially lately, but I was on a roll and fairness didn’t come into it.

‘Have you any idea how much hair that bloody dog sheds? You think I haven’t cleaned up at least three times before you even get home? And then there are the boys, who come in like three mini tornadoes and destroy all my good work in minutes, and…’

I gulped down the tears, overwhelmed with emotion.

‘Aw, love.’ Jack pulled me into his arms, and I stiffened, not wanting to accept his apologies or his affection.

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t having a go at you, honestly.

I’m just so worried because you seem out of sorts all the time.

You’re worn out. You’re falling asleep before Ashton’s even gone to bed, and we never get the chance to watch the television together these days.

’ He hesitated. ‘Let alone anything else.’

I shoved him away and glared at him. ‘Are you seriously complaining that we don’t have enough sex?’

He squirmed. ‘Not complaining. Just, er, commenting.’

‘Keep your bloody comments to yourself,’ I snapped. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough to do without worrying about all that stuff?’

‘“All that stuff”?’ Jack sounded deeply hurt. ‘I thought it was more than that to you.’

‘You thought wrong then, didn’t you? Honestly! Like I haven’t got enough to deal with. You have no idea.’

‘Well,’ he said gently, ‘tell me then.’

For a moment I was tempted to yell at him that he shouldn’t need telling, but I saw the concern on his face, and I crumbled.

‘I’m so tired,’ I said, rubbing my eyes as if to prove it. ‘I feel permanently exhausted, and my moods are all over the place.’

‘Is that the whatchamacallit, perimenopause?’ he asked.

‘Yes, it bloody is. And I hate it. It’s sapped my energy, scrambled my hormones, and made me so fat even my bloody coat doesn’t fit.

I’m fed up. I want my life back, and if you don’t want to run this model village then I have no chance.

Don’t you get it? I can’t do this without you!

I need you to commit to it. I need you to say you’ll work with me, and that you’ll help me. I need you , Jack!’

Oh, lord, there I was blubbing again. Before I knew it my husband had me in his arms and I sobbed pathetically on his shoulder.

‘It’s all right,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll help you, of course I will. We’ll make it work.’

‘Do you mean that?’ I sniffed.

He handed me a tissue from his pocket, and I could only hope it was clean. Frankly, I had no option but to use it anyway.

‘Course I mean it. Whatever you want, love. Promise.’

‘Th-thank you.’

‘But look, Clara, don’t you think you should see the doctor again? This perimenopause lark has been going on for ages and you’re only getting worse not better. There must be something they can give you, surely?’

‘I told you; I don’t want to take HRT. You know why!’

‘What happened to your mum – there’s no reason it should happen to you.’

Easy for him to say, though the doctors had told me the same thing. Mum had died of a blood clot, but they’d assured me that the risk of the same thing happening to me, even if I took HRT, was extremely low.

Mum had had other health factors that had made a clot more likely, not least that she smoked like a chimney.

I knew the facts, but it didn’t stop me being terrified.

It was the reason I’d come off the pill five years ago.

I’d started to get terrible headaches, and the doctor suggested I go on the progesterone-only pill instead of the combined pill, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Let Jack take responsibility for contraception for once.

My fear of going the same way Mum had meant I was desperate to avoid going on hormone replacement therapy, and I knew the doctor would only bring it up again if I went. It was easier to stay away and avoid the conversation.

‘It’s not fair,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m too young for all this. I’m only forty-one! I shouldn’t be going through this for years.’

‘But your gran did, didn’t she?’ he asked.

I was impressed he’d remembered what I’d told him when all this business started. Gran had been thirty-nine when she started the change of life, as she called it. My auntie had been forty-two. I guess it ran in the family.

‘Well, it’s still not fair,’ I said.

‘I know, love. I know.’ Jack wiped my tears away and gave me a welcome cuddle. ‘Come on, let’s go back inside and I’ll put the kettle on, eh? Make you a nice cuppa, and then how about after lunch we watch that film you wanted to see the other night. What do you think?’

‘The boys?—’

‘Will be fine keeping themselves occupied for a couple of hours,’ he said firmly. ‘Come on. Inside.’

We headed back to the house, and I couldn’t help thinking that, if Jack was so determined to keep the boys out of my way, it would be a wonderful opportunity to take a nap. Honestly, I’d prefer sleep to a film any day.