Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
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Synopsis
An Ali McNamara novel is the perfect escape.
Welcome to Bluebell Wood where the sun shines, the locals are kind and there's something more than a little bit magical about the place.
Ava loves city life but when something happens to make her feel unsafe, she retreats to the calm and quiet of Bluebell Wood. The once high-flying Ava now locks herself away in her fairy-tale cottage, only leaving to explore the trails of the nearby woods or to potter in the garden with her dog, Merlin.
When Ava begins to feed the wild birds that flock to her bird table, they start leaving her trinkets of appreciation in return. The gifts seem innocent at first, but they soon seem to take on a deeper meaning.
It isn't until Ava meets Callum, the handsome parish priest, that she can't help but wonder if the birds might have been trying to get her out of the house all along. But will their curious behaviour help to heal Ava, and transform her and Callum into the lovebirds they clearly long to be?
Praise for Ali McNamara:
An enchanting escape. Pure magic!' Heidi Swain
'A perfect, sparkling, summer read.' Cathy Bramley
'Fun and endearing' Katie Fforde
'Perfect easy reading' Sun
An irresistible, feel-good story infused with infectious humour' Miranda Dickinson
'Funny and light-hearted' Heat
Release date: July 22, 2021
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Print pages: 304
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Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
Ali McNamara
‘Where is the exit?’ I cry for what seems like the hundredth time. ‘I can’t find it!’
All around me are people. People crying. People shouting. People panicking.
None of us can find the exit. None of us is going to get out of here.
But then the deafening noise of the voices that have engulfed me for so long stops, and I can hear nothing. Not a sound.
The silence is a welcome relief, but at the same time weighs heavy upon my already weary shoulders. As the voices stop, so do the people, they stop moving and stand still – too still. Everyone is motionless, frozen like statues in some ghoulish museum. All these people. People with lives. People with families.
This is where it will end for them.
‘I have to get out of here,’ I cry in anguish, this time into the eerie silence. Otherwise, that’s it – the end for me, too.
I sit up in bed – covered, as always, head to toe in sweat.
I reach for my bedside lamp and switch it on. The soft light immediately cuts the cord that joins the trauma of my mind to my physical reality, and allows me to begin my recovery.
I take a sip from the glass of water by my bedside, and try to control my shallow fast breathing, until it returns to something more manageable.
Then I climb slowly from my bed and retrieve the fresh pyjamas I always leave on my chair in case this happens, and I exchange them for my cold damp ones.
After I’ve splashed some cool water on my face, I return to my bed and, with the light still on, I pick up my phone with the intention of scrolling through monotonous social media posts until I feel calm enough to try to sleep again.
This was nothing new to me. The nightmares, night sweats and subsequent attempts to get back off to a patchy night’s sleep have been a constant in my life for over a year now. I’m well practised at this routine, but it never gets any easier.
I look at the screen on my phone – I have a new email notification from the letting company. I open the email and read:
Dear Ava Martin,
You recently registered interest in renting properties in the Cambridgeshire area. I am pleased to tell you that a property fitting your requirements has just become available on a short-term lease in the beautiful village of Bluebell Wood.
Please find enclosed details of the property ‘Bluebird Cottage’ below.
Please don’t hesitate to get in touch with us should it be something you love as much as we do.
Kind regards,
Jenny Magpie
Aviary Lettings
Bluebell Wood . . . I think, as I click on the link and look over the property they’ve suggested – a pretty cottage in a quiet and attractive village.
You could be just what I need . . .
‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own?’
I turn away from watching my scruffy grey-haired dog tear around on the unmown grass and look at my daughter.
‘I’ll be perfectly fine,’ I try to reassure her. ‘This is what I want right now, Han. No, correction: this is what I need.’
Hannah sighs. ‘But this cottage, it’s so . . . remote,’ she says, looking at me with concern. ‘And so quiet. Listen . . . ’
I listen with her for a moment. ‘I can’t hear anything,’ I say after a few seconds. ‘Only a few birds singing in the trees.’
‘Exactly. There’s nothing around here for miles once you leave these tiny villages.’
‘I know, isn’t it lovely?’
Hannah sighs again. ‘But what if you need something important, Mum? You know your . . . health hasn’t been too good lately.’
‘My mental health, you mean,’ I correct her. ‘Don’t be scared about saying it.’
‘I’m not. But we worry about you, we both do.’
Matthew, my son, emerges through the French windows of the cottage to join us in the garden. ‘I think that’s the last of your stuff in now,’ he says. ‘I can’t actually believe we got all that packed into my car.’
‘Thank you, Matt,’ I say, smiling at him. ‘It was good of you to drive me.’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum. We wanted to make sure you got here okay.’
‘Wanted to nose around my new home, you mean!’
‘Well, there is that!’ Matt says, grinning. ‘This village is so old-fashioned, isn’t it? I can’t quite believe places like this still exist. There are no modern homes here at all, as far as I can see. It’s like something from a cosy Sunday-night TV drama.’
‘Cosy is exactly it. Cosy and remote. It’s just what I need right now.’
‘And that’s all that matters,’ Hannah says, putting her arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. ‘Just as long as you’re happy in this cottage, then we are too. Aren’t we, Matt?’
Matt nods. ‘Yeah, we only want you to be happy again, Mum.’
Again. My children just want me to be happy again. Because I hadn’t been truly happy for well over a year now.
‘You two might not think much of this little cottage, and how remote it is,’ I continue, deciding now is not the time to dwell. ‘You’re both used to living in places with lots of people. But I really like Bluebell Wood. I think I’ll be very happy here.’
My new cottage isn’t exactly in the middle of a wood, just on the outskirts, to be precise. And contrary to what my children think, the village of Bluebell Wood is really not that small, but it is quiet. Still, it has everything you could need: a tiny village shop with a post office counter, a small old-fashioned primary school, and a very pretty little church. There’s even a pub – quaintly named The Daft Duck.
‘Plus, don’t forget I have my new friend over there to keep me company,’ I say, and we all look over to the scruffy little dog keenly investigating his new home. ‘I think Merlin will sprinkle some magic over this place, just like his namesake.’
‘You’re going to keep calling him that, then?’ Hannah asks. ‘We wondered if you might change his name.’
‘No, I like it, it suits him.’
At my children’s insistence, before I’d moved from the city to the country, I’d adopted Merlin from a local dog shelter to keep me company in the new, more solitary life I was about to embark on. I’d been hesitant at first; some days I felt I could barely look after myself, let alone a dog. But Hannah and Matt had been adamant that I couldn’t live here all alone. So as much to appease them as to help me, I’d relented, and Merlin had accompanied us to my new home in Bluebell Wood.
I watch my new companion carefully sniffing around the base of some overgrown bushes, then equally as carefully lifting his leg to avoid the spiky thorns. ‘Merlin!’ I call. ‘Merlin, come here!’ I pat my thighs in encouragement.
Merlin pricks up his ears and looks at me quizzically. ‘That’s it,’ I call again. ‘Come here, boy!’
Merlin bounds over to me in great excitement, sits down and looks up expectantly.
‘I think he’s expecting a treat,’ Matt says knowingly. ‘Maybe that’s what his previous owner gave him if he came when called?’
Merlin’s previous owners had been killed in a car accident, which he had miraculously emerged from unscathed. He was a resilient little thing, though, with a happy nature, and I hoped some of his confidence and zest for life would rub off on me as we got to know each other better.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell Merlin, crouching down next to him and tickling him under the chin. ‘I don’t have a treat on me, will a fuss do instead?’
Merlin’s dark eyes look directly into mine, then he nuzzles into my hand, turning his head to one side so I’m now rubbing his ear instead.
‘That seems to be acceptable,’ Hannah says, smiling. ‘I think you two are going to get on just fine.’ She looks across at Matt.
Matt nods. ‘We’re going to have to get going soon, Mum. Or the traffic on the A1 will be horrendous.’
‘That’s fine,’ I say, standing up again. ‘I really appreciate the two of you helping me move. I know you both have busy lives.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mum,’ Matt says, hugging me this time. ‘We wouldn’t have let you come here alone.’
‘I know. But I’m still very grateful.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t want any help unpacking?’ Hannah asks, looking back at the cottage, where boxes and suitcases full of my belongings await. ‘We don’t mind.’
I shake my head. ‘No, it will give us something to do, won’t it, Merlin?’
Merlin barks.
‘See? He agrees with me.’
Hannah sighs. ‘And you’re still sure?’ she asks again. ‘About being here all alone, I mean. I don’t think I’d like it.’
‘You’d hate it, Han,’ I agree. ‘And so would you, Matt. So would I a couple of years ago, but things change. What I need right now is peace and solitude, and you two to promise me that you’ll be careful.’
I beckon them over and I put my arms around them – marvelling once again at how tall they both are now. When had they stopped being my babies and grown into such wonderful, kind, caring adults? ‘Promise me,’ I say again. ‘Promise me you’ll both take extra care at all times – you never know what’s around the corner, what people might be thinking . . . ’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Of course, Mum,’ they both say at the same time. They’d heard me say something similar a few too many times before.
‘I mean it. I totally understand you both wanting to live in busy cities – you’re young, why wouldn’t you? You think you’re invincible. I certainly did at your age. But none of us is – not these days.’
‘Mum, we’ll be fine,’ Hannah insists. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Keep in touch, won’t you?’ I insist. ‘And you too, Matt.’
‘Of course,’ Matt says. ‘I’ll text you and speak to you on Facetime as often as I can – although we’ll have to get used to the time difference . . . ’
‘What time difference?’ I ask. ‘What do you mean?’
Matt looks uneasily at his older sister.
She glares back at him.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, looking between them both.
‘You’ve got to tell her now,’ Hannah says, looking and sounding annoyed.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’m going to New York for six months,’ Matt blurts out, his cheeks flushed. ‘As part of my university course. We talked about this ages ago, didn’t we, before the . . . thing.’ He glances at Hannah, but she simply shakes her head dismissively. ‘Only I didn’t know where I was going to go then. But now I’ve been offered a work placement with a firm in Manhattan, and I’ve accepted it.’
I continue to stare at Matt. I’m trying desperately not to show it, but inside I’m horrified. My little boy in New York. Yes, I’m pleased for him, of course I am. But why did it have to be there?
‘I’m sorry it had to be New York, Mum. I know you’ll worry about me in a big city – even more than you usually do. But it really is an amazing opportunity.’
‘Yes, yes, of course it is,’ I say, recovering enough, on the outside at least, to speak. ‘I . . . I’m pleased for you, Matt; honestly I am.’
I reach forward to hug him, and suddenly his twenty-year-old, six-foot-two frame feels like it’s shrunk, and in my arms I’m holding a wiry, short-for-his-age eleven-year-old boy, who needs his mum because he’s scared of his first day at secondary school.
‘I’ll be fine, Mum,’ he says, trying to reassure me just as I’d been the one reassuring him back then. ‘I’ll be as safe there as Hannah is when she visits London for her job.’
I hear Hannah sigh heavily behind us at her brother. She clearly thinks he’s said the wrong thing . . . again.
‘Look,’ I tell them both, taking their hands in mine, ‘you’re adults now. I know I can’t tell you what to do, where to go and where to live. But I’m your mother, I’ll always worry about you wherever you go, you have to understand that. All that I ask is—’
‘We be careful!’ they cry in unison.
‘Please stop worrying, Mum,’ Hannah pleads. ‘What’s important right now is that you feel secure and happy again; and if this little cottage in the middle of nowhere is going to help you to heal, then if you promise not to worry too much about us, we’ll promise in return not to spend all our time worrying about you. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ I say, trying my best to sound as confident as they both did. But worrying, anxiety and general fear was what I experienced on a daily basis these days. My state of mind was one of the things I hoped this move to the country might help me with. But hearing the news that my son was going to live somewhere I considered dangerous like New York was not getting me off to the best start.
So as Merlin and I wave off my two children, I know in my heart of hearts that promising not to worry about them was a promise I’ll never be able to keep.
‘Right,’ I say to Merlin when I’ve tackled some of the many boxes and cases that Matt had unloaded from the back of his car. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this already.’
As I’d unpacked each box from my old life, I’d tried hard to find appropriate places to put my things. The clothes had been easy enough; I’d hung them in a huge wooden wardrobe, and folded them into possibly the largest chest of drawers I’d ever seen in the only bedroom of the cottage. I’d only brought casual things with me: I’d put all my work clothes into storage. I hadn’t worn them in ages, plus they reminded me too much of my old life, and that was what I was here to forget.
Any kitchen equipment (of which I have very little) went in the corresponding room. I was intrigued to find that the previous occupant of the cottage is clearly a much keener cook than me, and the old-fashioned kitchen is very well stocked for creating all sorts of interesting meals and bakes. Copper pots and pans hang from the ceiling on a wooden airer; blue-striped storage pots filled with spoons, whisks and spatulas sit on pristine scrubbed worktops, alongside large chunky chopping boards and a solid wooden knife block.
My sleek, hi-tech kettle, toaster and coffee maker, all so perfectly matched to my previous minimalist apartment, don’t look quite so at home here in this practical yet cosy kitchen.
I’d been very glad to hear that the quaintly named Bluebird Cottage came ‘fully furnished’. The rental company had informed me that the previous occupant had gone abroad indefinitely to take care of their ill daughter in Australia, and desperately wanted someone to look after their beloved home until they returned.
The pretty whitewashed cottage had seemed almost too perfect when I’d looked through the details – rural, peaceful, immediate occupation needed – so I’d contacted the company straightaway to express my interest. It came as an enormous, but very welcome surprise that, in fact, I was the only person to show any interest in the property. It seemed idyllic, and my hopes that I’d found the perfect place to get away from everything for a while were confirmed when I paid Bluebird Cottage a brief visit, and put down a deposit and my first month’s rent there and then.
It’s a charming little place; the one pretty bedroom has in addition to the antique wooden furniture where my clothes now reside, an ornate, comfortable double bed with carved wooden head- and footboards depicting birds and other wildlife. The bathroom next door has a large old-fashioned free-standing bath, with a basic shower at one end, and a solid white sink with pretty vintage taps. Downstairs, the narrow kitchen that runs along one side of the small cottage has a window that looks out to the back garden, and there’s a tiny laundry room next door, with just enough space for a washing machine and tumble dryer. Next to that is the largest room of the house – a sunny sitting room, where there’s a mismatched set of comfortable armchairs with colourful embroidered cushions scattered over them, a flowery well-upholstered sofa, and, next to a small dining table and chairs, a set of overflowing bookshelves. The sitting room also has, through a pair of French windows, a delightful view of the large well-kept garden, which the previous occupant has obviously take a lot of pride in, but which I might very well allow to go to ruin – my gardening skills, a bit like my culinary skills, leave a lot to be desired.
I’m lucky that currently, I don’t have to worry about work. I’ve recently been awarded a generous redundancy package from the firm that I’d worked for in London, and I’ve decided to use some of that money to allow me to try living in the country for a while, in the hope it might help me to heal and move on with my life.
A couple of years ago I would never have considered leaving my job, the city, and my very active social life and moving to relative isolation like this. But things change – I’d changed – and I knew I’d never be quite the same again.
I desperately hoped this move would do me good. Perhaps it might even bring back some of the old me. I missed that confident Ava, and I often wondered if I’d ever see or feel like her again.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I ask Merlin. I glance at my watch; it was a dull day in mid-March, and it was already starting to get dark, even though it was only just after five. ‘I’m pretty sure we’ll be safe,’ I tell my new dog friend, who watches me with interest as I pull on my trainers and gather my jacket from the coat rack in the narrow hall. ‘I’m sure there won’t be too many people around now. Soon it will be summer and the nights will be as bright as the day, though. Maybe then we’ll have to go out super early in the mornings if we want to keep ourselves to ourselves.’
Merlin cocks his head to one side so his right ear is pricked up, but his left remains lowered.
I smile at him. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ I say, lifting his new leather lead down from where I’d also hung it on the coat rack. ‘As long as you get a walk, I’m sure it doesn’t bother you how many people we see.’
Merlin, realising what I’ve got in my hand, jumps up, bounds over and sits neatly at my feet, both ears now raised as he looks eagerly up at me.
‘You have been brought up well,’ I tell him, clipping his lead to his matching red leather collar. ‘Good boy!
‘Right, so you’ve got your lead on,’ I say, going through my mental checklist before we leave, ‘and I’ve got my coat on.’ I pause, zipping it up. ‘I think that’s everything, isn’t it?’
I’m still very new to being a dog owner, and there’s so much you have to think about. I’d got so used to living on my own since the children left home and only having myself to think about, that having Merlin to care for reminds me of when Hannah and Matt were babies. Back then I had to remember so much before I went out anywhere with them. ‘At least you don’t need nappies, eh?’ I say, smiling at Merlin. ‘But you do need these.’ I tap my pocket to check there’s an ample supply of poo bags there and I’m glad to find there is.
‘I think I’m getting better at this already,’ I say to the patiently waiting Merlin. ‘Right then.’ I look back into the cottage one more time just to check I’ve remembered to switch everything off and lock everything up. Then I open the front door, but as usual I hesitate before I step outside.
‘It’s going to be fine, isn’t it?’ I ask Merlin nervously.
Merlin barks reassuringly, and again I smile; it was as though he knew what I was saying.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him gratefully.
We step outside together and I lock the cottage behind us, and with Merlin leading the way we set off through the gate. A small gang of sparrows stops chattering to each other and watches us with interest from a nearby tree as we leave the cottage.
‘Hello,’ I say to them as we pass. ‘I’m Ava and this is Merlin. We’re new here.’
The sparrows immediately take flight.
‘I don’t blame you,’ I say, watching them fly up into the sky. ‘I don’t like strangers much either.
‘Which way, Merlin?’ I ask the little grey dog as we reach the top of the narrow path that leads up from the cottage, and step out on to the pavement that runs alongside the main road. ‘Perhaps this way?’ I continue, veering to the left because I know the other way leads towards the centre of the village. ‘I’m sure we’ll have less chance of bumping into anyone if we go in this direction.’
Merlin doesn’t seem to have a preference; he’s simply happy to be out for a walk.
We follow the road that runs through the centre of Bluebell Wood towards the outskirts of the village, and to my intense relief the few people we see are in passing cars, so there’s no need for interaction with anyone. Merlin, still wary after his accident, cowers a little way into the verge when each car drives past us, so I bend down and try to reassure him it’s quite safe. It’s clear both of us still have much healing to do.
I’m all too aware in a village as small as this one that it’s only a matter of time before a ‘newcomer’ is noticed, but as far as I’m concerned, the longer I remain anonymous the better. Merlin has his issues with moving vehicles, and I have mine with many things, including people. I’m happy to try to avoid his triggers, and I’m pretty sure he’d have no problem if we avoided mine. We are going to get on just fine.
The pavement suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, as the main road continues out of the village and down a hill. I’m about to turn back, when I spy a hand-carved wooden sign pointing to the left of us. TO THE WOOD, it says in burnt lettering.
I look in the direction of the sign and see a narrow dirt track with a few trees either side of it.
We’ll be fine in a wood, won’t we? I think, peering as far down the track as I can. It’s clearly a well-used entrance: I can still see foot and paw prints from previous walkers on the damp ground. But the light is fading and it’s getting colder . . . not that either of those things bother me, but what if we bump into another dog and its owner taking their evening walk through the wood?
‘Perhaps if we just go a little way?’ I tell Merlin. ‘So we can scout it out for another time.’
But Merlin is already pulling towards the wood, sniffing the ground in front of him, so I bravely let him guide me down the path towards the trees.
We only have to walk a little way before the narrow path we’re on opens up into a clearing. There’s a rustic wooden bench on one side, with an information sign next to it; the entire edge of the clearing is lined with tall trees, with many more lined up behind them like rows of soldiers. ‘This must be the actual wood the village is named after; I had no idea it was so close to our cottage.’ I look down at Merlin, but he seems more interested in being let off his lead.
‘I hope you’re as well trained as they said you were at the shelter,’ I tell him, bending down to unfasten the lead from his collar. We’d been on a few walks together now, but this was the first time I’d attempted to let him off his lead. ‘I’m trusting you, Merlin, and you don’t know how hard that is for me to say these days – even to you. Please don’t run off and let me down, will you?’
Merlin looks up at me with a knowing expression, and I’m more certain than ever that he understands exactly what I’m saying to him. ‘You’re a smart little thing,’ I tell him. ‘Just like your namesake.’
I unfasten his lead and Merlin trots off to investigate a nearby tree stump. I watch him for a few moments, still wary. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to shoot off into the trees beyond; he seems perfectly happy investigating and marking this new territory.
I stand for moment, and with my eyes closed I take a deep breath. I’d done a lot of that lately, usually in response to something triggering my anxiety. But today I do it because I want to. I want to breathe in some of the clean air the trees provide, perhaps I might even absorb some of the strength they exude as they soar up into the sky above me.
I do this a few times, and with each new breath I definitely feel a little calmer, and to my surprise, I also feel a sense of strength begin to pulse through my body.
‘Gosh,’ I say, opening my eyes again. ‘I didn’t expect I’d actually feel anything.’
I look around me again. There is definitely something special about this place. I can’t put my finger on what; all I know is for once I don’t feel scared, it’s almost as if I’m being comforted by the age and wisdom of the ancient trees, as if their great branches are enveloping me in an enormous protective blanket.
‘I had a feeling I’d like it here in Bluebell Wood,’ I say, smiling up at them. ‘I’m glad you’re so close to my cottage. I think Merlin and I might spend quite a lot of time here with you all.’
Merlin is still happily pootling around the clearing, so I wander over to the information sign to see what it says:
WELCOME TO BLUEBELL WOOD.
This beautiful ancient woodland consists mainly of oak, ash and hazel trees. The flora here is diverse, especially in spring when there are good numbers of wood anemones, wild garlic, and a spectacular display of bluebells – hence its name!
Please don’t be tempted to pick any flowers to take home with you. Bluebells are protected in the UK under the Wildlife and Countryside Act, 1981, and it is an offence to remove them from the ground.
Enjoy your time here, but please leave our wood as you found it.
Underneath there’s a little map showing a few different footpaths that can be taken around the wood. I’m not too sure where Bluebird Cottage is in relation to the paths, but I guess it must be just on the edge of the trees – as the crow flies, not that far from where we are now. There are a lot of tall trees edging one side of the cottage garden; I’d naively assumed they must have been planted there by a previous owner, but now I realise they are most probably a part of the ancient woodland. I wonder if there might even be a secret entrance from the garden directly through to the wood because it’s so close, and I make a mental note to check it out tomorrow when it’s light again.
I turn away from the sign and look for Merlin, but he’s still happily exploring the clearing.
‘Shall we wander a little further?’ I ask, already feeling so at home here in the wood that I don’t want to leave just yet.
He lifts his head to look at me.
‘How about this way?’ I suggest, pointing to one of the footpaths.
Merlin obediently follows me, and we walk deeper into the wood together. Even though our way is clearly marked by narrow paths, the further we venture, the darker it becomes under the canopy of the trees, and as the trees begin to look even older, the denser the undergrowth becomes around our feet. Some of the trees have gnarled, twisty bark that gives the impression of them being even more ancient, and I wonder as we pass by, how many people they might have seen walk underneath them over the many years they’ve stood here. I’d hoped to spot some of the infamous bluebells the sign had talked about, but there are only occasional bunches of little white flowers.
‘Maybe it’s too early for bluebells,’ I say to Merlin. ‘I’ll have to look it up when we get back. As you know, wildlife isn’t really my strong point.’
‘Mid-April onwards,’ a voice calls, making me physically jump and drop Merlin’s folded lead. I swivel around to see a man jogging along the path behind me. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts and feeling about the trees, I hadn’t even heard him. I berate myself for letting my guard drop.
‘Sorry,’ the man says, breathing heavily. He bends to pick up the lead, then he passes it to me. ‘Did I make you jump?’
I nod as I take the lead. Automatically I back away from him a little, my gaze lowered. Then when I feel I’m at a safe distance I look warily up at him.
The man is wearing a grey hoodie, blue tracksuit bottoms and green running shoes. Even though he’s wearing his sweatshirt hood pulled up over his head, I have to admit he doesn’t look very threatening. He has kind blue eyes, dark hair that pokes out just a little way under the front of his hood, and black stubble peppered with grey covering his chin. He looks with concern at me while he awaits my answer.
‘You and Merlin there will have to come back when the wood is in full bloom,’ he says eventually, when I don’t speak. His breathing is still laboured as he tries to catch his breath, and he stands with his hands on his hips. ‘It’s glorious here then.’
I nod again.
‘Right, well, I’d better get back to my run,’ he says, rightly sensing I’m in no mood for conversation. ‘No rest for the. . .
All around me are people. People crying. People shouting. People panicking.
None of us can find the exit. None of us is going to get out of here.
But then the deafening noise of the voices that have engulfed me for so long stops, and I can hear nothing. Not a sound.
The silence is a welcome relief, but at the same time weighs heavy upon my already weary shoulders. As the voices stop, so do the people, they stop moving and stand still – too still. Everyone is motionless, frozen like statues in some ghoulish museum. All these people. People with lives. People with families.
This is where it will end for them.
‘I have to get out of here,’ I cry in anguish, this time into the eerie silence. Otherwise, that’s it – the end for me, too.
I sit up in bed – covered, as always, head to toe in sweat.
I reach for my bedside lamp and switch it on. The soft light immediately cuts the cord that joins the trauma of my mind to my physical reality, and allows me to begin my recovery.
I take a sip from the glass of water by my bedside, and try to control my shallow fast breathing, until it returns to something more manageable.
Then I climb slowly from my bed and retrieve the fresh pyjamas I always leave on my chair in case this happens, and I exchange them for my cold damp ones.
After I’ve splashed some cool water on my face, I return to my bed and, with the light still on, I pick up my phone with the intention of scrolling through monotonous social media posts until I feel calm enough to try to sleep again.
This was nothing new to me. The nightmares, night sweats and subsequent attempts to get back off to a patchy night’s sleep have been a constant in my life for over a year now. I’m well practised at this routine, but it never gets any easier.
I look at the screen on my phone – I have a new email notification from the letting company. I open the email and read:
Dear Ava Martin,
You recently registered interest in renting properties in the Cambridgeshire area. I am pleased to tell you that a property fitting your requirements has just become available on a short-term lease in the beautiful village of Bluebell Wood.
Please find enclosed details of the property ‘Bluebird Cottage’ below.
Please don’t hesitate to get in touch with us should it be something you love as much as we do.
Kind regards,
Jenny Magpie
Aviary Lettings
Bluebell Wood . . . I think, as I click on the link and look over the property they’ve suggested – a pretty cottage in a quiet and attractive village.
You could be just what I need . . .
‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own?’
I turn away from watching my scruffy grey-haired dog tear around on the unmown grass and look at my daughter.
‘I’ll be perfectly fine,’ I try to reassure her. ‘This is what I want right now, Han. No, correction: this is what I need.’
Hannah sighs. ‘But this cottage, it’s so . . . remote,’ she says, looking at me with concern. ‘And so quiet. Listen . . . ’
I listen with her for a moment. ‘I can’t hear anything,’ I say after a few seconds. ‘Only a few birds singing in the trees.’
‘Exactly. There’s nothing around here for miles once you leave these tiny villages.’
‘I know, isn’t it lovely?’
Hannah sighs again. ‘But what if you need something important, Mum? You know your . . . health hasn’t been too good lately.’
‘My mental health, you mean,’ I correct her. ‘Don’t be scared about saying it.’
‘I’m not. But we worry about you, we both do.’
Matthew, my son, emerges through the French windows of the cottage to join us in the garden. ‘I think that’s the last of your stuff in now,’ he says. ‘I can’t actually believe we got all that packed into my car.’
‘Thank you, Matt,’ I say, smiling at him. ‘It was good of you to drive me.’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum. We wanted to make sure you got here okay.’
‘Wanted to nose around my new home, you mean!’
‘Well, there is that!’ Matt says, grinning. ‘This village is so old-fashioned, isn’t it? I can’t quite believe places like this still exist. There are no modern homes here at all, as far as I can see. It’s like something from a cosy Sunday-night TV drama.’
‘Cosy is exactly it. Cosy and remote. It’s just what I need right now.’
‘And that’s all that matters,’ Hannah says, putting her arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. ‘Just as long as you’re happy in this cottage, then we are too. Aren’t we, Matt?’
Matt nods. ‘Yeah, we only want you to be happy again, Mum.’
Again. My children just want me to be happy again. Because I hadn’t been truly happy for well over a year now.
‘You two might not think much of this little cottage, and how remote it is,’ I continue, deciding now is not the time to dwell. ‘You’re both used to living in places with lots of people. But I really like Bluebell Wood. I think I’ll be very happy here.’
My new cottage isn’t exactly in the middle of a wood, just on the outskirts, to be precise. And contrary to what my children think, the village of Bluebell Wood is really not that small, but it is quiet. Still, it has everything you could need: a tiny village shop with a post office counter, a small old-fashioned primary school, and a very pretty little church. There’s even a pub – quaintly named The Daft Duck.
‘Plus, don’t forget I have my new friend over there to keep me company,’ I say, and we all look over to the scruffy little dog keenly investigating his new home. ‘I think Merlin will sprinkle some magic over this place, just like his namesake.’
‘You’re going to keep calling him that, then?’ Hannah asks. ‘We wondered if you might change his name.’
‘No, I like it, it suits him.’
At my children’s insistence, before I’d moved from the city to the country, I’d adopted Merlin from a local dog shelter to keep me company in the new, more solitary life I was about to embark on. I’d been hesitant at first; some days I felt I could barely look after myself, let alone a dog. But Hannah and Matt had been adamant that I couldn’t live here all alone. So as much to appease them as to help me, I’d relented, and Merlin had accompanied us to my new home in Bluebell Wood.
I watch my new companion carefully sniffing around the base of some overgrown bushes, then equally as carefully lifting his leg to avoid the spiky thorns. ‘Merlin!’ I call. ‘Merlin, come here!’ I pat my thighs in encouragement.
Merlin pricks up his ears and looks at me quizzically. ‘That’s it,’ I call again. ‘Come here, boy!’
Merlin bounds over to me in great excitement, sits down and looks up expectantly.
‘I think he’s expecting a treat,’ Matt says knowingly. ‘Maybe that’s what his previous owner gave him if he came when called?’
Merlin’s previous owners had been killed in a car accident, which he had miraculously emerged from unscathed. He was a resilient little thing, though, with a happy nature, and I hoped some of his confidence and zest for life would rub off on me as we got to know each other better.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell Merlin, crouching down next to him and tickling him under the chin. ‘I don’t have a treat on me, will a fuss do instead?’
Merlin’s dark eyes look directly into mine, then he nuzzles into my hand, turning his head to one side so I’m now rubbing his ear instead.
‘That seems to be acceptable,’ Hannah says, smiling. ‘I think you two are going to get on just fine.’ She looks across at Matt.
Matt nods. ‘We’re going to have to get going soon, Mum. Or the traffic on the A1 will be horrendous.’
‘That’s fine,’ I say, standing up again. ‘I really appreciate the two of you helping me move. I know you both have busy lives.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mum,’ Matt says, hugging me this time. ‘We wouldn’t have let you come here alone.’
‘I know. But I’m still very grateful.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t want any help unpacking?’ Hannah asks, looking back at the cottage, where boxes and suitcases full of my belongings await. ‘We don’t mind.’
I shake my head. ‘No, it will give us something to do, won’t it, Merlin?’
Merlin barks.
‘See? He agrees with me.’
Hannah sighs. ‘And you’re still sure?’ she asks again. ‘About being here all alone, I mean. I don’t think I’d like it.’
‘You’d hate it, Han,’ I agree. ‘And so would you, Matt. So would I a couple of years ago, but things change. What I need right now is peace and solitude, and you two to promise me that you’ll be careful.’
I beckon them over and I put my arms around them – marvelling once again at how tall they both are now. When had they stopped being my babies and grown into such wonderful, kind, caring adults? ‘Promise me,’ I say again. ‘Promise me you’ll both take extra care at all times – you never know what’s around the corner, what people might be thinking . . . ’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Of course, Mum,’ they both say at the same time. They’d heard me say something similar a few too many times before.
‘I mean it. I totally understand you both wanting to live in busy cities – you’re young, why wouldn’t you? You think you’re invincible. I certainly did at your age. But none of us is – not these days.’
‘Mum, we’ll be fine,’ Hannah insists. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Keep in touch, won’t you?’ I insist. ‘And you too, Matt.’
‘Of course,’ Matt says. ‘I’ll text you and speak to you on Facetime as often as I can – although we’ll have to get used to the time difference . . . ’
‘What time difference?’ I ask. ‘What do you mean?’
Matt looks uneasily at his older sister.
She glares back at him.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, looking between them both.
‘You’ve got to tell her now,’ Hannah says, looking and sounding annoyed.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’m going to New York for six months,’ Matt blurts out, his cheeks flushed. ‘As part of my university course. We talked about this ages ago, didn’t we, before the . . . thing.’ He glances at Hannah, but she simply shakes her head dismissively. ‘Only I didn’t know where I was going to go then. But now I’ve been offered a work placement with a firm in Manhattan, and I’ve accepted it.’
I continue to stare at Matt. I’m trying desperately not to show it, but inside I’m horrified. My little boy in New York. Yes, I’m pleased for him, of course I am. But why did it have to be there?
‘I’m sorry it had to be New York, Mum. I know you’ll worry about me in a big city – even more than you usually do. But it really is an amazing opportunity.’
‘Yes, yes, of course it is,’ I say, recovering enough, on the outside at least, to speak. ‘I . . . I’m pleased for you, Matt; honestly I am.’
I reach forward to hug him, and suddenly his twenty-year-old, six-foot-two frame feels like it’s shrunk, and in my arms I’m holding a wiry, short-for-his-age eleven-year-old boy, who needs his mum because he’s scared of his first day at secondary school.
‘I’ll be fine, Mum,’ he says, trying to reassure me just as I’d been the one reassuring him back then. ‘I’ll be as safe there as Hannah is when she visits London for her job.’
I hear Hannah sigh heavily behind us at her brother. She clearly thinks he’s said the wrong thing . . . again.
‘Look,’ I tell them both, taking their hands in mine, ‘you’re adults now. I know I can’t tell you what to do, where to go and where to live. But I’m your mother, I’ll always worry about you wherever you go, you have to understand that. All that I ask is—’
‘We be careful!’ they cry in unison.
‘Please stop worrying, Mum,’ Hannah pleads. ‘What’s important right now is that you feel secure and happy again; and if this little cottage in the middle of nowhere is going to help you to heal, then if you promise not to worry too much about us, we’ll promise in return not to spend all our time worrying about you. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ I say, trying my best to sound as confident as they both did. But worrying, anxiety and general fear was what I experienced on a daily basis these days. My state of mind was one of the things I hoped this move to the country might help me with. But hearing the news that my son was going to live somewhere I considered dangerous like New York was not getting me off to the best start.
So as Merlin and I wave off my two children, I know in my heart of hearts that promising not to worry about them was a promise I’ll never be able to keep.
‘Right,’ I say to Merlin when I’ve tackled some of the many boxes and cases that Matt had unloaded from the back of his car. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this already.’
As I’d unpacked each box from my old life, I’d tried hard to find appropriate places to put my things. The clothes had been easy enough; I’d hung them in a huge wooden wardrobe, and folded them into possibly the largest chest of drawers I’d ever seen in the only bedroom of the cottage. I’d only brought casual things with me: I’d put all my work clothes into storage. I hadn’t worn them in ages, plus they reminded me too much of my old life, and that was what I was here to forget.
Any kitchen equipment (of which I have very little) went in the corresponding room. I was intrigued to find that the previous occupant of the cottage is clearly a much keener cook than me, and the old-fashioned kitchen is very well stocked for creating all sorts of interesting meals and bakes. Copper pots and pans hang from the ceiling on a wooden airer; blue-striped storage pots filled with spoons, whisks and spatulas sit on pristine scrubbed worktops, alongside large chunky chopping boards and a solid wooden knife block.
My sleek, hi-tech kettle, toaster and coffee maker, all so perfectly matched to my previous minimalist apartment, don’t look quite so at home here in this practical yet cosy kitchen.
I’d been very glad to hear that the quaintly named Bluebird Cottage came ‘fully furnished’. The rental company had informed me that the previous occupant had gone abroad indefinitely to take care of their ill daughter in Australia, and desperately wanted someone to look after their beloved home until they returned.
The pretty whitewashed cottage had seemed almost too perfect when I’d looked through the details – rural, peaceful, immediate occupation needed – so I’d contacted the company straightaway to express my interest. It came as an enormous, but very welcome surprise that, in fact, I was the only person to show any interest in the property. It seemed idyllic, and my hopes that I’d found the perfect place to get away from everything for a while were confirmed when I paid Bluebird Cottage a brief visit, and put down a deposit and my first month’s rent there and then.
It’s a charming little place; the one pretty bedroom has in addition to the antique wooden furniture where my clothes now reside, an ornate, comfortable double bed with carved wooden head- and footboards depicting birds and other wildlife. The bathroom next door has a large old-fashioned free-standing bath, with a basic shower at one end, and a solid white sink with pretty vintage taps. Downstairs, the narrow kitchen that runs along one side of the small cottage has a window that looks out to the back garden, and there’s a tiny laundry room next door, with just enough space for a washing machine and tumble dryer. Next to that is the largest room of the house – a sunny sitting room, where there’s a mismatched set of comfortable armchairs with colourful embroidered cushions scattered over them, a flowery well-upholstered sofa, and, next to a small dining table and chairs, a set of overflowing bookshelves. The sitting room also has, through a pair of French windows, a delightful view of the large well-kept garden, which the previous occupant has obviously take a lot of pride in, but which I might very well allow to go to ruin – my gardening skills, a bit like my culinary skills, leave a lot to be desired.
I’m lucky that currently, I don’t have to worry about work. I’ve recently been awarded a generous redundancy package from the firm that I’d worked for in London, and I’ve decided to use some of that money to allow me to try living in the country for a while, in the hope it might help me to heal and move on with my life.
A couple of years ago I would never have considered leaving my job, the city, and my very active social life and moving to relative isolation like this. But things change – I’d changed – and I knew I’d never be quite the same again.
I desperately hoped this move would do me good. Perhaps it might even bring back some of the old me. I missed that confident Ava, and I often wondered if I’d ever see or feel like her again.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ I ask Merlin. I glance at my watch; it was a dull day in mid-March, and it was already starting to get dark, even though it was only just after five. ‘I’m pretty sure we’ll be safe,’ I tell my new dog friend, who watches me with interest as I pull on my trainers and gather my jacket from the coat rack in the narrow hall. ‘I’m sure there won’t be too many people around now. Soon it will be summer and the nights will be as bright as the day, though. Maybe then we’ll have to go out super early in the mornings if we want to keep ourselves to ourselves.’
Merlin cocks his head to one side so his right ear is pricked up, but his left remains lowered.
I smile at him. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ I say, lifting his new leather lead down from where I’d also hung it on the coat rack. ‘As long as you get a walk, I’m sure it doesn’t bother you how many people we see.’
Merlin, realising what I’ve got in my hand, jumps up, bounds over and sits neatly at my feet, both ears now raised as he looks eagerly up at me.
‘You have been brought up well,’ I tell him, clipping his lead to his matching red leather collar. ‘Good boy!
‘Right, so you’ve got your lead on,’ I say, going through my mental checklist before we leave, ‘and I’ve got my coat on.’ I pause, zipping it up. ‘I think that’s everything, isn’t it?’
I’m still very new to being a dog owner, and there’s so much you have to think about. I’d got so used to living on my own since the children left home and only having myself to think about, that having Merlin to care for reminds me of when Hannah and Matt were babies. Back then I had to remember so much before I went out anywhere with them. ‘At least you don’t need nappies, eh?’ I say, smiling at Merlin. ‘But you do need these.’ I tap my pocket to check there’s an ample supply of poo bags there and I’m glad to find there is.
‘I think I’m getting better at this already,’ I say to the patiently waiting Merlin. ‘Right then.’ I look back into the cottage one more time just to check I’ve remembered to switch everything off and lock everything up. Then I open the front door, but as usual I hesitate before I step outside.
‘It’s going to be fine, isn’t it?’ I ask Merlin nervously.
Merlin barks reassuringly, and again I smile; it was as though he knew what I was saying.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him gratefully.
We step outside together and I lock the cottage behind us, and with Merlin leading the way we set off through the gate. A small gang of sparrows stops chattering to each other and watches us with interest from a nearby tree as we leave the cottage.
‘Hello,’ I say to them as we pass. ‘I’m Ava and this is Merlin. We’re new here.’
The sparrows immediately take flight.
‘I don’t blame you,’ I say, watching them fly up into the sky. ‘I don’t like strangers much either.
‘Which way, Merlin?’ I ask the little grey dog as we reach the top of the narrow path that leads up from the cottage, and step out on to the pavement that runs alongside the main road. ‘Perhaps this way?’ I continue, veering to the left because I know the other way leads towards the centre of the village. ‘I’m sure we’ll have less chance of bumping into anyone if we go in this direction.’
Merlin doesn’t seem to have a preference; he’s simply happy to be out for a walk.
We follow the road that runs through the centre of Bluebell Wood towards the outskirts of the village, and to my intense relief the few people we see are in passing cars, so there’s no need for interaction with anyone. Merlin, still wary after his accident, cowers a little way into the verge when each car drives past us, so I bend down and try to reassure him it’s quite safe. It’s clear both of us still have much healing to do.
I’m all too aware in a village as small as this one that it’s only a matter of time before a ‘newcomer’ is noticed, but as far as I’m concerned, the longer I remain anonymous the better. Merlin has his issues with moving vehicles, and I have mine with many things, including people. I’m happy to try to avoid his triggers, and I’m pretty sure he’d have no problem if we avoided mine. We are going to get on just fine.
The pavement suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, as the main road continues out of the village and down a hill. I’m about to turn back, when I spy a hand-carved wooden sign pointing to the left of us. TO THE WOOD, it says in burnt lettering.
I look in the direction of the sign and see a narrow dirt track with a few trees either side of it.
We’ll be fine in a wood, won’t we? I think, peering as far down the track as I can. It’s clearly a well-used entrance: I can still see foot and paw prints from previous walkers on the damp ground. But the light is fading and it’s getting colder . . . not that either of those things bother me, but what if we bump into another dog and its owner taking their evening walk through the wood?
‘Perhaps if we just go a little way?’ I tell Merlin. ‘So we can scout it out for another time.’
But Merlin is already pulling towards the wood, sniffing the ground in front of him, so I bravely let him guide me down the path towards the trees.
We only have to walk a little way before the narrow path we’re on opens up into a clearing. There’s a rustic wooden bench on one side, with an information sign next to it; the entire edge of the clearing is lined with tall trees, with many more lined up behind them like rows of soldiers. ‘This must be the actual wood the village is named after; I had no idea it was so close to our cottage.’ I look down at Merlin, but he seems more interested in being let off his lead.
‘I hope you’re as well trained as they said you were at the shelter,’ I tell him, bending down to unfasten the lead from his collar. We’d been on a few walks together now, but this was the first time I’d attempted to let him off his lead. ‘I’m trusting you, Merlin, and you don’t know how hard that is for me to say these days – even to you. Please don’t run off and let me down, will you?’
Merlin looks up at me with a knowing expression, and I’m more certain than ever that he understands exactly what I’m saying to him. ‘You’re a smart little thing,’ I tell him. ‘Just like your namesake.’
I unfasten his lead and Merlin trots off to investigate a nearby tree stump. I watch him for a few moments, still wary. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to shoot off into the trees beyond; he seems perfectly happy investigating and marking this new territory.
I stand for moment, and with my eyes closed I take a deep breath. I’d done a lot of that lately, usually in response to something triggering my anxiety. But today I do it because I want to. I want to breathe in some of the clean air the trees provide, perhaps I might even absorb some of the strength they exude as they soar up into the sky above me.
I do this a few times, and with each new breath I definitely feel a little calmer, and to my surprise, I also feel a sense of strength begin to pulse through my body.
‘Gosh,’ I say, opening my eyes again. ‘I didn’t expect I’d actually feel anything.’
I look around me again. There is definitely something special about this place. I can’t put my finger on what; all I know is for once I don’t feel scared, it’s almost as if I’m being comforted by the age and wisdom of the ancient trees, as if their great branches are enveloping me in an enormous protective blanket.
‘I had a feeling I’d like it here in Bluebell Wood,’ I say, smiling up at them. ‘I’m glad you’re so close to my cottage. I think Merlin and I might spend quite a lot of time here with you all.’
Merlin is still happily pootling around the clearing, so I wander over to the information sign to see what it says:
WELCOME TO BLUEBELL WOOD.
This beautiful ancient woodland consists mainly of oak, ash and hazel trees. The flora here is diverse, especially in spring when there are good numbers of wood anemones, wild garlic, and a spectacular display of bluebells – hence its name!
Please don’t be tempted to pick any flowers to take home with you. Bluebells are protected in the UK under the Wildlife and Countryside Act, 1981, and it is an offence to remove them from the ground.
Enjoy your time here, but please leave our wood as you found it.
Underneath there’s a little map showing a few different footpaths that can be taken around the wood. I’m not too sure where Bluebird Cottage is in relation to the paths, but I guess it must be just on the edge of the trees – as the crow flies, not that far from where we are now. There are a lot of tall trees edging one side of the cottage garden; I’d naively assumed they must have been planted there by a previous owner, but now I realise they are most probably a part of the ancient woodland. I wonder if there might even be a secret entrance from the garden directly through to the wood because it’s so close, and I make a mental note to check it out tomorrow when it’s light again.
I turn away from the sign and look for Merlin, but he’s still happily exploring the clearing.
‘Shall we wander a little further?’ I ask, already feeling so at home here in the wood that I don’t want to leave just yet.
He lifts his head to look at me.
‘How about this way?’ I suggest, pointing to one of the footpaths.
Merlin obediently follows me, and we walk deeper into the wood together. Even though our way is clearly marked by narrow paths, the further we venture, the darker it becomes under the canopy of the trees, and as the trees begin to look even older, the denser the undergrowth becomes around our feet. Some of the trees have gnarled, twisty bark that gives the impression of them being even more ancient, and I wonder as we pass by, how many people they might have seen walk underneath them over the many years they’ve stood here. I’d hoped to spot some of the infamous bluebells the sign had talked about, but there are only occasional bunches of little white flowers.
‘Maybe it’s too early for bluebells,’ I say to Merlin. ‘I’ll have to look it up when we get back. As you know, wildlife isn’t really my strong point.’
‘Mid-April onwards,’ a voice calls, making me physically jump and drop Merlin’s folded lead. I swivel around to see a man jogging along the path behind me. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts and feeling about the trees, I hadn’t even heard him. I berate myself for letting my guard drop.
‘Sorry,’ the man says, breathing heavily. He bends to pick up the lead, then he passes it to me. ‘Did I make you jump?’
I nod as I take the lead. Automatically I back away from him a little, my gaze lowered. Then when I feel I’m at a safe distance I look warily up at him.
The man is wearing a grey hoodie, blue tracksuit bottoms and green running shoes. Even though he’s wearing his sweatshirt hood pulled up over his head, I have to admit he doesn’t look very threatening. He has kind blue eyes, dark hair that pokes out just a little way under the front of his hood, and black stubble peppered with grey covering his chin. He looks with concern at me while he awaits my answer.
‘You and Merlin there will have to come back when the wood is in full bloom,’ he says eventually, when I don’t speak. His breathing is still laboured as he tries to catch his breath, and he stands with his hands on his hips. ‘It’s glorious here then.’
I nod again.
‘Right, well, I’d better get back to my run,’ he says, rightly sensing I’m in no mood for conversation. ‘No rest for the. . .
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Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
Ali McNamara
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