Snowdrops at The Birdie and Bramble

Book 2: The Birdie & Bramble series

by Alison Craig

Genres: Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

'Absolutely loved it, this was devoured in 24 hours as I was so excited to read this. Just as addictive, entertaining and emotional rollercoaster of a read as book one.' NetGalley Reviewer When the unexpected happens... Since jetting off on her round-the-world adventure, Maddy Campbell never thought she'd be heading back to live in the small town of her birth to run The Birdie & Bramble. But after months of travelling, Maddy finally knows what she wants...and she's ready to make it happen! Only to arrive to find that The Birdie & Bramble needs a new chef and it's her job to hire the perfect fit. Plus Jack hasn't spoken to her since she boarded the plane all those months ago, she really thought they had something... Can Maddy fix the restaurant and her love life or will a new stranger throw more surprises her way? Funny and heartwarming The Birdie and Bramble series is the perfect pick-me-up this spring! 'This book was a rollercoaster of emotions for me. I smiled, I laughed and I even cried for Maddy.' NetGalley Reviewer 'Absolutely beautiful... I smiled, I laughed and I even cried for Maddy. It was so hard for me to put down' NetGalley Reviewer This is the second novel in The Birdie & Bramble series. Don't miss a single book in this hilarious and feel-good series: 1. New Beginnings at The Birdie & Bramble 2. Snowdrops at The Birdie & Bramble 3. Blue Skies at The Birdie & Bramble Reviewers have falling in love with The Birdie and Bramble - have you? 'Well written with loveable and relatable characters, such a heartwarming read' 'This is a brilliant book. I loved the characters. They are well written and relatable The plot is entertaining and kept me interested until the end. This is the first book in the series and I can't wait for the next one.' 'This is a brilliant book about new starts, family, grief, and friendship. It's one of those book that can be an easy read or make you think if you read them at the right moment in your life.' 'This story so made me want to pack a bag and return for a visit to Scotland!' 'I really enjoyed reading this book, It has a lovely feel good factor, and it is an engaging read.' 'This novel has interesting characters, a great storyline and is unputdownable. Would recommend you give this read a go.' 'New Beginnings at The Birdie and Bramble is the first novel by Alison Craig that I've read and I can honestly say that I will be picking up more of her work in the future. I really liked her style of writing and found this an easy book to read. Her writing is so descriptive and I could honestly picture everything she was describing, especially the food! ' 'This is very similar to a Katie Fforde novel. I loved the glorious food descriptions (not to be read if you are on a diet), the cosy small town feel, the morning walks on the beach, the romantic tension between Maddie's boyfriend in London and her new venison supplier for the restaurant. There's a suitably evil Laird, secret identities and nefarious plots to reveal all while serving sumptuous Scottish fare.'

Release date: April 2, 2020

Publisher: Orion Dash

Print pages: 283

Sample

Australia is ten thousand miles from London.

It feels further.

It took me two days to get to Sydney from Queensland before I even got on the flight. When I did I fell into an instant sleep, despite having my knees practically round my neck in steerage. When I awoke I looked at my watch. We’d been flying for seven hours, gazing out of the window at the ground below I turned to the hostess.

‘Excuse me, where is that?’ I pointed out the window hoping she would say France.

‘Australia,’ said the steward without missing a beat.

God.

Twenty-three and a half hours later we landed in London and I vowed never to fly that far again. I was sticky, dirty, rumpled, dehydrated – no matter how many supermodels insisted they sip water and use eye masks, the only way I could cope was to slug a few glasses of below-average wine and drift in and out of a boozy slumber. Traipsing through arrivals at 5 a.m. I waited for my rucksack, which didn’t arrive. After filling out a missing luggage form, I made my connection with minutes to spare and was still in the same less than fragrant skanky clothes when I stumbled off the flight in Edinburgh just before 8 a.m.

First thing that hit me was the cold. Shit it was cold. It was the 1st of January and here I was in flip-flops, a thin pair of ankle grazers, a sleeveless T-shirt and a denim jacket – all quite the thing in Cairns but in Edinburgh airport on the first day of the year bloody ridiculous. I am sure eyebrows were raised but I couldn’t see them because they were all sensibly encased in woolly hats, ski jackets and scarves. Without any luggage I went straight through the arrival gate ignoring the ill-disguised amusement of security personnel, and suddenly I was face to face with Noel. The second he saw me he unzipped his North Face jacket and wrapped me in it, giving me an almighty bear hug.

‘Maddy, welcome home.’

‘Noel…’ I said inhaling the familiar embrace of this lovely man.

‘Where’s your luggage?’

‘Long story – this is it! Me and my tatty handbag. I’ll explain in the car.’

His bone-crushing hug continued. ‘You can let me go now,’ I said.

Another few seconds and he finally released me, inhaling as he did so.

‘Wow, I’ll have to go away more often,’ I joked and then I looked at his face. Tears filled his eyes; he looked stricken. ‘Noel, what is it?’

‘Not here. Come on,’ he said turning and walking quickly, weaving past the busy waterproof-clad Edinburgh tourists. Anxiety flared as I followed Noel to the car park. Of course he opened the passenger side for me. He had the manners of an angel, something I hadn’t appreciated until spending nearly three months in the outback of Oz where old-school manners, in my limited experience, were long dead.

I jumped in. ‘No William?’

‘No…but…’ And before he could finish his sentence a high-pitched blood-curdling YIP assaulted my ears about the same time as a hairy Exocet pinged over from the back seat onto my lap.

‘FRANK!’ I said as the hairy wee sausage dog stood on his tiptoes reaching up, nibbling and licking, wagging and whimpering as he released his pure unconditional doggy love on my face. Scragging his ears and holding him tight, I felt my mood soar. It felt so good as he dug into the jacket I had round me, and in less than a minute had nuzzled under my arm, next to my heart, which was swelling at the display of affection this little dog had just shown me, and fell immediately asleep.

Noel grinned. ‘He’s been looking for you since you left. He’s missed you.’

I smiled.

‘We all have,’ he went on.

‘Me too,’ I said grinning at Noel with my chin wobbling as the familiarity of the road stretched ahead. ‘OK. Home, James,’ I said tipping my imaginary cap at him as he slid the car into drive and off we went. As Noel steered us in the direction of the Forth Road Bridge and St Andrews beyond, I wrapped a tartan rug round my goose-pimpled legs and resettled the snuggling dog. After blasting the heaters up to max until my underdressed body toasted up, I realised that despite having slept for about ten minutes I had never been so wide awake. I was desperate to hear what Noel had to say.

‘OK, Noel, tell me what’s going on.’

‘Don’t freak out.’

Which freaked me out.

‘Why?’

‘It’s William.’

‘Oh my God. What?’ I sat bolt upright, staring at him as he concentrated on the road ahead.

‘I’m afraid he’s been signed off work.’

‘Will! Why?’

He glanced at me. ‘Basically…he’s worked himself into the ground.’ Instantaneous guilt floored me, which he detected. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘It is.’

‘I knew you would say that, Maddy, but it is not your fault.’ He put a hand on my shivering leg. ‘You know Will – he lives and breathes The Birdie & Bramble. He was having the time of his life…and then, well…a victim of his own success, he became so wrapped up in it all, he lost perspective somewhere along the line.’

How long ago?

‘Just before Christmas it all came to a head. He was working every hour that God sent and more, and wouldn’t listen to reason.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come back!’

‘I did think about it, and at one point even threatened to tell you if he didn’t slow down, but he was so adamant he had committed to looking after things until you came back I backed down. We both knew if we dragged you back here against your will it would make things worse and I then I’d have two miserable characters on my hands.’

He was right. A few months ago I left St Andrews and the restaurant behind to travel the world and I had been so happy and relieved escape, wild horses couldn’t have dragged me back.

‘And anyway you’re back now.’

Stuck in traffic, the heat in the car caused me to drop off and before I knew it Noel was nudging me awake.

‘We’re here, Maddy.’ I looked at him, half asleep, befuddled, and as it dawned on me where I was I smiled as he continued. ‘And before we go in… just for tonight, let’s pretend everything’s OK. Please,’ he said.

The look on his face told me this was not a joke; he was serious.

‘OK,’ I said a feeling of worry growing exponentially now.

And suddenly there was the cottage. Their cottage. The higgledy-piggledy bricks, pantile roof, glossy black door with the brass nameplate –‘Hartman’ – gleaming in the street lights, flanked by two windows glowing warm from within. I felt my shoulders drop from my ears, and a sense of belonging spread through me. As Noel opened the door to heft me out, Frank jumped down, his tail quivering with excitement, leading us to the door as it opened and there he was, arms outstretched to engulf me.

‘William!’ I said wrapping him up in my arms, snuggling into his fluffy jumper.

‘Welcome home, Maddy,’ he whispered into my hair before releasing me and stepping back, ushering me into the room. Everything was exactly as I remembered, exactly as it should be. The fire roaring in the grate, a pile of logs stacked up beside it, overstuffed armchairs scattered with cushions, a tartan rug thrown over each, a squishy sofa and, as if it wasn’t inviting enough, the smell of something delish emanating from the kitchen. Looking around it wasn’t until I sat down and gratefully took a gulp of the generous gin and tonic William handed me that I really looked at him. I was too tired and shocked to hide my expression.

‘Jesus, William. What…?’

Noel looked at him with that loving gaze I knew so well. ‘OK, you two, I’ll get the food sorted whilst you have a catch-up.’ And he slid out of the room seamlessly.

Following instructions Will sat down gratefully. Despite looking absolutely worn out he offered a tired smile. ‘Maddy, I’m so glad you’re back.’

I smiled back, remembering my promise to Noel.

‘It was time,’ I said not completely untruthfully.

Settling back into our familiar positions, each inhabiting an easy chair, feet on the coffee table, smiling at each other, I leant in.

‘William, please tell me what’s going on,’ I said.

His face was seldom serious and the grave expression was giving me a very bad feeling indeed.

‘Tell me,’ I pressed as he took a mouthful of his wine.

‘I’ve been signed off.’

‘OK,’ I said my heat yammering in my chest. I sat up further. ‘When and why?’

He chuckled. ‘Welcome back, Maddy Campbell, aka the Spanish Inquisition.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, backing off. That had been a bit heavy-handed. Patience.

He sipped his drink, avoiding my eye. ‘Two weeks ago with stress.’

‘Two weeks ago! Why didn’t you tell me?’

A heavy guilt smacked me in the gut. This was all my fault. Buggering off like some flibbertigibbet to the other side of the world, leaving the restaurant and all the stresses and strains that entailed behind. Turning my back on it and Will and now this.

‘You had to go. You were on your own journey, Maddy. I would never drag you back here. You had to come back when you were good and ready and not a moment before.’

Avoiding his eye I nodded.

‘God, Will, I am so so sorry. You should have said. Why didn’t you say? I would have come straight back. There is nothing more important than your health…nothing…’ My eyes filled with tears. I was directly responsible for the situation. ‘How do you feel now?’

‘So tired,’ he said closing his eyes and exhaling.

Understatement, I thought. He wasn’t even talking in sentences and those two words seemed to have worn him out as he sat back. This wasn’t the Will I had said goodbye to just three months before, the Will I knew and loved.

‘So how are you now?’ I pressed him.

‘Well I’m getting there,’ he said, opening his eyes, smiling weakly, convincing no-one.

‘Really?’

I eyed him and he had the good grace to offer up: ‘I have lost a bit of weight.’

‘Every cloud,’ we said in unison, which broke the serious nature of the conversation, a blessed relief for both.

During our last frantic period working at The Birdie & Bramble living and breathing food, before I had taken off, ironically we had both lost weight. Me running around like a lunatic out front, fire-fighting all the drama that was going on and Will being locked in the kitchen seven days a week cooking for the masses, we simply forgot to eat.

‘Noel’s been fantastic. Really stepped up – feeding me, looking after me – it’s been like having my own unpaid manservant.’

‘Which is exactly what I am,’ chipped in Noel as he swung into the room holding aloft three bowls placing them on the chunky wooden coffee table in front of us.

‘It’s a TV dinner tonight,’ he said, fussing about, handing out napkins and a fork each. ‘A great steaming bowl of mince and tatties.’

‘You remembered?’ I said, heart melting. One of our favourite games being entirely obsessed with food was playing ‘Shot at Dawn’. You had to choose what your last meal would be if you were going to be shot at 6 a.m. the following morning.

Mine was mince and tatties. The most bog-standard school dinner, meal that every Scots child was weaned on, fed weekly and loved from cradle to grave.

‘How could I forget?’ He grinned. ‘Everyone wanted fancy-pants food and yours was always just mince and tatties.’

‘YOUR mince and tatties,’ I underlined my voice, warbling with emotion, as I greedily nudged the steaming-hot food so desperate was I to scoff it down.

‘Your dad’s mince and tatties if you want to be factually correct,’ Will reminded me. It was hard to believe it was nearly six months since Dad had died, and I had come to realise grief was not a finite thing – a time, a pattern – it was what it was. And the strangest things opened the floodgates, raw emotion bubbling up when I least expected it. Of course there were times when I allowed myself the luxury of thinking about him, about his undulating hooter and his great spade-like hands and I howled into my pillow I missed him so much. There were times I reached for the telephone to tell him something and then the realisation he was gone hit me all over again.

But it was random things that took me by surprise, triggering an outpouring of grief, hitting a chord unexpectedly deep inside me. There was a man on TV in Australia selling tiles for bathrooms and his beard and nose was so like Dad’s, every time the ad came on I burst into tears. A bar of music on the radio or in the supermarket, not one I could identify by name but connected deeply to my subconscious, had me bursting into tears in all sorts of places. This phenomena continued to surprise me as I travelled the world, fulfilling Dad and my long-held dream of visiting all the continents in the world. It was the trip of a lifetime we had plotted together since I was a child, a fantastical journey we never made time to do, and I would never have done unless Dad had died and left me alone in the world. With the home I was brought up in cruelly snatched from me just days after he died, fulfilling this shared dream was the only thing I could do to feel close to him, recalling as I travelled to the places the bedtime stories he had told me, outrageous tales of adventure and intrigue most of which, I now realised, were totally made up.

The top three humdingers being:

Ayers Rock (Uluru) was imported from Scotland by a rich Australian.

Singapore Zoo was based on St Andrews aquarium.

Kylie Minogue had been born in Dundee.

Harmless and on reflection ridiculous but eyes agog as he described these remarkable tales, I was sold hook, line and sinker.

Noel coughed.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I was miles away…’

The boys locked eyes and smiled at each other, as we tucked into our supper. Frank was bolt upright on the footstool between us, willing a morsel of mince to drift into his mouth, by the power of his mind alone, as I curled up, tucked under a tartan rug, completely and utterly at home. I felt as if I had never been away, never launched myself unprepared into the big wide world with a now acknowledged naivety but sitting here, I realised for the first time in my life, there was nowhere else I wanted to be, and nowhere I needed to go, for now, and what a wonderful feeling that was.

Looking at Will I decided to leave my endless questions for another day. He was worn out, so as I sipped away at my delicious glass of red wine, I answered Noel’s questions and slipped into chatty storytelling mode, recounting some of the stories of my twelve-week sojourn round the globe.

We laughed, and they gasped as I confessed to some of my more outrageous tales and launching into another ribald story. I was just gathering momentum when Noel interjected. ‘You OK, Will?’

He nodded, wearily. ‘Yeh, but think I might call it a day.’

‘Oh OK no problem,’ I said guilt surging through me again as I had been holding court and delivering a monologue without considering poor Will.

‘I’ll give you a hand through,’ said Noel, and silently I watched as he gently held his hand out to Will, who didn’t argue but allowed himself to be helped out of the chair. It made me want to cry. What on earth was going on: weight loss, tiredness? My mind was running well ahead of itself as he stopped briefly.

‘Sorry to be a party pooper, Maddy.’

I leapt to my feet objecting in my best Head Girl voice, ‘Ouch don’t be daft, I’m knackered anyway.’

His eyes crinkled at the edges, as he touched my arm. ‘It’s lovely to have you home.’

I embraced him gently, this time noting the fragility, the sense of this fluffy jumper disguising the delicate bones of the shrinking human within.

‘Night night, Will, see you in the morning,’ I said gently as Noel supported his shaky walk through to the bedroom.

Three months of extraordinary adventure, tearing round Bali, Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, Thailand, Australia, selfishly having the time of my life as Will’s life fell to pieces.

Moments later Noel returned.

‘Top-up?’ he asked looking at my empty glass.

‘If you are.’

‘Yeh,’ he said. ‘I could do with another.’ He poured a generous glug into each of our glasses before settling himself down on the opposite couch.

‘Please tell me what’s going on Noel,’ I said, brave after my wine.

‘Well the doctor has said it’s stress, extreme stress.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘I don’t know, Maddy. I’m scared,’ he said holding my gaze. ‘I’ve known Will a long time and have never seen him like this.’

I moved from my chair over to the couch, scooching up beside him. I slipped my arm through his. Despite looking utterly devastated he still smelled wonderful, I thought as I took a deep breath and declared, ‘Well I’m back now and I can’t tell you how awful I feel, that I’ve been swanning around the world when you two have had to deal with all this.’ Noel made to talk but I held up my hand. ‘No, Noel, please let me finish. I have had a lot of time to think, and I am back because I want to be. I am ready to step up and do what I should have done in the first instance. I am back to be a working partner at The Birdie & Bramble,’ I said meaning every word.

His wee face was a picture. Relief writ large as I patted his arm and Frank who had just realised we were sitting on the same couch arrived on my lap, and wiggled his long dachshund body in between the two us, which broke the tension.

‘Thanks, Maddy, what a relief,’ said Noel, slumping back and looking absolutely done in.

We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, toes wiggling on the footstool, toasting by the fire, lost in our thoughts, until nodding off I gave in.

‘I have no idea what time of the day or night it is. I’m totally knackered…’

‘Me too,’ he said.

‘I want to be up bright and early I have a lot to do…so I hope you don’t mind if I head to bed?’

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You know where your room is.’ He pointed at the wee staircase that led to the second bedroom. The room I had stayed in the night my father died, the night I had met them and the last time I had returned to St Andrews. How could I ever forget? ‘Thanks, Noel,’ I said hugging him before trudging upstairs, unconsciousness just moments away.

Waking the next morning, I lay in bed, duvet up round my neck. A glance at my clock told me jet lag had kicked in, as it was well after 10 a.m. Diving out of bed over to the small window I drew the curtain, hurtling back to bed where Frank nuzzled back into me. I contemplated the day ahead. The quality of light had barely changed; it was still dark. Scotland’s winter had descended with a vengeance. November through to February were acknowledged as the toughest months. The inevitable pay-off for endless summer days were short cold days, subdued light, a grey hue pervading, causing imminent Vitamin D deficits. Bbbrrrrr. Welcome home.

I knew I would feel it more acutely having just returned from the thirty-eight-degree heat of Australia, so I lay still, taking in my surroundings. On the surface the wee room looked the same, all plumped up and inviting, but as I scrutinised it I saw signs that someone else had been staying in it too, not just as an occasional visitor, but really living in it. There was a stripy man’s dressing gown behind the door, a bottle of Eau Sauvage aftershave on the chest of drawers, a pair of slippers poking out from under the bed.

The penny dropped: Noel had been sleeping here. He had said Will was wiped out and sleeping sixteen hours a day, so it made sense. Noel would need his own space. Of course Will’s default setting was to protect everyone else. He always put himself at the bottom of the list, so it might take time, but with kid gloves I would eke it out of him or Noel. I just had to be patient and now my imagination was running away with itself.

Jet lag aside I was desperate to get up and at it, get in to the restaurant and see what was happening at The Birdie & Bramble. Having been out of the loop, out of the country, and on the other side of the world, my head was spinning with creative energy, a jumble of ideas I had scribbled down during my travels, which I was keen to introduce to the business. I was going back in there as the boss and determined to step up to the plate, and make it mine.

Mindful not to go in like a bull in a china shop, I needed to gather the team and glean as much information as I could, so my first port of call – as ever – was Mouse.

Mouse, an art student, had been part-time at the restaurant for a long time, and when I inherited the failing business, she proved her mettle, by being an absolute rock for both William and myself. Her goth-like appearance failed to disguise that she was the dearest, sweetest girl, which was exactly why my cousin Hamish had fallen for her instantly.

Mouse and I had kept in touch by email over the past few months but just quick memes, GIFs, etc. as I tore round the Southern Hemisphere. As she graduated in fine art, we had an unwritten understanding we would just pick up where we left off when we were back in the same place at the same time. I wondered if she knew I was back. Well there was only one way to find out.

I texted her. ‘I’m back!’

She came straight back! ‘Yeh! Fantastic! Welcome home, Maddy, I’ve missed you!’

‘Meet you in the B & B in an hour?’

Smiley face emoji.

Phew. Anxiety reduced a modicum. Launching into my first day back felt less daunting knowing Mouse was around.

Jumping out of the shower, it dawned on me I had to crawl back into the same clothes as my rucksack was still missing in action. What a nightmare, I thought wriggling into the same clothes for the third day in a row. Thin cotton ankle grazers, long-sleeved T-shirt, embarrassingly flip flops and a tatty denim jacket were the only clothes I had to my name other than a suitcase of sensible work clothes I’d left with my old flatmate in London months before, when I left my job and old life behind. Sooner or later I’d get round to having that sent north but for now the flimsy array of cheap and nasty clothes I was sporting would have to do until I had time to have a good rake round the charity shops.

Before I had left St Andrews, I’d been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I had to sort out. Mouse had come round with the Marie Kondo book everyone was raving about.

Clearing the stuff, clearing the mind, and moving forward with your life was the idea behind Marie Kondo and so I’d sat bemused amongst the mountain of belongings. Mouse guided me through the Kondo magic of piling up everything I owned in one mountainous blob, and then picking up and addressing each item – whether a coat, a sock or a pair of knickers, and asking myself. Do you love it? If you don’t love it…chuck it.

To begin with I felt even madder than usual, and it was sheer torture but when I finally found an item I really did love, the denim jacket I was still wearing, I soon got into the swing of it. Kondo was right: I didn’t love anything much at all and so with the benefit of a half bottle of red, enjoying this liberation from material things, I’d chucked most of my clothes and with the prospect of my hot, wonderful adventure in my mind’s eye, it seems all of my winter clothes.

I am a stupid bloody woman, I thought marching downstairs for a dig about in the under stairs cupboard where all hairy, cosy, outdoor things were kept. I knew the boys wouldn’t mind if I borrowed their stuff, and as I suspected I found an array of Worzel-Gummidge-like garments including a pair of massive long kilt socks, which I rolled over my thin trousers like leg warmers. Next I grabbed an ancient holey fleece, which smelled like logs and smoke, and yanked that over my head. It fitted on top of my denim jacket with room to spare. Gloves and a hat and my ensemble would be complete, I thought digging through the shelf, which was when I found a bobble hat. Not any bobble hat but my dad’s blue bobble hat with a red stripe round the base of it. I had been humming and hawing as to whether or not to keep it and I could have woken William up and kissed him, as half cut and on a roll I had callously put it in the pile to dispose of with the rest of the stuff. It was only a bloody hat, I had said at the time draining my glass.

What in God’s name was I thinking? Only a hat? Right now it seemed like the umbilical cord between me and my childhood. I loved it. I loved the man who had worn it. I loved the feel of it. I could see Dad plonking it on his head before waving a cheery goodbye and marching off out the door. William, bless him, must have known I was not in my right mind whilst half cut and Kondo clearing out all mine and Dad’s belongings in the aftermath of his death.

Stopped in my tracks, I held it up to my face, and inhaled. The musty woolly smell was like a direct line to the past and it elicited a sob.

‘Dad,’ I said burying . . .