The Mill on Magnolia Lane: A gorgeous feel-good romantic comedy Read online

  ‘It’s a bit late for that, even if I did.’ Lizzie shook her head as her gaze went back to her new project. Besides, even though her little house in town had been home and it had served her perfectly well, there had been too much of Evan in it. It had been home for a while, but it had never felt the same since he’d left and she wouldn’t miss it. ‘I’m here now and I’m going to make it work.’

  ‘Has that man brought your caravan over yet?’

  ‘Derek? He just phoned to say he’s stuck on a narrow road behind a tractor but he’ll be with me as soon as he can.’

  ‘That’s country living for you.’

  Lizzie’s mum had never understood anyone’s desire to live outside civilisation, and anywhere that wasn’t threaded by a decent network of tarmac roads was outside civilisation in her book. Why would anybody want to travel miles for the nearest shop, or have wildlife running riot in their garden, or get snowbound in the winter or cut off by floods when it rained? Why suffer all those medieval inconveniences when the modern world provided perfectly good solutions to those things and a comfortable, easy life safely surrounded by concrete and streetlights? Oh, Gwendolyn liked the countryside well enough, but a quick drive out and back for tea was enough for her. Lizzie’s love of the outdoors was definitely something she’d inherited from her father.

  She turned around at the sound of a distant engine and watched as the speck of a black vehicle towing another began to grow larger as it travelled the road towards her house, the engine getting louder.

  ‘Speak of the devil – I think the caravan’s here.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll let you get on then. I’ll call back later; see how you’re settling in. Don’t forget to let me know if you need any help. I expect that caravan will need a good clean given it’s second hand and I can always come over—’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum. I can do the cleaning and there’s no need for you to come all this way just to work for me.’

  ‘I only want to help.’

  ‘I know you do. Thank you.’ Lizzie looked towards the vehicles again, almost at her gates now. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Bye, Lizzie.’

  ‘Mum…’ Lizzie drew a breath. ‘Do you really think I’m making a huge mistake here? That it’s too much for me?’

  There was a pause. ‘Probably. But you’ve made your bed now so you’d better get lying on it.’

  ‘That’s not the answer I was looking for,’ Lizzie said with a faint smile.

  ‘You’ll be fine, sweetheart. You’re a dreamer, just like your dad was, but unlike your dad, you’re a doer too. He drove past that mill a thousand times and I know he always longed to take it on, but he always held back. He dreamt and never did, but you… I have all the faith in the world you’ll make it work.’

  Lizzie allowed herself to relax a little. She knew her mum hadn’t really meant all the sarcastic comments about the mill being a terrible idea, but hearing her say she had faith made all the difference.

  ‘I suppose Dad was scared to take it on. He had a lot more to lose than I do and a family to provide for, which I don’t.’

  Lizzie tried not to reflect on how very true her statement was. Since her split with Evan, she really didn’t have anyone to answer to – nobody else to consider, nobody to tell her she couldn’t. It was a valued freedom, but the gift was laced with a little pain too. With the split, and then losing her dad, it had been a tough couple of years.

  ‘I suppose so,’ her mum said. ‘He’d be pleased as Punch to see you taking it on now, though.’

  ‘He’d be doing the plumbing for me if he was here now. At least trying to.’

  ‘He would.’ Her mum laughed. ‘And making an almighty cock-up of it too.’

  ‘Probably. Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you later. Bye, love.’

  Lizzie ended the call and mustered her brightest smile for the driver of the 4x4 as he pulled up outside her garden gates. As she’d suspected, it was Derek, the man who’d advertised his old caravan for sale on a local auction site, a caravan which just happened to be exactly what Lizzie needed. She’d spoken to him on the phone and he’d insisted that it was no bother to bring it out, so a smile was the least he deserved.

  ‘Hi, Derek,’ she called as he sauntered from the car to join her.

  ‘It’s a lovely spot here.’ He sunk his hands into his pockets and looked up at the mill. ‘Impossible to reach when the road floods, mind you. You might want to watch out for that. It’s more often than you might think.’ He shot her a sideways look. ‘Moved here from the city?’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly a city – a bit small,’ Lizzie replied. She knew full well that what he really meant was she’d been some city dweller who didn’t have the faintest idea how life worked in the country and would be turning tail and heading back to her comfortable suburban existence the minute Mother Nature threw an obstacle in her path.

  ‘Well, it takes a while for things to get through when the water’s high, not like it does in town.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be that sorry if I do get cut off for a day or two,’ Lizzie said, repeating the defence of her decision to move out to the Fens. Derek had a valid point but saying it made her feel more than a little foolish. Once again came the needling sense of annoyance that he was passing judgement on her life choice and her capability when he didn’t have a clue about any of it. ‘It’ll give me a good excuse to stay indoors with the telly and a mug of cocoa.’

  ‘It will that,’ Derek said, appearing not to have noticed the offence he’d caused. ‘Your boss at work might not be so pleased when you can’t get in, though.’

  ‘I’ll be working for myself so my boss will be just fine about it.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that doing?’

  ‘I do web content right now.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I basically make stuff up for websites.’

  ‘Right!’ Derek chuckled. ‘Sounds like a fine way to make a living.’ He scratched his head as he studied the skeleton of the windmill. ‘And what is it you plan to do with this?’

  ‘I’m going to get the old place going again.’

  ‘As a mill?’ he asked, unmistakable incredulity in his tone.

  ‘I think it’s doable.’

  Derek whistled through his teeth. ‘On your own?’

  ‘I’ll get workmen in.’

  ‘And running it long term?’

  ‘I haven’t worked that bit out yet. Maybe I’ll have to employ someone.’

  ‘It’s finding someone who has the skills that might be a problem. There’s not much call for windmilling these days.’

  ‘I know. But I’m sure we can learn on the job together.’

  Derek scratched his head. ‘Well, it’s not for me to pass judgement. As long as you’re happy. Are you hooked up to the grid here?’

  ‘No, there’s a generator. Has its own water supply too, takes it from an underground spring or something.’

  ‘Got all your certificates for that?’

  ‘I’ve asked the local authority to come and carry out a risk assessment, but I do know when it was last checked it was fine.’

  ‘I’ll bet it was a long time ago.’

  ‘That’s why I thought I’d get it rechecked.’

  ‘Well, it sounds as if you’ve thought of everything.’

  ‘I wouldn’t quite say that but I’m doing my best. I’ve done enough research.’

  ‘It seems to me you’ve got most everything you need.’

  ‘Apart from a roof, upper floors, large portions of wall… and some windows wouldn’t go amiss either.’

  Derek grinned as he angled his head at the keys now in her hand. ‘Don’t think you’ll be needing them to get in. Blow on the front door and it’ll probably fall down.’

  ‘Probably,’ Lizzie agreed with a smile. Despite his implicit questioning of her sanity, she rather liked Derek. She’d only bought a caravan from him but she had a feeling he was a man you could rely on if yo
u were ever in a fix for anything else. He hadn’t been under any obligation to tow the caravan out for her but he’d been happy to do it anyway; in fact, he’d insisted. Although it was possible he’d only come to take a closer look at the madwoman who’d bought the old wreck that had stood empty and decaying on the side of the road for as long as anyone in these parts could remember.

  ‘It’s a heck of a task you’ve got yourself there. I suppose your husband is quite handy?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have one of those.’

  ‘Sorry, of course you’re too young to be married.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Lizzie said with a little laugh. ‘I wish I could say that but I’m thirty-two. I think that might have qualified me as an old maid in days gone by.’

  ‘My Caroline says she wishes she was an old maid sometimes. Says her life would be easier if she didn’t have to wash an old man’s socks every week.’

  Lizzie giggled. ‘You’re not that old!’

  ‘I know. I’d like to know who this fella is – they’re not my socks… That said, she puts up with a lot and she probably does wish she was an old maid at times. I’d be lost without her, though.’

  ‘No one to wash your socks?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Derek looked up at the mill again. ‘You’ve got a builder on board? If not I might be able to help.’

  ‘That’s kind of you but I’ve got a decent quote and I’ve said yes; I just hope he turns up.’

  ‘Who’ve you got?’

  ‘Lundy and Sons.’

  ‘Ah, Tim Lundy. He’ll turn up alright.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I know of him and he’s got a good reputation.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘I should imagine it is. Pay much for this place?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Right…’ Derek jingled some loose change in his pocket. ‘None of my business, just curious. So where do you want this caravan then?’

  As they began to discuss the best location for her temporary home, Lizzie looked back at the place that would one day become her permanent one. Hopefully. It was barely a dwelling at all right now – good reliable ventilation, her dad had always said, which meant hardly any walls at all. From within the bare rafters of the old roof, birds flitted to and fro. It looked as if there was a fair little colony in there, and goodness knew what else had settled in. Renovating this old place was a huge task, perhaps bigger than she was capable of tackling, but still it made her smile like nothing had ever made her smile before. It was almost as if the mill had been waiting for her all these years. As she stood and looked, it seemed to say Welcome home.

  THREE

  It didn’t take long to turn a caravan into home. A few knick-knacks, the odd photo, a couple of throws, the kettle and the television plugged in, and Lizzie was done. Most of the belongings that she would eventually transfer from her old place to the new one were still in storage, and she’d go over to her mum’s to collect the clothing she’d stashed there when she’d sold her old house as and when she could fit it into her tiny temporary wardrobe.

  Derek had stayed for a quick chat and a tour of the crumbling ruins she was planning to call home (hard hats included) and he’d left mid-afternoon, much later than she’d envisaged, but she’d enjoyed the company in the end and had been proud to show her mill off. She had some actual paid work to do, but it would have to wait because she could barely concentrate while the heady mix of excitement, trepidation, hope and downright terror was rushing through her veins like the craziest drug.

  So she’d spent a restless evening alone in her new/old caravan listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the countryside at dusk just outside her flimsy door, followed by an equally unsettled night in a strange bed. At least she’d been able to sleep in late the following morning, having no demands on her time first thing and having finally drifted off in the wee small hours. The builder was due to bring supplies so he could start early on Monday morning, but he wasn’t coming until the afternoon. So Lizzie sipped tea from her favourite mug and sat by her caravan window, gazing out onto the rolling meadows, backlit by a climbing sun that lifted a sea of golden mist from the lazy river, and contemplated how breathtakingly, achingly beautiful her new home was. Though she’d never been fully able to express or understand just what had drawn her to this spot over the years, why it had featured again and again in her dreams of the perfect life, she could see all those reasons spread out before her now.

  A rap at the door of her caravan made her jump. Were the builders early, or had she really lost track of the time to such an extreme? At least she’d had the foresight to get dressed because she was no stranger to days in her little house in town spent entirely in her pyjamas.

  Straightening herself out briefly as she passed the mirror, she went to the door and opened it to find a teenage boy grinning up at her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, waving enthusiastically. ‘I’m Charlie. Do you live here now?’

  ‘I, er…’

  ‘I live at the next house with my brother. We saw you yesterday with your suitcases. Jude said you were hot.’

  Lizzie stepped back, uncertain how she was supposed to reply to the report that someone named Jude, presumably Charlie’s brother, had said she was hot. And that they’d taken such an interest in her arrival.

  She tucked her chestnut hair behind her ears. It needed washing and, not expecting anyone to visit, she simply hadn’t bothered. It had been like that a lot since Evan – little things had slipped, things that she would have always made certain to do because he’d notice if she didn’t, like making sure she always had make-up on and that her hair was neat and clean, and that her eyebrows were always trim and her pores nice and clear, and that she pedalled away the cellulite on her exercise bike for at least twenty minutes a day. Those things had seemed to matter a lot more back then than they did now, but that was because she had nobody now to care whether she did them or not. Part of her rather liked that she could sit in a pair of jeans so grubby they might develop the capability to walk to the wash basket by themselves, but part of her would think about that and feel a little lost. It was no way for a 32-year-old woman to feel; though faced with the alternative of letting Evan back into her life, maybe she’d find a way through it all eventually.

  ‘Can you come to our house?’ Charlie continued, barely registering her hesitation. ‘We have a dog and a cat named George and Mildred. My dad called them George and Mildred. It’s an old show, you know. He’s dead now; it’s just me and Jude at our house. Jude looks after me. He makes me beans with the toast on another plate by the side.’

  Lizzie opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.

  ‘That’s the way I like beans and toast,’ he continued. ‘I don’t like it when the beans are all over the toast, makes it mushy…’

  ‘Oh, well…’ Lizzie began. ‘I mean, it’s lovely to meet you, Charlie, but…’

  As she was grappling for a reply, a figure in the distance caught her eye. He was running down the lane towards the open gates of her house. Noticing her distraction, Charlie whipped around to see what she was looking at. And then he gave an excited wave.

  ‘Jude!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve asked her to come to our house!’

  ‘Charlie!’ the newcomer panted as he tore through the gates and towards the caravan. As he slowed to a halt he looked up at Lizzie.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I hope he hasn’t disturbed you.’

  ‘Not a bit.’ Lizzie gave a bemused smile. She couldn’t help but recall now that Charlie had reported Jude saying she was hot, and she couldn’t help but notice that he was pretty hot himself. He was tall and well built, dressed in T-shirt and jeans with a hoodie thrown over the top. His dark hair was cut short but it was thick and perhaps had a natural wave when allowed to grow. The blue of his eyes looked almost indigo in the morning sun, the irises ringed with grey, and they had a quality about them that made it hard to stop looking. At least, they seemed to be havi
ng that effect on Lizzie. What she wouldn’t have given for a mirror right now; she felt certain that she was probably having the worst hair day ever and that there was probably dried toothpaste or possibly even something worse on her top. Impulsively, she glanced down and was relieved to see that there didn’t seem to be anything too horrific.

  ‘So, can you come to our house?’ Charlie asked, turning to Lizzie again. ‘We have Snakes and Ladders. I love Snakes and Ladders. Do you like Dolly Parton?’

  ‘Charlie…’ Jude put a gentle arm around his brother’s shoulder. ‘We talked about this, didn’t we? You can’t just go to strangers’ houses and invite them to ours. And you can’t just take off out of the house unless you’re with me. I was worried sick when I saw you were gone just now.’

  Charlie’s gaze went to his shoes. ‘I’m sorry, Jude. I only wanted to ask. You said—’

  ‘I’m not angry; just don’t do it again.’ Jude looked up at Lizzie from the bottom of the caravan steps while she stood on the top one, wondering if she ought to go down to them. It was a bit weird to be looming over them like the queen of the castle.

  ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ Jude continued.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. The relationship between them was clear enough – it seemed as though Charlie needed a little more care than the average teenage boy and Jude had taken the role of carer on himself.

  Lizzie decided to throw caution to the wind. ‘Listen, I don’t know anybody around here yet. If you’ve got time I’d love to invite you in for a cup of tea.’ She smiled at Charlie. ‘I feel as if we’re friends already after your lovely welcome, and it would be nice to get to know you both a bit better.’

  Charlie clapped his hands. ‘Can we, Jude?’ He switched his broad smile to Lizzie. ‘I don’t like tea. Do you have milkshake?’

  Jude started to laugh. ‘You do like tea; you’re just after a crafty milkshake because I told you no earlier today!’