Be careful what you wish for.

This was all her fault.

The cottage had been outside their budget, and Seb had been resistant to the idea of stretching themselves financially, but she’d persuaded him that they could make it work. A few sacrifices would be nothing compared to the benefits. They’d spend Sundays exploring the leafy lanes and open fields. Holly could go to the village school and have friends back to play in the pretty garden. She’d be part of the local community. Maybe they’d even get a puppy.

Turned out there was already enough local wildlife living in the place without adding to it, and as for the local community—

Her phone buzzed, and she checked the number and groaned. Her finger hovered. Reject the call, reject the call...

Good manners prevailed.

“Alison! How lovely to hear from you.” She flinched as another drop of icy water hit her head. “Yes, I know I promised to call, but—Will I be at the village book group this week?” Say no, Christy. Say that you loathe the books they choose, feel patronized by the people and can’t bear to spend another evening sitting in a drafty church hall. “Yes. I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.” Each lie eroded her self-esteem a little more. But she had to live in this place. The locals were already suspicious of her. If she upset the village matriarch, maybe the local store would refuse to sell her bread and milk. “Food? Yes, you can rely on me for a quiche... Vegetarian? No problem.”

She ended the call and closed her eyes.

“You are pathetic, Christy. Pathetic.”

She had a feeling that the only way she was ever going to extricate herself from the torture of the local book group and the crushing boredom of the village fundraising committee was to move house. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

If headlines were to be believed, everyone wanted to move from the city to the country. If they put the place on the market in spring or summer, people would fall in love with the idea of living in this fairy-tale cottage, as she had. They wouldn’t discover the truth until they had the key in their hands.

“Mummy!” A shout came from the kitchen.

“Coming!” Christy pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Stay. If you fall in this close to Christmas, that’s it. I’m leaving you.” And now she was losing it, talking to a house as if it was a person with a grudge against her.

She closed the door behind her and mentally composed a sales pitch.

Beautiful country cottage for sale. Would suit a draft-loving family with an interest in local wildlife (mice, bats, rats and the occasional squirrel) and money to burn. Must enjoy boring books and judgmental locals.

“Mummy!” The shout was louder this time, and Christy hurried back to the kitchen. “Oh my—Holly, what have you done?”

“I’ve done you a painting.” Holly flourished the paper with pride, and Christy gave a weak smile.