I was flabbergasted. I had no idea Charlie had this in her.

She had added sketches of the rooms, as well as listed the gatherings she would hold in the orchard and the field beyond that ran down to the river. Examples of menus, and plans for secret nooks she would create in the garden for people to sit and ponder. There were designs for a vegetable patch, and a fire pit beside a tiny stage area at the top of the meadow, space to dance as well as relax.

Charlie had invented a tiny heaven on earth.

She had peppered the pages with mentions of me: ‘Ask El about prices’, ‘Check with El if this could work’, ‘EL I NEED YOU!’, ‘How much could El invest?? – would need to draw up contract so proper business partners.’

She’d finished off the last page of the notebook with this:

A place to feed your senses, your stomach, your creativity and your soul. To recharge, reconnect and reimagine. To wander and to wonder. To remember who you are, and that who you are matters.

I wanted to go to this place so badly my feet were twitching to get on up and get there.

And as I read, and thought, and wandered through my friend’s imagination, Hope gnawing on her fist, eyes transfixed on the crystal mobile gently spinning above her, I began to wonder.

Could I create this place? Could I do it, without Charlie?

I could cook and clean, and probably manage some basic decorating. I knew how to serve people, take bookings, and complete most of the admin that came with running a hotel – and what I didn’t know, I could ask my parents. Daniel could teach me how to grow things. I’d been to enough events to know how to create an atmosphere. And what if Nora ended her career by writing about how coming here had transformed her, been her grand epiphany?

My heart began to accelerate. It was like seeing the first streak of pale light washing across the horizon. Now, I had something worth working for. Worth living for.

I could do this.

I would do it for Charlie, as my legacy to her. And for Daniel, and for Hope. And for me. And every other lost and lonely, stress-riddled, worn-out, washed-up person who needed it, too.

10

After cobbling together a basic lunch for us both out of a giant jacket potato and some cheese and salad, we went shopping. Ferrington had two small supermarkets according to my online search, one on Old Main Street, and one on the New Side of the river, imaginatively called New Main Street. I could have made a longer trip to a proper supermarket, but I wanted to have a look around the village – and although Daniel had left me full instructions about how the pram converted into a car seat, a walk seemed enough of an expedition for now.

It was a twenty-minute stroll through the orchard, across the field and along a short footpath beside the river until we reached the first row of cottages that led us into the village. The day was mild for January, although the sky was overcast and the shadows gloomy, and pushing Hope ensured my cheeks retained a warm glow. It was easy to spot the shop, and I was grateful I hadn’t risked driving as every space was full along the narrow street leading up to it.