This Is Your Life by Susie Martyn Page B

it, he added, all he needed was a small deposit and a month’s rent in advance, which astounded Lizzie, who remembered in the past supplying lists of references, embarrassing bank statements and a deposit worthy of a small mortgage itself, all for some soulless flat in deepest suburbia.
    Undeterred by the strong aroma which remained in the air from the moving of Mr Woodleigh’s cows, the quiet and space had crept up on Lizzie.  The garden too, another neglected tangle, but hers to do what she wanted with...
    A wave of sorrow engulfed her. Her mother would have loved this place… A single tear escaped and rolled unnoticed down her cheek. She’d have donned her gardening gloves and pitched right in there beside Lizzie and for a moment she imagined the familiar voice beside her.
    ‘ Lizzie, isn’t it just lovely? It would be perfect for you…Quite extraordinary how you came across it wasn’t it?  Perhaps it’s meant to be…’
    Startled, Lizzie looked around.  She could have sworn her mother was standing next to her.  Would have put money on it, even.
     
    And the very next morning, just an hour after she signed the lease in the estate office, the most surprising thing yet happened when she had a call from Mick, who had come up with the jeep earlier than expected.  It was clean as a whistle like he’d said, and a very pretty turquoise colour.  How Jamie would detest it, Lizzie found herself thinking, which is probably what clinched the deal.

Chapter 9
     
     
    The early days in her new home passed in a blur, as h aving hastily acquired some gardening tools of her own, Lizzie continued to work on Darius and Angel’s garden.  After months of a desk-bound existence, the work was both backbreaking and tiring, but in the evenings she was spurred on by an urge to feather her nest . 
    The cottage needed a good clean from top to bottom just as Bert had said and first she’d washed the worn brick floors, memorising their random patterns before moving upstairs to scrub the wide oak boards in the bedrooms.  That done, she was ready to begin with the painting. 
    Antonia had helped her move in, somewhat horrified.
    ‘God, Lizzie, you’ve hardly a damn thing in here…’ 
    Shocked, she’d disappeared and returned with a mattress and some bedding, as well as a kettle and teabags.  And having most happily departed from the Star, it was heaven, Lizzie decided, to be lying in her own bedroom, gazing out of bare windows at starlit skies, while dim silvery moonlight filled her room.
    Impatient to check out her new home, Darius and Angel too had been over complete with a cast-off sofa which was far superior to anything Lizzie would have chosen.  Angel had tutted at the state of her kitchen and stared in abject horror at the old Rayburn. 
    ‘It’s archaic, flower,’ he told her firmly.  ‘From the Dark Ages.  Promise you won’t cook on that thing - you’ll probably die from some horrible disease …’ before absolutely insisting that they buy her a cooker as a house-warming present.  Her objections – Lizzie had rather fancied giving the solid old rayburn a whirl - fell on deaf ears.
    Tim too had stuck his head in, between clients, suggesting that she and Katie should come for dinner, next time Katie was staying.  Noting with interest a slight flush as he mentioned her, as soon as he’d gone Lizzie texted her friend to tell her.
    Vet in my kitchen wants you in his kitchen x
     
    T hrough it all, her mother’s letter was never far from sight.  Every so often Lizzie re-read it to remind herself.  Already life was taking shape in ways she could never have imagined, with doors opening all around her, so that all she had to do was take a small step through the right one.  Like the one into Rose Cottage, for instance.  In every respect it was perfect for her – and all she’d done was meet Bert up here that first morning, and now, here she was. In the safe haven, the port in a storm, she’d always craved,