Warning: Episode may contain strong language, violence and sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

No matter how hard the past is, you can always begin again. – Buddha

All Saints Church,
Glendale, England

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide…

The crisp September breeze rustled through the trees surrounding the ancient churchyard of All Saints. Leaves, beginning to turn golden, whispered amongst themselves as the mourners gathered around the open grave. A small Bluetooth speaker played “Abide with Me”, the familiar hymn filling the air with a haunting calmness amidst the sniffles and whimpers. The gentle melodies seemed to meld with the sound of birds in the distance and the faint rustling of branches.

Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away…

The villagers of Glendale stood in quiet rows, dressed in black, their heads bowed, their faces solemn. The sense of loss was palpable for they were saying goodbye to one of their own. The casket, a polished mahogany with simple brass fittings, was adorned with a modest bouquet of white roses. It rested on a wooden frame, ready to be lowered into the freshly dug grave. In the centre of the mourners, a bereft woman, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She was numb, unable to fully comprehend the gravity of this, the worst day of her life.

O Thou who changest not, abide with me…

Reverend Matthew Turner, a tall man with an athletic build and an air of quiet authority, stood at the head of the gathering. He wore a simple white robe with a dark purple stole. Young for a vicar, his floppy golden hair shone in the autumn sunshine, while the light caught in his azure blue eyes added to his smouldering appearance. In Glendale for just over a year, some villagers felt that, as a man of God, Reverend Turner had no business looking as handsome as he did, while others found his allure a hallelujah moment and returned to the flock, purely for religious reasons, of course.

Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?

The pallbearers, four local men with serious expressions and each in their Sunday best, carefully adjusted the ropes to lower the casket. The gathered mourners watched in silence, a collective sense of finality settling over the as the casket descended into the earth. A female mourner trembled with grief as each verse of “Abide with Me” added a layer of poignancy to the moment. Her hands, encased in black leather gloves, clutched harshly at the forearm of the man at her side.

“We have entrusted our brother to God’s mercy, and we now commit his body to the ground,” Reverend Turner began. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

At the heart of the gathering, an elderly woman with a walking stick leaned on it heavily, her eyes moist. A jewelled brooch adorned her thick black woollen coat, catching the faint rays of sunshine that filtered through the trees. She seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant, as if she were remembering another time, another place. Something that she would never forget, yet never wanted to remember.

In the distance, partially hidden from the view of the mourners, a young man watched on, his eyes fixed on the descending casket. His expression was a mix of sadness and determination, as if he knew something about the deceased that others did not. At the graveside, an aging man, haggard by sadness and fatigue, caught sight of the shadowy man beyond the trees. His nostrils flared as a scorching anger ricocheted through his body.

Reverend Turner continued. “In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our frail bodies, that they may be conformed to his glorious body, who died, was buried, and rose again for us. To him be glory for ever.”

“Amen,” said the gathered mourners in solemn harmony.

On the outer of the mourners, Doctor Emma Blake couldn’t help but carry some responsibility. Her heart was heavy. If it hadn’t had been for her, then maybe, just maybe, none of this would have happened.

In life, in death, o Lord, abide with me.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

As morning broke over Glendale, a sleepy village in the heart of Kent where the gossip flowed as freely as the tea, the usual hubbub of village life rambled on. Morning light filtered through lace curtains, casting delicate patters on the worn wooden floors of the cottages that lined the village green. The air was cool with a hint of dew, and a soft breeze carried the scent of freshly baked treats from Bake My Day, the bakery on the corner of Queen Victoria Street and Village Green Lane. Birds sang their morning songs, filling the quiet with cheerful melodies, while in the distance, the church bell of All Saints chimed, signalling the start of a new working week. The village was waking up.

-:-

In the front garden of Willow Cottage, Audrey Granger, who had celebrated her ninety-second birthday the weekend just gone, tended to her cherished roses, her shears clipping with rhythmic precision. Never one to lay idle, Audrey had shuffled out to tackle her immaculately maintained front garden the second the sun had broken over the Glendale hills. She wiped the fine sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, careful not to smudge the dirt from her gardening gloves on her forehead, then picked up a blue and white striped Cornishware mug that sat on a small wooden stool beside her, full of freshly brewed tea. Audrey licked her lips in anticipation as her arthritic hands cupped the mug of deliciousness, brewed just how she liked it – tea bag left in, four sugars and a generous amount of Carnation Evaporated Milk.

“Morning, Missus Granger,” Reverend Matthew Turner said, somewhat breathlessly, and smiled at the village elder as he jogged down Queen Victoria Street at the end of his usual morning run.

“Morning, Vicar,” Audrey replied in her silvery voice and looked the exceedingly handsome man up-and-down as he jogged by. Audrey noticed his floppy blonde locks bouncing with each step and the sweat that ran down his naked torso, toned and void of any hair, and collected at the waistband of his black oversized running shorts.

Audrey swallowed heavily. She was going to hell for her thoughts.

-:-

Across the road, the painted forest green door to The Store unlocked with a clunk and creaked open as eighty-eight-year-old shopkeeper, Elizabeth Baxter, or simply “Queenie” to her friends, opened for the day. She tinkled her fingers in a friendly wave at Audrey, her most cherished lifelong friend, before hobbling back inside, aided by her trusty walking stick.

-:-

Next door, Audrey’s youngest, Carol Kennedy, fluttered around The Oak & Vine pub like a hummingbird on caffeine. Clearing away the previous night’s shenanigans, scrubbing table tops, sweeping up sin, and disposing of memories drowned at the bottom of pint glasses, Carol did so as she swished and swayed her hips to “Private Dancer” by Tina Turner, her absolute idol, as the song seductively thumped in her AirPods.

Carol didn’t usually clean The Oak & Vine. She and Tony, her husband of eight years, used to employ a young Polish woman, who also lodged with them. However, she had recently left the village to return home, and Carol was struggling to find a replacement. Not that Carol had minded. She and Tony finally had the place to themselves and could now enjoy their freedom. And they had. In every room. Twice.

Tony, having come downstairs from the four-bedroom flat he and Carol lived in above the pub, approached his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into the side of her slight-sweaty neck. Carol melted at his touch and let out a schoolgirl giggle as she turned, draped her arms around Tony’s neck and kissed him.

-:-

Down the road at Bluebell Cottage, local police sergeant, Jack Campbell, stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. His wet, cropped, dark brown hair, clung to his scalp. The final rivulets of water raced down his defined, hairy chest, over his toned stomach with a dusting of hair, and followed the perfectly straight snail trail from his bellybutton to his trimmed crotch. Drying himself, Jack looked at his reflection in the mirror. His biceps were strong and muscular. His thighs were solid without being overly big. His sun-kissed skin glowed. Well, the parts that were normally exposed glowed. There was a distinct, perfect line of skin colour change from the browns of his torso and thighs to the almost lily white of his hips, crotch, and bum. Jack looked at the ever so slight belly beginning to emerge. The beginnings of a dadbod? Jack had always been self-conscious of his body despite often being told to the contrary or called “Daddy” – something he hated.

Besides the bathroom basin, his phone pinged and lit up. Jack looked at the message and smiled. It was from his husband, Lee, the local baker.

Happy anniversary. Love you. xx

-:-

Next door, at Oak Cottage, Nick Harrington-Jones, lay in bed with his left arm tucked behind his head exposing a hairy armpit, his right arm resting on his taut and toned stomach, and his modesty barely protected by the loosely crumpled bedsheets. Nick rolled his head to the side and listed to his girlfriend, nope, scratch that, new fiancée, singing to herself in the shower. Jasmine Atkins’ voice was like something sent from heaven. Nick smiled his usual perfect smile. He was happy. Life couldn’t get much better.

-:-

At Greenview Cottage, Marion Atkins, Lee and Jasmine’s mother, finished buttoning up her autumnal print silk blouse in the bedroom as her husband, Ed, entered and placed a fresh cup of coffee on the bedside table. Marion smiled her thanks. Today was going to be a good day. After weeks of searching, rifling through terrible applications and sitting through monotonous interviews, the new doctor was finally starting at the surgery, and Marion, as the only doctor currently in the local area, couldn’t wait to have some support. The new doctor seemed eager and brilliant, and Marion was keen to get the working week underway.

-:-

Over at Thyme Cottage, Ashwin Patel, or simply Ash to everyone in the village, grabbed his thermos of freshly brewed tea and kissed his wife, Neha, goodbye. Ashwin could smell the alcohol on Neha’s breath. He chose to ignore it. What was the point in saying anything? Neha, a local teacher, would just deny it and they’d end up in yet another blazing row, one that Ashwin didn’t have the time or energy for today.

“Love you,” Ashwin said warmly as he swung his black satchel bag over his shoulder, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the dining table and set off for work at the garage.

“Love you too,” Neha replied rather monotonously as she rinsed her breakfast bowl in the sink. She waited to hear the front door click shut and then, without hesitation, dashed across the kitchen, opened her handbag, pulled out a small silver hipflask, hurriedly unscrewed the cap and took a long, satisfyingly steadying swig.

-:-

At Pineview House, a beautiful large Edwardian home with a perfect view of the village green, Charlotte Sinclair looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she pulled her golden locks into a tight ponytail and fixed it in place with a hair tie.

Charlotte’s husband, Mark, turned off the shower and stepped out, taking a towel from the towel rail. Charlotte watched him in the reflection. Sixteen years her senior, Mark looked good for a for a fifty-four-year-old. He was toned without being overly muscly, was a few inches over six foot tall, and had the darkest hair and eyes of anyone Charlotte knew. They had been married nearly a year and were still well and truly in their perfect honeymoon phase bubble. Well, besides the one thorn in their side – Mark’s nineteen-year-old daughter, Natalie. It was no secret to anyone in Glendale that there was no love lost between stepmother and stepdaughter. Best described as a nightmare in stilettos, Natalie had made Charlotte’s life hell since she had started dating Mark a few years ago, for reasons no one really knew. It also wasn’t beyond Charlotte to admit that the feeling was mutual.

Mark sidled up behind his new wife with a mischievous grin, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled seductive nibbles and kisses into her neck as he pressed his naked self against her. Charlotte smiled and rolled her head to the side, welcoming Mark’s advances and feeling him harden behind her.

“I need to go,” Charlotte protested, although she really didn’t want to. “I’m going to be late!”

“Glendale can do without its vet for a few more minutes,” Mark said in a voice low and charged with desire as his hands began to roam his wife’s body. “I think you need another shower.”

Charlotte didn’t need persuading. She turned to face Mark, wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and she kissed him passionately as his fingers hurriedly unbuttoned her powder blue shirt.

-:-

Atop a rolling hill that overlooked Glendale, steely matriarch and Women’s Institute President, Judith Bancroft, sat in her favourite armchair by the window in the living room of Glendale Hall and soundlessly sipped a cup of tea. Her grey eyes surveyed the array of framed photographs that adorned her mantelpiece, each one a cherished memory of special family events, dear friends, and long-gone loved ones. Judith spent a moment staring at the wedding photo of her daughter, Julia, who, dressed in a puffy early-1990s wedding dress, beamed with pride as she stood beside her new husband, James. Judith’s eyes moved to the next photo, a recent one of her grandson, Nick, and his beautiful girlfriend, Jasmine. Judith liked Jasmine. She was good for Nick and a worthy candidate to carry on the Harrington-Jones and Bancroft legacies. Finally, Judith’s eyes settled on the one photograph she stared at the most. Her son, Michael, looked back at her with his usual soft smile and casual aloofness. It was nearly seventeen years since Michael had died and the pain that ricocheted through Judith’s body made it feel like it all happened just yesterday.

-:-

Not far from Glendale Hall was the stately Ashbourne House, the rambling estate of James and Julia Harrington-Jones. James, a venture capitalist, was seriously wealthy and Julia, raised in old money, was no less financially challenged. Cradling a cup of tea in her hands, Julia watched from a large second storey window as James hopped in his chauffer driven car and set off down the long drive on his way to London.

Julia took a silent sip and her eyes narrowed as she spotted Natalie Sinclair saunter down the gravel drive towards the house in a skin-tight black pencil skirt, white blouse, and pair of black stiletto heels. The corners of Julia’s lips twitched with a snarl. Like her sister-in-law, Charlotte, Julia wasn’t Natalie’s biggest fan by any means. She had been staunchly against James’ recent decision to employ Natalie as his new personal assistant, but her protests had fallen on deaf ears, as was customary. “She’s family now. She’s our step-niece. She deserves an opportunity”. James’ hollow reasons rang in Julia’s ears. Was “step-niece” even a thing? Julia loathed teenagers nowadays anyway, but there was something about Natalie that unnerved her. She watched on as Natalie waved to James’ car as it slowed to a stop beside her. Natalie curled a lock of her raven black bob behind her ear, laughed animatedly and then waved an overfriendly goodbye before continuing down the driveway towards Ashbourne House as James’ car moved off.

Natalie approached the imposing stately home and looked up to see a stern Julia glaring back at her from a large window on the second floor. Natalie stopped in her tracks and stared back defiantly. With pursed lips, Julia stepped away from the window and the plain net curtains flapped shut.

-:-

On the outskirts of Glendale was Glenbrook Farm. Owned by the Granger family for as long as anyone could remember, it was home to soon-to-be-divorced forty-two-year-old Ben Granger, his six-year-old twins, Oliver and Poppy, and his parents, Brian and Pamela.

In the kitchen, Pamela bundled the packed lunches into the twins’ school bags. Cheese sandwich, a packet of Walkers cheese and onion crisps, a cut up apple lightly drizzled in lemon, a handful of almonds and two shortbread cream biscuits for Oliver, and a ham and cheese sandwich – crusts cut off, a packet of flamin’ hot Monster Munch, a pear, precisely six walnuts and three bourbon biscuits for Poppy.

“Come on,” Ben called up the stairs in a desperate bid to hurry the notoriously tardy pair along. “We’re going to be late!”

Ben couldn’t make out the muffled cries that got hurdled back at him, but experience told him it would be the usual “we’re cooooooming!” or “stop ruuuuushing ussssss!” He headed back into the kitchen, tugging at the tie that felt like it was strangling him. A farmer, Ben wasn’t used to dressing in such a formal manner. He’d worn a tie only once before in his life, on his wedding day to his now estranged wife, Rebecca, and now, looking back, it wasn’t even worth it then. With their divorce finalisation imminent, Ben was beginning to get itchy feet. He just wanted to put the whole sorry mess behind him, but before he could do that, Ben had one final thing to do – he had to face Rebecca one last time in court.

“I can take them to school,” Pamela said, sensing her son’s irritation and unease, as she zipped up the school bags.

“It’s fine!” Ben snapped.

Pamela stopped and pulled in her lips.

“I’m sorry, mum,” Ben replied sincerely, shooting his mother an apologetic smile. “It’s just…”

Pamela placed a supportive hand on Ben’s forearm and smiled. “I know, sweetheart.”

Ben tugged at the tie again and ran a hand through his jet black and slightly scruffy hair. “KIDS, COME ON!”

-:-

At Greystone Downs, the neighbouring farm to Glenbrook, Kate Spencer checked her hair in the mirror one last time. Her brown-red loose curls bounced with her touch. Perfect. She turned and looked out the window and watched her dashingly handsome husband – if she did say so herself – Tom, release the final cow from the mornings milking. Greystone Downs was as old as time itself and, whilst a vital part of the community, had struggled in recent years due to falling milk prices, rising costs and environmental factors. Born in Wales, Kate knew nothing of Greystone Downs when she moved to England, but now, having been part of the Spencer family for two decades, she realised the importance of the family farm and was determined to see it succeed, so much so she had taken on the receptionist role at the village’s medical surgery last year. Whilst her working full-time meant she wasn’t able to help Tom as much as she would’ve liked, when the chips were down, every penny counted.

Kate checked her watch. “Fuck!” she hissed to herself in her distinct Welsh accent. She was going to be late. With one final check of her appearance, Kate rushed out of the bathroom and headed downstairs to bundle her three children, fifteen-year-old Ava, ten-year-old Harry and six-year-old Noah, into the car. Of all days, this one was important. Kate was desperate to make a good impression on the new doctor. There was something about Emma Blake that Kate had liked when she had met her a few weeks ago for the interview and she was desperate to find out more about the village’s brand-new doctor.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Honeysuckle Cottage,
Glendale

Emma Blake stood at the living room window of Honeysuckle Cottage, her new home of just a few days. The patterned net curtains were drawn back with her left hand while she held the handle of a steaming mug of tea with her right and cast a curious eye down the lane towards the river. Removal boxes remained piled up around her. From her vantage point atop a slight hill, Emma could see all the way down Riverview Lane to the River Medway. The early morning sunshine, glistening across the river, was almost magical in its beauty. Morning birdsong – starlings if Emma wasn’t mistaken – filled her heart with joy and her whole spirit felt lighter. Following the collapse of her marriage, Glendale was beginning to feel like home, despite the fact her actual home more resembled a storage facility than a quaint cottage in the English countryside, and irrespective of the fact that she had yet to really see much of the village itself. It wasn’t that Emma was hiding away, per se, it was more that she wasn’t ready to reveal herself just yet. David had warned her it was a bad idea. He had said it was “wrong” and “sick”. Yet Emma, doing what Emma usually does, ignored her now ex-husband, and bullishly went ahead with her plans anyway. New job. New home. New Life.

Emma released her hold on the net curtains and allowed them to shut out her priceless view. She downed the last of her tea in one gulp, collected her handbag from the hallstand and, with one final calming breathe, opened the front door ready to face Glendale properly for the first time.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Greenview Cottage,
Glendale

Marion stared at her reflection as she added the final touches to her makeup. She was running late. Really late. Her eyes followed the reflection of her hands as she gave herself some contouring with bronzer.

Ed, Marion’s husband of thirty-five-years, entered the small en suite bathroom off the master bedroom and stood behind his wife, flipping and twisting his navy-blue silk tie into a Windsor knot.

“I thought you were working from home today?” Marion said, shooting her husband a curious look with a cocked brow as she ran her favourite Chanel lipstick over her full lips.

“I was. Change of plans,” Ed replied. His phone pinged with a notification. He removed it from his pocket, glanced at it quickly and returned it to his trousers.

Marion pressed a tissue between her lips. “Problem?”

“Nothing that I can’t handle.”

Ed seemed vague and somewhat distracted by his thoughts. Marion watched him in the mirror. She knew her husband better than anyone and something was most definitely up. “We could meet up for lunch?” she said, throwing a line into the ocean to see what she’d catch. “I can see if Carol can reserve us a table in The Oak and Vine?”

Ed didn’t respond.

“Ed?”

“Hmm?” Ed returned to the land of the living.

“Lunch? The Oak and Vine? Say, one o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” Ed replied, adjusting his tie one final time. He kissed the back of Marion’s head, winked at her in the mirror and dashed out of the bathroom. “I should be back from London by noon. Bye.”

The bedroom door slammed shut and Ed was gone as quickly as he came. Marion’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, love you too,” she muttered under her breath.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Oak Cottage,
Glendale

“Just five more minutes?” Nick smiled pleadingly at the freshly showered Jasmine as she straightened her white cotton shirt before tucking it into her jeans.

Jasmine looked back at Nick and couldn’t help but smile. His rich, brown puppy dog eyes were begging her to come back to bed, as was the evidentiary hardening she could make out beneath the thin sheet lying across his waist. “Five minutes? Somebody’s greatly overestimating their abilities.”

A wicked grin licked at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “Ouch! Harsh.”

“Some of us have to go to work, unlike lazy layabouts who take long weekends,” Jasmine smirked, running a hand through her bountiful black curls. “What are you doing on your day off anyway?”

“I’ve invited mum to have lunch at The Oak and Vine.”

Jasmine shot Nick a look of disbelief. “Queen Julia? In The Oak and Vine? And she agreed?”

Nick snuffled. “I believe her exact words were, ‘I’d love to!’.”

“Huh,” Jasmine scoffed with a brow raised in amazement. “And people say miracles don’t happen.”

Nick shot Jasmine his usual, achingly sexy smile, rolled onto his side, propped his head up with his hand and shifted the sheet across his toned and naked body. “Besides that, I shall be following your succinctly dictated instructions and will have everything ready for when you get home.”

Jasmine bent down and kissed Nick tenderly on the lips and slipped her hand beneath the covers, squeezing Nick and making him jolt. The kiss lingered for a beat longer than normal. She loved the bones of that man. Parting, Jasmine removed the rather ostentatious diamond and sapphire white gold engagement ring from her finger and popped in it in the bedside drawer. It pained Jasmine to take the ring off, but their engagement was still a secret. Nick had only proposed on Saturday night, and they planned to tell their families together at a special meal tonight.

“Are you going to be able to keep it a secret from your mother?”

“She’ll no doubt be too wrapped up in telling me all about the plans for the village fete.”

“Okay, I’ve gotta run,” Jasmine kissed Nick again and managed to slip from his grip with a playful giggle as he tried to pull her back into bed. “I’ll text you at lunch time, yeah? Love you!”

“Love you too my sexy secret fiancée!” Nick called back as Jasmine exited the room. He flopped onto his back, spreadeagled on the bed and looked up at the ceiling with a Cheshire cat grin. Life was good.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Village Green,
Glendale

The morning sun bathed the village green in a golden light, casting a warm glow over the dewy grass. Birds sang in the trees, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the scent of wildflowers through the air. Glendale’s village green was a lively place in summer, with families picnicking, children playing and dog’s chasing frisbees. But today was Monday, and everyone was in a rush to get to work and school instead of enjoying the greenspace.

Emma crossed the village green and nervously adjusted the handbag strap on her shoulder. Her eyes scanned her surroundings as she marched towards the medical surgery in the distance. Quaint cottages and small shops, each with its own unique character, bordered the village green. A large pond, home to many a duck it seemed, sat in the middle of the parkland. There was a bandstand towards the northern end, a red phone box that was now a community book exchange to her left, and a large World War I war memorial in the far-right corner. Emma’s eyes darted from building to building, villager to villager.

“Emma!”

Recognising the voice of her new boss, Emma turned to see Marion hurrying towards her, a wide, friendly smile across her pleasant face. “Morning, Marion.”

“You look lovely,” Marion said as she looked Emma up and down. Sensible slacks, a pale blue blouse, and a black unbuttoned blazer, perfect first day attire.

Emma felt her cheeks flush, and she twisted a curl of her golden-brown hair behind her ear. “Thank you. First impressions and all that.”

The two women continued across the village green towards the medical surgery. “Well, you needn’t worry. You’ll be brilliant. Nervous?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be.” Marion eased Emma’s fears with another friendly smile and a soothing rub on the back. “It’s Glendale. The worst you’ll probably see is, oh I don’t know, a boil on Patrick O’Conner’s arse.”

Emma snuffled at Marion’s joke as the two doctors crossed Queen Victoria Street and walked up the worn paved path towards the doors of the medical surgery. In large font, GLENDALE FAMILY SURGERY, was emblazoned across the glass door, accompanied by a large gold motif of a tree, house, hills and sun in a circle.

Marion held the door open for Emma. “After you, Doctor Blake.”

Emma smiled and silently took a calming breath as she crossed the threshold and walked into the small waiting room. Three people looked up at her expectantly.

“About bloody time!” Brian Granger snapped in a resonant tone.

Kate rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oi, Uncle Brian, I’ve already warned you once!” Her modulated voice carried a heavy Welsh accent.

Brian looked at Kate, who was married to his nephew Tom, and the corners of his lips snarled “Not my fault they’re bloody late.”

“No, but it will be your fault when I smack you in the bloody mouth if you don’t shut it.”

“I was just sayin’.”

“Yeah, and so was I. Now shut it.” Kate had clearly had enough, and the surgery had only been open a few minutes. She glared at her husband’s uncle before flicking an internal switch and turning to face Marion and Emma with a plastered-on grin that radiated feigned happiness, peace, love, and light. “Mornin’, Marion. Welcome, Emma.”

Emma smiled, instantly warming to the Welsh receptionist who clearly took no crap. “Thank you.”

Marion looked from Kate to Brian and back again. “How long has he been here?”

“He was sitting on the doorstep when I got here to open. God knows how long he’d been sitting there.”

Marion sighed and shook her head as she picked up the scattering of mail on Kate’s desk and cast an eye over it. It was always the same with Brian Granger, at the surgery before dawn to avoid having to help his son, Ben, on the family farm.

“I called Aunty Pam but she shrugged it off as ‘just old man things’,” Kate said.

Marion rolled her eyes and fought the urge to groan. She could feel Brian’s beady eyes on her back. “Right, well I’ll get settled and then send him through.”

“I can see him,” Emma said.

Marion and Kate turned and looked back at Emma in blinking, astounded unison.

“Are you sure?” Marion frowned; aware Emma had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Kate leant forward in her seat and slapped Marion’s wrist. “Shhh, Marion! Let her! Be our guest.”

Regret instantly settled over Emma. “Should I not?”

“No, no, no,” Kate jumped up from her seat and slid Brian’s file across the reception desk towards Emma before she had a chance to change her mind. “By all means, please go for it!”

Marion chewed on her cheek, stifling a grin as she watched Emma’s face change from a polite smile to a worried look of impending doom. “Remember, you’re brilliant. You’ll do fine,” Marion said and squeezed Emma’s arm in support.

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, shooting an over dramatic two thumbs up to the new doctor. “Good luck.”

Taking Brian’s file, Emma forced a wary smile. Turning, she looked at Brian before checking his name on the file. “Mister Granger.”

Brian’s eyeline shifted from Marion to Emma. He instantly deflated. “Oh, not another one.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Another one. Another bloody female,” Brian replied gruffly as placed the palms of his hands on his knees and pushed himself off the hard plastic seat.

Emma frowned with confusion. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?”

Brian hobbled towards her. “Where’s all the men gone, huh? Where’s all the male docs now in this bloody PC awake woken up world?”

Emma swallowed, immediately realising the reason for Marion’s initial irritation and Kate’s eagerness to palm him off to her. “Mister Granger, while I may not be a male, I can assure you I am a perfectly astute and qualified doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a man are ya!” Brian looked Emma up and down.

Irritation burbled inside Emma like a kettle about to boil over. “No, I am not,” she said with a firm, prickly tone. “I have all the female reproductive organs and I happily identify as a CIS female in this bloody ‘PC awake woken up world’, as you so eloquently put it. Now, if you’ve quite finished with your really rather embarrassing little Trumpian temper tantrum, I’ll happily consult with you now. But, by all means, feel free to wait for a male doctor to just pass by. However, you may be waiting quite a while by which time you could quite possibly be dead!”

Sucking on his gums, Brian stared at Emma in a stunned silence as she held out a hand, gesturing towards the door of her new consulting room. Brian surrendered. “You may not be a man, but you’ve got some balls on ya!”

As Brian headed into Emma’s consulting room, the new doctor turned her head and fired off a smug smile at Marion and Kate. Kate chewed the side of her mouth to stop herself from laughing while Marion beamed back at her. “See, brilliant!”

With an exhale of breath, Emma pulled back her shoulders and followed Brian into the consulting room, closing the door behind her.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Glendale Veterinary Practice,
Glendale

Seated at her desk, Charlotte was perched on the edge of her seat, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the result. She had just finished consoling Robert Elliot, a client who had just had to put his beloved cat to sleep, and now, as she waited, she felt the seconds stretch into minutes. With trembling hands, Charlotte picked up the pregnancy test and held her breath as she glanced at it.

The single line stared back at her, mocking her hopes and dreams. It was negative. Again. Every month since their wedding, Charlotte had hoped and held her breath and now, for the eleventh time, she was left disappointed. Tears welled in Charlotte’s emerald eyes as she sank back in her chair as a wave of sadness washed over her.

Minutes passed like hours as Charlotte sat staring at the negative test, lost in her thoughts. She thought of all the times she had hoped and prayed for a positive result, only to be met with disappointment each time. Finally, with a heavy heart, Charlotte stood up and discarded the test in the bin.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Glendale Family Surgery,
Glendale

In the reception area, Marion waved goodbye to Betty Worchester, a brusque little old lady, as wide as she was tall with a permanent scowl affixed to her forehead, as she hobbled off out of the medical surgery. Marion breathed a sigh of relief and the painted-on smile that caused her face to ache slipped. This was the moment that filled her with the most joy – it was the longest possible time Marion had between now and Betty’s next appointment, usually in three days’ time. Her phone pinged and she instinctively withdrew it from the pocket of her black slacks. “Oh, for fuc…”

“Problem?” Kate glanced up from behind the reception desk and stopped typing in anticipation of receiving something rather juicy.

“Ed.”

Kate pulled her mouth tight and rolled her eyes.

“He’s been held up in London and won’t be back in time for lunch. I’ve booked us a table at The Oak and Vine and everything! Sometimes I could kill that man!”

“Why don’t you, me and Emma go?” Kate suggested without hesitation, almost as if she’d already been thinking about it.

Marion cast a curious eye Kate’s way.

“We could say it is a management team building thing. Welcome Emma to the practice. Get to know her properly. You’re both scheduled a lunch break anyway and Jenny and Susan can mind the place while we’re out.”

Marion’s mood lifted. A girl’s lunch sounded like the perfect idea. It also wasn’t lost on her that Kate had casually included herself in the management group.

“And if we happen to have a cheeky red or six then so be it,” Kate said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Marion smiled. “Yes! Brilliant! I could do with a shiraz right now!”

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Brooksville Avenue,
Queen’s Park, London

Ed knocked on the front door of a Victorian terraced house and stepped back, awaiting an answer. He looked the charming property up and down. Two stories and made of London stock brick, its front door was painted a canary yellow and the mouldings around the windows were freshly painted a crisp white. The small front garden was an organised jumble of lavender, peonies, allium, geraniums, and roses, whilst a hanging basket of pansies swayed by the front door. The door unlocked. A broad grin spread across Ed’s face, and he stepped over the threshold.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Queen Victoria Street,
Glendale

Whilst Marion and Kate had ventured to The Oak & Vine, Emma had stayed back as her consultation with crotchety Ruth Harris had run over and she was now late for lunch. Marching down the street, oblivious to her surroundings, Emma’s eyes scanned her phone as her thumb scrolled and her brain absorbed the pictures of the Instagram account she was stalking. Again. For the fifth time that day.

Opening the door of CuriosiTEAS, the village’s antique store cum café, Ben stepped out onto the street and immediately collided with Emma. His freshly purchased take away latte bumped up and splashed over him, instantly turning his crisp white shirt brown and staining his suit. His only suit. The suit he had to wear to court. “Oh, for fuc…”

“Oh my God,” Emma gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry!”

Ben was too furious to notice the slight scolding of his chest. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going!” he barked, flicking coffee from his hands as he searched his pockets for something to dab up the brown liquid with.

Emma winced, unsure of what to do or say to make the situation better. “I’m really very sorry.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“I didn’t see you coming out.” Emma looked at the shop front and was surprised she hadn’t noticed the small café before. The name was adorable. She made a mental note to come back another day for a coffee.

“Well maybe next time look where you’re going instead of looking at that thing,” Ben snapped, jabbing at Emma’s phone that was still firmly gripped in her hand.

Emma was affronted. “I said I was sorry. Please, let me buy you another coffee.”

“I don’t want your coffee,” Ben said as he looked at his coffee-soaked suit and then at this watch. “Fuck! I haven’t got time to change.”

Then, almost like some sick divinely joke, a drop of pigeon poo fell from the sky and landed on Ben’s shoulder with a plop. Emma bit her lip hard to try and stop the giggle that was bubbling up inside. The rising chuckle caused a smirk that tried desperately to tear apart her lips as they curled into a smile.

Ben looked at her. “What?! What are you smiling at?” he asked with an ever-increasing frown, irritated that she found his predicament funny.

“Well, it’s just…” Emma pointed at the bird poo on Ben’s shoulder.

Fury surged through Ben’s veins. He didn’t need this. Not today. “Oh, you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!”

Emma removed a tissue from her pocket and stepped forward, tenderly wiping the bird poo from Ben’s shoulder. It smeared. She rubbed again. The smear spread, as did the mortification ripping Emma apart.

“Oh, great,” Ben huffed, glaring down at the now very large, smeared bird poo on his coffee-stained suit. “Brilliant. Thanks.”

“I’m sorry.” Emma didn’t know what else to say.

“Stop being sorry!”

“It’s supposed to be good luck.”

Ben shot Emma a glare and snatched the tissue from her. “Just watch where you’re going next time, yeah?”

Dumping the now empty coffee cup in the bin beside him, Ben stormed off, muttering under his breath as he tried desperately to calm his apoplectic rage. Emma watched the handsome stranger trudge down the street trying to clean himself of bird mess and coffee with her small tissue.

“I really am sorry!” Emma called out.

Without turning back, Ben stuck up his middle finger as he thundered down Queen Victoria Street and rounded a corner.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Greystone Downs Farm,
Glendale

Alone in the master bedroom of Greystone Downs Farm, Tom looked at the old Samsung phone in his hand and smiled. It was a cheeky, almost wicked smile. His thumbs tapped away at the screen as he composed a reply. With a message sent, Tom removed an old pair of jeans from the back of the wardrobe. He unfolded them, placed the slim black phone back in its usual hiding spot in the back pocket, neatly re-folded the jeans and returned them to their traditional place in the wardrobe between his old sweaters and t-shirts and closed the door, sealing the phone in its hidden tomb.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

The Oak & Vine,
Glendale

Approaching The Oak & Vine, Emma took stock of the handsome building. A venerable two-storey pub, its aged bricks, weathered by centuries of rain and sun, exuded a rustic charm, and its Victorian bow widows looked out across the village green. Either side of the door, hanging baskets, overflowing with purple petunias, yellow begonias, pink lobelias, and white alyssum, creaked under the weight of the blooms as they swung gently in the warm afternoon breeze.

Emma pushed open the black painted door and crossed the threshold. Inside, the worn wooden floors were well-scrubbed and polished, while the blue and gold striped wallpaper above the navy wainscoting wall panels gave the space a sense of homeliness.

“Here she is!” Marion called out from an upholstered booth across the pub as she waved Emma over.

“We didn’t know if you drink red or white, so we got you one of each,” Kate added, waving a hand over the selection of libations on the small wooden table like some terrible game show model. “Whatever you don’t drink, I will!”

Emma slid in beside Marion. “Thank you. And for the record, I’m a red.”

“I could tell she was nothing but class,” Marion said with a wink and a pat of Emma’s hand.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kate took the glass of white wine and downed it one gulp. “Carol!” she yelled across the pub, holding the empty wine glass aloft. “Another Moscato when you’ve a moment, please, my love.”

Emma smiled and shook her head. There was something so endearing and charming about Kate that it was hard not to immediately feel like she was your best friend.

“So,” Marion said and turned to Emma with pursed lips, swiftly moving the conversation along. “How are you finding everything on your first day?”

“I’m actually really enjoying it.”

“Not sick of the sight or arse boils yet then?” Kate asked.

Emma smirked. “Only one so far.”

“Beginners luck,” Kate replied as she sucked her teeth and flopped back in her chair. Carol approached and placed a new full glass of Moscato in front of her daughter-in-law. “Oh, lush! Cheers, my love.”

“Carol, have you had a chance to meet our new GP yet?” Marion asked warmly, not allowing Emma a single moment to hide in the shadows.

“No, I haven’t. Carol Kennedy, landlady,” she said, extending a hand in Emma’s direction.

“And my mother-in-law,” Kate added, taking a rather large gulp of wine as she playfully jabbed at Carol with her elbow.

Emma shook Carol’s hand. “Emma. Emma Blake.”

“Well welcome to Glendale, Emma.” Carol’s auburn hair and round, soft face made her instantly friendly and likeable. She was firm but fun, harsh but not afraid to have a laugh with her regulars. There was an earthy quality to her that drew Emma in. Suddenly, the sound of a glass, knocked from a table, shattered around the pub. “Excuse me a moment,” Carol said, making her excuses.

Kate took another gulp of wine, nearly emptying her second glass. “So, Em – can I call you Em?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, Em, what brought you all the way down here then? Manchester not good enough for you or somethin’?”

Emma sighed. It was the inevitable question she had been dreading. Somehow, she had managed to skirt around it when Marion brought it up in her first interview, but Emma knew Kate wouldn’t be one to let it slide so easily. “Something like that. My marriage ended.”

Kate’s mouth gaped and she dramatically clutched a hand to her chest, almost as if the wine was already going to her head, if that was even possible. “Oh, fuck! I’m so sorry, Em. What’d the cheatin’ bastard do?”

An amused grin spread across Emma’s face. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. We just…I don’t know, just drifted apart?” Emma bristled at her lie that went unsurprisingly unnoticed and why wouldn’t it, no one in Glendale knew the truth. Not yet anyway.

“It happens,” Marion said, her voice heavy with the weight of her own marital problems.

Emma continued. “I just needed a fresh start. Somewhere new. Somewhere different.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got that here in Glendale,” Kate said, reaching across the table and tapping her fingers against the back of Emma’s hand in support. “We’re practically on the other side of the world from Manchester!”

Marion held her mouth in a taut line. “I’m sorry your marriage ended. If you ever need a friend to talk to about it all…”

“Thanks, Marion. I appreciate that.”

“And if you ever need a friend to get shit-faced with…” Kate winked and polished off the glass of Moscato.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Emma replied with a chuckle.

“Oi! Carol! Bring us another when you’re ready, please, my love,” Kate called out, holding the now empty wine glass up in the air and tapping it with her tip of a fingernail.

Emma needed to change tact before she said something she shouldn’t. “So, what about you both. I see you’re both married,” she said, indicating to their wedding bands with a nod of her head.

“Yes, thirty-five years.” Marion’s chest puffed and her obvious boast. “My husband’s, Ed. He’s a lawyer. I have a son, Lee. He owns Bake My Day…”

“Oh, I thought that was a genius name for a bakery!” Emma interrupted.

“My idea,” Marion boasted again, not that Lee would ever admit to his mother’s triumphant idea. “He’s married to Jack, the local copper, and I have a daughter, Jasmine, well, Jaz as we call her.”

Kate leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “Marion was in her ‘Aladdin’ era if you couldn’t tell.”

The three women broke into a simultaneous cackle.

“She’s dating a nice lad name Nick,” Marion continued, shaking her head at Kate as she pushed through her chuckles. “They live just down the road in Oak Cottage, the one opposite the church.”

“Wealthy he is, Em,” Kate said with an overexaggerated wink and click of her tongue. “And I mean fuckin’ wealthy wealthy! And he’s bloody lush! Her Jaz has well lucked out baggin’ Nick Harrington-Jones.”

And there it was. The name that had haunted Emma her entire adult life. It hung heavy in the air and Emma felt her chest tighten as history pressed down on her.

“On to me.” Kate’s bubbly Welsh accent drowned out the ghosts that whispered in Emma’s ears. “I’m Kate. I’m Welsh, obviously, and I’ve been married to Tom for…” Kate’s voice trailed off as she counted on her fingers. “Twenty-one years. Three beautiful kids, oh, they’re so lush, Em. You’ll just love them!”

“You will,” Marion nodded in agreement.

Kate’s eyes widened as she was struck by a bolt of genius. “They can call you Aunty Em,” she fawned, reaching across the table and squeezing Emma’s forearm. “Oh, they’ll love that! There’s Ava, she’s my girl. She’s nearly fifteen and she’s such a brilliant kid. Isn’t she, Marion?”

“Yes,” Marion agreed with a smile. She was very fond of Ava Spencer.

“And then there’s Harry,” Kate continued, barely pausing for breath as she spoke at a lick. “He’s nine, and my little devil, Noah. He’s six. We’re up at Greystone Downs. You know it, Em?”

Emma crumped her face as the clear answer slipped from her tongue. “No, can’t say that I do.” Obviously.

Kate brushed Emma’s reply away with the waft of her hand. “Well, you’ll have to come up then. It’s well lush up there.”

Emma took a sip of her wine. “So, if you’re Welsh, how did you end up in Glendale?”

“Well, you’re not goin’ to believe this, Em,” Kate said, leaning back in her seat as she settled in for a good natter. “I met Tom in line at a HMV in nineteen-ninety-nine.”

Marion frowned. “I didn’t know that!” she said, not having ever asked Kate where she and Tom had met.

“Oh, yes! I was visitin’ London from Swansea and was in the queue at the HMV on Oxford Street buying the CD single, ‘Tragedy’, by Steps. You know the one! Tragedy! When the feeling’s gone and you can’t go on, it’s tragedy!” Kate mimicked the dance moves of Steps perfectly as she sang the iconic chorus with gusto. “And anyway, Tom, he was stood behind me in the line buying ‘Chocolate Salty Balls’ by the chef from ‘South Park’. I mean, can you believe that, Em? Chocolate salty balls! I should’ve known then what I was gettin’ myself in for, but somehow, I found it cute. Cute, Em, cute! Chocolate salty balls! Cute!”

The three women let fly with another raucous cackle. Kate’s rapid fire story had left them all in fits of giggles and it felt good to let go and just enjoy the moment.

“Anyway, anyway, anyway,” Kate said, waving her hands about as she tried to quell her laughter and finish her story. “We got chattin’, he asked me for a drink and as they say, the rest is history.”

Marion looked at her watch, shocked by the time. “Shall we order?”

“Yes, lets!” Kate replied and realised she hadn’t yet been delivered her next glass of wine. “Oi! Carol! Where’s me Moscato?”

Carol pulled a face and winced at the forgotten order. “Sorry, sweets, coming right up!”

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Glendale Primary School,
Glendale

With the school day over and the final students racing out the school gate, Neha stood at her desk, packing her few belongings into her handbag.

“See ya tomorrow, Neha,” Jasmine said sweetly, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she farewelled her colleague and neighbour.

Neha glanced up and smiled in reply. “Yeah. See ya, Jaz. Enjoy your dinner party!”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. She’d been praying all day that Nick had done as instructed and the thought of spending the next few hours in the company of Queen Julia filled her with dread. “If I’m not in tomorrow you’ll know we’ve all killed each other!”

Neha laughed and Jasmine left. The classroom was still and silent. Neha ran her tongue over her lips. The tendrils of temptation clawed at her. Neha didn’t want to. She tried to fight it. But it was comforting. It was solace. It was home. Alone, Neha opened her desk drawer, shuffled about some paper and removed a small, flat, partially drunk bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, Neha lifted the bottle to her lips. The waft of whiskey made her mouth water. She licked her lips again and took a swig. The golden liquid poured down her throat and instantly warmed her body. Neha took a breath before taking another gulp.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

The Store,
Glendale

Queenie, perched on her usual stool at her usual place behind the wooden Edwardian counter, looked up from her copy of “The People’s Friend” as the bell above the shop door clanged.

Emma smiled politely at the elderly shopkeeper and headed across the store bursting with products, looking for the display of canned goods. The stock, immaculately presented and dusted, offered an array of meals and Emma was surprised by the variety on offer for a small village shop. She picked up a can of Heinz baked beans.

“Damaged, that one,” Queenie said in her distinct estuary accent, heavy with glottal stops and dropped syllables. She peered over the top of her tortoise shell glasses and watched Emma like a hawk as she turned the can over in her hand to read the nutrition panel.

Emma looked back over her shoulder at Queenie. “Oh,” she replied and moved to return the baked beans back to the shelf.

“Not the beans! ‘im from earlier,” the all-seeing, all-knowing Queenie replied with a sniff. “The one wot you dumped coffee on. Ben Granger. Farmer up at Glenbrook. Forty-two. Divorced. She’s a right nasty cow that ex missus of ‘is. Broke ‘is ‘eart what she did t’ ‘im.”

Emma smiled, unsure of what to say, and returned her attentions to the cans. Slightly embarrassed that her earlier run in had been witnessed, she continued to peruse the shelves, all the while keenly aware of Queenie’s eyes on her.

“You’re that new doctor wot everyone’s talkin’ ‘bout,” Queenie said matter-of-factly with another sniff. She dabbed at her nose with a plain white cotton handkerchief with lace trim before returning it securely under the elasticated golden band of her wristwatch.

Emma looked up and her cheeks flushed with heat. “Are they?”

“Oh my, yes!” Queenie cackled. “Bollocks as big as bulls, ‘pparently.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?” Emma said with a rising inflection.

Queenie shrugged and sniffed. “’ave ya seen a bull’s bollocks? Worse things t’ be called.”

Emma nodded, still not convinced whether she should feel complimented or insulted. “Quite.”

Emma returned her attentions to the shelves of canned goods and Queenie watched on. “Glacier fruit?”

Emma looked up to see Queenie offering her a sweet from an opened packet of Fox’s Glacier Fruits.

“No, I’m fine,” Emma replied with an over friendly smile and a wave of a hand. “But thank you.”

“Suit y’self,” Queenie huffed and popped a sweet into her mouth.

Settled on her purchases, Emma approached the counter with a can of baked beans, a Wispa bar and a copy of “Heat” magazine. As she placed the items on the wooden countertop, Emma could feel Queen’s judgement.

“Take it ya not much of a cook then,” Queenie said with a sarcastic smirk as she surveyed the rather pathetic array of items and rung them up on the till.

Emma hid her shame behind a polite smile. There was a direct sass about the elderly woman that she liked. “Something like that.”

“Three pound forty, lovie.”

Emma tapped her debit card and Queenie studied her. Born and bred in Glendale, Queenie knew everyone and everything about the village. She knew the good’uns from the wrong’uns and wasn’t shy to voice her displeasure. She was also keenly attuned to people’s temperaments and she liked what she saw in Emma.

“Me name’s Elizabeth but me friends all call me Queenie and me enemies call me Beth. Pick ya side now, lovie, cos I ain’t be doin’ with flip floppers.”

Emma was taken aback. She wasn’t used to such directness, but it was disarmingly refreshing. “Duly noted, Queenie.”

A broad grin broke across Queenie’s face, and she immediately softened. The tough exterior had melted away in an instant and Emma now stood face-to-face with a kind, wise old woman, grinning back at her through a perfect set of false teeth. Her sapphire eyes twinkled. “Good lass. An’ you are?”

“Emma Blake.”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Queenie scolded with a shake of her head. “Doctor Emma Blake. Don’t be sellin’ y’self short.”

“Sorry.” Emma struggled to break the habit of a lifetime.

“An’ less of that an’ all,” Queenie said, waving a crooked finger in Emma’s direction. “Don’t be sayin’ sorry ‘less there’s somethin’ to be sayin’ sorry for.”

Emma smiled. Was it possible to love an elderly woman? Because she certainly felt like she was genuinely in love with Queenie, in a grandmotherly way, of course. “Thank you, Queenie,” Emma said as she collected her stash of patheticness. “Have a good night.”

“You an’ all, Doc.”

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Oak Cottage,
Glendale

“So, what’s all this about then?” Jack asked curiously as he lent against the countertop in the kitchen of Oak Cottage, his muscly arms folded across his chest, and the enticing smell of freshly cooked curry tantalising his senses.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Lee added to his husband’s line of questioning, looking his little sister up and down in the process.

“No!” Jasmine grunted, affronted by Lee’s accusatory tone.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Jack teased with a flick of a wicked grin, rather impressed with his ability to slide a quote from “Hamlet” into the conversation.

Jasmine looked at her brother-in-law with an overexaggerated roll of her eyes. She just knew he’d be chuffed with his little Shakespeare quote. “I can assure you that I’m not,” she replied and looked to Nick for backup, of which he failed to provide. “It’s just a dinner, that’s all.”

Lee rolled his eyes and shot his husband a knowing look. Jack couldn’t hide the cute smile from his sharp face. Jasmine turned her attention to Nick and gave him a wide-eyed look, followed by a nod. Nick got the message.

“Anyway,” Jasmine said in a honeyed tone, quickly shifting the conversation away from her and her non-existent pregnancy. “We got you guys a little something…”

“For your anniversary,” Nick added as he pulled a black envelope from behind his back and handed it to Lee.

“Aw, you guys! You shouldn’t have,” Jack said in a mellifluous voice and crossed the kitchen to Lee’s side. The couple, married five years to the day, had barely had time themselves to acknowledge and celebrate their anniversary.

As he opened the envelope, Lee’s eyes bulged. “Oh my God!” he gasped, his mouth agape. “You guys! No!”

“That’s too much,” Jack agreed, shaking his head as he looked at the voucher for a weekend stay at The Savoy Hotel in London.

“Please, just accept it,” Nick urged, unable to hide his smile as he watched Jack and Lee.

“You both work incredibly hard and we just want you to have a nice weekend away together,” Jasmine added.

Lee’s eyes welled at the sentiment. “Aw, that’s really sweet. Come ‘ere!” he said and pulled Jasmine and Nick in for a hug. Lee looked to Jack and nodded for him to join. A request that he reluctantly agreed to.

There came a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Nick said, breaking free of the sibling and in-laws group hug and exiting the kitchen.

Lee watched Nick until he was out of view. “So, why are we really here?” he asked his sister directly now the coast was clear.

Jasmine could hold the secret in no longer. With a beaming, perfect grin, she held up her left hand and flashed Jack and Lee a look at her stunningly impressive engagement ring. Their eyes bulged.

“I knew it!” Lee started to yell and quickly hushed his voice to barely a whisper. “I fuckin’ knew it!”

Jack’s voice was equally as quiet so as not to be overheard. “Oh my God, that’s amazing! Congratulations, Jaz!”

“Thank you,” Jasmine replied, her cheeks hurting from her broad smile.

“When? How?” Lee needed all the details immediately.

Jasmine could make out her parent’s voices and the approaching sound of footfall. “I’ll tell you in a bit. Just shut your mouths until everyone is here!” She fired off a warning glare to her brother and brother-in-law.

Lee locked an imaginary zip across his lips while Jack held both hands up in surrender.

“Hello, hello!” Marion’s voice trilled around the kitchen as she entered carrying a bottle of wine, followed closely by Ed and Nick.

-:-

Outside, the Harrington-Jones’ Rolls Royce slowed to a stop. The headlights shut off and the engine idled. Julia turned on the interior light, flipped down the sunshield and checked her appearance one final time in the small mirror.

“Ready?” James asked as he cut the engine.

Julia sighed and looked at her husband. With the fading good looks of Hugh Grant and the disarming charm of George Clooney, this was James’ idea of a good time. Whereas for Julia, this was hell. She hated intimate little dinners where she wasn’t the host. On her own turf at Ashbourne House, she was able to hold court. But here, as a mere participant at a dinner – and with the Atkins of all people – she felt as though she was drowning in an ocean, being dragged under the surface by chains of lead. “Mmhmm,” Julia nodded, unbothered to even force a smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

–  G L E N D A L E  –

The Store,
Glendale

“Hello again, Queenie,” Emma said, rather sheepishly as she returned to the store, the shop bell clanging to announce her arrival.

Surprised, Queenie lowered her glasses on the bridge of her nose and cast a cautious eye Emma’s way. “Twice in a day, Doc? This is an honour!”

“I forgot I was out of milk,” Emma said, shaking her head at her own forgetfulness as she marched across the shop to the dairy fridge.

“Not that one,” Queenie called out as Emma reached for a bottle with a blue cap. “Tastes like cat piss. Get the purple one. Bit pricier but much creamier, an’ you’ll thank me for how good y’ tea tastes.”

Without hesitation, Emma went with Queenie’s suggestion and grabbed a bottle with the purple cap before carrying it to the counter to pay.

“Let the twats an’ wankers buy the other one,” Queenie said with a wink as she rung up the price on the till. “This is for me friends only. One pound twenty, lovie.”

Emma tapped her card and returned it to her purse. “I was thinking after I left here, why are you called Queenie?”

“Born on Coronation Day weren’t I,” Queenie replied matter-of-factly as if Emma should’ve already known. “As King George the sixth and Queen Elizabeth were sayin’ their Coronation whatsit, me mum, God rest her soul, was birthin’ me. Called me Elizabeth after me Nan and the Queen. Me dad, God rest his soul, called me Queenie and it just stuck.”

“What a charming story,” Emma replied with a friendly smile. “And only your friends call you Queenie?”

“That’s wot I said, wasn’t it? Me friends call me Queenie and me enemies call me Beth.”

The bell above the shop door tinkled as Judith Bancroft entered. Queenie and Emma looked to the door in unison. Immediately, Emma’s chest tightened and a hot, prickly sweat broke across her body.

“Good evening, Beth,” Judith said. Her authoritative voice, imbued with a sense of regal dignity and gravitas, bounced around the shop as she approached the counter.

“Judith.” Queenie nodded in acknowledgement before shooting Emma a knowing look.

“My magazine, please.”

While Queenie shuffled under the counter for the publication, Judith turned her head and looked at Emma. Emma’s heart stopped. Judith rolled her cold and slightly confused glare up and down the woman’s appearance. There was something about her. Something that Judith couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it unsettled her.

“Hello,” Emma’s voice cracked with nerves as she fired off a painted-on smile in Judith’s direction.

The faintest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of Judith’s mouth. Her mind tried to grab hold of a slippery memory that was just out of reach.

Queenie slapped the latest edition of “Tatler” on the counter and the noise made both Emma and Judith jump. “Four-ninety-nine.”

“Keep the change.” Judith handed Queenie a five-pound note and collected her magazine from the counter.

“How kind,” Queenie replied dryly and rung the price up on the till.

As the cash drawer dinged open, Judith clutched the magazine against her chest and slowly turned back to Emma. “You look rather familiar.”

“Do I?” Emma’s mouth was drier than the Sahara as she struggled to swallow.

“She’s the new doctor,” Queenie prompted.

“Oh, I see,” Judith said, her mind running a frantic search of facial recognition but coming up blank. “Judith Bancroft.”

“Emma Blake,” Emma replied, her own hand trembling as she shook Judith’s.

“Uh-uh,” Queenie scolded.

Emma blushed. “Sorry.”

“Uh-uh,” Queenie scolded again with a tut-tut and a firm glare.

“Right.” Emma forced a smile, trying to follow Queenie’s earlier advice. “Doctor Emma Blake.”

Judith’s expression dropped. Her mind had settled on a face. She immediately retracted her hand. “Well, I should be going.”

Emma felt the air tighten as she noticed an obvious change in Judith’s demeanour.

“Beth. Doctor,” Judith said. She nodded at each in turn before turning on her heels and sweeping out of the store. The waft of her perfume lingered.

Emma felt her knees wanting to give way. Was the room spinning? She forced herself to speak. “She seems… pleasant.”

Oblivious to Emma’s distress, Queenie swatted away Judith’s perfume with a waft of her liver spotted hand. “Oh, pay no notice,” the elderly woman replied gruffly. “She’s ‘ad a problem with me since the seventh of June seventy-seven, when she announced to all an’ sundry that I was havin’ an affair with ‘er ‘usband.”

“Queenie!”

“I bloody weren’t though!” Queenie shot Emma a defiant look of innocence. “Whole village was out on the green havin’ a party and a drink to celebrate the Queen’s jubilee, and then she comes marchin’ up, bloody Lady Muck, flappin’ ‘er gums that I’m ‘avin’ it off with ‘er ‘usband. ‘Er ‘usband?! You shoulda seen ‘er ‘usband! Short, ‘airy, fat little gargoyle, ‘e was. Bloody wouldn’t ‘ave ‘ad it off with ‘im if ya paid me!”

Emma chuckled silently, delighted by Queenie’s animated story and welcome of the distraction.

The story, spoken at a lick, continued. “So, she comes up, all guns blazin’, callin’ me every name under the sun, because I’m apparently ‘avin’ it off with ‘er fat little ‘arold. So, I’ve given ‘er a smack, told ‘er to shut ‘er fat face, ain’t nothin’ t’ do with me, an’ that it was actually Betty Worchester who she should be ‘avin’ words with.”

Emma was intrigued beyond belief. “And then what happened?”

“Well, Judith’s bloody stormed off, Betty’s stood there lookin’ at me with a face like a freshly slapped backside, and I’ve turned ‘round and ordered ‘nother sherry. I thought, ‘I won’t be puttin’ up with that, not without a sherry in me’. So, then she’s ‘ad the ‘ump with me since seventy-seven and still to this day calls me Beth for somethin’ I didn’t do!”

“Have you ever tried to sort things out with her?”

Queenie frowned and recoiled at the thought. “Why would I want to do that?”

“To clear the air and be in each other’s good graces.”

“Oh, I don’t give two fat figs what Judith Bancroft thinks of me. She sits up there in that ‘ouse on the ‘ill judgin’ the whole village and thinkin’ she’s better than us all, but she still comes in ‘ere to buy ‘er ‘Daily Mail’ and ‘er ‘Tatler’,” Queenie fired off, her index finger tapping against the countertop to emphasise her point. “And she buys the cheap tea bags! Stingy cow. She ain’t no better than any of us, Doc. She got ‘er own secrets, just like we all do, and one day they’ll come out. Secrets always do. But until that day comes, I’ll keep takin’ ‘er pennies and pounds and givin’ ‘er a polite nod. But that’s as far as it goes.”

Emma looked at Queenie and forced a smile as the wise woman’s words rang in her ears. If only you knew, she thought.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Glendale Hall,
Glendale

Judith had hurried home as fast as her feet could carry her. Across the village green, up London Road, over the historic medieval stone bridge that spanned the River Medway, and down Village View Lane. She was now safely ensconced in her sprawling home.

Sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, Judith frantically flicked through the family photo album open in her lap. Several other albums, previously searched through and subsequently discarded, lay strewn around her. Her eyes scanned photo after photo, memory after memory, in quick succession. She flicked the page and scanned the next set of images. Nothing. She flicked another, then another, each time drawing a blank. Judith turned the page, and her blood ran cold. Ice poisoned her veins and her brow furrowed. Her lips parted slightly as a haunted exhale of breath escaped her. She was right. There, stuck to the centre of the page, under a film of plastic, fastened with four white photo corners, was the photograph she had been searching for. Judith’s eyes narrowed, her hands trembled, and her breathing laboured.

Michael, barely eighteen, smiled back at her. Judith’s heart ached and her eyes moved from her long-dead son to the young woman at his side. There, beaming back at Judith, with Michael stood behind her, his arms wrapped loving around her body, and with her hands resting atop a heavily pregnant belly was a seventeen-year-old Emma.

–  G L E N D A L E  –

Oak Cottage
Glendale

“Excuse me,” Julia smiled and got up from the dining table as her phone rang. Mum flashed across the screen for the fifth time in thirty seconds.

Julia headed through Nick and Jasmine’s kitchen and out into the backyard. She closed the door behind her and took in a deep breath of cool, fresh air, happy for the distraction from the painfully awkward dinner inside. “Hello, Mother.”

“Darling, it’s me.” Judith’s voice was panicked.

“Yes, I know.” Julia rolled her eyes.

“Are you somewhere private?”

Julia’s stomach fell. Something was wrong. She could immediately sense it. “Yes,” she replied, curling her golden locks behind her ear. “We’re at Nick and Jasmine’s, but I’ve just stepped outside to take your call. Why? What’s wrong?”

There was a pause and then Judith uttered the words that would change the course of Julia’s life. “Darling, we have a serious problem.”

NEXT TIME…

• Emma’s secret is revealed.
• Julia plans to tackle the past.
• Nick and Jasmine unintentionally chart a course to disaster.
• Ben and Emma have a chance encounter.
• Natalie sets a plan in motion.