Birds of a Feather. Cressida McLaughlin

appearance at the gala on Friday night. With his new book due to be published in less than three months’ time, it is yet to be seen what effect this new development will have on his troubled career. It is understood that Ms Field is a resident of the Suffolk village where Jack has been staying, while her involvement with Markham is still a matter for speculation. At the time of going to print, neither of the authors’ spokesmen were available for comment.

      The rest of the page was taken up with two photographs. A bigger, grainier version of the one she had seen on the cover of the other paper, Eddie’s hand around her arm, his face inches from hers, Raffle positioned behind them so that his bared teeth were hidden from view.

      The other was a snap from the gala that she hadn’t realized was being taken. It showed her and Jack, dressed in their finery, her arm in his as they stepped towards the hotel’s grand entrance. Jack’s head was angled towards hers, his hair flopping over his forehead, and he was smiling. She was looking down, probably concentrating on the steps, but her pink lips were curved upwards, the sheer fabric of her dress glistening like water under the camera’s flash.

      If it hadn’t been in a national newspaper, used to tell a story that was so far from the truth that it was laughable, she would have wanted to cut it out and keep it as a memento of that night. She realized that she had no photos of Jack, that they had never stopped for a selfie, that she hadn’t taken one spontaneously, surprising him when they’d been walking through the woods.

      ‘Eddie hasn’t made a statement,’ Leo said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Which is a good thing. Maybe he’s hoping the pictures will speak for themselves, because he knows that if he tries to claim anything more then it will be quickly denied.’

      ‘By you?’ she asked.

      Leo nodded, his fingers pressed against his lips.

      ‘We’re going to respond to this,’ Jack said, turning from the window. ‘We’re going to say that Eddie staged it, that it was the first time you had spoken to him.’

      ‘We’ll keep your name out of it, Abby,’ Leo added.

      ‘How? It’s already in here.’ She pressed her hand over the page, the newsprint dusty beneath her palm.

      ‘But we don’t have to confirm it,’ Leo explained. ‘We’ll refer to you as a close friend of Jack’s, if that’s OK with you.’

      ‘Sure’ she said. ‘Look, I – I should leave you two to it, shouldn’t I? Packing, and everything.’

      Leo stood and gave her a quick, tight hug. ‘It’s been lovely to get to know you, Abby.’ He patted her twice on the shoulder, then stepped back. ‘Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon. And don’t forget to smile, OK? However miserable you feel on the inside, smile, and you’re halfway there.’

      ‘I’ll try,’ she said, forcing a smile, wondering why that phrase sounded so familiar.

      Jack walked with her to the front door. She stepped onto the path, into a beautiful day bursting with the heady scents of early summer. She let Raffle’s lead out, allowed him to snuffle at the grass, at the tires of Jack’s squashed-frog Range Rover that, in a few hours, would be speeding down to London.

      ‘This is too hard,’ Jack said, wrapping his arms around her waist. ‘I’m supposed to go back to my flat, stand up to Eddie, talk passionately about my new novel, while you’re here.’

      ‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said. ‘Better than fine. You’ll tell your side of the story, prove that you don’t deserve the accusations, that you’ve done nothing but try and help him, and your new book will be brilliant. You’ll be a huge success.’

      ‘What about you?’ he asked, tipping her face up to his. ‘Tell me what you’ll do.’

      ‘I’ll save Meadowsweet,’ she said. ‘And the house of birds and butterflies.’

      His smile was strained. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ve seen you at work, seen the way people respond to your enthusiasm, how you’re inspiring a new generation of nature lovers, children – fledglings – who will grow up to make a difference. You give people hope, Abby, and I haven’t been immune from that. Even in the face of what’s happened, I’ll go back to London with hope, because of you.’

      She exhaled, holding in her tears. ‘We’ll stay in touch, though, won’t we?’

      ‘Of course.’ He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her. This was the last time, she realized. A parting gift before he left to start a new chapter of his life.

      ‘I need to let you get on,’ she said, when they’d pulled apart.

      ‘I’ll write to you.’

      ‘You’d better. Goodbye, Jack.’

      ‘Goodbye, Abby Field.’

      She walked down the path, Raffle trotting close to her, his fur rubbing against her leg. As she turned away from Peacock Cottage, stepping onto the track that would lead her to the village and home, she glanced behind her. Jack was slumped against the doorframe, a hand covering his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

      When Abby got home, she went straight up to her bedroom, pulled UK Flora and Fauna down from the shelf and took out Jack’s letters. She removed each one from its envelope in turn, reliving their relationship through his words from that first, haughty complaint to the warmer, tender notes they’d become. Raffle lay alongside her, his nose nudging her elbow, and she wrapped her arms around him and let her tears soak his fur.

      The rest of the day passed in a daze. She replied to Rosa’s messages as vaguely as she could, apologized to Tessa for not getting back in touch, and texted Octavia to thank her for looking after Raffle, saying the event was fun, but not elaborating. Nobody, she thought with relief, seemed to have seen the papers with her photo in. It hadn’t been splashed as widely as she’d feared, but still, appearing on the front of a national newspaper wasn’t something she’d ever expected to happen in her life. Her name had been mentioned, the implication that she was having – or had had – relationships with both Eddie and Jack, but somehow the reality of that wasn’t able to penetrate the fug in her brain.

      Jack was gone, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t get Tessa’s words out of her head. Her suggestion that Jack was no good for her, that he would use her and then return to London. It had played out as her sister had warned, but Abby couldn’t believe that Jack’s sadness at leaving her behind was false, that he was going back to his old life willingly and putting on a good show of pretending otherwise.

      As the evening slipped towards a cool, perfect night, a nightingale singing while the sunshine whispered at the edge of the horizon, and Abby was sitting listlessly in her cosy armchair, she got a text from Gavin.

       You dark horse! Working your way through literary celebs like a kid in a sweet shop. Whatever will Penelope think? ;)

      Penelope. Meadowsweet. She had to go back there tomorrow, to carry on with her job and act like everything was normal. With dread settling in her stomach, she cleaned her teeth and crawled into bed, Raffle refusing to leave her side.

      Abby woke on Monday morning and for a few blissful seconds had no recollection of the day before. Then it hit her. She stared at the ceiling as sunlight danced patterns across it through the gap in her curtains, then forced herself out of bed to take Raffle for his walk. She got ready for work with a dogged determination, everything on autopilot.

      She took the long way in, not wanting to be faced with Peacock Cottage and its emptiness, but walking past the gate of Swallowtail House was as strong a reminder of her time with Jack. The house looked beautiful in the sunshine, its crumbling stonework and cracked sills not visible at this distance, and it seemed to beckon her towards it. She lifted the hefty padlock Jack had bought, and a lump lodged in her throat.

      She felt winded, like she’d been hit by a car and her breathing was refusing to settle, everything bruised and tender. She was also