Page 102 of The Village of Lost and Found

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The day before the summer fete, Lucy was rushed off her feet.

Some of the stalls were being set up early as the hot, sunny weather was predicted to hold until Sunday, to her immense relief.

Pastel-coloured bunting had been strewn from tree to tree along the riverbank and along the bridges and was fluttering in the gentle breeze.

Even Angie at The Black Swan had placed some pretty tubs of flowers around the front door to spruce it up a bit.

The Cranbridge Stores always looked pretty, but Lucy was quite grateful that she had worked so hard to make the front ofThe Cranbridge Timeslook so much better. The new window boxes were filled with colourful flowers and, along with some fairy lights around the window and a lick of new paint, it was looking vastly improved. Best of all, the faded sign above the door had been replaced by a brand new one. ‘The Cranbridge Times’ now stood out and could even be seen from the opposite side of the river.

Uncle Frank had been thrilled with how good it looked. He, Stanley and Grandma Tilly were often to be found chatting on the sofa and armchairs on a daily basis. But gradually other villagers were beginning to join them as well, at which point Keith would begrudgingly give up his seat and collapse on the floor, hoping for some biscuit crumbs to fall nearby.

In fact, Wednesday morning had been designated for a Coffee and Chat session and had proved so popular for so many single people that they were thinking about adding a second morning on Friday as well.

Lucy had just swept the floor at the end of the day when Tom appeared holding a large pile of paper.

‘Hot off the press,’ he told her.

She rushed up to him in anticipation. These were the free copies of the newspaper that would be distributed at the summer fete. Tom had kept his editorial a secret so she eagerly snatched a top copy and settled down on the sofa next to Keith to read the front page.

Lucy read it in a daze. It was truly remarkable writing. It was a piece on how they wanted to help reduce social isolation and encourage different parts of the community to interact with each other. ‘This is a community,’ read the last paragraph. ‘Young, old, rich and poor. This is a place where everyone is generous in spirit and with the important things that money can’t buy. Enthusiasm. Generosity. Kindness. This is an English village. Our village. Our home.’

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, Tom!’ she said.

‘You like it?’ he asked, still looking unsure as he looked down at her.

‘I love it!’ she said, springing up from the sofa to instantly give him a hug. She felt him start in surprise before putting his arms around her to hug her back.

Then she stepped back before her emotions got the better of her.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, her voice still filled with emotion.

‘Thanks,’ he told her. ‘I’d better get the rest out of the car.’

She watched him walk away, telling herself that it was for the best that they kept things just as friends. It would be easier that way even if her heart didn’t seem to agree.

She was just checking the to-do list on her phone to ensure that she had not forgotten anything for the fete when she noticed that she had an awful lot of notifications on Twitter, for some reason. She opened up the app, her mind on other things, when she realised that her name was everywhere again. Jamie’s wife had apparently been interviewed by one of the tabloids and was saying all kinds of vicious things about her.

Lucy was stunned and upset. No matter what she did, it would never be enough, she thought, walking outside to sit on the bench by the riverbank. Still holding on to her phone, she cried, wishing she could turn back time and had never met Jamie Watkins.

‘Hey,’ said Tom, suddenly appearing next to her with Keith. ‘What’s the matter?’

She didn’t want him to think badly of her again, but she knew that he would probably find out anyway so she showed him her phone. ‘Look at what I’ve done,’ she said, between sobs.

He read the piece quickly before handing her back the phone. ‘That’s just a wife who’s angry with her cheating husband,’ he told her. ‘That’s not about you.’

Lucy couldn’t speak. She was still too upset.

So he sat down next to her and held her hand. ‘In a way, you’re right,’ he told her gently. ‘Just look at what you’ve done.’

She glanced at him in horror. It was too awful that he would think her of as low as that.

‘What I mean,’ he carried on, ‘is look around you. Look at the hub. Look at what you’ve done for this village.’ He took the mobile from her and placed it out of her reach on the bench. ‘Look at what you’ve done for me,’ he carried on. ‘Nobody else could have achieved all of this.’

She wiped the tears away from her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I kissed you,’ she found herself blurting out.

‘Well, I’m not,’ he told her with a soft smile. ‘And I kissed you right back, if you remember.’