Page 1 of All Yours

Chapter One

Robyn

Robyn swallowed hard, her excitement at what had seemed like a brilliant plan in Bali suddenly sliding into anxiety now that she was here, in Honeybridge. What if she’d got this wrong? What if Wren, her best friend in the world who she hadn’t seen for almost six years, wasn’t pleased to see her? Then she’d really be up the proverbial creek without a paddle, because she had nowhere else to go. She hesitated on the pavement in the falling dusk, rolled her aching shoulders and blew a long stray auburn hair from her face. Pulling her thin coat around her, she let her rucksack lean against her shins. She would wait for a sign.

Her friend Wren’s house was the last on her road, the address burned into Robyn’s mind from the postcards she’d sent from around the world, many at first, dwindling off over the years. Bluebell Cottage, Love Lane, Honeybridge, England.

It had a nice ring to it, Honeybridge. Very British. Very quaint. And very different to other places with equally charming names that Robyn had travelled to in recent years: Abundance in Costa Rica, Darling in the Western Cape, and Hotazel in South Africa, which had certainly lived up to its name.

The house in front of her had a homemade wooden book-swap box outside, with a painted sign telling everyone to help themselves. Wisteria climbed the front of the house, its leaves already falling. The front room was visible through open curtains, lamp-lit and soft. She noticed the cosy armchair with a book left on the arm, and the family photographs that lined the windowsill.

It was a far cry from the sun-parched plains she was used to. Or the lush jungles. She was surprised by a rush of familiarity at being back in England. The red-brick houses. The smell of wet leaves and chimney smoke. Her eyes blurred hot as she blinked her tears away. She must be tired, or hormonal, or both. But still she hesitated in stepping forward. It wouldn’t do to rush things; it had been a long time.

Robyn and Wren had been so close growing up, both redheads, sharing clothes and secrets whenever the need arose. It was Robyn that Wren first confided in about her sexuality, and it was Robyn who attended Wren’s first ever Pride march at eighteen, each holding one edge of a sparkly flag. The friendship worked both ways as Wren encouraged Robyn, after a few years of muddling along in dead-end jobs, to go to university to follow her conservation dreams where Robyn aced her degree and met Finn along the way. Wren was the person hollering the loudest when Robyn graduated, and when Finn proposed to Robyn, it was Wren she asked to be her only bridesmaid.

An image of Wren in that bridesmaid’s dress flashed through Robyn’s mind and she winced. You’d think that memory would have faded by now, she thought. But maybe some things were impossible to get over. Waiting outside the church, for the wedding that never was, for a groom that never came. She remembered Wren’s fingers slipping into her own. The gentle tug to tell her it was time to go home. Finn wasn’t coming.

Later, after several tear-filled days, sleepless nights, and many unanswered calls, Robyn confided in Wren about her plans to ‘get away for a while’. Wren, happy that her friend was taking back control of her life, helped her to pack her bags, book a flight and told her to take as long as she needed. That had turned into nearly six years of travelling and working in some of the most isolated, beautiful and far-flung corners of the world. But now, here she was, back in England, about to see her oldest friend again and suddenly very nervous at the prospect.

Robyn had tried to keep in touch with Wren, especially in the early days. But as the years went on, it had become more sporadic. A quick message or voice note whenever she was in signal or had credit. A postcard when she knew her next posting or opportunity. It had been so long since she’d been in the same town as Wren. She’d even missed Wren’s wedding to Rosie, due to a tornado stopping flights. Straightening her back momentarily to relieve the ache left by her rucksack, she sighed. What if Wren really wasn’t happy to see her? What if she’d left it too long, or not been present enough? What if Wren’s life just didn’t have room in it for Robyn any more?

She knew Wren and Rosie ran a bookshop together – the Lit Lounge. She’d peered through the window in town on her way from the station. The shop looked inviting, with overflowing bookshelves with handwritten signs, and Robyn had recognised Wren’s artwork from their art class at school. Stuffed armchairs clustered around coffee tables, pot plants and a few sleeping cats. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been somewhere like that, or when she’d had the chance to just sit and enjoy a good book. The only shopping missions she’d been on were to the general stores, and they were more about camouflage than cosy. And her days, especially recently, had had no time in them for reading. Wren’s life was so different to hers.

Plus, Wren had a family of her own: Rosie and a daughter, Riley, who Robyn had never met. Domestic bliss, a happy home. If it was going to happen for anyone, Robyn was glad it was working for Wren. She deserved it. But maybe it meant she’d left Robyn behind.

Robyn turned her gaze skyward and took a long deep breath of night air, wondering if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life, and it was then that she saw it. Venus, the evening star, bright already in the sky – directly above Wren’s house. The only star to be seen this early in the evening. She smiled to herself. If anything was a sign, that was it. Venus, the sister planet to earth, was there to remind her that that was how close she and Wren had been. A surge of excitement flooded through her and before she had a chance to overthink, she marched up the drive and knocked loudly at the door.

Robyn heard a woman’s voice inside as a light flicked on. Too late to back out now. She tucked her arms around the precious cargo on her front. The door pulled open.

Wren looked gorgeous as always. Older, of course, but just as beautiful as the last time Robyn had seen her. Her hair was impeccable in a red topknot, despite the flour on her nose, and she was drying her wet fingers on a tea towel hung from the waistband of her jeans where she was quite obviously pregnant. Domestic goddess image complete.

‘Robyn!’ Wren gasped, clapping her hands to her face. ‘Oh my God!’ She shouted backwards into the hall. ‘Rosie! Riley! Robyn is here!’

‘Wren!’ It was Robyn’s turn to gasp. ‘You’re having a baby!’

Rosie appeared behind Wren. She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose to see better, already smiling, as Riley catapulted down the corridor wearing one sock.

The three of them filled the doorway, and Robyn saw them take everything in. Wren studied Robyn’s own tired face, which she pulled into a hopeful smile. She wanted to make a good first impression on Rosie, the girlfriend – now wife – that Wren had told her so much about. She straightened the bandana holding her long red hair away from her face. The well-used rucksack she dropped to the garden path.

‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ Wren looked overcome. ‘Riley, this is my oldest friend. So you can call her your Auntie Robyn.’ Her voice broke and she stepped forward to hug her.

And it was at exactly that moment that the bundle Robyn held to her chest decided to wake up and stretch a shaky arm out of her carrier. Wren stopped in her tracks, a small sound escaping her. Robyn held her breath and carefully moved the sling fabric aside to reveal what, to Robyn’s mind, was the most perfect face, with eyelashes dark and fluttering on cheeks as round as apples. She saw her friend’s mouth drop open in amazement.

‘Surprise!’ Robyn said, unable to suppress a laugh. ‘I had one too!’

‘A baby!’ Riley squealed, jumping up and down on the spot.

Robyn adjusted her bundle to show the baby she cradled against her, who had travelled so well from the other side of the world.

‘I’d like to introduce you to my daughter,’ she said, tapping the baby on the button of her nose. ‘This is Willow.’

Half an hour later, Robyn sat in the corner of a well-loved sofa, giving Willow a bottle.

Wren sat beside her, watching and exclaiming every few minutes any time Willow made a particularly cute facial expression.

Riley, now with no socks on at all, sat at Robyn’s feet, gazing up at her and listening in awe as Robyn finished talking about the latest conservation project she’d been working on, a turtle education centre in Bali.

‘So have you swum with the turtles?’ Riley asked, wide-eyed.