A Place to Dream and Other Short Stories

By Gail Crane

A collection of feel-good short stories about families, romance and relationships.

Perfect coffee-break reading for fans of women’s fiction.

A Place to Dream: A woodland valley is a place of bittersweet memories.
A Country Girl at Heart: Leo's jet-setting lifestyle is something Gemma can't live with any more.
My Brother Bill: An encounter in a country lane has a strange effect on Sam's big brother.
Following the Dream: Everyone has a dream. Might Alice's be about to come true?
Ernie's Day Out: Ernie is feeling his age but a trip down memory lane proves to be just what he needs.
Time to Choose: Penelope's family want her to join them in Australia, but how can she leave the village where she grew up?
Josh and the New Baby: Josh longs to be noticed but his mother is just too busy with the new baby.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail Crane
• Release date: Apr 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301710973

Gail Crane

Gail Crane writes romance novels and short stories inspired by the Exmoor countryside where she lives. She is a member of The Alliance of Independent Authors and The Romantic Novelists Association and in 2014, she completed a BA degree with Open University, studying creative writing and children's literature. When not writing or reading, she enjoys walking and gardening, and is addicted to crosswords.

Book preview

A Place to Dream

I think this year the snowdrops are more beautiful than ever. Or maybe they just seem that way because I didn’t come to see them last year.

Spring has arrived early and vast swathes of them carpet the valley floor, their fragile white flowers fully open in the warm February sun, trembling on slender green stems in the playful breeze.

I stoop and gently lift the head of one of the blooms so I can see inside the white petals to the delicate, apple-green tinted frills within. So beautiful. For a moment my throat closes as memories threaten to overwhelm me.

I let the flower return its gaze to the ground and continue my leisurely stroll, following the leaf-strewn path through the trees that clothe the steep slopes of the isolated valley. A few feet below me, the river rushes over its stone bed, fast and foaming after the recent rain on the hills. I take off my hat and lift my face to feel the warmth of the sun and the ruffling of the wind in my hair.

The path bears downhill to cross the river and I pause to lean on the rail of the wooden footbridge that spans the water.

It seems strange to be here on my own. The children offered to come with me but I said no. This is something I have to do alone. I hope they understand that I need this to be a private moment for just the two of us.

I look at my watch. It shouldn’t be long now. I want to make sure it is done before the crowds arrive.

The movement of the water beneath the bridge is almost hypnotic. I have nothing to do but wait - and think about that first time, now so long ago.

*

The mini bus pulled in to the side of the road just as I reached the narrow entrance to the valley and I found myself caught up in the crowd as the passengers clambered out onto the muddy ground.

I guessed from their ages it was probably an outing from an old people’s home and some were decidedly shaky on their feet. I managed to negotiate my way round them and was about to stride off to explore the valley when there was a shout behind me and I turned to see one of the men fall heavily to the ground as his walking stick slipped from under him in the mud.

I flew back and bent down beside him. He was shaken but assured me he wasn’t injured and I was breathing a sigh of relief and wondering what to do next when someone came up behind me.

'Shall we try and help him over to that wall?' he suggested, crouching down on the other side of the man. 'It’s low enough for him to sit on until we can find something better.'

As there didn’t appear to be any other form of seating available, I agreed and between us we made him comfortable until a harassed attendant rushed forward with a folding wheelchair.

'Thank you so much,' she said as we helped her make the transfer. 'This is turning out to be one of those days.'

Having made sure there was nothing more we could do, my fellow helper and I moved off to see the snowdrops.

It happened quite naturally that we fell into step and began chatting.

We covered the usual stuff about the weather and how lovely the scenery was and then he stopped and said,' I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Don.'

'I’m Margaret,' I replied. Then, nodding towards the serious-looking bit of kit hanging round his neck, I asked if he was a photographer.

He grimaced. 'That’s the general plan though so far I’m having difficulty convincing an employer of that. I do a bit of freelance work for the local rag but I’ve only been out of college for a couple of years so I’ve a long way to go yet. What about you?'

'I’m studying horticulture. This is my final year.'

It was amazing how easy he was to talk to and how well we got on together and by the time we’d completed the circuit of the valley it felt as though we were old friends so when he invited me to go for lunch with him at the pub I said I would love to.

And that’s how it all began.

*

The following year we decided to mark the anniversary of our meeting by going back to the valley.

By now Don was working for a fashion magazine as a photographer’s assistant which really meant, as he put it, being a general dogsbody. But it was a step on the ladder, if only a small one, and I was thrilled for him.

I had passed my exams and found a wonderful job as a junior gardener at our local stately home which meant I could spend my days in the fresh air with soil under my fingernails and the scents of plants and earth all round me. Bliss.

Spring was late and we were both wrapped up against the cold east wind that scoured the valley, buffeting the snowdrops that stood defiantly with their heads down and their buds tightly closed.

We were the only people brave, or daft,