Moss Piglet

By Adrian Doyle

A beautifully paced supernatural thriller for our times in which a malignant spirit returns from the dead seeking immortality. A young lady is in mortal danger, but events are not what they seem.

700 years ago, Margar sought immortality and kept herself young by draining the life force of children. Caught, she was killed and buried, her s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maroon Pig Publishing
• Release date: May 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781838001056

Adrian Doyle

Adrian grew up in Edinburgh and spent over 20 years in corporate IT before deciding to become self-employed. His career split into various routes including freelance IT, performing and teaching guitar, clinical hypnotherapy and dog behaviour. In 2013, his wife and he bought their first small holding and started keeping sheep and chickens as well as growing their own fruit and vegetables.Adrian has learned much about smallholding life and has developed a range of skills such as building, plumbing, forestry, repairing dry stone walls, landscaping, lambing and handling livestock generally. Having at one time or another kept cows and pigs as well, they have simplified their life by focusing on sheep. These days, they keep a pedigree heard of coloured ryelands and live in the hills of SW Scotland.More recently, Adrian phased out the IT side of his life to give him more time to focus on his writing. His first two books are non-fiction and are based on his experiences as a smallholder and dog behaviouralist. His third book, Moss Piglet, is fiction and is based on his experiences as both a clinical hypnotherapist and spirit release therapist. This was published in May 2022. The main character, Brendan Murphy, is a reluctant therapist himself and finds himself dragged into a haunted house scenario. Moss Piglet is the first in the Brendan Murphy series. The second is written and being edited prior to publishing.

Book preview

Moss Piglet

Adrian Doyle

Maroon Pig Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, businesses, organisations and localities are only intended to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

First published in Great Britain in 2022

Copyright © Adrian Doyle 2022

Adrian Doyle asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

978-1-8380010-5-6

For Nicole

1276 AD

prologue

The cottage rested peacefully in the small clearing surrounded by a wild garden bordered by dry stone dykes. Beyond that, spread an ancient forest. The cottage stood square and the thatched roof spread out like a badly cut fringe, overhanging dry walls of mud and straw. Smoke rose lazily from the peak at the centre.

Above the wall to the front, Angus peeked nervously over, his friend Walter next to him. Angus and Walter were both eleven years old and had to scramble for footholds in the wall to be able to push their heads high enough to see. The moss on the stones made them slippery and their feet were constantly adjusting as they strained to keep the cottage in sight. Angus yelped as he slipped and fell, but he scrambled back up, clung grimly to a rock at the top and stared fiercely at the cottage as if it were the cause of his woes.

The sun was out and the sky was blue, unusual for this time of year, but it was a cold day and the boys wore nothing but a plaid. Neither had shoes or stockings, but their bare feet were used to the cold ground. The heat they had generated running to get here was starting to fade and a chill slowly crept across their sweaty bodies. Walter gave up and let go, landing awkwardly but managing to keep his feet. He pulled his plaid tightly round him in an attempt to stay warm.

‘Can we go now?’ he pleaded.

‘I can see it!’ exclaimed Angus still clung to the top of the wall, his feet scrambling. ‘It’s there, by the door!’

Walter cast Angus an envious glance laced with a hint of anxiety. ‘I cannie see it.’ He turned to look in the direction they had come. ‘Let’s go. Ah’m ferit.’

But Angus’s eyes were glued to his prize: the small, jet-black statue of a raven, its wings outstretched as it clung to a wooden base. Angus was on a dare, and was already anticipating the glory he’d get back in the village when he showed it to them all. Maybe even Morag would be impressed and maybe, just maybe, she’d become his girlfriend. No… to return empty handed would be worse than a death sentence – he’d be taunted for the rest of his life. His face was taught with determination. ‘Wait here,’ he hissed, and in an instant he was over the wall and running.

He crouched low and sprinted this way and that hoping not to be seen. Breathless, he arrived at the cottage and skidded to a halt before he collided with the wall. He reached out to steady himself and looked back. But Walter was nowhere to be seen and Angus idly imagined him trying to scrabble up the wall. Or had he even run home? No, his pal wouldn’t leave him. Angus shook his head and returned his attention to his prize. He crouched at the corner of the cottage, his eyes darting in all directions. His breath came in rapid gulps and his heart raced. Terrified yet energised, his eyes glowed with excitement. Moving as slowly as he could, he peeked around the corner and there it was, right next to the front door. He flattened his back against the cottage wall, arms and legs outstretched like a starfish, and moved cautiously towards the statue, one frightened inch at a time. Reaching his goal, he took another look round, gave a little wave in the direction of Walter and reached for the raven.

The front door opened and a small, involuntarily yelp escaped his mouth as a woman stepped out and looked down at him.

‘Hello Angus,’ she said, and smiled a crooked smile. She was a thin, elderly woman of somewhere between forty and sixty years of age though, to Angus, she just looked ancient. Her reddish hair, streaked with grey, hung loosely across her shoulders and reminded Angus of the thatched roof. She wore what looked like a blanket wrapped tightly around her thin body. Her skin was almost white and her eyes were a piercing green. Angus felt as if they went right through him and he gulped, rooted to the spot.

She crouched down and looked straight into his eyes. ‘You’ll be after my wee raven, then. Take it. It’s yours.’ She picked up the statue and handed it to him. Angus clutched it to his chest but was still unable to move, though he did manage a quick look back at Walter who was nowhere to be seen. Why wouldn’t his legs work? All he had to do was run, but he couldn’t move. Those eyes had nailed him to the spot.

Lazily, the woman stood up and cast a look in the direction of Walter’s hiding place. She looked down at Angus and smiled. ‘Are you hungry?’

It was only then that Angus noticed the smell and his eyes grew large as full moons. Forgetting his fear for a moment, he turned to try and see where it was coming from. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and he couldn’t help licking his lips. He looked back at the old woman, his fearful expression now mingled with curiosity and longing.

‘That’ll be my dinner you’re smelling. Would you like some?’

Angus cast a quick glance towards Walter, but his eyes were drawn inexorably back to the open door. It smelled like meat, the rarest of treats for a family that subsisted on a diet of porage and bread. Once in a blue moon, they had mutton stew, but that was rare indeed. The smell was overpowering.

‘It’s rabbit.’ Her voice was gentle and hypnotic. ‘I trapped it myself this morning just over there.’ She pointed somewhere towards where Walter sat hidden behind the wall. ‘But it’s up to you… you’re welcome to come in but… if you’d rather be off, well off you go. I’m Margar.’ A smile edged its way onto her face – though not reaching her eyes. She stood and stepped back and slowly stretched out her hand.

Angus cast a beseeching look towards Walter, his mind screaming for help, but took her hand. He was frantic. She had caught him stealing and people were hung for lesser crimes. Yet she had given him the statue and offered him food. Behind his childlike reasoning, his parents’ warnings screamed at him: Don’t talk to strangers… Don’t go into strange houses… If you’re not sure about somebody – run… Never, ever go to the old lady’s house in the woods!

His legs moved independent of his instincts, Angus felt himself stepping into the house. He shivered in fear, yet that smell sucked him in as though it were quicksand.

***

Duncan stood in the twilight at the edge of the village and peered into the gloom. The sun was sinking behind the trees on the hillside and darkness was approaching.

‘Where are they?’

Angus, his best friend and young Angus’s father, shrugged, irritation etched on his face. ‘Angus!’ he yelled, hands cupped around his mouth.

‘Walter!’

‘Angus!’

The gloom absorbed their cries and answered with silence. Anger surged through Duncan and he fingered his belt. When that wee scunner… he thought to himself. Angus saw the motion and nodded grimly.

They started to walk towards the woods but stopped when they heard something. Both turned and tilted their ears, straining to hear it again. There it was, and it was getting louder.

‘She’s got Angus!’

Duncan and Angus looked at each other.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘Aye.’

As both turned back to look, Walter emerged from the darkness as if the devil himself were behind him.

‘She’s got Angus!’

‘She’s got Angus!’

Walter reached the men and collapsed at their feet, tears streaming down his face.

‘She’s… got Angus…’

‘Who’s got Angus?’ called a voice from the darkness. Duncan turned to see Joan, his wife, rushing towards him. Behind her, torches were lit and eerie shadows cast across the ground.

‘Walter? What’s the matter? Where’s Angus?’ she asked.

‘She’s got Angus.’

‘Who?’

‘She’s got Angus.’

‘By God’s nails, who?’

Joan crouched down and laid a hand on Walter’s shoulder.

‘Ma!’ He threw his arms around her legs. ‘I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t stop him! He told me to wait! I waited. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do.’

By now others were emerging from their huts and Duncan, now incandescent, grabbed Walter with both hands and lifted him till Walter’s face was level with his own.

‘What happened?’ He shook Walter as if the answer would drop out of him like a stone from a boot.

‘Ca-Ca-Ca-Ca-Ca…’ was all he got.

‘Duncan,’ said Joan gently. She put her hand on his arm. ‘He’s terrified, put him down.’

Reluctantly, he did as he was bidden and Joan once again crouched down beside Walter. ‘You have to tell us so we can go and get him,’ she whispered.

She stroked his head to try and calm him. ‘Where is he?’

Walter looked up. ‘He wanted the raven. He wanted Morag to like him. But she caught him. She took him in. I waited like he said. I waited. I waited. I did what he wanted.’

‘What raven. Where?’

‘The old lady in the woods…’ he panted. ‘She’s got Angus.’

She froze in shock for a moment, then leapt to her feet and screamed, ‘Margar has Angus!’

Duncan started to remove his belt, his eyes fierce with anger.

‘No!’

He turned, startled to see Joan, hands on hips, glaring at him.

‘Has he no’ been punished enough? Go find Angus.’

Duncan hesitated and glanced at Angus.

‘Now!’

Needing no further encouragement, they armed themselves with wooden clubs and ran up the hillside towards the forest. Propelled by anger, they nevertheless had gnawing pits in their stomachs. Young Angus wasn’t the first to disappear. In the last year alone, three children had disappeared without trace. Suspicion had fallen on Margar but there had been no proof. The laird was not interested. As far as he was concerned, the children had just run away. He cared little for the peasant folk in his parish and, in return, they despised him.

By now it was night but, luckily for Duncan and Angus, the moon lit their way and it was not long before they were standing outside the cottage catching their breath, their faces sheened with sweat. Angus battered the door with his fist and, without waiting, barged through knocking the door aside with his shoulder. Duncan followed closely. The cottage was dark, lit only by the fire in the centre of the room. To one side, an area was screened off by a hanging blanket. It was eerily quiet. Angus and Duncan looked around, peering into the dark corners, but nothing moved.

Duncan took hold of the hanging blanket but, before he could pull it down, a lady stepped out causing him to jump.

‘Hello, boys.’ Her voice was seductive and she tilted her head, smiling suggestively.

At first, Duncan thought she seemed quite young, maybe mid to late thirties. She wore only a thin nightdress through which her small breasts and nipples could easily be seen. She spun on the spot, causing her wispy nightdress to ride up her legs and, momentarily confused, Duncan froze where he stood.

‘Well, well, well. Two young men in my wee house at night,’ she whispered coyly. ‘Lucky me.’

She raised her arm slowly towards Duncan, stretched out a finger and beckoned him towards her. Both attracted and repelled, Duncan was transfixed and found himself stepping forward despite himself. She was slim and enticing but, as he drew closer, he found himself looking into cruel, unsmiling eyes. He tried to pull back but his resistance had crumbled.

‘You won’t be needing this, big boy.’ She took the wooden club from his grasp and dropped it to the floor.

At that moment, Angus barged past and pulled the curtain down.

‘No!’ he cried. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

On the bed lay young Angus, motionless. Angus senior dropped to his knees and took his son’s hand in his. There was not a mark on him. It was as if the life had been drained from him. The spell was broken and Duncan whirled round to see Margar approaching him, eyes blazing. A glint in the firelight revealed that she had a knife in her hand. Duncan backed away, looking desperately for something with which to defend himself.

Margar cackled with glee. ‘You’re mine.’ She advanced towards him, her eyes sparkling with malicious intent.

Duncan caught a glimpse of young Angus lying there and felt a rage inside him like he had never known. All his life’s frustrations, his hatred of the laird, the years of toil, hunger and taxes came together as one and he stopped, fury and determination etched into every pore. Margar sensed the change and hesitated. Seizing his chance, he sprung forward and careered into her, knocking her to the ground. The knife clattered to the floor. Stepping over her, he picked up his club and raised it above his head. Rising to her knees, Margar stretched a pleading hand towards him but he shook his head slowly and swung the club as hard as he could. There was a sickening crunch as it connected with the side of Margar’s head and she dropped to the floor like a stone.

Panting, he stood looking down at the motionless woman, realisation creeping in. He’d be hung for this. Angus too. He raised his arm and leaned against a pillar, forcing himself to breathe. After a moment, he turned, knelt beside his boyhood friend and laid his arm across his shoulder.

‘Take him home so you can give him a good burial,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll clear up. You were never here. Understand?’

Angus didn’t move. His eyes were locked on his dead boy, tears running down his cheeks. Gently, Duncan helped Angus to his feet, lifted the boy and laid him in Angus’s arms. He guided Angus to the door all the while keeping an eye on Margar. There was something about her, even lying there motionless she radiated danger. Part of him fully expected her to rise and come after him.

Duncan watched Angus as he stumbled away towards the village, eventually disappearing into the darkness. Turning back, he got to work. First, he bound Margar’s hands and feet. She had no pulse and was not breathing, but even dead, she still terrified him. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to run, run as fast as he could, but he had to protect his friend. While the laird had shown little interest in the missing children, Duncan knew there was some link between the laird and Margar. There had been talk of them being lovers. His only chance was to make it look as if she had gone away of her own volition. Perhaps, and it was the longest of longshots, they might survive this.

The body secured, Duncan exited the cottage, found a spade and started to dig. It took most of his strength to cut through the tough grasses and he cursed many times as he rocked back and forth on the spade, trying to push it through. He laid each turf out as it was cut, like a jigsaw, hoping that when he replaced them, the joins would be invisible. The soil itself was full of countless rocks and stones and he spent most of his time teasing them out and piling them up by the hole. Finally, he leant on the spade, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and surveyed his work. The moonlight enabled him to see the hole, about five feet long and three feet deep. Ideally it would be deeper but he’d hit a giant boulder so it would have to do. Reluctantly, he put the spade down and went back inside to fetch the body. Afraid to touch her, he shuddered and forced himself to grab her feet. Without ceremony, he dragged her outside and tipped her into the hole.

Standing back, he looked down at her lifeless body and sighed. For a moment, he considered laying her out more considerately but the thought of getting in that hole with her filled him with fear and revulsion. He picked up his spade and leant on it, panting with exhaustion yet unable to take his eyes off her. Once again, he shook his head and drove himself on.

Mercifully, filling the grave in proved easier and it was soon done. He jumped and stamped until the small mound was flat before arranging the turfs carefully. Finally, he lobbed the small pile of rocks he’d left to one side as far away as he could. He stepped back to see whether the grave was visible, but the moon had drifted behind a cloud and it was impossible to see clearly. It would have to do.

Returning to the cottage, Duncan picked up the fallen blanket and threw it on the fire. Looking around, he found anything that would burn and built up the fire till the flames reached the roof. Only then did he step outside and walk away, shoulders slumped in fatigue, looking back only once to see the blazing cottage.

Present Day

1

The yew tree stood tall, dark and foreboding, its trunk guarded by a thousand branches each with a zillion prickly needles. For the first time, Mark felt doubt creeping in. It felt like the tree was challenging him. ‘Square go,’ he muttered, trying to overcome his trepidation. He stood there, motionless, his newly purchased chainsaw gripped in his right hand. He was dressed in his spotless protective clothing streaked in orange, borderline fluorescent in the early afternoon sunlight. Chopping down trees was a new experience, surely that’s all it was. He ran through the checklist he’d learnt from the manual, but still he hesitated.

The whole chainsaw purchase process flooded back into his mind. It had not really gone to plan. He had done his research before heading into the tool shop and had identified the best makes and optimum size, the biggest of course, for his needs. He had felt a frisson of excitement on purchasing such a masculine tool. He knew that he didn’t really need one, but he liked the idea. An easy justification would be that they now had a whole woodland to manage which would involve more cutting of wood in the future. That wasn’t the real reason, he just wanted one so he’d be able to brag about it at work.

Anyway, fully prepared, he’d waltzed into the shop, cast a cursory look at the display before announcing his requirements to the shop assistant.

‘Would sir like a chain sharpener to go with that, or do you already have one?’

Momentarily flustered, Mark had fallen back on his normal response in such situations. ‘Good idea. Which would you recommend?’

The assistant had turned and reached across to a shelf before planting a foreign object in front of Mark, something that looked like four slim steel rods with orange plastic clips at each end. He’d been irked that he had no idea how to use the tool, but couldn’t bring himself to ask.

‘Protective clothing?’

The words had startled Mark out of his momentary trance and, in that moment, he had realised his research had focused too much on the saws themselves and not on the whole process. Annoyed at having been caught out, he’d almost said no, but had realised that he’d just have to come back later or buy stuff online – and he hated buying clothing online – so he’d simply said, ‘Oh yes, thanks.’

A few minutes later and a few hundred pounds poorer, Mark had bundled his new toys into the boot of the car. His excitement had come flooding back to wash the irritation away. ‘I have a chainsaw,’ he’d purred to himself under his breath, feeling invincible.

The excitement had lasted till he got home.

‘What’s that?’ Eva had asked him as he’d placed his collection of bulging plastic bags on the kitchen floor.

‘Let me show you.’ He’d taken the chainsaw out of its bag and waved it in the air, imagining he was trimming branches.

Eva had just stood there with her hands on her hips. ‘What do we need that for?’

‘For cutting down that tree. You know… the one at the back of the house.’ The chainsaw now hung limply from his hand. Although they had agreed that it had needed to come down, Mark was aware Eva had been having second thoughts. Expecting her to bring up the tree cutting discussion again, he had been surprised and thrown slightly, when she had asked, ‘And what’s in the other bags?’

‘Protective clothing.’ He had lifted the bag, tipped its contents onto the floor and picked up the trousers. They were grey with a bright orange stripe down the outside of the leg and he loved them. ‘These are protective trousers. They stop the chainsaw mashing your leg,’ he had babbled in his eagerness to show off. ‘Not that you want to do that, but I’ve read that accidents do happen. If you look here, you can feel the thickness. It’s a really clever design. They’re made of layers and they trap the chain stopping it cutting through—’

‘And what are those?’

‘Steel toe cap protective boots.’

‘And that?’

‘Sharpener for the chain.’

‘And how much was all that?’

Mark had felt on the defensive, his earlier buoyant mood running for cover. He had hurriedly rounded down the total. ‘Around three hundred pounds.’ It had been closer to four hundred.

Eva had looked at him for what had seemed ages without saying anything. He’d known what she was thinking: that they had just moved in and there was a long list of things they needed to buy for the new house. It was true, and he’d known he’d been a little impulsive, but it was his money, wasn’t it? He didn’t complain when she bought new shoes she didn’t need, did he?

‘Look, a tree surgeon would have cost us four hundred pounds,’ he had protested.

‘Do you know how to cut a tree down?’

‘It’s not that hard. I’ve watched some videos. First you cut a ‘V’ into the side you want it to fall on.’ He had demonstrated by waving the chainsaw in cutting motions in the air and then walking around. ‘Then, you cut a slice on the opposite side till it starts to fall. You have to be a bit careful and watch out for the trunk springing up. That’s one reason you need a hard hat, and—’

‘But over three hundred pounds? it’s a lot of money isn’t—’

‘Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?’

Eva had gone quiet and studied him with a strange look on her face. Mark could see the hurt in her eyes but… well, she had pissed on his parade so he had stared right back. After a few seconds, she turned and walked abruptly away.

Muttering to himself, he had gathered his new toys back into their bags and taken them out to the shed. Stuffing them into a corner in an untidy heap, he had sat on a box and rested his face in his hands, replaying the discussion in his head.

He just didn’t get it. The fact was, they’d agreed. So why was she still going on about it? What was the point of agreeing to something and then changing your mind five minutes later? It wasn’t logical, or helpful. He had even worked up a spreadsheet of options and had calculated that the cheapest way to do this was to do it himself. Yes, the chainsaw and gear had cost him almost as much as a tree surgeon. Yes, he’d never cut a tree down before, but how hard could it be? Besides, there were videos showing you how to do pretty much anything on YouTube. And the chainsaw was an investment. He sighed to himself but resisted muttering women to himself. He truly believed he was a feminist at heart.

And it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford it. He was making reasonable money at RBS and Eva was also doing well as a solicitor. They weren’t rich but neither were they poor. On top of that, they had both kept their old properties: Mark’s house in Stenhouse and Eva’s flat in Leith. It had taken a while to get this house ready and, after the wedding, she had moved in with him while the work was ongoing. Her commute to work was a fair bit longer now and she had decided to keep her flat as a useful place to crash when she had to work late. The plan was to rent his place out once they had settled into their new house.

He shook his head forcing his mind to return to the present. This tree was coming down. He picked up the chainsaw but realised he had forgotten how to start it. He headed to the shed to consult the manual.

2

Eva gazed out of the kitchen window at the fallen tree while sipping tea from a pink mug with a sheep on it. Mark had given it to her soon after they had first met and she treasured it. She wore business attire: a pleated navy-blue skirt and a white blouse. She liked to wear blue; she felt it brought out her blue eyes. Her jacket was hung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

She studied the fallen tree with an air of detachment, her eyes unfocused as if in a trance. The sight of the trunk lying across the ground, the branches strewn this way and that in an untidy heap and the brittle leaves slowly wilting, struck a mournful chord deep inside her. It had been an old tree – a very old tree, in fact. She wasn’t sure, but it might have been a yew. Part of her felt like she should have made more effort to defend it before Mark had cut it down.

Mark had put forward many logical arguments all of which had made sense, but while Eva couldn’t fault his logic, deep down she had wanted to leave it be. She was not entirely sure why. Parts of their conversation replayed themselves in her mind. Yes, it had been a large, dense tree and had blocked a lot of light at the rear of the house. True, it had obscured much of the view of the hillside that rose up behind them. True, it was close to the house so there was a chance it might have blown down onto the house in a winter storm. She nodded her head as she remembered, acknowledging these points as valid.

Yet, it had had such a majestic feel to it and had clearly stood there proud and strong for centuries, like a sentinel. She had heard that yew trees were supposed to have magical qualities though what specifically she wasn’t really sure. Nevertheless, its loss had left a gap and that gap felt emptier than it should have. She clutched her hand around her mug of tea, taking in the warmth.

She was in her late thirties but looked younger. Her auburn hair fell loosely over her shoulders and, not being a fan of fringes, some of the hair that fell across her forehead was tucked behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. She was tall, around 1.8 metres, and slim. She was proud of her figure and felt it was her reward for looking after herself. Her natural expression was one of curiosity and gentleness that gave little indication of her inner strength.

The bird feeding station was a hive of activity. Blue tits, coal tits, robins and various finches clamoured for access to the peanuts and fat balls. Two squabbling finches rose high into the sky, their beaks pecking wildly at each other’s faces. Their fluttering wings took them skywards before they dropped like stones to the ground, their disagreement soon forgotten as they found scattered scraps littered around them. Eva felt the glow of contentment. This was one of the high points of this new home; it came with land and space to indulge her passion for wildlife. The feeding stations were just the start.

A high-flying bird caught her attention and she tracked its flight across the cloudy sky. As it disappeared, her eyes dropped to look at the ancient woodland that started just beyond the lawn. It was still early spring, so the trees stood bare of leaves, waiting for the sunshine to wake them from their winter slumber. Behind the woodland was a hillside, rising slowly at first before climbing steeply to a grassy summit. It was bare now, covered in tired grass that was brown in places. Here and there Eva spotted little white dots, sheep, foraging as best they could for winter nourishment.

Unlike her flat, this house came with five acres of land, mostly woodland, and Eva couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of walking amongst her own trees. Looking around, she caught sight of a pile of boxes, some empty and some still full of kitchenware. Maybe, once they were all unpacked and put away, she’d be able to find time to explore. She turned back to the window and felt a small lump in her throat as her eyes once again fell upon the fallen tree.

A slight noise behind her startled her before she felt Mark’s arms around her waist. As she took his hand in hers, she felt his warm breath on her neck.

‘Hello gorgeous,’ he whispered in her ear.

She tilted her head slightly but remained silent, sipping her tea.

He looked out of the window. ‘It’s an amazing view. So different from living in town.’

‘Mmm.’

He sighed, removed his arms and moved to stand alongside her. ‘Are you still fretting over that old tree?’

She felt her eyes welling up slightly. Determined not to let him see, she detached herself and put the kettle on. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘Look…’ He sounded irritated. ‘We talked about this, didn’t we? The tree was old, dangerous and blocked a lot of light. Look at it now. We can see the whole hillside. Everything is brighter. I think it’s made a real difference. In a good way.’

‘You’re right.’ She bit her lip. She reached for the tea bags and dropped one into a mug, added boiling water and began stirring. They’d only been married a few months but it wasn’t turning into the fairy tale