A new START

Her new life would take getting used to, though it seemed fate was lending her a helping hand

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to sleeping alone.

That was my first thought on the night I moved to Suffolk, tucked up in the double bed, the sheets clean and fresh, the bedroom cocooning me in its soft glow.

I’d lit a candle and it was burning by my bedside – the electricity hadn’t been set up yet, even though the estate agent had promised me that everything was in working order. There was something comforting about the flickering flame, so I didn’t mind too much.

I thought of Andrew, my ex, back in the London flat we’d shared together. He’d probably be asleep. Sleep always did come easily to him, whereas I was an occasional insomniac. Being in a new house was bound to exacerbate things, and it didn’t surprise me that once I’d blown out the candle, closed my eyes and tried to dream, sleep was elusive.

After an hour or so of trying, I gave up. I went downstairs, feeling my way cautiously, my palm against the stone wall of the landing. I’d fallen in love with this house on first sight – the thatched roof, the wide, sprawling garden, the parsley that lined the hedgerows on the quiet little road that led up to it.

I liked the sound of the pigeons, the way the sunshine hit the windows and burned into the conservatory, baking everything under its glow.