The words on the blog site jump out at me. *
Clemmy’s Lakeside Glamping, near Appley Green, Surrey
Live in luxury while getting back to nature at our
beautiful lakeside glamping site!
* Going online to find out more about Clemmy’s glamping site, I wasn’t prepared for what I would see. But there it is, in bold black letters. The nearest village to Clemmy’s site is … Appley Green. I sit back, my head whirling. How weird is that? A little zing of excitement rushed through me when I spotted the name of the village, and my heart is now bumping along at a fair old rate. From my perch on the bed, I stare at Clemmy’s website on my laptop for a long time, wondering if it might be some sort of a sign. Glamping in a gorgeous setting could be the ideal holiday for us. Toby and I could go down there and have a lovely time together. And it would be the perfect opportunity to see Appley Green for myself and catch up with Clemmy. I don’t usually believe in signs.
But finding the handbag with the address in it? And now this a few days later?
The glamping site looks gorgeous. The three dwellings, well spaced across an acre of grass leading down to the lake, are nothing like the tent we took with us on camping holidays when I was little. They’re spacious and elegant, the cream-coloured canvas sweeping up into two dramatic peaks, giving them the look of a Bedouin tent in the desert. Toby would be sure to love them. Inside, Clemmy has worked miracles with the space. She always did have a great eye for design. No expense has been spared on the canopied beds, and the soft furnishings are to die for. There’s a gorgeous bedroom and a separate living area with a big squashy sofa, all done up in creams and golds. Then there’s a shower room with loo, and even a little kitchen with all mod cons. Plus a gorgeous log burner for when the nights are cool. A photo of an elegantly dressed couple catches my eye. They’re sitting at a little table for two, just outside their tent, clinking champagne glasses and laughing. Candlelight flickers on the table and there’s a rustic blue jug filled with hedgerow blooms. In the background, the setting sun streaks the horizon in glorious reds and pinks as the beautiful couple toast their future together. There are lots more photos of the surrounding area, too. The lakeside setting is glorious and it’s clear there will be ample places to explore – from the sophisticated boutique hotel a short walk from the glamping site, to the long swathe of forest glimpsed on the far side of the lake. Toby and I could go for long walks with a picnic and, if it’s warm enough, we can swim in the lake. I stare at the two words, Appley Green, until they start to blur into one. The oddest feeling is growing inside me, adding very frisky butterflies to my churning stomach. It feels as if everything is happening for a reason and I’m being led towards something that could be life-changing. It only takes five minutes to book it. Sunday to Sunday. The second week in July. Just a few weeks away. We’re going glamping! * ‘Do they have Wi-Fi?’ asks Toby when I tell him we’re all booked. ‘Of course. They’ll have everything you could possibly want. Including me.’ I snuggle up to him with a flirty smile. Actually, I’ve no idea about the Wi-Fi. I’ll have to check with Clemmy. ‘Sounds lovely,’ he says, smiling and kissing my forehead. ‘Let me pay for it, though. I earn far more than you.’ ‘But I want it to be my treat.’ ‘Yes, but it’s the thought that counts. Don’t bankrupt yourself. At least let me pay a bit towards it.’ I feel a twinge of uneasiness. It sounds like Toby’s imagining five-star luxury, or at least somewhere more expensive than a glamping trip. Perhaps I should book a hotel break instead? Am I being selfish, taking Toby there because part of me is really curious to see Appley Green? Then I think of the pictures on Clemmy’s website. When Toby sees how special it is, he’ll love it, I’m sure. It will be something a little bit different that he’ll always remember when thinking of his thirtieth birthday. What could be more romantic, after all, than eating dinner under the stars, at that pretty little table with its glowing candles and fresh wild flowers. Listening to the sounds of the countryside, watching the sun go down and planning adventures for the next day. Clemmy’s glamping site looks like the perfect setting for romance. What could possibly go wrong? * The following morning, I’m dozing after the alarm has gone off, when I have the weird nightmare once again. Afterwards, my eyes spring open in alarm and I find I’ve been clenching my fists so tightly there are red nail marks on my palms. Technically, they’re not nightmares because I’m never actually asleep when I have them. It’s more of a flashback, really. And it’s always the same. It’s dark. I’m running along a narrow lane with tall hedges on either side, and terror has me gripped in its clutches. I don’t know what I’m afraid of but there’s a frenzy of panic inside me and I’m crying – huge gasping sobs that hurt as the icy night air blasts my throat. It’s winter. Snow is clinging to the hedges, and their ghostly shapes as I blunder past are like an army of sinister snowmen. Looking back along the lane, I peer desperately into the pitch black, searching for something. I’m crying for the thing I’ve dropped. But all the time, I’m moving further and further away from it, against my will, along that spooky lane … More than the panic and the fear, it’s the feeling of heartbreaking loss that lingers longest when the images start to fade. Eyes open now, I stare into the early morning gloom, thinking about the pink plastic handbag I found in Mum’s box the day before. Slipping out of bed, I take it out of my bedside drawer and, trying not to disturb Toby, I cross to my case that’s lying open on the floor, partially packed, and I slide it in, under some clothes. Could there be a link between my recurring flashback and that mysterious pink bag? I need to take it with me … On the morning of our departure, as luck would have it, the stock markets decide to plummet. It’s hardly the Wall Street Crash, but it’s dramatic enough to etch a permanent groove above Toby’s nose as he sits in his study, urgently discussing the repercussions with his colleagues in the office. I knock on the door as noon approaches. Toby’s ear is still welded to his phone. ‘Shall I pack for you?’ I ask, feeling guilty for interrupting such high-level discussions. He turns and looks at me blankly. Then he says in a really stern
