Be Your Best Self: A BRAND NEW uplifting romantic comedy from RNA Award Winner Maxine Morrey for summer 2024

1

I hadn’t always been a witch. The thought had never really occurred to me before I moved back to the village I grew up in. I lived in a semi-detached Victorian cottage with a wonderfully long garden backing onto a paddock, and had been happily growing ingredients for ointments, teas and tinctures for years, each season bringing with it a further appreciation of the nature around me than the one before. I was what is called a green witch. Or so my friend, Crystal, who runs the local alternative therapies shop, told me. It’s all about the peace and tranquillity for me.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I yelled.

Spud and I were just returning from our early-morning walk in air that had a hint of early spring warmth. Above us birds chirped and cheeped in the trees, the leaves of some tentatively unfurling as though testing the air to decide whether to continue just yet. The grass was vibrant and green beneath our feet and the sun sparkled on the surface of the nearby stream, making it glitter and shimmer as it ambled its way along. Heading back into the village, I’d smiled as Spud’s toenails clicked rhythmically on the pavement as he trotted along beside me and turned towards home. And that’s when I’d seen it. The mini digger sinking its sharp metal teeth into my neighbour’s front garden.

The operator ignored me, the noise of the machine drowning my words. I waved my arms to catch his attention and repeated my question as he turned off the engine.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What I’m paid to.’ He gave a shrug and made to start the machine up again.

‘But you can’t!’ I said. ‘Some of these roses are prime specimens!’

‘Looks like a bit of a wilderness to me.’ The machine rumbled to life once more.

‘Well… yes. Yes, it is. I agree. At the moment,’ I shouted, trying to make myself heard above the din. ‘But the answer isn’t just ripping everything out with a digger! It can be restored.’

‘Is there a problem?’ A deep voice cut across the noise, followed a moment later by its owner, who strode out from behind the huge skip that was slowly being filled with the contents of the garden.

The digger’s jaw turned away from me and scooped out the roots of a once beautiful, but now admittedly overgrown, cherry tree that was just beginning to bud with flower. It toppled and fell to the ground.

‘Oh!’ I cried out, an almost physical pain scything through me at the destruction.

‘I asked if there was a problem.’ The man was close to the gate now, where I was standing. Spud had found a warm spot on the ground and was sunning himself, unaware of the tumult going on around him.

‘Yes! There is. This!’ I spread my arms to encompass the machinery and the garden.

He didn’t even take a moment to glance back. ‘What about it?’

‘You’re destroying it!’

‘No. I’m having an overgrown disaster zone cleared.’

‘It’s not that bad!’

He fixed me with a steady look, his deep green eyes almost daring me to quantify that statement.

‘OK, fine. It is. But it doesn’t have to be!’

‘I know. That’s rather the point of having the work done.’

‘That’s like using a sledgehammer to crack a pistachio.’

‘Nut.’

‘Pardon?’

‘The expression is to crack a nut.’

‘I know what the bloody expression is! Which is exactly why I chose something smaller that you can open with your fingers.’

Was I really standing here debating nuts with this stranger?

‘Oh, I see. Fair enough.’

‘The point is,’ I emphasised, ‘that you’re taking an overly heavy-handed approach!’

‘I see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me, but may I ask something?’

‘Yes.’

‘What exactly does any of this have to do with you? My name is Henry Darcy and, as far as memory serves, I paid a good deal of my own money to buy this house and was under the impression it was then mine to do with as I wished. I must have missed the part where I had to run everything past any random person walking by for approval.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

‘I’m just stating facts.’

‘Sarcastically. And I’m not some random person. I happen to live next door!’ I pointed at my side of the house.

The man’s head turned slowly to where I was indicating the sunshine-yellow-painted front door, surrounded with terracotta flowerpots of various sizes bursting with crocuses, hellebores, primroses and some early daffodils. These would soon be followed by another wave of daffodils and narcissi, their flowers ranging from egg yolk yellow to ghostly white and everything in between. After that would come the tulips.

‘Oh. How wonderful.’ His eyes returned to meet mine once more, his tone entirely flat.

‘Yes, well, I’m not thrilled either.’

‘Morning, Willow!’ Jerry the postie wandered along and handed me three letters and a small package. ‘All right, Doc. Hope you’re not getting on the wrong side of Willow here. You know she’s a witch, right?’ He gave a chuckle as we both just looked at him. ‘The good kind, obviously, but I reckon she wouldn’t be past turning the odd bloke into a frog if he gets on her wick too much. Ta-ta!’ And off he went, whistling slightly off key.

Henry was staring after him.

‘Some of these plants are decades old,’ I prompted, seemingly jolting him out of his daze.

‘Then it’s probably about time to freshen things up, isn’t it?’

‘That’s not how a garden works!’

‘It may not be how your garden works, Ms…?’

‘Haines. Willow Haines.’

He nodded. ‘Ms Haines, and that’s your prerogative. What I do in and on my own property is my business and I’d thank you to respect that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.’ He gave a sharp nod, turned around and strode back through the side passage to where, craning my neck, I saw the back garden was being subjected to the same rough treatment. The whine of a chainsaw began to screech and I winced, both from the sound and the thought of what it might be attacking.

‘Come on, Spud,’ I called to the dog who was still chilling on the pavement. ‘Time to go home.’ He looked up, pushed himself up onto his short stubby legs, gave a stretch and then trotted on and through the garden gate up to the yellow door.

I closed the front door behind me, but it did little to drown out the sound of the destruction. I’d have to fish out the noise-cancelling headphones. Having worn them nearly all the time in London, I really only used them now when I travelled. It was a rare occurrence to have to dig them out here in the village, let alone in my own home. Ugh! Dreadful man. When I’d seen the removals van outside a few weeks ago, I’d been excited at the prospect of having neighbours again. I loved peace and quiet, but Mill Cottage was situated towards the edge of the village and a little apart from the rest of the houses. I’d adored my previous neighbour and we’d become good friends over the years, but time had ticked on and, after her husband had passed a few years ago, Edie finally took the decision to move into a modern retirement flat nearer to her family. I totally understood that. The house was bigger than she needed and was getting too much to look after on her own, especially in the winter with fuel bills going up and up.

And the garden… well, my new neighbour was right – not that I’d admit that to his face. It had become a bit of a wilderness. They were long gardens, over one hundred feet, typical of the period and it did take work to keep on top of them. For me, my garden was a sanctuary; for Edie, I knew hers had become a burden. With Ted gone, she lost the will to continue with something they had once always done together. Gradually nature had begun to reclaim its territory. But still, surely there was a less drastic solution than this?

From outside I heard the unmistakeable sharp crack of a tree trunk splitting and rushed to the window just in time to see the large sycamore that had stood close to our boundary fence crash to the ground. Turning, I grabbed my phone and pressed the contact for my best friend.

‘He’s a monster!’ I said by way of a greeting.

‘Good morning to you too,’ Abby replied. ‘And who exactly is a monster?’

‘Sorry, hi. My new neighbour from hell!’

‘Mmm, I hear he’s more like heaven. Apparently, he’s got the face of an angel and a body made for sin.’

‘Well, yes. I suppose he is quite good-looking. I wasn’t paying much attention, but his personality doesn’t match up to it. Appearances can be deceptive. He’s most definitely not heavenly.’

‘You know he’s called Darcy, right? Dr Henry Darcy. He’s joined the clinic as a new doctor. I bumped into Steve in the village and he was over the moon about it. Very skilled and well respected apparently.’

‘Yes, I did know and I can assure you he’s definitely no romantic hero in my eyes!’

‘So what exactly has he done to earn this defamation of character?’

‘He’s ripping out Edie’s garden! I mean, not just cutting it back. Literally ripping it out. There are diggers and everything. And that lovely big sycamore has just been felled!’

‘The one in the middle?’

‘Yes!’

‘The one you used to moan about because it kept dropping seedlings, sucked all the moisture from the ground and shaded a good part of your border?’

I paused. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Maybe he’s done you a favour. You never wanted to risk upsetting Edie by asking to have it trimmed, although I don’t think it would have bothered her at all. I’m not sure she really cared by then, to be honest. Now it’s gone, so the problem’s solved.’

‘You’re supposed to be on my side.’

Abby laughed. ‘I am, my lovely. But I think you’re overreacting a bit.’

‘Did you hear me? He’s literally ripping everything out!’

‘Wils, relax. Maybe he just wants to redo the garden to his own design. It was kind of a mess, and it is his house now.’

‘Ugh. I hate it when you’re rational.’

‘I know. Sorry about that. I do get why you’re upset. But the truth is, neither of us can do anything about it. And who knows, it might end up being even better than before if he’s having it professionally landscaped.’

I let out a sigh as I pondered. ‘That’s true. I hadn’t really thought of it that way.’

‘OK, I’d better get on, but I’ll speak to you later.’

‘Yep, thanks, Abs.’

‘You’re welcome. Talk to you later.’

Hopes for a more beautiful outdoor space than before were scuppered entirely when I returned from Spud’s walk a few days later.

‘You have got to be kidding!’ I said, as I halted in shock.

Henry Darcy appeared from behind the van that was now parked outside the house.

‘Good morning. I’m guessing from your exclamation that you have an opinion on this too.’

‘On smothering the earth with plastic? Yes, I do actually.’

‘I thought you might,’ he replied, turning away.

‘You do know how appalling this fake grass stuff is for wildlife and, well, the planet in general? It’s effectively single-use plastic!’

‘It’s also convenient for my lifestyle.’

‘You can hire people to mow real grass if you didn’t want to do it yourself.’

‘I do know that but that’s not the path I chose in the end. As you can see.’

‘We starting round the back then, mate?’ A solid-looking chap hefted a roll up onto his shoulder and was followed by a lanky, wiry lad carrying a bucket of tools.

‘Yes. Just down there.’ Henry pointed to the side passage. ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Was there anything else?’ He turned back to me, looking down from his substantial height advantage. There was a detached air about him. No warmth in his eyes, his expression unreadable. If I’d have had to pick an emotion, I’d have said bored.

‘Would it matter if there was?’

He shifted his weight. ‘Right. I’ll get on then, if you don’t mind.’

‘It doesn’t really matter if I do mind, does it?’ I replied, petulantly.

‘No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.’ With that, he strode off, following the same path the workmen had taken, and disappeared from sight.

‘Hateful man!’ I hissed between gritted teeth and stomped back to my side of the house, closed the door, unclipped Spud’s lead and attempted to calm down by doing some breathing exercises. These were not made any easier by the disco hits blaring out from the turf fitters’ radio deafening all wildlife – including me – within the vicinity.

‘Oh, that’s just perfect!’ I seethed, stomping over to the kettle. As I reached for my mug everything went quiet. Sort of. The back garden no longer sounded like a 1980s roller disco, which was something. I peered out of the French doors, careful to keep myself in the shadows of the curtain.

My new neighbour was out there, talking to the turf bloke and… wait, was that a smile? No, it couldn’t have been! It must have been a trick of the light. An actual smile would probably crack that annoyingly attractive strong jaw. But either way, the radio was turned down to a much more bearable level, which I, and likely anything in the locality with ears, appreciated.

Switching on the retro-design radio in my work room, the soothing sounds of Classic FM drifted around the room, drowning out the last remnants of the competing music in next door’s garden.

I picked up my current project and sat down in the squashy, cosy lemon-yellow armchair by the window. Light streamed in through the glass and birdsong drifted through the open window. Actually, now that the tree had gone it was even brighter in this back room. Not that it wasn’t just fine before. I tuned my brain in to the classical piece playing and set about gently repairing a well-loved teddy bear named Harold who had recently been admitted to Willow’s Hospital for Teddy Bears and Poorly Dollies.

It had never been my greatest wish in life to set up the teddy hospital and had in fact come about entirely by accident.

Although I’d grown up in the village, I, like many when they leave school or university, thought the place was stifling me. Moving to the big, bad city was the only way I was going to find the space to spread my wings and live my dream. The fact I had no idea what that dream was was neither here nor there at the time. I had a degree in business studies – also because I’d had no idea what I wanted to do and that seemed like a good grounding for most things – and I was ready to conquer the world!

It rarely works like that, though, does it? Don’t get me wrong. I had a good time. For a while. I got a job as a business analyst for a large corporation, made friends, went out and did all the things I felt like I was supposed to do. I even met The One. At least, I’d thought he was The One.

2

Seven years later it had become unerringly obvious that neither of us were the right one for the other. Life in London grated on my nerves. I loved the museums and parks and architecture, but I could no longer bear the noise, the unending swarm of people, packing myself in on the Tube every day like a sardine only more smelly – especially in summer.

It was just all too much.

Mark didn’t see it that way. Gradually the things we’d thought we had in common became less and less. A good night for me was tucking myself into a cosy spot with a herbal tea and a good book. A good night for him was heading out to a bar and drinking. I no longer wanted that, and as it turned out, he no longer wanted someone who didn’t want that. Amazingly, and luckily, both of us stayed reasonable enough for the split to be amicable. So amicable, in fact, that I wasn’t actually divorced yet. We’d filled in all the paperwork, split everything down the middle and done everything we needed. But somehow we’d never quite got around to processing that final step.

‘Done it yet?’ Abby asked, the next time I saw her.

‘Nope,’ I replied, sliding in behind the table at our favoured local café.

‘Why not?’

‘Just haven’t had time. Like I told you last week. And the week before. And the week before that.’

She shook her head.

‘It’s not like there’s any rush. I never meet anyone anyway.’

‘Maybe you don’t want to.’ She took a sip of her Spring Sunshine smoothie. ‘Ooh, yum!’

I leant over and took a drag on her straw. ‘Oooh! I think I’m having smoothie envy.’ I went back to my own drink. ‘Although this Wheatgrass Wonder is pretty good.’

Abby wrinkled her nose, having known me long enough to spot a fib – even a teeny one.

The truth was, it wasn’t bad but not a patch on hers. But it was doing me good. That was the important thing. I could always have a slice of their salted toffee cake to make up for how much good it was doing me.

‘You really should get it sorted. I’m amazed Mark hasn’t wanted to already either.’

‘He told me he wouldn’t marry again, so I guess he’s not so bothered.’

‘Why not?’

‘Get married again? I don’t know. He just said he didn’t think he was cut out for it.’

‘But you are.’

I pulled a face as I sucked my straw.

‘You are,’ my friend reiterated.

‘I’m happy as I am.’

‘Are you, though?’

I opened my mouth to reply.

‘Truly?’ Abby interrupted. ‘Swear on Spud’s life that you wouldn’t want to meet someone.’

Spud looked up at hearing his name. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ I said, fishing out an emergency treat from my pocket. He took it gently and crunched away happily before resting his nose back on his paws then returned to watching the world go by the window. Not that there was a lot to watch in the village, but he seemed content. I smiled down at him, ran my hand down his fluffy back before getting back to Abby’s question. Was I happy on my own, with Spud?

‘Ugh, OK. Fine. Yes, it would be nice. But let’s face it, I’m hardly likely to meet someone, am I? Spud is the only man I can see in my life for the foreseeable future.’

‘Excepting the fact that you do, of course, live next door to the most eligible bachelor in the region.’

‘Dr Grumpy? Ha! Yeah, that’s never going to happen.’

‘Why not? He can’t be that bad. Actually, he seemed really nice when I went to see him.’

‘What’s wrong? You didn’t tell me you were ill.’

‘I’m not. Ed was getting antsy about that aching back I’ve had. I knew it wasn’t anything to worry about, but you know what he’s like.’

I did know what he was like. Ed had worshipped the ground Abby walked on for as long as I could remember. He’d been watching that day she’d had the fall and wouldn’t leave the hospital until he knew she was going to be OK.

‘But everything was all right? You’re all right, aren’t you?’ I heard my voice pitch up.

‘I’m fine!’ Abby said, laughter in her voice. ‘You’re as bad as Ed! Dr Darcy was sooooooo nice and really reassuring. He scheduled a scan just to put our minds at rest.’

‘When is the scan?’

‘I’ve had it.’

I opened my mouth but Abby was there before me. ‘And yes, everything is fine. He just told me to take it a little easier.’

‘I said you shouldn’t try to wrestle that mattress out on your own!’

‘I know, I know, and I promise I won’t go overboard like that again.’

‘That was pretty quick to get the scan then? I know the clinic here is good, but still.’

‘Yeah.’ Abby pulled a face. ‘I kind of blabbed about Ed being worried and so far away and started getting a bit upset, so Dr Darcy managed to put a rush on it. He was really sweet and funny actually.’ She gave a slightly-too-dreamy smile.

‘Erm, excuse me. Whilst I am grateful to him for getting you checked over double quick, I cannot sit by and listen to other praises being sung. In my experience, he is neither sweet nor funny. He’s rude and a garden wrecker and you’re supposed to be on my side. I did tell you about the fake grass, right?’

‘Yes. You did. And I do agree. That does seem a shame for nature and stuff, but—’ she gave a shrug ‘—it is his house.’

‘He could have been a bit more polite about it,’ I grumped.

‘He did seem a bit short from what you said. But then I suppose if someone asked you what the hell you were doing on your own property, you might be a bit uppity too.’

I gave a long draw on my smoothie before raising my eyes to my friend’s. ‘Do you mind not being so intensely reasonable all the time?’

‘Sorry. I used to be a primary teacher, remember? I dealt with children all the time.’

‘Thanks.’

Abby giggled. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. Although…’

‘Ha ha. Very funny.’

‘Penny-lope said he’d moved here from London. Bought it for cash, apparently.’ Penny-lope was another from our nursery school alma mater. One of us had mispronounced her name way back when and, decades later, the nickname was still firmly in play.

I thought of my mortgage and sniffed. ‘All right for some.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Abby gave a flick of her eyebrows in agreement. ‘But I guess property prices in London are so bonkers now, it’s hardly surprising either.’

‘Hmm, shame I was renting when I lived there. Even back then we couldn’t afford to get on the ladder.’

‘Probably a bit of a culture shock for him, moving down here. London – any city – is so anonymous. Nobody talks to each other. Now he’s landed somewhere where everyone knows everyone’s business. People actually talk to their neighbours. It must all feel a bit alien.’

‘Well, nobody made him move here and frankly I’m quite happy not to talk to him.’

Abby gave me one of the looks she had honed during her teacher days.

I looked up at her through my lashes and stuck my bottom lip out in a massive sulky face.

‘Perfect!’ Abby laughed and, before I knew it, snapped a photo.

‘If that goes on the village chat thread, I will dig up Dr Grumpy’s fake turf and bury you under it.’

‘I’ll just keep it as a bargaining chip for something like… hmm, I don’t know. Finalising your divorce, for example?’

‘Ugh!’ I let my shoulders go slack and slumped forward, taking a slurp of my drink. ‘It’s in process! Why are you so hung up on that? It’s not a big deal.’

‘It’s a huge deal! It’s like telling the universe that you’re not interested in finding someone else because you’re still technically, and legally, bound to your husband.’

‘I’m sure the universe has much bigger things to worry about than the state of my love life.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know, I know…’

‘There was something on breakfast telly the other day about manifesting. Have you ever thought about giving it a try?’

‘Not in a definitive way. I do try and keep my focus on the good stuff, but as for vision boards and stuff, no. I’ve never really dived into it that deeply.’ I slurped the last of my smoothie and pondered.

‘You’ve got that look on your face.’

‘What look?’

‘That drifting off look. You get it when you have an idea for the house, or the garden, or another miracle way of fixing a bear that looks like it’s had its last cuddle.’

I let out a gasp, my hand to my chest. ‘Wash your mouth out! No bear has ever had its last cuddle. There is always a way.’

Abby grinned. ‘Thanks to you and your magic skills.’

I smiled back, part of my mind drifting, just as my bestie had said.

‘Do you think I should do it?’

‘What’s that?’ Abby said.

‘Manifest my perfect man.’

Abby sat up straight, her wide, slightly gap-toothed grin lighting up her softly freckled face. ‘You’re going to try it?’

I gave a shrug, my smile matching hers as enthusiasm fizzed between us. ‘Why not? But why stop at manifestation? I’ve already got some crystals in the house for good energy but maybe I’m just doing everything a bit half-arsed. If it’s going to work, I need to throw myself into it utterly. Manifest the life I truly want.’

‘It’s going to work. I know it!’

‘Got time for another drink to celebrate?’

Abby checked her phone for the time and said that she had. A few minutes later, we were clinking together our ginger, lemon and turmeric teas and toasting my new endeavour.

Once I’d hugged Abby goodbye, I plopped Spud into the special basket I’d had made for him that attached to the front of my bicycle. It was like one of those old-fashioned butcher’s or grocer’s delivery baskets but a little smaller, divided into two. One side was for shopping, library books and so on and the other, with its cosy blanket, was my dog’s personal transportation. He absolutely revelled in it, his tongue hanging out tasting the wind, his little ears flapping as I propelled us along, friends