Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Wakey Wakey

Her protagonists weren't behaving. Her hench hard-boiled DI was whinging, his love interest - the mysterious exotic dancer - felt sorry for herself. Her mobsters sounded like hungry toddlers, the assassin was having an identity crisis. The level of suspense in her writing today was as low as in a snow globe. Tina had tried everything: she'd had some crisps, she'd listened to her favourite Quincy, she'd filed her nails and taken a shower. Eventually she'd given up and decided to go on a short walk. It was perfect outside - everything was covered in fluffy pristine snow, sparkling in the sunlight. She reminded herself that there was only a fortnight left till Christmas, her manuscript was well on the way, and she deserved a break. She baked three tins of ginger snaps and went to bed.

She was having the most wonderful dream: Tom Hiddleston was cuddling with her under her duvet. She sniffled cosily, savouring the fresh spicy smell of his cologne, and the warmth of his body. And then he morphed into Mr. Tickles, her childhood teddy - while remaining Hiddleston-sized. It worked just as well, to think of it. She shifted on her bed and buried her face into Mr. Tickles' furry chest.

And then she shrieked, flailed her arms, rolled off her bed, and landed on the floor in a heap of her bony extremities.

There was a man in her bed!

A full sized, very much corporeal, not at all imaginary, or stuffed with cotton, man!

Starkers!

Well, perhaps, he was wearing pants, she hadn't actually checked! But the rest was most definitely naked! She'd just felt handfuls of his chest hair - and might have nuzzled it to boot - and his legs were hairy as well. She'd rubbed her calf to his thigh! Oh horror!

She dashed to the door and then remembered that her mobile was on the other side of her bed, on her vanity. She needed to call the police! And a fire brigade! And her Aunt and Uncle! And maybe, even August!

And then her eyes finally adjusted to the dark - and she froze, sitting on the floor, her back pressed to the door, where she'd scooted backwards.

There wasn't just a man in her bed. John Holyoake was in her bed! After she'd fled, he rolled on his stomach, tucking one arm - as thick as a log in her fireplace under one of her many pillows, under his head, his long nose squished on one side. His other arm stretched, and his fingers twitched on her sheet as if seeking her out.

John Holyoake was in her bed! In. Her. Bed!

John bloody Holyoake, the Destroyer of Lives, the Epitome of Entitlement, and the Despicable Alpha Male and Chauvinistic Macho! Well, alright, he might have destroyed only one life - that of Tina's former agent slash her ex - but nonetheless, she hated his guts! And now he was in her bed!

How?!

Tina edged towards the bed and then started gingerly crawling on all fours, trying to get to her mobile.

"Get back here," he muttered in his sleep, and she froze. "C'mon, love, get... back to bed..." His low velvet voice was pure rasp at the moment. "You're warm..."

Tina pressed her head into her shoulders, slowly exhaled two times, and crawled on.

The screen of her phone lit up, and she stared at the time. What the bloody hell?! Thankfully her pyjamas had pockets. She stuffed the gizmo in, turned one eighty degrees, and creeped towards the door out of her bedroom on her hands and knees.

She decided that the kitchen was the furthest from her bedroom, thus the safest place to hide. Besides, the number she needed was on a piece of paper pinned to her fridge with a jolly magnet shaped like a Christmas tree.

The person on the other end of the line picked up surprisingly quickly.

"Deidre, this is Tina Popplewell," Tina whispered. "I live in the Swallow Barn, the cottage near the All Saints' Church, on the other end of the village. We met at the historic preservation society meeting last year, and–"

"Ms. Popplewell, it's three o'clock at night," Deidre Hooper said in an icy cold tone. "And to be honest, this isn't the best–"

"Your brother is–" In my bed, Tina wanted to scream. "...in my house. He's... asleep. I think he might be– well, drunk."

"Oh... Oh! Oh dear," Mrs. Hooper gasped. "This explains so much."

"Does it?" Tina couldn't help but ask sarcastically. "It surely explains nothing to me."

"Oh, Ms. Popplewell, I'm so very sorry! He's absolutely terrified of flying. He must have tried to– It's an actual phobia, and he probably tried to fall asleep," Deidre rushed to explain. "He was flying in tonight, from Brazil. We knew he landed but couldn't reach him. So, I assume he just took a cab on autopilot, and must have come to the wrong cottage, and–"

"Can we already fly?" Tina asked. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter. Will you come to– to collect him?"

Deidre Hooper emitted another of her long exhaled oh's, and Tina felt suddenly alarmed.

"Well, you see, he needs to self-isolate for a fortnight, right?" Deidre drew out.

In all honesty, Tina had quite forgotten about that. She hadn't travelled since last March, and even before she'd mostly gone to London to meet with her agent and occasionally visited her Aunt and Uncle in Dublin. COVID hardly changed much for her. She'd been a hermit for the past ten years anyroad.

"And my son is sick," Deidre said meekly.

Tina pressed her palm to her forehead.

"Are you telling me–"

"John can't come to stay with us," Deidre said. "We had Killian tested, but we're all supposed to isolate, and now Philip has fallen ill too, so..." She trailed away.

"You're taking the mickey, aren't you?" Tina squealed. "Am I supposed to simply let him sleep it off... here?!"

"No, Ms. Popplewell, not just sleep it off. He will have to stay with you for a fortnight. They won't let him in a hotel. And you have to self isolate as well."

Bloody. Bloody. Hell.

"I assumed you'd been pretty close to each other?" Deidre asked.

You can't even imagine, Tina thought.

"I promise you he's a decent bloke," Deidre said. "You've met, haven't you? Since you're part of the same crowd, so to say. You're in the publishing business as well, aren't you? I think he mentioned something."

Really?! She didn't think John Holyoake knew she existed. They had crossed paths on a couple of parties but he was John bloody Holyoake, the king of the current publishing world, while she was... well, that's quite a different story, wasn't it?

"Just let him sleep, and I'm sure he'll apologise profoundly tomorrow," Deidre continued in a pacifying tone. "I'm sure it'll be no aggro for him to stay with you, and after all–"

"No aggro?!" Tina hissed. "I have only one bedroom, Mrs. Hooper. And–"

"He'll be perfectly fine on your sofa," Deidre said hurriedly. "I'm sorry, Ms. Popplewell, I really need to go. Philip finally fell asleep, and I need to check on Killian. I'll stop by tomorrow if I can, and I'll wave to John from the street," she added with a forced chuckle.

Are you joshing?! Tina once again screamed internally.

"Oh maybe the day after tomorrow," Deidre added. "We're so busy here. Have a good night, Ms. Popplewell."

And she hung up. Tina lowered her mobile and stared at the screen.

And what exactly was she supposed to do now?