The Great Summer Sewing Bee. Alex Brown

       Chapter One

      Cher, the landlady of the Duck & Puddle pub, loved this time of day. Early in the morning, as the sun was rising over the valley of undulating fields surrounding the village of Tindledale; before anyone else was up and preparations for another busy day began, pulling pints and serving the hungry villagers hearty, homemade meals. Today’s special was roast beef, sourced from Pete’s farm two fields over, with all the trimmings, followed by a giant wedge of lemon meringue pie. And so, with a mug of tea and a plate piled high with toast and marmalade, Cher settled on the bench at the back of the pub garden, tilted her face up to bask in the already warm rays and inhaled a huge lungful of fresh country air. Sighing, she smiled and gazed across the fields dotted with springy lambs cavorting without a care in the world. A rainbow of wild flowers as tall as the fence swaying in the warm, gentle breeze. A collection of cabbage white butterflies fluttering all around. Tindledale, the village where she lived now, really was idyllic and a million miles away from the concrete jungle of the East London estate where she had grown up.

      ‘You OK, love?’ It was Clive, aka Sonny, on account of him being Cher’s boyfriend, wandering across the grass towards her in his chef whites. When they had first arrived in Tindledale to manage the village pub a few years ago, one of the regulars had said it for a laugh, as in, ‘so if our new landlady is called Cher and you’re her fella, then you must be Sonny’ before belting out a line from the iconic duo’s song, “I Got You Babe”. And it had been that way ever since. Now everyone in Tindledale called him Sonny.

      ‘Yes,’ she smiled up at him. ‘I was just admiring the view and thinking what a marvelous place it is and that I’ll never, ever grow tired of living here.’ And she put her mug down on the grass before sweeping an appreciative hand across the glorious vista in front of them.

      ‘Well, you’ll never have to leave,’ he nodded, sitting on the bench beside her and pulling her in for a hug. We can grow old together here now that we’ve bought the pub from the brewery. I still can’t believe it’s actually ours and we’re no longer tenants.’

      ‘Thanks to your savings. And my dad, of course.’ Cher twiddled with a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her treacle-coloured beehive. It was a year ago that her dad, Bill, had died. He had been in his eighties and lived a lovely, long, happy life before slipping away peacefully one night in his sleep. Keen for his daughter to have security in these volatile times, Bill had left Cher enough of an inheritance so that with Sonny’s savings, and some money that she had also put by, they could buy the pub. Originally built in 1706 as a coaching inn, it had all the charm and whimsy of a traditional English pub with Tudor beams and a large Inglenook fireplace where a real log fire crackled away during the winter months, radiating a cosy glow through the mullioned windows. ‘Such a shame he had to go. I always thought he was invincible.’

      ‘I know, darling,’ Sonny soothed as he kissed her cheek and rubbed the palm of his hand up and down her arm, ‘he was a good’un.’

      ‘I guess I should be over it by now, but I do miss him so much. I went to call him earlier to tell him a joke that I overheard