Welcome to Willow Cottage – throw open the shutters, let in the sea breeze and make yourself completely at home. Oh, and please do leave a comment in the Guestbook.
As landlady of Willow Cottage, the young widow Annie Butterworth is always on hand with tea, sympathy or strong Norfolk cider - whatever her colourful array of guests require. A flick through the messages in the leather-bound cottage guestbook gives a tantalizing glimpse into the lives of everyone who passes through her doors.
This includes Annie herself - especially now celebrity crime writer Oliver Black, is back in town. He might grace the covers of gossip magazines with a different glamorous supermodel draped on his arm every week, but to Annie, he’s always just been Olly, the man who Annie shared her first kiss with.
Through the pages of the Guestbook Annie and Olly, along with all the guests that arrive at the seaside retreat, struggle with love, loss, mystery, joy, happiness, guilt…and the odd spot of naked rambling!
Forget sending postcards saying ‘wish you were here’ - one visit to Willow Cottage and you’ll wish you could stay forever.
There is a review today on http://jennyinneverland.wordpress.com/
The story of The Guestbook is told exclusively through the entries in Willow Cottage’s guestbook. But what is really happening beyond the messages of The Guestbook. Nick is Annie’s dead husband. If he was still there, what would his take be on what is happening in Willow Cottage.
Hi, I’m Nick and I’m dead. What can I tell you about being dead? Well, there definitely is some kind of afterlife. But whether it’s the fiery depths of hell, the fluffy clouds of heaven or some kind of burger bar or pub where you hang out with all your dead mates is as yet unknown. I chose not to go.
Death for me was quick and painless. One moment I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my brother’s car, driving along the quiet country lanes. It was mid-January, the roads were icy and Olly was driving like an old woman, painfully slow. We were talking about Annie, a mutually agreed favourite topic of conversation. The red car coming round the corner was clearly going too quick for the conditions, it lost control, Olly braked and swerved. Dead.
The first clue that I was dead came when seconds after the crash I found myself back in my home, watching my wife Annie, singing, badly might I add, and dancing, also badly, around our kitchen. She couldn’t see or hear me. Realising I was dead was pretty crap, but the horrifying feeling that Olly was dead too was uppermost in my mind.
Then he arrived, a bit bruised certainly, but alive and well and I nearly wept with relief. It was at this time that I saw the bright lights that everyone says they see when they have near death experiences. A peculiar sucking sensation came from these lights, like holding your hand over the end of the vacuum cleaner. It wasn’t strong enough to pull me from the earth down this white tunnel, it was my choice whether to go or not. I stared at Annie, I stared at the lights and chose Annie. Simple as that. She was my entire life and me dying hadn’t changed that.
Now another thing that people say about death is that moment, that choice when you decide to stay or go, is fleeting and if you choose to stay then that chance of the afterlife will never be presented to you again. That’s rubbish, it’s been two years since I died and the light,the sucking sensation has followed me around ever since. If I wanted I could pass through to the afterlife right now and sometimes I’m sorely tempted. I can’t touch Annie anymore and that’s pretty rubbish. I can’t eat, sleep or drink either. Watching my brother sleep with my wife six months after I’d died wasn’t one of the highlights.
But I need to know Annie is going to be ok. Once she’s happy again I think I could finally move on.
She’s doing well now, the first eight months were horrific. She cried so much and it was heart breaking that there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I was so grateful to Olly that he was there to look after her, I honestly don’t think she would have coped without him.
I couldn’t be angry that they slept together. They loved each other, always have. She loved us both, equally and as weird as this sounds, I was ok with that. We grew up together and the bond that the three of us had was unbreakable.
I kind of hoped that they would get together after I’d died. As hard as it was to see them with each other, they fitted, and if anyone was going to make her happy again it was going to be him. Though it seems that that isn’t going to happen now.
We live in a cottage in the tiny seaside village of Chalk Hill, part of Wells-next-the-sea in Norfolk. Olly predominantly lives in New York. He pops over from time to time but… well if they were going to get together they would have done so by now.
Next door also belongs to us, Willow Cottage, and for the last five years we have rented it out as a holiday cottage. This, in part, has been a useful healing device for Annie to have the guests to focus on rather than her grief. I like to watch them too. Gives me something to do rather than the endless boredom of death. Sometimes it’s like watching a real life soap.
The guests have been a colourful bunch, couples, families, friends, people on their own. Most of them are lovely, some a little bit eccentric and some have been absolutely bonkers.
I bought a beautiful, leather bound guestbook just before I died, in the hope that the guests would be encouraged to write in it and some of their quirks, eccentricities and craziness could be recorded for prosperity. Annie has just found it and it looks like she is going to implement it in Willow Cottage.
Dear Guests,
Welcome to Willow Cottage, I hope you enjoy your stay. I’m only next door, so if there is anything at all that you need please don’t hesitate to let me know.
You may wish to use this guestbook to do a diary entry for every day you are here, tell us where you’ve been and what you’ve done. You may wish to leave helpful hints for other guests or you may just want to leave a short comment at the end of your stay telling me what you think of Willow Cottage.
I will come by Tuesdays to drop off fresh towels so if there’s anything else you need you can always write it in the guestbook and I will check on it then.
Annie Butterworth.
**********
See, she’s doing ok. That’s a happy, cheery message. She sings now, she hasn’t sung for two years. I never thought I would be happy to hear her sing again, her voice is like a cat being tortured, but I actually missed it. But despite the smiles and the songs, I can’t bring myself to leave yet.
We have guests. A young couple. I always think it’s hardest for Annie to have couples and families come to stay. I think at the back of her mind she must think about us, about where we would be now if I was still alive. She wanted children, she was desperate for them. I wanted to wait.
1st – 8th March
Rosie and Jake Hamilton.
Saturday:
Thanks so much for the flowers and champagne, what a lovely surprise. The cottage is beautiful and Chalk Hill village is so cute. I’m so excited to be here. We’re on our honeymoon, one long delicious week with my beautiful hubby. Yesterday I married my best friend. I really am the luckiest girl alive.
Jake says we can go for long walks along the beach and explore the beauty of the Norfolk Broads. Personally I don’t think we’ll be leaving the house much. We’ve been here six hours already and we’ve only really seen the bedroom! We’re getting a takeaway tonight, another excuse to stay in bed.
Can I just say for the record now, so it is here in black and white, I love my husbandsoooooo much. He won’t read this so I’m safe.
Mrs Rosie Hamilton. (Mrs!! I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that)
We were that giddy when me and Annie first got married. It’s quite sickly isn’t it? Annie can hear them through the walls of her house. It makes her laugh. I love to see her laugh. Rosie is a screamer, Jake refers to God a lot.
Sunday:
I’m in love, did I mention that. I can’t stop staring at the ring. It just hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m married!! And to the most marvellous man as well. Jake caught me watching him sleep last night, bet he thinks he’s married a right weirdo. Still there’s no escape for him now.
We actually made it to the beach today. The dunes are beautiful. We had a picnic and even had a dip in the sea.
Mrs Rosie Hamilton
What makes you think I won’t read this? What you fail to realise is how much I love you too, even though you snore.
Jake Hamilton. (Husband to Chief Snorer)
I do not snore.
You so do.
She does. Well one of them was certainly snoring when they finally stopped going at it like rabbits. That made Annie laugh too.
Monday:
Annie Butterworth, what a shock! With a name like Mrs Annie Butterworth I was honestly expecting some grey haired granny with half-moon glasses who would bring round homemade lemon drizzle cake. I didn’t expect someone so young and pretty. Jake thought you were a ghost at first, seeing you run through the garden with your long white dress and blonde hair flying theatrically behind you. It was quite the entrance.
It was great talking to you today. Where is Mr Butterworth? You both must come round for dinner one night.
Love Rosie
We used to get that a lot. Mr and Mrs Butterworth, everyone thought we were this elderly couple. Jake fancied Annie. I could tell. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but then I never could either. Annie would never sleep with a married man and Jake seems to be completelyin love with Rosie so I doubt anything will happen here. Didn’t stop him checking out her tits though.
Tuesday:
Hi Rosie, it was lovely to meet you too. I’m more than happy to come round with homemade lemon drizzle cake if that’s what you were expecting. I don’t have half-moon glasses but I can wear my reading glasses if that will work. As for the ghost, I was always cast as the angel in the school plays, being a ghost would have been much more exciting.
Mr Butterworth – Ha, Nick would have hated been called that – died two years ago so he won’t be joining us for dinner. If the weather stays fine how about you two join me for a barbeque tomorrow night?
Let me know if you want some eggs, Suzie and Doris, the chickens, are laying them faster than I can collect them.
Annie.
It’s this blasé ‘my husband has died would you like to come for dinner’ attitude that worries me. Part of me sees that she has moved past the grief, that my death is just a badge that she has to wear, that she will always wear but she’s ok with this now. When I see her like this, I feel ready to move on. But then I see the sadness in her eyes whenever I get mentioned, part of me thinks this cheeriness is all an act, a face she puts on and that face will slip at any moment.
Last night Jake and Rosie came round for a barbeque. They drank, they laughed, they drank some more. I haven’t seen her laugh so much in a long time. When they left she fell asleep with a big smile on her face. Maybe she has really moved on. Maybe I should too.
Annie is awake and feeling pretty rough. My picture is next to the bed and she talks to me from time to time. Sometimes she tells me what she’s doing that day or what’s worrying her or what she’s looking forward to. This morning she told me she missed me. She hasn’t said that for a long time. I know why too. When she was hungover I’d make her bacon sandwiches and bring them to her in bed, with a glass of orange juice and paracetamols. Then I’d hold her and stroke her head until the pain went away. Now she hasn’t got anyone to do that anymore.
**********
8th – 14th March
Oliver Butterworth. Black
Ah, my dear brother. It’s been a long time since Olly came to visit. After they slept with each other, that one drunken night, he ran back to his house in New York and poor Annie didn’t see him for months. That hit her hard. Just as she was starting to pull herself together, he buggers off. He came back to her about four months later and told her that he wanted to be friends again but nothing could ever happen between them.
Annie has been singing a lot this morning.
Saturday:
I’m here to kill someone and I’m not leaving until I’ve done it.
There’s only one reason why Olly is here and that’s to see Annie. The way he held her when he arrived… Well it’s exactly the same as I would hold her now if I could.
Sunday:
I’m thinking of using a scythe, with a jagged serrated edge. Though I don’t want my victim to die too quickly, it needs to be slow and painful, it needs to be bloody. I want her to see her blood drain out of her, slowly, agonizingly feel her life force ebb away. I want her to beg for her salvation. I want that tough hard exterior to crumble in the last pitiful minutes of her pathetic life. I want to see her cry.
My best laid plans continue to go awry. As devious as I am in trying to catch my prey, she is as cunning at evading me. I almost respect her for it. Almost.
My brother has a dark heart and a sick and twisted imagination. I love him though. I’ve missed him too.
He gets paid a lot for his sick imagination. I loved his books, he literally was the best writer in the world and I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother. I try to read them now over Annie’s shoulder but she reads too quick for me.
Tuesday:
It is technically Tuesday. 3.27 Tuesday morning to be precise. But Claudette has been killed. I feel like singing ‘ding, dong the witch is dead’. I have cracked open a bottle of Whin Hill Cider to celebrate but may sneak next door and top up my celebrations with some of Annie’s amazing trifle.
Note to self: When breaking into your sister-in-law’s place either go blindfolded or call out to make sure she is decent first. I don’t know who was more shocked when I walked in to find her stark naked tucking into the trifle. Admittedly we’re experiencing one of the hottest springs since before dinosaurs roamed the earth but still, one should wear a robe when wandering about downstairs.
I have never seen Olly look so hungry before and it certainly wasn’t for Annie’s trifle. If he’d drunk a bit more cider I think he would have just taken her, there and then, up against the fridge door. He tried to laugh it off, they both did, but the underlying tension between them was as thick as Annie’s custard.
This actually gives me hope.
The blog tour continues tomorrow with http://avenellis.com/blog/ and they’ll be a review on http://mssbookshelf.blogspot.co.uk/
As landlady of Willow Cottage, the young widow Annie Butterworth is always on hand with tea, sympathy or strong Norfolk cider - whatever her colourful array of guests require. A flick through the messages in the leather-bound cottage guestbook gives a tantalizing glimpse into the lives of everyone who passes through her doors.
This includes Annie herself - especially now celebrity crime writer Oliver Black, is back in town. He might grace the covers of gossip magazines with a different glamorous supermodel draped on his arm every week, but to Annie, he’s always just been Olly, the man who Annie shared her first kiss with.
Through the pages of the Guestbook Annie and Olly, along with all the guests that arrive at the seaside retreat, struggle with love, loss, mystery, joy, happiness, guilt…and the odd spot of naked rambling!
Forget sending postcards saying ‘wish you were here’ - one visit to Willow Cottage and you’ll wish you could stay forever.
Link to buy:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00HVD8VX2?ie=UTF8&at=aw-iphone-pc-uk-21&force-full-site=1&ref_=aw_bottom_links
Now YOU can get involved too, here is our very own Guestbook online, take the time to visit and leave a comment, join in the fun and tell us what you thought of your experience. Meet new friends or be nosey and see what others have got up to before you!
http://theguestbookhollymartin.wordpress.com/
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