Warning: Episode may contain strong language, violence and sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

LAST SEASON ON GLENDALE…

• Following the reveal of his affair with Lee, Tom took his life, leaving his wife and family bereft.
• After Tom’s death and the collapse of his marriage to Jack, Lee left the village to start a new life in Manchester.
• Natalie and James embarked on an affair while she was blackmailing his wife, Julia. When James learnt of Natalie’s evildoings, he ended the relationship. But, in one final twist, Natalie released a cache of screenshots and videos on Facebook, revealing their affair to the world and shattering Julia’s perfect world.
• Following the revelation that new village GP Emma was his biological mother, Nick was lucky to survive a car accident. He was stunned to later learn that his late uncle, Michael, was in fact Emma’s former boyfriend and his biological father. However, while recovering in the hospital, his world was rocked once again when an ancestry DNA test revealed a match with his true biological father.
• Neha attacked her husband, Ashwin, and was later arrested. Later, Ashwin collapsed, leaving him fighting for life.
• After Neha slapped her six-year-old daughter, Poppy, Rebecca vowed revenge and called in a favour to have Neha attacked while in prison.
• Charlotte, believing she had a stalker, was horrified to learn it was actually Natalie. However, in a twist, a shadowy male was revealed tobe the stalker after posting an ominous note through the letterbox.
• Jack struggled to overcome his guilt at Tom’s death.
• Mark stumbled across a folder of old photos revealing that his wife, Charlotte, was once involved romantically with Michael – the man who caused the death of Mark’s first wife, Jennifer.
• Luke was released from prison after 16 years. He returned to Glendale in a bid to seek revenge on those who had helped to send him down.
• Judith suffered a heart attack and collapsed before she could call for help.
• It was revealed that Ed had a secret family in London, and in the final moments of season one, his secret daughter, Samantha, turned up in Glendale with her husband and daughter, much to Ed’s horror and Marion’s disbelief.
• Ben and his ex-wife, Rebecca, slept together after he had an argument with his girlfriend, Emma. When Emma ignored his calls, Ben began to believe that their relationship was most likely over.

AND NOW, THE SEASON PREMIERE OF GLENDALE…

Glendale,
England

A chilly breeze whispered through the bare, skeletal branches of the old oak trees that had lined the village green for as long as time itself. Although March had arrived, winter refused to release its icy grip on Glendale, draping the Kentish hills in a soft mist that clung close to the ground and causing the locals to remain bundled up in woollen coats and scarves. While spring struggled to bloom, the quaint village, nestled on a sweeping bend of the River Medway, was finally waking from a winter that many would happily forget.

Six months had passed since September’s upheaval, but the fallout still echoed around the cobbled streets. Families had fractured, relationships had crumbled, and friendships had faltered. September 2024 had left an indelible mark on the village of Glendale, and many wondered if life would ever be the same again.

-:-

At the edge of the village, just beyond the hedgerow that bordered the fields, Kate Spencer stood in the kitchen of Greystone Downs Farm; her hands, submerged in the soapy water of the sink, held a small plate and pale blue sponge, although they didn’t move. Instead, she stared out of the window and across the farmyard to the fledgling garden that now occupied the space where the barn once stood – the barn where her husband, Tom, had taken his own life just six months earlier.

Since Tom’s death, Kate had struggled to stand at the sink day after day, staring at the structure that haunted her dreams. The sight of her husband lying on the ground as two paramedics battled to save his life; the violent spasms of Tom’s body battling against the electric shock of the defibrillator; the all-consuming silence as she lay next to his lifeless body, all of it haunted her and reminded her that she now walked this world alone. Her husband, the man she had shared over half her life with, was no longer by her side. Tom was gone – forever.

In November, she had had the barn torn down and a new one erected on the other side of the farmyard. She had then set about turning the cursed plot of land into a sanctuary that, come spring, would bloom with colour and life. Kate wanted to be able to enjoy the space and for her and the kids to be able to make happy memories again, just as they had done when Tom was alive. It would be a place where she could find peace. It would be where she could feel him again. It was Tom’s garden.

It felt like the past six months had dragged on, and over that time life had changed. Tom’s brother, Dan Spencer, had left the navy and moved into Greystone Downs to help her run the farm, although at present he seemed more preoccupied with the fairer sex than farmwork in a way that Kate strongly disapproved of; her eldest, Ava, was a few weeks off turning 16 and had seemed to change since Tom’s passing; the boys, Harry and Noah, seemed to be growing at a rapid pace; and Kate had quit her receptionist job at the surgery, which had meant times had been a little lean as she relied solely on the farm to provide an income. But it was her relationship with Tom’s mother, Carol Kennedy, that was causing her sleepless nights. Their bond had fractured, their friendship had soured – although not through any fault of Kate’s – and now, with Carol “away,” it felt like the scars that were scored across both their hearts may never heal.

As she escaped her thoughts and resumed washing the dishes, Kate couldn’t help but think that things felt a little different in Glendale now, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the village was holding its breath, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. But in those moments of quiet, the ones where your ears whistle and your breathing is shallow, she could hear it; she could feel it. Something monumental was on the horizon, and Glendale felt ill-prepared.

-:-

Inside Bluebell Cottage, Jack Campbell still couldn’t quite believe it. He paced back and forth in the living room, stopping occasionally to glance back over at the paperwork that was laid out neatly on the coffee table, whilst an envelope – carefully opened with a letter opener – lay discarded nearby. He actually couldn’t quite believe it. A few pieces of paper, that was all it took for his marriage to Lee to be over. Cancelled. Wiped from the annals like those ten years together meant nothing at all. The final order had come through from the court. He was officially divorced and, strangely, it felt rather liberating.

Following the collapse of his marriage, Jack had struggled to come to terms with the role he played in Tom’s death six months earlier. He shouldn’t have reacted the way he did to Lee and Tom’s affair. He shouldn’t have hit Tom or humiliated and outed him in front of the whole village. Guilt clung to him, weighing him down like a wet blanket. Jack had listened when Kate had explained that it wasn’t his fault, and he had cried when Carol had said that she didn’t hold him responsible. He had sobbed into Queenie’s shoulder more times than he could count, and he had knelt before the Lord in All Saints Church, praying for absolution. It was there, in the house of God, that his friendship with the vicar had flourished. The two men, who, for all intents and purposes, should not be in each other’s orbits, had somehow found each other. The vicar was a man of God and Jack was firmly a non-believer, but in those chaotic weeks after Tom’s death, Jack – in his hour of need – had found a friend. Their unlikely bond, forged over many coffee catch-ups, late-night texts, and the occasional Sunday service, had become one of the most important and special relationships in Jack’s life. With Reverend Matthew Turner, Jack felt accepted; he felt understood and appreciated; he felt seen. Their connection was deep and intense. Jack tried to convince himself that he was confused, that the divorce had got his head spun around, and that he was seeing things that weren’t there as a way to comfort himself, to make him feel desirable, but there was something about the vicar, something about the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled at Jack, or the way his hand lingered a beat longer than it should when he patted Jack’s arm, that made him sense there could be something more to their friendship. Something deeper.

Jack had tried to deny it; he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t shake that little voice in the back of his head. What if?

Removing his iPhone from the pocket of his jeans, Jack unlocked the device and quickly punched out a text with his thumbs.

Good luck today! You’re going to need it! 😊

Within a few moments of the blue message swooshing off into the ether, grey dots appeared on screen, typing in reply.

Thanks 😊 How much you wanna bet Luke bursts into flames when he walks through the doors? 😂

Jack’s face brightened as a broad smile stretched across his features. There really was something about Reverend Turner that was different. Something special.

-:-

Over at Honeysuckle Cottage, heavy footfall on the stairs meant only one thing – he was awake. While Emma Blake moved about the kitchen preparing breakfast, a semi-naked Paul Halifax – wearing nothing but a pair of royal blue boxer shorts and a smile – entered the room, scratching a hand through his brown cropped hair, and cosied up to her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and nuzzled kisses into the nape of her neck as he pressed himself against her. “Good morning,” Paul said with such a suggestive tone to his husky, just-woke-up voice that it caused goose pimples to break over Emma’s skin.

Emma surrendered to Paul’s advances and tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her neck for him to nibble and nuzzle. “Morning.”

The resumption of their affair was something neither of them had been looking for, but the universe had had other ideas, and they now found themselves in a proper out and proud relationship. Paul’s marriage to Victoria was over, and although he wasn’t yet officially divorced, the pair had been unable to deny the chemistry that continued to bubble between them. For just over three months, the two doctors had found themselves lost in the heady whirlwind of romance. Initially, they tried to deny the immediate physical attraction. It was awkward and uncomfortable. The Halifax’s separation had been acrimonious at best, and it seemed everyone in Glendale had picked a side – Team Victoria or Team Paul. Emma was one of the few that were Team Paul, but it wasn’t until a chance encounter at the village Christmas markets in early December that the history and pull between Paul and Emma became too strong to ignore. Stolen glances and coy smiles became things of the past when a kiss under the mistletoe re-ignited the fuse on a romance that set off a bomb in the village. Victoria was livid. Julia was dumbfounded. Queenie was concerned. Ben was hurt. Emma was smitten. Paul was in love.

The last three months hadn’t been easy, but they had steered the course, cocooning themselves and their budding romance inside Honeysuckle Cottage, away from prying eyes, away from the village’s judgement. They cooked together, shared their deepest thoughts and feelings, explored each other’s bodies, and opened up to one another in ways they hadn’t to anyone else before. Emma knew every one of Paul’s scars, both emotional and physical, and he knew all of hers. He had supported her when her biological son, Nick Harrington-Jones, had turned on her after the revelation that Luke Kennedy was actually his biological father and not Michael Bancroft, as everyone had been led to believe; he had dried her tears when she had told him the traumatic story of Nick’s conception; and he had held her hand tightly when it was time to face the villagers of Glendale. He was the yin to her yang, and although their romance had nearly torn the village apart, they were determined to make things work. This was love. This was real.

“Have you thought any more about what you’re going to say to Nick?” Paul asked as he laced together his fingers over Emma’s stomach and rested his head on her shoulder, watching as she buttered the toast.

Emma let out a sigh. “The truth,” she replied, pulling her lips into a tight line. “What choice do I have? He’s my son, Paul. I’ve got to stop this before he makes the biggest mistake of his life.”

-:-

Brian Granger thundered out of the Glenbrook Farm homestead and slammed the back door behind him. He stomped across the farmyard, his boots squelching in the mud, as he started the 500 metre walk to the new Glenbrook Farm Shop at the end of the long driveway. His short temper had, once again, got the better of him, and he knew the walk would do him good and help him cool off. It hadn’t been his fault. It was never his fault. Sometimes his patience was pushed to the limits, and this morning had been no exception.

Inside, Pamela Granger stood at the sink in silence, her palms flat against the cool countertop as, through the window, she watched her husband trudge down the driveway and disappear into a cloud of mist. The shattered remnants of a cup and saucer were strewn across the kitchen floor. The breakfast provisions that she had so lovingly prepared lay where they had fallen after Brian’s violent outburst. Still trembling, Pamela turned and surveyed the mess sprawled out around her. She was grateful that the twins – her grandchildren, Oliver and Poppy – were spending the weekend with their mother, so they were not there to witness their grandfather’s usual cruel behaviour, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wished her son, Ben, had been home to help her. Following his heartbreak at Emma’s new relationship, her son had thrown himself into expanding the family business, something that saw him spending greater amounts of time away from the farm, and, in his absence, Brian’s tirades had increased in volume and ferocity. She sighed a defeated sigh and bent down, picking up a small piece of the shattered saucer, the only thing she had left to remind her of her late mother. Pamela caught sight of the heavy bruise around her wrist and quickly pulled down the sleeve of her knitted cardigan to cover it. It hadn’t been her fault. It was never her fault. Sometimes Brian just lost patience with her, but Pamela knew she didn’t deserve this. She never deserved any of it.

-:-

Upstairs, in the master bedroom of Starling Cottage, Rebecca Williams stole a rare moment for herself while downstairs; twins Oliver and Poppy argued over something trivial as only six-year-old siblings can. With the bedroom door closed just enough to ensure privacy, the no-nonsense barrister tapped away furiously at her iPhone as she composed a message, thanking him for a wonderful night. For six weeks, secret passion had consumed her, and now Rebecca couldn’t get enough. She was willing to risk it all for him, if only she could be sure that he felt the same way. With the final touch – a rather juvenile winking kissy face emoji – she sent the message off into the ether and waited for a reply.

-:-

Arriving at Greenview Cottage, Samantha Carter, her husband Lewis, and their six-year-old daughter, Gracie, stood at the threshold. Samantha, with her stomach aflutter, stepped forward and grasped the brass knocker, tapping it loudly against the front door. She let out a soft, silent exhale of breath as she tried to calm the waves of anxiety churning within.

“Relax,” Lewis smiled, trying to reassure his wife of seven years but not really succeeding. “It’s just another family lunch, nothing to get worked up about.”

“I know,” Samantha replied, shooting Lewis a smile that didn’t quite reach her cheeks. “I just… I guess I’m just nervous about what they’re going to say.”

Lewis held his wife’s hand, interlocking their fingers and giving a small squeeze. “They’ll be thrilled. After all, you’re family.”

Gracie, with a gorgeously charming posy of handpicked pansies and snowdrops, bobbed up and down as she eagerly awaited their welcome. The youngster simply adored her “Pops”, Ed Atkins, as well as her newly discovered “Nanny Marion” and “Aunt Jazzie”. But, more than anything, she couldn’t wait to play with Aunt Jazzie’s new puppy, Daisy.

As the door opened and Daisy – the most precious little red-furred Cavoodle you ever did see – raced out to greet Gracie with licks and little welcoming barks, Samantha squeezed Lewis’ hand in response, just as his phone pinged with a notification.

-:-

As James Harrington-Jones stepped out of CuriosiTEAS with his iPhone in one hand and a large cappuccino in the other, he paid no attention and made no apologies or no eye contact as he bumped rather heavily into Betty Worchester as she hobbled by, making her way down Queen Victoria Street towards The Chopping Block – her son Gareth’s new butcher’s shop. With his attention firmly fixated on his phone, James did a quick sidestep to correct his course and continued on his way. Meanwhile, the brusque woman muttered a series of unpleasant comments under her breath and shot James a sour glare before yelling back over her shoulder a simple yet effective, “YA STOOPID BLOODY POMPOUS GIT! WATCH WHERE THE ‘ECK YER GOIN’!”

-:-

Partially hidden behind the front door of Rose Cottage, Tilly Wainwright held her loose pink silk dressing gown together tightly and clutched it to her chest as she kissed Dan Spencer goodbye. The kiss lingered as the blonde bombshell breathed her handsome visitor in one more time. What had started as a one-night thing after a few too many drinks at The Oak & Vine had quickly developed into an intensely passionate fling, much to the disapproval of Dan’s mother, Carol, his sister-in-law Kate, and Tilly’s long-time neighbour and foe, the virtuous Hilda Hollingsworth. Dan ran a rough thumb along the edge of Tilly’s soft jaw and winked a goodbye. He felt something for Tilly, something deep, something serious. He kissed her one last time and turned away, starting down the garden path and popping the collar of his navy peacoat to provide a buffer from the morning chill.

Noticing Hilda coming out of Buttercup Cottage in her grey fleece dressing gown and with her hair still in rollers, Tilly flashed her neighbour across the road one of her dazzling movie star smiles, gave a tinkle of her fingers as a wave of good morning, and closed the front door in one swift movement.

Inside, Olivia Wainwright, Tilly’s twenty-year-old daughter, downed the last of her tea in one gulp and slipped out the back door. She was late, and if she was being completely honest, she was also too embarrassed by her mother’s actions to face her or the neighbours who would no doubt be out in the street already.

-:-

Steam blew from Hilda’s ears as she stormed back inside Buttercup Cottage, slamming the door behind her and thundering into the kitchen, before throwing the home-delivered copy of the Daily Mail down on the kitchen table with a thwack.

“That woman!” she fumed, her face turning an indignant shade of scarlet as she paced about the kitchen before turning the kettle on, more forcefully than was needed. “Bold as brass.”

Sat at the kitchen table, Hilda’s long-suffering husband of nearly 50 years, Arthur Hollingsworth, silently rolled his eyes and unfurled the newspaper. He had heard it all before. Hilda’s disapproval of her neighbour’s love life was nothing new, and Arthur knew that the best thing to do was to let her vent and get it out of her system. She wouldn’t pause for breath or ask him for his input. She would simply steamroll through the same monologue he had heard more times than he cared to count.

“Wearin’ pink silk. Tinklin’ her fingers like she’s Marilyn-flippin’-Monroe or somethin’! The audacity of that woman! It’s the kiddie I worry about. Poor lil’ Olivia, growin’ up with a mother like that!”

“Hardly a kiddie, Hilly,” Arthur mumbled in his native Yorkshire accent, his attention unwavering from the overhyped piece on page two. “She’d be all of, wot, twen’y somethin’ now.”

The kettle bubbled and trembled as it reached boiling point, much like Hilda’s tolerance for Tilly’s behaviour. She stared off into the distance, lost in her concern for poor, young, innocent, and defenceless Olivia being corrupted by vile Tilly’s sinful behaviour. “It’s always hardest on the kiddies.”

Arthur glanced over the top of the newspaper at his wife and watched her fix them a mug of tea each. “Shouldn’t you be gettin’ over to Oak an’ Vine?”

Hilda was violently pulled from her thoughts and held a hand to her mouth as she was reminded of her duty to Tony Kennedy and the establishment that she now so dearly treasured. Since Carol “went away,” Hilda had been promoted from pub cleaner to barmaid, a role she relished, for it now positioned her at the heart of Glendale and squarely in line for the best gossip – not that she ever would. It wasn’t the Christian way.

Hilda let out an irritated humph. Arthur was right. The last thing she wanted to do was let Tony down – especially today. She was in charge of setting up; Tony was counting on her. Later, the pub would be heaving as it wasn’t every day two villagers got married and had their reception in the grand ol’ dame of Glendale. For now, she would have to table her thoughts on wicked Tilly. But she would get her own back. Silently, Hilda made a vow to ensure Tilly Wainwright got her comeuppance – tonight, she would water down Tilly’s drinks if she dared show her face in The Oak & Vine. That’ll show ‘er!

-:-

At Glendale Hall, Nick Harrington-Jones stood in the main bedroom, studying his reflection in the mirror as he adjusted his salmon-coloured silk tie for the third time, although it already sat perfectly against his crisp white shirt and his tuxedo fitted like a glove. He was nervous, a sensation he had been trained to ignore since childhood.

One is never nervous when one is a Harrington-Jones.

The cut-glass voice of his overbearing grandmother, Hazel Harrington-Jones, echoed in his ears, and then Nick frowned. He suddenly remembered that she wasn’t his grandmother. Neither was Judith Bancroft. The two elderly women who had helped influence and mould him since birth were merely two women he should never have crossed paths with because he wasn’t a Harrington-Jones or a Bancroft – he was a Kennedy.

There came a knock at the door, followed by a creak of it opening. “You ready, son?”

Nick shifted his line of sight in the reflection of the mirror to see his biological father, Luke Kennedy, standing in the doorway. The convict, released from prison six months ago, smiled his crooked smile and moved into the bedroom.

“Yeah,” Nick replied, looking back at his own reflection before running a hand through his short, dark tresses, ensuring they sat just so.

Luke crossed the room and stood behind Nick, placing his hands on his son’s broad shoulders. It had come as a complete shock – finding out that Nick was his biological son. The DNA test that he had agreed to as part of a genealogy study while he was in prison had thrown up a number of distant cousins, but when he had been matched as the father of Nick, Luke’s world had shifted on its axis. Besides revenge, he now had another reason to be back in Glendale – he now had a new person to manipulate.

Nick had been equally as shocked. He hadn’t even begun to come to terms with the fact that James and Julia weren’t his parents and that Emma and his deceased uncle, Michael, were, when the paternity bomb had exploded. He hadn’t spoken to Emma since. Lie after lie fell from her mouth. He hated her just as much as he hated Julia. But Luke was different. He was cool. He was unexpected. He was a real man. Someone to idolise and worship. Someone Nick felt that he could trust completely. He was, after all, his father, and who can you trust if not the man who gave you life?

“Come on.” Luke patted Nick’s shoulders with a double tap. “We’ve got to get you to the church. That fiancé of yours will have my balls for breakfast if she’s there before you!”

-:-

Inside The Beauty Spot – Glendale’s new salon on the corner of Bridge Street and Waterbridge Road – the morning was moving faster than Yasmin Worchester would have liked. Her beautiful and calm exterior masked the whirlpool of panic that stirred within, her hands working methodically as she raced against the clock to get everything ready in time. Her fingers hovered over the bride’s dark hair, carefully arranging the delicate strands. She looked at the reflection in the mirror and smirked – perfection.

“There,” she said with her usual cheerful, Essex-accented tone as she went about the final few touches: a spritz of hairspray – just enough to hold the shape without making it stiff; a gentle pat of the hair – to ensure everything remained just so; and a final check of the bride’s neutral palette makeup – nothing too dramatic and just the right amount of everything to enhance her natural beauty. It was subtle, yet unforgettable. “As perfect as a painting. Nicky boy won’t be able to keep his hands off ya!”

The two women shared a chuckle, and Yasmin couldn’t help but smile. This was her first Glendale bride, and she was utterly radiant. “Now, missy, let’s get you into that gorjie dress!”

The bell above the door tinkled as Olivia came tumbling in. “I’m so sorry!” She said breathlessly with a face practically purple with embarrassment. “My alarm didn’t go off! I’m so sorry!”

“You’re ‘ere now, and that’s all that matters,” Yasmin replied with a reassuring smile as she reached out and rubbed a supportive thumb against Olivia’s shoulder for the briefest of moments before clapping her hands together to move the morning along. “We can’t stand about feeling sorry for ourselves, girlies! We’ve got a weddin’ to get ready for!”

-:-

At Thyme Cottage, Ashwin Patel sat on the sofa watching television as he worked a small blue therapy ball in his left hand. Just over six months ago, having hit his head on the coffee table after being struck by his wife, Neha, Ashwin had suffered a stroke – one that he had been lucky to survive. A blood clot, caused by the fall – and missed in scans – had almost ended his life. It had left him with a weakened left side, a murky memory, and, at times, a turbulent personality. The road to recovery had been long, and although he still had a way to go, the end of the tunnel was now in sight.

“Here we are,” said Neha’s younger sister, Meera Sharma, as she entered the living room carrying a tray of freshly made chai. “Good for the soul and for the recovery.”

Ashwin smiled at his siter-in-law as she placed the tray down on the coffee table and took a seat beside him on the sofa. Meera, who had offered to move in with Ashwin to care for him after his stroke, had been a godsend. She was kind, caring, and gentle – all the things Neha hadn’t been. She helped him with his physiotherapy, cooked for him, and provided a listening ear when he needed someone to talk to. She encouraged him on his journey of recovery, championed him, and made him see that his future was bright. She counselled him through his anger at Neha’s infidelity with James Harrington-Jones and convinced him that the child Neha was carrying, although not his biologically, would be his child in every way that mattered. Even in the darkest days, when Neha had been sentenced to time in prison for attacking him and slapping young Poppy Granger, Meera was there to guide Ashwin through. They had become firm friends, and Ashwin was grateful for his siter-in-law’s support during the most difficult time of his life.

“Thanks,” Ashwin said, stopping his exercises and taking the mug in both hands due to his new weakness. “What would I do without you?”

Meera shrugged and scrunched up her face. “Suffer most probably,” she joked with a wicked glint in her eye as she lifted her mug of chai to her lips. She watched as Ashwin took a sip of his drink, and she smiled, satisfied.

-:-

The morning air was sharp, carrying the scent of damp earth as it curled off the lake. Wrapped in a dressing gown, Julia Harrington-Jones stood barefoot on the cold stone patio of her new home – the Lake House. With her hands wrapped around her warm coffee cup and her long golden hair freely cascading over her shoulders, she watched the mist skim across the water’s surface. The stillness was serene. Blissful.

In the last six months Julia’s life had changed irrevocably – her marriage to James had ended after the public exposure of his multiple infidelities, bringing to a close her reign as Queen of Glendale; she had moved out of the palatial Ashbourne House, instead, finding her bliss in the newly purchased and much smaller Lake House; her mother, the indomitable Judith Bancroft, had died from a heart attack leaving her an orphan at 58; she had found herself disinherited of her mother’s millions and refused to fight it – something many in the village struggled to understand; she had been frozen out by her “son”, who had fallen under the spell of his – some would say – psychopathic biological father; and she had begun to forge a connection with her long-unknown half-brother, Gareth, and his family. But more than anything, Julia had found she was finally able to breathe. She had found herself, and it was glorious. No longer bound by the constraints and expectations placed upon her by her mother, her husband, and the village as a whole, Julia could, for the first time in her life, just be her. She had found a love for adult colouring books and flower arranging; she had developed a passion for cooking thanks to a Mary Berry cooking series she happened to stumble across one evening on BBC2; she had become captivated by EastEnders and now enjoyed it nightly with a few Maltesers and a sneaky Baileys; she had developed a fondness for rambling and had even joined a local club; and, more than anything else, she had fallen in love with the villagers of Glendale. Following Judith’s death and the collapse of her marriage – no, the collapse of her whole life – the tight-knit community had rallied around its fallen monarch. Kate Spencer had become a close friend, something Julia still found unusual – the sensation of “having friends.”. Their friendship, forged against the non-discriminatory backdrop of grief, had become one of great strength and comfort to Julia, although she knew deep down that the self-help podcast she listened to – another new passion – would probably describe it as “trauma bonding”; Hilda Hollingsworth had taught her how to knit – although Julia felt it was just a ruse to get close enough to gather up some good gossip; Marion Atkins had become her regular go-to for coffee dates; her sister-in-law, Yasmin Worchester, had introduced her to the joys of “a quiet night down at the pub”, and together they had become dab hands at bingo; and she had bonded with Pamela Granger over their love of The Traitors and anything starring Jason Statham. But, most surprising of all, it was her relationship with Queenie Baxter that had left Julia the most astonished. Since Judith’s death, Queenie had visited her daily, bringing with her a care package and a sympathetic ear, allowing Julia to unburden herself from a lifetime of rigidity and performance. She had even granted her access into the exclusive “call me Queenie” club, an honour Julia found very touching and also boastful, as it was an honour that had been denied to her dead mother.

While many things were new and exciting, some things remained the same. She still distrusted Emma Blake, and their relationship was fractured at best. As yet, Julia couldn’t bring herself to talk to Emma about the fact that Luke Kennedy was Nick’s biological father, and not Julia’s brother, Michael. The pain of finding out she wasn’t related to Nick at all was too much to bear. But today, she resolved to put it all behind her. Today, Julia prepared to put on another Oscar-worthy performance. She would transform back into the Julia Harrington-Jones of old and, at one o’clock, attend Nick’s wedding. Uninvited, she would put an end to the ceremony even if it was the last thing she did.

– GLENDALE –

All Saints Church,
Glendale

As Nick’s Rolls-Royce wedding car came to a halt in front of the church, his heart thumped in his chest. His palms were clammy as he stepped out onto the pavement and adjusted his tie for what felt like the thousandth time as he looked through the lychgate. He surveyed the scene, and then his stomach dropped. There she was. Emma. Her presence hit him like a punch to the gut, and his first instinct was to turn around and get straight back in the car, but he knew she had seen him. It was too late.

Pulling back her shoulders, Emma straightened in her resolve and started down the path towards Nick. Her Skechers sneakers crunched the gravel underfoot as she locked eyes with her son.

“What are you doing here?” Nick hissed through gritted teeth.

Emma could feel the hatred radiating off him. It leached from his pores, and fire flared in his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, and that’s when she saw him.

Luke exited the wedding car, tugged on his tuxedo jacket, and buttoned the top button in one effortless movement. For six months, Emma had managed to avoid being in Luke’s orbit. It hadn’t been easy, but she had somehow managed it. Now, her world shuddered to a stop. She felt the hot prick of a million searing needles pierce her skin, her stomach twisted in knots, a sense of nausea crippled her, and her body felt like it was about to involuntarily split itself apart. The drug dealer who had ruined her life – the man who had nearly destroyed her 26 years ago – smiled his sleazy, crooked smile as they locked eyes. He hadn’t aged a day.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t sweet little Emily Barlow. Back for another round?”

Emma’s hands trembled, and her anxiety flared. Her index fingers unconsciously picked at the nailbeds of her thumbs as she clamped her mouth shut, desperate to keep herself from vomiting.

Nick watched on silently as Luke approached Emma. The effect he had on her was spellbinding. With just a look, he had stopped Emma in her tracks. Face to face, Luke cocked an eyebrow as he reached out and traced the back of his index finger against her jawbone. Emma practically convulsed at his touch.

“Still beautiful,” Luke muttered so quietly that only Emma heard it. His dark, soulless eyes burnt into hers, and a sharp exhale of breath escaped her as her body began to shake. “My little peach.”

With one final twisted smile, Luke broke his stare and looked back over his shoulder at Nick. “I’ll wait for you inside, son.”

Son. Three little letters that made Emma want to scream. Nick wasn’t Luke’s son. He was hers. He was Julia’s. He was not the offspring of that monster. Years of anguish and torment surged through her veins. Despite hearing Luke’s footfall crunch along the path and fade into the distance, Emma couldn’t pull herself together.

“What do you want?” Nick snarled, looking his biological mother up and down with a pitiful glare.

Emma cleared her throat. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, as she pushed the thought of Luke from her mind and turned her attention to saving her son. “You can’t go through with this.”

Nick scoffed in a way that was beyond patronising. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He crossed his arms defiantly and transferred his weight to his right hip while tilting his head towards the left. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Emma.”

Since his car accident back in September, Nick had irrevocably changed. He had become cruel, cold, and nasty. The charming, nice-guy-next-door had become a bitter man with a sharp tongue and a prickly attitude. Since learning that Luke was his biological father, he had begun hero-worshipping him. He had adopted the new attitude of an alpha male, and he had firmly slammed the door shut on Emma, Julia, and James.

“No matter what you think of me, I am still your mother.”

“No, you’re not,” Nick replied, his eyes darkening. “You’re nothing but some cheap little slut who got passed about in a crack den, opening her legs to anyone with a few pounds or an ounce of crystal.” He stepped towards Emma, their faces just inches apart. “And look at ya, still putting it about with anyone that so much as looks in your direction. First Ben, now Paul. It’s true what they say – once a slut, always a slut.”

Nick violently shunted past Emma, almost knocking her from her feet as he knocked her shoulder. Unwilling to take the bait, she clamped a hand firmly around his wrist and tugged him back towards her.

“You do not get to talk to me that way!” Emma growled through gritted teeth, although her eyelids began to pool with painful tears. If only he knew.

Nick leaned closer. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Emma took a beat and let out a deep exhale as she shook her head. Her eyes searched her son’s for a shred of decency. The nice young man with a kind heart and a tender smile that she had met last year was in there somewhere, she knew it. If only she could reach him. “Don’t you see what he’s doing to you? Don’t you see what he’s turning you into?”

“He’s making me strong. He’s making me the man I was always meant to be.”

“He’s making you look like a fool!”

Nick yanked his hand free and rubbed his wrist. Despite being a female, Emma certainly had a strong grip. “Dad loves me. Dad cares for me.”

“Dad?” Emma scoffed, baffled at the absurdity. “Is that what you’re calling him?”

“He’s been more of a parent to me in these last six months than you, Julia, or James have been in a lifetime!” The words that tumbled out of Nick’s mouth were dripping in poison. They were designed to hurt, but Emma didn’t let them. “Now if you’ll kindly fuck off, I’ve got a wedding to get to.”

As Nick angrily stomped along the gravel path that wove its way through the churchyard, Emma set off after him.

“Don’t do this, Nick!” She pleaded one final time. “You’re making a mistake. Don’t do this!”

Nick ignored her and continued on.

“You know this is wrong. I know you do.” Her voice strained as she tried desperately to reach the lost little boy buried deep inside. “Deep down I know you know this is wrong, and deep down I know he scares you.”

Without turning around, Nick brushed away his biological mother’s concerns as he reached the church doors.

“Nick, please!” Emma begged, trying to position herself between Nick and the doors, but he just pushed past. “Don’t go through with this. Don’t listen to Luke! Please! That man, he’ll destroy you!”

Without another word, Nick pulled open the heavy wooden doors and headed inside the church. As the doors slammed shut in her face, a defeated Emma let her shoulders sag. There was nothing else for it. If she was going to stop Nick from making the biggest mistake of his life, there was only one thing left to do. She removed her iPhone from the pocket of her jeans and unlocked the device. Tapping at the screen a few times, she held the phone to her ear and waited for an answer.

“Hi,” she said as a single tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. “I need your help.”

– GLENDALE –

Brookdale Psychiatric Hospital,
Buckinghamshire, England

The two-hour car ride from Glendale to the hospital just outside Milton Keynes had been oppressively quiet. Audrey Granger had sat silently in the passenger seat, her hands clasped in her lap for the entire journey, as she stared out of the window watching the world whizz by. Beside her, Tony Kennedy had remained focused on the road, his hands tight against the steering wheel of his grey Hyundai Tucson as they made the usual weekly trip to Berkshire. Every Saturday now was the same. Neither one knew what to say or what to expect. The duo had almost found comfort in the silence. They knew what each other was thinking and feeling without a word being uttered.

They followed the same routine that they had now perfected. They parked in the same space – not too far from the entrance to the hospital beneath an old ash tree; they greeted the young receptionist – Maisie was her name, although Audrey always forgot – with a polite smile and nod; they walked down the same bleak corridors – with Audrey nervously sucking in her lips and Tony anxiously twisting his wedding band on his finger; they took a moment to compose themselves at the door to her room and then, with Audrey’s usual grin and Tony’s somewhat wincing smile, they entered the room with the coolness of an influencer combined with the warmth of a loving grandmother.

Carol Kennedy sat in her usual chair by the window, looking out at the grey gardens. With her profile illuminated by the pale March sunlight, her once-vibrant fiery auburn, now more grey than red, was limp and scraped back into a short ponytail, her hands rested motionless in her lap, her face – usually coated in a light yet perfect dusting of makeup – was now bare and blotchy, and her stylish wardrobe had been replaced with fleece jogger bottoms and an oversized knitted sweater. She looked so small, so fragile, and, as usual, it shattered Audrey’s heart to see her daughter this way.

“Hello, darling,” Audrey said, crossing the room quickly, her arms outstretched, inviting her daughter in for a hug. “You’re looking well. Isn’t she looking well, Tony?”

Carol turned at the arrival, and her eyes, now dull and distant, still caught Tony off guard. She forced a smile and accepted her mother’s hug. Following Tom’s death, Carol had suffered a complete mental breakdown and had spent the last six months in Brookdale’s care.

Tony forced his own smile and nodded, joining in on the lie. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat as he walked over and kissed his wife on the cheek. “You’re looking really well, honey.”

Carol knew they were lying. It was the same arrival week in, week out. But, if anything, she was thankful for the routine.

Audrey lowered herself into a seat opposite her daughter and motioned for Tony to hand her the small plastic bag full of the usual weekly goodies. “Doctor says you should be out in a few weeks. Won’t that be grand!”

Carol nodded. She guessed so. Although the thought of returning to Glendale caused her to wring her hands anxiously. If only she could tell them the truth. If only they knew.

“Now.” Audrey opened the plastic bag and rummaged through the goodies like Carol didn’t already know what was in there. “We’ve brought you some Wispa bars, a Terry’s Chocolate Orange, a packet of Hobnobs, some pork scratchings – although I do wish you wouldn’t eat them, darling – and this week’s copies of Take a Break and Chat.” She closed the bag and placed it on the small table arranged perfectly between them. “Queenie didn’t have any Galaxy Minstrels in, but she said she’d have double for ya next week,” Audrey said with another smile. “That’ll be something to look forward to, won’t it!”

Carol looked towards her husband. “How are you, sweets?”

“Oh, you know me, luv.” Tony shifted uncomfortably on the spot and then perched himself on the edge of Carol’s neatly made yet rather uncomfortable bed. “Can’t complain. Can’t complain.”

Carol pulled her mouth tight and forced yet another smile. She nodded. That was all Tony ever said. Every week, that was all he said. She knew her breakdown had been hard on him, but if they were going to survive this, she needed him to be honest with her. She also knew she needed to be honest with him, but she didn’t know how. If she told Tony the truth, she risked blowing his life apart.

The usual silence settled over the trio, and Carol counted in her head how long it would take until Audrey asked the usual question about this week’s episodes of Coronation Street. The usual amount of time was six seconds. One. Carol looked at the clock on the wall. Two. Three. Four. Tony picked nervously at an invisible piece of flint on his jeans. Five. Six. Sev—

“So,” Audrey began as she tapped her hands against her thighs. “Did you see what happened on Corrie this week?”

– GLENDALE –

All Saints Church,
Glendale

Nick stood at the front of the church with Luke supportively by his side. Since finding each other, the pair had become inseparable, something that had greatly concerned those who cared about Nick the most. The air felt thick with anticipation. Reverend Turner stood patiently in front of them with a warm smile on his face. Like many in the village, he never thought he would see this day.

The large church, usually packed to the rafters for such a special day, felt desolate and empty. Reverend Turner cast his eyes over the pews and tried to hide his grimace as there were only three people in attendance. On the groom’s side, Leo Worchester sat in the second row, nervously twisting the order of service. While on the bride’s side, Yasmin and Tilly sat side by side in the front pew. There wasn’t a Harrington-Jones in sight, nor was Emma there, and Reverend Turner couldn’t help but feel that that was a mistake. Had they chosen not to attend, or – more likely – had they not been invited at all?

The soft strains of the organ began, filling the deafening silence with the familiar tune of the wedding march. Nick’s heart skipped a beat. He looked down at his hands, then at Luke, who gave him an encouraging nod. Nick swallowed hard and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You ready?” Luke asked with a hushed whisper.

Nick managed a tight smile. “I think so.”

The heavy doors at the back of the church creaked open, and those in attendance stood and turned. Looking back over his shoulder, Nick’s gaze darted towards the entrance, and his pulse quickened.

The doors swung fully open, and there she was. His beautiful, amazing, and perfect bride. His reason for being. His soulmate – Natalie Sinclair.

While Olivia, dressed in a stunning salmon-coloured draped-back faille bridesmaids’ gown by Oscar de la Renta, started the slow march down the aisle, Nick’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the exquisite vision that was his bride.

Natalie, dressed in a one-of-a-kind princess-cut Vera Wang bridal gown made of white duchess satin, looked almost ethereal as she stood in the doorway of the church, the light from outside framing her perfectly. With a small posy firmly in her grasp, she followed her best friend Olivia down the aisle as she walked towards her future.

Watching Natalie pass, Tilly still couldn’t quite believe the sequence of events that had led them to this day. Just six months ago, Nick was engaged to Jasmine Atkins, and Natalie was being exposed as the other woman in his parents’ marriage. Yet today, here they were, together and about to become man and wife. Tilly had seen the play that calculating Natalie was making for Nick, and she knew that Emma had tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t talk to her. Instead, everyone had to stand by and watch on as Nick cruelly dumped Jasmine and fell for Natalie’s siren song. That’s why there were no Harrington-Joneses there today – the idea that Nick would go through with marrying the woman who tried so hard to destroy them had finally seen the family turn their backs on him.

– GLENDALE –

Greenview Cottage,
Glendale

The smell of tarragon filled the kitchen of Greenview Cottage as Marion adjusted the oven’s temperature, ensuring the roast chicken would be perfectly golden by the time they sat down for lunch. The potatoes were crisping nicely on the tray, while on the stovetop, the vegetables sat ready and waiting in the steamer.

She opened her daughter Jasmine’s favourite bottle of red wine and let it decant, hoping the distractions of her favourite treats and the comfort of a family meal would take her daughter’s mind off the fact that her ex-fiancé, Nick, was marrying Natalie. The breakup had been a bitter blow to Jasmine and had come completely out of the blue. Marion suspected Nick had fallen victim to one of Natalie’s cons – after all, it was just six months ago she was sleeping with his father and exposing the scandalous affair to everyone in the village via Facebook. Whilst Jasmine had tried to reassure her mother that she was fine and coping with the breakup, Marion believed otherwise. There was something about Jasmine that had changed recently; she just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

In the corner of the kitchen, Samantha was setting the table while keeping one eye on Gracie, who was showing off her latest ballet skills to Ed in the living room. Samantha, in her mid-thirties, had grown into Marion’s life over the past six months. The revelation that she was Ed’s daughter had initially left Marion dumbfounded and then hurt, but as the truth was revealed – that Samantha was the product of a relationship Ed had finished eight months before he met Marion – the two women had slowly begun to warm to each other. Marion had fallen head over heels in love with Gracie and adored being called “Nanny Marion”, and she admired Samantha’s parenting skills. Lewis had helped smooth the path with his charm, and Samantha had helped Jasmine through her breakup the way only a sister can. For that, Marion was grateful, and somehow, the Atkins and Carter families had rubbed along together, becoming a glowing example of a modern family in a less than modern village.

Samantha bent over to arrange the silverware, then glanced back at Marion. “Anything else I can do?”

Marion gave her a smile, as she emptied the boiling kettle into a jug of Bisto instant gravy granules and stirred – she couldn’t be bothered with making it from scratch today. “No, you’re right, sweetheart. Not much more to do.”

She watched as her stepdaughter, who was now folding a napkin, seemed preoccupied with her thoughts. Samantha was the kind of person who didn’t share much of herself and always flashed her sunny smile even when things were grey. But today was different. There was an anxiousness about her, an uneasiness that made Marion concerned that there was something on her mind.

Marion knew better than to pry, but concern – and a small desire for a juicy bit of gossip – saw her decide to broach the subject as tactfully as she could. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Is everything okay?”

Samantha hesitated, a small frown pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s… well, it’s about Lewis and Gracie and me.”

Marion set down the wooden spoon, giving Samantha her full attention. “What’s going on?”

Samantha looked at her, then into the living room at Lewis – who was texting on his phone – and then back at Marion. “Well, we’ve been thinking about making a big change. We want to move to Glendale.”

Marion barely blinked as she processed Samantha’s admission.

“We want to start fresh. Finding Dad and then getting to know you and Jaz over the past few months has been incredible. You’ve been so welcoming and kind to me, to us, that we’ve been thinking maybe it’s time for a quieter life closer to family.”

“Quieter life? Ha!” Marion squawked like a parrot, and her shoulders jumped as she chuckled. “You are talking about Glendale, aren’t you? I don’t think this village knows how to be quiet.”

Her usual broad, sunny smile broke across Samantha’s face, and she curled a strand of her long, wavy black hair behind her ear. “I’m serious,” she replied with a chuckle. “I think it would be good for Gracie to be around you guys and to be out here in the country, away from the smog and chaos of London. Lewis can commute the hour or so to work each day, and I think we can really make a go of things here.”

Marion forced a smile, trying to keep her tone light. “Well, of course, we’d love to have you closer. You know that.” She wiped her hands on the nearby tea towel and crossed the kitchen to give Samantha a brief hug. “Glendale will be all the better for having you here.”

But inside, Marion felt a flicker of unease. She really liked Samantha, but this sudden shift, this desire to start fresh, made her wonder about the underlying reasons.

– GLENDALE –

Southampton,
England

In the small living room of 25 Davison Drive, Southampton – two hours away from Glendale – Mark Sinclair sat slumped on the overstuffed blue sofa, his attention firmly trained on the television as the latest episode of Football Focus began. Eleven o’clock. The ceremony would be starting now. His daughter, Natalie, would be walking down the aisle – alone – as she married Nick. Mark had been invited; the digitally printed invitation – accompanied by a grovelling letter of apology from “your eternally sorry daughter, Nat xx” – had arrived a few weeks earlier, but he had ignored it, too hurt and ashamed by Natalie’s actions to draft up a response.

For the last six months, Mark had sought refuge at the home of his middle child, Sarah, and her fiancé, Charlie. He had been left incensed by Natalie’s actions to bring down the Harrington-Jones family in some warped sense of revenge; he had been left dumbfounded by the discovery that Natalie was Charlotte’s stalker, or so he believed; and he had been left broken when he had discovered the secret stash of photos in the loft that revealed that Charlotte was once involved with Michael Bancroft – the man who had killed his first wife, Jennifer, in a car accident. It had all been too much, and he had simply walked out of Pineview House one day without saying a word and never returned.

“Here,” Sarah said, entering the living room with two large mugs of tea and passing one to her father before sitting beside him on the sofa. A silence stretched between them as they both sipped the steaming brew. Sarah side-eyed her dad. She knew exactly what – or, should she say, who – he was thinking about. “So, are you regretting not attending the wedding yet?”

A heavy frown settled across Mark’s brow, and his mouth tightened. “No.”

Sarah moistened her lips ad looked to the telly. That was a lie. “Dad, I—”

“I don’t want to talk about your sister!”

Sarah bristled and added Natalie to the long line of things her father didn’t want to talk about. Six months ago, when she had received the distressed call from her dad asking if he could come and stay with her “for a few weeks,” Sarah had agreed without hesitation, without asking what was wrong. But soon, as weeks stretched into months, it became clear that something was seriously amiss in Mark’s world. Any mention of Natalie or his wife, Charlotte, was met with hostility or just simply ignored. Sarah had tried multiple times to broach the subject of both women with her father, and every time she was shot down in flames. But now, months down the line, Charlie’s patience was wearing thin with his future father-in-law, and Sarah was feeling the pressure to bring the situation to a head.

“Dad,” she began sheepishly, bracing for whatever reaction she would cop today, “isn’t it time we talked about why you’re here? About what’s happened between you and Nat? About Charlotte?”

Mark took another sip of tea. Today wasn’t the day.

– GLENDALE –

Pineview House,
Glendale

The kitchen of Pineview House was too quiet. Everything was still, and even the usual hum of the refrigerator seemed silent. At the kitchen table, Charlotte Sinclair sat motionless, her morning coffee growing cold in its oversized Cornishware mug, as she stared at the sheets of paper scattered in front of her. They had been delivered not ten minutes earlier, and she had already read them – twice.

Petition for Divorce.

The words smacked her around the face. Six months of silence, six months of ignored calls and texts, six months of wondering whether her husband was alive or dead. Charlotte now had her answer. Mark was alive. Their marriage was dead.

She tried to summon anger, sadness, anything, but all she felt was a hollow, disbelieving quiet. Divorce. Seven letters that made everything final.

A memory stirred in Charlotte’s mind – the day Mark had found the old photographs of her and Michael Bancroft. She had never before seen such a haunted look. Her husband hadn’t given her a chance to explain, hadn’t given her a chance to make him understand. Instead, he had simply left. There was no argument; in fact, there was no talking at all. Mark had simply packed a bag and driven off, never to be seen again. He left her to face the torment of her stalker alone. He left her to face the sleepless nights of terror and fear alone. He left her with unanswered questions. He hadn’t tried to call. He hadn’t responded to texts. He hadn’t even known that she was pregnant, or that she had tragically miscarried. Although she had her sister, Victoria, and was grateful for her company, Victoria wasn’t Mark. Charlotte’s husband of only a year had abandoned her when she needed him most, and that was unforgivable.

Charlotte’s breathing shuddered. Her life was crumbling around her.

– GLENDALE –

All Saints Church,
Glendale

A graphite grey Mercedes S-Class sedan screeched to a halt outside All Saints Church. As the driver’s door flung open, Julia leapt out, her heart racing with adrenaline as she hit the ground running and sprinted through the lychgate and across the churchyard. Her oversized navy Merino longline cardigan billowed behind her while her blonde hair, pulled tightly into her signature chignon bun, began to come undone in the breeze.

“Where is he?” She barked in a tone that would’ve made a guard dog quiver.

A visibly shaken Emma opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she pointed to the closed church doors and proffered a simpering smile of apology. “I… I tried…”

“Obviously not hard enough!” Julia snapped back and grasped the worn brass door handles before pulling the heavy old oak doors open.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

It was too late. Nick and Natalie were joined in holy matrimony, and Julia felt the final remnants of her life shatter.

As the happy couple parted from their first kiss as husband and wife, Natalie looked towards Julia’s silhouette, standing in the doorway of All Saints, bathed in an ethereal glow. The corners of her nude-lipped mouth curled with satisfaction into the evilest of grins. She had won.

– GLENDALE –

Acorn Cottage,
Glendale

At Acorn Cottage, Queenie Baxter sat at her small antique dressing table, looking at her wrinkled reflection in the mirror speckled with age. The cherished piece of furniture, which had once belonged to her great-grandmother, had been passed down through the generations, and as she fingered the heavy silver locket that rested against her chest, Queenie realised that the tradition of passing on the piece of furniture would end with her. Running her fingertips over the aged cherrywood, the elderly woman let out a deep exhale of breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world. She didn’t want the tradition to end with her, and, truth be told, it didn’t have to. For six months, ever since she revealed the truth to Emma about the baby she gave away, Queenie had been unable to escape the haunting thoughts of little baby Gail – the cherub who she had never wanted to abandon. And it was in that moment, with the long line of Baxter women before her whispering in her ears from the past, that Queenie made one of the most significant decisions of her long life.

– GLENDALE –

Greenview Cottage,
Glendale

Gracie’s infectious and uncontrollable giggles seemed to echo around the living room as Ed, playing the part of a ferocious monster, chased her around the room, threatening to snatch her up at any moment and subject her to the tortures of a thousand unbearable tickles.

In the armchair, Jasmine watched with a soft smile on her face. Seeing how her father came alive when Gracie was around warmed her heart, and she was thankful that, as weird as it was, her newly discovered half-sister, brother-in-law, and niece had come into her life. In the distance, the sound of church bells told her that Nick was married. Today should’ve been her wedding day, but Nick had squashed that dream; Natalie had made sure of that. Jasmine had long tried to ignore the whispers that swept through the village about Nick and Natalie – the stolen glances, the sightings of what they thought were clandestine meetings, the forbidden kiss in the car out on Laffan Road that they thought no one would see. She had ignored it all, but it was still a hammer blow when Nick announced, completely out of the blue one day, that their engagement was off, and he was in love with Natalie. The same Natalie who had spent months bedding James – the man Nick thought was his father. The same Natalie who had tried to destroy the life of Julia – the woman Nick thought was his mother. The same Natalie who hadn’t given Nick a second thought until he inherited the entire fortune of his late “grandmother,” Judith Bancroft, including the enormous Glendale Hall estate.

Jasmine remembered the smug, satisfied look on Natalie’s face as she flashed the grotesquely garish ruby and diamond engagement ring in her face, just two weeks after becoming “Instagram official” with Nick. It was so obvious to everyone what Natalie was doing, but Nick was smitten, and Jasmine secretly hoped he would soon get what was coming for him. But still, the toll of the church bells stung, and she let out a deep exhale of breath as she vanquished the self-pitying thoughts from her mind.

“Lunch is ready,” Marion called out from the kitchen.

As Jasmine rose from the armchair, her phone pinged with a text message. Removing the device from the pocket of her jeans, she looked at the screen and smiled as all thoughts of Nick and Natalie evaporated in the blink of an eye.

I can’t wait to kiss you again.
D xx

– GLENDALE –

All Saints Church,
Glendale

Judith Emaline Bancroft
8 November 1948 – 17 September 2024
Beloved wife, mother, and grandmother
Forever loved. Forever missed

The words etched into the granite headstone still made Julia’s mouth twitch. They simply weren’t true. Judith, her mother, wasn’t beloved. She wasn’t a beloved wife – Harold had often strayed; she wasn’t a beloved mother – Julia had cut all ties with her at the time of her death; and she wasn’t a beloved grandmother – she wasn’t even a grandmother! And, as cold as it sounded, Judith wasn’t loved, nor was she missed.

This was only the fourth time Julia had visited her mother’s grave since her death six months ago, and instinctively, she knew it would be the last. She felt nothing but anger and loathing for the woman who had made her entire life a living nightmare. Primped and preened to perfection, polished and rehearsed until the personality had been buffed out of her, Julia had, for her entire life, been her mother’s Frankenstein. A monster, devoid of feeling or emotion, denied love and affection and was hardened by cruelty and duty, created solely for the purpose of allowing Judith to “play God” and exert control over another human being. In the last six months, Julia had discovered herself – her true self, and it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Julia Harrington-Jones.

Following the commotion of Julia’s entry into the church, the wedding party had moved on to The Oak & Vine to celebrate Nick and Natalie’s nuptials. Emma had seen the gleeful looks Natalie had fired off in Julia’s direction and heard the cruel taunts Nick had lobbed at the woman who had raised him. It was nasty and uncalled for. Approaching Julia from behind, Emma slowly reached out and gently brushed a hand against Julia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Julia felt her shoulders sag. “How could he do this?” She looked over her shoulder as Emma moved to her side. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Emma swallowed heavily. “I… I couldn’t.” She heard how pathetic she sounded and silently cursed herself. “I just… when I saw Luke, I…”

Julia’s eyes narrowed, and she felt the space between them tighten. Emma appeared to turn grey at the mention of his name, and, for the first time, Julia sensed there was more to the story of Nick’s biological father than anyone knew.

Emma’s eyes moved to Judith’s headstone. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“You and me both.” Julia looked back at her mother’s final resting place. A silence settled over the two adversaries, and they both read the inscription once more. “Still,” Julia began with a coldness that sent a chill down Emma’s spine. She turned her head and looked towards the local doctor as the two women locked eyes. “What is it they say? No one mourns the wicked.”

Emma’s lips pursed at the callous remark, and it was then she noticed the distinct lack of flowers at Judith’s grave. The unwavering matriarch had been many things – and Emma wasn’t a fan of hers by any means – but at the very least, she deserved dignity and respect in death. Emma chose not to engage and filed that conversation topic away for another day.

“So, what are we going to do about Nick?” She asked, almost dreading what suggestion Julia would put forward.

“I don’t know.”

The frank response caught Emma off guard.

“Natalie we can deal with, but Luke on the other hand…” Julia’s voice trailed off, and she looked to Emma once again. “If we’re going to find a way to save Nicky, you’re going to have to tell me everything there is to know about Luke Kennedy.”

Emma’s brow creased, and she swallowed down another wave of nausea. “He’s not a good guy, Julia.”

“Most men aren’t.”

Emma shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. He… he…” She struggled to find the words to convey the sheer brutality and ruthlessness of the man who had destroyed her. “He’s a monster. He will destroy Nick. He will ruin his life. He relishes that. He thrives off it. He enjoys controlling other people’s lives and completely obliterating them.”

Julia looked back at Judith’s gravestone and took in a deep breath before slowly letting out a long exhale. She sensed a slight similarity between Judith and Luke, although the effect his brief appearance had had on Emma was alarming. Never one to go down without a fight, in that moment, Julia made a silent vow to protect her son, whatever the cost. She wasn’t going to let Luke make all the chess moves and destroy Nick’s life. She looked to Emma, and her lips and eyes tightened.

“He thinks he can control everyone’s lives?” She said with a fierce determination that filled Emma with a small amount of confidence. “Well, he’s mistaken. Not here. Not in Glendale. Not with our son.”

Emma felt her confidence grow, spurred on by Julia’s rousing speech.

“I won’t allow Luke to destroy our son, our Nicky.” Julia looked back at her mother’s gravestone, and a moment of clarity passed over her. “I won’t allow that man to exert any influence over his life. Life is precious; it is short, and life change, just. Like. That.”

Julia clicked her fingers, and suddenly everything went black.

– GLENDALE –

SOME TIME IN THE FUTURE…

On a dark night in March, Glendale was in a festive mood. Music thumped from The Oak & Vine, while on the village green, it was a very different story. It was unnervingly calm. The stillness of the silence was almost unbearable and made you want to scream – just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. It was real. It was really happening. In the distance, a shadowy figure stood silent and still – the only witness to what had just occurred.

In the pub, the locals partied and celebrated. They chatted and laughed, while glasses clinked and the old wooden floorboards – that were nearly as old as Glendale itself – creaked and groaned under the feet of those who danced. It was bliss. It was happiness. It was pure ignorance of the brutality that had just occurred and would soon shatter their world.

Unaware of the shadowy figure that had seen everything, someone stood in the middle of the village green. Slowly turning in a circle, taking in the familiar panoramic village scene of their home, they trembled, and their breath quivered as they tried to grab hold of their thoughts that flew about in their mind like notes in a cash grab machine. A nearby streetlamp illuminated the thick, claret-red blood that covered their shaking hands.

On the ground in front of them, lying face down on the gravel path, was a man’s body. Felled by a heavy blow to the back of the head, he was dead.

Approaching footfall alerted the killer to the fact that they weren’t alone.

Stepping into the light, Hilda’s eyes widened, and her face drained of all colour as she pieced together the scene that she had stumbled across. She looked to the man’s body lying face down and could instinctively tell that he was no longer alive. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognised the victim. She knew him intimately, although that wasn’t hard, as Hilda knew everyone in Glendale intimately whether they liked it or not. Her eyes moved along his body, taking in the details of his light blue shirt – the collar of which was now almost black it was so soaked with blood, of his dark denim jeans, and of the small scar on his wrist. She recognised that scar – the one that was normally hidden by his watch. It was then that she noticed the person standing in the shadows a few feet away, trembling with bloodied hands. Hilda’s body rattled, and her lips parted, letting a gasp of breath escape as she stared into the other person’s familiar eyes.

“What have you done?”