Coming Home to Cuckoo Cottage Page 4

  ‘Oh how nice,’ I groaned, ‘and original too.’

  ‘But don’t you worry,’ Chris insisted. ‘It’ll all stop once there’s something new for them to gossip about.’

  How long would that be? I wondered.

  ‘Why didn’t David tell me any of this?’ I said sharply. ‘He could have warned me what to expect, then I would have been better prepared.’

  ‘I dare say he just wanted to protect you,’ said Chris softly, ‘and he no doubt thought it would have all blown over by now.’

  I looked out of the window at the unusually flat landscape to try and settle my nerves. The weather was every bit as perfect as I’d remembered, and I hoped the halo of memories I’d wreathed my new home in didn’t make it impossible for the little place to live up to. It was obvious I was going to have a tough enough time settling in without adding disappointment to the mix.

  ‘So,’ said Chris, turning slightly pink as he made an awkward attempt to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘Is it just you, then?’

  ‘Is it just me what?’

  ‘Moving into the cottage. Are you on your own or have you got some fella hidden away somewhere?’

  I laughed out loud at the thought.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s just me.’

  ‘I thought so,’ he said smugly. ‘I told Marie after Gwen’s funeral that you were on your own.’

  ‘And how had you worked that out?’

  ‘Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?’ he went on, as if I should know. ‘If you had a young man in your life, he would have come with you to the funeral. Any fella worth his salt would want to make sure his young lady was supported during an occasion like that, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Is that so?’ I smiled.

  Chris was obviously as big a romantic as he was softhearted. Marie was a very lucky woman to have someone so considerate to journey through her life with.

  ‘Of course,’ he shrugged. ‘Well, that’s what I thought. Mind you,’ he added, ‘Marie had other ideas.’

  ‘Did she now,’ I asked, amazed that the minutiae of every part of my life had been picked apart in such exacting detail. ‘What did Marie think?’

  ‘She said that just because you were on your own at the funeral didn’t mean you were single at all. It could just as well mean that you’re one of these strong, independent types who can cope with whatever life throws at you . . . or something like that.’ He frowned, scratching his head.

  I couldn’t help but laugh again. I wasn’t at all sure I was the tower of strength Marie had me down as. Perhaps Beyoncé had been belting out ‘Single Ladies’ in the background when she and Chris had their discussion.

  ‘Well,’ I said with a dramatic sigh, ‘you can tell Marie that I am currently single and most definitely in need of a big strong man to look out for me.’

  I knew it wasn’t fair to tease him, but I simply couldn’t resist.

  ‘Is that right?’ he said, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, properly getting into my stride as he readily snatched up the bait. ‘Preferably someone who can undo pesky pickle jars and reach the highest shelves in the supermarket.’

  ‘Right,’ said Chris again, now sucking thoughtfully on his lower lip and frowning in concentration.

  Surely he was going to twig that I was joking in a minute. I took another look out of the window, gulped in the warm air and ran my hot palms down my jeans as I realised we were practically there.

  ‘So,’ he said, sitting up straighter and puffing out his chest to indicate that he was now a man on a mission. ‘We need to find you a fella then, don’t we?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I laughed, ‘absolutely not.’

  ‘Someone local, looking for love,’ he carried on regardless, looking back to the bumpy road with misty eyes.

  ‘No honestly, Chris,’ I said, shaking my head and beginning to feel guilty for winding him up. ‘I was only kidding.’

  ‘Someone with a bit of height,’ he mused, ‘and preferably someone who can change a plug . . . ’

  ‘Chris,’ I said again, thinking his unwavering reaction was a harsh comeuppance for a bit of light-hearted mischief-making. ‘I really was joking. I’m perfectly happy on my own, thanks, and more to the point, what makes you think I can’t change my own plugs?’

  I couldn’t, of course. I could cook a mean curry, I could dig for England, I could rip out and replace the interior of any caravan or camper you threw at me, but the intricacies of how to handle electricity had passed me by.

  ‘I know from experience,’ he continued seriously and ignoring my question, ‘that there’s many a true word spoken in jest.’

  I felt my heart skip a beat as I realised he had Cuckoo Cottage pigeonholed as a ‘spinsters only’ abode, and that he was personally going to see to it that I would be married off before the end of the year.

  ‘And besides,’ he admitted, giving me a sideways glance, ‘I’ve already been giving the situation a bit of thought and I reckon I know just the chap for you.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, but the words were snatched away as I glanced briefly back to the road.

  ‘Here, look out!’ I shouted as a truck came hurtling towards us along the narrow track.

  Chris was completely oblivious that the two vehicles had somehow squeezed passed one another with less than an inch to spare, but I had my eyes screwed tightly shut and my body braced for the moment of impact.

  ‘Here we are then,’ he said, sharply drawing to a halt and sounding completely unconcerned by the near-death experience. ‘Home sweet home.’

  I took a deep breath, waited for my thumping heart to calm a little and then tentatively opened my eyes. My heart leapt again, but all thoughts of the near miss were dismissed as I slowly took in every last detail of what was laid out before me. I really needn’t have been worried about Cuckoo Cottage not living up to my rose-tinted memories because it looked simply perfect in every possible way.

  I could see that the fruit bushes and garden which surrounded the cottage were a little overgrown and some of the pale blue paint on the windows and door frame was beginning to peel in places but, in essence, my new home was every bit as idyllic as I remembered.

  Built at an angle on a generous plot, the front of the house faced the vegetable patch and currently empty greenhouse, while the back overlooked a pretty traditional cottage garden and the never-ending horizon over the fields beyond. The drive swept between the house and the vegetable plot and ran across a little yard to the group of barns which were nestled around the back.

  To my mind they resembled a ramshackle, nondescript little group, but I could see the potential in them for what I had in mind, and the decision to start thinking seriously about setting up my own business felt a tantalising step closer.

  ‘Well,’ said Chris, when I hadn’t said anything for what had probably been far longer than I realised. ‘What do you think? Is everything all right?’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I croaked, still barely able to take it all in. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness,’ he said, letting out a long breath. ‘You had me worried for a second or two there. Thought I’d brought you to the wrong place,’ he joked. ‘Hop out and open the gate then and we’ll get your things unloaded.’

  I couldn’t remember ever seeing the gate closed before and it took some manoeuvring to get it open, but eventually I dragged it back and Chris drove through.

  ‘A drop more oil should free that up a treat,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working on it but it’s not quite there yet, but then you might not want to keep it shut,’ he shrugged.

  ‘I haven’t thought about it,’ I said, biting my lip as I realised there were lots of things I hadn’t even begun to allow myself to consider.

  So desperate not to get carried away with imagining what my life at Cuckoo Cottage could be in case it never happened, there were now no doubt hundreds of decisions to make, but there was
no rush.

  ‘You might find it’s a pain to keep opening and closing it when you want to get in and out,’ Chris went on. ‘You do drive, don’t you, Lottie?’ he frowned. ‘You’ll have a hell of a time stuck out here in the middle of nowhere if you don’t.’

  ‘Well, I do have a licence,’ I swallowed, ‘but I’d rather manage without a car if I can. I’m quite happy to go everywhere by bike.’

  I wasn’t about to explain why I was terrified of driving, to Chris of all people, and that the only reason I had a licence was because on my seventeenth birthday Gran and Grandad had presented me with a package of lessons and forced me to use them. I’d hated the experience, right from the very first time I got behind the wheel, but I stuck it out and had passed my test on the second attempt. I’d barely driven since and now had my hopes firmly pinned on a bicycle as a practical and healthy option.

  ‘I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a little runabout,’ offered Chris, completely unaware of the impact his kind words were having on my already erratic heart rate. ‘You really won’t be able to get by without one and there’s bound to be someone around here who can help you out.’

  I pushed the unsavoury thought away as I helped unload my bags and together we walked up the brick path to the front door. It was lined with abundantly flowering old fashioned Mrs Sinkins pinks, and the sweet scent that rushed up to meet us as we brushed by was a beautiful assault on the senses. Gwen always used to cut them by the handful, I remembered, along with the sweet peas she grew in regimented rows alongside her peas and beans.

  ‘No sweet peas this year,’ said Chris, the smell tugging his thoughts along the same track as mine, ‘but plenty of these pinks to fill up the house with.’

  I nodded and pulled the small bunch of keys David had given me out of my jeans pocket. My hands were trembling and my knees had turned to jelly.

  ‘You should use these really,’ said Chris. ‘Seems only right, doesn’t it?’

  I shook my head in disbelief as he handed me the very bunch Gwen had always used, complete with the hula girl key ring. Laughing, I held it up and we watched the plastic beauty spin around, her hips gyrating suggestively and her breasts only just covered by a garland of red orchids.

  ‘Honestly,’ I giggled. ‘Where did she get this thing?’

  ‘No idea,’ Chris smiled, ‘but she did tell me once that it reminded her of the time she spent travelling with your gran.’

  ‘Oh good grief!’ I tutted, trying not to imagine the pair of them sporting grass skirts and sipping umbrella-embellished cocktails. ‘I dread to think. Are you not coming in?’

  ‘No,’ he said, taking a step back down the path. ‘I don’t think I will. I reckon this should be a private moment, don’t you, unless you want me to come in, of course?’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘I would like to go in alone, but thank you for the lift and thank you and Marie for keeping an eye on the place.’

  ‘No problem at all, it’s the least we could do,’ he said dismissively. ‘You can remember how to open the door, can’t you? Shoulder on the top, foot on the bottom.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see you soon,’ he smiled kindly, ‘and don’t worry; I’m pretty busy on the market at this time of year but we’ll soon have you set up. I’ll start looking around for four wheels straightaway and a fella, of course.’

  I knew he wasn’t joking about either.

  I watched him drive away and then stood for a few seconds as the sound of the engine receded and the merry chatter of birdsong grew louder. There was nothing else. No traffic noise, no shouting, just the sound of birds going about their business and I wondered for the first time how I was going to adapt to the peace and tranquillity at bedtime.

  No point worrying about that if I was still on the doorstep though, was there? With a deep breath I turned the key in the lock and shoved the door as instructed. It swung in and for the first time I crossed the threshold and stepped inside what was now my very own home.

  I knew how everything inside was going to look, but the feel of the place was a total surprise. I’d been expecting it to be musty and in need of a good airing but judging by the smell of freshly baked bread, pinks from the garden and line-dried laundry, Marie and Chris had been doing an awful lot more than just picking post up off the doormat.

  I lifted my bags into the hall and quietly closed the door. The coat rack and telephone stand were the first things I noticed. Gwen’s scruffy gardening mackintosh was hanging on its allotted hook and on the notepad next to the phone sat her last rapidly written shopping list. It was all I could do to stop myself from calling out to see if she was going to answer. So much of her was still lingering, even in just the hallway, that it was impossible not to believe that she was pottering about somewhere.

  I took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle and turned it on. Then I flicked on the radio and flung open the windows. The hot summer air rushed in and I felt my shoulders begin to relax. Had I not taken the plunge and made a start, I really think I could have been stuck in the hall forever, not knowing what to do first.

  Inwardly cursing for not asking Chris if we could stop and stock up on a few essentials, I opened the fridge and discovered milk, butter and enough supplies to feed an army for a month, and it was the same in the cupboards. I made a mental note to find a way of properly repaying the Dempsters’ overwhelming kindness, then ventured up the narrow stairs.

  Both bedrooms had fresh linen and the bathroom was sparkling. I couldn’t help wondering what Gwen would have made of seeing the place so spick and span. Her housekeeping was slapdash at the best of times, but she had been a busy lady with far more pressing priorities than ironed sheets.

  Lightly I ran my hands over the collection of old-fashioned glass perfume bottles on the dressing table and it dawned on me that I was going to have to decide which room I was going to sleep in. When I had visited with Gran and Grandad I had slept in the sitting room downstairs and then, when Gran and I came alone, I had shared the smaller room with her.

  However, Gwen’s own bedroom had always been my favourite, with its tiny fireplace and shelved alcove and its enviable view of the fields. I looked at the metal bedframe and soft floral-sprigged eiderdown and knew that if I didn’t start as I meant to go on I’d never make the change from visitor to proprietor. From that moment on, and hopefully with Gwen’s blessing, this was going to be my room.

  Back in the kitchen as I made tea my stomach growled and I remembered the beautiful quiche and salad waiting in the fridge. Eating in the garden seemed like a good idea and it wasn’t until I was happily ensconced in Gwen’s deckchair under the cherry tree that I remembered that this was the exact spot that Chris had found her that fateful Sunday afternoon.

  Rather than making a predictable dash back to the sanctuary of the cottage I was surprised to discover that I had absolutely no desire to move at all. In a funny kind of way I felt as though Gwen was right there with me, waiting to pass on the mantle and see me safely settled. It was a comforting thought, and I hoped that in the months and years to come I would do her legacy justice, and begin living the life both she and Gran had always hoped I’d have.

  ‘I promise I’ll do my best,’ I said out loud. ‘Thank you, Gwen.’

  A slight breeze lifted the branches of the cherry tree and everything felt calm and peaceful. I was here. I was finally home.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking my trio of bags, (which took less than an hour), dozing in Gwen’s chair in the shade and exploring the garden. The pretty plot was in definite need of attention but it wasn’t too much of a jungle. Chris had been keeping on top of the grass so it was just the borders that needed bringing back to their former glory, a task I was very much looking forward to undertaking. It had been too long since I had used the skills passed on by my green-fingered grandad and I knew from previous experience that the process would be as much a soothing balm to my spirit a
s a shot in the arm for the plants.

  Along with Gwen’s ancient lawnmower, I had spotted the old bike I could remember riding stored in the greenhouse, and resolved that the next day I would give myself plenty of time to cycle back to town for my meeting at the bank with David. I was quite certain that I could manage without a car, despite what Chris had said. I was pretty fit and it really wasn’t all that far. Everything would be fine, as long as it didn’t rain, of course.

  Too tired to check over the empty barns, I closed the gate with some less than gentle persuasion and went back inside the cottage. I was too worn out to even be bothered with a bath and was just about to throw myself on to the bed when my foot caught something that was poking out from under the frame.

  It was an old Clark’s shoebox, (Gwen might have been a little on the eccentric side, but she knew the benefit of comfortable footwear) and it was crammed full of old photographs. I tipped it out on the eiderdown, the familiar tears springing back up as I began to sort through the dozens of images. There were lots of me when I was very small, mostly playing outside in the garden or stuffing myself full of raspberries, my face looking more like an extra from a zombie apocalypse film than an angelic child of six, but it was the more recent ones that really caught my attention. I flicked on the bedside lamp and studied them more closely.

  I was in my mid to late teens on a few of them, enjoying the annual church visit to the seaside in the company of Chris’s boys, Shaun and Steve. Chris hadn’t said anything but I wondered if he and Marie had known what had happened between me and their eldest boy during that last fateful summer we were together. Sadly I set the image aside and picked up another of me looking far from happy, but my expression had nothing to do with the tempestuous hormones running amok through my veins.

  Bent double, I was attempting to attach a lead to the collar of Gwen’s scrappy terrier, but Gwen, standing next to me, was smiling broadly. I turned it over and my suspicions were confirmed: it was Tiny, Minnie’s predecessor. What on earth had happened to that little tyrant Minnie? I wondered.

  I was ashamed to admit I hadn’t given her fate a second thought. I stacked the photographs back in the box and made a mental note to ask David about her whereabouts and then turned off the light. I was just beginning to think it was so quiet I would never be able to sleep when I suddenly dropped off and didn’t hear another thing until the telephone woke me the next morning.