Starting Over at Acorn Cottage

by Kate Forster

  They sat in silence as Rachel’s tears subsided and finally Clara spoke.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you here alone today,’ said Clara. ‘You should come and see my cottage and meet the man who is going to fix it up for me. He has the funniest little girl who says the funniest things. I think she will be just the tonic for today.’

  Rachel looked up at Clara.

  ‘You think I should take the day off?’

  ‘I do. I think you should come and have a drive and see the place and we can mooch around together and then I’ll drive you to the hospital when the hospital rings.’

  Rachel was silent and she stood up.

  ‘I’ll get changed then,’ she said, smiling a little at Clara. ‘Thank you.’ She wished she could do more for her new friend.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Clara and her smile was so warm that Rachel burst into tears again.

  ‘You have to stop being kind to me; it makes me cry,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Nope, you deserve kindness and you are allowed to cry and that’s the end of that. Now have a nice warm shower and use all the water until it runs cold and then we’ll pop over to mine and play house, okay?’

  Rachel nodded at the helpful instructions and did exactly as Clara said.

  *

  They drove to the cottage in Clara’s red Mini Cooper with the top down. She had music playing that Rachel didn’t recognise but she liked the beat and she liked when Clara sang along, not knowing the words, so sort of making them up.

  Clara was exactly like Rachel imagined a fairy would be in human form and she even forgave her for taking the cottage for herself.

  Clara told her about her horrible cheating boyfriend and Rachel agreed to hate him also, because that was the right thing to do as a friend. Clara told her she wanted Rachel to teach her how to bake and for the first time in twenty-five years, Rachel felt free.

  It felt like everything that had happened up until they got into the car had been imagined and now Rachel was really living her life. Her best life, as Tassie McIver had said to her the other day.

  ‘Find your best life, Rachel Brown, because it isn’t with your mother,’ Tassie had said as she paid for her lemon cake and tea. Rachel hadn’t understood what she meant but now she did. She could feel the wind in her hair, which she had worn down, and hear Clara singing as they passed the sheep munching in the fields. Rachel wanted to scream at the blue skies that she was free for today.

  ‘I want to renovate the tearooms,’ she said out of the blue, surprising herself as they drove.

  ‘Do you? You should,’ said Clara. ‘What would you do? I love this idea by the way.’

  Rachel paused, thinking about her ideas that she dreamed about at night in her room.

  ‘I would make them cosy and cute, like the inside of a little old-fashioned parlour. Bookshelves with books and games for people to read and play. There’s a fireplace behind the wall, and I could have a fire and armchairs. And flowers and wooden tables and a pink wall and peacock feathers…’

  She gasped at her thoughts being spoken aloud. It felt like she was betraying her mother by saying the words to Clara.

  But Clara was nodding excitedly in agreement.

  ‘I can see it. It would be amazing, really. Just wonderful, you can do all of that and more.’

  But Rachel was silent as they drove down the bumpy lane towards the cottage.

  She wondered if that would ever happen. Probably not while her mother was in her life and in the tearooms and bakery. She had never imagined her mother not controlling everything about her existence, until now. Clara made her feel that maybe it was all somehow possible, as though she could make magic happen and could help other people find the magic inside them.

  What could she be without her mother? As the cottage came into view, Rachel had an idea.

  13

  Henry and Pansy were in the garden when Clara returned with Rachel to the cottage.

  Within moments of meeting, Rachel and Pansy were firm friends, with Rachel joining Pansy under the oak tree to discuss potential market spots for the fairies who lived in the trees, and what sort of special biscuits they would make for the fairies.

  Clara watched them as Henry joined her side.

  ‘She okay?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘Unsure. The mother is abusive but she’s an adult so what can I do?’

  ‘Is she an adult though?’ asked Henry. ‘She seemed very young emotionally.’

  ‘She’s so sheltered she has no self-awareness and her self-esteem is next to nothing,’ sighed Clara.

  She turned to the cottage. ‘Now, about this, I need to get your quote. I’ll go and read it now.’

  ‘Then I’ll make us tea and we can sit in the van and discuss.’

  Clara smiled at him and went inside to get the quote he had provided her. The house was still a mess and depressing. She found the papers and went back to the van where Henry had left the door open for her.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  Don’t get a crush on the thatcher, she reminded herself as she sat at the little booth and opened the folder of papers.

  ‘I love these sketches and colours,’ she said, running her fingers over the drawings.

  He shrugged. ‘Just letting the imagination run wild – it’s your place, you don’t have to do any of that at all.’

  ‘But I want to, it’s perfect.’ She looked up at him and smiled, then found the list of things he thought she needed to do, her eye running over the tasks.

  Painting.

  New roof.

  Update the bathroom.

  Insulation.

  Fix flooring in living area.

  Clean fireplaces.

  Chicken house.

  Tidy garden.

  The list seemed endless until she found the numbers at the bottom.

  It was more than she expected but not as much as she had feared. She could pay for it all but she would need to work within the year. But that was for future Clara to think about.

  Henry put the tea on the table in mugs with daisies painted on them.

  ‘Cute mugs,’ she said.

  ‘Naomi painted them.’

  ‘She was very clever.’

  ‘She was far too clever to be with me but she was and here I am, without her.’ He smiled at her and Clara knew then she was done for. The crush she had been avoiding came crushing on her wave, dunking her into the sand so she came up spitting it from her mouth and trying to wipe it from her eyes.

  ‘The quote is fine,’ she said, knowing she was turning red.

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘All of it,’ she said. ‘I want to live here, so make it liveable. I want you to do to it exactly what you would do if it was yours.’

  Henry laughed. ‘That was the easiest deal I’ve ever made. You’re not even trying to whittle down the price.’

  ‘Why would I? You say it will cost this much, you live in a van with a child, you have mugs with daisies painted on them by your late wife, and you painted my sign.’

  She gestured to the sign drying on the windowsill.

  ‘I did paint it,’ he said. ‘You’re very trusting.’

  ‘Not really, I’m just a realist. And I have a gut instinct around money – I guess it’s my bank manager background. I know who is a good bet and who isn’t.’

  Henry banged his hand on the table, making Clara jump.

  ‘I’m excited. And that is rare. I never get the chance to do a whole place from top to bottom and the garden. I have to order the thatch. We have to get paint samples. We need to discuss the garden.’

  Clara laughed and finished the tea.

  ‘I am glad I can make you excited,’ she said, before realising the double meaning and put her hand over her mouth.

  ‘Sorry, that was inappropriate and a mistake.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He laughed and shrugged. ‘I don’t get excited much anymore.’

  There was an awkward pause and then Clara knew she was
bright red.

  ‘I’m going to go and check on Rachel.’

  ‘I should check on Pansy,’ he said and they both moved towards the door at the same time.

  ‘Sorry, you first.’ Henry opened the door and Clara noticed a flush on his neck.

  Oh God, he wanted to run away from her. She had been far too forward by mistake and he thought she was making a move.

  This was terrible and not at all what she wanted for either of them.

  ‘For the record,’ she said, her words tumbling over each other as she spoke, ‘I don’t like you that way, I mean I don’t know you, you know? Sometimes I say things without thinking, so pay no attention to me.

  Henry nodded. ‘Sure, absolutely, never thought that for a moment.’

  Clara went down the steps of the van and walked briskly to the garden but Rachel and Pansy weren’t under the tree anymore.

  ‘Rachel? Pansy?’ she called, walking around to the back door.

  They were sitting at the old kitchen table, with Pansy’s tea set laid out on a beautiful embroidered tablecloth.

  ‘This looks lovely,’ said Clara.

  ‘Rachel found the tablecloth in the cupboard,’ said Pansy. ‘We are having make-believe marble cake and lemon madeleines.’

  ‘In the cupboard?’ asked Clara to Rachel who looked embarrassed.

  ‘I shouldn’t have opened the cupboards. I’m very sorry.’ Her head hung down, her lank oily hair falling forward over her face.

  ‘You don’t have to apologise at all. I wasn’t aware there were many things in there. I thought the owners had cleaned it out. I actually haven’t had time to look or maybe I’ve been avoiding it in case animals jump out at me. Henry thinks there was a fox living in here.’

  Rachel looked up. ‘There are things in the drawers and in the attic. Lots of things.’

  ‘You looked through all the drawers and the attic in the twenty minutes I was in the van?’ Clara was confused.

  ‘Rachel knows the house because she used to come here when she was little,’ said Pansy, as she balanced a small pink plastic plate on her head.

  ‘I thought you didn’t know the place?’ Now Clara felt very confused.

  ‘I thought you meant a different house,’ Rachel said feebly.

  Clara sat at the table with them.

  ‘Why did you tell me you didn’t know it when you did? When you have been inside the house? I’m not angry, I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything to me.’

  Rachel looked up. ‘Because I didn’t know if you would tell Mother. She never knew I used to come here. I would come inside and pretend I lived here, but if Mother knew, she would punish me. She used to beat me with a wooden spoon on the back of my legs.’

  Clara was silent as she tried to understand. She saw Henry stood in the doorway, his face showing he’d heard what Rachel had shared.

  Tipping the plate off her head, Pansy caught it and looked at Clara and then at Rachel.

  ‘Your mum sounds like a mean old cow. You should tell her to find a new house to live in.’

  Clara tried to stifle her shocked gasp and Henry called out her name but Rachel looked at Pansy and nodded, smiling a little.

  ‘You know what? She is a mean old cow and I hope she finds a new house to live in too.’

  Clara and Henry exchanged a glance and smothered smiles. Sometimes children had the perfect understanding of life and it was the adults who made life complicated. Very complicated.

  14

  Clara opened the gate at the front of Tassie’s house and carefully closed it behind her. Everything about Tassie’s garden was perfect, from the carefully edged lawns to the lavender hedge left long on top, with bees lazily cruising between the flowers.

  She lifted the brass knocker shaped like a fox and rapped on the door, remembering the fox she had seen the night of Moira Brown’s accident.

  Just as she finished the last knock, the door opened.

  ‘Oh gosh, were you already at the door?’ asked Clara.

  ‘No, I knew you were coming. I was expecting you,’ said Tassie. ‘I got the Ladybird in my tea leaves again and I knew the nurse wasn’t coming today.’

  ‘Goodness, how spooky, are you sure you’re not a witch?’ she half joked.

  Tassie rolled her eyes at Clara. ‘I saw your red car, but I did think something was in the air today, as I had a very itchy left eyebrow.’

  Clara peered at Tassie’s eyebrows, which were drawn on with an eye pencil.

  ‘What if the right one was itchy?’ she asked.

  ‘Left is a lady visitor, right is a gentleman visitor. I don’t think the right one is even functioning anymore.’

  Tassie wiggled it and Clara burst into laughter.

  ‘I like the fox door knocker. I saw a fox the other night. It ran in front of my car when I was driving to help Rachel,’ she said, making conversation. ‘And Henry thought a fox was living in the house when I moved into the cottage.’

  Tassie looked at her closely. ‘You will uncover a great secret then,’ she said.

  Clara shook her head. ‘Pardon? What do you mean?’

  ‘Foxes crossing your path are leading you to reveal a great secret.’

  Clara shrugged. ‘I have no idea what that would be, I don’t have any secrets.’

  Tassie seemed to look at her longer than usual but it was hard to know because she was very old and perhaps she was merely trying to focus, thought Clara. Then Tassie spoke and the mood became lighter.

  ‘Come in, pet – drink tea with me and have some lovely gingerbread that Rachel brought me yesterday. I don’t get much company besides the nurse, who I could take or leave, although the cleaner sent by the council, Nahla, is always welcome. She’s a lovely girl – you should meet her.’

  Clara followed Tassie into the little kitchen. It was exactly what a kitchen should look like. Little checked curtains framed the window, lemons sat patiently on the windowsill, a cheery tea towel on top of the counter, an old double ceramic sink all set off by pale pink cabinets. Against one wall was a large Welsh dresser, displaying a large collection of mismatched china from Cornish ware to chintz teacups and pretty eggcups and jugs of all sizes and colours.

  ‘A pink kitchen? Oh wow, this is perfect,’ said Clara as she looked around. ‘That dresser is incredible.’

  ‘That was my great-grandmother’s,’ said Tassie as though it wasn’t anything important.

  Clara tried to imagine having anything that old her in her life, passed from generation to generation, but failed to find the image or the feeling of having that much history. Clara had never delved into her family history, on either side. Some things need to be left alone; nothing good had come of her family so far, there was too much to forget, not celebrate.

  ‘Do you want me to make the tea?’ asked Clara as she saw Tassie put the old kettle onto the stove and then light a match underneath.

  ‘No love, this will be the most exercise I’ll do today, so I’ll be sure to sleep tonight.’

  Clara wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, so she sat at the table while Tassie moved about slowly.

  Tassie carefully placed the gingerbread on a plate with a faded pattern of pink roses and gold edging, and carried over the pot of tea when the kettle had boiled.

  ‘Let her sit,’ Tassie said, nodding at the teapot. ‘She needs to stew.’

  Tassie put down a small jug of milk and sat opposite Clara. A heavy sigh escaped as she sunk into the chair.

  ‘Now you’ve come to talk about Rachel and her mother. I saw the lights of the ambulance, wasn’t sure if Rachel had finally lost her head and did Moira in, not that anyone would blame her.’

  Clara sighed. ‘Mrs Brown fell down the stairs, terrible hip and leg injuries. I mean I feel awful for her but I’m glad Rachel gets a break from her. But I don’t know that Rachel can keeping living with her mum. I just don’t understand why she would be so awful to her daughter when they don’t have anyone else.’

  Tassie t
urned the teapot and then poured them both a cup.

  ‘Some women are mothers and some aren’t. It doesn’t matter if you grow a child within you, you can still fail it as it grows once it’s out in the world. And you can be an exceptional parent and not have ever even conceived a baby.’

  ‘Did you have children, Tassie?’ asked Clara.

  Tassie shook her head. ‘Never did. We tried but no babies. In the end we just had dogs and chickens to care for. But I was the local schoolteacher when there were children in the village. I had more than enough little ones to care for and teach to read and how to say please and thank you.’

  Clara smiled. ‘That might be me, minus the schoolteacher part. I don’t think I will have children.’

  ‘You don’t get to choose if you have a baby or not really. The baby chooses you. Some women aren’t ready to have them and that’s fine and some yearn for them so much they scare them away. I yearned. Still do sometimes, even though my insides are now pickled and George has been dead for thirty years.’

  A shadow crossed Tassie’s face and Clara felt guilty for disturbing old memories in an old woman.

  ‘I want to help Rachel, but I don’t know what else I can do,’ said, Clara changing the subject.

  ‘Rachel needs someone to believe in her. Any praise you give her sits so uncomfortably on her shoulders that she’d as soon shrug it to the floor and ask for a beating than hear in detail why she might be brilliant. Abuse does that to you. You begin to believe it until you become it.’

  Clara looked down at the table and touched the gold-edged plate as a vision of her own mum came into her mind and she closed her eyes for a long moment.

  Tassie continued. ‘She needs time away from the abuse and the abuser, and then she needs to learn to trust. I had a rescue dog like her once. Took two years for her to allow George to pat her but then she would sit on his knee of a night and look at me as though I was the mistress and she was the wife.’

  Clara laughed. ‘I don’t know that Rachel will ever get to that stage but I would just like her to have a little more confidence in herself and in her skills in the bakery.’