by K. L. Slater
Dr Marsden glances at his wife and shakes his head, obviously perplexed. ‘I can’t recall that I said . . . ahh, wait a moment. I did say that any little girl would be happy to have such a pretty tree outside her window. Perhaps Skye got mixed up.’
I smile. ‘That’ll be it. Skye can make a story out of very little.’
‘The imagination of children,’ Audrey declares, ‘is a wonderful thing.’
‘And to be admired,’ Dr Marsden adds. ‘I often think there’s far too much emphasis put on grades and examinations these days, and that children aren’t allowed to use their imagination at all.’
‘Speaking of school, will Skye be attending St Benjamin Monks?’ Audrey remarks. ‘It’s our closest state primary school.’
‘Yes, in fact I’ve already spoken to the school office.’ I feel inexplicably pleased with myself that I’m able to demonstrate I’ve at least got around to doing that. ‘I have to arrange for us to visit. It’s . . . on my list.’
‘A very long list, no doubt.’ Audrey chuckles. ‘Just so you know, I’m a governor there. So if you need any help at all with the admission process, just let me know.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, genuinely touched by her kind offer. We’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Audrey calls out.
I sit up a bit straighter and force my hands out from under my thighs. I fix a pleasant expression on my face and watch as a thin, wiry man in his late thirties with slightly wild brown hair enters the room. His eyes dart around from side to side, as if he suspects someone might try and jump out at him at any moment.
His eyes flicker in my direction, but don’t quite settle on me before he looks away again.
‘Matthew! Good to see you.’ Dr Marsden strides forward to shake the man’s hand. ‘Come and say hello to our new tenant, Freya Miller.’
I stand up, quickly wiping my clammy palms on my jeans. I feel weirdly vulnerable standing there in bare feet after shedding my shoes at the door. I hope none of them notice the chipped pink varnish on my toes.
The man advances towards me, still seemingly avoiding looking at me directly. He has allowed his hair to grow long enough for his dull curls to bounce around as he walks. When he gets closer, I see he has a full bottom lip which makes the top one seem thinner than it is.
‘Freya, this is Professor Matthew Woodings. He and his wife, Susan, live at number three.’
‘Hello.’ I grasp his floppy hand and smile, but he still won’t hold my glance. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’
‘Hello, Freya,’ he says mechanically. ‘Welcome to Adder House.’
‘Freya has just moved in today. With her daughter, Skye.’
‘You have a child?’ He looks at me then, an expression of confusion on his face. ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’
Why would he be? And then I realise that Dr Marsden has no doubt informed the other residents to expect a new tenant and I would have thought he’s told them a little bit about us.
‘I believe Skye is five years old, is that right, Freya?’
‘Yes, she turns six in August.’ I feel a little uncomfortable as Professor Woodings now can’t seem to look away from my face.
‘Matthew?’ Dr Marsden says gently.
‘Sorry!’ Professor Woodings shakes his head as if to dispel some kind of stupor. ‘Sorry if I’m staring. It’s lack of sleep. I was on the late shift last night.’
‘Matthew is a scientist,’ Dr Marsden explains. ‘Works for the government on various classified and mysterious projects conducted in restricted areas, not open to the public.’
Professor Woodings gives a nervous laugh. ‘You make it sound very intriguing, Michael, but I’m afraid it isn’t that exciting at all. Not really.’ He looks at me again. ‘I am a scientist and I do work for the government, but it’s not remotely as “Dr Evil” as Michael makes it sound, if you know what I mean. And my wife is a librarian, so no mystery there.’
Dr Marsden stage whispers from behind his hand. ‘Don’t let him fool you. She’s head librarian at a private, members-only library . . . all a bit cloak and dagger if you ask me.’
‘Really, Michael.’ Audrey rolls her eyes and I catch a glimpse of her bright-blue eyeshadow.
Professor Woodings grins and I smile back, warming to him a little. I wonder why he was so stand-offish at the start. Perhaps it was just initial shyness.
‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Freya, but I really have to get some rest now. Susan and I will both be around this weekend, so do give us a shout if there’s anything you need. I know my wife would really love to meet your daughter.’
Dr Marsden nods approvingly.
‘That’s very kind, Matthew. Thank you,’ I say, touched by his friendlier manner.
When he’s left, I turn to Dr Marsden. ‘He seemed a bit surprised to hear there’s going to be a child living here,’ I say. ‘I hope the other residents aren’t going to mind having Skye around.’
‘On the contrary, my dear,’ Dr Marsden says emphatically. ‘I think everyone will appreciate having a young person around the place. You have to understand that—’
‘It’s a little delicate, but I know you’ll be discreet,’ Audrey interrupts her husband. ‘Matthew’s wife, Susan, had a miscarriage just a few months ago. It was her third loss in the past eighteen months.’
‘Oh no.’ My hand flies up to my mouth.
‘Yes, it was all very upsetting. Everyone tried their best to find ways to help them in any way they could, but it’s such a private matter. They really had to just work through it themselves.’
‘Of course,’ I say in a small voice.
Dr Marsden coughs. ‘Well, it’s better you know about it. With you lucky enough to be a mother, and all.’
‘Thank you for confiding in me.’ I’m already feeling guilty for being lucky enough to have a beautiful daughter. But I’m humbled that the professor thinks having Skye around could please Susan, his wife. I do hope he’s right, it sounds like she’s suffered so much and seeing a child here could prove painful.
‘Just take the time you need to ease in slowly to life at Adder House,’ Audrey says kindly. ‘You’re part of our family now, so relax.’
She looks over at her husband and something . . . some kind of silent understanding, seems to pass between them both.
I make my excuses and head back upstairs.
8
By the time Brenna and Viv leave, we have all the basic things in place in the apartment, including a gorgeous Nelson and Forbes bronze hare they gave us as a housewarming gift that now sits in pride of place in the lounge window.
Our beds are up – thanks to the removals men assembling them as part of their job – and we’ve now made them up with clean linen. The seating, television, and coffee table are in the living area, and the kettle, crockery, and the most important utensils are in the small, integral kitchen.
I could spend the next twelve hours unpacking the boxes, measuring up for curtains, and making a list of things I need that for whatever reason I was unable to bring from the old house. I could stick Skye in front of Netflix or give her my iPad to play games on so I can get on, but I don’t do any of this stuff.
Instead, I say to my daughter, ‘Trainers on . . . we’re going to explore the garden.’
Skye’s face lights up. ‘What . . . this garden, with the swing?’
‘The very same one. The unpacking can wait for now.’
Skye immediately dumps the iPad down on the seat cushion beside her and bounces across the room.
‘I’ll get my shoes on now, Mummy!’
I have to smile to myself. There aren’t many situations where I ask Skye to get ready to go out and she reacts with such enthusiasm. Particularly during this past week, which has been difficult at the best of times as she’s alternated between staying put in Acton and wanting to move.
Five minutes later, we’re heading downstairs. ‘Careful, the stairs are quite steep.’
‘
Who lives behind these doors?’ Skye hesitates on the second floor and stares at the large polished wooden doors.
‘Different people, different families but some people are away at the moment. Dr Marsden introduced me to one of the residents called Matthew this morning, and he seemed very nice.’
‘I want to meet new people, too,’ Skye says.
‘And you will. But we’ve only just got here and there are lots of jobs to do and people to meet . . . including the teachers and children at the lovely school near here.’
Skye starts to hum but that’s OK. I’m just sneaking the idea of a new school in when I get the chance for now. There’s no rush and it’s important it’s done properly, so Skye doesn’t feel threatened by it.
We don’t see anyone on the way out of the house, but I find myself almost tapping at Dr Marsden’s door to tell him we’re just popping out to look at the garden.
Obviously I’ve no intention of doing so, but I just have this weird sense that he expects to know where we are at any given time. Completely imaginary on my part, I know, but there’s a bit of a strange feel about the people here that I can’t quite put my finger on yet.
‘I love it here already, Mummy,’ she says as we walk down the front steps and around the side of the house. ‘But when I think about our old home, it still makes me feel sad, here.’ She prods her own tummy.
‘I know, poppet. I feel sad, too. It’s always difficult, leaving a home we’ve loved . . .’ I hesitate, not wanting to mention Lewis. ‘But we had no choice, so here we are, and we must count our blessings that our new home is lovely, too.’
Seconds later we’re in the leafy, walled oasis of the Adder House residents’ garden.
It’s still warm out and the lawn and flower beds are bathed in sunlight while the verdant canopies of mature oak trees provide a seductive shade.
Skye races down to the bottom end of the garden where a rope swing hangs from a mighty oak bough.
‘Hang on, Skye, wait for me!’ I pick up my pace. ‘I need to make sure it’s strong enough first.’
For all I know, it could have been hanging there unused for years, the rope rotten and perilous.
‘It’s quite safe.’ A strange voice floats into my ears. ‘The swing, I mean.’
I freeze and look around me but there’s nobody here but us.
Then, a slight movement catches my eye at the edge of a large rhododendron bush. I step a bit closer and peer around it.
A slightly built woman is sitting there on a small wooden bench. She looks a little older than me, maybe in her late thirties. She has a neat dark-blonde bob and wears no jewellery at all apart from a thin gold wedding band. She’s dressed in a long white cotton dress and has bare feet with unpolished toenails.
‘Hello, I didn’t see you behind there,’ I say, a little awkwardly.
She looks so pale and her eyes are like dark, sorrowful smudges under her long fringe, with not so much as a flicker of light discernible.
There’s a sort of frailty about her despite her young age, and I wonder if she’s supposed to be in this garden or if she has just wandered in with the side gate being unlocked.
‘This is my little piece of heaven.’ She smiles weakly. ‘It’s where I come to recalibrate.’
I glance down the garden to check on Skye and see with relief that she’s moved slightly away from the swing now and is happily skipping and singing around the trunk of another large tree next to it.
‘I’m Susan Woodings.’ She doesn’t stand up or offer her hand. ‘I think you met Matthew, my husband, earlier.’
I realise then it’s Professor Woodings’ librarian wife, who has just lost another baby.
Now I understand that the shadows in her eyes bear witness to her repeated heartbreak, and a sudden ache fills my chest.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you.’ I give her a warm smile. ‘I’m Freya and the noisy one over there is Skye, my daughter.’
As soon as I refer to my child, I feel guilt instantly nip at my throat, even though I know it’s illogical. I just hope seeing Skye around the place doesn’t deepen the rawness of her grief.
I walk closer to Susan and see that a little enclave has been fashioned there behind the bush.
There’s the pretty carved bench she’s sitting on and a tiny paved area cluttered with brightly coloured pots planted with lavender and rosemary. Small glittering charms and three wind chimes hanging from various flora and fauna that act as a natural screen from the openness of the main garden.
A slight breeze carries the wonderful calming scents of the potted herbs up to my face.
‘What a lovely space you’ve made here,’ I sweep my hand over the area. ‘It’s like a little peaceful retreat.’
‘I call it my memorial garden.’
I feel a squeeze in my heart.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say softly. ‘And I love your chimes.’
‘One for each child,’ she says faintly and flicks the silver wind chime next to her, causing a harp-like flurry of notes to ripple through the air. It’s captivating and a little eerie.
‘What’s that?’ The noise has attracted Skye, who runs up, bumping into my side. ‘Oh!’ She sees Susan tucked behind the large bush.
‘Hello, Skye, I’m Susan.’ The briefest sparkle flickers in her eyes before it’s gone again.
‘Hello,’ Skye says shyly, screwing the toe of her training shoe into the grass.
‘I live at Adder House, too.’ Susan smiles at Skye’s obvious preoccupation with her garden. ‘Would you like to tinkle my wind chimes?’
Skye nods and tiptoes around the plant pots on the little patio, reaching towards the silver chime. The flurry of notes dances around us and a wide smile spreads across Skye’s face.
‘She’s called Clare, and this one’ – Susan points to a bamboo chime with a long middle pendulum – ‘is Clara.’
Skye wiggles the pendulum and a deeper sound resonates.
‘What’s this one called?’ Skye reaches towards an intricate chime consisting entirely of beads and coloured shells. A delicate tinkle scatters the stillness of the air.
‘Ahh, she’s called Clarice.’ Susan smiles.
‘Why do the names all sound nearly the exact same?’ Skye frowns. Susan stares into the middle distance but doesn’t answer.
Goosebumps prickle my arms and I give them a rub as I address Skye.
‘Right, come on then, scamp. Let’s head for the swing, we’ve lots of unpacking waiting for us to do upstairs.’ As Skye picks her way around the pots, I turn back and smile. ‘It’s really lovely to meet you, Susan, we’ll no doubt see you around the place.’
‘I could look after her,’ Susan suddenly blurts out, clasping her small, pale hands together. ‘While you get your unpacking done, I mean. Or if you need a babysitter one night, perhaps.’
She looks longingly at Skye, who’s already skipping back towards the swing.
‘Oh! That’s very kind of you, but—’
‘She could bring her dolls. I have lots of tiny baby clothes that would fit.’
Her face is so full of hope and yearning, I could cry. I rack my brains for a sensitive reply.
‘That’s really kind of you, Susan, but I’ve given her a bit of responsibility in unpacking and placing her own stuff in her bedroom. So she better understands how things are organised, if you see what I mean.’
‘Of course!’ Susan says a little too brightly. ‘It’s a good idea, Freya. You seem like a really good mother.’
‘Mummyyy!’ Skye shrieks and I breathe a silent sigh of relief at the distraction.
‘Oh dear, better go.’ I set off walking before hesitating and turning back again. Susan is staring at her hands. ‘When we’re properly settled in, it would be lovely if you could pop up for a cup of tea with us. Skye is into soft toys more than dolls, but I know she’d be delighted to show you each and every one of them . . . if you have the time.’
A smile brightens her face. ‘Thank you, Freya,’ s
he says. ‘I’d really love that.’ Then she walks back inside, her shoulders sagging.
9
I push Skye for ten minutes or so on the swing.
Susan Woodings is right; the swing is in good repair and I wonder if Dr Marsden keeps it maintained because other residents here have grandchildren who visit Adder House on occasion. Skye would love to make a few new friends, if so.
Again, my mind wanders back to Skye saying she thought another little girl used to live here. Maybe part of her wishes there were other children to play with.
When we get back inside, Dr Marsden surprises me by meeting us at the door.
‘I hope you’ve had a nice time out there in the garden.’ He smiles at Skye as we move into the foyer. ‘I saw you high up on the swing.’
I remember the Marsdens’ French doors overlook the garden.
‘Do other children play on the swing?’ Skye asks in a forthright manner.
‘No . . . at least not any more,’ Dr Marsden murmurs.
What does he mean by that? When I asked him about a child living here, he didn’t say one used to, he just dismissed it. I feel twisty inside as if I might not be getting the full truth for some reason.
‘If you have a moment, Miss Skye, I have something for you in my apartment,’ he says to her.
Skye shuffles closer to me again. ‘Can Mummy come, too?’
‘Of course she can.’
We follow Dr Marsden into his apartment. He walks over to a long mahogany cupboard built in under the vast stretch of bookshelves. It has deep drawers and doors with polished brass handles.
‘Now. How about a little welcome present for our youngest tenant?’ He has Skye’s attention now, and she takes a step away from me in an effort to see what’s inside the cupboard. ‘This one . . .’
Skye’s eyes widen as he holds up a beautifully plush white unicorn with a shimmering multicoloured single horn on its head.
Just as I’m trying to think of a nice way to say we can’t possibly accept such a generous gift, Dr Marsden presents a second choice. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer this one?’
In the other hand he holds an expensive-looking teddy bear. Surely, I think, eyeing the distinctive round white label with black writing, it can’t be a Steiff bear? I knew someone years back who collected them and I know they’re devilishly expensive.
