by Gwyn G B
‘Wow is this ours?’ came the exclamation from the back as they scrunched to a halt on the gravel courtyard.
‘Not yet darling, we need to take a good look first.’
Sophie scrambled out of the car to stand eagerly behind Harding as he unlocked the front door Alison took it more slowly, savouring every moment; the fresh air, the birds, how green everything looked. Inside she wasn’t to be disappointed either. The hallway was large and square with wooden floors and a dramatic oak staircase. It led to what quickly became her favourite room of the house, the extremely spacious and sunny kitchen, which included a well maintained Aga. She wouldn’t need to buy new kitchen units, they were wood and looked virtually new. Even the worktop was to her taste and there was room for every appliance she could ever wish to have. Walking back into the hall and through the sitting room, study and dining room, it was all almost too perfect to be true.
‘There’s a small toilet with a sink here,’ said Harding as they crossed the hallway to go up the stairs.
‘Great,’ said Alison peering in, and aware that she was saying that rather a lot, before following him upwards.
‘It’s four bedrooms as I said, the master bedroom has an en-suite bathroom with a shower unit.’ Harding pushed open the doors and let her go in. It was a good sized room complete with tasteful fitted wardrobes and a bay window.
‘Mmmmhh,’ she nodded, trying to think of another response besides ‘great’.
‘Which would be my room mummy?’ Sophie asked, eager to get on and see the rest of the rooms.
‘Well you can choose it yourself Sophie, any one of the other three.’
‘Great,’ was the reply as she shot out of the room. Alison followed in her daughter’s wake. There was another bathroom halfway along the corridor and she stopped to take a look.
‘I’m having this one,’ came a distant shout from the far room as Sophie came bursting out to meet her mother. ‘What’s that?’ she asked screeching to a halt and pointing at the ceiling.
‘It’s the access hatch for the loft,’ Harding replied, trying to carry on with the tour, but he was eventually forced to stop and open it to appease Sophie’s curiosity and end her pleading. Peering nervously in, she was disappointed to find only dust, an old wasps’ nest and a large collection of dead spiders in varying stages of decay.
‘Eugh! I’m going to check out the garden’, and she was off in a flash.
As Alison and Harding walked downstairs he confirmed that the vendor wanted a quick sale.
‘Yes I’m afraid the former owner died a few months back and the only living relative is also in her seventies with no children, so in little need of vast amounts of money or space. She wants it off her hands without any hassle, although she absolutely insists that it goes to a family who will love the house as much as they did. It’s definitely a good price, we’ve had lots of interest.’ For Alison it seemed like a bargain, but of course she didn’t tell Harding that. She did say it would be a cash sale though, Phillip had been conscientious with his life insurance and she and Sophie would never be in need of money.
Harding’s mobile phone rang as they reached the garden and he went off talking in hushed tones to his caller, leaving Alison to savour the garden in peace. It had been fairly well maintained, the flower beds were empty, but that would be an easy task and the lawn was neat with the odd bush scattered here and there. Beyond the garden, at the back, she could see the forest, and hear the trees stirring in the breeze. A slight scent of pine reaching her nose.
Wishing to get the feel of the house on her own, Alison slipped away from Harding who was still talking animatedly to an apple tree. She walked around trying to imagine them living in the house and it felt right. She could see them having breakfast in the kitchen, cosy evenings in the lounge and pottering around the garden in the summer. They’d looked at several houses over the past few weeks but none of them had made her feel this comfortable, this at home.
It was just as Harding managed to catch up with her standing in the lounge looking out through the patio doors, that it suddenly dawned on her she hadn’t seen Sophie since they’d looked in the loft. Neither had Harding. Alison flew into a panic.
‘I bet you she’s talking to old Mrs Hurrell,’ said Harding, trying hard to calm her down. ‘She loves little kiddies. Lives in the cottage just off the track. Let’s go and take a look.’
Alison followed Harding almost in a trance. She’d gone back six months to the moment when the police officers had come round. She’d opened the door to them, the driving rain splashing onto her shocked face as they’d asked if they could come in. The WPC sat on the sofa next to her. She remembered holding her hand, the hot wave of helpless fear washing through her body, gripping her heart until she thought it was going to burst. She hadn’t been able to look in the police woman’s eyes as she told her. Instead she’d stared at their hands clasped together, hers white against the pink skin of the other woman. At that moment she’d imagined that she’d died too, her skin looked like that of a ghost and there was a buzzing in her ears. Nothing seemed real and most of all she felt totally helpless. Nothing she did would be able to change what had happened, not matter how hard she wished.
Harding led Alison out of the house and to a tiny little cottage tucked away behind some tall bushes. In the garden at the front stood Sophie surrounded by black cats weaving in and out of her legs. She waved at her mother and smiled. The trance was broken, the buzzing in Alison’s ears stopped and she was once again back in Dorset, instead of that dark rainy night six months before.
‘Dear God Sophie, why did you run off like that?’
‘I didn’t mummy. I was just looking around and I bumped into Mrs Hurrell. She’s our new next door neighbour.’
For the first time Alison noticed the small shrivelled woman standing behind her daughter. She stepped forward to introduce herself and Alison’s hand was met by a firm shake and her eyes by a bright vitality of a look which seemed to defy the decrepit body her spirit inhabited.
‘Martha Hurrell, pleased to meet you. Your daughter has been telling me all about you.’
‘Oh, indeed,’ replied Alison.
‘Yes it appears we both have something in common my dear.’
Alison looked at the face now addressing her and wondered what on earth it could be.
‘I too lost my husband little more than a year ago. He was a great loss to me so I won’t even try saying I’m sorry for you. I think you’ll know that I can sympathise and understand exactly what you’ve been through.’ Once again the wrinkled hand gave a squeeze of a strength which was out of proportion to its size.
‘Thank you,’ Alison replied. She appreciated the words and took an immediate liking to the old woman before her.
‘Look mummy, Mrs Hurrell has three cats.’
‘I can see, and what are their names?’
‘Asmodeus, Astarath and Beelzebub,’ replied Martha proudly.
‘Isn’t Beelzebub something to do with the devil?’ asked Alison, somewhat amused.
‘Well he can be a little bit of a devil sometimes,’ laughed Martha, and the three adults shared the joke together while Sophie bent down and stroked the cats which purred their pleasure in unison.
2
The journey home had been a lot easier, helped by London being a somewhat larger and more signposted target than Deepdene, and by Sophie sleeping most of the way through contended tiredness. Martha had invited everyone for tea and scones in her back garden, which without doubt contained the biggest herb plant collection Alison had ever seen. The tiny lawn was surrounded by battalion after battalion of little plants all regimentally placed in neat rows. The aroma they gave off took her back to when she was a very young girl staying with her grandmother at her cottage in Wales. The memories were of love and security, feeling small but protected, a time when she’d yet to experience real sadness or disappointment and the biggest challenge in her day was to persuade her Grandmother to let her buy bubblegum.
Martha seemed the epitome of the old country lady herself, a dying breed, who even made her own herbal tea instead of that ‘dreadful shop bought stuff.’
‘Can’t abide it, foul brew,’ she’d said passing Alison her green coloured alternative. ‘Take a sip of that and tell me you’d still prefer that mass-produced stuff.’
Although initially sceptical Alison had been forced to admit that it did taste good.
After a short while, Harding had excused himself. Alison was relieved, just looking at him sitting all tense and ‘proper’ in Martha’s garden chair, dressed in his suit, had been enough to stop her from totally relaxing. He’d refused the offer of a lift, instead insisting that they stayed and he got a little exercise.
‘I take it he’s not from round here?’ she’d said to his back.
‘No, he and David Spencer moved here about two years ago. But I bet you’ve got a lot of questions for me haven’t you?’
Alison smiled her confirmation back, she’d been dying to ask about the village and the people who lived there ever since she’d sat down.
‘That obvious then,’ and so they’d chatted into the afternoon with Alison listening and liking everything she heard.
As old Martha clinked off with the debris from tea, Alison put her head back and felt herself physically relaxing. Sophie was a few yards away playing with the cats, their purrs seeming to voice the contentment on her face. She turned her attention to Martha’s little cottage. It was dark inside, most of the windows were asleep, their rooms closed to the sun by heavy curtains. Alison had offered to help Martha take the tea things in but she’d refused insisting she stay in the garden, so she could only imagine the cool air that would greet you as you entered, its slightly damp musty smell betraying the age of the building.
There were some unusual wind chimes hanging by the backdoor and when the light breeze did manage to move them Alison found the sound a little eerie, even in the bright sunlight. There were also some large black iron pots and Alison assumed these were waiting to be filled with fresh earth and plants to add to the garden. The warm sunshine and relaxing peace of her surroundings made her feel drowsy. Without wishing to be rude her eyelids gradually met and she drifted asleep.
She was woken by one of the cats, which jumped onto her lap in search of attention. She was surprised to find that she’d actually been asleep and was immediately concerned about Sophie. She needn’t have worried though, Sophie was chattering away to Martha and helping her with the herb garden. She looked relaxed and even happy, as though they’d stepped out of their nightmare world and into this new one of countryside contentment.
‘Hello moggy what do you want?’ she whispered to the cat, quickly realising that it was sulking after losing its playmate. Watching Sophie and Martha together sealed her on the idea of the house, as if she hadn’t already been convinced. She would make a wonderful neighbour for them instead of the faceless professionals who passed her on the street in London without so much as a hello. What they needed now was a better quality of life, where Sophie could grow up with fresh air and countryside. Even the sea was just a fifteen minute drive away. The most important thing was to ensure Sophie was happy, what better environment than this could she have hoped for?
‘These are Marjoram,’ she heard Martha explaining.
‘Margery? That’s my Great-Aunt’s name,’ went the conversation carried to her on the heavy scent of herbs.
When four o’clock arrived it was time for them to leave and no amount of wailing protest from Sophie would make her change her mind. Two factors had made that decision for her. The first was because she’d promised Charlie she would go with him to a company dinner. Tonight would be the first time she’d properly been out socially since Phil’s accident and after welshing on so many prior arrangements, she had promised Charlie she wouldn’t let him down. The second reason was because driving in the dark made her edgy now. If a driver as experienced as Phil could lose control of a car then she was afraid for herself and most especially for Sophie, a responsibility too precious to take any chances with.
The goodbyes lasted for about ten minutes. Lots of words of encouragement from Martha and lots of reluctant farewell strokes for the cats from Sophie. Eventually Alison managed to get herself and her daughter into the car, only to find she’d lost one of her driving gloves. They’d been a present from Phil last Christmas and she was keen to locate it. The whole group, including cats who thought it was a great game, set about searching for it — fruitlessly. She eventually decided that time was getting on and she’d have to accept its loss.
‘Forget it Martha, don’t worry. I probably dropped it in the village or something.’ Then more goodbyes and more strokes before they were finally underway.
‘Do you know what sweetheart?’ she said as they drove away, ‘I’m going to go straight back to Jim Harding and make an offer for the house, I love it, don’t you?’
‘You mean we are going to live here?’
‘I think it’s looking that way.’
‘Yay,’ came the yell of excitement from the back seat, ‘I can’t wait.’
3
Charlie and the baby sitter were waiting for her when they got back.
‘A mouldy run down heap I presume?’ smirked Charlie as he used his huge arms like a forklift truck to gently scoop the sleeping Sophie out of the car and upstairs. He’d tried to persuade her not to go and see the house, ‘It’s too far… you’ll feel isolated from your friends… being in the country isn’t all it’s cracked up to be… the price is too good to be true…’ etc etc. Alison knew he didn’t want her to move, but equally she knew she had to do this for herself and for Sophie.
‘No actually. I’ll tell you about it later,’ she’d indignantly replied. He thought he sensed a change in her, but she’d quickly rushed off ahead of him and he’d swallowed his questions for later, as directed.
With Sophie safely tucked in, Alison jumped into the shower, reaching for the revitalising aromatherapy gel that her mother had sent for her birthday. She really could have done with not going out tonight. She was tired and she’d much rather spend a quiet evening at home making plans and just being alone with her dreams. Not that Charlie was a problem, he was easy to be with, but having to make polite conversation with a whole bunch of people she had no interest in knowing, would be hard work.
Hair dried and hot brush on, Alison slipped into her dress. She glanced down at the cuffs and the memory of her conversation with David Spencer made her think about how many times her fingers would search out their comfort through the evening.
Alison checked herself out in the mirror, she’d lost weight since she’d last worn this dress, her face looked a little drawn and her auburn hair had grown longer, now curling onto her shoulders. They’d gone to a friend’s fortieth birthday party at a big hotel in Kensington, she couldn’t remember which, Phil had taken her. It had been a good night, lots of laughter, lots of dancing and she remembered them coming back into the bedroom still drunk, Phil nearly ripping the dress as he’d pulled it from her body. They’d made love passionately, laughing about their evening together and talking about future plans. Phil had even broached the subject of another baby, an idea Alison had found definitely appealing. She’d not done anything about it though, mistakenly believing they still had plenty of time. If only. ‘God how I miss you,’ she said to his photo on her dressing table, the aching emptiness the only feeling that filled her belly.
‘Can I come in?’ it was Charlie knocking softly on her door.
‘Yes, sure, almost ready.’ He walked in a little nervously and then stopped dead, a look of admiration on his face.
‘You look fabulous. Thanks.’
‘Thanks for what?’ asked Alison a little surprised.
‘Thanks for coming with me and making me so proud.’
Alison smiled at her friend, dear Charlie, he had such a knack for making her feel better, what would she have done without him these last few months. He had been the one
to help with the funeral, taking care of the details and looking after the guests when it had all become too much for her and she’d escaped to the bedroom for some solitude. He’d cried with her at the service, the great bulk of a man sobbing at the cruel waste of his friend’s life. When Sophie screamed at her mother, kicking and fighting, trying to find somebody or something to focus her grief on, Charlie had stepped in to calm her. His strong arms cradling her until she had cried herself to sleep. They’d come to rely on him so heavily over the last six months, she knew leaving him behind in London would not be easy, but she had to stand on her own two feet, take control of their lives.
‘I’m almost ready,’ she said, clasping the hand he’d put on her shoulder. He stood behind her as she sat at the dressing table, both of them looking at her reflection.
‘No worries, we’ll only miss a bit of the drinks reception.’ If he was really honest he couldn’t care less how late they were as long as he had this woman on his arm. He watched as she brushed some blusher onto her cheekbones, desperately longing to touch her soft pale skin with his own fingers. Her hair brushed against his hand where it rested on the chair. The temptation to touch was almost unbearable.
Alison powdered her face and then stopped, looking up at him concerned.
‘Are you sure Sophie is going to be OK? I’m so worried she might wake up and I won’t be here. She might get scared and think something has happened to me, that I’ve left her too.’
‘She’ll be just fine. She’s used to Mrs Leathe so it’s not as if there’s a stranger looking after her. Besides you’ve got to start living again.’ He squeezed her shoulder and left her to finish getting ready. He knew when to be firm and when to be sympathetic and it made Alison recall the strength and optimism she’d felt driving home. She popped her make-up into her evening bag, slipped her shoes on and with one last insecure sigh at the mirror, headed downstairs.
