A Place of Her Own

by Barnes, Miranda

  She rubbed the message off and stood back. There was a lot to do. She began to feel a bit daunted. The flat first, she reminded herself. Sort that out. Plenty of time for the shop. It was going to take her a while to get that organised.

  Already, though, she could see the shop taking shape in her mind’s eye. It was a decent size. Quite big, in fact. The display area occupied only part of the ground floor of the building. About two-thirds of it. In the remainder there was a storage room, a toilet and even a small kitchen. So it was self-contained. Excellent, she thought with satisfaction. Perfect. Just what she wanted.

  A knocking at the door distracted her. It was her neighbour, Tom Laidler.

  ‘Busy?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really. I’m just surveying the scene. Sorting out in my mind what wants doing with the shop.’

  ‘Plenty, I daresay. The place has been empty a while. Much damage?’

  ‘Not really. But it’s going to take time to sort things out.’

  He nodded. ‘I saw you in there, and I wondered if you wanted a hand with the furniture now?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Thank you. Let’s go and do it now.’

  ‘If you don’t mind. I need to get over to Berwick when we’re done here.’

  ‘Berwick-on-Tweed? Do you go there a lot?’

  ‘It’s the nearest town. So, yes, I suppose I do. You can’t get everything you need here in Cragley.’

  She laughed. ‘Hardly anything, in fact!’

  ‘That’s just about right. At one time, these villages all had most things you needed, but not now. The bank closed. The Co-op closed. You can’t even get petrol here now, and I don’t know how long the post office will last. You can still go to church, though – just about. I don’t think there’s a permanent minister any more in either of the churches.’

  ‘Oh? I hadn’t realised things were as bad as that.’

  ‘You soon will. Then you might change your mind about living here. The back of beyond, Cragley is these days. There was more services and facilities here in Victorian times.’

  Such pessimism! She didn’t think she could be doing with seeing a lot of Tom Laidler. She preferred people who saw the glass as half-full, not half-empty.

  ***

  ‘A cup of coffee?’ she asked when they had done moving some of the big items of furniture.

  ‘Oh, I don’t…’

  ‘I can manage that, just about.’ She waved a hand at the mess. ‘Tea, no. I don’t know where it is. But I’ve found the coffee.’

  ‘Aye, all right, then.’

  He sat down. She picked up the kettle.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’

  He smiled. ‘It seems like it. Most of my life, I suppose.’

  ‘So you must know what the shop downstairs used to be. The estate agent wasn’t sure, when I asked him.’

  ‘You name it. It’s been everything, in its time. Last, it was a kiddies’ clothing shop. But before that ... Shoes, souvenirs, outdoor clothing, estate agent’s office, provision merchant...’ He paused and grinned. ‘But it’s never been a craft shop – not in my lifetime.’

  She laughed. ‘Everything else, though!’

  ‘Aye. I even had ideas for it myself.’

  ‘Oh? What as?’

  He stretched and yawned. ‘It doesn’t matter now. That time has gone.’

  She accepted the closure and changed tack. ‘Are they your children, by the way, that I’ve seen going in your front door?’

  ‘Probably. James and Hannah.’

  ‘How old are they?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Both? Oh! So they’re…’

  ‘Twins, yes.’ He nodded and looked away.

  He didn’t volunteer anything else about them, and she didn’t ask.

  ‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘Any family?’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s just me.’

  She almost added “now”, but she didn’t. Nothing about how until recently there had been her mother, too. She had to get used to being a truly single person.

  ‘It’s a big house for just one person?’ he suggested.

  ‘I suppose it is, yes. But I wanted somewhere with plenty of room – and with a shop.’

  ‘A craft shop,’ he said again, with that crooked smile.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she asked, slightly flustered.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must be going. Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  On the way out, he turned and said, ‘If the kids give you any hassle, let me know. They’re not bad kids, but…’

  He left it at that. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and after he’d gone she had too much to do to wonder about it for long.

  Wendy, the woman in the village shop, gave her the name of a joiner who would be able to help her sort out her own shop. Harry Cummings. But when Jenny went to see him, she soon had doubts. He was not uninterested. Not totally, at least. He was simply very busy.

  ‘It’ll be a while before I can get round to you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a lot of work on at the minute.’

  ‘That’s all right, Mr. Cummings. I’ve got plenty of clearing up to do first anyway.’

  ‘Aye. You’d best order a skip. That old place will be full of stuff to get rid of.’

  It was good advice. While she was pondering it, the doorbell rang and the door opened. A dapper little man with a neat little beard entered.

  ‘Morning, Harry!’ the newcomer called, managing to give Jenny a smile at the same time.

  Harry looked dubious. ‘Morning,’ he muttered back.

  ‘Now, Harry, when are you coming to mend my roof?’

  ‘As soon as I can, Mr. Renfrew. Just as soon as I can.’

  ‘Winter’s coming on, Harry,’ the newcomer added, with a wink at Jenny. ‘Rain and snow on the way. Icy winds. Frost. The lot! I’ll sue you for neglect if I get flooded.’

  ‘Join the queue!’ Harry told him. ‘And it’s a long one.’

  ‘And is this young lady part of it?’ the newcomer murmured, turning to Jenny with an engaging smile. ‘Will Renfrew,’ he offered, somehow managing to give the impression he was doffing a top hat to her. ‘Artist.’

  She smiled and shook his outstretched hand.

  ‘Number Seven? A shopkeeper?’ he queried, when she had introduced herself.

  ‘Not quite yet, but I hope to be. Intend to be,’ she corrected herself.

  ‘In your line, Mr. Renfrew,’ Harry intervened mournfully.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Jenny said hastily. ‘I’m going to open a craft shop.’

  ‘Ah! Really? Excellent. Just what Cragley needs.’

  ‘You’re the second person that’s said that already.’

  ‘Cragley would be better off with a petrol pump,’ Harry suggested darkly.

  ‘Now, Harry!’ Will Renfrew wagged a finger in admonishment. ‘That’s a tad ungracious. A craft shop will be an excellent thing to have in this poor, benighted would-be metropolis.’

  Somehow she ended up going for coffee with Will Renfrew in a nearby tea shop.

  ‘Are you really an artist?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘Not world-famous, though – yet!’ he added with a disarming smile.

  ‘A painter?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What do you paint?’

  ‘The ruined castle mostly.’

  ‘The…?’

  ‘The village’s prized possession. It puts us on the tourist map.’

  She laughed. ‘Of course! I remember seeing it when I was here last.’

  ‘But I also paint dog and cat portraits. Occasionally a child, although I’m not keen on children.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘They’re very noisy, don’t you find? More coffee?’

  Chapter Four

  Over the next few days Jenny made a good start at clearing up the shop. The flat wasn’t too bad at all, and could wait it
s turn, but the shop was truly derelict. Whatever had not been wanted had been dumped there, and what was already there had been left to decay and disintegrate. The advice to order a skip was good. She took it, and soon after the skip arrived she had it almost filled. But anything that might conceivably be useful or valuable, she took down to the big, empty shed at the bottom of the garden.

  Once the shop was clear, she swept the floor and gave it a good wash. Beneath the plaster dust and the sawdust, she was delighted to find ornate Victorian tiling, with only one or two tiles missing. She was also pleased to see that previous occupants had not ripped out the original cast-iron fireplace with the tiled surround. She could make a feature of that. Install something ornamental or a bouquet of flowers. Or even light a fire!

  On one of her return journeys from the shed, she saw Hannah, the girl next-door, sitting astride the party wall that ran between their gardens. Before she could call a greeting, the girl spoke to her.

  ‘What are you doing that for? Taking all that stuff down there?’

  ‘I’m clearing out the old shop, Hannah.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I’m going to use it. Re-open it as a shop.’

  The girl nodded without much interest. ‘How long are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘Staying? I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

  ‘In this house – in Cragley!’

  ‘Well…’ Jenny was stumped for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘It’s my home now, Hannah. I’ve bought the house.’

  The girl seemed slightly more interested. ‘The last people only stayed three months,’ she said.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing for certain in this life, my dear, but I hope to stay a lot longer than that.’

  ‘What will you live on?’

  Jenny smiled to herself at the surprisingly pragmatic question.

  ‘I told you. I’m going to re-open the shop. It’s going to be a craft shop. Didn’t your dad tell you?’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘He doesn’t say much to me. In fact, I don’t think he likes me very much. I’m just a girl. He prefers James.’

  ‘No, of course he doesn’t! Fathers aren’t like that. They don’t have favourites amongst their children. Anyway, they all love their daughters.’

  ‘Mine doesn’t.’

  ‘I’m sure he does.’

  ‘You don’t know him!’ Hannah called, sliding down from her perch and out of sight the other side of the wall.

  Jenny smiled wryly to herself as she headed back to the house. There’s a bit of teenage insecurity there, she thought, unless I’m very much mistaken.

  With the clearing-up done in the shop, she waited with mounting impatience for the joiner to come and begin tackling the alterations she wanted making. After a few days she dropped by Harry Cumming’s workshop to remind him, but received little encouragement.

  ‘I’ll not be long now,’ he assured her in a tone of voice that implied the very opposite.

  She wondered ruefully if she couldn’t find a Polish joiner hunting for work, like in London. Then she turned her attention to the garden and began clearing that up. In between times, she perused her catalogue collection and started ordering items she wanted to stock in the shop. Some of them would probably be a long time coming. She might as well start now.

  Her thoughts were interrupted one afternoon by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. It came from somewhere at the back of the house. She jumped up with a start and ran to investigate.

  She might have known, she thought bitterly. The twins!

  There hadn’t been a day go by without something happening, something she could have done without. Now they were sitting on the wall that divided the two gardens once again, throwing stones at whatever took their eye – including the old greenhouse in her garden.

  ‘James! Hannah! What on earth are you doing? Stop it! I want to use the greenhouse.’

  ‘That old thing?’ James said scornfully. ‘It’s neither use nor ornament.’

  ‘It’s mine,’ she responded firmly, ‘whatever you think of it. And I don’t want you throwing stones at it. I don’t want you throwing stones at anything else in my garden either.’

  ‘Garden?’ Hannah said with an eerie laugh, more a cackle. ‘Call this dump a garden?’

  James laughed in support.

  Jenny stood firm. ‘I mean what I say,’ she said firmly. Just for emphasis, she added pointedly, ‘I had hoped I would have good neighbours when I moved here.’

  ‘Well, what you’ve got is just us!’ James responded. With a raucous laugh, he jumped off the wall and disappeared from view.

  Hannah followed a moment or two later, having given Jenny a cool stare that was even more troubling.

  Jenny walked down the garden and surveyed the greenhouse. There were quite a few panes missing, most of them no doubt having disappeared long ago. All the same ... She wondered how many of the missing panes were down to the twins.

  She opened the door with difficulty and gazed inside. Lots of broken glass on the floor. Some rotten wood and cobwebbed metal. The soft September wind whistled through the gaps left by the missing panes. Even so, the greenhouse was still standing. So perhaps the structure was sound. And it was nice and big. She could grow tomatoes and salad crops in here, if nothing else, once she got round to it. Next year, say. In the spring.

  Provided the twins hadn’t destroyed it totally by then!

  She sighed. What a family! There was something wrong – something worrying – about the whole lot of them. She wondered what it was. She also wondered about the lady of the house. She had seen nothing of her. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if there was one.

  The father, Tom, could be pleasant enough on a good day, but his children!

  She hadn’t expected to find children behaving as they did in this part of the world. She’d thought of the Borders as a place of refuge from the modern world and its problems. She hoped she hadn’t got that entirely wrong.

  Chapter Five

  When Jenny next saw Tom Laidler she took the opportunity to say something to him about the twins and their attitude towards her. She tried to be diplomatic, and not make it a full-on complaint, but he saw through that and was instantly defensive.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with them,’ he said defiantly. ‘They’re grand kids.’

  ‘Of course they are! I didn’t say there was anything wrong with them. It’s just that some of the things they do and say are a bit … well, a bit upsetting, to be honest. I was hoping you might have a word with them.’

  ‘The trouble with people around here is they all want to live your life for you. They want everyone to live just like them.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Tom.’

  ‘And they’re a bunch of old fuddy-duddies. They forget what they were like themselves at that age. Fifteen is a difficult age, now more than ever.’

  This wasn’t the conversation she had wanted, she thought with something approaching despair. It was like fighting your way through sheets of clingfilm.

  ‘Tom, can you just calm down for a minute? Please!’

  He looked at her with suspicion. ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ he insisted. ‘You’re going to go on about how they should be in school. How they should be doing this, and doing that.’

  ‘Tom!’

  He stopped.

  ‘Tom, the main thing I wanted was to ask you to stop them sitting on the garden wall throwing stones at my greenhouse – breaking the glass – and then being cheeky about it when I ask them to stop.’

  He snorted and shook his head. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It isn’t, actually, no. But it’s enough, isn’t it?’ She was nettled by his attitude and added, ‘Any more of it, and I’m going to send you the bill for repairs. How does that grab you?’

  He looked at her with surprise. Then he grinned. ‘Much good will it do you, sending me the bill! What money do you think I have?’

  At least he hadn’t lost hi
s sense of humour, she thought grimly.

  ‘And if that doesn’t stop it, I shall report them to the police.’

  He sighed wearily. ‘The police know all about them two. You’ll not be telling them anything new.’

  ‘But you will speak to Hannah and James?’

  He nodded. ‘Aye, I expect so. I suppose I’d better.’

  ‘Come and have a coffee with me, Tom,’ she suggested, relenting, anxious to reach happier ground. ‘You can see what I’m doing with the shop. Give me some advice, maybe.’

  He hesitated, but not for long. She sensed he, too, was eager to change the subject.

  ‘I see you’ve got most of the boxes unpacked and put away,’ he said, as she showed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, that was the easy bit. The shop and the garden are the big challenges.’

  Tactfully, she didn’t mention the word “greenhouse” again. She didn’t mention the twins again either, she wanted to calm things down and take the heat out of the situation.

  He sat down at the table and waited in silence while she made two cups of coffee.

  ‘It’s only instant,’ she said to ease the tension.

  ‘You’re lucky you can afford it.’

  She grinned. ‘You sound just like my mother! Where did that come from?’

  ‘From my mother, probably. Did yours go on about the starving millions in Africa, if you didn’t eat everything on your plate?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Two of a kind, eh? I wonder if they’ve still got the mould.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Haven’t we got an obesity problem now?’

  He laughed, in a gentle way that started somewhere deep down and gradually found its way to the surface, until in the end he couldn’t keep it quiet any longer. And Jenny found herself shaking her head, and spluttering and laughing with him.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, when she recovered, ‘when the shop’s open for business, I’ll serve real coffee – for free.’

  ‘Nice. Fancy ideas,’ he added with a grin.

  She pulled a face. ‘Customer friendly. That’s all. I want the place to be warm and welcoming, and I want people to be eager to come inside.’