Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  So instead we have a riveting night in, watching some ballerina version of You’ve Got Talent – according to Aunty Jo they hadn’t. And between times we carry on de-flowering the kitchen, and try out some paint samples that arrived in mini pots. I head her away from the fuchsia and daffodil palettes she’s hankering after, and insist we start with broken white.

  Whenever Aunty Jo’s steered me towards writing practice – which is even more often than she mentions the good times back in happy Harpenden – I’ve headed her off. When I came down to porridge yesterday to find the fridge covered in Dayglo magnetic letters and numbers, she replied to my appalled, ‘What the eff have you clicked on now?’ with a sniffy, ‘I’m sure Cam might enjoy them, even if you don’t.’

  She certainly doesn’t hold back with her buying finger. We’ve just had yet another mega delivery now, so I’m sitting next to a pile of paint buckets, rollers and brushes, and she’s unwrapping some oversized sticky labels.

  ‘So what are they for?’

  ‘Don’t you love it when things have two uses?’ She picks up a felt tip and starts to write, then leans across and slaps a beautifully written label on the back of the settee. ‘See, s-o-f-a – isn’t that great? I get to do my calligraphy, and you get to take in the words by osmosis.’

  ‘Osmosis – isn’t that what amoebas do?’ Wherever I dug that up from, I’m damn sure it’s not a flattering comparison.

  Her beautifully pencilled eyebrows close together as she concentrates. ‘I have no idea, Edie, I’m just doing what your mum tells me.’

  No surprise there then, even though that has to be a first. ‘What are you writing?’ It’s not as though I can read it.

  ‘Cushion, door, paint pot, microwave, kettle … ’ She sniffs and slaps a label on the table. ‘I’m going to need to order more of these if I’m going to put names on everything.’ Once she begins a task, she’s alarmingly thorough.

  ‘You do know I’m on a break?’ Emptying my head so it’ll fill up better when I begin again.

  She pushes a label onto the cushion. ‘I wanted to train to be a teacher like your mum after I gave up dancing.’ She’s pursing her lips and ignoring my question. ‘Harry wasn’t keen, he always told me not to worry my pretty head about work.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ Attitudes like that drive me wild on a regular basis, but that was Uncle Harry. Building sites aren’t the most forward-thinking places, but most men on them now acknowledge women aren’t purely for decoration. And if they don’t, they do after I’ve finished with them.

  She shuffles. ‘It’s coming back to bite me now. Things would be so much easier if I’d taken more of an interest in the finances. Lovely George from the solicitors has been struggling with them for over a year now, I’m seeing him again this week.’

  It’s the first I’ve heard about it not being straightforward. ‘You have got enough cash, though?’ She has to have, they always had pots of the stuff. Uncle Harry drove the kind of flash limos that wouldn’t even begin to fit on our drive. One time he blocked the entire close. But the work in the stable yard won’t come cheap if we want a decent finish.

  Aunty Jo shakes herself back into the room. ‘We were really well off, I can’t not be fine, can I?’

  The question’s so complicated I’ve got no idea if the right answer is ‘yes’ or ‘no’, so I force myself and take the label she’s holding out. ‘Can I help with that?’

  ‘d-o-o-r … so where does that go?’

  ‘On the French window?’ I’m grinning at her, deciding where on the glass to stick it, when I see a blue blur running across the courtyard. ‘Looks like we’ve got a visitor. It’s a good thing we bought those Unicorn slices.’ Once Aunty Jo accidentally pointed out that cute name, I was hardly going to leave them in the shop.

  As I push open the door Cam runs in and throws down his school bag on the floor.

  ‘Hi Cam, have you had a good day? How about a drink?’

  ‘I hate school, but I’d like juice.’ He popped in a couple of times over the weekend, but he’s heading for the kitchen now as though he’s been here all his life.

  ‘Tea, Aunty Jo?’

  ‘Mango and passion fruit please – it’s the orange one, and you can take the label for the kettle when you go. You choose – it starts with a “k”.’

  Just when it was all going so well. ‘Hmm …’ When it comes to letters I’m okay on a, b, c and x, y, z – it’s the ones in the middle that are troublesome.

  Before I can even think ‘brain freeze’ Cam’s into the kitchen swiping a letter off the fridge and he’s back holding it up for me. ‘See, Edie, “kicking k” is easy because its legs are kicking.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip.’ I grin at Cam, and look for the best match on the labels. ‘This one?’

  Aunty Jo nods. ‘That’s it, Edie, there’s more in your head than you think. Now go and stick it on.’

  Cam turns to me. ‘So it’s not just writing. You can’t do reading either?’

  There’s no wriggling out of it. ‘Pretty much not, no.’

  Aunty Jo steps in. ‘Edie used to be able to read but she hurt the bit inside her head, and now she’s got to learn all over again.’

  He rubs his forehead. ‘Actually, your brain’s in your head.’

  ‘It is – that’s what I broke. Only a little bit of it, though.’

  There are wrinkles in his forehead. ‘But how?’

  ‘I jumped out of a plane then fell over a bucket.’ As his eyes go even wider I realise I’m not making this clear enough. ‘Definitely PLEASE DON’T try that at home.’

  ‘She had a parachute.’ Aunty Jo’s jumping in to fill in the gaps. ‘And she’d been drinking champagne, that’s like wine with lots of bubbles.’

  ‘Weren’t you scared?’

  ‘Only at first, then it was brill.’

  ‘I’m not brave.’ Cam pulls a face at me, then dips into his bag. ‘I’ve got my reading book from school, it’s Biff, Chip and Kipper.’

  ‘Hey, I know them.’

  His lower lip comes out. ‘Everyone else is on harder books than me, but I can’t do my words.’

  ‘I’m not on any book.’ However bad he is, he’ll still be beating me.

  Aunty Jo turns to me. ‘Don’t worry, Edie, you’ll get there once you decide to try.’ As she keeps reminding me. ‘You did a free fall, this should be easy.’

  I’m shaking my head as I go to the kitchen, not only for that but because Biff, Chip and Kipper are waving at me sharp and clear from the past when so many more important things have faded. At school we learned without thinking, I just never imagined I’d have to do it all over again, or find it so hard the second time around.

  I make the tea, pour Cam and I some apple juice and trace my finger over the ‘U’ as I open the pack of Unicorn slices. As I put out the cakes with their rose-coloured sponge and the pink and yellow zigzag icing I thank my lucky stars that I still know my colours.

  I carry the tray through and grin at Cam. ‘Are you going to give me a peep at your book then?’

  He shrugs. ‘I s’pose we could look at the pictures.’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’ I put the drinks on the table, then flop onto the sofa and pat the space between me and Aunty Jo. ‘Sit here so we can all see and you can tell me the story if you want.’

  I’m not expecting him to do it but he begins, halting over every word. I pore over from one side and Aunty Jo gently nudges him along from the other. By the time he gets to the end of a page there’s a tourniquet closing around my neck. He’s finding it so hard, and yet he’s so far ahead of me.

  I make myself sound bright as he hands me the book and I flick through the pages. ‘Yay, go Cam! That was lovely … ready for cake?’ As I offer him the plate I’m not going to stress over how much I don’t know. ‘Not too girlie for you? I actually bought them for me.’

  ‘Strawberry ice cream’s pink, and that’s my best one.’

  He’s on his third slice when there’s a k
nock on the French windows and Barney pushes his way through, pointing at the dog – calling him Robert and telling him to stay outside. You know when a guy comes in, and somehow he’s just too big for the room? Before I can think further on it, somehow Cam’s book springs out of my hand, and lands in a heap at his feet. He picks it up and rearranges the crumpled pages without comment, but I can tell by the shake of his head that he’s judging me. As he passes it across he’s holding something up between his fingers.

  ‘We pay St Aidan prices here, Edie, not Bath ones. However good the Surf Shack mochaccino, twenty’s too much to leave for a tip. So have this back.’

  As he slides the note under my coaster I’m kicking myself for my blunder. I’ll have to be more careful. Or I would if there were going to be a next time. Which there definitely won’t be.

  Cam’s frowning at me. ‘Can’t you do counting either? Or sums?’

  ‘Er …’ My mouth’s open, but nothing more comes out.

  Cam’s on a roll here. ‘I had to show her a “kicking k” – she can’t read ’cos she’s broken her brain.’

  ‘Really?’ Barney’s eyes are narrowed.

  ‘She drank too much fizzy pop then fell out of an aeroplane. And she’s even slower at writing than me.’ He sounds delighted.

  ‘Something like that.’ I hadn’t planned on sharing, but it is only temporary. I’ve got all the summer to turn this around. For now I might as well own it, so I sit up straight and flash Barney my widest smile. This is why it pays to have your lippy in tip-top shape, regardless. At least this way I’m the one feeling a-okay, and he’s the one who’s shuffling around looking like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him.

  Aunty Jo is holding up the school book. ‘Cam’s been reading to us, it was lovely.’

  Cam’s pointing at the plate. ‘And we had pink cake and it tastes like strawberries.’

  I stare at him. ‘Strawberries? Really?’ I can’t believe what I’m missing there.

  He’s being very direct, and very serious. ‘You know it did, Edie Browne – you had four pieces.’

  Barney rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not always helpful to count, Cam, but I’m glad to hear you were reading.’ He turns from Aunty Jo to me. ‘He refuses to get his book out for me, whatever I bribe him with.’

  As Barney lingers over the word bribe, I sense that thrust of his jaw is all for my benefit. If there’s one time I’m happy to have lost my sense of smell it’s now, because not being able to smell him makes him so much easier to ignore. When Marcus swapped from Armani to the stuff made by the French guy off the Eurotrash programme, he joked it was for bad boys who wanted to get laid and stand out from the crowd. Who knew he saw himself that way? Or that, despite us having all the sex, it still left him thinking he’d like more. Bella weighed in and told me it was ‘men’s bollock talk’, but at the time I still worried. Not that I’m saying there’s any reason to bring Marcus into this, other than them both being guys.

  If I’m trying to think of my favourite scents, it’s purely a memory exercise I’m probably failing at. As for matching Barney to one … well, hell, no. Given how rough his edges are, I’d put him down as a basic wash and go guy. Realistically, he’s hardly going to splash on Christian what’s-his-name to hang out in a barn. Despite how fabulous I remember the scent to be, I’m damn sure the body spray that sounded like it was for savages wasn’t actually meant for shepherds. Or anyone else in that hut industry.

  Aunty Jo’s cheeks are rosy under her foundation. ‘Any time you’d like to read again, Cam, you know where we are.’ She flashes a glance at me. ‘It would really help Edie too, she won’t try at all when you’re not here.’

  Barney ruffles Cam’s hair. ‘If the big guy here is happy to, that would be great.’ He’s reaching for the handle to let himself out, then at the last moment he stops and fixes his gaze on the decorating pile, then runs his eyes around the stripped walls. ‘I see the stripping went well after I left. You’ve certainly taken a lot on here.’

  ‘This is just the beginning.’ Aunty Jo’s sigh is a bit over-dramatic, considering how unbothered she’s been for the last year.

  He rubs his chin. ‘I could always do some painting, as payback for help with the reading.’

  Just like that. As if we’d want him anywhere near. It was super uncomfortable when he muscled in the other day, and he was only here a few moments. And Aunty Jo just lost Harry. This is a very private time. I mean, look how reluctant she was for me to strip her walls, and I’m a relation. As she opens her mouth to reply, I’m confident she’ll give him the knockback. Quite apart from anything else, we can’t have him close by when we’re painting because he uses up all the oxygen. I can’t reach up to paint the ceiling if my head is even more light and woozy than it usually is. And he makes me drop things even worse than normal.

  ‘Well, actually, that would be …’

  It’s only when I see a slight curl to her lips that it hits me. She isn’t going to refuse at all.

  I’m straight in there, only because I’m desperate. ‘No, definitely not, no, totally, totally, NO!’ I think he’ll get that. And, with any luck, so will she. ‘Thanks, all the same.’

  Aunty Jo wades in. ‘I know you’re the decorating expert, Edie, but there’s a lot to paint for one person, and we don’t want you getting over-tired.’ She’s obviously forgetting she offered to help too.

  From somewhere I finally find some other suitable words to put a stop to this. ‘We’ll see.’

  Barney shrugs. ‘Okay, well, the offer’s there.’ There are lines of concern around his eyes as he looks at me. ‘We can’t have you going up ladders painting if you’re …’ it’s funny to see someone else searching for a suitable word ‘… unwell.’

  Holy crap. How many times? ‘I’m n-not “unwell”. My issues are in other areas, not climbing up steps.’ It’s coming out through gritted teeth, so maybe I should try that again.

  ‘Great, sorry, revise that. Not a hundred per cent then.’ He blows out his cheeks. ‘Jeez, you could so easily have hit your head on the boom the other day too.’

  ‘BOOM!’ Somehow it’s out before I can stop it.

  His lips are twisting. ‘Good to see you picked that up so fast – any time you’d like another go—’

  ‘Totally not.’

  Aunty Jo lifts her finger. ‘I think you’ll find Edie’s a hundred per cent in every area that matters, Barney. She works in interior design, and she’s the one who’s here to help me. As you said before, we’ve got our hands full fixing this place up. Edie wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t up to managing every aspect of the project.’

  Thanks for the intervention, Aunty Jo, I couldn’t have put it better myself. If the space between us wasn’t full of hut builder, and she was slightly less rigid, I’d throw my arms around her for that. ‘Exactly right, we’re here to nail this p- p- p—’ Oh, fuck.

  As Aunty Jo sees the whites of my eyes she’s in there saving me again. ‘Yes, this, er, project, yes, will be fully nailed everywhere that needs it, and it’s going to be, er, totally fabulous.’

  There’s the hint of a crinkle at the corner of Barney’s eyes, but his expression and tone are deadpan serious. ‘Brilliant, I’m pleased we’ve got that one sorted. And thanks for today.’ As he finally turns to leave, and he stops and taps Aunty Jo’s label, there’s finally a tiny lilt to his lips. ‘It says “door”, but isn’t this more of a window?’

  Aunty Jo comes to wave them off. ‘You’re the second person to say that in half an hour. It’s no problem, I’ll make another sign.’

  And as they stride off across the courtyard, with Robert the dog scuttling alongside them, I could have sworn I heard Cam say, ‘Love you, bye.’

  13

  Day 146: Tuesday, 27th March

  More calligraphy at The Deck Gallery

  Epic Achievement: (More awful than epic, but too significant not to record.) Discovering the extent of Aunty Jo’s financial difficulties – managing to stop her g
oing ballistic and leaving town. (Although, realistically, where would she go?)

  I know we’ve been busier lately, but you’d hardly think double-booking would be an issue. But, sure enough, Aunty Jo’s next appointment with George the solicitor turns out to clash with calligraphy. Whatever she says, I’m confident Aunty Jo has no need to worry about finances because, compared to our family, they splashed the cash like there was no tomorrow, but there’s no point George making an expensive home visit when we’re practically passing his harbourfront office anyway. Even though there’s hazy sunlight filtering through the cloud cover as we make our way down into the village, the wind is blustery enough to dapple the pale grey sea and streak the bay with white dashes.

  I take Aunty Jo as far as the main waiting room and have a fleeting moment of dress envy when I see the orange starry print that the receptionist is wearing, which is a bit silly considering I’m always in my office capris. Then I give Aunty Jo’s elbow a last squeeze, and run.

  I arrive at The Deck Gallery just as everyone else is taking their seats around the big table. We’ve seen most people around since last time, so I grab myself a coffee and join them.

  ‘Just me for now.’ Aunty Jo emailed Loella earlier with her apologies, to save me having to explain why she wasn’t here in front of everyone. As I smile around at the familiar faces there’s a twinge of guilt in my chest that if I could stay at home on my own there’s no way I’d be here. Aunty Jo’s been poring over her calligraphy sheets night and day, but I’ve done approximately zilch since the last time I came.