by Jane Linfoot
Aunty Jo’s chipping in. ‘Something about sheep? Or caravans? Or both?’
As he gives a cough he’s holding out a trug of leaves and earth. ‘I’m probably okay. Actually, I brought you some periwinkles.’ There’s a gleam in his eye. ‘That’s if you can stand to see mud after the other day?’
I’m smiling at the absurd change of subject, not his attempt at a joke.
‘Seashells? How very nice – what are they for then?’ Aunty Jo is the one looking bemused now.
Barney shakes his head. ‘Not shells – these are plants, cuttings from further along the lane. If you have other plans for the border by the house, it’s fine.’ Barney’s shifting from foot to foot as if he doesn’t quite know where to begin.
‘No, definitely no plans.’ I jumped in there when I didn’t even mean to.
He seems happier to hear that. ‘Until the previous owners got their Roundup out, the lane was always lined with blue periwinkle flowers in late spring – it’s where the cottage got its name.’ He stops to rub his jaw, then goes on. ‘They do very well here, it would be nice to see them growing again, and March is the right time for planting.’
‘Cool.’ Anything that helps the sale appeal is fine by me, so I maybe need to up that. ‘Great in fact.’
‘I could put them in for you, it wouldn’t take me long to turn the soil over.’ Barney’s looking less tense now he realises he’s not overstepping.
‘You don’t mind?’ He’d be on the lane, we wouldn’t have to see him.
‘No problem at all, I’ll do that over the weekend.’ He nods at the wall. ‘I see you’ve managed the painting without me. It’s quite a change – for the better.’
For once I have to agree with him. It’s amazing how fear makes you get down to the job. Aunty Jo’s bad news was just the push I needed to get the paint rollers out and finally overrule her on the colour. With creamy white walls the room looks much bigger, and they show off the lovely old stone fireplace and the plank cupboard doors at the side.
Aunty Jo reaches across and pats me. ‘Edie’s worked wonders.’
Barney looks down at Cam, who’s tugging on the cuff of his denim jacket, then back at Aunty Jo. ‘I take it you’ll be going to the gardening club slide show this evening?’
Auntie Jo sounds hesitant. ‘I’m not sure about that …’
‘It’s just Cam was wondering if Edie would be around for ice cream at the Surf Shack. As a thank you for helping out at the football.’
Aunty Jo frowns at me. ‘Edie’s had such a busy week.’ As I open my mouth to protest she’s talking over me. ‘I’m under strict instructions here. If I let you get overtired, I’ll have your mum to answer to, and we know how scary she can be. With all these outings and decorating too, let’s see if an early night will get rid of those dark circles under your eyes.’
Thanks a bunch for that. Talking to me like a child, letting out the truth that I’ve got a Rottweiler for a mum and bringing up that my concealer’s failing me. Although, when I stop to think about it, I feel shattered. And damn that I’m feeling like I’m disappointed to be missing out. It’s not as if last week at the Plank Place went well. If I’m remembering rightly, it was awful.
‘It’s true, you mustn’t overdo things, Edie.’ Barney’s giving Cam’s hair a ruffle. ‘We’ll ask again another week.’ And when exactly did he become the expert?
Aunty Jo’s winding up. ‘Well, thank you for the periwinkles, and for planting them.’
‘Actually, there is something else.’ Barney’s looking even more uncomfortable than before.
I’m mentally rolling my eyes that he’s still here, but Aunty Jo is still being lovely. ‘So, is it anything we can help with?’
‘Two things.’ He’s suddenly very direct. ‘We having an Easter egg hunt on Sunday, and Cam would like you both to come. So long as you’re not too tired, it starts at twelve.’
‘We’ll make sure we’re there.’ If Aunty Jo hadn’t lost the use of her smiling muscles at the same time she lost Harry, I’m sure she would be beaming. ‘Where is it, and how many people are coming?’
Barney takes a deep breath. ‘Well, it’s a long story, but before the jungle people moved into your house, Pearl lived here and she’d run the egg hunt every year since forever. After she sold, everyone wanted to carry it on, so we used the orchard at mine.’
Aunty Jo’s looking thoughtful. ‘You’re very welcome to use the barn yard if you’d like to, and the field. Why not use the garden too?’
What just happened there? My eyes are open so wide they feel like they might pop. There are times when I’m desperate to shout out all the words in my head, and this is one of them. I mean, wasn’t what Barney did basically someone inviting you to a party, then when you accept saying, ‘Oh, by the way, it’s at yours’?
Barney’s straight back. ‘That’s really kind, but only if you’re sure?’
She’s nodding so hard her hair’s shaking. ‘It’s so important to keep these village traditions alive.’ She’s completely overlooking that this one technically already died, and that it’ll die all over again next year because Aunty Jo will be gone. She’s turning to me now. ‘We’ll get straight onto this, won’t we, Edie? We need to order some chocolate.’
Barney cuts in. ‘Don’t worry about eggs, everyone brings some.’
It’s hard to hold Aunty Jo back. ‘We can’t have it without fluffy chicks, and it’ll be way more fun with bunnies.’ There’s a gleam of excitement in her eyes. ‘And bunting. We’ll need lots of bunting.’
I can’t hold in my groan. ‘It’s a few minutes in St Aidan, Aunty Jo, not Mardi Gras in Rio.’ I was always surprised that one wasn’t on Marcus’s ‘must do’ list, but thinking about it, he didn’t do mass enjoyment, he much preferred to go for things other people hadn’t done yet.
As for Barney’s part in this, what is he thinking, taking advantage of a sad, vulnerable person like Aunty Jo? As for me, I’ve got to pull a lot more than an Easter bunny out of my magician’s hat if I’m going to save Aunty Jo.
17
Day 151: Sunday, 1st April
The Easter Egg Hunt at Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: An epic idea.
I must still have some of my persuasive super powers left, because I manage to talk Aunty Jo out of her plans to buy enough bunting to decorate most of St Aidan. Instead we settle on one Happy Easter banner, and Barney gets out his ladders and hangs it across the entrance to what we now call ‘the barn yard’. When we spot the first children wandering along the lane to the Easter egg hunt late on Sunday morning and go out to join them, the fluttery yellow flags of the banner are blowing against a sky the colour of cornflowers and the white fluffy clouds racing across it are like something out of a picture book.
I nudge Aunty Jo. ‘And finally …’
‘What is it now, Chickpea?’ She’s in a bit of a flap, due to hosting. She’s also reverted to the pet names she used when I was six, and I’ll be talking to her about that later. We’ve been up since the crack of dawn, sorting out eggs and mini cakes and paper egg collecting bags, and clearing back the chairs to make more room in the garden room.
I lift up my sunnies and grin at her. ‘Only that the sea is blue.’ Since I arrived it’s been heavy and brooding and angry, but today it’s the colour of duck eggs, and the shimmer of sun on water is taking my breath away.
‘Right.’ For someone who’s retired to the coast, she shows very little interest in the ocean.
Loella’s striding towards us, surrounded by a crowd of children, all bobbing around. ‘Hey, you two look spectacular. Well done for getting into character – you might want to put your hoods and ears up now everyone’s arriving.’
She’s talking about what I thought was Aunty Jo’s April Fool’s joke, because that’s what they were talking about on Breakfast TV when she walked in with the parcel. It took a while to sink in that she was seriously expecting me to get into the rabbit onesie she pulled out, and the only thi
ng she’d back down on was letting me have the grey one instead of the pink. If she’d only let me into the secret earlier, we could have saved her cash and used our new decorating suits instead and got some bunny-ear headbands. I can’t remember if I ever knew what colour Easter bunnies should be, but I’m certain white ones would have worked just as well. From now on, we have to seek out the cheapest option every time.
Beth’s collecting the children as they arrive, and sending them towards the garden. ‘Okay, you’re all going into Aunty Jo’s conservatory to begin with, for your first surprise.’ She turns to look at me over their heads. ‘We’ve been coming to Pearl’s egg hunts since we were kids, it’s lovely it’s happening again.’
The plan is that while Beth and Aunty Jo give all the kids their own fluffy chicken, complete with a blue periwinkle-coloured bow around its tiny neck – that came from me, I might have lost it in a lot of areas but I’m totally on it on this – the adults will hide the eggs they’ve brought. Much as I love Tiddlywink and Wilf, I kept well away from Marcus’s friends’ babies so, apart from Cam, I haven’t had much to do with kids at all. Obviously I chickened out of ten minutes in a room full of excited ones and got myself on the egg-hiding team instead so I’m currently lugging around my weight in chocolate in a couple of smart black and white checked M&S carrier bags.
If the down side of dressing up is that I look like a rabbit, the advantage is that once I pull my hood up, as I dash around poking eggs into holes in the stone walls and behind the plant pots and buckets in the garden, I’m getting a few cheery waves but it’s obvious that without my check coat the people I know by sight don’t have a clue I’m me. It’s worth the indignity of looking like I escaped from a Beatrix Potter film set to avoid any wisecracks about my mud bath at the football. When I’ve got rid of the first bag of eggs I move on from the garden to the barn yard and my second bag is soon empty too.
As Loella hurries towards me with the crowd of mums and dads, she’s flapping an empty egg bag too. ‘Okay, brace yourself, I can hear the squeals, they’re on their way.’
What happens next is like a stampede as children of all ages and sizes come careering into the courtyard, bobbing down, scouring the ground, peering into all the nooks and cracks, whooping every time they find chocolate.
Loella sidesteps to avoid a group of little figures who almost look too young to walk, but hare past us anyway with one worried-looking dad in pursuit. She steers me towards the tree at the end of the courtyard. ‘If we all stand back here we’re less likely to get trampled and I can tell you who the parents are as they come in.’
‘Any decorators who work for free, introduce me right away.’
‘Nice try.’ She laughs. ‘With all St Aidan’s holiday lets, decent painters are rare as rocking horse shit. It’s the same with all the building trades. Beth’s Morgan’s booked up for the next two years.’
‘Right.’ I’m so stunned my knees feel like they’re going to give way, but why haven’t I thought of that? Obviously it matters less if there’s no money to pay them, but if the quest wasn’t stuffed before, it is now.
Loella’s oblivious to my silent nervous breakdown. ‘On the other hand, if you’re looking for smelly bath stuff that’s better than Lush so you can relax and forget your decorating worries, see Maggie in the gold trainers. Charlie in the denim micro mini teaches part-time and makes waistcoats and sells them around the festivals. Nance with the double buggy works with concrete and makes table lamps and planters, Penny in the blue Doc Martens does vegan cakes, and the one who looks like she walked off a Nordic drama is Ebba.’
I’m keeping the conversation going even though my world just caved in. ‘She’s into Danish style?’
Loella gives me a nudge. ‘The huge cashmere shrug and those knitted slipper boots give it away, don’t they? She’s the queen of homemade Hygge, she sells it from her Facebook page.’
‘Thanks for the lowdown. At least now I’ll know where to go if we need chunky cushions and driftwood mirrors.’ Luckily for me, I don’t have to worry about keeping out of Barney’s way because Aunty Jo nabbed him to be on duty with her in the garden, along with Beth’s dad, Malcolm, who apparently wouldn’t stay away. ‘So are all your friends into handmade products then?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, that was just a craft cluster. In the next group there’s a conveyancing clerk, Jill from the checkout at B&Q, the waitress from the Cupcake Café, and the ladies from Iron Maidens.’
Beth’s making her way across to us. ‘Have you noticed, it’s very strategic? Some of the kids go slowly and cover every inch of the garden before they leave, then others go as fast as they can to where no one else has been yet.’ She steps out to stop a girl with a glittery flamingo on the back of her denim jacket. ‘No, it isn’t kind to take them from the little ones, Mia.’
The girl pushes back her braids and smiles at her. ‘Actually, I’m helping Tallulah to carry them, they were very heavy for her.’
Beth growls under her breath. ‘Unlikely.’ Then she carries on, ‘I’m sure Tally can manage fine on her own, Mia.’
‘Nice jacket.’ My last Paper Moon site notebook had flamingoes all across the cover. It’s probably in Dad’s garage, still where I left it in the passenger footwell of my car, along with my hard hat and my pink high-vis Zinc Inc body warmer.
Loella gives a grimace. ‘Mia’s mine, she’s got an answer for everything. And the flamingo’s also one of mine.’
Beth laughs. ‘If you want one, just look on Etsy – she does them in adult sizes as well, or for slightly less she’ll embroider on the jacket of your choice.’
‘So where do all you craft people work then?’ It’s another automatic pilot question. There were lots of crafters in the converted warehouse where Marcus had his office; it went with the ‘on trend’ territory.
Loella’s voice rises in surprise. ‘At home – why, where else would we do it?’
‘That can’t be very practical.’
‘It isn’t, but none of us are exactly earning enough to sign up for a long-term lease.’
I’m puzzling, trying to remember. ‘In Bristol they have flexible work spaces. You can rent a desk for half an hour, or an office for a day.’
Beth gives a chortle. ‘Bliss – in twenty years’ time when St Aidan catches up we’ll be first in the queue.’
I’m staring at the new plank doors around the barn yard, and my heart is starting to thump against my ribs. If we’re aiming for holiday lets they need massive amounts of cash and builders’ time to finish them, but if we use them as basic work spaces they’re almost complete as they are.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.’ I’m croaking again, this time because my throat is dry with nerves. ‘Why wait twenty years? The stables here would make perfect spaces for crafters.’
Beth turns and peers through a window. ‘Now you’re talking – what’s inside?’
‘They’ve all got wood-burners, bare walls, wet rooms with loos and basins but no tiles, and kitchen spaces with a sink but nothing else yet.’
A smile spreads across Loella’s face. ‘This is why I didn’t want you to give up before – I knew you’d come up with a solution. Obviously you’d have to sort it with the planners, but the spaces here would suit small businesses down to the ground.’
It’s a total accident that I’ve hit on this. ‘So, with minimal work, when Aunty Jo comes to sell we could market them as craft units with the potential to be holiday lets if the next owner wanted that.’ I’m mentally punching the air. Something finished and ready to go has so much more value. But it would be even better if they’re proven. ‘Would you be willing to try them out?’
Loella’s hugging herself. ‘There’s a buyer in London who’d like ten of my bed quilts, but if I tried making those at home, with six of us in the house I’d end up smothering someone.’
Beth’s eyes are gleaming. ‘But if you had a stable to work in for a few weeks you’d knock them out no problem and ha
ve enough to pay for rent too.’
Loella’s almost talking to herself. ‘It’s a no-brainer, I’m in. How soon can I start?’ As Beth scowls at her, her eyes flash open. ‘Oh, shit, Edie, I didn’t mean … if that’s offensive, I’m so, so sorry.’
‘No, some days I do actually feel like I have no brain.’
Beth’s shaking her head. ‘Take no notice, Edie. With a brainwave like you just came up with, I’d say you’re not doing so badly. Taking it a step further, we all know Josie could do with the money, and this would give a temporary cash flow without tying her in.’
Somehow it’s great to find someone who will come straight out and joke around about my problems instead of tiptoeing. In my head I’m doing cartwheels and high fiving myself for hitting gold, when it suddenly hits me. ‘Except …’ I’m remembering the rubble piles and the bare walls. ‘If you’re going to sew in there I’ll have to get them cleared and whitewashed first. So we’re back to those elusive decorators.’
Beth’s beside me in a second. ‘If that’s all, there isn’t a problem. Get us the paint, we’ll soon have that sorted.’
‘We’ll have to run all this past George, but if you clear and paint them you could have them rent-free for a while at least.’ I might be getting ahead of myself here, but I’m seeing crafters spilling out onto the barn yard from every door. It could be a complete crafting community.
Loella’s got her nose on the glass. ‘That sounds good to me. You get a stable sorted, I get my quilts made, we’re all happy. And Beth can do the same.’ She closes her hand over something on the stone sill. ‘Better still, I just found chocolate.’ She drops a foil-covered egg into each of our hands.
‘Aren’t they for the kids?’
Beth laughs. ‘They had their chance, these are ours now. What better way to seal the deal than with chocolate eggs?’
