Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘So, in that case, shall we get on with the blind? Is this the window?’

  ‘You don’t have to do it.’ It needs to be said.

  ‘I know I don’t have to.’ He’s staring straight into my eyes. ‘I suspect we’re both equally strong and independent, Edie, but sometimes you have to forget being stubborn and accept the help people want to give. Like I have with Cam.’

  ‘Yes, but people love helping a child.’ It’s completely different from me accepting help. ‘Especially one whose mum doesn’t live with them.’ Jeez knows why I let that slip out, or why I’m scouring his face to tell me more.

  ‘Cam’s mum died.’

  It hits me like a body blow, but there’s a strange sense of relief too. ‘Shit, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were a …’ This is no time to lose the word.

  ‘That’s not quite how it is.’ He pauses to breathe. ‘Cam’s parents were both killed in a boating accident, I’m his guardian, not his dad.’

  ‘Oh shucks, poor Cam, that’s so much worse.’ As for all my ‘bad father’ judgements, in that one sentence the way I’m looking at him has been turned upside down. However much Cam looks like a mini version of him, Barney’s a hero for stepping up, and he’s possibly struggling as much as the rest of us. ‘I’m sorry, that came out all wrong, but I had no idea.’ I’m cringing that I’ve judged him at times.

  ‘I didn’t rush to tell you, it was great that for once someone saw Cam for himself, rather than the tragic child who lost his parents.’ His face is lined with stress. ‘But that’s why I flounder, and why I grab all the support I can.’

  ‘Right.’ Even though I’m not the greatest talker at the best of times lately, at this moment I’m totally lost for words.

  ‘I know it’s hard, but life will be a whole lot easier if you stop fighting the help too, Edie Browne. It’s a roller blind and four screws. It’s not a big deal.’ If the revelation about Cam wasn’t enough, the pools of those deep brown eyes telling me he completely understands my reluctance are seriously disarming. ‘So where would you like it?’ He’s moving this on, holding a bracket up to the window frame.

  ‘I can choose?’ I’m not sure I’m up to deciding.

  ‘Actually no.’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘That was me trying to sound impressive, it’s complete bullshit. Now I’m looking at it more closely, there’s only one place it will fit.’

  I’m not sure why I find that funny, but I laugh anyway. ‘Best put it there, then.’ Through the small panes of the window the sky is impossibly blue, and there’s a shimmer of the sea in the distance, which has to explain why I’m suddenly feeling all light and airy.

  I’ve worked on building sites for ever, I’m completely used to the sight of guys making holes in walls. So not being able to take my eyes off Barney wielding his level and marking out the places for the screws is crazy. And my eyes locking onto his tanned biceps as they flex under the sleeves of his T-shirt as he lines up his power tool is worse. The only explanation is it has to be the kind of artist’s interest, that comes from staring at him for so long at life drawing. That need to know how the muscles work before you can draw a decent picture.

  He’s brushing away the curly bits of wood shavings with his finger. ‘So do you have a lot of seizures then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ My gasp is so big if I hadn’t been chewing hard on my thumb knuckle I might have inhaled my whole fist. It takes the tiniest part of a second for me to stop feeling guilty and start wondering why the hell he’s sticking his nose in. Just because he’s making holes in my bedroom window doesn’t give him the right to ask about my most private stuff.

  ‘You might have forgotten, but I was there on Sunday, I saw you go down.’ He’s still examining the holes. Lining up the brackets and winding the screws into place.

  ‘I’ve only had one before.’ It makes it easier because I’m talking to his back. As I scrape around my head for something else to tell him, even I’m surprised by what comes out next. ‘Back in October.’

  ‘It must be hard.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It has to be tricky, not knowing when they’re going to happen.’ He’s pulling on the brackets, testing them, then he goes back to winding the screws again. ‘I mean, it was fine at the party, everyone was there to help. But what if I hadn’t been there to catch you, or worse, what if you’d been at home on your own?’

  Yes, yes, yes, yes. ‘Actually, it’s really …’ Fucking scary. Mind-numbingly petrifying. Terrifying enough to send me into a cold sweat, to make me think about it every night when I wake up in the dark. ‘… difficult.’

  He turns towards me. ‘There you go, underplaying things again, Edie. It’s okay, you don’t have to hide it from me, that’s pure fear I’m seeing in your eyes.’

  ‘It’s …’ From somewhere I find a whisper and force it out. ‘Actually, I hate it.’ That’s it, it’s out there. He’s the first person I’ve ever shared that with.

  ‘The worst bit must be never being able to be by yourself. Josie’s lovely, but sooner or later you’ll both want your independence.’ Somehow now he’s turned back to the window he’s seamlessly slipped back to sounding like a know-it-all again.

  ‘Any suggestions, I’m happy to have them.’ He won’t have. I think about it every day, and I still haven’t come up with an answer. When we do get the house sold and Aunty Jo moves on I’ll have to find someone else to live with. Or most likely, move back to Mum and Dad. I try not to think that I’ll never be able to be on my own.

  ‘Leave it with me, I’m working on it.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ I’m kicking myself for sounding like it matters so much.

  ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing, so I’ll only tell you if it works out.’

  ‘That would be a biggie. But there’s no such thing as a free sandwich.’ That’s not right. ‘A free picnic.’

  ‘I think the word you’re looking for is “lunch”, Edie Browne, but I like both of yours better.’ As he turns around to me again, his eyes are dancing.

  ‘So, what do you want that’s not lunch, to pay you back in case it does work out?’ This has to be the guilt talking too, but I have to warn him. ‘I can’t do hard stuff.’

  ‘You’re the one with the good ideas around here.’ This time there’s no mistaking. He definitely laughs. ‘Seriously, you do enough for Cam, but if you ever have a flash of business inspiration to pass my way, I won’t say no.’

  Shepherd’s huts are really not my thing, but I’m already pondering over his, with their dull wooden insides, how they’d surely be so much more saleable if they were painted.

  He hands me the end of the tape and points to the bracket. ‘Just hold this here for me, then I’ll measure and we’ll cut the blind to size.’

  He’s still laughing, but as I stare at the tape what I see is enough to block his laughter out.

  ‘Edie?’ His voice tightens. ‘You are okay … is the room spinning?’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ My eyes are locked on the metal strip. ‘It’s the numbers.’ Suddenly my heart’s surging in my chest.

  ‘Yes, if they weren’t there it wouldn’t be a tape.’ He’s nodding patiently, but he isn’t getting it.

  ‘The numbers …’ I can’t quite believe what I’m saying. ‘… I know them. I’ve been pretty good lately when Aunty Jo’s pointed to them on the fridge, but this is the first time I’ve come across them in real life and they’ve actually meant something to me.’ I run my finger backwards and forwards along the tape. ‘Three, seven, five, nine, one.’ I stare up at him.

  ‘I reckon you’ve got that all the way to a hundred there.’

  ‘To where?’ I feel like Dad when politics comes on TV. Sometimes you can’t help zoning out.

  ‘You know, ten, twenty, thirty, forty …’

  Thirty? At last there’s something I can lock onto again. I smile at him. ‘I’m Edie Browne and I’m thirty-two.’ It all comes out together, because it’s one of the firs
t things Mum taught me to remember. ‘Born 29th November 1985.’

  ‘We’ll have a party when the time comes for your birthday.’

  Except we won’t, because I’ll be well gone by then. But before I can think about getting back to work, I’m going to need my numbers to be way better than they are.

  He’s staring at me expectantly.

  ‘With the tape I thought I was doing okay, but I’m not at all.’ My heart was whooshing with excitement, but now I’ve realised how much I still don’t know my insides feel like someone stamped on them.

  ‘Edie, it’s a few figures, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But it does to me.’ I swallow the saliva that’s gathering in my throat, and curse myself for being so all over the place. Whenever this happens, the next thing I know, I’m crying.

  Barney gives me a nudge as he rolls in the tape. ‘Forget about measuring, you were going to tell me about my free lunch. That’s way more important.’

  It takes a moment for my head to move on from tangles of numbers, but I need to begin by being honest.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever personally hankered after a home on wheels.’ Hopefully this covers that I couldn’t be less of a fan, but at least thinking about making my excuses has dried up my tears. ‘But when I first saw yours I was surprised – maybe even a little disappointed – to find they were just shells.’

  Barney’s face twists into a grimace. ‘We call them shepherd’s huts, but it’s a well-kept secret, we basically sell wooden boxes.’

  ‘And you’re doing really well with that, but what about all the customers who don’t have the vision to see what those wooden boxes could become? You’re missing them completely.’

  ‘You could be onto something there, Edie. So what are you saying?’

  ‘Only that if you had a few pictures, or better still, a finished example, you’d broaden your appeal. I mean on every new development we do it’s the show house that sells the rest of the homes.’

  ‘I’m a carpenter with one favourite colour – battleship grey.’

  ‘I noticed that.’ I send him a grin. ‘I’m not saying I’ll be any better, but I could try some mood boards, work up some colours or maybe some themes?’

  ‘Brilliant, let’s give it a go.’

  My smile fades as I remember. ‘I’m not an expert, in my day job I mostly shout at builders.’ There’s no point not being honest, other people in the office have always done the designs.

  ‘I’m looking at your pillows.’ His lips twist into a grin as he nods towards the bed. ‘Anyone who can write And they slept … on one pillow, and … happily ever after on the other has got a lot more idea about customer appeal than I do.’

  ‘Arrrghh.’ My silent groan comes out way too loud. I really didn’t want him to notice my Mr and Mrs cushion try-outs, let alone read them. Worst of all, he might think they’re my personal pillows of choice and assume that’s what I’m looking for in life. ‘They’re not for me, I’m definitely not desperately seeking Mr Browne.’

  ‘You already told me that the day you arrived and again when we went scrambling.’ He laughs. As for the way that smile cuts straight through and belts me in the stomach, that wasn’t part of the plan either. When his smile widens and he gets those slices in his cheeks, it makes everything so much worse. ‘If you give me a few ideas to kick around, I’ll even come and paint your bedroom for you, how about that?’

  ‘What?’ It comes out as another squeak.

  ‘This wallpaper must play havoc with your brain. I’ve only been in here five minutes and my head’s throbbing.’ He’s laughing properly now. ‘If we’re going to get you better, those giant flowers have to go, pretty much right away. And if you’re supposed to be taking it easy, it makes sense for me to do the physical stuff, while you work on ideas for the shepherd’s huts. I take it making me some mood boards or whatever it is you call them won’t tire you out too much?’

  In terms of things going downhill fast, I’m pretty much back on the bobsleigh. Giving the guy next door a free pass to my bedroom, and having a Tourette’s moment and offering to help him make his poncy shepherd’s huts look cool. Two things to take me right out of my comfortable place. And getting smacked in the face with the realisation of how far my maths needs to go. On balance, if I could wipe out where the last few minutes has taken my life, and stick with the curtains, I would.

  And for the record, there’s a number ten on my list. That smile. It’s a total killer. All I can say is thank cupcakes it never gets used. If it did I’d have to shoot back to Bath. Straight away. On the next Uber.

  26

  Day 182: Wednesday, 2nd May

  At Periwinkle Cottage

  Epic Achievement: Dying of shame and living to make the tea.

  Men in my personal space? I don’t wholeheartedly recommend it, but if it’s moving the cottage forward, I’ll have to work with it.

  ‘Tea, two sugars, and some shortbread.’ It’s just out of the oven. Still warm.

  As I put the mug down on the table in my bedroom, I’m bracing myself to withstand any reaction.

  Barney takes a slurp of tea, and as he takes a bite he unleashes a grin. ‘Is this Scottish shortcake then? You do know the Scots prefer salt on their porridge instead of sugar?’

  I saw that one coming, so I’ve already turned away. In the two weeks since Barney first came into my room, I’ve taken precautions in other areas too. All my clothes are safe in their drawers, and hidden another time by a layer of dust sheets. With the entire room swathed in Aunty Jo’s flowery curtains from Happy-land, it feels a lot less like I’m a teenager luring boys back to my lair.

  ‘Good work. Is it nearly ready?’ I lean to the window to check the view. ‘The sea is all green and jangly.’ It’s worth mentioning, because now the days are brighter, the sea changes every time I look.

  ‘Another coat on those two walls, I’ll be done. This serenity grey you’ve chosen has made the room a whole lot calmer.’

  ‘It does what it says—’

  His smile widens. ‘—on the tin.’

  And I haven’t held back on my side of the bargain either; I’ve been working on shepherd’s hut ideas. First I got a whole load of different photos together on my laptop, then once I scrolled through them with Barney, it was obvious which ones he liked and hated from his groans and sniffs.

  So I’m currently overlooking my shudders, channelling my inner shepherdess, and working up themes like Wriggly Tin Man, Scandi Weave, Anything That’s Wool or Wood, and Gardens are Green (mostly, but sometimes they have bursts of flowers). As Bella and Tash both pointed out, it’s not like I identify with the luxury flats we fit out. I’d never choose wall-to-wall marble for my own bathroom, but I’m happy to deliver them for work. If I think of the Dots, Stripes and Daisies shepherd’s hut interior I’m dreaming up as a proper job and a step closer back into the workplace, I can see my brand-new soothing bedroom walls are simply a bonus.

  Barney’s not the only guy running round the cottage with a paint roller in his hand either. It took one morning of Malcolm sprucing up the lawn with his electric clippers for him to persuade us to let him carry on working inside. People who make things look like their best version are a rare find; not many guys would have transformed the garden to magazine-picture neat in between two cups of tea, and that’s how fast he worked. Beth reckons that, unlike my dad, hers is meticulous about the edges and tidying up. Once he told us he came with his own garden vac and Weed and Feed, he was straight on the team.

  One thing’s certain, he wasn’t joking about how much he needed feeding. In other words, I’m getting plenty of practice baking. With Malcolm here doing bits of decorating some part of most days, we get through so much cake, if we had to get it in town we’d have already blown the entire budget.

  It’s not only in the cottage that we’re making progress. After I put up a card in Plum’s gallery – beautifully written by Aunty Jo – we had loads of interest, and more of the stables are being
painted out as the barn yard slowly fills up with people who are happy to find what we are careful to point out will be a ‘home for a few weeks’ max. When George was sorting out the informal letters for them to sign, he mentioned to Aunty Jo that properties sell best here in the summer, so that’s what we’re heading for.

  As a wet nose snuffles against my ankle, I bend down to pat the dog. ‘Does Robert want a drink?’ However sniffy Aunty Jo is about dogs in the bedrooms, where Barney goes the dog goes too. It’s not anything you’d argue about with either of them.

  Barney smiles down at the little daxi. ‘Thanks, but he’s got some water over here.’ He’s looking up at me now. ‘So you like dogs then?’

  ‘Robert’s cute.’ As I tickle his ears and he rolls over onto his back, it’s as if he heard. ‘I always wanted a dog as a kid.’ Tash and I were desperate but Mum always said it wasn’t fair when she was out all day at work. And the growth of households with dogs wasn’t a trend Marcus’s mates had jumped on as yet, which I was sad about at the time. But if we were struggling over custody of the suitcases, I can’t imagine how we’d have managed with a pet.

  ‘And you’re not allergic or anything?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘And would Aunty Jo take to a dog then?’

  ‘She gets tetchy with me when I forget to leave my clean boots by the vegetable rack and swap into my slippers, so dog hairs and dirty paws might push her over the edge.’

  He pulls a face at that. ‘Robert’s small, but in his head he’s the size of a Great Dane. So long as I never raise my voice or my hopes when I ask him to do anything, we get along fine. He’s really helped Cam settle in too.’

  ‘It must be hard for Cam?’

  ‘He’s not doing so badly. Beth and Loella and the kids all look out for him, and he likes coming here.’ His face relaxes again. ‘He’s got a very soft spot for you and Aunty Josie.’

  ‘We’ve got soft spots for him too.’ I’m wondering how long he’s been here. ‘He’s six, remember?’