Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  I’m jumping in to explain. ‘Loella and I dropped in a few shops with a sample sign on the off-chance, I had no idea they’d come back so fast.’

  ‘First the hen party pillows, now this.’ Aunty Jo’s beaming. ‘We could be cooking on gas after all.’

  Malcolm’s eyes slide off the rather big wood pile and onto my book. ‘You’ll have to look for Poldark another time. He isn’t that good-looking in real life, it’s all down to camera angles, you do know that?’

  ‘Rubbish, Beth’s dad, you’re only jealous.’ If it comes out easily it’s because I’m bouncing inside. To anyone else it might seem like nothing. But making signs is something I can actually do, with a bit of help from Aunty Jo, and now someone wants to pay me to do it. And I almost got the orders myself. On this day in my life, it doesn’t get any better. Okay, it’s only a few letters on bits of old board. But it means I’m wanted and I’m useful. When I’ve been totally useless for so long, there’s no better feeling.

  He’s backing towards the door. If he’s got any sense he’ll leave before Aunty Jo sends him to get his vac.

  ‘Eleven sharp tomorrow, okay? I’ll be in my best car, so be ready.’

  I’m laughing. ‘Can’t wait.’ And just this once I mean it.

  28

  Day 187: Monday, 7th May

  Bank Holiday Weekend Outing to Rosehill

  Epic Achievement: Whooping it up with the gardening club. (Just please don’t tell anyone.)

  Painting the signs was a great opportunity to let my mind wander. Once I’d looked down my list and chosen my shortest sayings, I concentrated really hard and roughed them out in chalk on the planks. As soon as Aunty Jo had checked them over for mistakes, I began to paint the letters using the brushes I’d bought to make a sign for the cottage.

  ‘Stay wild’, ‘Boom!’, ‘Salty but Sweet’, ‘You Can’, ‘Sparkle & Shine’, ‘Expect AMAZING’.

  Somehow it seemed important that they weren’t just any old words, that they were mine, from my heart. But best of all, this time I was able to read the words enough to pick the phrases out myself.

  ‘Shhhhhhhhh’, ‘Grow cactus’ – complete with a picture of the cutest little spiky plants – ‘Dream BIG’, ‘… and chill’, ‘Make waves’, ‘As free as …’, ‘Doing this for me’, ‘Never or now?’

  Aunty Jo pointed out that the last one wasn’t in the order you’d expect. But in the end we decided it worked better that way because it makes you think more.

  As I painted there was space to ponder what we had talked about over the pedi. And I have to come clean. When I say I never thought about having kids, it’s not completely true. At times when I lived with Marcus there were rogue thoughts that came out of nowhere, stayed for a moment, then left just as fast. Sometimes when I was passing his games room, in my head for a few fleeting seconds I’d try out what it would be like if it was a nursery. If instead of the cries of FIFA commentators, how it would be if I was standing on the landing listening to the regular breathing of a small sleeping person.

  Obviously this was going to be at some very non-definite point in the future, and – obviously, absolutely, crucially – I never said anything to Marcus. I probably didn’t actually admit it to myself either. But one day when I accidentally came across the most adorable pale grey fabric with tiny white stars on – it was a given that Marcus would be having a son, he was one of those guys who you just know don’t waste their efforts making female sperms – before I even realised what I was doing, I’d noted down the supplier, and taken a snippet. All without it being in any way significant. I’d got as far as knowing that was what I’d be using for a blind, if ever it happened, that was all. Saving these things when you see them sidesteps so much frustration if you can’t find them later.

  It was on the same kind of half-conscious level as the way I daydreamed about the invitation courses at Paper Moon. There wasn’t any rush. I wasn’t in any way desperate to get proposed to, the images were hazy and distant, as if I were seeing them through layers of floating chiffon. But the point is, they were definitely there. I have had those thoughts. Somehow they simply existed as part of the certainty of my future with Marcus. Like so much else back then, before I got my promotion, before we argued, I’d taken it as a given that, as the cogs turned, everything would fall into place for us, when the time was right. Quite how I missed that Marcus had it all mapped out in his head and wanted the baby part ‘now’ is a mystery. I certainly never came across him standing on the landing looking dreamy. And then everything got turned upside down, and now none of it matters anyway. Apart from what Aunty Jo said yesterday making me think a little bit.

  So much for planning for the future. I certainly never thought I’d be out with a gardening club any time before I was Dad’s age, but here I am. Getting transported in the back of Beth’s dad’s Ford Granada, which is almost as old as Beth.

  Rosehill isn’t far away, and as we head between the hedges and fields away from the more crowded coast, Beth’s dad lets us listen to his Dad’s Jukebox CD. You know what dads are like, turning up the volume when they like a song. We have to put our hands over our ears in All Right Now, then my dad’s favourite, Razorlight’s America comes on. Beth’s dad is just as insistent as mine about us all joining in, and don’t ask me how, but I still know all the words and he’s having so much fun he flips it back and plays it through twice more. So before we know it, we’re pulling up and getting out on the sweetest village green surrounded by the most picturesque rows of stone cottages and houses, to find all the usual crowd are there too. Not only are there picture book clouds scudding across the bright sky, it’s also suddenly baking hot. As we wander past the small paned windows and pretty doorsteps along the main street, despite peeling off my sweatshirt and rolling up my jeans, I’m still having to flap my Love Saves the Day T-shirt to stay cool. It’s one I bought before I argued with Marcus, and the slogan is bittersweet because that particular day, love didn’t save anything at all. If I was buying it again now I’d definitely choose the T-shirt with stars on instead. Just saying. For the record.

  Once the tour gets underway, the first gardens we visit are teensy but immaculate, and crammed between the sweetest higgledy-piggledy stone houses behind wobbly garden walls. As we peep into really neat greenhouses, crammed with trays full of seedlings, Beth is behind us, telling us all the plant names. We pick our way along paths between swathes of tulips and bluebells, gasp at flower-studded camellias, and peer at stripy hostas in shady corners.

  She points up at a cascade of tiny blue flowers tumbling over a random stone wall. ‘That’s a clematis alpina, they’re great because they love shade and they flower all through spring.’

  ‘Amazing.’ I’m so enthusiastic I’m even surprising myself here. ‘The gardens are so pretty, like rooms but outside.’

  ‘Growing things is easier than you’d think, it’s very good for inner wellbeing, you should try it some time.’ She pauses to send me one of her significant stares, which is completely lost on me because as someone whose Brownie Guide sunflower seeds never made it out of the packet, I have no idea what the hell she’s alluding to. ‘You’ll probably like the next one even better, Edie, it’s where we’re having refreshments.’

  Then we all go to someone’s really lovely pale lavender summerhouse, flanked by flowering cherries in full bloom, and spill out across a petal-covered lawn for the kind of cream tea that Cornwall is legendary for. The scones are huge, fluffy and warm, and come on large white china plates, with a dollop of cream and individual jars of homemade strawberry jam, and the tea is strong and delivered in chunky blue and white striped mugs.

  Loella gives me a nudge as she kneels down on the checkered wool rug next to me and nods at the fabulous wooden building. ‘That’s one of Barney’s, by the way, painted by the customer.’

  ‘Cool.’ It’s actually much more than that, so I take a few photos to use on my mood boards. Now she’s mentioned him, I might as well ask. ‘Where is he, anyw
ay?’

  ‘He was very mysterious, off on some top-secret mission, apparently.’ She scratches her nose, then she picks up her scone and turns to the rest of the garden. ‘So, remind me, which is the right way, jam first with cream on top, or cream first and then jam?’

  From her half wink at me she knows it’s going to be a controversial question. My stomach’s rumbling too much to wait until everyone’s had their say, so I quietly get on with the job and compromise by sliding jam under my cream and over it. Then Mia spots what I’m doing and copies me, then Tally and all the other kids insist on doing the same.

  And when we’ve all come to the end – some of us for a second time – and we’re picking up the last crumbs off our plates on our fingertips, Loella claps her hands for quiet. ‘This radical and ultimate variation of jam-cream-jam is going to go down in history as the Edie Browne Cornish Cream Tea, as discovered on the St Aidan Cottage Gardeners’ May Bank Holiday Monday outing.’

  I know she’s only messing about, but it still leaves me grinning, and glowing like the afternoon sunshine on the inside. Although I can’t help wondering what Edie from Bath and Bristol would have made of it. I’m not sure she’d have understood at all. Perhaps she’d have been shocked that my life had become so small that that was enough to make me happy? Then it hits me. She wouldn’t have been looking round gardens in the first place, so she’d have missed it anyway.

  By the time we wind our way back towards the sea again it’s late afternoon and, although the sun is still glinting off the pale blue water, the crowds of Bank Holiday visitors are beginning to thin out. We find a spot on the beach at the far end of the bay, away from the town, where the sand is dented and choppy from a day of footfall. We throw down the rugs again, and while the adults dip into the cool box for beers and cans of Coke, the kids dance off and begin to make a castle. Then Loella, Beth’s dad and I wander off along the tideline to find driftwood, and by the time we stomp back along the sand with aching ankles and arms, someone has strung a net across the beach. So while Beth and Morgan make a fire and cook sausages, the rest of us dive around playing that thing where you knock a football in the air with your hands, while the sea behind us rolls in and out and comes closer up the beach as the tide rolls in. Although like everything else in St Aidan, there are apparently no rules, and somehow everyone ends up feeling like they’re on the winning team.

  I’m back down on the rug again, chatting to Aunty Jo, biting into my hot dog bun, busy trying not to drop ketchup on my jeans, when I feel a poke in my ribs from Loella.

  ‘Barney’s here now, there’s no hiding his surprise, is there?’

  As I look up, I see exactly what she means. Cam is walking along with Robert scampering beside him, at times almost lost in the sand drifts, his usual little brown perky self. But the animal Barney’s hanging onto is close to the size of a small pony, and judging by his smile being as wide as the bay, I’d say he’s pleased about it.

  ‘You got a new dog?’ As I take in what looks like a dirty white floor mop on four gangly legs, its tail wagging wildly in the wind, I’m suddenly doubting my snap judgement. Then it bounds towards me, lets out a woof, and starts to lick my face.

  ‘I was going to say, “Edie, meet Dustin”, but I think he just introduced himself.’

  ‘He likes tomato.’ I whisk my hot dog out of the way and swipe my hand across my chin, hoping between us we’ve sorted the sauce smears.

  As the dog flops down on the rug beside me, Aunty Jo leaps across to the next blanket and Barney, Cam and Robert shuffle into the space she’s left.

  Aunty Jo pulls even further back. ‘Do tell me you won’t be bringing him to Periwinkle, Barney, my Dyson won’t cope with paws that huge and sandy.’

  ‘I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.’ As I rub his ears and look into the deep pools of those brown doggy eyes, there’s something very familiar about his soft white furry face.

  ‘He’s the spit of the singing dog on the Flash advert, you probably recognise him from there, right down to the way he shakes mud over the house.’ He cocks an eyebrow at Aunty Jo. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll only come to splatter your walls if you ask him to.’

  ‘I love that advert.’ Beth breaks into song. ‘Where the hell has all the mud gone …? Flash, ah-ha, it works miracles …’ and I lead the ‘Me too’ echoes.

  ‘So what is Dustin, where’s he come from, and what the hell are you doing with him?’ Loella’s doing her bit to bring St Aidan up to speed on this.

  ‘If you’re asking about his family tree, his mum was a standard poodle and his dad was an Old English Sheepdog. And his full name is Dustin Welly Boots, but he’s fine with just Dustin.’

  ‘A designer hybrid then?’ Beth likes her definitions.

  ‘I’d say he was more of a happy accident. As for the rest, he’s an assistance dog, but his owner’s ill, so he’s staying with Cam and I until they can both go home again.’

  ‘You mean the ones that wash up, answer the phone, and pick up socks?’ I’ve seen them on daytime TV, they do stuff like emptying the dishwasher, and bringing your post if you’re in a wheelchair.

  ‘If he helps that much, pass him our way.’ Loella and Beth are nodding at each other.

  ‘Sorry, help dogs are all individually tailored to match their owner’s needs. You’ll have to carry on with your own chores. Dustin doesn’t do cleaning.’ Barney shoots Beth a grin. ‘I’ve got a friend who works as a trainer with one of the charities in Exeter, he’s come to us through her.’

  ‘So what does he do?’ As he rests his head on my knee it’s hard to imagine him doing anything more strenuous than cosying up on the sofa.

  ‘Dustin’s special talent is alerting people if his owner needs help, say if she falls. But mostly he’s just good company.’

  I’m suddenly taking a lot more notice. ‘If I had a dog like that, I’d be so much less worried about being on my own.’ I can’t think why I didn’t think of it before. It was probably because I was thinking about so many other things too.

  The way Barney’s eyes lock with mine, it’s like he’s reading my mind. ‘That’s right, Edie, if you hang out with Dustin while he’s here, you’ll get a better idea. But I’d say a dog like him might be great for you.’

  ‘Guy Barnaby, whichever hat you’ve pulled this rabbit out of, brilliant work.’ Loella reaches across and punches his arm

  ‘Hang out?’ I’m staring at Barney.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to take him out for walks while he’s staying? Or visit him at ours when we’re out. He’s used to a lot more exercise than Cam and I can give him on our own.’ Barney’s smile is warm. ‘Once you get to know each other better, it might give you a chance to try going out by yourself again on the beach. Better still, it’ll give poor Josie a rest. I’ve seen you dragging her along the seafront, you practically walk her legs off.’ It’s good he’s managed to turn this away from me.

  Cam’s tapping my arm. ‘Robert and me want to come too, Barney says we can all go walking on the beach every day when we’ve done our reading.’

  ‘That’s a date then?’ I’m smiling down at him, still rubbing Dustin’s shaggy head.

  ‘Tomorrow. After school.’

  ‘Defo.’

  ‘So how about a hot dog? Please tell me we haven’t missed them.’ Barney’s moving onto more pressing matters.

  Which leaves me holding onto Dustin, and sounding out the words on the sauce bottles with Cam, and puzzling over where the hell ‘Heinz’ comes into all this. I’m just warning him that hot mustard will make his tongue burn when someone brings a guitar over. It’s only when I hear Barney’s groan that I realise it’s meant for him.

  ‘Strumming by the camp fire, Edie’s going to think I’m such a cliché.’

  Too right. Going out with the gardeners was already a stretch. If he starts playing Streets of London I’ll have to jump in Beth’s dad’s taxi before I die of shame. Hot dogs and hand ball on the beach are one thing. Yes, I d
o festivals with big stages, but mass singing in small groups in public is way too much for any version of Edie I know. Even the sun sliding down towards the sea, washing the whole beach in a soft golden light, doesn’t make it acceptable.

  ‘Okay, it’s a school day tomorrow, there’s only time for a couple.’ He slings the guitar strap over his head, pulls a piece of plastic out of his pocket and runs his thumb across the strings. ‘I’m taking requests …’

  Everybody shouts at once.

  ‘Okay, we’ll leave Mamma Mia for when we have an Abba night.’ He’s fiddling, tightening the strings. ‘Let’s start with Loella’s favourite.’

  A second later he launches into American Pie, and from the way the kids go wild it’s not the first time they’ve heard it. There’s an original version which lasts for ages, and an extended one. But the St Aidan version, as played by Barney here, has to be the longest in the world ever, and it ends up getting faster and faster. Then before I even realise he’s finished, he’s moved straight into a perfect little rendition of A Crazy Little Thing Called Love. By the time he gets onto Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I’ve given up rolling my eyes and I’m just marvelling at how natural and relaxed he is. I look around to check on Aunty Jo, but she’s next to Beth’s dad and they’re both nodding along. As I tap on Dustin’s back, I’m trying to make sense of who exactly Barney is. Decorator, stand-in dad, dog whisperer, then he gets his kit off for the life drawing, and now he’s this busker working the crowd with some beaten up guitar and the kind of deep undertones in his voice that are giving me goosebumps.

  ‘Okay, last one.’ He looks across at me. ‘Not too much of a cliché, Edie Browne?’

  What can I say? In the end I decide it’s best to be honest. ‘It’s more happy-by-the-sea.’

  ‘I’ll take that, even if it does sound like it came straight off your list.’

  ‘No, I promise it didn’t.’ But I will put it on as soon as I get home.