Edie Browne's Cottage by the Sea

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘You’re right about the change.’ I try to ignore that I feel like I’ve had a boot in the stomach.

  ‘Barney and Cam both seemed a bit lost without you at first, Sweetpea.’

  I can’t help snapping. ‘Well, it’s good they got over it so fast.’ I know it’s hard for Cam, but it feels like the space I occupied has already sealed over. The only good side is this way I sidestep any lingering awkwardness after the glamping night. ‘Anyway, where’s Malcolm?’ At least we can rely on him to be a permanent fixture.

  Aunty Jo sniffs. ‘Since your mum’s party, I’ve barely seen him.’ She looks up and pulls a face. ‘He’s done the garden, but he hasn’t been in for cake. Or out for lunch.’

  ‘Did Dad overdo the beer?’

  ‘It wasn’t that. Malcolm’s not a city person, I was silly to take him.’ She’s bunching up her lips and frowning hard. ‘It’s completely normal, it was the same in Harpenden. When you’re moving on, some people drop you like a hot potato.’

  It’s not that I’m doubting her. I just hadn’t got Malcolm down as a dropper, that’s all. Or Barney. They’re actually two of the few people I’d trust to hold my chips. And, unless I’m mistaken, Malcolm took us to Bath, not the other way around.

  ‘So, it’s just you and me, then.’ However hurt and put-out I feel, I refuse to waste my last days of freedom sitting around moping. ‘How about we think about some ideas for the living room in your next place?’

  She brightens. ‘The cottage is beautiful now, but it’s never truly felt like home.’

  ‘We’ll make sure your new flat does.’ I plump down next to her and pass over her laptop. ‘Let’s look at some sofas.’

  She’s staring at me proudly. ‘I’ve never had a room designed by a Creative Director before.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m not “in post” yet.’ And I already know smart city clients are going to be a lot more exacting than the ones around here.

  ‘But you will be, one day soon. That’s what counts.’ She pats my hand. ‘Everyone’s over the moon for you.’

  ‘They all know?’ I’m not sure why I bothered to ask that.

  ‘Why wouldn’t they?’

  It’s another one of those times when a laptop knows what you’re wanting to buy before you do. Within seconds of her opening it up, the perfect sofa pops up on her screen. Dusky pink velvet. Bang on trend. With the squishiest cushions. And an end of summer sale tag that makes it completely irresistible.

  ‘That’s it!’ Her eyes are shining. ‘I’m smitten.’

  ‘Great price, lovely fabric, it’s very “now”. The windows of the Neptune shop in Bath were full of grey and blush.’

  She’s tense with excitement. ‘There’s an extra discount for immediate delivery. If I order now, it’ll be here this time tomorrow.’ This is Aunty Jo. Saving it for the new flat was never going to work. I’ll have to accept her new decor is going to be sofa-led.

  ‘Order some Farrow and Ball Sulking Room Pink too. You’ve still got a few weeks here, let’s make you a room you can truly enjoy until you move.’

  ‘Thanks, Chickpea, this is so much better than being quiet.’ She’s straight onto Google. ‘What are we searching for next?’

  If I have on eye on the screen and the other on the French windows, it’s only because I’m so used to people dropping in. Well, Cam. But obviously he doesn’t.

  So that was Wednesday.

  43

  Day 310: Friday, 7th September

  Back in St Aidan

  Epic Achievement: Does a pink sofa count?

  (I didn’t actually choose it, but it’s certainly epically beautiful.)

  On Thursday the sofa arrives. However beautiful it looked in the picture, in real life it’s better.

  The second we’ve ripped off the cardboard and pushed it into position, Aunty Jo closes her eyes and sinks down onto it. ‘This is so comfy, I might just stay here all day.’ Then she stretches out her arms and rubs the velvet.

  ‘Great choice, Aunty Jo, it’s gorgeous.’ It’s the kind of sofa that’s so lovely you’d probably want two of them, but I don’t risk saying that.

  She pushes her nose up in the air. ‘It’s a shame no one else is here to help us test it.’

  However much I agree, I’m not going to say it out loud.

  ‘Why not see how Swan Lake looks from there?’ I’m on a winner, she’s never yet refused.

  But she only frowns. ‘You know, Chicken, it’s the people, isn’t it? The people are what’s important, not the places. Or the rubbish you watch on TV to pass the time.’ The sigh she lets out goes on for ages, and when she looks back from gazing out of the window her expression is wistful. ‘Being content is a funny thing. And other times you don’t realise you were happy until you’re not.’

  I’m thinking of what I can add to that to give a positive spin to her move. ‘That’s why, if there’s a chance to be happy, you have to grab it and not let go.’

  She’s dabbing her nose with a tissue. ‘You’re right. I’ll make sure I remember that.’

  ‘You can’t beat good friends or fabulous sofas.’ I don’t want her getting all teary, so I find Giselle, slide it into the DVD player and press play. ‘We’ll go along and choose some bits from the barn yard later, we’ll be sure to bump into someone to admire your sofa.’

  But when we go to the barn yard there’s no one there, and it’s one of Barney’s guys who carries round the little square cabinet Aunty Jo chooses for me to paint.

  *

  By Friday afternoon it’s had three coats, and the pink is reminding Aunty Jo of her old ballet shoes so much she goes upstairs and finds them, and we hang them on the wall and tie their satin ribbons in ragged bows. Meanwhile I’m thinking about Bella and co, going around the pavement bars in Bath after work, while I’m here. When I opted for Unicorn Specials in St Aidan over a night out with the girls, I was obviously taking too much for granted.

  ‘Do you fancy a Friday evening trip to the Plank Place?’

  Aunty Jo looks up from the corner of the sofa where she’s curled up with a book. ‘That used to be your usual, didn’t it?’ How can ten tiny days away have changed things so much? I hate how it already sounds like it’s in the past, and how miserable Aunty Jo’s looking.

  ‘The ice creams are on me tonight.’ I find a piece of paper, scribble those same words, draw a teensy cactus and a sundae glass piled full, and fold it in two. ‘I’ve got barely any time left here, I’m not staying home. I don’t want to upset Cam, so I’ll drop this note in next door, let Barney decide if they want to come.’ I’m pushing my luck here. ‘You could drop one in for Malcolm too?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  By the time I get out on the lane I’m almost losing my nerve, so I run like the wind and I’m back before Aunty Jo has turned her page. As she’s still firmly on the sofa, she’s obviously less desperate than me.

  ‘Don’t you have some long floaty Swan Lake ballet dresses?’ I’m trying to keep my mind off the invitation that’s lying outside Barney’s big glass doors, wedged under one of Beth’s lanterns.

  Aunty Jo looks up. ‘Only two, they’re in the wardrobe, but they’re very tattered.’

  ‘Go and get them, and bring those old programmes out of your desk too.’ Whatever it takes to cheer her up, I’m going for it. ‘The buyers are committed, so bugger neutral, you and Periwinkle deserve a dance-themed makeover.’

  As I rush off to see what else pink and grey I can find around the barn yard, I’ve practically forgotten the note. Well, that’s not completely true, but I’m only thinking about it every other second, not all the time. So when I’m rearranging the cushions in the easy chair for the umpteenth time and hear a familiar low voice behind me, there’s no wonder I jump so hard I end up throwing them across the room.

  Barney’s holding Robert in the crook of his arm, but he stoops to pick up the sheepskin one that landed on his boot. ‘I thought you’d finished here?’

  As I look at
the shadow of stubble on his jaw, I try not to think how it felt against my palm, or how much gaunter and drawn he looks than when I left.

  ‘We’re having a change. embracing blush and bigging up the grey.’

  The edges of his eyes crinkle as he frowns. ‘What’s Miss Havisham’s wedding dress doing on the wall?’

  ‘It’s Aunty Jo’s Dying Swan frock, to make it feel more homely.’ As I lean in to give Robert a tickle he tries to make a lunge for me, but Barney holds him firm. ‘Have a seat, be the first visitor to try the new sofa.’ If he’s going to make a crack about dead birds, he can take a running jump. But then I catch the wounded look in his eyes and know that he’s not.

  ‘I can’t stay.’ He drops Robert’s lead onto the coffee table, sits down, still hugging Robert, and holds up my note between his fingers. ‘There are a few things I need to clear up.’

  ‘Right.’ My mouth’s gone dry. ‘So the Plank Place is off?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Edie, but Cam’s losing another person he cares about. I’ve agonised over this. Now he’s getting used to you not being around, it’s better we keep our distance.’

  ‘Okay.’ It’s not at all. I feel like he’s put an axe through my heart, but I can see where he’s coming from. ‘And the rest?’

  ‘About the glamping …’

  ‘Oh, that.’ My chest’s imploding as I wait for him to carry on.

  ‘It was a great night.’

  I can’t argue. ‘Best ever.’

  ‘But that’s all it was, I’m not expecting more.’

  ‘I’m … pleased to hear it.’

  ‘I mean, neither of us is in a position …’

  It’s a relief he left it at that. ‘We certainly aren’t. Good call, if you hadn’t got in first, I would have.’ I have no idea why my chest is aching. ‘So if that’s all … I’ll let you go?’

  He’s up and across the room faster than you can say ‘Run for the hills’, but he stops at the French window. ‘That’s one very comfy sofa.’ He lets out a wistful sigh. ‘It’s a shame. Sugar Plum Fairy would have been great for a shepherd’s hut theme.’ Then, just before he goes, he pauses and pulls a face. ‘But dead birds and the feel-good factor, how does that work? Make sure you call in and say goodbye before you leave.’

  And then he’s gone, and Aunty Jo’s bustling through. ‘Was that Barney? He can’t go yet, he hasn’t tried the settee.’

  ‘He gave it five stars.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Aunty Jo doesn’t wait for my reply, instead she swoops on the table. ‘Why on earth did he rush off without taking Robert’s lead?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ It’s the same answer for both questions.

  ‘Well, you’d best get it back to him quickly. He’s going to need it.’

  ‘Can’t you take it?’

  She snatches up her book. ‘It’s best if you do it, I’m finishing my chapter.’

  ‘Fine.’ It really isn’t. He couldn’t have made it any clearer, he doesn’t want me anywhere near.

  ‘Grab a cardi and pop along now, Sweetpea, you’ll be back before you know you’ve gone.’

  It’s that funny thing about being told what to do by someone you knew as a child; if it’s your aunty, sometimes your body overrides your mind. This is me, now. I’m out on the lane, with the wind whipping straight through my knitted sleeves, when I should still be in the house arguing my corner. So long as I do this at a run, I might not even notice I left, although it might help if the man I’m looking for hadn’t left the area entirely. As I pass the end of the barn yard I finally spot Loella in her doorway, and slow my pace for a stride.

  ‘Seen Barney?’

  She jerks her thumb over her shoulder and grins. ‘Down at his.’

  I hare on down the lane, and as I round the corner and slide into Barney’s courtyard, he’s standing by the huge outdoor table. As I race towards him he turns around, so I wave the lead and skid to a halt next to him, panting.

  ‘You left this.’

  ‘So I did. Thanks for bringing it.’ He takes the lead from me and holds it up. ‘We’d have missed this, wouldn’t we, Robert?’

  There’s a beat of time when the world stands still, and I know I should spin straight around and head for the lane. In a few gasps of air I’d be all the way back to the cottage. But the beat passes, and instead of running, I’m still here. Staring at the fruit tree boughs as they groan under the weight of the crop, marvelling at how the apples have turned from green to dark red. That the sea is solid and grey. How the streaks of foam across the water look like painted white lines.

  Then, a moment later, Robert trots out of the open door, nose in the air, tail held high, heading straight for his lead. He takes a few strides towards Barney’s hand, then as he catches sight of me he veers off, breaks into a gallop, and dashes towards me. I’m bracing myself, bending down to catch the weight of a dachshund in full flight, when there’s a loud yap, and a bolt of whiteness comes haring from the doorway.

  ‘Dustin?’

  In two bounds he’s cleared the space between me and the house, then, as the gravel flies, he slides to a halt in front of me. He waits until I catch Robert and sit backwards on my bum, then he dives into my arms too, but in a very gentle way, snuffling around my ears and rubbing his silky furry head against mine. Then, as I stretch out my legs in front of me, he plonks his bum on my thighs, sits down, and throws his full weight against my body.

  ‘I missed you, Dustin.’ I’m burying my face in his neck and hugging him, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes, and giving extra pats to Robert, who’s dipping in then haring around us in circles, barking.

  Then there’s another, louder howl, cutting through the afternoon sunshine.

  ‘Edie Browne? Edie Browne! EDIE BROWNE!!!!’ Cam’s dashing across the courtyard and throwing himself past Dustin and as he lands on my chest he’s pummelling my shoulder with his fists and shouting. ‘It’s you, you’re here, you’ve come back!’

  I pull him into a hug and hold him tight against me so he can’t see my mouth distorting. When I finally let go, I’m laughing as much as I’m crying, and we end up in a heap. And somewhere in the scramble of dog claws and squirming bodies and wagging tails there’s so much love and warmth that when I finally stand up I’m limp and wobbly.

  Barney’s shaking his head as he holds up Robert’s lead. ‘Well, if you’re all done with rolling on the floor, is anyone up for a walk?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want …?’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that now. Only two more weeks, you’d best enjoy it while you can.’

  ‘Too right.’ My mind’s racing. It’s not that I’m a schemer, but I’m thinking of Aunty Jo here too. Time’s precious, we can’t be shut out again. I turn as I hear a shout and see Loella wandering towards us, her zebra-print harem pants billowing in the breeze.

  ‘Hey, how’s our favourite wanderer, are the streets in Bath really paved with gold? And what the hell did you do to Malcolm while he was there? Since he got back he’s as antsy as an elephant with eczema, yet we can’t get him out at all.’ She throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a hug. ‘Any plans for the rest of your stay?’

  ‘Now you mention it …’ I’m winging it here. ‘How does a Barn Yard Festival in two Saturdays’ time grab you?’ It’s my last-but-one day here, but I’ll skip over that. ‘A huge celebration of St Aidan’s crafters to round off the season, as a thank you for all the help you’ve given us.’

  Loella’s hand closes tighter on my shoulder. ‘Edie B, I like your thinking.’

  ‘A festival, that’s amazing! And the town will still be full of September visitors too.’ It’s Beth, and she’s hurrying to join us. ‘Will there be beer?’

  ‘Why not? It can be whatever we want to make it.’

  Beth blows. ‘It’s going to take a lot to get my dad out of the house, but this might just work.’

  Loella’s already bouncing. ‘Edie B, your genius streak has struck again! We’ll go
and spread the word.’

  My mouth got the better of my sense again. But after two days of silence in the barn yard, the thought of everyone moving out, drifting away one by one, is too depressing. It might be selfish, but at least this way we keep it buzzing for as long as we can. We can sit around feeling weepy or we can go out with a bang. And I know which I’d rather do.

  But first things first, we’re off to the beach. And if I’m really, really lucky, some ice cream too.

  44

  Day 324: Friday, 21st September

  Back in St Aidan

  Epic Achievement: Dangling from a rope. It has to be that, doesn’t it?

  ‘So are you going to explain why I’m hanging in mid-air, halfway down a cliff face?’

  This is me, and I’m talking to Barney. But first I need to cover what happened in the meantime.

  In the rest of the world a Crafters’ Festival would take months to roll out, but in St Aidan, spontaneous capital of the universe, two weeks is more than enough. As usual, Beth and Loella are on the job spectacularly fast, signing up stallholders. Before we know it there’s a Barn Yard Festival Facebook page, the kids have made posters and flyers, and we’re all over town. We make it into a feature in the local paper, and Beth and Loella even snatch a spot on Pirate FM.

  The grand festival plan is that all the barn yard units will be open, with craft stalls around the yard too. Then across in the big barn we’re having yet more stalls and serving afternoon teas. Barney’s having his show huts in the field behind the barn, and Roaring Waves brewery will be serving locally brewed craft ales from one of their gazebos. Some of Barney’s farmer mates have brought in a trailer-load of bales to sit on, and the bunting last seen at my mum’s party, plus a whole lot more, is zigzagging across the sky.

  If I’m treading carefully with Barney and Cam, it’s nothing to the eggshells we’re all walking on with Malcolm. It’s only when Aunty Jo insists on masterminding the afternoon teas that we finally coax him out to take her to the over sixties lunch to get helpers. It helped that the Yellow Canary had moved on to their autumn special menu. After three bowls of treacle tart and caramelised apple crumble, Malcolm softened enough to sign up for an afternoon of table clearing, and to take a tiny step towards forgiving Aunty Jo for what she can’t help – moving away.