In the distance a clock chimed, startling Claire from her reverie. She checked her phone and was shocked to see she had been in the garden over an hour. Ambling beneath the trees, seeking out the hidden sculptures, she had been lost in her own meandering thoughts, wondering what it might have been like to live in a great house like this. To walk through the gardens collecting flowers and having secret assignations with ardent lovers.
Okay, that’s too much A Level English Literature going on right there. I’m sure, in the real world, handsome men didn’t profess their undying love and sweep the lucky lady off her feet. No different then than now.
To her right, half-hidden by trees, a large metallic face with an enigmatic expression gazed across the garden. She’d seen scrawny cows and metal deer, and a meadow of silver pots that look like an alien invasion. Despite studying The Arts at university, sculpture wasn’t really her thing, so she was surprised at how peaceful the garden had seemed.
All good things come to an end, though. Time I was getting a wriggle on to Woody’s Top. Another lovely self-catering hostel. I need to either buy food or get there in time to go to the pub. She hesitated. The latter, definitely. A glass of wine is long overdue.
***
TWENTY
Endless fields stretched to the horizon. Claire had a sense of déjà vu and searched her mind for the parallel. Oh yes, driving back to Mum’s house with Sky. Glad to have an explanation for the sense of oppression the interminable flatness pressed on her soul, Claire was nonetheless relieved when the satnav announced they had reached their destination.
Claire looked around for a hostel, but could see only a cottage partially hidden by high hedgerows and surrounded by trees. There was no sign to say if it was the YHA hostel or not, but Claire had an inkling it was somebody’s home.
Great.
She was trying to decide whether it would be better to turn round, call the hostel, or go and ask for directions at the house, when a loud beep behind her made her jump. Her gaze shot to the rear-view mirror and she swallowed as she saw the monster-sized tractor parked directly behind the Skoda.
With a wave of apology in her mirror, Claire pulled into the driveway and looked down as the tractor came past, not wanting to meet the gaze of an irate farmer. The tractor pulled onto the verge in front of her and stopped.
“Oh crap.”
With a dry mouth, Claire watched the driver climb down and walk over to the car. Without looking out the window, Claire wound down the glass and waited for the tirade. It didn’t come.
“Are you lost?”
Claire looked up at the sound of clipped southern vowels and was surprised to see the voice came from a tanned and wrinkled face, dressed in stained blue overalls.
“I’m looking for the youth hostel.”
The face split in a wide grin and the farmer nodded. “Ah, yes. Following your satnav? It always brings people here. It isn’t a problem of course, but maybe we should put up a small sign.”
When Claire didn’t respond, the smile lost some of its brilliance. Oh bugger, was that meant to be a joke? Claire gave a belated grin and was rewarded with a row of shiny teeth.
“The hostel is down the road behind you, about one hundred metres, on your left. I’m afraid there isn’t much there; I do hope you’ve brought some sandwiches.” He smiled again and this time Claire remembered to laugh on cue. She was rewarded with a conspiratorial wink.
The farmer leant forward, resting his hands on the car door. “I’m only having fun, young lady. There’s a charming public house in Tetford. The White Hart Inn. Tell them Andrew sent you, they’ll treat you well.”
I’ll do no such thing, Claire thought, relieved when the strange man pulled his head out the car and sauntered back to his vehicle. With the speed and precision of a racing driver, Claire slammed the Skoda into reverse and forward again, leaving a cloud of dust behind her as she wheel-span back onto the road.
Sure enough, the hostel was up on the left, tucked into a pocket of trees. No wonder I missed it. It’s not exactly a palace. Claire swung in through the narrow gateway and pulled up outside the building. It was single story, as far as she could tell, with a mixture of whitewashed walls and red brick. Fields stretched away behind; a blanket of unrelenting brown, as yet unadorned by spring crops.
A bit different to Thurlby. Never mind. All I’ve got planned is a hot shower, a decent meal, a glass of vino, and my bed.
***
TWENTY-ONE
“Louth: Capital of the Lincolnshire Wolds.”
Claire read the sign signalling her entry to the town. What is a wold? Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like there’ll be a Starbucks.
Even though she had grown up in the area, or maybe because of it, Claire couldn’t imagine there being anything impressive in Lincolnshire, apart from maybe the cathedral at Lincoln. And it’s raining too much for me to think about driving that far.
When Claire had looked out the window after a night of uninterrupted sleep, it was to see heavy rain clouds and deep puddles. Her plan to visit the Cathedral had been driven away by a strong need for caffeine. A glance at the map revealed Louth as the nearest town and she’d set off without checking what she would find when she got there.
Claire drove down the main street, reading the names of the shops through the rain being pushed slowly away by weary wipers. Luck of Louth, Dragonfly Kitchen, Madhatter’s Tearoom. Where am I, for goodness sake? I feel like Alice in bloody Wonderland. Maybe this was a bad idea.
She came to a small square, hemmed in by charity shops and a large Greggs. Great, I can have a soggy pie or buy some paperback books. I want coffee! Reluctantly, Claire parked the car and shrugged on her raincoat. There must be a coffee shop somewhere. I couldn’t move for them in Stamford and it was no bigger than here.
Not wanting to wander aimlessly in the rain, Claire ducked into the nearest charity shop to ask for directions. She shook the rain from her hood and threaded her way through racks of clothes and books until she located the counter. A lady of indeterminable age was serving a customer with a plastic hood over blue-rinse curls. Claire waited impatiently, dripping rain onto the clean floor.
Eventually the women ceased their chatter and, with many cheery farewells, the customer left.
“Excuse me, is there a café near here, please?”
The lady looked at Claire in surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed her waiting by the counter.
“I’m sorry, dear?” She spoke in the loud tones of the deaf, even though she had been conversing normally with the previous customer.
“Is there a café?” Claire decided two could play at that game, and enunciated her words slowly and loudly.
“Of course, dear. Tina and Lynne’s is just round the corner. They do lovely tea.” She rambled on about the quality of the home-made tiffin, while Claire resisted the urge to say it was coffee she was after and it was far too early for cake.
Gradually retreating backwards towards the door with a smile fixed on her face, Claire managed to escape the lady’s chatter. She raised her hand and a muttered a quick goodbye, then ducked out into the street, not caring about the rain or where the coffee shop was.
Sod this, I might as well drive to Lincoln. At least it’s on the way to the next hostel. Bugger the rain, I need to be in a city and soon, before I’m stuck in Wonderland forever.
***
TWENTY-TWO
Claire scurried into the dim building and caught her heel on a snaking line of black cabling stretched across the floor. Nearby a large speaker wobbled and threatened to topple forward. The world slowed to treacle. Before she could think Oh Shit! a man in black stepped out of the shadows and put a steadying hand on the teetering music system.
“I’m so sorry!” Claire’s voice echoed loud in the silent building, resonating high into the roof.
The man frowned and turned away without speaking. Remorse turned to indignation. “Charming,” she muttered, none too quietly. “What’s all this stuff
doing in a cathedral anyway?”
“We recorded a BBC Three concert last night, and the lads are still packing up the equipment. My apologies.”
Claire turned at the sound of the lilting Scottish voice behind her. She felt as wobbly as the speaker as her gaze met a pair of chocolate-brown eyes, twinkling at her in the gloom.
“Er, that’s okay. I’m sorry I tripped. It’s raining cats and dogs outside, I was more interested in getting dry than looking where I was going.”
“Would you like a tour of the cathedral?” The stranger gestured along the aisle as he spoke. “The lads don’t need my supervision and, to be honest, it’ll be nice to have some refined company.”
The words were cheesy, but the smile seemed genuine, and the way he rolled his rs resonated deep in her chest. Claire shrugged. “Sure, why not. I need a few interesting stories for the blog. I don’t suppose you have any inside gossip?”
They walked on, side by side, their footsteps echoing around them. The man gave a low chuckle. “It depends what kind of blog you’re writing, Miss – I’m sorry, I’ve been very rude and haven’t introduced myself. The name’s Anthony.”
He held out his hand and Claire took it, trying not to notice the smooth skin or the grip that went on a fraction longer than expected.
“Claire.” The single word seemed inadequate and she searched for something else - something interesting - to fill the space. “It’s a travel blog, promoting the healthy outdoors.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow and flicked his gaze around the spectacular building surrounding them.
A blush suffused Claire’s face until her complexion matched the red glass of the stained window. “Yes, well, there isn’t much healthy outdoors I want to be doing in a thunderstorm. To be honest I write about whatever has happened to me on any given day, and you can’t always be scaling waterfalls or swinging through the trees.”
Her words raised a glint of interest in Anthony’s eyes and she felt her body respond to his renewed appreciation, like a flower twisting towards the sun. Following his broad shoulders as he led her around the cathedral, she thought how nice it was to let someone else take the lead for a change.
All too soon the tour was over and Anthony had located his team leader to discuss their progress. Claire hovered uncertainly, not sure if she had been dismissed. After a lengthy discussion with the man who had saved the loud speaker from crashing to the floor, Anthony turned back to Claire and raised his lips in a devastating half smile.
“We’re finished up here, would you like to go for a coffee?”
Is he asking me out? Claire felt awkward. After the confusion with Josh, she wasn’t sure she knew how to read the signs anymore. His smile was enticing, but she had fallen for a warm smile before, and found it only burned. Still, coffee was coffee, and she hadn’t yet managed her morning caffeine hit.
“Sure, coffee sounds great. Where’s the nearest Starbucks?”
***
TWENTY-THREE
Claire watched the sensuous lips moving, aware she had no idea what words were being spoken. With a mental shake she tuned back into the conversation.
“…wouldn’t stop coughing, right by the Number Three speaker. I had to ask Simon to offer the woman a throat sweet. I mean, what can you do? I couldn’t throw them out the cathedral for coughing, but it was live on Radio Three. A dreadful dilemma.”
Anthony turned a worried frown towards Claire, seeking reassurance that he had done the right thing offering the persistent cougher a Halls. Realising some response was required, Claire nodded, as if discussing the viral ailments of visitors to Lincoln Cathedral was everyday fare. “I’m sure you did the right thing. So very selfish, coming to a concert with a cough.”
She was rewarded with a grateful smile that caused forgotten regions of her body to flutter in a disturbing way. Cupping her hands around her giant, sadly empty, coffee mug, Claire dredged her mind for a new topic of conversation. Hopefully a more stimulating one.
You’d think being in charge of recording concerts for BBC Radio would be an interesting job. Turns out I was wrong. How disappointing that every job is dull when it’s your job.
“Where to next then, Anthony? What marvellous audio delights do you have to share with the nation?”
Anthony looked vaguely perplexed, as if Claire had spoken in a foreign tongue.
Come on, my accent isn’t so very different from yours, though not nearly so appealing. She gave a small shiver of pleasure. Claire found the Scottish brogue inexplicably sexy, particularly when she was able to understand the words being spoken. Anthony’s silence gave her an excuse to gaze at his attractive face without hiding a yawn.
At last he translated her words in his head, and his face fell, like a school boy discovering he’d got double Latin next instead of Games.
“Opera.” He shuddered, so comically that Claire had to stifle a laugh when she realised he was in earnest. “Britten. The Turn of the Screw.”
Never heard of it. I’m such a philistine.
“Not that I’ve ever heard of it,” Anthony added. “But Opera, eugh. At least it’s back in London, at the Barbican.” He glanced at his watch, as if only now realising he had to get from Lincoln to London in time to oversee set up.
“Christ, is that the time?” He pushed his chair back with a nerve-wrenching screech, and spilt the remainder of his half-drunk latte across the table. Claire stood up just as swiftly, to avoid coffee spilling into her lap. She looked up at Anthony’s soft, wavy hair, the kissable lips, the heavenly eyes framed by eyelashes that wouldn’t look out of place on a cow.
He would be a worthy replacement for Josh in my dreams. If he wasn’t such a boring idiot.
Claire held her hand out to the frazzled man, who took it with a weak grasp, leaning forwards to plant a kiss on her ear, before fleeing the coffee shop.
“Bye,” Claire said to the empty space in front of her. Then she collapsed back onto her chair and gave in to the storm of laughter swirling in her breast.
***
TWENTY-FOUR
Claire looked up at the hostel building and felt a sense of calm. No more cooking, no more sitting like a lemon in a tiny lounge, trying not to feel like the girl that time forgot.
The hostel spread out in front of her – a bespoke built red-brick building. It looked more like a Travelodge than the YHA buildings she had stayed in recently. I guess it lacks charm, but I bet it more than makes up for that in facilities. Even if it does look a bit like a rocket ship about to depart.
As she headed to her room, Claire’s mood continued to rise. A sense of newness permeated the building. Each bunk had a neatly folded sheet, pillow and duvet placed in the centre of the bed. Long-since used to making her bed before sleeping in it, Claire only saw the organisation and happy anonymity of it all. Just what I need to get back into the swing of my challenge, before Carl gets on my case.
Her phone rang. Oh bugger, I bet that’s Carl, summoned like an evil genie.
She put the handset to her ear, waiting to hear her boss’s angry tones down the line.
“Hi Claire, it’s Julia. Thought I ought to check in on your progress.”
Great. The evil genie has sent his handmaiden. I would have preferred the master, he’s easier to discomfort.
“Jules, hi, how are things in the shiny world of AJC?”
Claire could sense the teeth-gnashing that her use of ‘Jules’ had triggered. She also knew that Julia wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not immediately. She would have to try harder.
“I’ve just been having coffee with the head of Live Recordings at the BBC.” Or something like that. Bumbling idiot, but she doesn’t need to know the details. “Charming fellow. I met him in Lincoln Cathedral. You’ll read about it on the blog later. I assume you do keep up to date, so you can report back to Carl my every move?”
Not letting Julia speak was bound to be whipping her temper up to a fever-pitch. Claire wondered if she could keep up the endless prattle, but she
was tired and wanted the conversation done with.
“That’s why I called.” Julia dropped her words into the gap like hot bricks. “Carl says there hasn’t been anything interesting on the blog for weeks. I’m sure there’s no excuse to be hiding behind a doctor’s note or a sick sister any longer. It’s time to start earning your wages instead of coasting around have a jolly.”
It was Claire’s turn to grind her teeth. She is trying to goad you. Do. Not. Rise to it. Or maybe she is just an insensitive cow. Either way, hold your tongue. Claire took a steadying breath and re-entered the fray.
“No worries, Jules. I’m in Sherwood Forest. There’s bound to be something here that will be suitable. Or you could save me the bother and whiz over one of your oh-so-helpful emails. Actually, yes, why don’t you do that, Jules? Then you can earn your wages.”
She hung up the phone, before the PA could retaliate, and leaned against the wall. Her heart beat double time, knowing there would be fallout from insulting Julia. A Director’s PA didn’t fetch and carry at the behest of a mere underling, particularly not one in the bad books as she seemed to be. When will this farce be done? Maybe it’s time I put an end to it. The Maldives would be lovely at this time of year. The thought didn’t make her soul sing as it usually did.
Claire looked round the utilitarian room, with matching bunks and plain blue carpet, and wondered when the idea of hot sandy beaches and sparkling blue sea had ceased to have a pull on her heart.
Two-Hundred Steps Home Volume Five Page 5
