Abi's House

by Jenny Kane

  ‘Westbury is where my gran lives. She’s a canny soul who I totally adore. She’s not mobile anymore. I take a trip up to her every few weeks to make sure she’s alright. My parents are in Pendeen, and in Hayle you’ll find no one resident in my dinky little flat beyond myself and a tomcat called Oscar, who very much thinks he owns the place.’

  Trying not to look pleased, Beth decided to test the water a little further, ‘And any gorgeous girlfriends waiting on the end of the phone for you to let them know what this new gallery is like?’

  Jacob laughed, ‘Not one. There is someone I’ve met who I quite like, though.’

  I should have known. Beth got up to look out of the window, under the guise of seeing if the lighting man was outside struggling to park, so that Jacob didn’t see disappointment in her eyes. ‘That’s nice. I hope she’ll appreciate your work if you get together.’

  Jacob collected up the children’s pictures and put them on the work bench. Then joining Beth at the window, Jacob put his arm around her waist.

  ‘I met the girl I like extremely recently. There’s something about her. I can’t decide if it’s her enthusiasm for my work, the love she obviously had – still has – for her grandfather, the bravery at starting her own business venture when she really doesn’t have time, the fact she wants the first display in her gallery to belong to primary school children, or the fact she is extremely pretty, that won me over first. I was thinking of asking her out on a date tonight. What do you think? Do you think she’ll say yes?’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Abi was exhausted. The last three days had been spent in a flurry of activity, which had begun with ordering business cards for the newly named Art and Sole Studio Gallery, and had gone on to include designing posters for the grand opening, booking caterers for the evening, making up invitations on her laptop, phoning up a huge number of artists (most of whom had said no outright to taking a space anytime in the next eighteen months as they were already booked up), acquiring cardboard boxes for Stan, finding a clearance firm for her house in Surrey, and choosing a solicitor.

  Jacob, who had become a frequent feature in the studio, and Beth were working so well together on laying out the artists’ side of the gallery that Abi had started to feel a bit in the way, She knew was being irrational, and should be grateful that another willing pair of hands was assisting in a race against the clock to be ready in time for the designated children’s launch party on September the second, since it gave her a chance to devote herself to all the tasks she’d taken on for Beth and give some time to Stan and her purchase of Abbey’s House.

  Abi had been so busy that Max had gone on his own with Stan to the Chalk Towers sheltered accommodation complex in St Buryan, to view the two vacant flats in the hope that he’d like one of them. In the end it had been a case of him loving them both, but having checked that the lifts were easy to work, Stan had picked the one on the third floor of the converted Victorian mansion, so that he could see the sea from his bedroom.

  Glancing at her watch, a stab of nervous excitement crept up Abi’s spine. There would be an estate agent assessing the value of Abbey’s House right now. Abi had offered to be there if Stan wanted, but had been relieved when he’d said no, as she felt a bit awkward about it, as she’d be the one who’d benefit from a lower price. Abi didn’t want anyone to be able to say she’d influenced the valuation.

  What with everything that was happening, Abi hadn’t really had time to think about the fact that her childhood fantasy was coming true. Part of her didn’t want to risk thinking about it, just in case it all went wrong. What if the valuation was too high after all? What if the sheltered accommodation people turned down Stan’s offer on the flat?

  The only thing keeping her whirl of uncertainties and anxieties in check was how much she was looking forward to going to the pub quiz with Max in two nights’ time. Part of her mind kept reverting back to memories of their walk on along the cliff path, and how much promise she’d seen in his eyes. He hadn’t said as much, but Abi was sure Max would never let her down. She knew it was simplistic, naive even, to feel that way; but something in her knew it was true. She just hoped she could promise Max the same.

  One thorn in her side however vied for her attention, and Abi knew it was standing in the way of her being truly content and happy in her newly adopted home.

  That thorn was called Simon.

  He could be getting up to anything in Surrey. She couldn’t put off phoning him for much longer. Since his original onslaught of messages, she hadn’t heard a thing from him, and that was somehow more unnerving than the barrage of insults she’d been expecting. Although Max had told her it was impossible to contest a will that had already been settled, Abi was convinced Simon would have something unpleasant up his sleeve just to spite her. He wasn’t a man who tolerated not getting his way.

  On a more positive note, she had heard from Nigel Davison, who’d told Abi that because the Adams family intended to rent out their current home, there was no sale to wait for, and they could move on with the handover as soon as Abi had engaged a solicitor.

  Deciding that she was in danger of overthinking things too much if she stayed sat on her own in her hotel room for much longer, Abi gathered her newly presented set of keys to the Art and Sole Studio Gallery. Resisting the urge to phone Max, just to hear the comforting sound of his voice while he tackled a cottage in Mousehole, Abi decided today was the day to set up the studio section of Art and Sole as she wanted it.

  She was glad that Beth and Jacob, who’d both gone to Jacob’s workshop to choose which of his range of ceramics should be put on display as a taster, would be out of the way. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Jacob. Not only was he a friendly guy, he was a total godsend when it came to how much help he was willing to give them – advice about which artists to approach, and which pieces were too similar to those sold in the Roundhouse – and he was making Beth blissfully happy, but today Abi wasn’t in the mood to see them so into each other.

  Even as she thought it, Abi told herself off. Beth deserved to be happy. After years of putting everyone else first, from her pupils, to her friends, and her grandfather, Beth was due someone to make a fuss of her for a change. You’re jealous, that’s what it is.

  Abi knew she wasn’t jealous that Beth had someone. After all, she had someone of her own. Max was at the forefront of her mind more and more, and she missed him when he wasn’t there. It had been sobering to realise that whenever Luke had been at work, even in the early days of their relationship, Abi hadn’t given him much of a thought when he was out of sight.

  As Abi had lay in bed at three in the morning, failing to sleep under her summer eiderdown, she’d decided that it had been because they worked in the same building, and could literally bump into each other at any time. But now, as Abi strolled slowly towards her car, she knew she’d been kidding herself. The love she’d had for Luke had been genuine, but it hadn’t been like how she loved Max. And the cosy, happy-ever-after feeling she had when she was with Max frightened Abi as much as it thrilled her.

  She wished she could be more like Beth. The bloom of happiness that radiated from her friend when Abi had found Beth had not spent the night alone following Jacob’s visit to her new business venture, was almost tangible. But Abi wasn’t the sort of person who could accept happiness so quickly – not any more. Even though she logically knew that Max never would treat her like Luke had, she had to convince herself she wasn’t going to be bullied by someone she loved all over again. That meant that she couldn’t just jump into bed with someone, even if it did, as Beth had told her, ‘feel so right.’

  Grinning up at Jacob from where she was sitting, Beth stretched her legs over the clay-smeared studio floor with a seductive smile, before pulling her clothes back into place.

  Jacob, who was sat next to her, grinned back. ‘There is very little that looks quite so sexy as a dishevelled schoolteacher.’

  Beth looked around her, hunting d
own her stray items of clothing amongst the gorgeously intoxicating scent of clay that infused the racks of finished and semi-finished products waiting for discarding or firing that surrounded them.

  ‘You are a very bad boy, Mr Denny. Now get dressed or we’ll never get manage to pick what we need for the gallery.’

  ‘Yes, miss!’

  ‘Stop with the teasing, pottery man, or I’ll be picking all the wrong things for the gallery. I told Abi I’d be back by one o’clock to help her to find some people to show their stuff in October and November.’

  Throwing Beth’s T-shirt at her from where it had landed in a dusty heap of half-thrown pots that had never made the grade and were waiting to be pummelled back down into throw-ready clay, Jacob scrambled into his own shirt. Brushing clay specks and porcelain dust from his jeans, he led the way into a giant walk-in cupboard.

  ‘Wow!’ Beth knew she’d just entered a ceramic lover’s heaven. With shelves from floor to ceiling, there was so much to select from that she simply didn’t know where to look first.

  ‘Shall we start with the easily sellable stuff, and then work our way up to the pieces that are of a better quality, but have price tags to match?’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ Beth was breathless, and not because of their unscheduled romp. If she hadn’t already fallen in love with Jacob, then everything about the place would have won her over there and then. She was extremely glad Jacob was there to guide her, or there was a real danger that she’d just pack up the lot, and make it all a permanent fixture in the gallery.

  Half an hour later Jacob had collected together two dozen blue glazed rustic-style mugs with Celtic cross patterns, six matching jugs of various sizes, and three large vases which were varnished with mixed swirls of brown, and had been burnished so well that whichever direction Beth examined them from, they looked a slightly different colour. They seemed almost magical, as if they changed colour before her eyes.

  ‘OK, so that’s the small ware sorted. I have more of all of those items in stock, so if by any miracle we sell out I can nip back and top up supplies.’

  Carefully wrapping every item in a copious amount of bubble wrap, Beth made a mental note to add buying in supplies of paper bags and packaging for those people who bought items from the gallery, as she gestured to the three urns she had already labelled as Ali Baba pots. ‘We have to have those. I know they are worth a fortune, and they won’t sell, but if they don’t scream out loud how skilled you are with your hands, than I don’t know what does.’

  Jacob laughed, ‘Is that so? Apart from you just now, you mean?’

  Beth threw a bale of bubble wrap at him. ‘Stop hunting for compliments, Mr Denny, and get wrapping up that pot!’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Her arms full with a cardboard box of groceries, Abi used her elbow to knock on the front door of Abbey’s House. Stan had offered her a key, but it didn’t feel right to take it. Not yet anyway. She wanted to own the house properly before that happened.

  ‘Oh, you are a treasure,’ Stan opened the door as wide as it would go and stepped back so Abi could edge past with his food shopping.

  Following his friend into the kitchen, Stan leaned against the wall as he watched Abi moving around, putting his shopping away. ‘That’ll save Mrs Teppit a job. You’re a good girl.’

  ‘It’s no problem at all. I’m quite enjoying getting to know my way round all the local shops. Funny how a person’s perspective of a shop is so different when they stop being a tourist and start to be an actual resident.’

  ‘You’ll be a local before you know it!’

  Abi laughed. ‘I have been assured by Barbara at the hotel that becoming a local takes a decade at least!’

  ‘Twenty years minimum, but you’ll walk it!’

  Placing the empty cardboard box onto the table, Abi pointed towards the kettle. ‘Can I get you some tea, do anything else for you, before I set off again?’

  Stan looked at the cardboard box by way of an answer. ‘Do you need that?’

  ‘I thought I’d leave it here for you to pack a few bits into, if you want it. Otherwise, not really.’

  ‘Can you sit down a minute?’

  Stan sounded so serious that Abi pulled out one of kitchen chairs straight away. ‘What is it? If you’ve changed your mind about the sale, I’ll completely understand.’ Her insides clenched tightly, but her determination to show no emotion in case that was exactly what Stan was about to say stayed firm.

  ‘Oh, nothing like that. Quite the opposite in fact.’ Stan looked down at Sadie, his ever-present companion and ruffled the top of her head in her favourite manner. ‘This old girl and I have been together for the last ten years, you know.’

  Abi said nothing, but she could feel a lump forming in her throat. If Stan was about to tell her that Sadie was ill she wasn’t sure she could handle it, and wished more than ever that Max was there rather than slapping emulsion on a wall somewhere.

  ‘Well, the thing is, although I know moving to St Buryan is the right thing to do, and I haven’t changed my mind about leaving here, well … I wondered if you’d consider letting Sadie stay here with you? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve just found out that the flats don’t allow pets.’

  ‘Oh, Stan!’ Abi was horrified on Stan’s behalf, ‘I’m so sorry. Are you sure you still want to go? You and Sadie are a pair. You belong together!’

  Stan was silent as he looked down at his companion, and Abi could see he was composing himself before going on. ‘I’m sure. We’ve thought long and hard about it, haven’t we, old girl?’

  He was speaking more to Sadie than Abi now, which gave Abi time to suitably arrange her composure. ‘We know that you and Max will love her, and I’m sort of hoping I’ll be able to visit and you’ll bring her to see me sometimes.’

  Nodding fervently, Abi didn’t know what to say as she looked into Sadie’s big brown eyes. ‘Stan, you’ll always be welcome, and of course Sadie can stay. I’d be glad of her company, to be honest.’ More gently she added, ‘But you do know that Max won’t be living here, don’t you?’

  A smile broke through the sober expression on Stan’s face, ‘Not at first perhaps, my girl, but he will. He’s a keeper, that one, so make sure you grab him quick before someone else does.’ Stan stared down at his faithful canine friend for a few unspoken seconds, before rallying again. ‘So, how about proving to me what a good girl you really are and putting the kettle on before you go? I could do with a cuppa after all that un-British-like emotion.’

  Familiar now with Stan’s kitchen, Abi did just that, wishing she hadn’t driven there so she could have something a bit stronger. ‘Actually, Stan, I was meaning to tell you something. I wasn’t going to yet, because it rather assumed a lot, but …’

  ‘Assumed what?’

  ‘That Abbey’s House could be mine, although I know we’ve agreed between ourselves – and with the valuation coming in lower than the sale of my place in Surrey, that I can afford it, but …’

  Stan finished her sentence for her, ‘You don’t want to take anything for granted until the deal is signed and sealed.’

  ‘Sorry, yes. It isn’t that I don’t trust you; it’s just that I’ve had this dream for so long, and I never thought it would happen. I am scared to jinx it.’

  ‘That I understand. So,’ Stan cupped his frail hands around his mug of tea, ‘what were you going to tell me, on the assumption that life plays fair and the sale goes through – which it will, by the way. Even if I peg it you can buy it.’

  ‘What?’ Abi frowned, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When the solicitor bloke came to sort the private sale stuff, I asked him to change my will. It now says that if I croak it before the sale is complete, you still get to buy Abbey’s House, but that the money will go to Sally in Australia instead of to me.’

  Tears escaped this time, as Abi leaded forward over her drink, hiding her eyes beneath the hang of her fringe, ‘Oh, Stan, I …’

  The
old man raised his hand, ‘No, let’s just take all the thank yous as read. We all have to go sometime, and if we can do good on the way then all the better. I phoned Sally at the crack of dawn, and she was fine with it, so it’s settled. Now then my girl, what were you going to tell me?’

  ‘I have decided to keep the spare bedroom as your room. The only visitors I’ll ever have will be my brother and his family, and that would be once in a blue moon, so I don’t actually need a spare room. Especially as the main bedroom here is big enough to sleep a family of five!’

  ‘But, Abi …’

  ‘No Stan. I’m firm on this. You let me into your home as a total stranger, just because my parents joked about me living here when I was a child. That took kindness, and you have been nothing but kind ever since. Keeping a room here for you so you know that you are always welcome is the least I can do. After all, you’ll want to come and holiday in Sennen with Sadie, won’t you?’

  Stan was very quiet for a while, and Abi sensed he was a little overcome and would probably appreciate her suggesting something practical to do. Putting her plans to go back to the studio on hold, trusting that Beth and Jacob would do very well without her, she picked the cardboard box back up. ‘So then, Mr Abbey, you said something the other day about sorting out a few of your bits and bobs in the dining room. Shall we take our tea through and get cracking before we drown in sentiment?’

  A beam broke out on Stan’s face like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. ‘An excellent plan.’ He pushed himself up with the aid of the table and his stick, and pointed to a tray by the sink. ‘Why not pop the tea and that packet of biscuits you just bought on the tray, and carry them through. I don’t see why we shouldn’t nibble while we work.’

  An hour later Abi was beginning to understand what a mammoth job she’d undertaken. ‘I can’t believe how much stuff you’ve got!’

  ‘It just sort of accumulated over the years. My Mary was a bit of a hoarder. She had a good eye, mind. She was a dab hand at spotting bargains at car boot sales and jumble sales. Sometimes she’d sell things on and make a few pounds here and there. After she died I couldn’t face coming in here for a long time, but slowly I got braver, yet I haven’t ever done anything about all her stuff. I’m afraid to tell you that what you can actually see is just the tip of the iceberg. The cupboards are full to the brim, and I wouldn’t look in the attic until you’ve had at least one bracing snifter of whiskey.’