by Wendy Holden
He continued, however. ‘The state that place is in. Beggar’s Roost.’
Nell was confused. What did he mean? Beggar’s Roost was a dream cottage: the simple house with its sparkling windows, the colourful garden like something off a calendar. Or a postcard.
And wasn’t the difficult man the one next door, anyway?
Her body seemed to understand before her brain did, because something hard and cold now clasped her insides. She realised that what the paramedic was saying was that Beggar’s Roost was not the neat house with the white door. Rather, it was the bomb site next to it.
The second great shock of the afternoon now crashed like a wave over Nell, followed by the third. If the difficult man lived in the neat house, he was, presumably, George Farley. But how could that be? Angela had said he was the neighbour from hell.
‘Shocking, the way them Downers left it,’ the paramedic tutted.
‘The Downers?’
‘Rotten family, they were. She used to work at Pemberton. Some sort of PR person.’
Nell took a long breath. There was always the possibility that he was wrong. How would a paramedic from Chestlock know so much about village affairs?
‘She were useless at her job. Useless. I’ve got a friend in the Pemberton Estate office,’ he added; his source, Nell realised, was a depressingly authoritative one. ‘And that Ros Downer were a disgrace. Couldn’t even spell.’
It had the ring of truth, Nell had to accept. The estate bumf she had inherited was certainly the work of an illiterate. She was now feeling distinctly nauseous, and not just because of the jolting movement of the ambulance.
‘And they made a right mess of that cottage. Her and her kid and her other half.’ The paramedic shook his head in disgust before looking Nell frankly in the eye. ‘You’re going to have your work cut out there, love.’
They had now arrived at the hospital and Nell could escape. As the men in the green boiler suits hurried George into A&E, she wandered into the reception area they had pointed out to her and sat down to wait.
There were lots of other people waiting too. Or perhaps they were just here for the sake of it. The place had a strangely sociable atmosphere. People were happily browsing the stationers, florists and coffee shops that surrounded the main seating area.
Others watched the enormous flat-screen telly suspended above the waiting area as they ate chips from polystyrene boxes or drank giant lattes. Both chips and lattes seemed incongruous given the hospital context, but perhaps the café wished to ensure a steady stream of clients for its parent institution.
The TV – which had a great dent in it, as if someone had hurled a heavy object – was showing a property programme. Nell had been trying not to think about Beggar’s Roost, but she couldn’t avoid it now. The neat house that the TV blonde was showing the doubtful-looking couple round reminded her by its very contrast of her new home and its cruel disappointments.
Nell summoned her courage. The cottage couldn’t possibly be as bad as she remembered. It was the shock of George Farley’s heart attack; it had cast a pall over everything. Beggar’s Roost was just a bit messy, that was all.
She clung to the memory of Angela Highwater’s assurance that the former residents had been model tenants. The friendly Angela would not deliberately give her somewhere disgusting to live. The outside might be a bit untidy, but she would soon be able to clear it up. And the inside would be fine; it had to be. Not least because Rachel and Juno were coming on Friday.
Eventually a nurse came to find her in reception. Jasjit was friendly but efficient and Nell found herself swiftly appraised of the situation. George had had a massive heart attack. The hospital was trying to trace his relatives. He had been lucky to survive; the prompt action of the man at the scene had undoubtedly saved him.
‘What a hero,’ Jasjit enthused. ‘Friend of yours?’ She seemed to think there was only one of them.
Nell shook her head hurriedly. It was nothing less than the truth. She didn’t know Dan, and Adam was no friend.
‘Ooh! Think I’d get to know him if I was you.’
A pair of dark eyes again swam in Nell’s memory, along with a full mouth and dark hair curling on the collar of an open shirt.
She got back to Edenville much later than expected. The hospital bus stop had a good service to Chestlock but buses from there to Edenville were few and far between. By the time she returned, a bright stripe of yellow sunset was glowing through the trees on the edge of the village with a heavy lid of darkness above it. Shouldn’t she just leave the visit to Beggar’s Roost until tomorrow?
No, Nell told herself resolutely. She should face up to it; be brave. Get it over with. Not least because she would imagine the worst if she hadn’t seen with her own eyes that it really wasn’t so bad.
It was, though. And, actually, much, much worse. She was of course prepared for an untidy garden, and in the few hours since last seeing it, had even persuaded herself that it was actually only marginally dishevelled. The reality was dramatically different.
Even with a mellow summer sunset showing it in quite literally the best possible light, there was no escaping the accumulated horror of the pile of broken fencing, the dented plastic play equipment and the heap of smashed bricks and concrete. This discordant and ugly main melody was counterpointed by bulging plastic bags with sinister and unguessable contents. And, above, between and beneath it all, rampaging nettles, knotweed, willowherb and every other invasive, impossible-to-remove shrub known to horticulture.
Nell fought through this horrible debris to the front window of Beggar’s Roost and the reassuring order she was confident of finding within. The filthy condition of the windows, however – equally dirty both inside and out, it seemed – and the generous heaps of dead flies on the interior sill, indicated that her optimism was misplaced.
While within was theoretically a sitting room, Nell could see that it would be some time before she was sitting in it. There was, for a start, no furniture. No anything. The former tenants seemed to have taken it all. Even the wall light fittings had been yanked out, leaving wires sprouting from walls like the roots of some invisible electric plant growing the other side of the crackled plaster and ripped paper.
The damage done to these walls seemed so recent and extensive it could only be deliberate. There were crude drawings and spray-painted graffiti that Juno certainly could not be allowed to see. Even the carpets had been taken; uneven and dusty boards lined the floor. Rubbish was liberally scattered over this: crushed drinks cans, paper, fast food cartons. This room needed not just a thorough cleaning, but fumigating.
Nell stared for a while in the hope that familiarity with the carnage would ease the shock. As it made it worse, if anything, she trailed round to the back.
The garden here was more of a mess than the one at the front. A collection of cracked and broken toilets were lying on their side and a wrecked bathtub full of silt and stagnant yellow water continued the incongruous ablutionary theme.
As the first thing to meet her eye through the kitchen window was a sink heaped with mouldy dishes, Nell turned away.
Determinedly, she forced back tears. Crying would not help. Only work would, but even if she spent every spare hour she had here, there was no possibility that it would be ready for the weekend. Or any weekend over the next ten years.
The temptation – in as much as anything associated with such a wreck could be tempting – was to throw the towel in on the whole place. But if she did, where would she live? In the Edenville Arms? But she had only two more nights there. One of which, the Friday, she had already promised Juno and Rachel would be spent in Beggar’s Roost. They would be so disappointed.
Nell walked slowly back to the Edenville Arms. It had been a confusing, perplexing, distressing day. The house she had had such high hopes for was a disgusting ruin. Added to wh
ich, the man she’d had such a low opinion of had turned out to be a hero. Her world was in disarray again.
CHAPTER 38
‘Is something the matter?’ It was the next day and Julie was looking keenly at Nell from over the spreadsheet. Despite her phone pinging constantly with texts from Carly, the Weddings Manager was trying to explain the four other celebrations the department was currently handling.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Nell assured her, determinedly yanking back her wandering mind. But in truth she was distracted; nothing Julie was saying was going in. If she was asked any questions, she would be in serious trouble.
The state of Beggar’s Roost and the question of Adam Greenleaf were chasing each other round her mind. Of the two, the cottage was clearly the most important, so why was the other taking up so much bandwidth? Yet again, Nell tried to focus on what Julie was saying.
The Weddings Manager paused. It seemed a meaningful pause, and apprehension gripped Nell. ‘I heard about that business at the hospital yesterday,’ Julie said, tapping her pen against her teeth. ‘Old George Farley.’
Nell found herself reddening. ‘How did you hear?’
Julie grinned. ‘Estate tom-tom.’
That again. Nell had a feeling the paramedic might have had something to do with it too.
‘You were quite the hero, I hear,’ Julie added, confirming Nell’s suspicions. Who but the paramedic would know? She felt irritated, as well as embarrassed, but Julie’s voice was warm with approval. ‘You and those guys. Dan Parker and that other one. Who was he again?’
Nell shook her head wildly. ‘I don’t know.’ As Julie was looking at her, her expression speculative, she decided it was time to move things on. She no longer wanted to think about the event in George Farley’s garden.
‘Look, sorry, you were saying . . . ?’
Julie looked down at her spreadsheet again. ‘Oh yeah.’ She tapped her pen on her teeth again. ‘Where were we? Here we go. Hannah wants the food to be pie and mash in brown paper boxes.’
Hannah. Nell tried to remember. Hannah. What had Julie told her about Hannah? Oh yes. Hannah was in PR and her fiancé – Jake, was it? – was a solicitor. They wanted a ‘festival feel’ for their wedding.
‘. . . and to have a dressing-up chest at the reception next to the photo-booth.’
‘Are they sure?’ Nell was doubtful. ‘Some of the photos might not be ones they’d want to keep. Especially when people have had a few.’
‘That’s more or less how Josh sees it.’
Josh, not Jake. Josh.
‘Apart from anything else, he keeps reminding Hannah that some of his relatives are in their nineties and might not get it.’
‘How stressful.’
The word sent Nell’s thoughts straight back to her new home. She had rung Angela and left a message, first thing. She had expected a call, probably an apologetic one, straight away. But Angela had not been in touch at all.
Nell now considered the possibility that Angela was out at meetings all day. Or even away somewhere. Both scenarios were disastrous because every hour that passed was crucial. There was so little time between now and Rachel and Juno arriving. Of course, they could all sleep in the honeymoon suite, but Rachel and Juno were so excited about coming to the cottage, and she wanted them at least to be able to visit it first. She needed help, although from whom or where Nell couldn’t imagine. It would take something akin to a biblical miracle to sort things out in time.
Shooting through her mind now came the idea that they could stay next door at George Farley’s. She had access, after all; she had locked up before getting into the ambulance. The key had been in the kitchen door and Nell, glancing casually in, had seen that the place was just as neat and cosy as it had looked from the other side of the window.
But she knew George only slightly – even though that small amount of knowledge was so positive – and he didn’t know her or her friends at all. And she could hardly ask his permission, as he was in intensive care in hospital. She would visit him tonight, though; just so she could bow out respectably. See how he was and check that his family had been tracked down. Give them the key, too, for that matter.
‘. . . a twinkle dance floor,’ Julie was saying now, her voice serious, frowning over the spreadsheet. Nell tuned hurriedly back in, trying to catch up. Julie was talking about the wedding of some people called Sam and Will. Oh yes. Nell remembered now. Julie had mentioned them earlier. ‘Sam and Will. Sound like men but one of them’s a girl.’
‘Sam?’ Nell had guessed.
‘No, Will,’ grinned Julie. ‘It’s short for Wilhelmina.’
So what was this about a twinkle dance floor? ‘How does it twinkle?’
‘Lights up with lots of little sparkling lights. They’re also having a coach and four with a liveried footman and ambient swing at the reception.’
‘Sounds like something you sit on.’ This was nothing if not an education.
‘Yes, but it’s a close-harmony singing group called the Ellington Sisters who do Hollywood jazz interspersed with Justin Bieber. The food’s going to be haggis bonbons and—’
‘Did you say haggis bonbons?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘What are they?’
Julie giggled. ‘I’ve no idea. Will saw them in some glossy magazine. They’re also having champagne from personalised bottles. Oh, and did I mention the ice-cream bike? Nell? Are you listening to me?’
Nell’s guilty eyes met Julie’s. She could no longer lie to her. ‘Not really,’ she confessed.
Julie rolled her eyes and put down her pen. ‘I knew it. Something’s on your mind, isn’t it? Is it that hospital business? Look, you can tell me. If you need a day or two off, that’s fine. It must have been an awful shock, finding George like that.’
Julie was obviously not going to give up. Nell could see there was nothing for it but to tell her about Beggar’s Roost. ‘And my friends are supposed to be coming to stay in it tomorrow,’ she finished hopelessly.
The eyes of the Weddings Manager narrowed. ‘Bloody Angela,’ she hissed.
Nell was surprised. ‘Why bloody Angela? I’m sure she didn’t send me there on purpose.’
Julie fixed her with a stare. ‘Believe me, Angela does everything on purpose. Usually for a nasty purpose.’
Nell’s eyes were wide. ‘But why would she want to be nasty to me?’
The other woman snorted. ‘Well, you’re young, pretty, clever, funny, stylish and interesting. That’s six things Angela isn’t. So I’m guessing them for starters. I’m also guessing that Angela wants you out of here.’
‘Here? You mean the estate?’ Nell was not certain she believed Julie. Angela knew, as Julie didn’t, about Nell’s unfortunate romantic history. No one in command of those facts would envy her, surely. And Angela had been so friendly, seemed so nice. Why would she want to make things more difficult?
‘Like I say, I’m just guessing. But you wouldn’t be the first one. I mean, I’m glad that she sent you here, but there’s probably a reason. She probably intended you not to like it.’
It had certainly been less than tactful. But was it really deliberately cruel? Nell put her hands to her forehead. A headache was threatening.
Julie seemed suddenly to have swung into action. She was now on the phone but the call did not seem to be about weddings. Julie was talking about a house.
‘Yes, that one,’ she was saying. ‘Where the Downers used to live. In Edenville.’
‘What are you doing?’ Nell asked when Julie put down the receiver.
Her colleague smiled. ‘Just hurrying things along a bit with Works.’
‘Works?’
‘The works department. My hubby runs it.’ Julie looked briefly and winningly self-conscious. ‘Turns out that Beggar’s Roost is on the list
to be done up.’
Nell brightened. That was something at any rate.
Julie went on. ‘But it can take Works a long time. Years, sometimes. Especially when it’s someone as unpopular as Ros Downer living there.’
Nell’s spirits sank again.
‘However, once you mention that Angela Highwater won’t like the work being done straight away, it can have a miraculous effect.’ Julie gave her a meaningful look.
Nell gasped, understanding. Of course, the work could not possibly be done by tomorrow. It would take weeks, months, years. But at least she could tell Rachel and Juno that refurbishment was under way. Things were moving. ‘Thank you so, so much,’ she added, gratefully.
‘Hey, come on,’ Julie grinned. ‘You deserve a break. You saved an old man’s life, after all. One good turn and all that.’
Meanwhile, a few miles away in Chestlock, Dan and Dylan were trying to find the golf course.
Dan, unsurprisingly, was not a golfer and had no idea where it was. Dylan drove hopelessly around as Dan tried with decreasing success to field increasingly irate calls from the Lady President. Her directions only confused them more, and her bossiness gave the lie to the idea that the game promoted relaxation and a balanced outlook.
Eventually they got on the right track; a road bordered by large detached houses set in mature, tree-filled gardens. The golf club was announced by a large painted sign behind which stretched a car park filled with gleaming Audis, Range Rovers and sports cars.
Behind the cars was the clubhouse and behind that were the greens and fairways, their flags merrily fluttering.
‘It looks big,’ Dylan said doubtfully.
‘It’ll be all reight,’ Dan said confidently. ‘They’ll ’ave one o’ them big tractor mowers.’
The Lady President came striding over in her green padded gilet and fixed Dan with a gimlet eye.
