‘Excellent idea!’ The man took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. ‘I think I might try one of those chocolate muffins, as it seems to be having such a health-giving effect on your young companion here.’
‘Midge, this is Cliff Maybank,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘Old chum of mine. Shocking type. Well, we’ve come to buy plants, Cliff, believe it or not. What are you doing here?’
‘Running a bookshop.’ The man looked around for a waitress, waved a stubby finger at one of them, and then sat down. ‘Though God knows why I bother. The rates in this place are criminal.’
‘Imagine they would be. Given up on the antiques business then?’
‘Given up the premises, at any rate. Got a shop on ebay now, selling all sorts.’
‘Have you really? Hm. Well, this could be good timing, then, finding you here. We might be able to help each other out. I’ve got a stack of old stuff on the farm that I could do with getting shot of. Now then . . .’
And away the two of them went, chattering like a couple of schoolboys, so that within half a minute Midge had given up listening. She finished off her muffin, and the last of her lemonade, and then said, ‘Uncle Brian, is it OK if I go and have a look in one of the shops? They’ve got an Accessorize here, and I need to think about getting Katie something for her birthday.’
‘Oh Lord, is it that time of year again?’ said Uncle Brian. ‘I’d forgotten. Um . . . well, yes, I suppose that’d be all right, love – as far as I’m concerned, anyway. Would your mum let you go if she was here?’
‘Yeah, she wouldn’t mind. It’s only just down there.’
‘Well, all right, then. I imagine we’ll be here for a while yet – I’m not desperate to go wandering through the heathers, that’s for sure, or whatever it is that Chris and Barry are doing. Got your mobile?’
‘Yeah. It’s switched on.’
‘OK. See you back here in a bit, then. Don’t get lost, or I’ll be lynched!’
‘I won’t.’
Midge made her way back towards the main entrance. She did what she’d said she was going to do, and walked into the little accessories shop that she knew Katie liked. But although she spent a few minutes looking at the bangles and the beads, she wasn’t really concentrating on those things at all. She was thinking about that place she had seen just down the road – the Mount Pleasant Residential Apartments. The building did look as though it could have once been a school, with its high mullion windows and its parapets and its clock tower. And the distance from Mill Farm would have been reasonable, if it had been a boarding school. A far more likely bet than Hampshire, at any rate. Or the States. How could she find out more about it? Maybe there was a phone number on that signboard, or a web address.
Midge looked at her watch. Four o’clock, not even that. She could be there and back in a few minutes. And her mum wasn’t expecting to see her before five, anyway. It would be awful to drive home and then find that the place wasn’t in the phone book or on the web. But if she went now, without any dithering, then nobody would even miss her. It was only just around the corner, and there wasn’t even a road to cross. There couldn’t be any harm in that, could there?
She went over to the shop doorway and looked back towards the café. There were so many people about that Uncle Brian and his friend were only occasionally visible, and both of them had their backs to her in any case. Come on, then, let’s do it.
It felt cold out in the car park after the warmth of the shopping complex, and Midge stuffed her hands into the pockets of her fleece as she hurried along the zig-zagging pavements. She got down to the main road, turned right, and kept on going. The traffic had eased up a bit, but there were still plenty of cars and lorries about and she was glad that she didn’t have to try and cross over. Only another hundred yards or so to go. She glanced at her watch again as she reached the driveway that led up to Mount Pleasant. Barely five-past. Good.
But this wasn’t so good: the painted sign had no telephone number on it, and no web address either. ‘Mount Pleasant Residential Apartments. A caring home,’ it said. And then in quite small letters at the very bottom: ‘Strictly Private. Residents access only’. That was it.
Drat. Midge stared up at the big building, and now she felt more certain than ever that she was on the right track. It looked so much like a school. She could just imagine Celandine cooped up in there with hundreds of other girls, toiling away. And maybe those higher windows would have been dormitories, where they all slept . . . or wept . . .
It had to be the right place. But what was she going to do now? Just forget it and hope that she would be able to phone or email, in order to learn more?
No. She wasn’t going to risk it. She’d go in and ask – right now – whilst she was here on the spot. It wouldn’t take a minute, and at least she’d know whether she was wasting her time or not. If she only came away with a phone number, that would be something.
It was daunting, though, walking up that steep curving driveway. Midge felt that the eyes of the building were looking down upon her, asking her what business she thought she had being here, accusing her of trespassing. When she got to the top, the drive flattened out, and there was a green-and-white sign that said ‘Reception’ pointing left towards the main entrance. She felt very small, climbing the steps up to the high arched doorway. There was an intercom system, too modern-looking in its ancient surroundings – and another test of Midge’s nerve. She hesitated for a moment, but then pressed the button and waited.
‘Yes?’ A crackly female voice.
‘Er . . . Margaret Walters.’ Midge didn’t know what else to say.
The buzzer went, and Midge pushed at the door. It wouldn’t open.
‘Pull.’ Another burst of static from the intercom.
Midge pulled at the big brass handle – which, as she now realized, had a very clear sign right next to it saying ‘Pull’. The door swung back, and Midge stepped inside. She saw the reception desk immediately, but it was right on the other side of a large open space, which she would have to cross. The girl behind the desk was already looking over at her in surprise. There was a big staircase, a square spiral that seemed to go right the way up through the building, and some lifts, obviously quite new. Midge wiped her feet on the mat and walked towards the desk, feeling very conscious of her grubby trainers on the thick blue carpet. She was aware too of the silence, and of a vague aroma – a mixture of air-freshener and cooking.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ The girl behind the desk had lots of make-up on, but she actually looked quite young. Perhaps she’d be friendly.
‘Um, yes. I was wondering – did this place used to be a school?’
‘A school? This is a retirement home. Private apartments.’
‘I know, but was it ever a school? I mean, years ago?’ Midge’s heart was already sinking. The girl didn’t seem too bright.
‘Oh. Years ago. I wouldn’t know. Might have been, I suppose. But I wouldn’t know – I haven’t been here that long.’
‘Would there be some way of finding out? Only I’m trying to trace someone, you see. I think she might have been at school here.’
‘Oh.’ The girl thought about it for a moment. Then an idea came to her. ‘I could ask,’ she said.
Brilliant, thought Midge. You could ask. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’d be really helpful.’
The girl picked up her phone, very efficient, now that she knew what she was doing, and tapped in a couple of numbers. ‘I’ll ask the manager,’ she whispered, her hand to the phone. ‘She’s been here for . . . Hallo? Hallo? Is that Carol? Carol, it’s Helen. Carol, there’s someone down here at reception who wants to know if this place was ever a school. Yes. A girl. Was it a school? she wants to know. Oh, was it? Oh, it was. Thanks.’ She went to put the phone down, but Midge quickly said, ‘Could you . . . thanks . . . could you just ask if they still have any school records at all? Anything to do with pupils that used to be here.’
‘Carol, are you still
there? Hallo? Yes. She wants to know if we still have any school records at all. Anything to do with pupils. No. All right. Thanks, then. Bye.’
The girl put the phone down, and said, ‘No. Sorry. We don’t have any information on that. Schools, or anything. There are quite a lot of schools around, though. Have you tried those?’
‘It’s OK.’ Midge tried to bite her tongue. ‘I had an aunt, that’s all – a great-great-aunt. She might have been at school here, I think. But it was years and years ago.’ She stepped back from the desk. ‘Anyway, thanks.’ She turned to go.
‘What was her name?’ said the girl. As though her knowing that might help.
‘Celandine Howard,’ Midge muttered.
‘Oh. We’ve got a Miss Howard here. Her name doesn’t begin with an S, though.’ The girl laughed. ‘And she’s a bit too old for school.’
‘Celandine begins with a C, not an S,’ said Midge. She zipped up her fleece, and glanced at her watch at the same time. Nearly quarter past four.
‘Does it?’ said the reception girl. ‘Oh, well, ours is a “D”, anyway. I know that, because she hates it if you call her by her Christian name – Dinah. She hates it even worse if you call her Di. Gets really mad, then, the old bat. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that about her.’
‘Well, thanks anyway,’ said Midge. ‘Bye.’
‘Bye. You have to push the door quite hard to close it properly.’
‘OK.’
It was freezing outside, and already beginning to get dark. Midge hurried along the front driveway. She reached the corner of the building, so wrapped up in her own anger and frustration that the sudden glimpse of a big shadowy figure lurking in the bushes nearly made her jump out of her skin.
‘Oh!’ Her own gasp of alarm was immediately echoed.
‘Oh my G—!’
It was a woman – quite a large woman – smoking a cigarette. The woman put her hand to her chest, as though she were having a heart attack.
‘Lord, you gave me a fright!’ she said. Her breathing was all thick and wheezy.
‘Sorry,’ said Midge. She stood there for a moment, trying to recover herself.
‘Phew!’ The woman blew out a puff of smoke. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
Hey, I could ask you the same question, thought Midge, but what she actually said was ‘I’ve been looking for a relative. Trying to find someone.’
‘Oh, I see. Who’s that, then?’ The cigarette end glowed dimly as it was flicked into the bushes.
‘Someone called Celandine Howard. Not having much luck, though.’
‘Aren’t you? I’d have thought she’d be around at this time of day.’
‘What? Who do you mean?’
‘Dinah Howard. Or Celandine Howard, to give her her proper name. Though she likes us to call her Miss Howard. She’d be getting ready for her tea, I’d have thought. Isn’t she there, then?’
Midge just stared at the woman. ‘What – you mean you know her?’
‘Well, yeah, course I know her. I don’t have much to do with her, like, but I know her. She’s our oldest resident. Didn’t you ask at reception?’
Midge felt that her head must be about to spin off altogether. ‘Well yes, but the girl there – Helen, is it? – she said—’
‘Oh, Lord, that one.’ The woman threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘She’s only been here about ten minutes. Still learning her own name, that one is. Come on, lovey, you come back inside with me. I’ll soon find Miss Howard for you – but one good turn deserves another, all right? Nothing to anyone about the cigarettes. It’s not allowed, and quite right too – horrible habit. But giving up’s not so easy, either.’
The woman waddled along the drive and Midge followed her, up the steps, through the arched doorway and back into the building again, feeling completely out of her depth. She saw the reception girl’s expression turn from vague surprise to annoyance as the big woman marched wheezily over to the desk and, with no word of acknowledgement, picked up the phone.
‘Hallo? Elaine? It’s Joan. Hiya, love. There’s a girl here in reception come to see Miss Celandine Howard, if you please. Yep, that’s right. Eh? Oh, I don’t know . . . eleven maybe. Twelve. Can’t tell nowadays. Yes? OK. I’ll leave her here for you then.’
She put down the phone, still with no word to the girl at the desk, and turned to Midge.
‘Elaine’ll be down in a minute. She looks after Miss Howard, mostly.’
‘Oh. Well . . . thanks. Thank you very much.’
‘No trouble, love. Just a matter of knowing what you’re doing, that’s all.’ The woman did throw the girl a quick glance, then, before walking over to the open lift. She pressed the button, gave Midge a wink as the door closed, and disappeared.
Midge was so stunned, she didn’t know what to do. She’d been totally unprepared for the idea that Celandine might actually be here. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. She stood awkwardly in the centre of the reception space, trying to imagine what might be about to happen, and how she was going to deal with it. The girl at the desk seemed very busy with her computer now, and gave her no eye contact.
There was a faint whoosh from the lift, a ping, and one of the doors opened. A woman was standing there. She paused for a second before stepping out, her movement almost hesitant. Younger and smaller than the woman in the garden had been, wearing the same sort of light-blue shift. She raised her hands to her glasses, lowered them for a second as she looked at Midge, then put them back where they were. The expression on her face, as she came closer, was more than just one of curiosity, or even surprise. She looked really quite shocked.
‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘So you’ve come to see Miss Howard, then. Is that right?’
‘Um . . . well . . . I’ve been trying to find out more about her. I wasn’t expecting to actually see her.’ Something of the woman’s apparent nervousness seemed to be catching, and Midge found that her voice was actually quite shaky.
‘Weren’t you? Well, she’s been expecting to see you, I can tell you. What’s your name, dear?’
‘Midge. Midge Walters.’
‘Midge? Right. Well then, Miss Howard’s just about to—’ The woman broke off for a moment, and called to someone over Midge’s shoulder. ‘Carol? Carol – could I trouble you for a moment?’
Midge turned round and saw another woman crossing the open space behind her. This one was dressed in a dark-grey trouser suit, very smart, and looked as though she might well be the one in charge around here.
‘Yes?’ The smart woman changed direction and came over to where they were standing, bringing with her a faintly perfumed air of authority.
‘Carol, this young lady is here to see Miss Howard.’ The words of the first woman hung there, spoken as though they had some sort of extra meaning to them.
The smart woman stared at her colleague. Then she looked directly at Midge.
‘To see Miss Howard? Well, I’m . . . er . . . I’m’ – she gave a quick laugh – ‘caught off-guard, as you can see. Absolutely astonished, in fact. Um . . . OK, then, Elaine. You’d better go and break this news to Miss Howard, and then bring her down for her tea as usual. In the meantime I’ll take our visitor along to the day room, and we’ll see you both there. What’s your name, dear?’
‘Midge Walters.’ Midge caught a last glance of amazement from the first woman as she returned to the lift. What was going on? Why was everybody so surprised to see her?
‘Right then, Midge,’ said the smart woman. ‘I’m Carol Reeve – the manager here. Are you some sort of relative of Miss Howard’s?’
‘She’s my great-great-aunt. But . . . see . . . I really wasn’t expecting her to just be here. I didn’t even know that she was still alive. This is all such a . . . I mean, I don’t know whether I actually want to—’
‘You mean you didn’t know that she lived here?’
‘No! I just knew that she used to be at a school called Mount Pleasant, that’s all. I’m supposed to be roun
d the corner on a shopping trip, with my mum. At Almbury Mills. I only came in to see if this maybe used to be Cel— my great-great-aunt’s old school.’ Midge was feeling overwhelmed, upset at how everything seemed to be running away with her. This was all happening much too fast.
‘But she’s been expecting you. You didn’t know that?’
‘What? How could she be expecting me? That’s what the other woman said. I didn’t even know anything about this place until today.’
‘My dear, let me tell you something. Miss Howard has been expecting you for at least as long as I’ve been manager here. And that’s . . . what . . . getting on for twelve years now. Every day she tells us that you’ll probably be dropping by, around four-thirty. It’s little wonder that we’re surprised to see you actually turn up.’
Chapter Seven
MISS HOWARD OPENED her eyes as the last fragments of her dream floated away. Sharply focused, these dream images always were, like scraps of brightly patterned cloth. The edges of the real world that now surrounded her were blurred and fuzzy. Sometimes it was the only way of telling whether she was asleep or awake – the clarity of her vision. If everything was clean and sharp and bright, then she knew that she was dreaming.
Her dreams repeated themselves, over and over, just as the routines and conversations of her days were repeated, over and over. She was so tired of waiting.
‘Thank you for telling me, Celandine. This means very much to me . . .’ Her mother’s voice, still echoing in her head. It had been that dream. The one where she told her mama the ‘truth’. Comforting, because it had helped to put her mother’s mind at rest, and disturbing because it wasn’t the truth at all.
The events of that day had been real enough, she was sure of that. She was coming home to visit Mama, though she was not due any time off from the clinic until the end of the month. She saw herself walking through the front door of Mill Farm, and then through to the kitchen. Mama at the sink, throwing carrot peelings into the slop bucket, turning at the sound of her footstep on the red brick floor.
Winter Wood Page 9
