by Nell Dixon
Lou didn’t believe me any more than Steve did. There seemed little point in arguing with her. I got my document folder from my bag with the copies of all the info we had on the cottage. The course instructions had said to bring along anything you already had on the history of your property. It would be interesting to see what I could find out about the cottage from this course and I hoped it wouldn’t be anything especially creepy.
An elderly couple in matching red sweaters arrived and sat at the front of the room.
“I hope everyone won’t be decrepit,” Lou whispered, nudging me in the ribs. I managed a sympathetic smile and noticed she looked tired. There were shadows under her eyes and she wasn’t her usual perky self. She still hadn’t let on what had been so important that she couldn’t have gone with me to the airport to collect Mum.
Another elderly man and a middle-aged lady accompanied by a teenage girl filed in and joined the group.
“Where’s all the totty?” Lou muttered as another couple of pensioners entered and took their places.
“Look, we don’t have to stay, we can always sneak off and go to the pub instead.” I went to scoop up my folder and notebook.
Lou placed her hand on my arm. “Whoa, hold your horses, hunkaliciousness alert!”
I glanced up. Lou sat a little straighter in her chair and gave the man who’d just entered the room a beaming smile. For once she wasn’t exaggerating; the man who’d entered the classroom was pretty tasty. Tall, with blue eyes and one of those floppy fringes that always made me think of posh aristocrats in arty films.
He strode to the table at the front of the room, deposited a small pile of books on the desk and cleared his throat to attract the attention of the class.
“Good evening, I’m pleased so many of you have come to join us on such a fine summer night. My name is Mark Blaine and I’ll be your tutor for this course on researching the history of your family home.” He had a posh voice that matched his appearance.
“I think I’m in lust,” Lou said out of the side of her mouth as our tutor passed around a signing-in sheet and started to explain what our course would cover in the next few weeks.
“Shush, he’ll hear you.” I accepted the signing-in sheet from the middle-aged lady in front of me and frowned at Lou.
She made a face at me and wrote her name with a little heart instead of a dot over the 'i' in Louise on the signing-in sheet. Once we were all registered Mark asked us to introduce ourselves and tell each other about the houses we were keen to investigate.
It seemed that everyone had very different properties and reasons why they were looking into their histories. The elderly couple in the matching red tops were investigating their childhood homes, the lady in front of us and her daughter lived in an old pub and one man wanted to prove he had been cheated out of an inheritance because he claimed he should have owned a local stately home.
Then it was our turn. Lou jumped in first.
“I’m here to help my sister research her cottage because she’s convinced it’s haunted.”
The rest of the class stared at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted an extra head.
Mark gave me an encouraging smile. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us about your cottage, erm….” He glanced at the signing-in sheet. “…Kate.”
I took a deep breath and hoped my face wasn’t a fiery shade of red. “I’m currently renovating Myrtle Cottage on the old side of town. Part of it dates back to Elizabethan times and since we’ve owned it I’ve heard some very strange noises. I feel as if there’s an odd atmosphere in the house, sometimes. I’m not the kind of person who usually believes in ghosts or paranormal things but I do think there is something strange about the cottage, and I'm curious about its history.”
“I used to live in a haunted house.” The elderly woman in the red sweater seated at the front of the class volunteered. “Awful it was, we used to get scratching and rustling noises and all your belongings would get moved about.”
“Sounds more like mice to me.” Lou muttered and the rest of the class started to have murmured conversations between themselves about poltergeists and ghosts.
“Um, yes well," Mark raised his voice above the hum of conversation and effectively quieted the room. "Hopefully this class will help you find out the architectural history of your building and some of the human stories, as well. I’m afraid for anything else you’ll need to seek advice from a different source.”
Everyone fell silent and paid attention as he began to outline the structure of the course. I peeked across at Lou to find her twirling the end of a lock of her hair around her finger and simpering at our new tutor.
Lou carried on flirting while I scribbled notes in my shiny new pink notepad.
Despite my earlier misgivings I was pleasantly surprised to find the course sounded very practical and sensible. Mark sent round some handouts and Lou continued to bat her lashes at him.
“Will you pay attention.” I gave her a poke in the ribs with the end of my pencil.
She rubbed her side and glared at me. “I thought this class was supposed to improve our social lives, not just give you the opportunity to go all geeky over your stupid house,” she muttered.
“Is everything all right back there, ladies?” Mark peered at us.
“Fine, thank you.” Lou flashed him a smile.
We worked our way through the first exercise on Mark’s handout and shared our findings with the class. This part covered what we already knew about our homes and what leads we could pick up to use for research. Myrtle Cottage, being so old and having had various extensions and bits added over the years gave me plenty of chapter headings for my folder which I could use to look for information. It was both exciting and daunting when I realised how much work lay in front of me if I wanted to do this properly.
Before I knew it, nine o’clock had rolled around and it was time for the class to end. Everyone packed up their bits and pieces and started to file out of the room, saying goodbye and exchanging a few words with Mark as they left. I packed up my file and put the copies of the deeds and the sale notation from the auction back inside a plastic wallet.
Lou was busy fiddling with her handbag and generally dawdling so we would be the last people to leave.
“I hope you both enjoyed the class?” Mark asked as we made our way to the door.
“Oh, yes, it was very interesting.” Lou gave him her best smile.
“How about you, Kate?” Mark turned to me seemingly oblivious to Lou’s charm.
“It was very helpful.” Now I was closer to him I could see his eyes were a very bright blue and I wondered if he wore coloured contact lenses. He looked younger too, closer to Louise’s age than mine.
“I believe your house may be one of the oldest left in the town. It was one of the few to escape in the fire of the seventeenth century which destroyed a lot of our older buildings. I believe your cottage escaped the flames as it was one of the few with a slate roof, the others were thatch.” He flashed a disarming smile.
“Oh, so you know something about the history of the cottage already? I’d noticed that the buildings around the cottage were all much newer but I hadn’t thought about why that must be.”
“I only know about your cottage in connection with the history of the town. If you’re interested perhaps we could go for a drink and I’ll tell you what I know about your area. It may give you some more starting points for your research.” He smiled at me again and my pulse kicked up a notch.
“Thank you, we’d like that." I tore my gaze away from Mark to glance at my sister. "Wouldn’t we, Lou?”
“Lovely.” Lou shook her head and rolled her eyes at me while Mark had his back to us locking the community room door.
“Okay, let’s go to the pub.” He straightened up and indicated the exit. “After you, ladies.”
Chapter Five
“You’re late.” Steve was in the kitchen when I returned to the cottage. His clothes were white with dust and a grey film c
oated his face and greyed his dark hair.
“I went for a drink after the class.” It wasn’t any of his business how I spent my free time. After all, I didn’t ask him about the barmaid at the Coach and Horses. I still felt a bit guilty as if I should have texted him and said I’d be late, and this annoyed me no end. It was equally irritating that he didn’t ask me who I’d gone with.
“Was the class any good? Did you find out much about the history of the cottage?” Steve clumped around the kitchen making himself a drink of squash and shedding small piles of grey dust everywhere he went.
I bit my tongue in irritation. Horrible, gravelly film settled on all the work surfaces that I’d scrubbed before I’d gone out. “I learned quite a lot.” I told him what Mark had said about the fire and tried not to care about the mess. If nothing else, at least he'd been productive, I hoped.
“Hmm, probably why that pencil-neck at the council is giving us so much grief over the renovations.” Steve added some water to his drink and knocked it back, draining the glass in a few large gulps.
“What have you been doing while I’ve been out? You’re covered in dust.” I ran a finger along the breakfast bar.
“I started knocking out that Artexed wall in the lounge. The one I thought was covering up the original fireplace. I could have done with some help to barrow the plaster away.” He placed his glass in the sink and carefully avoided meeting my eyes.
I knew that was a big hint. He’d been quite excited about the lounge wall, tapping the cracked Artexed surface at various points and insisting it was hollow.
Normally I’d have been excited too. I actually do like old buildings and really enjoy bringing them back to life. Just – well - not this particular old building.
It had even been partly my fault that Steve had gone to the auction in the first place. I’d had my eye on a lovely barn on the other side of town. It was in our price range, ripe for conversion and in a beautiful spot. In my mind I’d planned the garden, decorated the rooms and pictured Steve and I snuggled up together on a big squashy leather settee in front of the log burner on a cold winter night.
I’d thought of nothing else for weeks. There would have been enough money in the pot for us to start off with some small projects to generate an income and we’d have our dream home. I’d made a note of the auction date, registered for the sale and collected the brochure. Steve had seemed keen on it too, although I suppose looking back I’d been the one babbling on.
The day before the auction I fell ill with the flu bug that was sweeping the office after Nasreen had been in the week before coughing and sneezing over everyone. So on the day of the sale I was in bed with a temperature of a hundred and three, propped up on pillows and sneezing my way through my DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
I’d waited for a text to say we’d got the barn all afternoon. Then I’d heard Steve’s key in the door and his footsteps hurrying up the stairs.
“Well?” I’d asked, shuffling myself into a sitting position so fast my head had swum. “Did we get the barn?”
Steve had dropped down onto the end of the bed, his thin dark face alive with excitement and I’d felt dizzy all over again with love.
“We’ve got something even better.” He’d said, spreading a property brochure out on the quilt in front of me.
I hadn’t understood, not at first. “Better? What? We didn’t get it, but what happened? Did we get outbid?” My palms had been as sweaty and heated as my forehead. All my dreams had come tumbling down around my ears.
Then Steve had issued the fatal blow. “I didn’t bid for it.”
I didn’t hear anything else he said. If he’d have punched me he couldn’t have hurt me more than he did with that one short sentence.
“What do you mean, you didn’t bid?” I’d croaked the question out desperately hoping that I’d misheard him.
“I saw something much better. Myrtle Cottage is a much better investment opportunity. I went to see it the other week. I didn’t say anything to you as I wanted to surprise you. The bidding went a fair bit higher than I thought it would probably because of the land but it’s still a fantastic buy. Just look at it Kate, I know you’ll love it.” He had waved the brochure at me and had tried to get me to look at the pictures.
“But the barn was our forever house.” This hadn’t been about investment. The barn had been where we would raise our children, get another cat, grow vegetables and give barbecues. “All the time you had no intention of bidding for the barn. Instead you’ve been sneaking around, getting surveys and bought this dump.” I hurled the house brochure back at him. I’d seen Myrtle Cottage when I’d flicked through the auction catalogue. Run down and manky, it had held no appeal compared with my beautiful barn.
“But Kate, this is so much better.” Steve had looked completely bewildered.
“How much did you pay?”
When he’d told me the price my heart had shattered completely. It had taken virtually all of our capital.
Dimly, I came back to the present and realised Steve had been talking to me.
“The dust should have settled down by now, come and see, Kate. It’s really exciting.”
I placed my folder down on a relatively clean bit of the counter top and followed Steve along the hall. He opened the old-fashioned latch door to the lounge and stood aside.
Dust still hung in the air, filling my lungs with the damp malodorous scent of ancient plaster. A naked light bulb dangled from the wall illuminating the scene. Dust sheets covered the broad oak floorboards in front of what had been a bland Artexed wall with a naff seventies mock brick fireplace. Now it was a huge cavern of exposed Elizabethan brickwork. The original stone hearth was still in place and as I stepped further into the room I could see the inglenook seats and a hole which must have been the bread oven.
“Isn’t it great? They’d just boarded it over and Artexed it.” Steve grinned at me, his teeth gleaming white in the grime of his face.
“What about the planning inspector? I didn’t think he’d okay’d doing this yet?”
“This is real history, Kate. It’s an original feature.”
I should have loved it but a cold chill ran down my spine as I looked into the newly exposed hearth. The bulb on the wall flickered and I could have sworn that somewhere in the distance, I heard someone sigh.
* * *
I didn’t mention what I thought I’d seen to anyone. Times were uncertain enough with the war. If folk thought I was seeing visions they might think me mazed or possessed. Yet seeing that strange maid in her funny clothes had left me feeling out of sorts and queer.
‘Time you put your needle up Mary-Ann, the light’s almost gone now.’ I laid aside the breeches I’d been mending and rubbed my eyes. My mother gave the dying embers of the fire a poke.
Whether it t’were that my eyes were tired I’m not full certain but as I stared at the glowing ash and looked back up I saw the strange maid again standing next to the fire. I almost cried out but when I blinked she was gone and only mother was there with a frown upon her face.
* * *
I woke the next morning feeling faintly depressed and not quite sure why.
Well, I suppose knowing my lounge was full of rubble and that on Friday evening I faced ordeal by dinner party with my mum and her new American hubby was probably part of it.
I also still had a niggling worry about Lou. Although she’d continued to try and flirt with Mark at the pub I’d sensed her heart hadn’t really been in it. I’d actually wondered if Mark might be more interested in me even though he was younger. He’d certainly appeared to pay me a lot of attention, but then again I could simply have been a good listener for his local history stories. It had been so long since I’d been free and single I wasn’t sure if I’d still recognise the signs if someone did fancy me.
Lou sent me a text at lunch time asking if we should get Mum and Chuck a wedding present. I wasn’t quite sure what the protocol was for this kind of situation.
&n
bsp; Still, as Lou pointed out, we could hardly turn up with our usual bottle of supermarket plonk and flowers.
The general consensus at the bank was that a department store gift voucher and some champagne was the way to go, so I scooted into Marks and Sparks as it was the closest store to the bank. It was another blazing hot day so I lingered for a while in the food department enjoying the cool from the freezers while I pretended to be interested in purchasing a fresh chicken marinated with lemon, thyme and oregano.
Nasreen had insisted on accompanying me. She claimed she had to get something for her sister-in-law’s birthday. I’d rather have been on my own.
She nudged my arm as we left the food department and sauntered towards lingerie. “That’s her!”
“Who?” I looked around the department. I could see two elderly women looking at nightdresses and a mum with a toddler in a buggy studying dressing gowns.
Nasreen grabbed my arm and tugged me behind a stand of nursing bras. She peeped out and ducked back again. “Over there, looking at bras.”
Mystified, I peeped out. A tall skinny girl with dyed blonde hair and a pink stud in her nose was examining a black and red lacy lingerie set.
“That’s Chloe, the barmaid, the girl I saw with your Steve at the pub.”
The girl appeared to be about eighteen or twenty. Her white cheesecloth top showed a flat stomach and her short denim skirt flattered her long slim legs. In short, she looked like the kind of girl who had probably hung around after Steve back in his boy band days.
My heart gave a painful squeeze. So this was Steve’s new girlfriend. Nas had told me what she looked like but somehow not having seen her had made it easier for me to demonise her. Now though, in the flesh, she appeared heartbreakingly young and pretty. I don’t know why it hurt so much knowing he had someone new. It wasn’t as if I wanted us to get back together. He’d made it clear when he’d bought the cottage that he didn’t see his future with me. Even so, I found myself blinking back tears and swallowing a hard lump in my throat.
